#MCU READER INSERT

[writingfics-passingtime]

Empty Threats

synopsis: stranded in a one-room safe house overnight with Loki, you learn the consequences of teasing him.

pairing: Loki x female reader (sexual / romantic)

word count: ~6700

cw: swearing, tickling, making out, closed-door sex, innuendo and other sexually-charged exchanges, light bondage (with magic), less romance more fwb vibe? you be the judge

minors dni: this fic does not contain smut, but does contain steamy moments and closed-door sex between the reader and an adult-aged character. I am not comfortable with engagement from anyone under the age of 18. Thank you for your understanding and respect.

note: horniest I'll ever be on main. future smut will be posted on nevermath.tumblr.com

The escape craft was some older thing. Ancient and rickety, by SHIELD standards. Definitely not built for an ice-storm.

You can't remember the last time you felt so unsafe in the air - and that included a handful of situations involving heat-seeking missiles, plummeting free-falls, and one especially memorable brush with a Chitauri cannon.

The turbulence knocks the controls hard to the left, you wrestle them back with a grunt, jaw tight, adrenaline burning under your skin. A flick of your eyes towards your passenger seat makes your blood pressure spike for an entirely different reason.

Loki looks bored.

Actually... worse; he looks vaguely amused.

He's lounging, one leg crossed over the other, hands steepled in his lap. Not a single hair out of place, nor muscle braced. Whether that means he trusts you to fly safely out of this storm, or simply doesn't care whether the damn thing goes down in flames, you're not sure. You don't ask.

You don't want the answer.

So when the radar pings a safe-house just a hundred clicks off-course, you make a hard turn toward it with zero apology.

The landing is rough. Metal groans as the craft slams down on a barely-visible patch of ice-washed earth. But she holds. Barely.

You unbuckle fast, tossing Loki a look over your shoulder. "Hope your highness can handle a night in a little mountain shack."

His brow raises. His smirk is slow, knowing.

You don't give him the satisfaction of looking flustered. You just shove the hatch open and duck out into the freezing sleet with a scoff.

You'd never usually leave a craft in the open like this, but the visibility is shit and the airspace is fucked; no one will be flying overhead - not even the combatants that'd been pursuing you fifty-odd clicks back.

The safe-house cabin appears like a ghost out of the storm, flickering through thick sheets of sideways rain. You reach the door, slap your hand on the bio scanner, and hear the click of the lock just as Loki falls into step and you both slip out of the weather.

The door shuts with a solid thud - and for the first time in hours, silence rings.

Peace. Safety.

Both of you stand still, breathing hard. You're not sure if it's the cold or the tension. Maybe both.

But it’s tranquil in here. Nice, even. Far from a little mountain shack.

You step further in, the dim lights automatically fading on, and you glance at the windows, which seem to be holding tight against the icy rain lashing against them. Wind howls through the trees and scratches at the glass like a leopard's claws, but the place seems solid.

No sooner had you stepped in further did thunder crack so close it felt like the gods were arguing just over the mountain-

Wait...

"That's not your brother, is it?" You look at Loki over your shoulder, half-joking.

"No," Loki's low, rich voice chuckles behind you. "Not nearly dramatic enough."

You're almost soaked-through from the dash, a chill threatening to settle into your bones, but you notice that, though isolated, the safe-house isn't freezing. The lights are low and warm, casting the room in comforting haze. It feels luxurious; hardwood floors, thick rugs, a fireplace in the centre of the wall, opposite to the kingsized bed draped in earth-coloured linens and furs and- wait. Fuck.

Bed. Singular.

You look around and quickly confirm the sheepish feeling sinking into you. This is a studio. Designed for one. Or for a couple.

Who... the fuck decided that only one bed was appropriate for safe house?

Instead of making it a big deal, you declare, "I'm going to shower to warm up."

Loki looks to the stone mantle and says "I'll make a fire."

But as soon as the word fire leaves his lips, the empty cavity hisses to life, flames beginning to spark and build. You bite your lip as Loki scowls.

"Spooky," you tease, twirling your finger to the ceiling. "The cabin must be haunted by helpful ghosts."

Loki swings that scowl on you, but softens it. "We do also have technology on Asgard, you smug little goblin."

You smirk and turn on your heel. "You keep calling me things like that and I'm gonna think you’re flirting."

"I am," he calls after you.

You don't dignify it with a reply. You also don't stop smiling as you close the bathroom door.

The bathroom, and the shower itself, match the quiet wealth of the rest of the place. Such a shame, you think as you let your shoulders ease under the spray, that this place must be empty most of the time. It's exactly the kind of place you can imagine yourself... being. Just relaxing, letting go. Preferably alone, considering the one-bed situation.

Your stomach pings in a cluster of nerves as you lather the fig and sandalwood suds over your skin, trying to scrub the tension from your shoulders - tension that, annoyingly, has less to do with the mission and more to do with the god in the other room.

Loki is… a menace. Not just in the field. Not just in battle. But here. In the quiet. In the glances. In the way he looks at you like he’s already peeled your thoughts apart and likes what he sees.

The bed is big, and it's not like you'd mind sharing it with Loki - you'd known since the first time you worked with the God of Mischief that you'd likely fall into bed together at some point or another - but this... it feels forced. Like two dolls some child is guiding into a kiss.

Soon you're standing in front of the mirror, brushing your teeth, wiping a path through the fog on the glass to look yourself in the eye and coach yourself mentally, as if you were a child: just because you're under the same covers does not mean you will have sex with him.

You feel your cheeks warm as you realise that Loki probably isn't thinking about any of this. At all. Even though he makes no efforts to hide his physical attraction to you, that doesn't mean he's... wanting, in the same way you are.

Besides, he's your mission partner. Your headache. Your shadow in the field. The beautiful thorn in your side when you're not under fire. Taking it further could make it messy.

You throw on some standard-issue lounge clothes; socks, underwear, sweat shorts, tank top, and a cloud-soft sweatshirt, all found in the bathroom's linen cupboard that must contain at least two dozen different size options.

When you walk back into the main area, the warmth instantly seeps into your skin like a gentle summer evening. One deep breath, and you've eased further.

Loki looks up from the couch where he's lounged with his head against the headrest, hands folded over his stomach. He's still in his tac gear.

"There's a change of clothes in there," you nod to the bathroom.

Loki's eyebrow lifts. In a slow pulse of green, his clothes change into a softer, yet seemingly still tailored, all-black set that covers his limbs entirely. It looks too good for something summoned out of spite. "Over my dead body," his eyes rake over you, critical on the surface, heated underneath.

With a roll of your eyes you make your way to the bed. "I'm tired," you say, seeing it in his eyelids. "Ready to sleep?"

"I'll tend to my needs and then take my rest here." He stands and heads towards the bathroom.

"Loki," you put a little casual laugh in your voice. He stops and turns his head. "The bed's huge. We can share it."

He doesn't say anything for a moment, and you're worried you've fucked it. That you've been presumptuous. That he's going to say something about how he'd rather die than share sheets with the likes of-

"Very well," he tilts his head in agreement, barely looking at you before he closes the bathroom door.

Internally, you're screaming. Outwardly, you're pressing the heels of your hands to your eyes, wondering if there was any possible way you could've made it more awkward.

You hear the shower spray and try to think about anything other than him in here.

Whatever. Whatever. You take a breath through your nose and slip under the sheets. The lights are still dim. You narrow your eyes, and test the cabin, saying "it's time to sleep."

The lights dim to nothing, the fire pulls back from roaring to gently crackling, creating a cozy atmosphere that's calling you to sleep. But the second you settle in, you get that sinking gut feeling that sleep isn't going to come easy. Your limbs are tired, your eyelids heavy, but your mind is still buzzing with adrenaline.

You're staring at the ceiling when Loki reenters, crosses the room, and slides into the sheets on the other side of the bed. And sure, the bed is big, but he's still less than an arm's length away. You didn't realise how close you'd feel until he was there.

"Sweet dreams," you say with a subtle teasing lilt to try and disguise your nerves, eyes still on the ceiling, fingers playing with the hem of your sweatshirt.

You hear his head turn to look at you. Hear a small, faintly amused puff of air through his nose. "Try not to dream about me too vividly. I don’t want to wake to you whimpering." He turns, back to you, and settles in.

You bite your lip, the heat returning tenfold, but you chuckle. “Who's the smug little goblin now."

In an effort to get the adrenaline out, to help your mind complete whatever it feels it needs to, you start replaying the mission in your head. Every bullet, every chase, every snarky little jab Loki threw at you in that seductive voice, every- ... oh shit.

You almost forgot.

You press your smiling lips together, suppressing the giggle threatening to betray you. But it slips out anyway - a little puff of laughter in the dark.

That moment. The one that sent you over the edge.

Loki shifts beside you. "Don’t start," he warns. His words are a blade being drawn from its sheath.

“I didn’t say anything," you retort, now openly grinning at the ceiling.

"You thought it," he snips. He knows exactly what you're thinking about and hates it already.

You roll onto your side to face him, arm tucked under your head. "I'm just remembering a moment from today. A glorious one."

He exhales through his nose. "You truly have a death wish."

You grin wider. "You ate shit so hard on that slippery boulder."

The silence between you stretches like wire. Taut. Dangerous.

You keep going anyway.

"One second you’re monologuing, all broody Asgardian menace - 'You dare challenge me?' - and the next? Boom. Legs in the air. Splashdown."

You can feel the heat rising from his side of the bed. His magic pulses just faintly through the room. Static before a lightning strike.

"If you were wise you'd shut your mouth," he says darkly, "before I'm forced to shut it for you."

You laugh again - quieter this time, taunting. "Oh yeah? What’s the plan - another lecture about respect?" You prop yourself up on an elbow, searching the air for more sass. "Or... just another bout of empty threats and semi-inappropriate workplace banter?"

Loki turns. Slowly. He shifts to mirror you - rising on one elbow, lifting his face so you can see him in the flicker of firelight.

And fuck... he looks dangerous like this. Hot and dangerous. Hair damp and curling at the ends, shadows cutting beneath his cheekbones, pale blue eyes locked on you like you’re something he’s actively backing into a corner.

He tilts his head, and, with a devastating sweetness, he says, slowly, "Tease me again, and I’ll put you on your back and tickle you until you sob."

You blink. "Huh-what?"

Loki leans in just slightly - close enough that his breath ghosts over your mouth. "You heard me. One more snide little comment and I'll have you writhing. I will take my time. And you will not know mercy."

Your brain flatlines. Your mouth parts. You should say something sharp - should snap back, keep the banter going - but your body betrays you with a single thud of heat low in your stomach.

He sees it.

Of course he fucking sees it.

Loki's eyes narrow and you know - you know he’s cataloging every flinch, every breath. "It's the perfect punishment, wouldn't you agree?" he continues softly, dangerously. "Intimate, humiliating… leaves no mark. You won’t run to your beloved Captain Rogers with bruises. Just memories you can’t scrub off."

Your throat’s dry. You manage a single nervous chuckle. "You wouldn’t."

He smirks like the mischief he is. "We both know I would."

You go quiet.

Dead quiet.

Because the worst part is, you don't know whether you want him to or not.

And Loki - bastard that he is - sees that, too. He leans back slowly, satisfaction dripping from every hard line of his body as he settles into the pillow again.

You lie there, heart pounding, every nerve on fire. The storm still rages outside, but now it's got competition.

Loki chuckles deep and low, and it feels like thunder cracking beneath your skin.

"Wise choice," he murmurs.

And fuck, you hate him.

You hate him.

Well... no.

You don't hate him.

And you hate that you don't hate him.

You shift under the covers, giving an exaggerated sigh as you turn away from him. "Jeez. You're so fucking dramatic," you mutter under your breath.

A mistake.

"Oh, you poor little fool."

A catastrophic mistake.

Before you can even suck in another breath, his magic crackles through the air. It's an electric, humming snap that raises the fine hairs on your arms a second before you feel it.

The pillowcase under your head moves. It slides off the cushion with a treacherous slither, wrapping itself around your wrists with a speed and precision that makes your stomach drop. You jerk instinctively, but it's too late - your hands are caught, ensnared, pinned above your head, wrists bound together tight enough to be secure but loose enough to tell you this is a game.

His game.

You barely manage a grunt of protest before Loki’s hands are on you - turning you onto your back in a fluid, almost lazy motion, like he’s not even trying. His fingers are wickedly strong around your waist, holding you down just long enough for him to shift, knee pressing between your legs, swinging himself up until he straddles your hips.

You struggle, wild and panicked, kicking your legs and jerking your torso, but you’re half-covered in blankets and utterly unprepared for a fight - in soft sleepwear, no armour - and he’s bigger, heavier, faster, magical.

You buck hard, trying to dislodge him, but all it earns you is a low, infuriating chuckle from above.

"Is this truly the best you can fight?" he purrs, tightening his grip just enough to remind you who’s in charge.

"Fuck you," you scowl, jerking your hands against the bonds.

"Rude." He tsks, smirking down at you, his hips pinning yours to the bed with effortless control. "And after I warned you so nicely."

You twist again, but it's useless. You’re stuck. Fully at his mercy.

And the worst part?

You can feel the slow, deliberate shift of his body against yours - his thigh pressing against your bare skin, the long line of him caging you in - and it sparks heat low in your gut that has nothing to do with rage.

"You can’t seriously - Loki, come on," you start, trying to wriggle your wrists free, but the enchanted fabric tightens at his will, dragging a frustrated, helpless sound from your throat. "This is stupid and dramatic. You proved your point, now let me go."

He just tilts his head, studying you like a cat might study a bird fluttering with a broken wing.

"Tell me," he murmurs, voice dangerously low as he settles further, "did you really think that would go unpunished?"

His hands start inching forward.

You glare. "I really think you’re a dickhead."

His eyes gleam, a spark of delight dancing at the edges. "Mm. Defiant. I expected nothing less."

His fingers descend like vipers, darting straight for your sides, and the second they make contact... fuck.

You jerk so violently the bed frame gives a protesting creak.

You arch instinctively, breath hitching, but you refuse to laugh. Refused to give him the satisfaction.

"Nothing?" he muses, leaning closer, eyes flaring in delight. "Oh, you’re going to be so fun."

You twist under him, trying to wriggle free. The pillowcase tightens slightly in response. You grit your teeth as he drags his fingers up and down your ribs with merciless precision.

You hold on, digging your heels into the mattress, biting your bottom lip hard. His touch is devastating. Too practiced. Light one moment, firm the next, zeroing in on your most sensitive spots with surgical precision.

And still, you don't laugh.

Until-

"Ah," Loki says softly. His fingers found it - a spot just beneath your left rib, sensitive as hell, one you hadn’t even known would betray you.

Your body jolts. A tiny gasp escapes your throat. Then, like a damn cracking, a laugh punches from your lungs.

Triumphant, Loki’s smirk deepens - not cruel, not quite - something darker, warmer. Endeared, even. And utterly smug.

"There it is," he whispers, tilting his head. "I knew you’d be a screamer."

You flush, full-body and furious. "I hate you," you huff through gritted teeth, breath coming fast.

He clicks his tongue. "Then you’ll loathe what comes next."

And then he really begins.

You couldn’t hold it in anymore. You burst with laughter, loud and sharp, your body trembling wildly beneath his tickling hands.

And gods, he’s good at it - depravedly good. His fingers dance, spider-light one moment, then digging mercilessly the next, zeroing in on every little vulnerable spot like he’s been studying you for months.

Which he probably has, the bastard.

You shriek again, trying to twist away, but his weight on your hips keeps you absolutely pinned.

"You should’ve held your tongue," Loki drawls, his voice maddeningly calm over your frantic squirming. His voice drops. "Gods, you’re responsive."

"I swear I'm gonna get you for this- SHIT!" you gasp out between bursts of helpless, writhing laughter, but the threats fall flat - your voice breaking with each choked, humiliating giggle he wrings from you.

"You’re welcome to try," he murmurs, dragging one hand from your side up under your sweatshirt to your underarm, circling lightly where the skin’s thinnest, most sensitive.

You convulse so hard under him you nearly tip him sideways, but Loki handles it easily, smirking like this is all beneath him - like your thrashing and desperate yelps are just entertainment.

He skims the pads of his fingers lightly over your stomach, watching with lazy amusement as you shudder uncontrollably.

You kick your legs, trying to knee him, but he just rides out the bucking like he’s enjoying it, settling heavier against you with a rough grind of his hips that makes your brain white out for a second - makes you way too aware of how warm he is. How solid.

"You are such a dick," you gasp, breathless.

"No," he grins. "I’m your reckoning."

You whimper - actually whimper - as he attacks your sides again, fast and brutal, forcing desperate laughter out of you until you’re gasping between giggles, your whole body arching and twisting under him.

Loki only hums thoughtfully, shifting his weight slightly so his hips press more firmly against yours - deliberately - and the new friction is a whole fresh hell you’re not prepared for.

Heat spikes through you, brutal and wanted, mixing with the overwhelming sensation of his hands tormenting your skin.

He sees it.

Of course he fucking sees everything.

And the bastard has the audacity to smile wider. Slow, wolfish, knowing. His fingers skitter up your sides again, sending you into another fit of helpless, humiliating giggles.

"Fuck! This is so messed up-"

"You could have avoided this," he drawls, utterly unbothered. "All you had to do was keep that clever little mouth shut."

You grit your teeth, trying to focus. "This- this is petty. This is some villain-ass shit. No wonder Thor used to kick your ass when you were younger."

"Oh?" he says, digging his fingers against the fabric covering the soft space under your arms, dragging a laugh straight from your lungs. "You want to talk about childhood trauma now? In the middle of this? How very Avenger of you."

You throw your head back and laugh through gritted teeth, managing a whiny: "I really hate you."

He laughs. "You wish." His hands dive back to your sides.

"I wait- Loki- okay please!" you gasp, twisting hard, but the pillowcase tightens again, holding your wrists captive.

"Oh, now you beg?" Loki teases, fingers squeezing at your waist until your whole body bucks. "Where was this charming submission before?"

You shake your head wildly, laughing so hard your ribs hurt, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes. Every time you think he’s about to let up, he switches tactics - light teasing along your stomach, a wicked squeeze at your hips, brutal tickling up your ribs again until you’re choking on helpless giggles.

He finds the hollow just above your hip bone and presses - firm and slow.

You squeal. Actually squeal.

He grins wider.

"Oh, you sweet thing," he purrs. "I could do this all night."

You swear at him in every language you know.

He just chuckles darkly, slow and satisfied, like he’s feasting on your misery.

"Say you’re sorry."

You growl through clenched teeth, body trembling from the effort to wrench free.

"Never."

He pauses. Cocks a brow.

Then he leans down. Slowly. Until his nose brushes yours.

You take a shuddering breath in, still panting, now caught in a frantic freeze state. Like your base animal instincts are twisted into some weird belief that if you don't move he won't see you.

"Never?"

Your heart flutters at his low, commanding voice. The pure heat in it, so obviously intentional.

The pads of his fingertips and the faint graze of his blunt nails tease along the bare skin where your tank has ridden up. Your fingers tighten around the pillow case.

"Then I suppose..." he starts, sliding his hands higher. Palms smoothing against your sides, fingers trailing, taunting.

"You and I..." You feel the curve of his grin in his voice. "...will be here a very… very long time.”

You gasp when you feel his fingers press against the bare skin of your lowest ribs. "N-n-no-nnn-!"

But your protests are swallowed in laughter. Drowned in gasps and cackles. You're out of breath, out of threats, out of any form of resistance.

Loki's dark chuckle sings against your ear. Sends tiny sparks of pleasure down the skin of your neck.

And he keeps going - meticulous and devastating - drawing it out until you’re breathless, boneless, wrists still trapped high above your head, body burning with exertion and heat and something darker, something hotter, curling low in your belly and spreading like wildfire.

"Okay- okay okay!" You squeak, some high and helpless whine in the back of your throat. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry- please stop it!"

Loki finally slows, dragging one last, maddening trail up your side that makes you jerk involuntarily.

He sits back, straddling your hips lazily, surveying you. Admiring his work. His hair is wild around his face, his eyes bright with wicked satisfaction, incandescent with smug delight. His gaze stays locked on you, drinking in every breathless tremor.

You glare up at him, chest heaving, cheeks burning, completely at his mercy - and the way he looks at you, the way you feel under his hands... you can't show it.

"That..." you pant, "was an egregious HR violation."

"Oh dear," Loki rolls his eyes. "The paperwork."

"Oh, I'll show you fuckin' paperwork-"

"What shall it say, darling? How will you explain this? I'm so terribly fascinated by the prospect of our little tryst becoming immortalised in public record."

"That was not a tryst that was an attack and - hey, fuck you, untie me - it was uncalled for."

Perfectly in time with the raising of his brow, the pillowcase around your wrists loosen. But Loki makes no effort to get off you.

And you make no effort to push him off, even as you prop yourself up by the elbows, chin tilted back to look him in the eye.

"Poor thing," he soothes. And with that teasing edge, there's a softness. A devastatingly gentle thread of temptation laced through his voice. His smirk. His sheer fucking audacity.

He cocks his head to one side, pushing the damp curls back from his face, regarding you with a lazy challenge. "Was the big bad God of Mischief too hard on you?"

You lower your brow and pout, "Yes."

His head turns the other way. His smirk is devastating. "Do you need me to kiss it better?"

Every bit of heat in your over-exerted body goes to one of two places, and your lips part with a puff of air, almost like you'd been winded.

That small, insecure part of you whispers that this is a cruel trick. That he's having you on. He doesn't mean it, he-

Fuck.

Your breath hitches when the back of his hand finds your lower stomach. Your fists tighten as he trails his knuckles along the soft, exposed skin, his eyes not leaving yours. You swallow. He lifts a brow. A quiet question.

Your tongue slips out to wet your drying lips. "Maybe."

It's pitiful, but it's the only word you think you can say without it wobbling and-

Loki's shaking his head, shifting backward, lower. "I need a yes."

"Yes, then."

"And a please."

"Go fuck yourself."

He chuckles. "So sulky. What am I going to do with you?"

But before you can answer, his lips meet bare skin. Your back arches when his mouth brushes low across your stomach, just above the waistband of your shorts. He’s barely kissing - it's more breath than lips - but every exhale is warm and deliberate, as if he's savouring the feel of your skin against his mouth.

"You’re far too brazen for someone so soft," he murmurs. His fingers press just beside your hipbone, not quite pinching, not quite tickling, just enough to make your thighs twitch and your breath catch. "So easily undone, and still mouthing off."

His lips trail a slow line across your abdomen, kissing deliberately, as if each inch deserves reverence. Then- a single puff of air against your navel, followed by a nip of his teeth that makes your hips jerk.

You yelp. "Hey!"

He grins against your skin. "Thought you'd lost your voice for a moment."

The muscles of his shoulders dance under his shirt as he slowly pulls himself higher, chest brushing yours, hands planted by your head as he mouths a trail down your neck, grazing his teeth along the slope of your collar. Just enough to make your skin sing.

He lowers himself onto you carefully, hands dragging down your sides again, this time with full intention. His palms cup your waist, pulling you up into him.

The friction is electric.

Your chest heaves, thighs trembling under the weight of him - and he takes his sweet, unhurried time, moving over you like a storm in slow motion. He kisses the erratic pulse beneath your ear, nips, soothes, nudges his nose against your neck as your fists curl in his hair.

Your breath stutters when he finally pulls back enough to look at you.

Hair wild, breath shallow, eyes locked on yours like he wants to memorise every flicker of thought passing behind them.

He dips lower.

This time, his lips ghost over yours.

Once.

Twice.

Not kissing you. Not yet. Just tasting the shape of your mouth with his breath, taunting the final inches that separate you.

"Ask me," he murmurs, so soft you almost miss it.

Your jaw flexes.

"No."

He gives a dark chuckle. The sound brushes your lips. "Still so proud. Even now."

You glare, but the heat in your cheeks betrays you.

He leans in again, mouth brushing yours. "You want me."

Your breath catches.

"You want me," you retort.

He smirks. Hums. Kisses the corner of your mouth.

Just once.

Then the other.

Teasing. Gentle. Laying claim with infuriating grace.

You feel your eyes flutter.

He lingers. Breath to breath. Lips agonising close to yours.

"Say it," he breathes.

And you can’t anymore.

You’re done pretending.

"Just-... kiss me," you rasp.

And Loki does.

Not rough. Not possessive.

Deep. Measured. Devastatingly thorough.

His mouth moves over yours with patience, with precision, like he wants to map every gasp you give him and drag them out for his own pleasure.

You groan into it before you even know it’s happening.

Your hands twist in his hair as he deepens the kiss, tongue teasing your bottom lip before claiming more, drawing it out, savouring the moment like a rare vintage.

You kiss him back harder.

Because gods help you, you’ve wanted this. For too long. Through too many missions and almost-maybes and can’t-haves and don’t-even-think-about-its.

And now he’s everywhere.

His hands are under your tank top, resting against your waist as he keeps you under him. His body presses down, moulding into yours, every inch of him demanding and anchoring and terrifying in the way it feels so right.

You gasp into his mouth when his hand skims higher, palm dragging heat up your side, sliding beneath the edge of your top without hurry. Not groping. Just... feeling. Claiming space.

Your hips lift without your permission, chasing friction, chasing him.

He groans softly into your mouth. You swallow it greedily.

Loki pulls back just slightly, breathing hard. His forehead rests against yours, both of you straining against the gravity of the moment.

Still not enough.

His hands tense with the last dregs of his self-control, his body pressing down as if to imprint the shape of you onto his bones.

"You want this?" He pants. “You want me?”

"Yes," you gutter out. "Gods, yes."

He smirks against your lips. "Swearing to gods now, are we?" One hand slides back down your waist, hooking under your thigh, hitching it up over his hip. "How flattering."

When the radio on your tac vest wakes you with an alert of incoming comms, the first thing you register is the cold.

Then the ache - deep, lazy, sated - a bruised exhaustion thrumming through every muscle. Your brain struggles up from a black ocean of sleep just as the radio, somewhere across the room, starts crackling to life.

Loki groans low beside you. You feel the movement - sheets slipping off marble skin, the faint stretch of long limbs - and you grunt, rolling onto your stomach, grinding your forehead into the pillow. Everything hurts in a way that makes your mouth curl into a smug little smile against the linen.

The night comes back in flashes. Sharp. Shattering.

Claws-in, teeth-bared, breathless destruction of all the tension that had simmered between you for months. You hadn't so much fallen into bed with him as wrecked each other - over and over again - until your bodies finally gave out, tangled in the wreckage.

Maybe an hour of sleep. Maybe two. Not enough to be functional.

You groan as you push yourself upright, the blanket sliding off your bare back.

Loki sits at the other edge of the bed, dragging a hand through his wild, tangled black hair. The dim morning light coming through the frosted windows slices across his bare shoulders, illuminating the faint, red half-moon marks you left raked into his skin.

You'd be smug about it if your legs would fucking work.

The radio then crackles with the pilot's message:

"Seven minutes out. Chopper can't land. Buckle in for hover extraction."

You swear under your breath, shivering as the cold air hits you. You stagger toward the pile of tactical gear you’d dumped near the fireplace, yanking on your thermals, combat pants, boots, shirt, jacket, ignoring the way Loki watches you, one arm braced casually on his knee, the other draped over his thigh.

Comfortable. Loose. Dangerous.

You grab your tactical vest and the climbing harness slung over it, trying to move quickly, but your hands are clumsy, your joints stiff and sleep-starved. The straps tangle. You hiss in frustration, tugging at them.

Then, you hear the bed creak.

You feel him stand.

You don't turn.

Loki approaches with slow, measured, deliberate steps across the wooden floor. Each one a promise.

The air crackles between you, sharp and bright.

By the time he stops behind you, you’re holding the harness out in front of you like an fool, still wrestling it into some recognisable shape. You can practically hear the smirk in his silence.

He reaches out and, without a word, takes the harness from your fingers.

You lift your chin, refusing to look at him.

His knuckles brush yours. Not an accident.

You glare at the wall in front of you as he circles, slow and lazy.

Then he kneels. Right in front of you.

Looking up, lazy and wicked, his hair falling forward like a curtain of night sky. His body is bruised, unbothered, utterly relaxed. It should be illegal for anyone to look that composed after what the two of you did.

His hands move to your thigh, looping the first strap around it with maddening care. He doesn't rush. Just smooths it in place and gives it a slow, tightening pull. You feel it bite into your skin, feel his fingers curl with precision.

"You seem... compromised," Loki says lightly, his fingers brushing against your bare skin where your pants gap slightly at the hip.

You narrow your eyes.

Another strap glides between your thighs. His hands are firm, his thumbs brushing near places he has no business touching right now, not unless he wants round two on the cold floor. Maybe he does.

"Compromised?" you repeat, voice scratchy with lack of sleep and and too many hours of sinning.

He flashes a slow grin, wicked and pleased with himself, fingers tightening the strap until it bites your hip.

"Fatigued. Shaky. Thoroughly plundered," he drawls. "Tell me, darling - whoever could be responsible for that?"

You snort, pressing your lips together hard to bite back the traitorous smile twitching there.

"Self-satisfied bastard."

He smirks. "I do take pride in my work."

He pulls another strap between your legs, adjusting the belt with slow, taunting movements that are absolutely unnecessary and make you grind your teeth.

You narrow your eyes. “You’re doing this on purpose.”

"Doing what?" His voice is all innocence, but his hands are anything but. "Making sure you don’t fall out of your harness mid-air? You're welcome."

His fingers ghost under the hem of your top, smoothing the waistband flat against your belly. Every touch is too much. Too slow. You hold perfectly still, trying not to tremble.

"You’re not subtle," you mutter, raising a brow as you feel your lips flush.

"Ironic," he muses in satisfied purr, "coming from someone who, not four hours ago, was screaming herself hoarse begging for-"

You kick him lightly in the shin. He catches your ankle with lightning speed, holding it aloft for a second, grinning up at you like the absolute bastard he is.

"Temper," he tuts, releasing you.

He finishes the rest methodically, hands sliding around you with the same precision he uses when breaking into a vault - like he already knows where you’re most vulnerable.

"You know," he says lightly, eyes fixed on the buckles, "I should do this more often. Watching you squirm while I dress you. It’s…" He clicks the buckle shut with a soft snap. "Endearing."

You refuse to shiver. Refuse to give him the satisfaction. But you're admittedly speechless.

When he finally sits back on his heels, looking up at you, his eyes are molten as he whispers:

“Perfect.”

You roll your eyes and lean down to grab the carabiner clips, but Loki beats you to it.

He stands.

One slow movement - shoulders rising, body unfolding to full height - and you suddenly feel too small in his shadow, the air sucked clean from your lungs.

He steps in close, smooths a hand over the centre strap down your chest, fingers dragging slowly. Then he reaches for the buckle at your waist and snaps it into place with a decisive click.

You feel the strength of it reverberate through you, far more intimate than it has any right to be.

And he doesn’t let go.

Instead, he curls his fingers around the central loop, just above your navel, and lifts.

Effortlessly.

You don’t even have time to react before your boots leave the floor. Your breath hitches. Your hands scramble for balance, but he just stands there - arm slightly bent, muscles slack, holding you aloft with casual strength, like you weigh nothing at all.

Your eyes snap to his.

He doesn’t smirk. Doesn’t leer.

He just watches you - dark and still, like he’s waiting to see what you’ll do. His grip is unbreakable, his expression unreadable.

The air between you goes molten.

He holds you there for a full, punishing heartbeat. Then another. And another.

Then, finally - finally - he lowers you, so slow you swear he’s savouring every inch of contact as your body slides back into place.

Your boots touch the floor. Barely.

"Perfect," he murmurs again. "Safe and sound."

Your breath stutters. You feel warm all over. Unmoored.

"You done?" you rasp, not trusting your voice.

He chuckles, quiet and pleased. "Oh, not even close."

You exhale through your nose, clenching your fists at your sides to keep from grabbing him.

The radio crackles again: "On approach. Be ready. Thirty seconds."

You tighten your shoulder straps brutally, trying to focus. Trying not to think about how he still smells like smoke and sweat and you.

Loki finally magics on his gear, lazy and unconcerned, buckling himself in with casual grace. You want to slap him. Or straddle him again. It's really fucking hard to tell.

The storm had eased a little - less hectic wind but still smatterings of icy rain. The helicopter blades whir louder, slicing the air like a knife through satin, as you reluctantly leave the cabin behind and run, side-by-side with Loki, the short distance to the pickup point.

You clip yourself and him to the main retrieval cable, double-checking the lines with stiff, professional efficiency.

Your hands brush at the connection point. He catches your fingers in his and holds them just long enough to make your pulse stutter.

"You're trembling," he says barely over the wind, eyes glinting.

"Shut up," you mutter, clicking the radio twice to signal all is good. Pushing his hands away from the line so his skin doesn’t catch.

He chuckles, deep and low.

Above you, the cable jerks taut, the winch starting to pull.

You and Loki are yanked upward together, slammed chest-to-chest, bodies colliding with force as you're hauled into the storm-torn sky.

Your breath catches. Loki grins down at you, devilish.

"Another round when we get back?" he calls into your ear over the wind.

You narrow your eyes, baring your teeth in a wicked smile.

"Only if you leave your harness on."

He throws his head back and laughs - a wild, delighted sound ripped away by the screaming wind - as the two of you disappear into the storm.

.

.

[peter-parkers-left-pinky]

(Y/n): Do you cook?

Natasha: I made a cake once.

Yelena: Yeah, it was good.

Natasha: Really?

Yelena: Don’t make me lie twice, Natasha.

[imagine-docx]

library hideaway.

Summary: You find an old, quiet corner of the library to hide from Flash to study in peace. Turns out, that’s Peter's spot. [college!au]

Warnings: none that I can remember.

A/N: new work? again? who am i? - amanda 💛

There is no such thing as being popular on this university campus. The only way to be considered ‘well-known’ was to be in the student union. And that was how you became ‘popular’. 

You were the president of the university’s student union. You advocated for academic support, mental and personal support, social belonging, and so forth. 

You had to build yourself for that role. You were an introvert at heart. You would rather shy away from the spotlight and hangout by yourself. But you always believed in advocating for other people’s rights and would put aside your introverted-ness to help those who needed it.

Your social battery was on the brink of dying, you were surrounded by so many people and you just wanted to go home and study for your bioethics midterm. You were walking with them and were focused on your phone, Flash wrapped his arm around your shoulder, “You coming with us for burgers?”

You shrugged his arm off, “No, I’ll pass.”

“Oh come on,” he whined.

“Flash, I’m good. I’m not hungry.” You said.

“Wherever you go I’ll come.” He responded.

“I’m gonna go to the library and study,” you said.

“You’re the president of the student union, why should you even study? You can dispute it.” You shot him a glare.

“It’s true,” he shrugged.

The more Flash spoke, the more you felt the urge of bashing your head into a steel door on campus. “I’m just gonna go to the washroom, I’ll meet you there.” You said, excusing yourself.

You walked into the washroom and held onto the counter and put your head down. You just wanted to be left alone and to study but Flash just wanted to annoy your soul.

You walked out and walked into the library, you noticed him at the tables in the far left corner and decided to snake around the bookstacks to avoid him. You were walking through the stacks before you found the perfect corner. You could tell it was less frequented because dust caked the pulp western books.

You dropped your bag and sat on the floor. Your eyes were starting to burn so you switched out of your contacts into your glasses. You took out the printed sheet of the midterm guide and your iPad and started reading through the lecture notes you took throughout the semester. 

You were so immersed into the lecture on Selective Memory in Aging Populations, until the faint sound of ABBA broke your train of thought. You looked up, “Oh sorry, I didn’t know someone was here,” he shyly said.

“Oh no, I’m sorry, is this your study spot? I’ll move!” You said, grabbing your stuff.

“No you don’t have to move!” He said putting his arms out stopping you.

“It’s okay! This is your spot,” you said, “Wait, aren’t you in my bioethics class? You sit at the front,” you tried searching through your memory for his name, “Peter!”

“You know who I am? You’re the student union president and you know who I am?” He asked, a little shocked.

“Who doesn’t you’re like one of the smartest kids,” you said, “Take your spot, I can go get a table.”

“Wait, are you studying for the midterm, ‘cause if you’re studying for it, maybe we can study together, but you don’t have to if you want,” he babbled.

“I was studying for that midterm,” you smiled, “We can study together.”

You and Peter took a seat back on the floor, he took out his laptop and you two were slowly going through the lectures together.

He took his time explaining the things you were unsure of, which you were eternally grateful for because it saved you from going to office hours. 

You two went through all the lectures that were going to be on the midterm and were even quizzing each other.

The lights flickered in the library which signaled that the library is going to close in 15 minutes. You two stopped talking about school and started finding things you had in common while packing up your stuff. “I always thought I was ancient listening to ABBA,” you joked.

“I love my 70s and 80s music,” he said, zipping up his backpack. 

“You’re a man of taste,” you said, joking.

You and him were walking out of the library, “Are you going to the office?” He asked.

“I went in this morning,” you adjusted your bag strap, “I think I’m gonna go home.”

“Oh,” Peter said.

“Wait, are you hungry? Apparently there’s a hidden gem ramen restaurant near campus, if you would like, we can try it?” you asked.

“You want to go with me?” he asked, a little stunned.

“Yeah, why not?”

“You could choose anyone in the student union or any of your friends-” He started.

“You helped me study for my midterm, I owe you one,” you smiled at him.

“Sure,” he said coyly. 

˖  ݁𖥔.☁︎.𖥔 ݁ ˖

You learned a lot about Peter over ramen, he was really into STEM subjects and would rather be told to do chemical compounds than write an essay, he loves sci-fi and fantasy. On the other hand he learned that you were also into sci-fi and fantasy.

Peter was walking you home and you two were continuing the conversation you had earlier and learning more about each other. “How did you get into the student union?” He asked.

“Honestly I have no idea,” you shrugged, “I was in and somehow I got elected to be president.”

“Do you like it?” He asked, adjusting the backpack on his shoulder.

“Keeps me busy,” you joked.

The two of you stopped in front of your building, “Are you sure I’m not putting you out of your way?” 

“I owe you because you paid for ramen,” he said.

“But you taught me stuff I didn’t understand,” you countered.

“I’ll see you soon Peter?” You asked.

“Yeah!” He smiled at you.

˖  ݁𖥔.☁︎.𖥔 ݁ ˖

Since then, you and Peter always met in the pulp western stacks once a week and studied together. But you two also exchanged contact information so you guys were exchanging memes almost everyday. 

Today, you two finished doing your worksheets for bioethics early and were sitting and exchanging snacks and conversation.

“How did you find this?” You asked.

“I was actually into pulp western for a second and found no one came here, and now I just study here,” he popped a gummy bear into his mouth, “How did you find it?”

“I’m very passionate about pulp westerns,” you joked.

“You constantly surprise me,” he joked.

˖  ݁𖥔.☁︎.𖥔 ݁ ˖

You were walking to your afternoon bioethics lecture when you felt an arm wrapped around your shoulder. Unconsciously you rolled your eyes knowing it was Flash, “Where are you going today?”

“The same class that I have had for an entire semester,” you bluntly stated, shrugging his arm off you again. 

“Skip class, you’re already passing,” He said, “Let’s go do something.”

“Flash, I am not doing that,” you stated flatly.

Flash was in the middle of persuading you to try and leave class and wrapped his arm around you. That was until your eyes landed on Peter standing outside of the lecture hall. 

You immediately pushed Flash off of you and made a beeline to Peter. “Hi Peter!” You exclaimed enthusiastically. 

˖  ݁𖥔.☁︎.𖥔 ݁ ˖

You were leaving the student union office and were walking to the library to meet Peter for your usual meet up. You noticed Peter walking in front of you and was on the phone, and were going to call out but some words caught your attention.

“I don’t know what to do,” Peter said, “I really do like her, and I love these hangouts but Flash is always draping his arms around her and is hanging out with her. I feel like I don’t have a chance.”

You connected the dots, Peter was interested in you.

You felt so much relief hearing those words. You slowly started harbouring feelings for him. He was always so gentle with you, and you guys had so much in common, it was hard not to catch feelings.

But the absolute bane of your existence was somehow still screwing this up for you. Flash was like a speck of glitter you could not get rid of.

You took a little bit of a detour to find Flash before going to meet with Peter.

˖  ݁𖥔.☁︎.𖥔 ݁ ˖

You rushed into the library, your conversation with Flash took a little longer than you anticipated. You did text Peter that you would be a little bit later than you thought, lying and blaming it on a meeting. You picked up his favourite gummy bears as an apology gift from the student centre. 

You made your way to the pulp western section and saw Peter scribbling in his STEM notebook. “I brought gummy bears as a peace offering.”

“I was wondering when you would arrive,” he said, putting down the notebook.

“Got lost on my way,” you joked, sitting down and handing him the gummy bears.

He cleared his throat and looked at you, more seriously this time. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course,” you said.

Peter glanced down at the gummy bears, then back up at you. His voice was a little shaky. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“Why do you hang out with me?” he asked, eyes meeting yours. “You’re... you. You’ve got everything going on, and people are constantly pulling you in a million directions. But somehow, you still make time for this, for me.”

Your heart gave a small, nervous lurch. But instead of pulling away from it, you let yourself smile.

“It does,” you said softly. “It means a lot.”

Peter looked surprised but still unsure. “So… you feel the same?”

You nodded, your smile deepening. “I wouldn’t be hiding in a dusty corner of the library with anyone else, Peter. I like you. I’ve liked you for a while. I just… didn’t know if you felt the same.” 

Peter let out a breath that sounded like relief and laughed quietly. “Flash was around you so often, I was so convinced I didn’t have a chance because of him.”

“I literally duck behind shelves to avoid him,” you joked, “How do you think I ended up here?”

He grinned, and for a moment, the air between you shifted.

“Okay,” he said. “So what now?”

You looked down at the gummy bears between you. “Now we study. And maybe after that we go back to that ramen shop. Not gonna lie, I’ve been thinking about that miso ramen for weeks now.”

He smiled. “It’s a date.”

[thewritergremlin-rae]

Hi! If you wanted to could you write a Soulmate AU or Drunken confessions (Loki x reader) pls thanks <333

Thanks for the request anon! I have way too many soulmate AU ideas already so I went with drunken confessions ehehehe

A Casual Exchange

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Rating: M

Words: 763

Content: 2nd person, fluff, drunken/tipsy reader

Summary: Your night winds to a close - your parting words leaving Loki stunned.

AO3: HERE

Banner by cafekitsune

You hadn’t meant to get drunk. 

No. Really. 

You’d been nursing one glass, only it had never ended. You had a feeling your favourite Asgardian had something to do with it. Plopping down on the couch, your drink sloshed but you didn’t feel a splash and, looking over at Loki, none of it had spilt on him either. 

Your eyes got a little stuck on Loki, like they always did. Such a beautiful being. Skin - flawless, cheekbones - sharp enough to cut yourself on, legs - never ending. 

The sound of him clearing his throat brought your gaze back to his face but you didn’t feel any of that familiar, heavy embarrassment in your stomach. You laughed as he arched a delicate eyebrow. 

“Yes, dear?” His eyes sparkled with mischief, his gaze washing over your swaying, the slight dazed look in your eyes, and the curve of your lips as you giggled. 

The giggling was his favourite. 

“Are you having fun, Loki?” You laid your arm out over the back of the couch and flopped your head down on it as you waited for his answer. Fingers caught the end of his curls, twisting and twirling them, brain fizzing and focusing on the silky feel. 

Loki snorted softly, you having no idea you’d missed his answer. “You seem to be having far more fun.” 

You giggled again and tugged a little on the curl, watching it bounce back into place. “Yeah…  Do you use magic on these?” You flicked a curl again and his long fingers curled around your traitorous ones. 

“No, that would be pointless when I can simply use products. And I certainly would never be so strange as Midgardians as to put dangerous chemicals in my hair to change the colour.” 

Your eyebrows furrowed as you processed the information. “Guess you’re right. See, that’s why humans should be feared. What other race kept eating mushrooms until they found the ones that made them trip balls?”

“You also season your food with peppers that developed semi-poisonous defense mechanisms to avoid being eaten, your race deciding that that makes them taste good.” 

You laughed and grinned. “Jalapeno poppers are the best and you’re just jealous you don’t have processed sugar on your planet.”

Loki gave an elegant shrug. “I concede that chocolate is certainly one of your species’ better inventions.” He smiled, pulling a bar seemingly from nowhere as he traded it for your drink. 

Probably a good idea, you were just on the edge of sober enough to know that as you dug in and nibbled. “Thanks, Loki, you’re the best.” 

A subtle twitch in his expression caught your eye but you weren’t sharp enough to figure it out right now. Actually, Loki should have some of this chocolate too but his hands were pretty full. 

You snapped off a piece and held it to his lips, grinning when he accepted it with nothing more than a cocked eyebrow. But he soon got his own back, dragging a gasp from your soft lips when he nipped the tip of your thumb. 

You stared at your thumb as you brought it back to you. It tingled a little, still warm. 

“A good idea. Good night.” 

A distant laugh had the sounds of the party around you filtering back in and you realised it’s a little loud. “Me and the chocolate are going to go to bed.”

Loki seemed a little sad to lose your company but perhaps he shouldn’t have refilled your cup so much. No-one was ever thankful for a hangover. 

“Night night, Loki. Love you.” You leaned forward with a bounce to kiss his cheek and got to your feet, leaving him stunned.

Did you just say…

You waved to him as if you didn’t just profess your love for him and disappeared inside the elevator. How could you not realise….? 

You hummed to yourself, nibbling at the chocolate. Head empty, no thoughts as you crossed to your bedroom door. 

Wait.

Did you say ‘love you’ to Loki? Your brain slowly swung back to the memory and your eyes widened when you heard the words in your own voice. 

Oh shit. You hurried back to the elevator, cut short by the appearance of a firm chest in your narrowed field of vision.

“Did we perhaps realise what we said, love?” Loki whispered, hoping he looked not the least bit flustered by your casual admission. His arms caught you and held you close before he caught your lips. 

“Loki…” you breathed and he chuckled. 

“I might be persuaded to remind you come morning.” 

Want to be tagged in future Loki fic? Go here

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Tags: @kindadolly

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[justkending]

Mr. & Mrs. Hunt (Chapter 3/7)

Mini-Series Summary: Two of the most stubborn people in the group partnered together for an undercover mission are also the two people with the most hatred for each other, so what could go wrong? Or is it, what COULDN’T go wrong?…

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger Reader

Word Count: 2100+

A/N Note: I was typing away for the next chapter to come, so chapter 4 will be posted tomorrow (it will also be longer too)! Thank you again for all the support and love you've shown me for this series :) Love all you guys!

_________________

Bucky’s POV:

Why’d I think she’d be able to handle an adult conversation as soon as I started getting serious? When will I fucking learn?

I waited until Y/N shut her door before I went back out to the living room. She drove me insane, but I decided to keep up the habit of staying up late for her. 

During one of her drunken nights at one of Tony’s galas, she had revealed that she preferred sleeping when someone else was awake. In exposing her reason why, it made me sympathize with her trauma. 

“It’s like having a night watch. If someone else is aware, I can put my guard down. Not that that even happens often enough, but I'm sure you get it,” Y/N drunkenly swayed the skirt of her silk dress from left to right as she watched the people on the dancefloor.

I knew the feeling of never being able to fully settle into sleep or relaxation because you’d seen all the horrors in the world. We knew what lurked out there and the consequences of someone getting the jump on you.

So, from the first night here, I would stay up in the living room until midnight, sometimes later. Like clockwork, soon after 11 pm, she’d startle awake from a nightmare. I could hear her breathing and heart rate thanks to my enhancements, and I may or may not have channeled them into her room, given the nightmares she’d had in the past. 

So far, there were none so bad to the point I had to go in and check on her, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t tuned in to her room and checking every night in case the tides turned. 

Even on the nights she frustrated me like tonight and made me reconsider why I was about to talk to her about… this. This chemistry that was starting to feel closer to real than fake. A feeling I can’t seem to shake, and now I’m wondering if I’m imagining it. Especially when she can’t seem to turn off her annoyance for me even when I think we finally have met in the middle to some extent.

Then again, I lead on that I don’t understand her when it’s quite the opposite. Her story is not far from most of the people who are recruited into our team. A form of a hostage situation where her choices were taken, and she was conditioned to serve some sadistic asshole until she was freed by her own doing. At least her own variation of that… Anyone coming from that kind of situation tends to bond easily over the trauma. 

Not Y/N though…

I never start by being rude to someone. I mean, I’ve been told I’m intimidating and can come off as a terrifying giant assassin, but people in the same field who have seen far worse don’t tend to take that personally, considering almost everyone I work with knows my backstory and the reason behind my resting-assassin-face. 

But Y/N, for some reason, was very standoffish with me from the get-go. For the first few months of us knowing each other, she ignored me, left the room when I came in, found an excuse for another partner on missions, and a list of other things that quickly made me believe she wanted nothing to do with me. 

I may have reciprocated her behavior here and there, growing her annoyance with me even though I didn’t know where the annoyance had begun. I couldn’t help it, given the nasty looks and pure irritation that steamed off her when she looked my way.

I think the sentiment behind her feelings towards me still stands. But then her comment tonight, “I don’t hate you,” got to me.

I threw the laptop I had tried to use to distract myself again to the side. The TV was on, but all I heard was the patterned thumping in my chest starting to grow. 

“No. I want to know fucking why,” I grumbled, standing up abruptly and stomping down the hall to the master bedroom.

The door was shut, and from how she looked, she may have already tucked into bed for the night, but oh well. We were going to talk this out. I couldn’t go another day trying to decipher these feelings and confusions. 

I heard a “Jesus!” from the other side after my metal arm rapped three strong knocks in the center of the light sage-colored door. I banged again when I didn’t hear movement to follow up with it. 

“Calm down, Paul Bunyan! No need to chop the damn door down. I was seconds from sleep,” she groaned before the door flung open, and she squinted up at me with the hall light bringing brightness to her near pitch-dark room. “What? What is it?” Before I could start my sentence, she tensed and looked around me vigilantly. “Shit. Did something happen?” 

I shook my head quickly and instantly saw her shoulders go back and the grogginess return. 

“I want to talk.” 

She screwed her eyebrows up at me. “Dude. Seriously?” 

“Seriously, dude,” I replied sarcastically, pushing past her into her room, turning on the light, and hearing a protest I was too annoyed to listen to.

“It can’t wait until fucking morning when my brain isn’t at 2%?” She crossed her arms, watching me from the doorway. 

“Be real. Your brain doesn’t go below 75% even when you’re sleeping,” I answered, knowing the reality of never being able to shut off fully. Being constantly aware and on the edge of your seat, ready to pounce. 

She eyed me since it wasn’t necessarily a diss, and I could see her debating whether or not it was a compliment. 

“What do you-” 

“You say you don’t hate me, but it sure as fuck doesn’t feel like it. From day one, it has felt the very opposite of that,” I cut her off with a harsh laugh at the end, getting right to the chase. 

I’m standing at the end of her bed, arms crossed, and keeping an intense stare on her. Her stance straightens, and she shuffles her weight on her feet, arms mimicking mine. 

“I thought you didn’t want to talk about it,” she said in a guarded tone. “What changed?” 

“I can’t go on with this if I don’t know,” I answered honestly, motioning between us. 

“I argue you have to go on with this either way.” She popped a hip, leaning against the threshold of the door frame. 

“Y/N,” I level my eyes at her, and I can see her take in the seriousness in my features. “Just tell me why.” 

She looks at me with a tilt of her head as if considering her options in how she wants to approach this conversation. 

“We just don’t- mesh well…” she says slowly as if trying to sell it, but even she knew she was lying out of her ass. 

“Bullshit. Try again,” I shook my head once and kept my eyes trained on her. 

“Bullshit? You wanted to know-”

“I wanted to know the truth. You’re selling bullshit, and not very well, might I add. Be honest. Now.” 

She huffed a laugh before blinking at me. 

“We’re the same ranking if you’ve forgotten. Therefore, I won’t be taking commands from you, especially with that tone. But since you’re so hellbent on knowing my reasoning, maybe consider how you talk to me.” She took three slow steps closer to me as she spoke. “So ask me again without being a military servant, and maybe I’ll consider staying civil with you.” 

She is one of a very select few kinds of people actually able to intimidate me. Her story was one to compete against mine. Though not many knew all the details since she was adamant about people being in the dark about it, we all knew what she was capable of. Her enhancements, although similar to mine, were not nearly as strong in most aspects. However, that didn’t deter her from being able to take a man quadruple my size down and keep them there.

I knew enough about her brain to know that it was one of the sharpest ones I had come across in my time. Everyone on the team had enough experience in this life to be able to manipulate a lot of situations, but Y/N was the queen of manipulating a situation to work out better for her and her team. It was like she was five steps ahead constantly, and it could be fierce at times- not going to lie. A strategy someone in our field would think they had down until they saw her ridiculous efficiency at work. Hence, why she was her own kind of weapon for our team.

I give a single nod in acknowledgment, knowing my intensity would be matched and not work in my favor. 

“You say you don’t hate me, and after these few weeks, I’m starting to believe you somewhat. However, our history keeps me from following that hope,” I answer. 

She seems to take something from my confession and lock it in her mind for later use. 

“Our history is complicated,” she replies, looking me up and down subtly and then moving to the side of the bed where the sheets were disturbed. 

I now notice the detail that only one side of the bed was disrupted while the other stayed perfectly made. My own detail to lock away for later. 

“But why? Who said it had to start like that?” My hands go up. She gives me a look like I should know the answer to that and I raise my eyebrows. “You think I’m to blame for our bickering and aimless fights?”

She scoffs, “I wouldn’t say aimless. There are definitely targets to be hit.” 

“Cut the shit.” 

“No shit to cut,” she counters quickly, sitting on the edge of the bed with one leg under her and shrugging. 

“I’m trying to have an adult conversation, and you’re acting like an angsty teenager.” I deadpan, attempting to keep the twitch in my eye at bay.

“And you’re acting like a crotchety old man who demands my respect,” she shouts back. “Ever think maybe that could be the reasoning behind our never-ending feuds?” 

“How could I? You don’t talk to me unless you're dissing me, fighting me, or attempting to make me look bad,” I give a large fake smile. 

“Take a fucking hint then, Grandpa,” she enunciates her curse. 

So I do. I backtrack our conversation and come to a conclusion. Maybe it's not an accurate one, but it's an idea nonetheless. 

“You think I demand respect from you? When have I ever told you that you have to have respect for me?” I asked, more confused than angry now- but definitely not low in anger either.

She stares at me, contemplating her answer. 

“Maybe we shouldn’t get into this,” she waves between us faintly, diverting her eyes to the bathroom door on the wall to the left.

“I won’t be able to sleep tonight if-”

“Not much different than most nights. Welcome to the crew,” she huffed, shifting to adjust her blankets over her in an irritated mood. 

“Why are you so against talking this out?” I growl, forgetting all sense of mental clarity and stomping to her side of the bed, aggressively throwing her blankets off her. “Stop trying to go to bed and talk to me like an adult.”

“An adult?” She takes in a high-pitched breath and stands straight in front of me. “You’re the one who just threw my blankets off like a toddler throwing a tantrum because he didn’t get a cookie after dinner! Sorry to break it to you.” Her finger jabbed into my chest. “But I owe you nothing, Barnes! I owe no explanation. I owe no respect. I owe no reason for how I choose to act around you.” 

I was pissed. Royally pissed, and yet… I couldn’t seem to see past the pure sadness in her eyes. The actual pain that she tried so hard to hide, but in her state- the state I had put her in- she was losing the battle. She was losing it and yet not breaking her eyes from mine, knowing I could see it.

My intensity shriveled slowly as seconds passed, and she didn’t try to fight the tremble on her lip. 

“What did I do?” I asked softly, my hands instinctively coming to her arms, but the touch made her break the eye contact and turn fast, making my hands drop. “Y/N, what did I do?” 

And I meant it. What had I done, and how could I change it?

Marvel Tags:

@thejourneyneverendsx​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ @death-unbecomes-you @mythos-writes​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​  @srrymydood​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ @xa-dia​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ @redhairedfeistynerd​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ @morganclaire4​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ @connie326​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ @captain-asguard​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ @mollygetssherlockcoffee​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ @teenagedreams-bucky @shower-me-with-roses​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ @livstilinski @basicallylool​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ @starryeyeseunbyul​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

My Lovelies Forever:

@natura1phenomenon​ @lauravicente​ @kakakatey​ @traceyaudette​ @notyourtypicalrose​ @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce​ @sandlee44​ @thorne93​ @thefaithfulwriter1​ @essie1876​ @greyeyedsmile14​ @capsiclehan​  @xostephanie​ @averyrogers83​ @awesomenursingstudent​ @gh0stgurl​ @cs-please​ @jjlevin​ @rainbowkisses31​ @deannotmoose​ @their-bibliophile​ @kitkatd7​ @willowbleedsonpaper​ @mariaenchanted​ @snffbeebee​ @couldabeenamermaid​ @rebekahdawkins​​ @alyispunk​​ @billyseye @hallecarey1​​

Bucky Barnes Tags:

@chloe-skywalker​ @charmedbysarge​ @jbarness​ @bellamy-barnes​ @katiaw2​ @aikeia​ @stopjustlovethemcu​ @enchantedbarnes

Mr. & Mrs. Hunt Series:

@jackiehollanderr @mrs-bucky-barnes-73 @theroyalmanatee @wintrsoldrluvr @alexakeyloveloki @learisa @bxckybxrnes24 @lillianacristina @selella @heletsmelovehim

[strawwritesfic]

Matt Murdock x Reader: Introspection

Summary: A long day of soul-searching leads you right to the offices of Nelson & Murdock.

Rating/Tags: G (Gender of Reader Is Not Specified; Second Person POV; Lawyer!Reader; Secret Identity; Beginning of Romance; Not Canon Compliant)

Word Count: 2,110

Challenge: 160 Collective Drabbles

Prompt: Seductive

Tag List: @imaginesfire

Notes: And now I have quadrupled my output from last year. Wow!

I actually work in a courtroom (I'm not an attorney), but I'm nowhere near New York. I did look up a few things to double-check legal stuff for the county this should be set in and whatnot. Still, if you happen to know I got a detail wrong, please let me know! I am always eager to learn and correct. Also, I've never seen anything beyond Daredevil season one, and it's been so long that the voice I had for Matt was based more on Samuel Brewer's performance in Terminal Degree.

Titling this one was a real pain. It's still not great. They've all been pretty bad lately, haven't they?

Ao3 Version Here

Introspection

Most of Hell's Kitchen was shrouded in darkness when you stepped out of your taxi in the wee hours of the morning. The businesses lining the streets loomed empty around you. Surely those living in the apartments nearby slept as best they could—though how, with the bass pounding from the still-hopping clubs a block or two over, you didn't know. Your driver must have heard those siren calls himself, because you barely had time to pay his fare before he sped away. You stood stranded in the island of light coming from the streetlamp above your head.

Well, what was the point in catching a ride all the way out here in the middle of the night only to chicken out when you got there? This would not be the first time you ate crow, nor did you suspect it would be last. You tried not to anticipate the taste too much as you took a deep breath and forced yourself to face the shadowed entrance to the offices of Nelson & Murdock.

You wavered for a moment with your arm outstretched, hand nearly grasping the bar across the door. Yes, it was dark inside. Not a single light on in the entire building as far as you could tell. And why should you think anyone would be here at 2:00 in the morning? Just because you'd been stuck at your office this late didn't mean the same for everyone else working the case.

No. No excuses. You'd just steeled your resolved to press forward when you heard a commotion above your head: the clang of something hitting metal, followed by rapid footsteps. You grabbed at once for the canister of pepper spray in your purse, but when you looked in the direction of the sound, you saw nothing that might have caused it.

Probably just a stray cat.

This time, you really did force yourself to push on the door. It opened easily. Damn. Now you had to go through with this, or at least check for signs of a break-in—not that you were likely to see any in the pitch-black you now stood in.

Your call of "Hello?" broke in two after its first syllable, interrupted by a series of thumps issuing from the ceiling.

What it was was absolutely too big to be a cat.

You should have called the police. Obviously! What could you do to stop someone with the balls to rob a defense attorney's office? Your pepper spray wouldn't do a thing to stop someone like that. But your feet took you up the stairs before you could reach for your cell phone instead. Somehow, someway, you managed to bound all the way up the incline without tripping on something in the unfamiliar territory.

There. The nearest door. You could hear beyond it. With as much force as you could muster, you slammed the door open. At least if you could startle the intruder, that would give you the chance to —

"Counselor. What an unexpected surprise."

—the chance to look like a complete buffoon. Matt Murdock sat at Matt Murdock's desk in Matt Murdock's office, looking entirely unruffled in the light coming from the window behind him. Well, maybe not entirely unruffled. It looked as though he had hat hair, although your jobs being what they were, you'd never actually seen him wear a hat.

You must have waited too long to speak, because Matt cocked his head slightly to one side and asked, "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Uh," you said, in a desperate bid for time. But the second it took you to say that didn't give you any grand ideas for answers. "I was in the neighborhood."

"This neighborhood? Really?"

How did this man always manage to sound so polite and so condescending at the same damn time? You stalked up to his desk and slammed your palms into its surface. Matt didn't even flinch. "Listen, Murdock. I was nearby, I heard something up here, and I rushed in to help at risk of my life. And this is the thanks I get?"

"I take it by your attitude that you were not 'nearby' to offer apologies for your earlier conduct," he observed in that same infuriatingly mild tone.

"What I was nearby for isn't the point!"

"On the contrary, Counselor. I think what you're doing breaking into my office when you didn't believe anyone would be here is the point."

"I—" You bristled, cutting yourself off as you realized Matt had you dead to rights. After your performance that morning, people weren't likely to believe you had good intentions being where you were when you were. You wouldn't believe it, had the roles been reversed. So you forced yourself to inhale slowly and step away from his desk.

"I only lied about why I was here. I did come to see you. But I didn't break in. The door was unlocked."

"And you decided to keep going even though all the lights were turned off."

"I told you I heard something up here!"

There was just something about Matt's demeanor that pushed all your buttons, and you weren't known for your even temper to begin with. Then it dawned on you:

"And you are here. Why are you here sitting in the dark?"

One corner of Matt's lips twitched up. "Well, it isn't as though I need a lamp. It keeps the bills down, which in turn keeps Foggy's blood pressure down."

"Do you often say here in a completely dark building so late after closing?"

"No. Our discussion today raised some questions for me. After all this time, I'd hate to see my client in chains over a technicality." He tapped on the thick, hard cover of a tome sitting closed in front of him. "And you're lucky I did tonight and that I have no plans to press charges."

"And if you did, I'd never try to prevent someone from stealing from you again."

"I'll be more careful to lock the door when I'm here alone late. At any rate, I'm afraid all you heard was my fumbling through my case files. I'm sorry for causing you concern."

"Are you sure? I swear I heard someone on the fire escape before I came in."

"Must have been a stray cat," he said as he moved to switch on his desk lamp. Doing so could only be for your benefit. You took the hint and collapsed into the chair across from him. God, even just talking to this man made you tired. "Not that I don't appreciate a purely social call from a person of your caliber, but I do have a lot of reading to do before I file in the morning. Why don't you just tell me what brought you here to begin with," he said.

Your hackles raised automatically. It took some willpower to lower them—willpower and a reminder that you'd already admitted to wanting to see him. The fight left you as you sighed.

"I came to say...I'm sorry," you said.

A long paused followed your statement. Matt appeared frozen in place. "Excuse me?"

A spark of frustration seared inside your chest, but you stifled it before it could grow. You'd spent most of the day consumed by that fire. Time to let it go.

"I'm sorry for my behavior in court this morning. The judge should have held me in contempt. I was out of line."

There was more, and Matt must have known that. He said nothing while you mentally prepared to continue.

"We've both been on this case for a long time. It's been my life for months now. And the suggestion we might be on the wrong track..."

"Stung?" Matt offered pleasantly.

"It's ludicrous! My investigator couldn't be that wrong. All my witnesses can't be lying. The evidence leads us directly to your client. But..."

Matt's eyebrows folded into one long line above the frames of his glasses. "But?"

"You were right," you said softly. "Maybe I've been living this too long. Maybe I want this to be over more than I want the truth."

It was a difficult thing to admit. The implications of doing so would have far-reaching consequences. But as long as you said it out loud, one of those consequences wouldn't have to be losing your soul in the slow-grinding wheels of justice.

"Thank you for saying that," Matt said, and oh no. You recognized that note in his voice. If you let him go on in it, you'd regret it. "I—"

"Which is why tomorrow I'm going to request to be withdrawn from the case."

"What?"

"It'll be better for everyone involved. We can get some fresh eyes on it, let someone new take a look."

"You getting taken off the case is the last thing I wanted."

"Why? It's not as though you've invoked your right to a speedy trial."

"You know the case. You know my client is innocent!"

"I don't know that, Matt!"

"But you admit it's a possibility."

Your hesitation to disagree answered for you. Matt half-rose from behind his desk, leaning across it to whisper, "Don't you want to know? Don't you want to find out why they've all been lying to you?"

You shook your head. "I think all I really want is to be done."

The unasked question of done with what? rang in the air. An unexpected lump in your throat made it impossible for you to speak. Then Matt opened a drawer, and the sudden noise of it made you jump in your seat.

"You know what we both need?" That strangely impish smile of his had returned.

"A straitjacket and a white room?"

"A break." He stood with his briefcase in his hand. "You said it yourself. We've been working this case a long time. A few hours of time to ourselves won't ruin it."

You nodded again as you dragged yourself up out of his chair. That was all you had the energy for. "I'll get out of your hair. I should probably try to get some sleep before I talk to my boss anyway."

A faint touch on your elbow kept you from moving very far. When you glanced back, you found Matt's hand grasping you there. "Come with me," he said.

Great. Now you'd been mulling things over so much you were hallucinating. You jab about the straitjackets sharpened into a nearing reality. In an effort to save the miniscule amount of dignity remaining to you, you laughed a little hysterically during your attempt to shake him off.

"I'm not going to your house with you, Murdock."

"You wound me, Counselor. What sort of cad do you take me for?"

"Then what are you suggesting?"

"The bars are still open for another or so. Let me buy you a drink. We can talk."

You recoiled far enough to get his arm to drop. "And what will people think of us out colluding in public?"

Matt shrugged. "We won't talk about the case, so we won't be colluding."

"We can claim that all we want. The judge will be concerned with what the witness thinks they saw."

"If someone accuses us of colluding, what's the big deal?" Here, he looked over his red lenses directly into your eyes; you felt goosebumps prickle up your arms at the feeling Matt could actually see you. "You're already talking about stepping back. I happen to know a defense firm that might be interested in someone of your talents if you get forced out."

He shifted his cane and his case to offer you his arm in silence, the obvious ghost of a smile pulling at his lips. You paused. His offer sounded good—better than it should have, considering all your bombastic meetings in court up until then. Then, before you could change your mind, you bent over to switch off Matt's lamp. Your arms hooked together, and his smile widened before he tugged you gently in the direction of the exit.

Matt Murdock was an infuriating man. Equal parts charm and sarcasm, you always found yourself thinking about him long after any hearing where you tried to tear each other apart. At the same time, you couldn't deny that he was honest and good, and, you thought, while you locked the door to the office behind you both with the key he passed to you, more than a little seductive when you got him alone. If things didn't work out with your boss later that morning, taking Matt up on his offer didn't seem like an awful idea after all.

[writing-house-of-m]

Wanda: Can you get the ice pops out for the kids?

Natasha: These?

Wanda: Erm, no, the boys don't like them. They're for Y/n...

Y/n: *Walks in*

Y/n: Ooo, milk pops

Y/n: Mmm, chocolate :)

Y/n: *Kisses Wanda's cheek and leaves*

Natasha: *Raises an eyebrow at Wanda*

Wanda: I know, I know, I married a child

[justagirlinafandomworld]

Reputation

Pairing: Biker!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Song Prompt from Unclaimed Love Songs: Delicate by Taylor Swift

A/N: In my mind, this is the same reader from There Are Worse Things.

Word Count: 108

He smiled, revealing a sharp tooth and she had to mentally kick herself to look away. The leather jacket felt hot around her shoulders; a physical reminder of the last time she had felt those stupid butterflies.

He offered to buy her next round, but she declined.

Pulling cash from her pocket, she intended to pay and leave him behind. She could feel the eyes of the patrons and how they leaned sideways to keep tabs on their conversation.

The last thing she needed was to be seen going soft on the new biker passing through.

But Bucky had a plan and all the time in the world.

[lovelyladyabsinthewrites]

A Million Dreams

Pairing(s): Eddie Brock x Brock!Reader, slight mention!Eddie Brock x Anne

Warnings: definitely hints of sibling incest, hurt/comfort, wrote this when i realized becoming a veterinarian wasn't for me :(, late night conversations

Words: 1844

Summary: You couldn't tell Eddie and Anne the truth. You were a loser.

a/n: found this while going through my ao3 since I heard it might be shut down in 2025? 😥

“(y/n). . .”

Shame, guilt, and a plethora of other emotions were pinned into you. Your backpack hung heavy on your back and your eyes burned at the light filtering from inside of Eddie’s apartment. You had debated on running to your brother for help. Neither of you had seen each other for years. Both focusing on your careers. There was nowhere left for you to go. Initially you had gone to the address Anne had given you a couple of years ago only to find out that he no longer lived there and that they were no longer together. How were you supposed to know any of this? You didn’t blame Eddie for lack of communication. You blamed yourself mostly, you hadn’t bothered to contact him. Life had made you busy. Vet school had made it nearly impossible for you to have a personal life.

Fingers curling around the strap of your bag your teeth work on your bottom lip anxiously. “Hey Ed.”

His dark gray eyes continue to gawk at you as he leaves his mouth wide open. Stuttering incoherently as he continues to stand in the doorway. You’d have to start the conversation.

“It’s been a while hasn’t it? Maybe five years? Um. . . Sorry to show up all of a sudden. . .”

Finally collecting himself, Eddie steps aside. “C-Come in.” He quickly goes about trying to tidy his small apartment as best as he can while he rambles to himself.

You sat down on the closest thing that looked comfy. Which just happened to be a dingy couch that had several stains on it.

It felt like heaven the moment your back hit the cushions. True your trip hadn’t been that long. The distance from UC Davis to San Francisco wasn’t that long of a stretch but it was still utterly straining on you.

Exhaustion swallowed you whole.

She was out like a light the moment she sat down on his couch.

Eddie was confused at what was going on. His sister suddenly showing up after years without talking and without an explanation. Eddie dare not wake her up though. (y/n) looked so drained the moment he had opened his door.

“(y/n) looks delicious.”

“Dude, we’ve been over this. No eating good people. Especially not my sister.” Eddie scowls at his symbiote companion. Venom already knew all about (y/n) as he knew everything about Eddie since he attached himself to him.

“But even you want to take a bite. I’ve seen your thoughts.” Venom points out yet again of the fact that he resided inside of Eddie and shared his thoughts and memories.

Internally swatting at his parasite, Eddie shakes his head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. She’s my little sister.”

Venom seems to laugh at that. “You seem to like her the way you like Anne. I’m taking from your continued denial that it isn’t normal. You can’t hide things from me Eddie. I feel everything you do. I can hear your thoughts and see your dreams. I can look into your past.”

Silent as he glances over at his dozing sister, he simply tells Venom “We just used to be close when we were little. Or rather when she was little.” What was she doing there? The last time he had heard from her was right before he had been forced to leave New York. She had been living in California for some time already back then and had mostly been keeping in touch with Anne considering she lived in San Francisco. (y/n) had been going to school to become a veterinarian. It had been her dream since she was little. She’d bring home stray animals and nurse them back to health until their parents would catch on and force her to give them up.

“Sweet inside and out.” Venom cackles.

Ignoring him, Eddie grabs a blanket from his bed and drapes it over (y/n). He would get answers in the morning.

The investigator in him though wanted them right away though. He’s immediately dialing Anne’s number. There was no other way that (y/n) would know where he lived.

“I’m guessing (y/n) made her way safely to your place?” Immediately came Anne’s voice.

“Yeah. She’s passed out on my couch. Didn’t really get a chance to explain why she’s here. I was hoping you could fill me in until she wakes up.”

He could practically hear Anne roll her eyes. “Typical Eddie. You don’t even have patience when it comes to your own sister. Just wait until she wakes up. It’s best you hear it from her.”

Anxiety twisted his gut and made Venom spike with anticipation and apprehension. “What happened? Is it bad?”

“. . . Well it’s not exactly good. . .” sighed Anne. “I really think you should wait for her to tell you, Eddie. It’s not my place to say.”

“Tell us!” Venom separates himself from Eddie only to form a head that he could talk through. The foreign sound of Venom’s voice has (y/n) stirring on the couch. They both hold their breath and watch her, waiting to see if she would wake up.

“Like I said, wait until she wakes up. I really don’t want to break (y/n)’s trust.” With that, Anne hangs up leaving Eddie to think of the worst scenarios. What happened to his sister to make her seek him out? Last he heard she was doing fine in vet school. Did someone hurt her? She was living by herself.

All sorts of questions swarmed his mind like a horde of pissed off hornets. Eddie would have to find some way to calm himself down enough so that he could sleep.

You don’t know how long you had been out but when your eyes blinked open you see all the lights turned off and your brother out of sight. There was a blanket on top of you that kept you pressed against the couch, trying to keep you in sleep’s sweet embrace. You couldn’t continue to sleep though. Not with so many secrets that were caked onto your heart.

Lazily you set your feet down on the floor and force yourself to stand. Squinting your eyes you attempt to focus them in the dark and try to find your brother’s bedroom. Nostalgia hits you. How many times had you done the very same thing when you were little? You would crawl into Eddie’s bed, snuggling against him and making him wake up so that you could talk his ear off until you fell back asleep. He never got mad at you when you did this. Any other sibling would, but not Eddie. He was always so much more patient with you than any of your friends’ older siblings. Their older brother or sister wanted nothing more than for them to stay out of their way. Eddie had played a very important role during your childhood. Always caring for you even more so than yoru own parents did. Even helping you hide the stray animals you would find.

The moment your foot passes through the doorway Eddie was already sitting up groggily in his bed. As if he had already felt your presence. He rubs at his eyes and mumbles out your name.

Silently you move to the other side of his bed and peel his blanket away so you could slip in. He scoots over obligingly.

“I’m sorry I showed up all of a sudden.”

“S’okay. But what are you doing here? I mean, not that I’m not happy to see you. Don’t get me wrong, I am. It’s just. . . You know, been a while. . .”

“Do you remember all the things we’d talk about late at night when we were little? All the things we dreamed of for the future.” You stare up at his ceiling. In your childhood room the two of you had gotten the glow in the dark stars and stuck them on your own ceiling. “Even back then you wanted to be an investigator. A weird career for a kid to want.”

You could hear the smile in his voice. “Yeah. And you always wanted to help animals and be a vet back then.”

“A million dreams that kept us awake. Dreams that we were so hopeful in.” You felt your eyes burn as the onslaught of tears creeped up on you.

Eddie shifts next to you. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

You cover your face with your hands and try not to sob out loud. “I failed vet school Ed.”

“What? But Anne told me you were doing so well.”

A soft cry escapes your lips much to your horror. You turn your back to him so that you could somewhat cry without peering eyes. “How could I tell her the truth?! The both of you have successful jobs! I’m just. . . I’m just a fucking loser Eddie! I tried so hard! It doesn’t matter how much you want something. Even when you work so hard for it. . .”

“Hey, don’t talk like that about my sister!” Eddie growls and rolls you over to your other side. “You are not a loser. I’m the only loser in this family, okay? Is that why you haven’t called me? Were you ashamed?”

Nodding you sniffle a little. “I tried so hard Ed.”

One of his massive arms wraps around you and pulls you closer to his barrel chest. “I know (y/n). I know.”

“I wanted to be a vet so bad. But the lessons weren’t sinking in. I didn’t understand anything no matter how hard I studied. A-and. . .” You take a deep breath, nails digging into your brother’s back as you desperately cling to him. “The idea of having to put animals down. . .” Another cry clawed it’s way up your throat. “I’m so weak. I couldn’t do it. I can’t do it. It would’ve never worked out. I have no idea what I’m gonna do with my life. . . I’m already (age). I’ve wasted so many years of my life.”

His lips press against the crown of your head. “Listen to me (y/n). Even if you shoot for the moon and miss you’ll still land on the stars.”

You shake your head. “What stars? I missed the moon entirely and landed into a void.”

“You’ll feel like that now. But once you take a few deep breaths you’ll find the stars. We’ll find the stars. I’ll help you get back on your feet. You’re a brilliant girl (y/n). Don’t let this burn you out. You’re still so young.” Eddie’s calm voice soothes you immensely that the pang in your chest numbed considerably which allowed the tears to stop flowing.

Gazing up at him with still watery eyes you ask “What am I gonna do now Eddie?”

“We’ll figure that out in the morning. For now let’s sleep. You deserve that much.”

You wouldn’t argue with that. At least now you were able to sleep with a somewhat clear mind. Just as long as Eddie stayed beside you. You would dream of a million more dreams.

[cas-backwards-tie]

Chapter Five: Tumultuous Teachings

The Missing Title

Helmut Zemo x Reader

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Summary: Circling in on Karli's position, she's in your sights. With unexpected guests and differing morals, surely the plan will go accordingly... right? All it takes is a little Super Soldier Serum and a phone for the world to blow up.

Words: 15.5k

Warnings: Dark Humor, Sexual Content, Violence, Guns, Manipulation

Mentions of: Politics, Death, Extremist Beliefs, Lying,

A/N: Ahhh, idk why I've fallen back in love with this, but I'm just... so invested in trying to get more of the story out right now! I missed all of their banter and can't wait to actually get to my continuation of the story past the actual plot of the episodes.

Following Zemo down the cobblestone streets, you can't help but take in your surroundings. Truthfully, you're not well traveled, and while it's always been something you'd been interested in, you'd never gotten the chance. Not until now, you suppose. Two continents down in a matter of seventy-two hours certainly is something to be said.

Lips parted in awe, the colorful buildings and their accompanying trim captivate you. There's so much intricacy in the sculptures and patterns adorning the architecture; it's clear that this city is old, its buildings and roads give a glimpse into the past, hints of another time seeping through. It could, in part, be due to the fact that Riga is the capital of Latvia, upon the search you did before arriving, however it's possible the theme also extends beyond the city. That part you're unsure of.

"I heard what became of Sokovia," Zemo breaks the silence. "Cannibalized by its neighbors before the land was even cleared of rubble, erased from the map. I don't suppose any of you bothered visiting the memorial?" Just as you open your mouth to speak, he's continuing, not having given anyone a chance to answer. "Of course not. Why would you?"

"I saw it," you add quietly, "well- the one in New York. I haven't ever been here before... never even been to Europe," you decidedly ramble, the last part quiet as you talk more to yourself than them, seeing as they aren't really listening. "Well, not until now, I guess."

"We are here," Zemo announces, effectively icing you out. It's clear he doesn't wish to continue on the topic he'd brought up. Though, the look that'd crossed his features for a split second upon your confession was one that seemed to give him pause. Heading for the ornately designed metal gate, it isn't until someone else speaks up that your group slows to a stop.

"I'm gonna go on a walk," Bucky states. Turning to look at him, your eyebrows raise slightly in surprise.

"You good?" Sam asks.

"Yeah," Bucky assures you all. You're tempted to ask if he wants company, but, knowing how quiet he can be, he seems more like the introspective type. Probably would prefer solitude, you jecture. "I'll see you guys in a bit."

"Okay," you acknowledge, "Be safe," you call out after him as he's already a few paces away.

"Yep!" Is all the Soldier responds with before you follow the men up the stairs. Met with an elaborate metal gate artistically crafted with points and spirals, you admire the stained glass windows on the apartment's door while Zemo unlocks it.

"Welcome," the Baron states as he opens the door and follows you in. Stunned by the foyer, you take a few steps inside, gogging at your surroundings. There's a bowl of apples on the table. You begin to slip off your shoes as the men continue settling in. "I am going to freshen up if you'll excuse me. Please, make yourselves at home."

The colorfully tiled floor captures your eyes as the stone's cool temperature seeps through your socks. "Thanks," you respond halfheartedly, still taking in all the tiny details hidden in every surface of the apartment. Opting for the expansive multi-colored couch, you plop down onto it as you let yourself relax for five minutes.

"Why don't you take a nap?" Sam suggests from where he stands in the kitchen, hand atop the counter he currently rounds.

"I'm thinking about it," you respond. Though, there might be something to the Avenger's predictive skills considering as soon as you'd sat down the tired weight of your body and mind started to drag you under.

"I meant, like, in a bed somewhere," Sam explains with a chuckle.

------------

The sound of a door shutting causes your body to suddenly lurch upright as you look for its source. Quickly finding the Bionic Staring Machine--as Sharon so lovingly put it--striding into the living space of the apartment, the slam of the door must've been him getting back.

"Well, the Wakandans are here," Bucky states casually as he walks into the room. "They want Zemo."

"What?! When? You just saw them now?" Interrupting Bucky, you feel like this is a lot bigger of a deal then he's letting on. After all, if they're here- where are they? Because they're not with him.

"-Bought us some more time." The man stops in the middle of the room and turns to you, giving you a pointed stare. "Yes, just now." You're left wondering if he got that look from Sam, or Sam picked that up from Bucky.

"Were you followed?" Sam questions, turning toward Bucky in his seat at the counter.

"No," Bucky answers.

"How do you know for sure?" You prod.

"How can you be so sure?" Zemo asks at the same time, emerging from the bathroom. This elicits a look from him as the two of you try and gauge the other, unsure if you're shocked that you had the same line of thinking, or whether you're more alike than you'd previously thought. Perhaps it's just a coincidence! After all, it's a pretty logical question, right?

"Because I know when I'm being followed. Alright?" Bucky retorts without hesitation, an annoyance obvious in his tone. At least you're almost certain that's what it is... even if the soldier sounds vexed half the time, in your opinion.

"It was sweet of you to defend me at least," Zemo comments. It's only then that you notice he's only clad in a bathrobe as he pats his face.

An aroma of something sweet like citrus, yet spicy like a mint or menthol emanates from his direction, and you can only assume it's aftershave considering his hair is also wet. Hadn't he said something about freshening up? Since when does that include actually bathing? Sleep still has it claws curled around the edges of your mind as you scoot to the edge of the couch.

"Hey, you shut it-" Sam barks, "No one's defending you. You killed Nagel." There's something uncouth about the way a quiet giggle tumbles past your lips.

"Do we really have to-" Zemo pauses, his attention turning to you with a skeptic look.

"Why are you laughing? How, exactly, is this funny?" Sam turns his frustration on you. Hands immediately coming up in defense, you attempt to hold back the smile tugging at your lips.

"It's not," you assure him, "it's not, I just... why would you say that?" You laugh again, looking toward Zemo with furrowed brows. This man is... puzzling, to say the least.

"Because it was nice of him to advocate on my behalf," the Baron shrugs, seemingly nonplussed. Yet, the faint smirk tugging at his lip tells you otherwise. "Do we really have to litigate what may or may not have happened?" Zemo finishes his original thought.

"You're clearly in need of some good sleep. Why don't you head to bed?" Sam urges, before turning on the redhead. "There's nothing to litigate! You straight shot the man."

"I mean... kind of hard to say you didn't when we all witnessed it," you point out with a shrug of your own. Standing, you approach the kitchen counter in an attempt to see what's so interesting on Bucky's phone. The man hasn't contributed once since leaving you all with that bombshell, distracted by the piece of technology in his gloved hands.

"Sam," Bucky calls. Of course, just when you think to engage him, he's refocused on your friend, ultimately ignoring you. Well, and Zemo, if that means anything.

"What?" The Avenger prods, his undivided attention turning toward the soldier as you all gather around the counter.

"Karli bombed a GRC Supply Depot," Bucky states monotonously.

"What?" Sam asks surprised, "What's the damage?"

"Eleven injured, three dead," the Soldier reads off his phone. "They have a list of demands and are promising more attacks if those demands aren't met in full."

"She's getting worse," Zemo states as if it were fact.

"What're the demands?" You inquire, leaning onto your forearms that rest atop the chilly black granite countertop. Sam's sigh fills the silence as Bucky's eyes scan over the webpage, presumably looking for the information you'd asked for.

"I have the will to complete this mission," Zemo speaks up. "Do the three of you?" Everyone's attention shifts upon this question. All eyes on the Baron. You're left speechless as your minds churn through the question and possible different answers and outcomes.

"She's just a kid," Sam points out.

"You're seeing something in her that isn't there," Zemo rebuttals, "You're clouded by it. She's a Supremacist. The very concept of a Super Soldier will always trouble people. It's that warped aspiration that led to Nazis, to Ultron, to the Avengers."

You can see where he's coming from. Not just because of his family, but because of the articles that'd come out time and time again. The posts people would write from foreign countries detailing the way that the Avengers coming in to stop whatever malevolent threat they'd been sent in to defeat only seemed to cause more damage. The fights might've caused more destruction than if they hadn't shown up at all. Now, whether that was true or not was up for debate, but the fact that many people suffered due to collateral damage is entirely real.

It'd been swept under the rug for as long as it could, but things certainly changed after Zemo took action, and after the Blip. People don't have the same politically dutiful leashes they'd once had on their opinions.

"Hey, those are our friends you're talking about," Sam argues.

"The Avengers, not the Nazis," Bucky corrects.

"Thanks for clarifying," you joke. It wasn't really necessary, as you'd figured who they were inferring, but nevertheless, Bucky's need to clarify was amusing. "But how can you be sure? That she's not still a child?" You play devil's advocate.

"So, Karli is radicalized, but there has to be a peaceful way to stop her," Sam thinks aloud.

"And if there's not?" You question him, "I'm not saying we don't try it first, but, if worse comes to worst?"

"The desire to become a Superhuman cannot be separated from Supremacist ideals," Zemo answers your question. "Anyone with that serum is inherently on that path. She will not stop. She will escalate until you kill her," he pauses, "or she kills you."

"Maybe you're wrong, Zemo. The serum never corrupted Steve," Bucky contends, arms crossed as he now leans against the wall directly across the counter from the Baron.

"That's a good point," you mutter under your breath as you're intent to hear what the Baron comes up with in response.

"Touché," Zemo agrees, "but there has never been another Steve Rogers, has there?" Wagging his fingers for emphasis, you can't help but be distracted by the fact that it's poked through the hole in a shortbread-looking cookie. Or, as you'd guess they're called here: biscuits. The two circle each other, Zemo rounding the counter until he's across from you opening the cabinets while Bucky rounded the other way, now somewhere behind you.

"Well, maybe we should give him to the Wakandans right now," Bucky posits.

"And you'll give up your tour guide?" Oof, Zemo was quick with the comeback on that one, you'll give it to him.

"Yes," Bucky answers with zero hesitation.

"So you're planning on killing her then?" You question Zemo, who has his back turned to you as he rifles through the cabinet he's just opened.

"From my understanding-" Sam begins to speak.

"It's the only way to stop her. You'd let her kill you first?" He tosses the hypothetical situation back on you. Without so much as a glance in your direction, clearly unphased by the content of your conversation.

"Donya is like a pillar of the community, right?" Sam continues his line of thought, unbothered by your little dissection of ideology with Zemo.

An uncomfortable chuckle escapes you. "No? I mean..." Unable to truly come up with a satisfactory response, you switch gears and turn, listening to Sam instead.

"Exactly," Zemo responds with an air of triumph, a quiet and amused scoff leaving his lips.

"So when I was a kid, my TT passed away," Sam explains.

"Your TT?" Bucky questions, head lolled back as he listens from the couch now. A pained expression crosses his features as he finally rights his head and looks back at Sam.

"Yeah," Sam delights, "my TT, yeah."

"Who is your TT?" Bucky specifies.

"Yeah, who is...?" You quietly probe, a little lost despite not having missed anything.

Sam rolls his eyes. "Fine," he concedes. You know he's not really annoyed, but it'd be easier if he didn't have to explain. "When I was a kid, my Aunt passed away. And, the entire neighborhood got together for a ceremony. It was like a week long," he explains, a far off look overtaking his features as he remembers. "Maybe they're doing the same thing for Donya."

"Worth a shot," Bucky encourages.

"Your TT would be proud of you," Zemo comments, though the way he'd said it definitely sounded more akin to something vulgar than what he'd intended. This elicits another smile you try to contain as you shake your head. Maybe he's just trying to get a reaction out of them, you ponder.

Finally taking a moment to let your eyes wander, you can't help but ogle the Baron a bit. From where you're standing you can only barely see that beneath the navy robe he's got on a pair of white silken pants, which... wow. You don't think you've ever even seen silk pants before, but, they certainly bring out the color of his hair. As he turns, the glimmer of a square pendant sits in the middle of his exposed chest. It's a pretty silver necklace, you'll admit, though the sight of his auburn chest hairs only elicits flashes of memory from the night before.

An earnest gasp leaves your parted lips at the particularly hard thrust he gives you. Nails slightly digging into his shoulders, you're breathing hard, sweat covering your chest, sweat running down his temple. While he isn't toned in the same way Bucky or any body builder is, he's still muscular. The strength with which he holds himself up over you, and grips your hip with his free hand is enough of an indicator.

While moans pour past your lips, groans and grunts slipping out of his, you can't help but admire him. Is it so wrong that you're doing this? It doesn't feel wrong. In fact, it feels like everything you've been missing the past few years. The way he touches you, looks at you, fills you... it's ecstatic. And, sure, maybe your judgment is clouded by the tangled knot that's already building in your lower stomach. Yet, you can't help it. Was evil, as they call him, always so beautiful?

Leg hooking itself around his hip, you open yourself up just enough for him to be able to hit that spot. "Helmut, I-" your voice comes out far more desperate than you'd like. You'd both fully lost your composure some time ago during the first round. Now, your fingers run through his chest hair while you gaze up at him, taking in the way his hair is mussed, his skin sheens with sweat, and beauty marks litter his face. "Блят!" He curses under his breath, and you know he's getting close too. "Cum for me, Schatz."

"Turkish Delight," Zemo announces, wiggling a wrapped piece between his fingers before tossing one to Sam. Blinking a few times, you do your best to return to the present. The Avenger catches it swiftly, inspecting it in his hand while you turn your attention back to Zemo. He pours a bunch of the--What are they? Candies?--out from a rusty silver tin onto the counter, the ornate symbol on it catching your eye. "Irresistible," he describes, winking in your direction.

With a smile on your lips all you can do is shake your head at his discreet teasing as you grab a pink piece from the pile on the counter. "These are the things from Narnia, right? Turkish Delight," you question, unwrapping the crinkly clear plastic to hold the plush candy between your fingers.

"Oh my God," Sam enunciates each word before he exclaims with a laugh, slapping the counter gently. "I haven't thought about that in ages!"

"Narnia?" Bucky questions, a quirked brow of confusion on his face. He looks between you and Sam for clarification.

"It's a children's book, though I do not remember the reference," Zemo explains, obviously intrigued.

"In the movie-" you begin.

"-Based off the book," Sam interrupts to add, popping the treat into his mouth.

"-one of the kids gets, sort of... manipulated?" You question what word is best a descriptor considering it's been awhile since you've seen it. "By the witch, because she offers him whatever he wants for his loyalty, and to rat out his sibling's location or something, basically their lives, and out of everything in the whole world, he picks Turkish Delight!" You explain with a chuckle at the thought.

"Though I think it's because it was during the war and they didn't really have food like that, but yeah- it doesn't come across in the movie at all!" Sam offers more insight.

"Makes sense," Bucky comments lamely with a shrug as he opens his own candy.

"Well, we can go once this one's dressed," Sam remarks somewhat passive-aggressively with a left-turn comment.

"Well, if you give me a moment, I'll be happy to meet you at the door," Zemo retaliates somewhat sarcastically, leaving a somewhat soured and tense vibe between everyone in the room. Back to business, you guess.

-------

You try not to ogle him when he comes back in a fuchsia turtleneck sweater that fits a little too snug, and a long black trench coat with a fur-lined collar. The entire ensemble is all too reminiscent of the night two days ago when you'd landed in Madripoor.

While you weren't exactly sure where you all were going, Zemo seemed to have a good idea once Bucky had shared the location of the Supply Depot. It might've been somewhat of a trust exercise on all your behalves to blindly follow the socialite down the winding, peeling streets of Riga, yet nevertheless somewhat of an adrenaline inducing adventure in your mind.

Having just come through a set of steel double doors, you try not to feel anxious as the gate shuts behind you. Trailing along the Baron's side, you read the posters on the walls.

"Shame what's become of this place," he states, making conversation. As you open your mouth to ask what he means, Zemo expands. "When I was young we used to come here for fabulous dinners and parties. I knew nothing of the politics of the time, of course, but I remember it being beautiful."

While part of you is curious to ask the Baron questions, there's a more pressing matter at hand.

'RESET.

RESTORE.

REBUILD.

Global Repatriation Council.'

Reading the poster pasted along the white walls of the courtyard, you can only imagine what you're going to be up against.

"I'm gonna take a look upstairs," Sam announces, "See what you can find out here." Tearing your gaze from the poster you finally meet the man's gaze. "And keep an eye on him." There's no need to extrapolate, it's obvious he means the Baron. You assume dual responsibility, even if he might've been directing it toward Bucky and not necessarily you.

A nod in your friend's direction, Sam parts from the group stepping through a set of glass-paned double doors, allowing you three reign of the courtyard. "I'll stay out of your way," Zemo announces, lifting his gloved hands in a defensive gesture as he takes a step further into the area. You don't miss, however, the glare Bucky gives the Baron, and the devilish smile the man displays behind the Soldier's back.

All around you people seem busy with their activities, some hanging wet laundry up on lines to dry, some washing and cutting vegetables at tables, while others huddle in a corner and whisper to your right. Out of your periphery you can spot Bucky approaching the people laundering on your left. "Donya?" He posits, to no response. "No?"

With your more friendly demeanor, and being a woman, you decide to take a stab at it. Cautiously approaching the people on your right, many disperse from their conversation in search of something to do, no doubt. The woman and man that remain, you sidle up against. "Excuse me," you speak softly, "do you know where Donya Madani's reception is going to be?"

The woman appears meek, her stringy hair held back by a ribbon, hands coming up to her chest. She simply shakes her head while the man at least offers you an answer. "No," he responds, "We don't trust outsiders." Turning his back on you, he returns to conversation with the woman, ultimately shutting you out. Your lips purse in retaliation, and while you might attempt to argue and question why he thinks you're an outsider any other time, you know they'd seen who you'd come in with.

Mind churning through different tactics, it isn't until you spot Zemo halfway across the courtyard that you know he's most likely up to no good. He won't get a chance to escape, not on your watch. With bigger strides than you're used to, you stalk after him as discreetly as you can without straight up chasing him.

"Yes, sir~ yes, sir, three bags full~" the Baron is reciting some sort of rhyme you're not familiar with in a tone that's far too ominous for your taste. "One for my master, one for the dame~" He's certainly garnered the attention of the children, and while they've stopped playing, he's pulled out a small wooden stool from their accompanied small table. "One for the little girl who lives down the lane~"

Attempting to appear busied, you kick at the cobblestone beneath your feet, keeping a short distance between yourself and the man before you who crouches in front of the stool, spilling the contents of a paper bag he'd produced onto it. Ah.... The sly bastard. An assortment of the temptingly colorful candies plop onto the stool. It's something you're sure the children haven't seen in a long time, judging by the looks of this place. And as a child, who can resist something like that? If anything, he'd taken your comment about Narnia a little too seriously.

"Turkish Delight," you hear Zemo state, though your eyes are fixated on the statue of Poseidon behind the group of children. It's intriguing to you that he'd thought to bring the candy in the first place. How did he know there were going to be children here? "It was always my son's favorite." For some reason the admission pings at your heart. Why? You aren't too sure. Maybe it's the way it was easy to forget he had a family. At least... you hadn't remembered reading about him being a father. Yet, the revelation leaves a sorrowful feeling in your stomach. You know you never would've spent that night together if they were alive.

Motion draws your attention back to the scene at hand, and you can't help but shove your hands in your pockets. The blonde haired girl grabs one of the candies, unafraid as she'd been the only one of them to approach. "My old friend, Donya, passed away," Zemo lies, "Did you know her?" Biting your lip, you can't help but watch, impressed, by his tactic. Of course the children will know. They hear everything, and considering the taboo subject, and their naivety, will most likely respond to his white lie.

The girl tentatively nods. "Yes," she answers, fingers anxiously twirling the candy back and forth in her little fingers by either end of the plastic wrapping.

"I would like to pay my last respects," he continues, "Do you know where her funeral will be?" Wow, you mentally laugh to yourself. He's using the exact same tactic you were going to use! You might not have went with 'old friend', but rather, someone you knew. Mentor, perhaps? Contact? Regardless, the 'paying your last respects' bait is exactly what you would've claimed if only the adults had indulged your conversation a bit longer.

Moment of truth. The little girl nods again, though this time he simply points to his ear before she's skipping to his side and whispering. Unfortunately, he's too far away for you to make out what she's saying. Eyes drifting back to the statue, you can't help but wonder why such a beautiful piece of art is sitting here, in a secluded cobblestone courtyard, of all places. As far as you'd known, Latvia wasn't partial to Greece's Polytheistic beliefs.

Suddenly, Zemo's standing, towering over the children as he tells them something in a hushed voice. Tempted to get closer, you're about to make a move when his actions bring you to a halt. Fingers twisting in front of their lips, they tacitly make a bond you're familiar with. Secrets; sealing your mouth with the key and throwing it away. With a handover of the Turkish Delight, the Baron turns on his heels and strides back the way you'd come. It's then that you rejoin him.

"You just got it, didn't you?" You question, Sam and Bucky appearing in your periphery up ahead.

The Baron says nothing as he tucks his hands into his coat's pockets and shrugs. "Cute kids," he finally states. That's all the answer you know you're going to get, begrudgingly.

"Head back?" Sam suggests, hands shoved in his pockets as the breeze begins to pick up in the alley.

"We should be seen as little as possible," Bucky states. Though, you know he must mean it in agreement, it'd simply come across awkward and unrelated if you hadn't picked up on his communication style awhile back.

--------

Entering the apartment once again, Zemo heads for the kitchen with a determination that makes you think twice about where his motives lie and what he could possibly be planning, while Bucky stomps into the living room, Sam close behind.

"Well, I got nothing," Bucky admits defeat. "No one's talking about Donya."

As you follow Bucky and Sam to the couch, you remain standing while they each take a seat. You cross your arms over your chest.

"They don't trust outsiders. Know better than to confide in people speaking English," you comment. Eyes drifting over to spot Zemo rifling through the cabinets and rooting around the kitchen, preoccupied with God knows what. He knows something, yet isn't saying anything. Nevertheless, as Sam's voice fills the living space your attention falls back to the conversation at hand.

"Yeah, it's because Karli is the only one fighting for them," Sam points out. Bucky sighs at the information. "And she's not wrong."

"What do you mean?" Bucky questions, eyes landing on your friend.

"For five years people have been welcomed into countries that have kept them out using barbwire. There were houses and jobs," he explains.

"Yeah, it was actually pretty nice," you agree. "You don't know?" Settling on Bucky's features for a moment, you're only met with a tense look upon his face and cold eyes. That gives you enough of an answer. He was a victim of the Snap, too? You never would have guessed.

"Folks were happy to have people around to help them rebuild," Sam continues, "It wasn't just one community coming together, it was the entire world coming together... and then, boom," he snaps his fingers together, "Just like that, it goes right back to the way it used to be. To them, at least Karli's doin' somethin'."

"Which is better than anything the government's doing," you add.

"You really think her ends justify her means?" Bucky posits.

"Mm-mm," Sam shakes his head in response to your comment, clearly not wanting to get into that can of worms. And you aren't entirely sure how to answer the heavy hitting question.

"Then she's no different than him or anybody else we've fought," Bucky points out.

Eyes shifting between Bucky and Zemo, you're unsure why that's necessarily a bad thing. While you've known how Sam sees Zemo's actions, and you'd thought Bucky's alignment fell somewhere in-between... you're starting to think he and Sam are more alike than you'd previously thought. As you open your mouth to debate Bucky's question, your friend beats you to it.

"She's different," Sam retorts without hesitation. "She's not motivated by the same things."

As Zemo approaches from your right, you can't help but notice he's got a tray in his hands. Some kind of pink tea sits within a see-through teapot, a couple of teacups atop their tiny plates joined by spoons lie around it.

"That little girl," Bucky states, "What'd she tell you?" The question elicits a suspicious look between the Baron and the three of you. It's obvious he's weighing his options. Setting the tray down upon the round table, he finally meets the Soldier's eyes again.

"The funeral is this afternoon," Zemo reveals. A hint of a small smirk tugs at the corner of your lip as you'd just known that tactic would work. While you may be a little jealous you hadn't thought of it first, you can't deny it was smart, and you'd known it'd pay off as soon as you saw him talking to her and realized what he was doing.

However, you can't help but notice the way he answers calmly. Cool, and collected, it's obvious he's trying to bide time. Think of a way out of this.

"You know the Dora's coming for you any minute," Bucky threatens, not having taken his eyes off the Baron since the man approached. "In fact, they're probably lurking outside right now. Keep talking." This little tidbit of information causes you to unintentionally whip your head around to stare out the thin windows lining the apartment's front door. Like you'd realistically see someone standing right there.

Even if you don't know who the Dora are, the imminent threat looms over all of your heads, not just Zemo's.

"Leaving you to turn on me once we get to Karli," Zemo hums in thought, "I prefer to keep my leverage." Fingers running over the smooth ceramic cup he holds within his hands, you don't question things as Bucky gets up and rounds the table before you. In an instant the Soldier's throwing it, the ceramic smashing against the wall behind the Baron. You both flinch, albeit subtly, as your eyes widen.

"You wanna see what someone can do with leverage?" Bucky taunts, taking a step closer to the Baron and eliciting you and Sam's action. While you're reaching toward Bucky, Sam's standing across from him, looming over the table like he's ready to intervene if need be.

"Take it easy," Sam warns.

"It's fine," you add on. If there's anything you've picked up on from Zemo, it's that he's just as intent on getting to Karli as the two of your guys' are.

"Don't engage him," Sam advises, "He's just gonna extort you and do that stupid head tilt thing,"

Funnily enough, Zemo straightens his posture having realized he was, in fact, tilting his head. Something, you have to pride Sam for having recognized. You certainly hadn't noticed. "Let me make a call," Sam excuses himself. Rounding the table, he pats Bucky on the back on his way out. Despite this, the men continue to stare one another down like some sort of fight for male dominance.

"You want some Cherry Blossom tea?" Zemo offers. A lame attempt at deescalating the heightened tension in the room.

A sneer displays itself across the Soldier's face. "No, you go ahead," he refutes, turning and storming off. While you deliberate on following, having even taken so much as a step or two, you give up. Considering you don't know the man that well, there's no way he'd ever care to listen to what you have to say.

You don't miss the way Zemo audibly, albeit faintly, releases an exhale. A sigh slips past your own lips and your eyes finally fall down to the tea in question. "Cherry Blossom?" You ask, amusement unhidden in your tone.

"It's a delicacy," Zemo quips without so much as a beat. The man shrugs before walking back over to the kitchen, to which, you follow.

"Sure," you respond, "I mean, I don't know, but, it sounds good." Now for your lame attempt at reducing the tension.

"Would you like some?" He asks, though his tone sounds somewhat rhetorical as he grabs a kitchen towel off the counter and turns on his heels to look at you, no apparent expression on his face besides indifference.

This takes you aback, and you try to contain the surprised look on your face when you mentally and verbally flail. "I- I mean-" you shake your head as you try to gather your rationale, "-if you're having some, then sure? Yeah, I guess it wouldn't hurt."

Your reaction elicits a faint chuckle from the man as he flings the towel over his shoulder, walking back your way toward the spill. It feels oddly both exhilarating somehow and ominous the way your shoulders brush against one another unintentionally when he passes. He doesn't stop or turn to look back at you, but simply kneels before the mess and begins to clean it up, which gives you pause.

In the silence your mind reels, yet you can't seem to stop yourself from voicing the thoughts bouncing around up there. "What do you think you're going to get?" Your voice is calm, cool, and collected. Everything he'd been only moments before Bucky had burst. It's simply a question that's been churning over and over in your mind for the past few hours.

Even if he's turned from you, the brief pause of his movement gives way to how you've rattled him. "The same thing as you," he answers, the sound of glass gently scraping against the tiled floors is all the sound you need to know he's regained his assuredness.

Only, this time you're the one stumped for an answer. Mouth opening and closing for a split-second as you search for a grasp on his meaning, you know there's no way he's serious. "What do you mean?" Fingers playing with the hem of your borrowed sweater, you hope your deciphering of his words is wrong, for many reasons.

The man before you slowly rises to a stand, his figure towering over yours as he turns, green eyes peering down at you with something cynical beneath the surface. "You're in the same boat as Sharon. Hoping for a pardon," he answers confidently, eye contact unwavering as that mischievous glint in his eye makes you feel vulnerable under his gaze. "Assuming I've picked up on your situation correctly, of course."

In this silent stare down you're the first to break, again, as your eyes shift aside the both of you in search of a decent response. When nothing comes to mind, a sigh escapes you. That's when he walks off, leaving you standing there alone. Whatever heat had been emitting from him in droves simply fades like he was never that close to begin with. "You're... not wrong," you reply, watching him dispose of the glass in the trash as you still stand between the living room and kitchen.

"So you're not the good girl you portray yourself as," Zemo diverts, the topic evolving into something you weren't prepared for. When his eyes raise to meet yours from behind the island, you can't help but search within his gaze for what prompted this, his innuendo quite overt.

"I never pretended to be someone I'm not," you bite back. This time there's no hesitancy or submissiveness in your voice. Turning on your heels, you head for the couch. Bucky still isn't back from the bathroom yet. Who knows? Maybe he went off to find Sam and relay plans without you in whatever room the man went off to for his phone call.

"I cannot say I did not doubt you," Zemo comments as he approaches once more, another cup in hand this time. "However, your tenacity was admirable in the ship yard." The man lifts his teapot up, pouring the pink liquid into their respective cups.

An eyebrow quirks in response. You're not sure how to take his words, or what his intent is, however you decide to take him at his word. "Tell me what you really think," you joke, ultimately deciding to let go of whatever indignation his comment had brewed internally. Because, why would you care about his opinion? Would it be because he'd almost gotten away with one crime? With an assassination? Or for creating a divide amongst friends? I don't think so.

It certainly wasn't because you'd slept with him. If you'd been fishing for compliments or praise, you wouldn't do half the things you do. The way you acted with him, you never pretended. At least that was honest. You're not so sure you can think the same of him anymore.

Silence settles between you for a moment. Only the sound of liquid pouring into the china resounds through the open room. "May I ask," he speaks, pausing in his actions as you can see him mentally gauging how to word whatever's on his mind. Placing the teapot back in its spot on the tray, his eyes give you a once over. "Why is it that you're not as angry with me? I cannot say that their ire has ever been subtle in the least."

The glance he'd spared in the direction Bucky had taken off leaves you with an exact understanding of what he's asking: 'Everyone else is against me. Why aren't you?' There's one thing in admitting that you don't trust him; something that wouldn't surprise him, you're sure. However, angry? No. You're not angry with him.

"Besides the fact that you haven't personally wronged me, for one," you begin, eyes shifting toward the block of couch between you. "Not everyone holds the same sentiment for our country as they do." Looking off in the direction your friends had gone, you know it's a hard truth.

Sharon may joke about them being poster boys for the United States government, and Bucky may not always agree with, or support, their endeavors. But, ultimately, isn't that exactly what they are? Even if only to some degree? After everything you'd endured on its behalf, it'd be hard to say that it didn't at least open your eyes a little toward what values the country truly stands on its feet for.

"They're just extra loud about their beliefs," you attempt to joke, diluting the reality beneath your conversation, and deescalate the tension. With a soft chuckle, you finally meet the Baron's eye again. He isn't smiling or frowning, however the look within his eyes is the only solace that there's an understanding between the two of you.

At least there's that. Someone who isn't afraid to actually weigh the reality of the circumstances.

"You are not wrong about that," Zemo 'tsks', a faint smile finally spreading across his lips as he lifts the china glass to his lips. You follow suit, having let it cool down for a moment. Somewhere in the recesses of your mind had you also potentially worried about poison. However, if he's drinking it then it should be fine... right? "It is unfortunate, however, how many people do not realize the seemingly mundane is the dogma they're being blindly fed," he says between sips. "What do you think?"

Blinking, you're met with his intent expression, unsure how to respond. He hadn't given you any time to mentally piece together a response or comment! "I... don't-"

Zemo laughs wholeheartedly; wrinkles form beside his eyes and he's bent over his lap, careful not to spill his tea. You're befuddled. You don't know how to react or what to do, or even what was so funny? Yet, you'd be lying if you said if his laughter wasn't contagious, or that you chuckle a little in confusion over the whole situation. It'd be a downright depressing question if you were left wondering if and when the last time he'd laughed like that was. That thought doesn't cross your mind in the moment, fortunately.

"I meant about the tea," he finally explains, clueing you in on the amusement of the situation. Your expression of realization must be funny considering the way it starts up his laughter again. And, the fact that it's the type of laughter that makes your stomach hurt from the muscles working overtime, to the way your cheeks also ache in conjunction after unconsciously smiling for so long is something you can only be jealous of. For, when's the last time you'd experienced that?

"Oh!" You facepalm with your empty hand, slightly embarrassed, hoping your cheeks aren't flushing with it. "I-it's good! Yeah, I like it," you reply, unable to help yourself from smiling down at the pink liquid still filling a little less than half of your cup. "It's really..." you try to think of the best word to describe it.

"Refreshing?" He posits.

You find yourself unconsciously smiling in his direction upon his response. "That's a good word for it! Sweet, and somehow, like... a little crisp? But, refreshing, yeah!"

"Is he doing his standup routine for you?" Sam questions as he strolls into the living room with purpose in his stride.

"Had plenty of time to practice in prison," Bucky grumbles in Sam's pursuit, loud enough for everyone to hear, yet quiet enough for it to be considered an intrusive thought.

As you look in their direction, you can't help but smile a little wider at their joke. Even if they don't realize it, Bucky and Sam definitely have a similar humor. One only amplifying the other. "Uh, no? He just said something I misunderstood and it was funny," you correct and inform them. Though you're sure they couldn't care less.

"Not everyone aspires to become a comedian," Zemo retorts, "even if most people of your--well, one of your--generations seem to wish to be." The man crosses his legs, body squared off toward theirs on the couch.

"Wow, what an original one," Bucky says snarkily. The solider crosses his arms, his routine stoicism having returned.

"You had some?" Sam asks, eyes flitting between you and the cherry blossom tea.

"Yeah! It's actually really nice," you perk up, glad someone else isn't brooding or feuding in this room. It's truly been enough of a testosterone-fest the past few days to last you years!

"I'll have to get some later then," Sam comments with a seemingly genuine excitement to try something from another culture.

"Yeah, just jot it down on the bucket list," Bucky remarks sarcastically.

"Okay, well, I just heard from Sharon," Sam relays, hands gesticulating as he starts to explain the plan, effectively ignoring Bucky's attitude. "She's got an eye on our back so we're not going in blind, but we still need to be hypervigilant going in there."

"Prepared for anything," Bucky reinforces the idea. You're still not entirely convinced they're not set on killing the girl. At least, you're confident that Sam isn't.

As Sam pans over the basic plan, you can't help but worry about how everything's going to realistically play out. It's all good and easy to pretend everyone has a conscience and that Karli will simply hand over the rest of the Super Solider serum she has, but you doubt that's the case. She won't go quietly.

"Your job is to secure the vials and safely escort them out of the hot zone. You're the only one who can decipher how Nagel was pulling this stunt off and if the Power Broker's planning on doling out this stuff on a mass scale, then we sure as shit need this in the right hands." Sam explains to you. It's the first time you truly realize the gravity of your job in this mission. "With that outta the way-"

"Where is this thing?" Bucky asks pointedly as he stares down Zemo, no amusement to be found on his face. Straight to business, as always. Can't say you'd expect less from the man, unfortunately.

--------

Sidling up against Sam, you do your best to keep up with the men's speedy walk. Your legs aren't as long, and you make up for it by attempting to take bigger strides.

"Karli Morgenthau is too dangerous for you guys to be pulling this shit." The vaguely familiar voice garners all your group's attention as you follow Zemo to the leveraged meeting spot. It's that guy- the new Captain America. What was his name again?

He and his friend scamper down the stairs a few yards directly in front of your group.

"Ah!" Bucky exclaims with arms wide open. "How'd you find us now?" For some reason, he doesn't actually sound upset this time? At least, not truly.

"Come on," the Captain's friend answers. "You really think two Avengers can walk around Latvia without drawing attention?" Well, he's got you there. Word spreads fast in towns like these.

"No more keeping us in the dark," the Captain demands, "You could start by telling us why you broke him out of prison." The blonde-haired man turns his frustration on the Baron.

While you're not entirely sure what the Captain is referring to, it's obvious there's history between the men. What's more bothersome, is the way you notice someone just over their shoulder--a teenager--begin to record on his phone. It's obvious, the kid isn't even trying to hide it, granted... if you saw a celebrity out in public, would you do the same?

"He did that himself, technically," Bucky responds.

It's clear that's not what the Captain wanted to hear. The anger in his face is exacerbated by the pinch between his brows and the way he hasn't stopped encroaching on you all despite the rather close proximity he's gaining. "Ah, this better be an unbelievable explanati-"

"Hey, take it easy before it gets weird," Sam warns. With the way the Captain was gesticulating wildly, you'd say it already has, though you're not sure how best to contribute and deescalate the quickly escalating situation.

"I know where Karli is," Zemo explains. A quick look around shows you that multiple groups of people have stopped walking and are beginning to stare. This isn't good. You were supposed to be as discreet as possible, and that's already hard when you're in the company of three well-known people.

"Guys, people are watching," you whisper, gaze shifting over to the two staring each other down. The Baron grimaces for only a moment before attempting to slink around the Captain, who stops him with a hand placed on his chest.

"Well, where?" the Captain demands.

"All we know is, it's a memorial," Sam informs. Yet, despite the initial focus on Zemo, the man in question is looking past him for something. What's he looking for? Following his gaze, you don't spot anything. "So we're gonna intercept her there." Granted, your attention is quickly back on the men as they continue to plan.

"That means civilians. High risk of casualties," the Captain's friend announces. As Zemo manages to slip around the Captain, you follow, the rest of the group's footsteps behind you as they do the same.

"Good, that means we move fast, take her by surprise," the Captain comments.

"That's not the plan," you argue, not bothering to look over your shoulder.

"No, I wanna talk to her alone," Sam quips as well, the two of you unwilling to let things slide into a frenzy. No doubt something more than likely with the new poster-boys of the US Government on your tail.

"I'm not losing her again," the Captain states definitively.

"Look, the person closest to her died," Sam points out, "She's vulnerable. Now if there's any time to reason with her, it's now."

"What? No!" All of the sudden the Captain is jogging beside you until he's almost in front of you. "Wait, no! No! Stop," he holds his hands out as he steps directly in front of your group's path. "Hold on. Stop, okay? I think we're way past reasoning with her, unless you forgot the fact that she blew up a building with people in it."

"Of course you'd say that," you bite. From the past you've always known soldiers to be the quickest to anger, and the quickest to escalate. Nothing can ever end peacefully with them.

"Sam, you walk in there cold, she could kill you," his buddy is pointing out.

"What is that supposed to mean, exactly?" The Captain hones in on you this time.

"And if I go in hot and the op goes wrong, more people will die," Sam argues.

"Exactly- there's no room for error here," you add.

"Are you gonna let him do this?" The Captain turns his attention to Bucky, now. "Are you gonna let your partner walk into a room with a super soldier alone?" Silence fills the street for only a moment.

"He's dealt with worse. And he's not my partner," Bucky answers. Out of your periphery you can spot Zemo looking around again, and this time you're irritated. It was one thing having the US Government's ponyboy delaying your prime opportunity at ending things civilly, but now the Baron's looking for an escape route? Frowning in his direction, you can't help but follow his gaze again out of precaution. Only this time you see what he's been looking for.

"I used to counsel soldiers dealing with trauma, okay?" Sam informs, "This is right in my wheelhouse." As your friend rounds Bucky to get closer to the Captain, you can only be grateful someone's intervening.

"Yeah, I know," the Captain responds. "And I know those soldiers which is why I know this is a bad idea."

"Aren't you supposed to be the image of diplomacy? Don't you think that's a bad strategy and a bad look?" You prod. If no one'll say it, someone has to. It's worth a thought, at least.

"Wait, John," the Captain's friend speaks. So that's his name! Definitely American, and an eerily perfect name for someone who'd represent America. Not that you're a fan. "She's not wrong. If he can talk her down, it might be worth a try."

John, as you now know, seems to consider this as he scoffs under his breath. With a shake of his head, he finally looks to Zemo. "We'll deal with you later," he warns.

"I'm sure it will all come to an agreeable conclusion," the Baron replies, palms outward in a placative gesticulation. "my associate is just up ahead," he informs, gesturing up the path. It's the girl. The same one from the GRC encampment you'd visited earlier. The only child brave enough to speak to him, to earn the Turkish Delight for the rest of them.

This time it's you who can't keep it together as an amused breath leaves your lips. "Associate?" You question quietly, peering up at him.

Zemo meets your gaze for a moment, a sort of twinkle in his eye as he offers a half-hearted shrug. "Associate," he doubles down. The Baron rounds John's friend and takes the lead. Following suit, you know Bucky and Sam aren't far behind, while John and his friend dawdle after.

While the girl has a trepid look on her face, she doesn't back away. "Hello, my friend," Zemo greets, "this is for your family." You don't see what it is at first, only that he takes something out of his coat pocket and gives it to her. It's only as she tucks it away that you can make out the note. Euro? Pound? You're not sure what currency Latvia uses, but you did spot the five hundred mark on it. "Can you show us the way?"

The girl waves him over, and a quick look over your shoulder lets you know everyone's now on board with the mission.

"What the hell," you hear John murmur from the back. Truthfully, you'd questioned Zemo's method at first too. Even if you'd had a similar line of thought, there wasn't any guarantee it'd work out. The girl could've easily taken the Turkish Delight and had been done with the whole thing. Money, though? Definitely something people could use right now; especially if that place you'd been to was where she lived.

Luckily, the trip isn't long. The building just up ahead had been the right destination, but the girl takes you around the side and through a back door that leads to what you can only assume is a bakery. Or maybe it was an electrical station? A laundry house? Crematorium? You're unsure, really. Within the room there's another set of tiled stairs that leads to somewhere else. The girl opens the metal door and turns back to all of you, pointing up the extra set of stairs within.

"Karli's in there," Zemo states, as if a translator was needed.

"All right," Sam comments, heading after the girl up the stairs. Contemplating quickly rediscussing the plan with Sam, you take a few steps before a groan brings your attention back. John has Zemo pushed up against one of the ovens.

"Hey," John calls out to Sam, "you got ten minutes-"

"Really?" Zemo asks, evidently annoyed. The sound of handcuffs fills the silent room, and you can't say you're unsurprised by John's actions.

"-then we're doing things my way," John threatens.

"Aggressive," the Baron comments, eyeing John with a dangerous look in his eye, "but I get it." When he smirks, you can't help but look away. Whether it's the reminder that this man is conniving, or that you'd given yourself up to him in the most intimate of ways, you're uncertain. Really, that night he'd been the complete opposite of everything everyone who'd warned you about Zemo claimed him to be.

You're not unlike any other girl. Everyone likes it rough from time to time, and the thought that perhaps maybe he does too might stir something within you. It's... something you're unwilling to give thought to at the moment. Nevertheless, it'd been a one night stand; you're well aware of the man that he is, the man you've witnessed incapacitate multiple men. How you feel about that, on the other hand, is something you've yet to give yourself time to determine.

Sitting on the stairs, you've given up noticing all the small details within both the room you're in, and what you can see of the adjoining one. Bucky leans against the railing beside you, while John and his friend lean against the wall across from where Zemo stands, still handcuffed to the oven.

It's been quiet, though you'd tried to make small talk here and there to no fruitful discussion. From time to time you could feel Zemo's eyes on you, or Bucky spare a glance, but it was only natural considering sitting still in silence for ten minutes gives you limited options. Besides, it's not like you hadn't gazed over them once or twice either.

Now John's pacing, and you know that can't be good considering soldier's, as you know, are notorious for their impatience. Meeting Bucky's gaze, you offer a nervous look, to which he imperceptibly shakes his head. 'It's nothing to be worried about' is what his eyes say. Even if you both know that's a lie.

While Zemo's fingers bend and shift subconsciously clueing you into the fact that he's deep in thought, you find yourself too, starting to really ponder. And even if you can't pinpoint his thoughts, yours drift to the past seventy two hours.

The more time passes, the more John starts to pace, no longer taking breaks as he continuously walks back and forth the length of the floor. "Uh-uh," he says to himself, "no- no, no, this is a bad idea."

As he approaches Bucky again, the Soldier raises his eyes to meet John's figure, only for the Captain to back away again. You almost miss it, the way Zemo glances at his handcuffs. If you didn't know better you'd think he was only trying to eye John in his periphery, but no. No, can't be, can it? He's smarter than that. Ten minutes? Ten minutes and you're not thinking about how to get out of those cuffs? You'd be stupid to think otherwise.

As soon as the Baron's eyes shift, your eyes flick over to John. They're close enough, surely he didn't notice. Hopefully, you think.

"It hasn't been ten minutes, John," Bucky breaks the silence, "just sit tight," he advises.

"Don't do that," John argues, "don't patronize me." The agitation is evident in his tone. It's only a matter of time before a fight breaks out, you just know it. A palpable feeling in the air, a sense, or maybe just anxiety. Either way, dread starts to seep into your chest.

"He knows what he's doing," Bucky assures him. Opting to stand, your butt having started to hurt, your arms cross over your own chest. Whether it's a subconscious closing off toward the raging testosterone in the room, or an imitation of Bucky's intimidation is unknown.

"Yeah," you agree, hoping to voice some sense of calm and reassurance.

John doesn't pay any of you mind though. Standing at the end of the aisle he stares at the wall, a hardened look on his face, and it feels impossible to tell what he's thinking. All you know is it can't be good.

Just as that thought crosses your mind, John's striding back over to the two of you with determination. "I'm goin' in," he declares. Taking a step backward up onto the next step on the stairs, Bucky doesn't hesitate to throw a hand onto the man's chest, effectively blocking him.

You feel like your breath is stuck in your chest as the Captain's friend sidles up to him, both of them apparently on the same page. John's eyes slowly rise up to meet Bucky's face, having been glaring down at the impediment. "This is all really easy for you, isn't it?" The man asks.

A look of confusion crosses your face as your brows pinch together slightly. Does he mean this entire situation, or does he mean...? Bucky has been through war, you know that. He was an Avenger, too, wasn't he?

"All that serum runnin' through your veins," John continues, unknowingly answering your question. Part of you knew. You just knew what he meant, but... what did it matter? The hatred in John's eyes only further elicit more questions. Mainly, is he trying to convince Bucky to join him, or suggest that he's a part of the problem? As he looks toward the room behind you, you figure the former. "Barnes, your partner needs backup in there. Do you really want his blood on your hands?"

The whole room goes silent. You know Bucky's contemplating it; you'd be lying if you said you weren't. Yet, ultimately it's another half minute before Bucky asserts that if John's going, they're all going together. One look at Zemo from both men leaves you torn. A sigh escapes your lips before you assure them you'll watch the Baron. Of course the man needs a babysitter, right? Regardless, if there's about to be a brawl then you certainly would hope, at best, to stay uninvolved.

The momentary deliberation is enough time for the men to distract Bucky as John and his friend shove their way past, the two of them taking off. Bucky follows suit. Jaw dropped, you take a few steps after them, uncertain in whether you should help Bucky stop them and let Sam handle this alone, or make sure Zemo doesn't get free.

With that, there's a metallic clinking behind you that leaves you whipping your head around. Face to face with the spoken Devil himself, he's free. "What do you think you're doing?!" It comes out louder than you'd intended, but with the way the tension's exploded in the room, you can't hold back the nerves that've been eating away at you inside.

"We have to stop Karli," Zemo asserts. As he attempts to sidestep you, you sidestep in time with him, blocking his path. "We cannot waste anymore time! If she gets away, we are all dead." There's a moment of eye contact; the determination on both of your faces surely rival one another, and while there's an unbridled anger beneath the surface of his irises, yours shifts into one of understanding upon consideration of his words.

Yet, you're not quick enough. Even if you might foolishly decide to trust him on this, which you don't, he takes advantage of your hesitancy. Hand on your shoulder, he's pushing you aside more roughly than you'd like, but not hard enough to tip you over, just enough to get you out of his way. Stumbling, you quickly regain balance before running after him.

In the span of minutes, you're running from room to room after a man who navigates the maze of a building with an uncanny sense of certainty. There's no time to question it, no time to wonder where he's going or if he's even leading you in the right direction. How would he even know? Regardless, it's only as you come to a stop in a darkened room lit only by the rays of sun streaming through the little windows atop the walls that Zemo stops.

It looks like a cellar, almost, racks with medical instruments, a table with scientific equipment laid strewn across it. You know what this is, and yet you also can't mentally process that it is what's right in front of you. Super Soldier Serum. Right here, in the flesh, sitting in a vacutainer. "How did you know-?" You question, only to be interrupted.

"Shh!" Zemo demands, pulling you into the shadows by your sleeve. The hurried sound of footsteps bounding closer and closer rings out in the cavernous room. Anxiety wells up again in your belly as there's no telling who it is. Friend, or foe? With only so many days in the boys' company, you've wound up in this situation far too often for your liking.

Both of you breathing hard, still trying to catch your breath after sprinting through the building, it's much harder to keep quiet than you would've thought. It takes the mental task of counting your breath in and out to ease the blood running through your veins.

Hidden behind a series of big pipes, his focus isn't on you as he pulls something from within his jacket. The shiny silver color of what can only be a gun reflects in the spots of sunlight streaming this far into the room. He ejects the chamber and counts the rounds. "It's not fair you get a gun," you state annoyedly. Apparently everyone else is seemingly always prepared for this, except you. Granted, this wasn't a part of the plan!

"Well, next gun you find, be my guest, Schatz," Zemo whispers, eyeing you with a look you can't place. It only lasts a moment, however, as he reloads the gun and peers around the pillar. Suddenly, there's the loud creak of a metal door opening before it slams shut, footsteps bounding down the stairs you'd seen at the front of the room when you'd been snooping.

Whoever's approaching is doing so fast, and you know you're going to have to face them. Zemo takes charge; turning the corner, he pops up, shots fired! A frustrated groan leaves the person's lips and you're quick to follow suit, popping up to see who you're up against. It's her. Shit, it's Karli! A super soldier. Shot after shot is fired and instinct drives into action.

"Stop!" You yell, beelining after him. There's a loud bang as you see the metal table topple over, everything crashing to the floor and scattering everywhere. "You can't kill her! She's just a girl!"

Just as she pokes her head out, another shot is fired. He comes to a stop just before the table, giving you more than enough time to catch up. You attempt to tackle him, jumping onto him, trying to reach around for the gun. A groan leaves him, and you struggle. The man shifts his body with enough force to toss you off and onto the ground. "Really?" He says with an obvious tone of disappointment. "You are either part of the solution, or part of the problem, Liebling! Make your choice."

"This wasn't the plan," you remind him, breathing heavy on the floor.

"Maybe not yours, but it was always the final outcome," he responds. Just as movement's heard from behind the table another shot rings out and you flinch. Springing to your feet, you grab ahold of his wrist, long enough to stall him from any further damage. "Guess you're part of the problem." Kneeing him in the thigh, you yank his arm downward with enough force for the gun to fall from his grasp. In a swift movement, Zemo turns on you, his elbow right behind.

Next thing you know, you're on the floor. Things are blurry, and your head is spinning, but you can make out the blue vials on the concrete.

"Is this what I-" you hear him say, yet it feels like you're hearing him from underwater. It feels like having to force yourself to see what's before you. The heaviness of your body and your eyelids, is far too much. It feels as though things are unfolding before you like a foreign movie, no way for you to take part, change the outcome, or even understand what's going on.

Another ringing shot resounds throughout the room and there's a series of smashing that follows. "No! No!" You hear someone cry.

--------

You'd woken with a raging headache and a barrage of questions directed your way. The room still felt like it was swaying, and while your mind raced with thoughts and answers, it was as if there was a lump in your throat. That made it hard to speak at first, and while you'd held your head, the boys moved you over to the table. Sam seemed busy on his computer while Bucky had taken over checking you out.

A few tablets later and an encouraged full glass of water downed, you feel a lot more alert. "Ow!" You exclaim, immediately turning your head to the side. "What the hell, Bucky?"

He turns off his phone's flashlight before setting the device down on the table. "At least we know it's not a concussion," he says, as if the explanation is an apology. "Really, you should be lying down."

"Was it Karli?" Sam asks, momentarily pausing his typing to tap into the conversation. His gaze is intent and serious, he wants to know whether or not she was the one who hurt you. A shake of your head leaves their expressions souring. "Then who?"

Lips pursing, you avert their gaze, considering what'll happen if you tell them the truth. Yet, you also couldn't care less what happens to Zemo. "He knocked me out," you answer quietly, eyes shifting over to the unconscious man on the couch.

"What?" Bucky practically growls, eyes darting toward the Baron.

"He was shooting at her, and I-" a breath forces itself from your lungs as you recall the recent memory, "-I tried to stop him. We got into it, and he hit me... that's all I remember before, you know." Gesturing to yourself, it's upon that realization that a thoughtful expression overtakes your features. "What happened after that?"

"Jesus," Sam curses, and you swear you can read his thoughts. The guilt is all over his face. He thinks it's his fault that this happened. "Should've known he'd try something. Why'd you-" Sam turns his anger on Bucky as the Soldier gets up.

"He was Special Forces. Makes sense," Bucky states. As he heads over to the bathroom, you figure he's exiting the conversation. It'd already been enough of a mess when John had decided that seven minutes surely equated the ten he'd promised Sam. You can't blame Bucky for distancing himself from the aftermath.

"That doesn't mean tha-" Sam argues, hand balling up into a fist on the table. "You shouldn't have had t-" he turns to you now, a much more gentle tone. Though for whatever reason, he stops himself short. Shaking his head, he looks over his shoulder at Zemo's unconscious figure with a frown before refocusing on you. "At least you did the right thing."

"We're pretty sure that John took care of Zemo considering we'd found him over both of you when we got there," Bucky explains upon returning.

"It's why we didn't immediately assume Zemo, even if I would've bet money on it," Sam adds.

You sip at the second glass of water you'd been given, not too enthused by Bucky's stoicism. Yet, when he plops back down in the chair he'd dragged before yours, both facing each other, he's folding a wet wash cloth. "Here," he offers. Despite whatever feelings are brewing within, you take the generosity.

When Zemo finally wakes, you've already caught up on everything that'd happened between Sam and Karli. The Baron's gasp elicits everyone's attention. It only takes a minute to get out of him that he'd been in the process of destroying all the Super Soldier Serum when John had apparently thrown his shield straight into the Baron's skull.

"Karma," you mutter, too out of it to fully smile, even if something more akin to a smirk displays itself on your lips.

Zemo doesn't respond for once, simple utterances of pained noises and groans escaping the man as he questions why you've been attended to, but he isn't. "After you knocked her out? I don't think so," Sam says, voice laced with incredulity.

"Even before that, yeah, it'd be a 'No'." Bucky adds, and you're not sure you entirely love that sentiment. "Guess you made it your mission to get everyone on your bad list, huh?" It's obviously a joke, you know that... yet there's something in you that contemplates his words.

Eyes shifting over toward the Baron for the second time since he'd regained consciousness, your eyes meet. There's an unspoken conversation between you; even in complete silence, telltale feelings are exchanged there. Within his hazel eyes is what you can only chalk up to a tacit question of: Is he right? There's a hint of something akin to sadness... what you'd hope is possibly regret, guilt, or an inkling of something apologetic.

Realistically, on the other hand, you know it's probably just your imagination filling in the absence of reasoning. On your end, you know there's similar feelings in yourself. The key difference is you know there's disappointment, betrayal, and hurt there, too.

It was only a fleeting moment, the eye contact, but you force yourself to close that door. Turning away, Bucky offers to get you something to eat while you attempt to relax and recuperate, lying on the window seat across the open floorplan. With that, he's off. In the tension of the room, with unspoken resentments, and disagreeing morals, another silence overtakes the apartment. Only this time, it's uncomfortable.

It's Zemo who breaks this silence. Even after he'd gotten up and poured himself a drink, along with grabbing his own wet washcloth, things hadn't lessened in their intensity. "Were you offered it?" The Baron prods. This captures your attention, though it's impossible to tell who he's asking. To make matters worse, the subject is still up in the air.

"What?" Sam responds, assuming it was for him.

"The serum," Zemo clarifies, before tacking your name onto it. "-the question extends to you as well." And you can feel his heedy stare on you.

"No," Sam answers definitively, and you can see a hint of amusement on his face from where you're lying. Understandably, it was an odd question. When you don't respond in tandem, Zemo seems to move on.

"If you had been, hypothetically, that is, would you haven taken it?" The Baron takes it a step further.

"No." Sam's quick to say. There's a moment of silence, and you find your friend's gaze flicking up to you from his computer.

"No," you iterate, not having thought your response would be unobvious.

"No hesitation. That's impressive," Zemo compliments before you spot the washcloth move from his forehead, the Baron now alert. "You, however, hesitated," he points out.

"I'm tired of your questions," you bite, "that's why."

"Yet, you would consider taking it?" The Baron furthers, gaze intent on you across the room.

"Look, st-" Sam starts, attempting to pacify the friction. You'd already been drug into this because of Zemo's righteousness, and you're ready to pounce. "-op antagonizing her. You've already done enough."

"No. Being a hero is overrated," you admit, "I just wasn't expecting the question."

"I am not antagonizing," Zemo defends, something shifting in his eyes. A darkness you've begun to see more and more today, it seems.

"You knocked her out! I think you've done enough. She's on our side, and you had to go an-" Sam's interrupted.

"Karli was getting away! I could not let that happen," Zemo argues.

"Yet, you had to go and make things weird," Sam retorts, swiveling in his chair to fully face the Baron. "Fine." Hands up, it's clear he's unwilling to fight any longer. You also don't need him to fight on your behalf, but at this point you don't really want to entice more conversation from the Baron.

Zemo finally seems to accept your answers, as he sighs heavily. There's a 'tsk' followed by a shake of his head. "You two cannot hold out hope for Karli," he begins, "No matter what you saw in her. She's gone."

There's a big part of you that doesn't want to give him the floor to speak, the air to talk and spread his extremist ideals. Yet, there's another part that can understand what he's saying, and where he's coming from. Eyes flicking between the two men, it's clear Sam isn't going to interrupt, and if he isn't, you'd be damned to do so either.

"And we cannot allow that she and her acolytes become yet another faction of gods amongst real people. Super Soldiers cannot be allowed to exist." Zemo states it all with a confidence and pride that draws a heaviness to the air in the room. It's definitive, radical, and more than anything... dangerous.

All you can do is sit there, your mind drifting back to Bucky, to Steve. How easy is it to say such a thing when the one person in your group who this tirade revolves around is no longer present?

"Isn't that how gods talk?" Sam rebuttles. "And if that's how you feel, what about Bucky?" He'd taken the words right out of your mouth. Great minds think alike, you suppose. Yet, surprisingly, Zemo hasn't refuted anything so far. "Blood isn't always the solution."

The sound of a latch clicking signals the said Soldier's return. How funny, or coincidental... you're not sure which one. The man strides into the room stripping off his jacket. "Something's not right about Walker," he states. Always straight to business with this one, you think.

"You don't say," Sam quips sarcastically.

"He was a soldier," you point out with an amused breath.

"Hey," Sam says in a warning tone, eyeing you with his own mirth.

"Well, I know a crazy when I see one," Bucky comments, pouring himself a glass of something amber in nature. You can only assume it's whiskey. "Because I am crazy." Glancing toward you, it's unclear whether this joke--which you're not entirely sure it is--was due to your comment, or he's being sincere.

"Can't argue with that," Sam replies.

"Shouldn't have given him the shield," Bucky changes topics. You know what he means. John Walker is probably the antithesis of what America stands for, in your opinion. Or at least from what you'd seen of him, which, admittedly, was enough.

"I didn't give him the shield," Sam retorts, frustration ebbing into his tone as he stands from the table and heads over to confront the Soldier.

"Well, Steve definitely didn't," Bucky adds, sipping at his drink.

The sound of wood splitting and doors slamming resound loudly throughout the apartment. "All right," you know that voice, "That's it. Let's go!" It's John Walker. Speak of the Devil. "I'm now ordering you to turn him over," the Captain commands, pointing toward Zemo.

"Great, here we go again," you state annoyedly, no longer willing to hold back your judgmental thoughts. Though, the headache might have something to do with it, too. Sam immediately turns from his position at the counter, meeting the Captain and his friend halfway.

"Hey, slow your roll, Man," Sam encourages. "Let's be clear, shield or no shield the only thing you're runnin' in here is your mouth." He's never been one to sugarcoat things, that's for sure. While you'd sat up, you haven't moved from your spot on the couch at the back of the apartment.

While the men talk, you're completely aware of Zemo's movements. Carrying the decanter and his half-full glass toward you, the mental eye roll is threatening to present itself physically.

"Now, I had Karli and you overstepped," Sam continues, now pointing toward Zemo. "Now, he's actually proven himself useful today. We'll need all hands on deck for whatever's comin' next."

"How do you want the rest of this conversation to go, Sam, huh?" John questions, an ominous tone in his voice that you don't like. And while it's hard to take your eyes off the sight before you, worried about how this'll all unfold, you glance over at Bucky. The Soldier is leaning against the counter, drink in hand. He must feel your stare as he meets your eye for a split second, and you know you're both curious and frustrated at how you're more than sure the conversation will play out.

John scoffs. "Yeah, should I put down the shield? Make it fair?" The amusement bleeding into his demeanor only irks you. While cockiness can be admirable on a man, there's also a fine line between prideful and egotistical. As Sam scoffs in response, John does exactly as he'd offered and puts his shield down against the pillar by the table.

"Holy shit!" You yell much louder than you'd intended. Jumping up out of instinct, there's now a spear embedded in the pillar where John's head had just been. Everyone's eyes fall to the woman who'd thrown it.

Yet, in the second you'd spotted her, there's two more similarly dressed women striding in through the apartment's open doors with spears in hand. You might not know much about the place or their customs, but you can guess they're the Wakandans. No one else speaks as the women stop just behind John and his friend, caging them in between your opposing groups.

One of them speaks up in a language you do not recognize. While you're unsure what they're saying, it's only when you look around at everyone that they say something in English. And that, you understand: "Release him to us now." It's a command, not a request. Their eyes fall onto Zemo who stands a few feet in front of you. Of course, you realize, he'd killed their leader... hadn't he?

"Hi," John says as he turns to greet them. "John Walker. Captain America," he introduces himself. "Well, let's uh, put down the pointy sticks and we can talk this through, huh?" Oh no... what'd he just say?!

"Hey John," Sam warns, "take it easy. You might wanna fight Bucky before you tangle with the Dora Milaje." And while there's a hint of amusement seeped in his tone, you know he's not joking. A glance over at the Soldier tells you that he's mentally preoccupied. For whatever reason, he won't meet their gazes. What's there? Because there's clearly some history you're unaware of.

"The Dora Milaje don't have jurisdiction here," John voices in a tone that you can only attribute to the condescension of when someone manplains something to women. So, this is the Dora that Bucky had talked about earlier, then.

"And you do?" The words fall past your lips before you can stop them. You're not sure where your sudden bravery came from, but you're unwilling to go back now. Sam and the women gaze at you momentarily, though while John doesn't divert his attention, you can see the way his hand balls up into a fist at his side.

"The Dora Milaje have jurisdiction wherever the Dora Milaje find themselves to be," the woman replies in a cold and menacing tone. The clock is ticking again, and you know the countdown to a fight is fastly approaching. You can just feel it.

Regardless of whether or not what the women are describing sounds awfully similar to hitmen and vigilante justice, you don't question it. If even Sam thinks they're more of a threat than Bucky, you're concerned. Certainly not people to be trifled with. Even when the Soldier had mentioned them earlier himself, he'd sounded worried in his own way.

"Okay," John responds with a wry laugh, "Look, I think we got off on the wrong foot." It's as if things happen in slow motion. You see John going in for a pat to her shoulder when she skirts out of his grasp and knocks his hand back with her spear in hand. Next she's hitting his forehead with it before kicking him backward into the spear already embedded into the pillar, effectively clotheslining him from behind.

That's when things flip. Suddenly, things are happening fast. John's on his stomach one second, then he has his shield. The woman does a flip over him, stabbing the shield before throwing her spear toward his friend. It almost hits his head, but another woman across the room catches it swiftly, swinging it around. The third woman is leaping over the couch and targeted on the Captain's friend.

Your heart is racing, adrenaline starting to kick in as you watch in trepidation. Zemo is standing there drinking, and Sam backs up to Bucky's side. "We should do something," Sam proposes. Yet, Bucky's still standing by the counter with his arms crossed over his chest.

"Looking strong, John," he jokes.

Wordless, you watch as the Captain's friend is being strangled by one of the woman's spears, trapped in a chokehold, while the other approaches him with her own spear at the ready. Simultaneously, John is still fighting the other woman, until he's not. On his knee, John's faced with a spear aimed right at him. Both men are teetering on the edge.

"Bucky," you hear Sam shout warningly.

It's only then as the spear's coming down on John that Bucky steps in. He says something, but you're distracted by the way the Captain's friend is in a losing fight.

"Let's talk about this," Bucky offers. As Sam steps in to protect the other man, you spot the subtle shift of Zemo's head and the way he puts down his drink. Nuh-uh. Not happening. Taking off in the direction he'd looked, you run toward the bathroom, Zemo hot on your trail.

You both knock shoulders as you make it to the door. Slipping in, he bumps you out of the way as he turns and locks the doors. "What're you doing?" He questions, a frantic look in his eye.

"I don't know!" You admit, eyes quickly searching his own for something, anything.

"If you're not here to help me, you're in my way," he warns. There's something foreboding in his tone, yet you're also highly aware that he is giving you an opportunity. "Please do not make this harder than it needs to be."

"You gonna knock me out again?" You question, a stern look on your face. No longer will you play nice.

Zemo scoffs, shaking his head as he rounds the bathtub. "I did not mean to do that. I was trying to stall you," he explains. "Help me." As he places his hands on the tub and begins to push, you might curiously question what his aim is, even if somehow you subconsciously know.

And maybe it's the fool in you, the hopeless romantic, or the little girl that could only dream of romance, passion, even simply an adventure beyond the confines of a book... but you help him. Breath held tight in your chest, it burns as you both push the tub aside, only to uncover a manhole. It'd been easier than you'd thought, but it weighed a ton.

"Honest?" You finally ask, wanting to know if any of it was real, or all a manipulation. His one chance at something good before his ultimate reprisal in prison.

"Honest," he responds, tone much gentler and sincere. Reminiscent of that night. A softness overtakes his features as he stares down at you, and you can feel the vulnerability of everything shining through your irises back at him. "Even if we disagree on the method, I believe there is more in common between us than you'd ever care to admit to them."

"I know," you whisper, taking a step closer toward him. He doesn't retreat, but stays put, his hazel eyes searching yours for something, even if you're not quite sure what.

"Unfortunately, there was never going to be another outcome," he admits, "Otherwise, I would've liked to explore," he seems to struggle for the appropriate word, his hand coming up to cup your cheek, "this."

"Me too," you reply, a sadness building within your chest and making your face feel hot for some reason.

"I'm afraid this is goodbye, Liebling." With that, he stoops, angling your face upward to meet his lips. It's a firm, chaste press of your lips against one another. Your hands find his biceps, only for him to part from you. The hand that'd been on your cheek swiftly pushes your hair backward over your ear, fingers trailing through your hair.

"Goodbye, Helmut," you whisper, watching him retreat down the ladder of metal bars into the tunnel. There's one last look shared between the two of you before he takes off. His boots thud against the concrete, splashes echoing only for a moment before a loud crash elicits a gasp from you.

Turning toward the door, you brace for it to be knocked down, landing on your knees. There's a rush of wind, and you cover your face with your arm. "Where is he?!" Lowering your arm again, your stomach sinks with dread. It's her. The leader of the Dora Milaje.

"I- I don't-" you stutter, kneeling on the ground above the opened manhole.

"You let him-" she begins to accuse, twirling her spear in hand.

"I tried to stop him!" You yell in response. "He went that way." Pointing down the hole, you can only pray she doesn't kill you here and now.

"She's on our side," Bucky calls out, causing the woman to stop. Turning, she walks back out, expression unreadable. It sits somewhere between stoicism and anger, a look eerily similar to ones you've seen on Bucky. Maybe that's where he'd gotten it from. Just a thought.

"He is gone. Leave it," the Dora commands, striding toward where you know the apartment's front door is. The other Dora throws down the shield before following suit. A heavy sigh leaves your lips and you stare down the manhole, unsure what to think. You'd just helped an international terrorist escape custody. And he kissed you!

"Did you know they could do that?" You hear Sam ask. Finally turning your attention away from what'd just happened, you stand, dusting off your pants. While many thoughts and emotions run through your body, there'll be time to process what'd just happened later.

Watching Bucky reattach his arm to his body, your lips part in shock. It'd never crossed your mind, you hadn't even thought... "No," Bucky responds, a faint groan slipping past his lips as he moves his fingers, testing his arm, you suspect.

"You alright, man?" The Captain's friend asks as he comes to stand over John's shoulder, the man still kneeling where you assume he'd been beaten down. Slowly moving to the doorway of the bathroom, you try not to let your thoughts continue to cloud your mind.

"They weren't even Super Soldiers," John points out in a defeated tone. The man's practically despondent, and you can't necessarily blame him. For someone who's supposed to be Captain America, he got his ass whooped.

"That was my question, yeah," you add, quietly. It'd crossed your mind when you'd seen that woman flip so effortlessly into the air. Considering your mission and everything that's been going on, it only made sense.

"Come on," John's friend encourages him, helping the man up off the floor.

As both Bucky and Sam approach you, you turn sideways to allow them a view of the bathroom. "I can't believe he really had an escape hatch," you state. It's earnest, even if you might've aided in permitting the escape to take place.

"I can't believe he pulled an El Chapo," Sam comments, staring at the scene.

"I can," Bucky states in his usual stoicism. "Come on," he demands.

Out on the streets of Latvia, you have no clue where Bucky's leading you all, yet you aimlessly follow anyway. A sudden ringing elicits your attention, Sam has a phone call. While you can't hear what's being said, you try to piece together what's happening based off his response to it.

"She said what?! Right. Hold on, hold on, I know," he states firmly, "I know. Listen, pack an overnight bag and take the boys. I'll text you directions later."

"What happened?" Bucky asks, and while you both stare at Sam with concern, distress evident in his voice, you hadn't had the balls to ask.

"Karli called Sarah. She threatened my nephews," Sam responds before lifting the phone back up again. "Okay. Go somewhere safe, only pay cash. Alright? Let me know when you get there." There's a pause, Sarah obviously having concerns. "I know. Look, I love you. I'll never let anything happen to you or the boys, you know that. Okay. Bye."

As his phone call ends, Sam comes to a halt, the three of you stepping to the side of the sidewalk. "Karli wants to meet. She left a contact number," Sam states, lifting his phone again. This time you're able to see what's on his screen. It's a text exchange with an unknown number.

'This is Sam. Sarah told me you want to talk.' reads the sent text. A ping rings out as a reply comes through. 'The rooftop above North Plaza. Now. Come alone.'

"Crap," Sam curses under his breath. With a click of his phone the screen darkens and he tucks it back into his pocket. Finally raising his head again he turns his attention to you. "Look," he states your name, "I know things didn't exactly go as planned here, but I need a favor. Go to the airport, get on a plane, and head to Louisiana." He shakes his head slightly before putting a gentle hand on your shoulder. "I need Buck here, and I don't know exactly how this is all gonna go down, so, if you wouldn't mind checking on Sarah for me, I'll owe you one."

It's a request. Albeit, no true upward inflection to indicate so, but... a question nonetheless. One you can't really, nor would, decline. "Yeah, I'll go, make sure they're okay." Offering him a small smile, he mirrors it back.

"Just... stay with them, if you can, till I get back. I don't think it'll be more than a few days, and, please, God, don't tell Sarah I sent you. She'd have my head! Woman can take care of herself, Lord knows," Sam chuckles at the thought.

"Got it," you respond, smile widening at the thought. Sam had mentioned her a few times, so you'd heard a few great and funny stories. Meeting her in person though? That might be another thing. Regardless, if Sam is as good of a person as he is, then she'll probably be the same.

"I'll tell her you're coming, she'll be at the airport waiting," he assures you. With that, you hug the man before eyeing Bucky. The Soldier doesn't seem like the hugging type, but you offer him a smile and nod.

"Just... talk to her. End this, and... be safe, okay?" You beg, starting to walk backward away from them.

"We'll do our best," Bucky responds, a knowing smile on his lips. With that, it seems like your time in Latvia has come to an end. Onto the next thing. Louisiana, here you come!

~~~~~~~~

forever taglist: @ohdamnadam , @safarigirlsp , @jynzandtonic , @penelopepine , @moonlightsolo

tmt taglist: @wheres-mylove , @ashy-kit , @the-light-of-earendil

[slayerofthevampire]

If I were to write a loooong Bucky x F!Reader series would y'all read?

It'll be a mix of tropes (fluff, smut, angst, hurt/comfort etc.)

Edit: 20 likes is plenty for me. I'm going to do it! Tell me if you wanna be tagged!

[peter-parkers-left-pinky]

(Y/n): Can I ask a dumb question?

Natasha: Better than anyone I know.

[imagine-docx]

poem bandit.

Summary: You work in the library and keep finding love poems hidden in the pages of the book. You assume it’s a prank until you finally meet the the author of said poems. [college!au]

Warnings: light swearing.

A/N: two pieces in one week? who am i? - amanda 💛

I see her walk the meadow wide,With sunlight dancing at her side.She does not know my name or face,Yet still she holds my heart in place.

I speak no word, I make no sound,Just watch her footsteps grace the ground.A love so close, yet far to roam—She is the dream I call my own.

Was the first of the many poems that you found in art books in the book return.

You started receiving poems about four months ago. Initially, you thought it was just someone working on something and they accidentally left it in a book and returned it. You notified your colleagues that in case someone came looking for it, it would be in the black binder behind the desk.

At some point you deemed it as a prank because you were constantly getting them and the weird part was, the books were only returned when you worked. You brushed it off thinking it was another pateron playing a prank, until it started being left on the desk. 

One night it was just you and Wanda working the library during midterm season, when the poem was left in the book on the check in desk. You were busy reshelving the books and Wanda was in the bathroom so neither of you were able to catch the culprit.

✿　.　˚　. 　��˚　✿.

You, Wanda, and Nat were walking to the student lounge to grab something to eat after your 10 am Digital Cultures and Social Media class. “Memes as modern mythology,” Nat grumbled, “Who the fuck analyzes memes?”

“Are you still pressed about the assignment?” You asked.

“She didn’t start,” Wanda pointed out.

“Hold on, Ms. Romanoff didn’t start an assignment yet?” You asked in disbelief.

“God forbid a woman has other classes she has to deal with,” Natasha said while taking a sip of coffee.

You opened the door and held it open for Wanda and Nat, “You are the queen of multitasking, I simply don’t believe that you can’t manage time properly.”

“She has new priorities,” Wanda said, wiggling her eyebrows.

“He is not distracting me,” Natasha hissed.

“We never mentioned a he,” You retorted.

The three of you lined up for the hot bar place, “Are you still getting those poems?” Natasha asked, changing the topic.

“You are changing the topic!”

“Nothing is gonna happen with that love life, might as well interrogate the one that seems to have movement,” Natasha said. 

“He keeps leaving poems on the front desk for her,” Wanda chimed.

“It’s not for me,” you shot back.

“You are the only one getting them, it doesn’t happen when I work. Doesn’t happen when Carol works. Doesn’t happen when Peter works. There’s one common denominator,” Wanda argued.

“It’s a prank,” you declared.

“Who the fuck goes through that much writing, and hassle to ensure you get it, and it happens to be a prank. Be fucking for real.” Natasha argued.

“Nat’s right you know? If it was a prank they would do maybe five max. It’s been what? Five months?” Wanda stated

“Four,” you corrected under your breath.

“See! So you do know!” Wanda said in a matter of a fact tone.

“Have you ever tried, I don’t know, checking who checked out the book,” Natasha said to the both of you. You and Wanda looked at each other in disbelief. “You two dimwits didn’t think of this?”

✿　.　˚　. 　 ˚　✿.

You and Wanda were working late at the library again. You both delegated tasks to each other, so the faster you two finish, the faster you two can go back to gossiping. You were putting glue into the spine of a book to fix it. 

“Excuse me?” 

That snapped you out of your concentration, you looked up and your jaw almost dropped. Standing in front of you was the cutest man you’ve ever seen. “Hi,” you smiled, “How can I help you?”

“I was wondering if you could check if there was a book in the library for me?” He asked. 

“Of course,” you jiggled the mouse, “What’s the title?”

“Indigenous Enslavement in U.S. History,” he said, reading the title off his phone.

You typed it in and searched through the system, “This one seems popular, both copies are out.”

“Shit,” he cursed.

“Need it for an assignment?” You asked, looking at him.

“Yeah, I have time though. It’s due in a few weeks, I just wanted a head start.” He said.

“You’re better than me,” you joked, “I would’ve waited until three days before it’s due.”

“You’re better than my roommate, he would wait until the morning of to do it,” he joked.

“One copy comes back on Thursday if you want?” You asked.

“Can I hold it?” He asked.

“Of course, let me grab your name,” you clicked on the field.

“Steve Rogers,” he responded.

“Nice to meet you,” you replied and introduced yourself.

“That’s a beautiful name,” he said.

“Thank my parents for it,” you joked again, “You’ll get an email to come collect it when it gets back in the library.”

“Thank you,” he said with gratitude. 

✿　.　˚　. 　 ˚　✿.

You were in the kitchen making tea, when you felt someone nudge your ribs. “So who was that?” 

“Nothing gets past you, huh?” You asked, pouring a spoonful of sugar into the cup.

“You two totally hit it off,” Wanda said, grabbing her own cup.

“It was someone looking for a book, nothing romantic about that,” you retorted.

“He was making googly eyes at you!” She exclaimed.

“He was probably making googly eyes at Indigenous history,” you said, pouring the hot water into the cup. 

“Are you that dense?” Wanda asked. 

“Wanda, this is a library, where people come to study and find books. Not find love.” You stated, pouring milk into your tea.

“Oh my god, what if he’s the poem bandit?” Wanda exclaimed.

“That’s where your mind went to?” You asked, walking out with Wanda trailing closely behind.

“Give me a valid reason as to why he can’t be the poem bandit?” She asked.

“He was looking for a boo—” You stopped in your tracks.

Wanda looked at you confused, she followed your eyes and looked to where you were staring. There sat another art history book with a piece of paper sticking out. “Poem bandit!”

You slowly put down your cup and hesitated to pick up the book, your photos gently grazed the cover. You picked it up and pulled out the poem.

You walk like morning—soft and slow,Where flowers bloom and robins go.The world feels lighter when you’re near,Like every cloud forgets to fear.

I don’t know when or how or why—Just that you’re sunshine passing by.And though you haven’t seen me yet,My heart writes songs it won’t forget.

Wanda immediately smacked your arm and pushed you to the side, “Move, let me see who checked this out.”

You held the note in your hand and kept rereading it.

Wanda scanned the barcode, “It hasn’t been checked out.”

The two of you looked at each other, dumbfounded.

✿　.　˚　. 　 ˚　✿.

“So you guys found nothing,” Natasha said, throwing down the french fry she was holding.

You and Wanda returned home after 12 am from your shift and grabbed food for the three of you on the way back.

“Nat, the book was last checked out in 2022,” Wanda said, taking a bite of her burger.

“So the man is just in the library, writing poems and leaving,” Natasha said, putting together the pieces.

“I think it’s the blond guy she was talking to today,” Wanda stated.

Natasha shot a look at you, while you were getting up to go to the kitchen. “Who?” she asked.

“Wanda is convinced that a random pateron who was looking for a book is what she calls the poem bandit,” you responded, grabbing napkins from the kitchen.

“How can you be so sure it isn’t him?” Wanda once again interrogated.

“Wanda, not everyone is the poem bandit.” You stated.

✿　.　˚　. 　 ˚　✿.

You, Wanda, and Natasha were in the library. You were sitting in the high chair, Wanda stood leaning against the book return, and Natasha was standing on the other side of the checkout desk. “This was the book,” Wanda said, handing the book to Natasha.

“Can we put the poem bandit behind us?” You asked.

“He is infatuated by you!” Wanda exclaimed, “We have to meet him.”

“You wanna meet the soul that leaves me poems?” You asked.

“He keeps torturing you, of course we want to meet him,” Natasha joked.

“Excuse me?” Someone called out.

You looked up and saw Steve. “Hi Steve.”

“Hi, your book is in. Let me grab it for you.” You smiled, getting up. 

Wanda and Natasha shot looks at each other while you and Steve were exchanging small talk whilst checking out the book.

Steve got the book and bid goodbye to the three of you and going to sit at a table.

“I see where Wanda is coming from,” Natasha laughed.

“God, not you too,” you groaned.

✿　.　˚　. 　 ˚　✿.✿　.　˚　. 　 ˚　✿.

For the week, you were dealing with nonstop teasing from Wanda and Natasha over the poem bandit and Steve.

You were reshelving books when Peter came up, “Could you watch the front for a second? I need to use the washroom,” he shyly asked. 

“Go,” you smiled, “I got you.”

Peter thanked you profusely and ran off to the staff washroom. You looked over to the clock and saw you had about an hour left on your shift. You walked into the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of water. 

You were looking at your phone and walked out and noticed a figure leaving a book on the desk, “Hey!” you called out.

The person froze, you walked up to the desk, “Steve?” You questioned.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath.

“You’re the poem bandit?” You asked.

Steve started stuttering and tripping over his words. With all the random words he was spewing, he finally said a coherent sentence. “I am so sorry. I didn’t think you would find out.”

“Was this entire thing a prank?” You asked.

“No, no no. I just couldn’t bring myself to talk to you.” He said, scratching the back of his neck.

“Why didn’t you come up and try talking to me?” You questioned.

“Do you not read the poems?” He joked, “You’re so outgoing, it’s actually intimidating.”

“But you asked me about the Indigenous history book?”

“Only after one of my friends told me I was a pussy, I couldn’t give him the satisfaction.”

“So you mean the poems?” You asked, once again.

“Every word in it. You caught my eye since the summer, and I couldn’t bring myself to talk to you,” he said sheepishly.

“Your poems were the highlight of my shift,” you said, smiling at him.

His face lit up, “Can I take you out properly this weekend?”

“Of course you can, poem bandit.”

[shewhohangsoutincemeteries]

checkmate

Tony Stark x F!Reader

Prompt: “you're cute even when you make that face."

Summary: tony invites himself to keep you company while you drink away a bad day, and it very quickly develops into something more salacious.

Warnings: smut, unprotected sex (wrap it up, people), alcohol

Word Count: 2,084

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You rested your cheek in your hand as you watched Tony rim another batch of shot glasses with salt, setting the glasses he’d already filled on the board in front of you. He was dressed surprisingly casually in a black polo shirt and oil-marked jeans, his hair stylishly mussed. Your eyes idly travelled to the muscles of his biceps for a moment despite yourself.

“This still feels like a really convoluted way to get drunk.”

Tony smirked, pouring the last round of shots into his prepared glasses. “Are you worried you’re not up to the challenge?”

“I’m worried you’re an even bigger nerd than I already thought you were,” you replied dryly. Tony snickered, meeting your eyes from under his brows as he set the remaining glasses in place on the board. You returned his smile despite yourself. He’d found you raiding his bar about twenty minutes prior, and after a few semi-irritating jibes aimed your way, he’d offered to blow off his evening plans in favor of joining you for a night of commisatory drinks. “Let’s just start already.”

“You’re so pushy,” he teased, turning the board ninety degrees with a finger. “It’s kinda hot.”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. “Keep your kinks to yourself, Stark. I’m just here to get drunk.”

He snickered again, waving a hand at the board between you. After you’d agreed to drink with him instead of alone, he’d produced a chess board from under the bar. Instead of pieces however, he’d brought out what felt like way too many shot glasses emblazoned with the different chess pieces – presumably so you could keep track of which piece was which. He’d made some joking excuse of it being a ‘training exercise’ for your problem-solving skills. The dick.

“Ladies first.”

“Alright…” you sighed, cracking your knuckles. “But, just as a warning… I have no idea how to play.”

Tony laughed aloud, rounding the side of the bar so that he could pull up the stool beside you.

***

You wrinkled your nose as you downed yet another tequila shot, the alcohol making your head pleasantly fuzzy. You reached for the bowl of limes you’d cut while he was pouring, sucking on a quarter with a frown. “So… am I winning yet?”

Tony chuckled, his knee bumping against yours in a way that you were almost sure you could mistake for affection. He’d pulled his stool right up to yours, and now one of his knees was pressed between your parted thighs. You tried to ignore the warmth that tingled along the inside of your thighs at the feeling of it. His temple rested against his fist, his elbow on the bar as he watched you set the glass down beside the board. He was watching you with an amused smile, the deep brown of his eye ridiculously warm and strangely comforting.

“Not even close. But I love the enthusiasm.”

“I ever tell you that you’re kind of a dick?”

He sighed, faux-resigned. “No, but I’m familiar with the tune.”

“Yeah? Well, let me sing you a reprise.” you sniped, staring at the board for a long moment before picking up a shot glass and replacing it with one of yours. “A-ha!”

Tony hummed, taking the shot from you and downing it with practiced ease. You swallowed as his fingers brushed against yours, surprised again by the way something so casual made your stomach flip. He set down the glass beside the board. “You get cocky fast, sweetheart.”

“Says the world’s biggest…” you rolled your eyes as his smirk widened. “Shut up.”

Tony laughed loudly, picking up another shot and tossing it back.

“Hey, I didn’t even make a move!”

“I’m levelling the playing field,” he replied easily. You stuck your tongue out at him childishly. “God, you’re cute.”

You scowled, moving another glass across the board. “I am not.”

“Ridiculously so,” he insisted teasingly, selecting a slice of lime and replacing that glass with one of his own. You sighed, taking the shot obediently. Your frown deepened as you picked up another quarter of lime. “Hell, you’re even cute when you make that face.”

Your lips parted to make some biting response, falling silent as you met his eyes. He seemed to be studying you as he sucked on the lime, and the moment hung between the two of you before he reached out and wrapped a hand around the back of your neck. He tossed the lime aside seconds before his mouth met yours, his hand curled in your hair.

The sweet burn of salt and lime lingered on his lips, heat radiating wonderfully from where his lips pressed against yours to tingle through every one of your limbs and curl within your belly. Your hand came forward to brace yourself against his thigh, fingers pressing into the denim. Tony hummed against your lips, his fingertips tickling at the back of your neck.

His other hand came up to clutch at your hip pulling you further towards him. The sound of surprise you made as your stool tipped was muffled by his lips, your hand tightening on his thigh. Tony chuckled into the kiss, standing and pushing you back so your stool was upright again without breaking away from you.

“Careful, sweetheart,” he teased against your lips, his stubble teasing your chin. “Can’t have you—”

“I swear to God, Stark, if you’re about to make a ‘falling for you’ joke this ends right here.”

He laughed, pressing another kiss to your mouth. He tucked hair behind your ear, trailing his fingertips down the side of your neck to tease along the neckline of your shirt. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Good,” you replied, hooking your fingers in the front of his shirt. You smiled up at him, warmth rising in your cheeks and settling in the pit of your stomach. “Because you’re on thin ice, Tony.”

“Noted,” he grinned as you tugged him forward and brought his lips back to yours. His kiss was languid, his hand continuing its journey down to claim your hip. His other hand came ton rest between your thighs, bracing him against the edge of the stool. The heat in your belly flooded through you; your head was spinning with it.

Tony’s lips travelled down over your throat as your hands moved to fumble with the buckle of his belt. His fingers covered yours, intertwining them. “Eager.”

You brought his lips back to yours, kissing him again for a moment before speaking against his mouth. “I need you to fuck me, Tony.”

Tony gave a soft groan, his forehead resting against yours. “Yes, ma’am.”

His lips met yours again, hungrier than before, and you curled the fingers of one hand in the hair at the back of his head. Your other hand cupped the bulge in his jeans and squeezed, shivering at the way he moaned into your mouth. Tony’s hands smoothed up over your knees, skimming along the bare flesh of your thighs. Goosebumps followed as his fingertips slipped under the hem of your skirt.

Tony’s lips returned to the side of your neck, his teeth grazing over the sensitive skin as he hooked his hands under your thighs and tugged you to the edge of the stool. Setting your knees against his hips, you moaned, head falling back, as his fingers found your cunt. Even through your underwear the brush of his fingers against your clit was godly, and you unbuckled his belt eagerly.

“Already so wet, baby,” he murmured against your throat. His teeth caught your earlobe, and he exhaled heavily as you slipped your hand past his waistband to wrap it around his hardening cock. “God, you’re gorgeous…”

You ground against Tony’s hand as he pushed your underwear aside and teased your clit in earnest, his mouth sucking a heady pressure into your collarbone. You stroked the length of him, squeezing him at the base with each downstroke.

“Evil little hands,” Tony muttered, running his tongue along your pulse point before kissing you again. His breath caught as you wrapped your legs around him and urged him closer, the head of his cock pressing slowly into you. “Fuck…”

“You sound so pretty, Stark.” you teased, your next words devolving into a moan as he thrust further into you. “Oh, Christ…”

Tony laughed brokenly, his forehead falling against your shoulder as he began fucking himself into you steadily. He pressed a kiss to the mark he’d left on your collarbone before returning to your face, dusting kisses over your cheeks and nose before claiming your lips.

His grip was bruising on your hips, and each inch he filled you with made you whimper with need. The stool rocked with each thrust, and hands clutching at his shirt. The rough denim of his jeans teased the sensitive flesh of your inner thighs, and Tony broke away from your lips so you could pull his shirt off over his head.

Your hands found his chest greedily, your mouth finding the base of his throat. Tony moaned, his fingers on your clit. “Needy little…”

“D’you think…” you moaned as he adjusted his hips and he brushed against the sweet spot inside you that made your eyes roll back. “…that we could stop making fun of each other for the next… five minutes?”

Tony chuckled, kissing you again. His tongue slid against yours, his hands tightening deliciously on your hips.

“Depends,” he replied, kissing the tip of your nose in a surprisingly affectionate gesture. You moaned aloud as he contradicted it with a particularly hard thrust. “Think you can control yourself?”

You pinched his nipple, and he laughed. “Nope.”

“Good,” he replied. “’Cause I’m gonna need more than five minutes.”

***

You were quickly coming to the conclusion that fucking Tony was like some kind of drug. You could feel your first orgasm dripping down your thighs, the second building quickly inside you. Tony’s hand was spread against the small of your back, his head dipped down to tease the soft skin of the swell of your breasts with his lips and tongue. You had your fingers curled in his hair, rolling your hips forward to meet his with every thrust. Your other hand clung to the edge of the bar in the hopes it would be enough to keep you from falling off the stool.

“Fuck, Tony…” you wrapped your arm around his neck as he brought his mouth back to yours. Your hand clutched at his shoulder blade, nails scoring his bare skin. His fingers found your clit again and your hips jerked against him. “We’re going to get caught…”

He chuckled, quickening his hand. “Sweetheart, if nobody came running the first time you screamed my name, they’re not coming.”

“Asshole.”

“See, that’d hurt if you weren’t currently dripping all over my—”

Tony gave a muffled laugh as you cut him off by kissing him again, your teeth grazing his bottom lip. His thrusts quickened just as he pinched your clit, and you moaned brokenly as you came again, your whole body jerking into his. Tony took hold of your hips, fingers digging into the flesh as he thrust into you firmly a few more times before pulling out. He groaned, gripping the base of his cock as he spilled himself over your thighs, his shoulder shuddering as he exhaled.

You closed your eyes as you fought to regain your composure, and felt Tony dust blind kisses over your face as you did. He lingered each time he caught your lips, his own chest heaving as he came down. He smoothed a hand over the side of shoulder and down your bicep, his thumb brushing over the bare skin.

“Remind me to invite myself to drinks more often.”

You breathed a laugh, letting your head fall forward to rest your forehead against his, your hands still resting on his shoulders. Tony moved to press a kiss to your hairline as his breathing steadied.

“Wouldn’t have hurt to wait ‘til we found a bed, though.”

He smirked softly, moving back to meet your eye. You felt warmth in your cheeks as he tucked a wayward strand of hair behind your ear.

“I don’t know, you look so pretty sitting there all dainty, thighs covered in my—”

You slapped a hand over his mouth. “Tony?”

“Mm?” he hummed from behind your palm, amusement shining in his eyes.

“Don’t ruin the moment.”

“Mm-hmm.”

You smiled despite yourself, removing your hand and kissing him again.

.

.

.

.

tags:

@trekkingaroundasgard @ccbsrms @lina-mar @lovely-dreamer19

@wittyforachange @glossyloner @wefracturedmotivation @january-echoes

@capitalnineteen @youclickedthislink @drakelover78 @castieltrash1 @s0ftness

@queenoftheunderdark @fandoms-pizza-wifi-ym13 @lol-you-thought

@sebbystanlover-vk @mikariell95 @csigeoblue @abrunettefangirlnerd @babyblues915

@aar-journey @moistpotatobear @capsironunderoos @bellamyblakemorley @diesinspanishbcimhispanic

@sentimentalalien @agustdowney @akumune @xxboesefrauxx

@patheticallysentimental @loki-is-loved

[a-spes]

˚ 　 ⋆ ⁺ ₊ ✦ ⁺ ₊ 　 ˚ 　. ˚ . 　 ☁ . 　　. 　 ˚ 　⁺ ₊ ⁺ ✦ 𝖆-𝖘𝖕𝖊𝖘'𝖘 𝖓𝖆𝖛𝖎𝖌𝖆𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓 𝖕𝖔𝖘𝖙  ₊ . 　 ˚　. ✧ ⁺ ✦ ₊　 　 ☁ ˚　 . ⁺ ₊ ✧ ˚　 . 　  ˚　 ⁺ ₊ ˚

₊ ⁺ ✦ ₊　 　 ☁ 　˚　 . 　⁺ ₊ ✧ ˚　　 . 　  ˚　 ˚ 　. ☁ ˚ 　. ˚ 　 ✩ ₊ ˚ . ☾ ⋆ ⁺ ₊ ✧   　　˚ ⁺ 　

⊱⋆ 𝔱𝔴𝔢𝔫𝔱𝔶 𝔶𝔢𝔯𝔰 𝔬𝔩𝔡. 𝔰𝔥𝔢/𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔶. 𝔢𝔫𝔤𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔥 𝔦𝔰 𝔫𝔬𝔱 𝔪𝔶 𝔣𝔦𝔯𝔰𝔱 𝔩𝔞𝔫𝔤𝔲𝔞𝔤𝔢. ⋆⊰

˚　 . ⤳ 𝔪𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱. ⋆ ⁺ ₊ ✧ ⤳ 𝔯𝔢𝔮𝔲𝔢𝔰𝔱 𝔤𝔲𝔦𝔡𝔢𝔩𝔦𝔫𝔢𝔰. . ☁ ˚ ⤳ 𝔴𝔬𝔯𝔨𝔰 𝔦𝔫 𝔭𝔯𝔬𝔤𝔯𝔢𝔰𝔰 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔣𝔲𝔱𝔲𝔯𝔢 𝔭𝔯𝔬𝔧𝔢𝔠𝔱𝔰.  ˚ . ⤳ 𝔣𝔦𝔠𝔰 𝔯𝔢𝔠𝔬𝔪𝔪𝔢𝔫𝔡𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫𝔰.

⤳ last update — Jan. 01, 2025.

[justkending]

On my nerves. (Steve Rogers One-shot)

Summary: Y/N and Steve have a complex relationship. On a busted mission, some conversation pieces come up that need to be solved.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader (Avenger)

Word Count: 3100+

A/N: I did a small poll on who I should write for next, and I got an even amount of votes, so I decided on Steve! I haven't written for him for a long time and thought it was deserved this long in. So enjoy these fluffy enemies to semi-lovers one-shot :)

______________

Steve watched, as if in slow-mo, as a knife passed his face and embedded itself into the chest cavity of a man close to getting the jump on him.

"So much for having this mission in the bag, huh?" Y/N's sly comment followed as she jumped from a banister down to the level Steve was on in the attic of an old church.

"The rule was no killing," Steve grunted in frustration as the man he had grasped by the neck fainted, and he tossed him to the side.

"Yeah, well, someone was going to die, and it was either him or the person who's supposed to be running this mission. You should be grateful I didn't choose the second option," she smirked, straightening her tactical vest as she scanned their surroundings. "What's the update?"

Steve could have reprimanded her more, as he was used to doing, but they were on a time crunch, and the men they were sent to take in under SHIELD's order hadn't gotten the memo of no killing.

"Masgood isn't here," he sighed, swiftly anchoring his shield to his back. "He must have gotten word we were coming and staged the place to look like he'd be here."

"Yeah, it seems to be his MO," Y/N sighed, bending as she dug through the pockets of the unconscious assailant.

"What are you doing?"

"Checking the body for clues, duh," she replied with a tone of disinterest. She paused, looking up at Steve. "I know this isn't your first rodeo, so why are you acting like it?" One of her forearms rested on her knee as she squatted over the body and dug through his pockets unbothered.

Steve rolled his eyes and shifted on his feet as look at the space. "Something feels off about all this."

"When does it not? We chase bad guys with evil and sadistic intentions as our career. I'd be worried if it felt right," she grunted softly as she stood up and moved to another body.

Steve moved to a window off to the side and looked at the street and environment below for any more clues.

Their target was a man in charge of a large human trafficking ring. Ivan Masgood. An infamous drug lord who started poking around in a new field of illegal activities. Like most felons, he had personal goons and connections that kept him close to untouchable, but SHIELD had plans to shut that down now that he was tapping into the stealing of innocent adolescents from the streets.

"I say we tie these idiots up for the agents that'll come clean up this mess and make our way to the restaurant down a few blocks. Looks like a good Mediterranean place," she sighed, walking over and leaning against a pillar behind the window where Steve was monitoring pedestrians.

Steve turned to her with an annoyed face, one that was a staple for their duo and eyed her.

"We're on a job. A job that involves a man who is taking advantage of innocent children."

"Yes, and we can't solve it on an empty stomach," she shrugged, pushing on the wood. "And this place is empty. We've handled the few goons here, and now we move on."

"Is it really that simple to you?" Steve huffed, crossing his arms as he turned to her.

"If by simple you mean the practiced next step, then yes. It is," she nodded with no hesitance, even with his stern glare fixed on her.

"You're impossible to-"

"Shhh," she hushed, raising her hand and slightly turning her head.

Steve knew better to question her when she did that. Her hearing was better than his most of the time. Her enhancements weren't far from his own, but sometimes they proved to be even more sensitive than his.

He mouthed a "What?" and she shook her head as a hint to hold on. A few moments passed before she shook her head and returned to reality.

"False alarm," she turned, looking at the only door in and out of the attic. "Help me tie these assholes up, and then we're getting dinner."

"Y/N," Steve started, but she ignored him and searched for rope or anything of length to keep them secure.

Three men tied up with both electric chords and Christmas lights were still unconscious as Steve called in the clean-up crew that was there minutes after Y/N and Steve were in the front of the church, giving a quick rundown of their mission.

"It was a 50/50 shot, Cap. Can't get too hung up on it," Rodney, one of the agents who had been working on the case with them, assured.

"Doesn't make it any less frustrating," Steve sighed before grunting at the pressure hitting his chest. He looked down to see Y/N holding a pile of clothes on his sternum.

"Change. We have a date," She grinned, already in street clothes herself.

He gave her a once over and noticed the small grin on Rodney's lips before he quickly walked away.

"Y/L/N!" Steve yelled after her as she turned and was already moving on to her next task. He groaned and slumped as he looked at the jeans and baseball Henley picked out for him. A hat and sunglasses paired on top.

__________

"Why are we here?" Steve grumbled under his breath as they sat in a booth at the Mediterranian restaurant that looked family-owned but had the ambiance of a well-off family—the two fit in a way that raised a few questions.

He wasn't sure how she had managed to drag him there, but either way, he was there, and something about Y/N orchestrating this entire meal left him confused.

"I haven't had a full meal since last night," she answered, staring at the menu before grabbing the waitress's attention as she balanced two plates in hand. "Can we get the drink menu, please?"

"I'll grab it on my way back," she smiled kindly, her voice accented with a Grecian tongue.

"Thank you," Y/N smiled back kindly and went back to the menu. "I heard their Sangria is amazing. And it's homemade."

"Y/N," Steve ground through his teeth. He was fed up with this side quest that served no purpose. "What are we doing here?" he articulated each word.

"Jeez, Cap. Get the popsicle stick out of your ass and relax some. We're just having dinner and waiting for the show," she responded, putting the plastic-covered menu down and throwing her arm over her side of the booth.

"What show-"

"Drinks?" a teenage boy who looked to be one of the owners' kids begrudgingly asked for their orders.

"I'll take water for now, and this one will have a double scotch neat to help ease his never-leaving glower," she smiled up at the kid, who just blinked at her, and Steve burned holes in her head from the side. "Water. We'll both do water."

"Right…" the kid grumbled, not bothering to write the order as he stalked off.

"You said this had to do with the case. That's the only reason I'm here," Steve intertwined his hands on the table and took a breath as he watched her. In truth, she had vaguely mentioned something about the case, and he ran with that one bullet point, which put him in this position.

"Tell me. How does one sign up to gain your trust? Do I have to jump in the line of fire a second time to get it, or is it like whoever gets your coffee order right without asking? Maybe something in between there?" she leaned forward on the table.

Six months ago, Y/N had jumped in front of a blast from a mutant's powers for Steve, and it had benched her for over a week with the aftereffects.

He hadn't expected her to make that kind of sacrifice, and he had been more than grateful and did his best to show it during her healing time and afterward. But at the end of the day, her snarky comments, struggle to stay professional, and blatant disregard for orders made it hard for him not to be aggravated when she did things.

"It's not trust as much as it's being out of the know for what the real reason for us being here is," he softly said when she looked at him with eyes that seemed to genuinely want to know why he treated her with little patience where he normally gave it freely. "I like to be informed."

She watched his eyes closely as if waiting for the but, but then she tensed ever so slightly, and her eyes flicked behind his shoulder casually.

"That's also known as trust. Not knowing the reasons but counting on the person putting you in the position that they wouldn't do it with ill intent. But if you want your answer, it's behind you. Careful how you turn," she said with a straight face as she looked out the window next to them.

Steve furrowed his eyebrow but discreetly twisted enough to see what she was alluding to.

There he was. Ivan Masgood. With four bodyguards around him and a few associates coming through the back entrance, one of the employees ushered him to a secluded corner for him and his posse.

When Steve turned back around, Y/N was on her phone as if just another customer waiting for their meal.

"How'd you-?"

"I'm good at my job despite what some think." Her comment wasn't missed by Steve, and he could hear the slightest bit of pain in her words. "I overheard some of his goons talking not so confidentially at the church. He stupidly gave away their Randevu point and mentioned a meeting with a potential contact while they waited for us to fall for the trap."

"Was it the two at the front door?" Steve questioned, thinking back to their infiltration of the church/ hideout.

"Yeah, dumb and dumber. I think they just got promoted cause the one who leaked this info bragged about being moved to guard his private residence." She put her phone away and fiddled with the paper wrapper from the straw as she explained. "I can promise if they figure out how we got the intel to come here, he will not be guarding any residence in the near future."

Steve was a little surprised. Y/N had always been good at her job. Hell, there was a reason she ran with The Avengers themselves. Super enhancements helped, but she'd always been more than resourceful in her spying, too.

But sometimes, he didn't see her as taking her job seriously, so when she got the jump on things before him, he felt bad for undermining her.

He monitored the place now that it was a possible environment for a fight. Taking note of the details like exits, number of people, tables, resources, and make-shift weapons if needed.

"Have you contacted Rodney?" he asked as he casually surveyed the place.

"Just messaged. They'll have a team a block away to go if needed," she nodded. "For now, we eat," she smiled overly brightly as the waiter came back over with their drinks.

They ordered, but Steve got the smallest appetizer only to make it less conspicuous as customers.

"Eagle's leaving the nest," Y/N hummed as she ate the last bite of her meal, and the group they had been monitoring walked toward the back alley.

Steve shifted in his seat just enough to see the exit, and they both nodded in confirmation of their next move. Y/N slapped down a wad of cash and shuffled out of the booth where Steve offered his hand, and they left out the front.

For the second time that day, Steve watched as a blade whirled past him, but this time, it implanted itself into the tire of an SUV in the back alley, followed by a loud pop.

The assailants hoping to make a getaway were out of a car now, and Steve had taken the advantage to knee the driver's side door where the man halfway in it, ricocheted his head off the frame and collapsed on the ground.

"On your left!" Y/N shouted as she rangled her own opponent, and Steve noticed another one of Masgood's men escaping.

Not wanting to lose his position since Masgood himself was still in the car he had cornered, he angled and calculated the right throw for his shield to take him down. And with the right aim…

"Fuck!" the man shouted before falling down to the concrete seconds after getting smacked in the temple with the vibranuim disc.

Steve turned after hearing Y/N grunt and saw that two of her attackers had cornered her and were getting a jump on her.

"Y/L/N!" he shouted, stepping her way, but she used another man's body as if a wall and walked her feet up his torso until she was backflipping and rendering them both helpless instantly.

"Rogers, Masgood!" she panted once back on her feet and pointed behind him.

Masgood had pulled out the other side of the car and was positioning a gun right at Steve. Everything happened so fast that Steve didn't know where the gunshot had landed after he ducked from the barrel.

A scream followed, and thinking his aim hit someone else, Steve looked around for the injured only to see Masgood holding his shoulder where the butt of a blade was jutting out.

"You fucking bitch!" Masgood turned his attention to Y/N, who had been smiling at her shot. He dropped quickly to grab the gun that fell out of his grip, but before he could get to it, Steve slid over the hood and tackled him.

"That's no way to speak to a lady," Steve gritted out as he pinned him to the ground and brought his hands around his back.

Any of Masgood's men that may have escaped the narrow alley had been caught by the backup team Y/N had set up a block away. By the time the fight was over, eight men were already in custody, and Masgood was locked in a contained SHIELD van.

After going through a briefing with Rodney, who had been instructing the team outside the alley, Steve and Y/N finally took a minute to breathe.

"Thanks for packing my shield," Steve said kindly as they moved to their SUV.

"Didn't want to have you fighting without your comfort item," she smiled but winced as she rolled her shoulder.

"You ok?" he stopped in his tracks, moving in front of her to keep her from going any further.

"I'm fine," she mumbled, moving her shirt sleeve and looking at her arm for the wound. "Just a scratch."

Steve didn't hesitate to shift the long sleeve to see the cut in the fabric and the blood that had soaked through it.

"You were supposed to get checked by the medics," he studied the injury, and she hissed at the pressure of his gentle touch, which was enough to sting.

"It's nothing a bandaid can't fix. Besides, it'll be a scar come morning," she tried to brush his hand off, but he gave her a stern look at the action. "Why are you so worried? I figured you could care less if I walked out with a katana protruding from my gut."

Her eyes refused to meet his, and he hated the feeling that overcame him at the idea that she thought he wouldn't be phased by something like that.

"That's not true," he said gently, his hand loosened its grip but didn't leave her arm.

"You sure as hell don't act any other way," she mumbled, looking at his hand and placing her own on his to try and remove it. "Seriously. You don't have to act like you care just cause you feel bad-"

"Y/N, I'm not acting," he turned her face to his, gripping her chin between his thumb and index finger. "I would never wish to see you hurt."

She didn't fight the hold he had her in, but she gave him weary eyes at his comment.

"Your words tell me otherwise, Steve." Her words were said with a form of hurt that he never pictured her holding.

"I'm sorry," he lowered his head every so slightly to catch her eye line better. "I'm sorry that I'm a hardass around you and make you feel like I'd rather see you hurt or injured than alive and well."

"I don't understand what I've done to-" she started and pulled her head back before he, without thought, pulled her arm he had a grip on into him, making her body crash into his.

She froze initially, but when his arms wrapped around her back, he rested his head on her. She sighed and fell into it. She needed that hug more than he realized.

"You get on my nerves, Y/L/N, but it's not in a way that I'd wish never to experience it again. I act like I can't stand it, but truthfully, I need someone to keep me in check the way you do," he muttered as he rested his chin on her head. "I'm sorry I don't give you the benefit of the doubt where you deserve it most."

"Why?" she mumbled into his chest.

"Honestly?" he hummed, pulling her back and looking at her still in his embrace. "I think it scares me how much I actually care when you drive me as crazy as you do."

Her eyebrows furrowed, and she turned her head at him.

"What do you mean, Rogers?" she said in almost a whisper.

"I mean, I can't wrap my head around how you constantly get on my nerves, but I like it."

There was a pause as they stared at each other, and her lips slowly curved.

"Steve. Are you confessing that you may actually like me?" she grinned.

He chuckled under his breath, making his chest vibrate.

"I'm confessing that we may have some things to figure out, I guess," he nodded, not feeling hesitant at surprisingly admitting that.

"Well, isn't that a 180 from how we started the day," she laughed, pulling back. "How about we stop for a sweet treat for this discussion that I'm definitely pulling you into when we get to the compound?"

"Am I going to regret confessing this?" he scrunched his nose but couldn't help the smile that followed.

"It's me. What do you think?" she shrugged, moving toward the SUV passenger side.

"Good to know our ways aren't changing much," he sighed, following behind her to open her door.

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