#PTSD elements

[ambrosiagourmet]

I really really appreciate seeing people explicitly talk about Kabru’s PTSD & survivor’s guilt and name them as such it’s really nice… not that people necessarily need to use specific terms to discuss his character well but it’s genuinely nice to see it recognized that he isn’t just a Funny Hater Guy or an Overbearing Asshole & also that his fucking canonical trauma is absolutely foundational to his motives and character

[doggosaurusrex]

Link and snippet to new Ferdibert fic! Written for Tumblr Ferdibert Week 2024. Day One: Post-War.

House Vestra’s war against Those Who Slither in the Dark comes to an end. Hubert does not emerge unscathed.

[dannybobany]

Just completed a timeline for Basil’s family to work out some extra details with dates and whatnots and I’d like to share the interesting detail that Basia (Basil’s grandma) was a teenager during world war 2 and this will definitely come up with her character in Marzenie.

[uptownhags]

obviously i know there is a massive cultural divide between the south and the rest of the us, but it hits the hardest when i see like, "sweet magnolias is insane, everything feels fake and no one talks/behaves like that," when it's literally how i grew up and have spent most of my life. oops??

[authorazurite]

I find it funny that my premise for my conceptual rewrite of SaH is basically just "What if these characters could feel things lmao"

[drades-lair]

Sexy Parties

Fandom: HelluvaBoss

Rating: M

Pairing(s): Stolitzer, Fizzarozzie

Blitz released a loud sigh towards the screen of his phone, scrolling absently from where he was settled on the four-poster bed in the palace’s master bedroom. The room echoed with the sound of the shower from the on-suite bathroom, steam bellowing from its open door where Striker was showering. Blitz only perked when the shower shut off and Striker came striding out, towel wrapped around his waist as he dried his hair with another.

"Hmm, I love seeing you like that," Blitz commented, smirking as he looked Striker from head to toe.

"Hm? Like what, naked?" Striker inquired, cocking a brow as he stopped drying his hair for a moment.

"Domestic, but naked too," Blitz chuckled.

"Humph, domestic huh? Can't say I've ever been accused of that," Striker admitted with a huffed chuckle, continuing to dry his hair while walking over to the closet. Out of the corner of Striker's eye he caught sight of a bag with costumes sitting on the couch near the doors to the room immediately getting a frown on his face.

"Ha! I can see why, but when we're here you just seem more relaxed," Blitz retorted.

"Yeah...when is that party, thing Stolas wants us to go to by the way?" Striker inquired pulling the towel from his head as he gestured towards the bag of costumes.

"Oh, uh...I'll check, it's in my phone," Blitz answered, going through his phone again.

"Alright," Striker flippantly said, moving into the closet to change while Blitz did his thing.

"Uh, okay... oh, tomorrow actually," Blitz chimed.

"Humph, great." Striker retorted from in the closet sounding less then enthusiastic at the news.

"Yep...something wrong?" Blitz wondered upon noting the tone Striker was using.

"Nah, I just wanna get it over with," Striker answered, emerging from the closet wearing a pair of loose jogging pants and pulling a t-shirt over his head.

"You sure? I know when Stolas first brought it up you weren't comfortable with the idea," Blitz persisted

“I just don’t understand why we have ta wear such ridiculous costumes,” Striker stated.

“I mean…it is a sexy costume ball,” Blitz shot back.

“I stand by my previous statement, damn blue bloods have the weirdest ideas for parties,” Striker shot back with an irritated cocked eyebrow.

“You don’t have to come you know,” Blitz offered sensing his mate’s discomfort.

“Nah, it’s fine. If I don’t how’ll that make me look?” Striker responded.

“You sure?” Blitz persisted.

“Yes,” Striker’s tone emphasized the point that he was done talking about this thus Blitz respected his mate’s decision by dropping the subject although it didn’t dampen his worry.

Next day…

Stolas emerged from the walk-in closet wearing a sexy leather outfit, tight shorts with a halter top containing a heart shaped peek-a-boo window. Blitz hummed approvingly clad in his tight leather shorts to match Stolas’ and leather harness, waiting for Striker to emerge from the bathroom where he’d been changing into his outfit.

“Seriously, who the fuck chose these costumes!?” Striker groused, walking out of the bathroom. The costume was a pair of black boxer briefs with a pair of black assless chaps that had red accents and to top it all off a black cowboy hat with a pair of black cowboy boots.

“What? I think it suites you,” Blitz retorted, raking his eyes over Striker’s lean muscular form.

“Ugh…I’m expected ta walk around in this? In public?” Striker questioned, gesturing to his lack of clothing.

“Everyone at the party is going to be in the same amount if not less, clothing,” Stolas offered, attempting to ease Striker.

Striker groaned irritably as he tried to restrain his tail from rattling, he hated drawing attention to himself after all his whole job relied on the opposite. Begrudgingly joining his mates, the trio prepared to head down to the ball room for the sexy party that Stolas had been chosen to host. As predicted the ball room was packed with royals including a few familiar faces, Asmodeus was standing near the far end of the ballroom with Fizzarolli casually chatting with some drinks in hand. Asmodeus was wearing a pair of knee high-high heeled boots in black leather, a pair of black leather shorts and a black leather pentagram harness that had a small pair of black bat wings on the back. Fizz was in a lime green G-string with matching pentagram harness, a pair of lime green ankle high heeled boots and a hood that looked like a frog. Stolas moved to begin mingling with the sin of Lust with Blitz following intending to chat with Fizz while Striker uncomfortably followed in toe, arms crossed over his chest as he stayed close to his two mates despite being unwilling to admit he needed them for comfort at the moment.

“Hey bitch!” Blitz greeted Fizz with a wave.

“Hello Asmodeus,” Stolas greeted the sin in turn.

“Well, well if it isn’t the whore? How you doin’ Blitz,” Fizz greeted in turn with a smirking grin, reaching out to invite Blitz into a hug.

“Stolas! Hey birdie babe, love the outfit~” Asmodeus happily returned the princes greeting.

Striker watched as the group began to converse casually with one another, leaning against the nearby wall to give himself some sort of security. Watching the ballroom carefully his tail wrapped around his thigh, this was not his idea of a good time however if he’d refused to come it would have disappointed Stolas.

“What are you supposed to be?” Blitz asked Fizz with a raised brow.

“I’m a frog, duh,” Fizz stated gesturing to the frog hood he was wearing.

“Uh-huh…a slutty frog?” Blitz added, with a suggestive eyebrow wiggle.

“Obviously,” Fizz confirmed with a smirk and a shoulder shrug.

Blitz began chuckling when his gaze fell on Striker leaning against the wall looking less then comfortable with this whole thing. Excusing himself from the current conversation with Fizz, he headed to Striker where he leaned against the wall beside his pale counter part.

“You, okay?” Blitz asked.

“I’m fine Blitz,” Striker retorted flatly.

“You sure?” Blitz persisted.

“Yes, Ya don’t need ta babysit me,” Striker insisted with a small snarl.

“Alright, alright, as long as you’re sure,” Blitz chuckled, raising his hands in defense.

Striker scoffed as Blitz headed back to offer getting drinks for Fizz, Ozzy and Stolas, who accepted prompting him to head towards the bar. Eventually the small group moved to meet Blitz halfway leaving Striker a bit further away then he’d like, when as luck would have it an unwanted yet familiar face made its way through the crowd.

“Well now, do my eyes deceive me. Striker, is that you?” Andrealphus crooned moving swiftly towards the pale imp before he had time to disappear into the crowd. The peacock had on an elegant sky-blue gown that had slits clean up to his hips and a peek a boo heart shaped window on his chest along with a pair of white wings behind him and a halo over his head…ironic on multiple levels.

“What the fuck do Ya want?” Striker snarled irritably.

“Oh, don’t be that way~ I think I see why my sister was so insistent on hiring you now,” Andrealphus retorted, cooing as he looked Striker from head to toe with a smirk.

“I repeat, what the fuck do Ya want?” Striker reiterated with a growl.

“Humph, nothing much…” Andrealphus trailed off, smirk turning sinister as Striker watched the icy Goetia wave a hand prompting two other male demons in mascaraed masks to come over. Striker felt his gut twist as the men began chatting with Andrealphus…something was off.

“Is this him?” The one crooned gesturing to Striker.

“Yes, yes, this is the imp I told you about. Isn’t he charming?” Andrealphus cooed in turn.

“Positively charming,” The second man agreed.

“So, where’s Yer bitch of a sister?” Striker growled, not wanting to make too much of a scene at Stolas’ party yet wanting to find a way to get back to his mates.

“Oh-ho, he’s certainly got a mouth on him,” The first man chuckled.

“Doesn’t he now, as for Stella, she didn’t want to come after everything she’s been through,” Andrealphus briefly answered.

“Nothin’, she didn’t deserve,” Striker retorted, making his move to get back to Blitz and Stolas when hands grabbed him by the arms followed by a clawed paw wrapping around his mouth.

…

Striker found himself hauled off to a private room located down a hall a short distance from the ball room, grunting as he was shoved onto a couch by a pair of hellhounds. Clutching to the back of the couch with his tail rattling ferociously like a cornered animal Striker snarled towards the trio who’d been talking to him in the ballroom that now stood in the doorway.

“Hmm, you’re right Andrealphus, he is a lovely specimen~” The first man cooed again.

“Yes, I hope you gentlemen enjoy yourselves,” Andrealphus stated.

“What are you all talkin’ about?” Striker demanded.

“He’s so feisty too, I can’t wait to have my way with him,” The second man stated, voice turning sinister.

“What!?” Striker’s voice broke for a moment, mind putting together the pieces of what was happening.

“Yes, yes, I give you full permission. He’s all yours, just don’t break him too badly,” Andrealphus chortled darkly.

Unwanted memories started flooding Striker’s mind, remembering how nobles use imps as party “favors” at their fancy balls…how he was used once before…passed around till he broke and even then, it didn’t stop. The men in masks began to close in on him causing the pale imp’s tail to rattle a new as he snarled in preparation to flee or fight. Andrealphus huffed a disgusted noise then waved his hand causing Striker’s hands to become frozen to the couch promptly trapping him as the men continued their advancements.

…

Blitz got lost in the conversation with Fizz and Ozz not realizing till some time passed that Striker was no longer anywhere to be seen. Instant concern began to well up in Blitz’s gut as his eyes desperately darted around the ball room for his mate. Ordinarily Blitz wouldn’t worry too much about Striker as his pale counter part was more then capable of taking care of himself, however this was a different matter considering Striker’s past as well as the fact he’d been uncomfortable from the jump with this whole thing made things not sit right.  

“Stolas, have you seen Striker?” Blitz inquired with a hint of desperation in his tone.

“Hmm, no. Why?” Stolas responded, a hint of concern tainting his question upon picking up on Blitz’s desperation.

“He’s missing, I-I can’t find him,” Blitz briefly stated.

“What? Asmodeus, have you seen Striker?” Stolas inquired of the sin.

“Huh? No, wasn’t he just over there a moment ago?” Asmodeus asked in turn, pointing to the wall where Striker had been standing.  

“He was but now he’s gone, please…can you help us find him?” Blitz pleaded with Fizz and Asmodeus uncharacteristically.

“Why the worry? That cowboy hick is more then capable of taking care of himself, isn’t he?” Fizz retorted with a shrug and a clear dislike for Striker in his tone.

“Usually, I’d say yes…but…Striker wasn’t comfortable with being here in the first place,” Blitz began, frown settling on his features as he hung his head with guilt building in his gut.

“Well duh, a room full of ‘blue bloods’ of course he didn’t want to be here,” Fizz stated making air quotes around the word’s blue bloods.

“You don’t understand…there are…things…you don’t know…things that happened to Striker. Please, help me find him,” Blitz Pleaded again causing Fizz to back off a bit in surprise.  

“Alright, we’ll help,” Asmodeus agreed.

The group split up to ask the other guests if they’d seen Striker only to collect some disconcerting information, Striker was last seen with two male royals and a familiar sounding Icey blue peacock Goetia…Andrealphus. Blitz was seething, how the fuck was Andrealphus at the ball? They hadn’t invited Andrealphus nor Stella for obvious reasons yet some how the slippery prick managed to slink into the party. Stolas was none to pleased either upon finding out that Andrealphus had snuck into his mascaraed ball let alone that he may have Striker, fortunately Stolas had a good idea of where they’d gone suggesting the private rooms that offered guests an opportunity to get away from the party for a while if need be.

“We gotta go! If those pricks are doing anything too him…” Blitz demanded with a snarl, trailing off as Fizz interjected.

“Look, don’t get me wrong we should go help and all, but…why are you so concerned? Again, Striker can handle himself, can’t he?” Fizz interjected, honestly confused considering he’d seen firsthand what Striker was capable of.

“It’s…it’s complicated…can we just fucking go!?” Blitz insisted, gesturing wildly.

“Easy Blitz, we’re going now,” Stolas assured the imp, gesturing for them to head off.

Upon arriving to the hallway of private rooms Blitz swallowed hard around the lump in his throat, there were ten different rooms, and Striker could be in any of them. The group headed off to start searching the rooms, calling out for Striker in hopes to find him before anything happened to him. 

…

Striker lashed out with a foot as one of the man’s hands got a little too far up his inner thigh, panting from panic as he fought against his own head more then the people in the room. The other man caressed a hand down Striker’s chest causing the imp to flinch, eyes squeezing shut with a growl through gritted teeth.

“Don’t fuckin’ touch me!” Striker barked, struggling against the icy binds.

“Hmm, such a feisty little imp!” The man cooed sliding his hands down to Striker’s hips.

“Striker!” Blitz’s voice cut the air like a dagger causing Striker to perk.

“BLITZ!” Striker called out right before being silenced by a muzzle made of ice.

Andrealphus was too late in silencing Striker however, the door bursting open as Blitz entered the room with a growling snarl. The two men recoiled upon seeing Prince Stolas standing behind the enraged imp whose expression softened a bit upon seeing Striker struggling to coil in on himself, head dipped to the one side with shallow panting breaths. Stolas glared daggers at the trio in the room.

“P-Prince Stolas!” The first masked man stammered.

“What are you doing here?” The second asked in turn.

“Get your hands off my mate!” Stolas snarled, eyes glowing bright crimson in anger.

“Y-Your…mate…but we thought…” The first man stammered again, looking to Andrealphus who was cockily standing with his arms lightly crossed over his chest.

“You thought wrong! Now leave with your life while you still can!” Stolas warned, gesturing for the two men to leave.

“Y-Yes…thank you,” The duo stated, taking Stolas’ offer as they rushed out of the room.

“As for you! I’m going to call that guards!” Stolas barked towards Andrealphus who simply smirked then sighed in disappointment.

“I don’t think so, we’ll continue this later. Farewell little imp,” Andrealphus cooed, waving a hand causing him to disappear in a flurry of snow.

“Damn!” Stolas cursed under his breath.

“Should we go after him?” Asmodeus chimed in as he and Fizz appeared behind Stolas.

“No, I’ll have the council deal with Andrealphus later,” Stolas answered, tone carrying a harsh promise behind it.

Asmodeus gave a small nod of understanding when a small whimper drew their attention further into the room. Stolas’ expression turned to concern upon seeing Striker curled on the couch with his tail wrapped around himself, hurrying to his side with Blitz while Asmodeus looked on with Fizz in surprised disbelief.   

“Striker! Striker!” Blitz called to his mate.

Blitz crawled up next to Striker gently taking his face in his hands as the pale imp struggled to get his breathing under control, chest heaving with each breath. Stolas knelt one leg on the couch to balance while he leaned over to break Andrealphus’ ice restraints using his magic causing Striker to turn to the side, claws digging into the couch as he doubled over towards Blitz.

“F-Fuck…I…I can’t…breath…” Striker panted out, eyes squeezing shut as he tried to regain his composure.

“Easy darling, we’re here,” Stolas cooed, gently grasping Striker’s upper arms from behind while Blitz gently pulled Striker’s face up to get him to focus.

“Breath…focus on me, Striker,” Blitz encouraged as Striker clutched at his chest with a hand.

Asmodeus didn’t know what to think about what he was seeing neither he nor Fizz had seen Striker in such a state. Stolas gently caressed Striker’s arms with a furrowed brow of concern as Blitz tapped his forehead to Striker’s.

“Did they touch you?” Blitz asked in a quiet tone.

“N-not…in…that way…” Striker managed to pant out.

“That’s the best scenario then…just keep focusing on us, we’re here,” Blitz continued to encourage.

“Asmodeus, could you retrieve a blanket? Please,” Stolas implored of the sin having not forgotten his presence.  

“Yeah…sure…” Asmodeus agreed, immediately heading off.

“Is…is he okay?” Fizzarolli inquired hesitantly as he entered the room with both hands in light fists near his chest.

“I-I can’t…go back…I can’t…do that…again…” Striker panted under his breath, body shaking slightly.

“You won’t…me and Stolas are right here,” Blitz assured his pale counterpart.

“I know…I know…just stay…please,” Striker quietly pleaded.

“Always love,” Stolas assured Striker just as Asmodeus returned with the blanket, bringing it to Stolas who gently draped it over Striker to cover his exposed body.

Slowly Striker’s breathing leveled out as his mind calmed, returning to the present day as he sat back on his heels and pulled the blanket around himself. Stolas already instructed Asmodeus to send everyone home from the Halloween mascaraed ball meaning once Striker was capable of somewhat clear thought he was guided by his mates to the master bedroom. While Striker showered to further calm himself Blitz and Stolas went to bid Asmodeus as well as Fizz farewell, however not before explaining Striker’s unfortunate past to them.

“Shit, I didn’t realize he’d been…is he gonna be, okay?” Fizz wondered, feeling a little guilty for having judged the pale imp so harshly.

“Yeah, sadly I’m aware all too well of those sorts of things,” Asmodeus admitted, sorrow situated on his features.

“He will, fortunately those ruffians didn’t do anything beyond arouse bad memories for him,” Stolas assured the duo.

“Yeah, we’ll get him through it…thanks for helping,” Blitz offered, rubbing the back of his neck a little awkwardly for having jumped down Fizz’s throat earlier.

“No problem, let us know if there’s anything else you need,” Asmodeus offered with a warm smile.

A final farewell saw Asmodeus and Fizz off while Stolas returned with Blitz to the master bedroom where Striker was getting into a pair of gray sweatpants. Blitz and Stolas had gotten into casual night ware themselves earlier upon guiding Striker to the bedroom, sitting on the beds edge Striker released a deep sigh as he ran a hand over his face with his other draping casually over his right leg. Blitz gingerly approached his mate, gently placing his hands on the pale imp’s thighs as Striker lowered his hand to drape over his other thigh to look at Blitz with a tired distressed gaze.

“How you doing?” Blitz inquired.

“I’m fine…really…just…tired,” Striker stammered out.

“I believe you,” Blitz assured his pale mate, leaning up for a quick kiss before pulling back.

The trio climbed into bed together with Striker on the far right, after something sets him off like this it was always awkward as Striker wanted comfort from his mates but didn’t at the same time. Thus, they came up with a sleeping pattern for these moments, Striker sleeps on one side while Blitz curls up behind him and Stolas curls up behind Blitz allowing for the comfort Striker required with out too much physical contact. They knew it would take time for Striker to fully return to his normal self, a fact that was fine by his mates.

[arcticmist0324]

One thing that is difficult about writing historical fiction is when you’ve set your story up in the same time frame as major historical events, which you KNOW would be on your characters’ radar yet they don’t impact the plot. What is too much? What is too little?

[hollywoodbabylondean]

have i mentioned you should read godkiller by hannah kaner? because you should read godkiller by hannah kaner.

[vaalthus]

The Final Steps (spoilers)

Ok, the idea of Xan looking towards Warlic as a protective buffer to keep things that are making him uncomfortable away from him is absolutely hilarious.

Ya see I still don't like the sound of that while we don't know what the intent of the other Magesters, beyond Ostromir and Vseslava, are at the moment, even with the knowledge that many of them will be dead in a short amount of time.

One thing I have noticed so far is that Zvezdana has shown consistent interest in us as a means of studying new applications and effects of magic that are not readily present in the Azaveyran continent. She mentions she doesn't have us all figured to the degree that she wishes but so far she has at least shown a good amount of insight of understanding where we stand in terms of morals and ethics, I'd say that goes for more characters in party than just the hero. What I'm getting at here it seems pretty clear for now at least that our relationship is little more than useful data collection to her.

Beyond that though I'm curious as to what these new approved pursuits the Shapeless intends to endeavor because I foresee problems arising if they found a new interests in Doom or recreating Alexander's...condition.

Hmm perhaps we should have conscripted some elves or werewolves for this fight or maybe Nikki at least.

Either way, this is some good lore on the elemental affinity a soul produces on its own or when the body is altered significantly. We already knew of course that the human body contains minute traces of all the prime elements within it, but, as anticipated, this quest just proved these elements do not exist equally within every human being on Lore, even those that have not been pushed so far into one elemental direction like Xan or Sepulchure.

Feel like the easiest way to have tested this is by having another dragonlord and their dragon in attendance since we know the others are capable of swapping the elements of their dragons as needed. Though I wouldn't be too surprised if being one of the twin dragons was all it took for Draco to be protected from the overflow of mana.

Oh what gave it away Zvezdana, my non-canonical class armor?

Not appreciating the shade thrown towards Aegis. He's a good pure and wholesome spirit, woman!

It's actually kind of funny that Aegis is protecting our soul from straining apart given that's what his role will theoretically become when we die and he'll have to protect us until we become fully fledged elemental spirits...ya know unless ya eat him later...

I wonder if this adjustment will have any permanent effect on Alteon considering he's being pushed further towards the energy element or if this will be a temporary change, like the soul self-regulating afterwards.

At first I was a little bit surprised that she no longer labeled all of us as villians that just couldn't or didn't want to see the good she was trying to do especially after she declared Warlic as little more than a manipulator after their confrontation.

Yet that surprise dies away when you realize she doesn't really have a choice but to recognize that our intent was never really all that misguided to begin with. Think about it, her truest closest confidant, the time mirror, showed her that Akanthus, her right-hand man, had betrayed her trust and when she confronted him on this, he merely verified that fact. When confronted with this information what other choice does she really have but to accept that she was being in denial of our motivations in not trusting her actions or at least the man she was allowing to command a good portion of the Rose.

Of course, it doesn't matter if she finally sees the truth about us as she's sunken too much into this plan to turn back now even though she knows her only ally now is a man that could potentially wreak havoc upon all of Lore if, and let's be honest it's more of a when, she fails to supplant the Mana Core's will.

For all intents and purposes, Jaania story still remains a tragedy and while I don't want her dead, the potential for so many ends for her are not looking good. Whether it be in failing to control the core, further betrayal from Akanthus, or us, or even plausibly one of the others in the party, looking at you Zvezdana.

[gromky]

girl help the show about people refusing to confront their grief got the grief confronting me

[gumy-shark]

hello gumy beloved i am working on answering your silver question but it will take a while as i have to go through some game cutscenes for him to make sure i don’t fuck anything up. very interested in shou and tommy being basically the same character

honestly varis i feel like i need to convince you to watch mp100 with me sometime. i think there is much about it you would enjoy.

but yeah wrt shou being like ctommy. well first off i didnt like shou on my first watchthrough. you could even say i found him annoying at first. but really for me the biggest similarity is that they’re both shitty teenagers who care very deeply. like yeah they’re annoying and they suck and they burnt that guys house down. but also they’re just kids. and they don’t get to Be just kids, because the adults in their lives don’t give them that option. i think shou could do the pogtopia arc. i think ctommy could do the mp100 world domination arc.

[lesbicastagna]

sometimes i think about zeta gundam and about how crazy it is. the protagonists you cheered for in the original serie are back!! they will be grooming a kid for 80% of the runtime of this sequel

[blythesarchives]

Sugar Plums. | W.S

summary: The soldier has an attachment to you.

warnings: Suggestive 18+ MDNI & Fluff | Fem!reader | Winter Soldier!Bucky | Brief mentions of PTSD | Brief talk of HYDRA | Heavy petting | Love biting/hickeys

a/n: This came to me randomly but thought it was cute and somewhat spicy. I added some fluff to balance it all out and tried to keep the sexy scenes sweet too. I see so many fics of him being super aggressive in bed and those are great, but for me I think he'd be a little more like this. Takes place after the events of CA:TWS. Contains roughly translated Russian, native speakers can correct me if anything was translated wrong. Ty. ;; wc: 5.5k

It was so awkward.

Everyone sat frozen in place, their eyes locked on the imposing figure of the Winter Soldier as he towered behind you, his piercing blue eyes methodically scanning the room and studying each occupant with an intensity that made them shift uncomfortably in their seats.

"Absolutely not!" Tony was the first to break the suffocating silence, his voice sharp and decisive as he beat Steve to speaking by a mere second. There was absolutely no way he would even consider allowing the fist of HYDRA to take up residence in his tower, treating him like he was nothing more than some lost stray that needed sheltering. "He's not staying here, no way in hell - this isn't a halfway house for reformed assassins."

"Tony, come on. HYDRA is gone, their control over him is broken," you reasoned desperately, your voice taking on a pleading tone as you gestured toward the silent figure behind you, "He's been surviving on his own for weeks, barely getting by. Just look at him...he's exhausted, malnourished, and clearly needs somewhere safe to stay and recover."

"Uh, how about no?" Tony fired back, staring at you like you had grown a second head...or like you had a towering sleeper soldier looming behind you.

Tony wasn't your favorite person in the world, but he was usually somewhat reasonable.

"There's absolutely no way that he's staying here. Have you completely lost your mind? What if he suddenly snaps or loses control and goes completely berserk, hm? What if one night those sleeper triggers buried in his brain suddenly activate and he systematically takes us out one by one in our sleep?" Tony added emphatically, his hands gesturing wildly in the air as he attempted to visualize the gruesome scenarios playing out in his mind.

"Your state-of-the-art security cameras can't give us a heads up before that happens?" You asked with dry sarcasm, your tone deliberately flat and unimpressed, clearly making a joke while you tried to find some kind of middle ground that would get the agitated, self-proclaimed playboy to calm down and think rationally.

"No chance in hell, sweet cheeks," he folded his arms and glared at you with sternness that etched across his features. "Too dangerous."

"He's staying, whether you like it or not," you replied in the same unwavering tone, standing your ground with resolute conviction. "He's hurt, weak, completely vulnerable. There's absolutely nothing he could possibly do in this state. He needs somewhere warm and safe to stay, especially since he's been struggling to survive out on the streets for weeks now. Besides, winter is coming fast and there’s no way he won’t get hypothermia or something." You added with concern, knowing full well that while the soldier hadn't been entirely helpless during his ordeal, he certainly hadn't managed to secure any kind of stable shelter.

His temporary refuges consisted only of cold spaces beneath bridges, dark corners tucked away in forgotten alleys, or the remains of abandoned buildings - not a single place where he could truly let his guard down or feel protected from the harsh elements. With winter's rapid approach and already light dustings of snow, the temperatures would only get more brutal as the nights went on.

You continued to argue with Tony, Steve butting in every so often, luckily siding with you, desperate to have his old friend somewhere safe. It was a long, frustrating argument that lasted much longer than need be.

Earlier that day, while you had been making your way down the frost-covered street of New York's downtown district, his eyes had caught sight of your familiar form. Something deep within him told him to follow you, a magnetic pull that he couldn't explain. He obeyed the instinct, trailing silently behind you all the way back to the tower. When you finally became aware of his presence, he was thoroughly drenched from the steadily falling snow, his cheeks and nose having turned a bright, rosy color from the biting cold as he tried to suppress his constant shivering.

The moment you made your sudden turn to approach him, he visibly startled, immediately taking a defensive step backward as his mind raced through all the possible scenarios and potential threats. His eyes darted across your face with obvious wariness as you fully turned to face him, his entire body subtly shifting its weight from foot to foot, muscles tensed and ready to bolt away.

"It's okay...you look cold..." You spoke softly, your voice barely above a whisper, trying not to startle him as you took in his disheveled appearance. The soldier, the one whose face had practically been plastered across every news channel, the same one Steve had spoken about with such raw emotion in his voice.

You remembered how Steve had mourned his best friend, utterly confused and devastated about why he had saved from the river, while Bucky fell to what should have been his death. Steve held onto that grief, that guilt, like a lifeline. He held onto it so desperately, clinging to the faintest hope that a sliver of Bucky was still somewhere deep inside the persona of the Winter Soldier.

Looking at him now, you couldn't see any trace of the man from Steve's stories - the soldier's eyes were too wild and wide, filled with fear and confusion.

But despite everything you'd heard, despite the destruction you'd witnessed on the news, despite the intense warnings from everyone in the tower, there was something about his presence that didn't trigger your fight or flight response.

He didn't make you feel unsafe.

He looked absolutely beat down, exhausted to his very core, his shoulders slumped in a way that made you wonder when he'd last had a moment's rest. You weren't even sure he could take you down if he tried in this state, though you knew his reputation suggested otherwise. He was shaking from the cold air as it blew in a stinging breeze, his metal arm gleaming dully in what little light remained, while the incoming winter storm brought with it a thick haze and countless tiny pinpricks of needle-like snowflakes that seemed to cut through the air.

"Come inside with me, I'll take care of you." You offered quietly, your voice gentle and reassuring as you extended your hand towards him. Your body language remained open and non-threatening, shoulders relaxed and posture deliberately casual to help put him at ease and to show him you felt no fear.

After a few silent moments where his piercing blue eyes studied you through the thick haze, he finally shifted his weight forward and took a step in your direction.

The water in the shower had set a steady steam in the bathroom, the mirror had fogged and the tiles sweat below your bare feet.

You could hear the gentle splashing of water against the bathtub as he cleaned himself. The mechanical whirring of his metal arm caught your attention, hopefully that thing was waterproof, but it must be, right?

After setting out a fresh towel and clean clothes for his use, you quietly excused yourself to provide him with privacy. The state of his current attire was awful, every piece was thoroughly saturated and carried an unmistakable stench that made you wrinkle your nose. The clothes were in such poor condition that you couldn't help but wonder if they had been scavenged from someone who no longer needed them.

You wouldn’t put it past the soldier to steal from a cadaver.

His shower routine was notably brief, years of conditioning taught him to minimize the time spent on his personal care. Upon finishing, he emerged from behind the curtain and efficiently dried himself with the provided towel. His gaze fell upon the fresh clothes you had thoughtfully placed by the sink, while his previous garments had been discreetly removed.

The soldier hesitated momentarily before donning the clean outfit. It wasn’t anything fancy, a pair of grey sweatpants emblazoned with the Avenger's logo along the side and a simple yet comfortable black tank top. When he finally emerged from the bathroom to face you, his body language betrayed his uncertainty as he stood there, not sure what to do now. Comfort was completely foreign to him, and care was a dream away.

"Tony finally gave in," you replied softly, your voice sounded in the quiet stillness of the bedroom. "He said you could stay here with us."

He remained motionless, his expression blank and unreadable as he stood there, offering neither response nor the slightest hint of acknowledgement to your words. You weren’t sure what to expect but that seemed pretty in character for him at the moment.

"You'll be staying in my quarters since no one else is comfortable having you in their space just yet...but don't worry too much about that," you reassured gently, though you could tell from his demeanor that others' opinions held little weight in his mind. "They'll come around after some time, I'm sure of it."

His gaze fixed upon you then, his brow creasing ever so slightly with an unspoken question as he began to move. Each step was deliberate and measured as he crossed the room, closing the distance between you until he stood directly in front of you, close enough that you could see the water droplets from his freshly washed hair beading at the ends and falling onto the fabric of your top, leaving dark spots where they landed.

"Everything's going to be fine," you said with gentle reassurance, trying to ease the tension in the air. "Why don't we head to the kitchen and get you something to eat? You must be hungry." You offered, hoping to bring some normalcy to the situation.

The soldier shadowed your every movement, following closely behind like a faithful companion who refused to stray from their master's side.

Upon entering the expansive kitchen, you immediately made your way to the industrial-sized refrigerator, searching through its contents for something suitable to offer him. The kitchen was perpetually stocked to the brim with an array of foods, snacks, and ingredients, practically anything one could imagine or desire. It was like having a private, fully-stocked grocery store.

Though with a the ravenous super soldier with enhanced metabolism, the mighty Asgardian god whose appetite matched his status, and Banner's surprisingly hulk-ish consumption…the team still depleted their food with an efficiency that would put a pack of famished wolves to shame.

"Hm...what should you have...do you want anything specific?" You turned over your shoulder to address him, but he maintained his characteristic silence. Unmoving, and completely stoic, like a statue carved from marble.

"Нет [No]," came his quiet response, the Russian word rolling off his tongue deeply. He remained perfectly still, observing with careful attention as you continued your search through the refrigerator's contents, trying to determine what would be most appropriate for him to eat. Your mind was working quickly, knowing you wanted to avoid anything too time-consuming to prepare. You wanted to get some food into him sooner rather than later.

"How about...I could make some soup real quick? Tomato and grilled cheese might be a safe option for you. Shouldn't upset your stomach too much if you haven’t been eating a lot, and it will warm you up if you're still feeling cold." You turned back toward him once more, studying his features carefully for any hint of reaction or preference to your suggestion, any subtle change in his expression.

But, he didn't provide even the slightest indication of his feelings.

You decided on tomato soup and a grilled cheese anyway, you figured it was best and immediately set to work in the kitchen.

Although you typically prided yourself on preparing meals completely from scratch, this particular circumstance called for something different. You assembled the sandwich, buttering the bread before placing it in a heated pan to get a golden-brown crust while keeping a watchful eye on the pot of soup simmering beside it, occasionally stirring for even heating.

Once everything reached the perfect temperature and consistency, you transferred the meal onto clean dishes, relieved it didn’t take too long. You presented him with the steaming bowl of soup and perfectly grilled sandwich, watching as the soldier deliberately took his place at the counter, his eyes fixed intently on the rising steam from the bowl before him.

You watched him, noting how his entire body remained unnaturally rigid and motionless, as though every muscle was locked in place and braced for something. His lips bore a slight sheen of moisture, like he had licked them at some point when you weren't watching. Yet despite his obvious hunger, he hadn't made even the slightest attempt to reach for the food. His eyes held intense longing and hesitation, briefly meeting yours before quickly darting away, as if making eye contact was somehow forbidden.

"What's wrong?" You asked with growing concern etched across your features, "You're hungry aren't you? I can tell you haven't eaten in a while. Especially not anything warm, at least. I know it can be hard out there, all by yourself…"

His response came in the form of an almost imperceptible nod, his gaze remaining firmly fixed on the bowl and sandwich before him, as though they were the most important and most dangerous objects in the room.

"So why aren't you eating? The food's getting cold, it won’t be as good if it cools too much."

"Я не могу совершить действие без приказа. [I cannot perform an action without an order]," the soldier responded in barely more than a whisper, his voice carrying the weight of years of conditioning.

You stood there, completely lost in the language barrier between you. Your limited knowledge of Russian extended only to the most basic words - 'да' and 'нет' - leaving you clueless by his response and worried about the implications of his behavior.

You didn't want to wake Natasha, even though she would certainly understand what he was saying in Russian, but disturbing her sleep for something as simple as a quick translation seemed unnecessary and might put her in a bad mood. Instead, an idea popped into your head that would avoid an angry widow. You reached for your phone and placed it on the smooth counter surface, navigating to a translator app before looking up at him again. "Can you repeat that?"

The soldier's eyes flickered briefly to the phone screen, taking in the sight of the translation app with what seemed like recognition, before his gaze deliberately returned to the untouched food laid out before him. "I cannot perform an action without an order," he stated in perfect, albeit mechanical English this time.

You blinked in surprise, thoroughly caught off guard by the sudden switch to English when he had been persistently speaking Russian up until this point. "Okay...well...eat then, you can eat freely here, you don't need an order to do that." You slowly tucked your phone away into your pocket as his right hand gradually lifted from where it had been resting in his lap, reaching out to pick up the sandwich.

You weren't sure what you were expecting, but he wolfed down his food within a minute, that sandwich was gone within maybe three bites. The soup swallowed just as fast.

God, he was starving, and the realization made your heart ache.

"Better?" You asked gently, to which he only nodded, swallowing the last of the food in his mouth.

This became routine, the soldier stuck by your side like a duckling imprinting on its mother.

He followed you diligently around every corner of the tower, his protective instincts activated as he positioned himself like an ever-vigilant guardian. His eyes constantly scanned the surroundings, noting how others would cast uncertain and sometimes suspicious glances in his direction.

These looks made him increasingly self-conscious and anxious, as though he were some exotic creature put on display at a zoo for others to gawk at. But in your presence, he seemed a bit more at ease. He genuinely liked being around you.

Gradually, the rigid tension that had defined his existence began to melt away, and he started allowing more intimate gestures of care. He let you gently brush his unruly hair into place, carefully wash his face with warm water, or trim his growing stubble for him.

He accepted these tender ministrations without the slightest resistance or complaint, though a nagging worry lingered in your mind that his compliance stemmed from years of conditioning to submit to others' wishes. Each time you worried about that, you’d see a genuine warmth and contentment in his gaze rather than submission, showing you that he truly found comfort and pleasure in your gentle touch.

It was evening, the room reflected the warm glow of festive holiday lights emanating from a miniature Christmas tree nestled in the corner. The soldier found himself transfixed by the small decorated tree, his eyes lingering on each twinkling light as their vibrant colors danced and shimmered. The sterile, monotonous walls he had grown accustomed to during his confinement were nothing compared to the colorful lights. The gentle play of red, green, and gold seemed to awaken something long dormant within him, he almost wanted to plant himself in front of the tree and just stare at it.

Tony may have allowed his stay, but that didn’t mean there weren’t restrictions. He was stern about where and when the soldier could go anywhere with you, and he demanded that he not leave your room afterhours. It wasn’t hard to follow, the solider showed reluctance to leave your room at all, having been so accustomed to being kept in one room. You didn’t push him, but you felt bad for him because he was missing how the tower had been decorated for the holidays. So, you got a smaller tree for the bedroom to provide some kind of festive look for him to take in.

You emerged from the bathroom, wisps of steam following in your wake, your damp hair leaving little droplets on your shoulders as you continued to towel it dry with scrunches. He remained motionless on the edge of your bed, his attention immediately shifting as he turned and blinked up at your approaching figure.

His icy eyes traced a deliberate path across your form, which was barely concealed beneath the thin fabric of your sleep shirt, the hem teasingly brushing against your mid-thigh with each movement. "I am beat," you sighed heavily, your voice carrying the weight of the day's festivities. The marathon of holiday activities had clearly taken its toll, leaving you thoroughly drained. The tower often held an array of things to do because Tony loved to show off what he could afford, and it wasn’t like anyone else would object.

He observed with rapt attention as you made your way onto the bed and settled back against the pillows, releasing a deep exhale that seemed to melt away the day's tension. His unwavering gaze remained fixed on the rhythmic, hypnotic motion of your chest rising and falling with each breath.

You felt the bed shift beneath you as he moved, his weight causing the mattress to dip and creak softly. He crawled over to where you lay, his arms positioning themselves on either side of your body, caging you in. Your eyes fluttered open to find him hovering directly above you, his presence overwhelming in its proximity. This was something new…he had always maintained somewhat of a distance before, never daring to position himself so intimately over top of you.

"Я скомпрометирован. [I'm compromised]," the soldier spoke in a hushed tone, his voice carrying that distinctive gravelly pitch that made you feel tingly. The tension between you had become damned near impossible to ignore. What had started as a subtle pull had grown into an overwhelming force of attraction that seemed to draw you both together like magnets.

Still, you forced yourself to hold back, maintaining that last thread of restraint. You had no way of knowing the depth of his emotional capacity, if he was even capable of genuine feelings, or wanted to experience them at all after everything he endured.

"Soldat...?" The whispered word escaped your lips as you noticed the subtle shift in his demeanor, the way his muscles tensed as he remained suspended above you, perfectly still. "You know I don't understand-"

"I am compromised," he repeated, switching to English this time. His voice had dropped even lower, carrying an edge of frustration that vibrated through the minimal space between your bodies.

"Comprom..." You sat up slowly on your elbows and shook your head in confusion, your brow furrowed as you tried to process his words. That’s what you’d say about a machine or computer, not a man. "What are you talking about?" Your eyes wandered downward, suddenly drawn to an unmistakable tent in his fitted briefs that became obvious from your new viewing angle, causing you to freeze in place as your breath caught in your throat.

So, he could feel things.

"Oh..." You felt a wave of embarrassment wash over you as you remained frozen in place, your cheeks growing warm. "I think I understand now...you're feeling a bit pent up, aren't you?"

His metal arm whirred softly, the sophisticated machinery humming as he moved to adjust his hand placement. "Да. [Yes]," he responded in a low voice, his gleaming titanium fingertips delicately ghosted across the bare skin of your thigh, just barely grazing beneath the hem of your thin sleep shirt. Goosebumps erupted along your body in response to the contact, the cool metal sudden against your flushed skin.

"Мне не нравится делиться вашим вниманием. [I don't like sharing your attention]," he muttered with an undertone of possession, his lips curling into a slight frown as he gradually leaned closer to you. His silken hair delicately tickled your face as he slowly lowered himself, the tips of your noses barely grazing against each other in an intimate gesture. His lips parted ever so slightly, revealing a glimpse of anticipation before he dipped his head down, warm lips pressing a tender, lingering kiss to your jawline.

You swallowed reflexively, your breath catching in your throat as you felt his warm, steady breath caress your sensitive skin, sending a visible shudder of growing excitement through your body.

He continued his gentle exploration, encouraged by your acceptance and the absence of any resistance. He pressed a trail of soft, purposeful kisses along the curve of your jaw, each one more intimate than the last, before gradually working his way down to your neck. His lips carefully followed the rhythmic flutter of your pulse beneath your skin, his tongue peeking out shyly to touch against you.

"Ah-" You voiced softly, feeling him settle on a particularly sensitive spot, right against the delicate side of your neck. It was nestled perfectly between the graceful junction where your neck connected to your collarbone, the skin there warm and inviting, holding a faint trace of blood flow from the intricate network of smaller veins positioned just beneath the surface.

He kissed many times with increasing intensity, clearly finding this spot ideal for his attentions. The soft, tentative pecks gradually became more passionate, open-mouthed kisses as each one was placed. His tongue began gently pressing against your skin with each lingering kiss, the pressure slowly growing in need. You felt your cheeks flush with warmth when he finally latched on, your eyes widening in surprise as the soldier's strong arms held you a little tighter.

Soldat began to suckle a mark, his ministrations gentle and teasing at first, but quickly growing in force and intensity as his skilled tongue swirled expertly around the trapped skin between his lips and teeth. The sensation drew a breathy moan from deep within you, making your entire body feel as though it were engulfed in flames of desire. Though you were completely helpless beneath the assassin, you had absolutely no intention or desire to push him away.

This felt too damned good.

Without thinking, your leg came up and hooked around his hips, drawing him closer until your bodies were flush against each other. The heat between you grew and you felt his painful erection trapped in his briefs, straining against the fabric as his arousal was staining them. Soldat exhaled sharply through his nose, his grip tightening possessively, but he did not let go.

His suckling grew increasingly intense, the sensitive skin tingling and starting to sting and burn with each passing moment. Still, he didn't release the bruised skin just yet.

Instead, he just bit down harder, ensuring the mark he left would last for days. You moaned loudly, your fingers gently tangling in his thick hair as your pleasured sounds encouraged his attention. He became more attentive when your little sounds of pleasure turned into sharp, quiet hisses - clearly indicating that the sensation had crossed from pleasure into discomfort, silently telling him to ease off.

When he did finally relent, he pulled back to admire his handiwork, looking down at the deep purple mark blooming on your neck. His breath came in heavy pants through his parted lips as he stayed quiet, watching intently as you struggled to catch your own breath too. The sight of you beneath him, disheveled and vulnerable, with flushed skin and labored breathing, was enough to draw him right back in.

He dipped back down with renewed hunger, his metal hand slowly threading through your hair before gently fisting it at the base of your skull, though his careful control ensured it wasn’t painful, just firm. He tugged just enough to guide your movement, encouraging you to expose more of your neck to his hungry gaze.

"E-easy..." You whispered, a note of anxious anticipation in your voice. You wanted more, god you wanted more, but his sudden change of behavior was a bit surprising for you.

"Понял. [Understood]," he whispered against your skin, pressing a soft kiss of reassurance to your jaw before returning his attention to your neck. Those soft kisses began again, trailing along your skin, but his restraint didn't last long as he quickly sought a new canvas for another mark. He latched onto a spot just a little bit higher on your neck, alternating between sucking and carefully controlled bites to gradually darken and bruise the sensitive flesh.

You felt bite after delicious bite, hickey after possessive hickey.

He marked the tender flesh of your neck in several deep, purple marks that bloomed like violent flowers across your skin...each one throbbing with a sweet ache when he pulled away. His tongue always swirled over the mark with care to soothe the sting of it, making you arch into his touch as you fell into a complete daze.

"S-Soldat," you muttered breathlessly, cheeks flushed crimson and eyelids heavy with desire. Your pupils matched his own - completely blown with hunger and desperate need. Those bermuda swirls meeting yours as he continued a torturously slow trail of hot kisses down your chest, nipping your collarbone with just enough pressure to make you gasp before following the gentle dip of your sternum.

He paused deliberately, pulling up so he could lift the thin sleep shirt over you and expose more of your bare chest to his hungry gaze, giving him better access for his heated kisses and teasing nips. Once your top was discarded somewhere on the floor, his hands gently but firmly held your sides, trailing up with reverent touches until settling against your ribcage. His larger hands completely encompassed your torso, making you feel small but protected.

The soldier was absolutely transfixed at the sight of your breasts, eyeing the soft mounds and peaked nipples as they hardened in the cool air, growing increasingly sensitive and rosy with your mounting arousal. It was like he was completely mesmerized by the sight before him, the fucking Winter Soldier, the most dangerous assassin in history, stopped dead in his tracks at the mere sight of your bare breasts.

You felt in charge now.

"What is it? Do you like them?" you purred softly to the soldier, your body swaying in a deliberately teasing motion that made them gently move. His eyes remained fixed, drinking in the sight before him as his lips parted ever so slightly. Slowly, his head tilted down again, surrendering to the moment. He let his face nestle against your chest, his lips trailing a constellation of unhurried kisses across your skin.

He began to nip and suckle the tender skin of your breasts, his mouth working to create deep, purple love bites on that delicate flesh. The bruising blossomed easily beneath his ministrations, almost like they were eager to show themselves.

His lips would find a promising spot, then he would begin lapping at the skin with gentle strokes of his tongue until he felt you squirming. The soldier took the sensitized flesh carefully between his teeth, rolling the captured skin while his talented muscle swirled and sucked.

Your chest displayed his passionate handiwork when he finally drew back to admire his creation. The plum-colored bruises created an intimate pattern across your skin, their rich hues made even more striking by the soft glow of the holiday lights that danced through the room, highlighting each carefully placed love bite until they seemed to shimmer like twilight stars against your flesh.

"Soldat...I think you covered enough surface area," you breathed, feeling overwhelmed by the intense throbbing that radiated from each mark he'd left. The sensation pulsed in waves across your skin, making it difficult to focus. Your neck was thoroughly covered in the passionate marks, and now your chest bore an equally impressive collection.

The soldier gazed down at you with intensely, his eyes taking in each little sugar plum bruise that decorated your skin like a masterpiece. Though they were scattered without any deliberate pattern, the overall effect clearly pleased him. You lay there looking thoroughly affected by his attention, hair mussed and breathing uneven, cheeks beautifully darkened with a dust of blush, just from his careful application of bites alone. The sight of you in such a state, marked so thoroughly, brought deep set satisfaction in his gut.

"Моя теперь. [Mine now]," he muttered softly, his warm breath ghosting across your skin as his lips hovered mere millimeters from your own. The almost-kiss was delicate, just the faintest brush of contact that sent electricity dancing through your nerves. He almost seemed nervous to close that final distance, his confidence faltering despite the passionate trail of marks he had already left scattered across your skin.

He drew back slightly, seemingly snapping out of a trance, and you could see the vulnerability written plainly across his features as that nervousness flickered in his eyes. Shifting his weight, he settled back onto the bed, his right hand finding your knee and tracing gentle, soothing circles there with his thumb. The tender gesture matched his hushed voice as he spoke, "Я не хочу идти дальше. [I don't want to go any further]," the words carrying both certainty and a hint of apology.

Your brow furrowed deeply as you struggled to understand what he was trying to stay, the confusion evident in the slight crease between your eyebrows and the questioning tilt of your head. You really needed to study Russian. "Do you not want to continue?" you asked slowly and carefully, focusing more on interpreting the subtle nuances in his tone rather than trying to parse the exact words he was using.

His facial expression held hesitance and uncertainty, the slight downturn of his lips and the way his eyes wouldn't quite meet yours telling you what you needed to know. Body language was his primary mode of genuine communication, and you had become very good at reading these silent signals he unconsciously broadcast.

"It's okay, we can stop," you replied with a reassuring tone, making sure to keep your voice soft to help dissipate any lingering tension he might be feeling. "Let's just lay here, okay? We can cuddle without any kind of pressure to do anything else, if you want." You offered with a warm smile, wanting him to feel that his comfort and boundaries were completely respected and that there was no expectation or obligation to continue.

This was a lot of good progress with him, you typically just cuddled or he kept to his side of the bed but he had shown you a lot of sweet affection tonight, and you loved it, it meant he was growing more confident in himself and your relationship. The evidence of his passionate yet tender attention remained visible in the form of gentle, plum-colored marks that decorated your neck and chest as you lay beside him, watching as his silent form trembled slightly beneath the heavy warmth of the thick blankets that enveloped you both.

You opened your arms, offering him a warmer space, and he quickly scooted forward, tucking himself against you. Prone to being cold, he liked being under many layers of blankets, so you made sure to provide plenty for him to not only feel warm but secure. Plus...having you to hold him always helped.

Without the worry of being a soldier, he could rest easy like this.

Thanks for reading. -em 🌿

Dividers by @/strangergraphics | Images found on Pinterest.

[marvelstoriesepic]

I Would Let the World Burn

Pairing: Avenger!Bucky x Non-superhero!Girlfriend!Reader

Summary: You attend a public Avengers event as Bucky’s girlfriend for the first time, but things spiral from nerves to chaos in a matter of seconds. And when you’re caught in the crossfire, Bucky unleashes.

Word Count: 2.4k

Warnings: violence; injury; PTSD elements; emotional distress; explosions; mass panic; allusions to death; protective!Bucky; nobody hurts his girl; seriously, he’s a little feral here

Author’s Note: I need protective Bucky all day and all night omg. Thank you so much, my love, for this absolutely amazing request!! I hope you'll enjoy ♡

2k Drabble Challenge Masterlist | Masterlist

The lights are everywhere.

Glinting off skyscraper windows and camera lenses, bouncing off metallic armor and too-white smiles.

The voices are everywhere. They swarm like bees - the press, the fans, the murmuring of people watching people.

The flash of the cameras is a strobe light stinging the back of your eyes. Reporters shout questions like bullets, flinging them past your ears and into your chest.

You feel your lungs shrinking in your ribcage as if they’ve decided you’ve seen enough. Felt enough. Been too much.

You’re not supposed to be here.

Not in this crowd, not in this dress, not in front of a hundred reporters and their glittering cameras. Not in the spotlight. Not on the arm of the Bucky Barnes.

You tug at the hem of your dress, fingers nervous, breath catching on a sigh you don’t release. Everyone here looks like they belong - as if they were born to walk red carpets and sip sparkling drinks under light that only blinds you. You feel like an ink smudge on a page of golden script.

It’s the first time you’re out in the public with him. The first time the press will capture who’s been speculated to be the former Winter Soldier’s girlfriend.

Bucky spent the night whispering reassurances into your skin, but it seems you should have listened to his words rather than the feeling of his plump lips all over your body.

Your hand is in his, and his thumb traces slow circles against you, metal fingers warm from your skin. His other hand rests lightly on your back. He hasn’t let go of you once.

You look up at him.

And he’s already looking at you.

He looks perfect, tailored, controlled, dangerous in a way that makes people stare too long and then look away even faster.

His hair is swept back tonight, save for one defiant strand that keeps falling across his brow. You keep watching that strand as if it’s a lifeline. Like if you can count how many times it falls, maybe your nerves will shut the hell up.

You know he feels how tense you are.

He frowns, and it’s so soft it nearly breaks your heart. That Bucky Barnes can frown like that. As if you just told him you were fading into dust.

“Hey,” Bucky coos, voice soft, voice low, the world dissolving for a second into nothing but him and you. “You okay, sweetheart?”

You try to nod. But you can’t lie to him. Words jam in your throat, caught somewhere between the beat of your heart and the reality of who he is and who you are not.

“I just-” you manage, but it’s a little shaky, you look around. “I feel out of place.”

Bucky tilts his head, brow still furrowed tightly. “Why?”

You open your mouth, then close it again. Try to explain how it feels to be ordinary in a sea of extraordinary. How it feels to be his, but not one of them. How terrifying it is to not have armor, or training, or anything more than love for a man who could kill with his pinky finger and kindness in his eyes just for you.

Bucky steps in close, crowding the noise out with the breadth of his body, his warmth, the familiarity of his scent - cedar and cold and something quietly him. His nose brushes yours, and it’s stupid how it grounds you.

“I’d rather be anywhere else,” he murmurs, eyes locked on yours. “I’d rather be nowhere. Just me and you. On a rooftop. Under the sheets. In the woods. I don’t care. Just not here. No noise. No cameras. No Stark in a tuxedo with a martini making bad decisions.”

You laugh, and it trembles out of you.

His smile is all softness and secret promises. His eyes are glinting. “But if I have to be here - then I'm glad it’s with you.”

The way he says it - quiet, low, as if it’s something he only ever told the wind - freezes everything inside you and sets it on fire all at once.

You blink, and the fear stutters. Collapses a little. Because it’s not you and the Avengers. It’s you and Bucky.

His lips graze your ear, then your temple, taking his time. He’s not bothered at all by the cameras flashing around you, capturing this moment, capturing the Winter Soldier going soft on his girlfriend.

You want to fall into him. You want to crawl into his chest and live there.

You let out a breath. It’s just beginning to feel okay. The world quiets just for a second.

Then it explodes.

There’s a metallic whine, a rumble like thunder swallowed by stone. The ground jerks beneath your feet as though it’s trying to shake you off. Screams tear through the air. A plume of smoke mushrooms in the sky as fire roars from the far end of the pavilion. People scatter. Glass shatters. Concrete buckles.

You don’t even have time to be shocked when Bucky already reacts.

He pushes you behind him so fast your teeth snap together. He doesn’t look back. His body shields yours, metal arm braced outward, flesh hand pressing you into his back, eyes scanning for threats.

Another explosion cracks through the sky, rips through the atmosphere like an angry god. And right after, the next explosion follows, punched through the sky like a fist made of fire.

You cough, eyes watering. There’s debris. Someone’s car door skitters across the ground like a dead insect. Tony’s suit whirs to life across the square. Natasha’s already sprinting. Sam is in the air.

Bucky is moving, dragging you behind a line of armored cars, his body is coiled with tension, his expression is deadly serious.

“Stay here!” he orders. It’s his soldier voice. Cold steel and no argument. He’s never used this voice on you before.

“Bucky-”

“Y/n, stay down,” he barks sharply, and you nearly flinch. But his tone is not filled with anger. It’s filled with fear. “Do not move until I come back for you.”

Your heart is pounding so hard you think it might break your ribs. Your head is shaking from side to side so fast, you can’t do anything. “No- Bucky-”

He cups your face, his hands stiff, his hold almost rough. He leans in. “Stay. Here,” he growls. “I can’t do this if I’m worried about you.”

His eyes tell you he already is. He will be. But he doesn’t tell you.

He waits for you to nod, although he doesn’t have the time. An almost aggressive kiss is pressed to your mouth, then to your forehead, and he is gone. Thrown into chaos, lost in the smoke and fury and shouts.

You barely register the space he leaves behind. The smoke moves like a creature through the crowd, making people disappear wholly. Somewhere nearby, there’s another explosion. The screams rise again, louder.

You crouch lower, press yourself against the cold steel of the car, try to breathe through the hammer in your chest. You want to do what he said. You try to do what he said.

But the panic moves toward you.

You don’t see where it starts. Just feel it. A shove. A push. Someone collides with your hiding place, someone is behind you and suddenly you’re on the ground. White-hot pain at your side. You fall hard enough to see stars. A sharp ache slices down your shoulder where debris must have caught you. Blood runs hot and slick beneath your dress.

Disoriented, you try to push up on trembling arms but they shake too much, and everything is spinning.

You don’t see the soldier until you turn your head and there’s a flash of metal in his hand. A knife.

“Y/n!”

It’s your name. It’s Bucky’s voice. It’s not a shout. It’s a roar. As if it was ripped out of his chest. As if he’s afraid of what he’ll find when he gets to you.

From fifty yards away, across smoke and bodies and fire, he sees the blood blooming on your sleeve. Sees your fingers twitch as you try to sit up. Sees the man with the knife coming too close.

And he is barreling through the smoke like something unholy, eyes wild, teeth clenched, hands balled to fists. The light behind his eyes just snaps.

He moves as though he’s been set free. No hesitation. No fear. No softness left in him. His face is stone, is fury, is death, is Winter Soldier. His arm gleams under the flames, a ghost of his past resurrected in defense of his present.

Bucky hits the guy with bone-crushing force, enough to send teeth skittering across pavement. A scream echoes once before it’s cut off. Another blow. Another. Fist to face. Elbow to jaw. A crunch that sounds like death and rage all rolled into one. His vibranium hand wraps around the man’s throat, and you swear you see something flash in his eyes - something ancient and broken - before Bucky picks him up and slams him against a crumbling wall. Again. And again.

It’s not strategy. It’s not mercy. It’s pure rage.

Somewhere, Steve yells his name like a warning.

Bucky doesn’t stop.

“Bucky-” you croak, blood warm down your arm. You try to sit up.

In an instant, he turns back to you, easing up on his brutal hold and the soldier crumples to the ground. Bucky’s whole body is tight with adrenaline, his breath sawing in and out as though he ran through a warzone - which he kind of did. For you. His eyes find yours and shatter.

He’s at your side in half a breath.

“Baby,” he whispers, hands on your face, on your shoulder, trembling now. “No, no, no. You weren’t supposed to be- I told you to stay-”

“I tried,” you defend weakly, dizzy. “I didn’t- I’m okay. I think. Just- grazed me, maybe-”

But he’s not hearing you. Not through the panic tearing holes in his composure. His hands flutter, unsure where to land without hurting you more. His voice drops, gravelly and hushed. “I shouldn’t have brought you here. Shit, I should’ve known-”

“Hey.” You grab his wrists. “Bucky.”

He stills, but he won’t meet your eyes. Your thumb brushes the inside of his wrist. “I’m okay.”

But he’s too far in his head.

He wraps you in his arms in seconds, cradles you as if you’re made of moonlight and scripture, as if you’re hallowed and half-broken and held together by threads only he can see.

His metal hand supports your back, curved protectively around your spine. His other hand is pressing your legs into his chest.

The darkening sky is still full of smoke and sirens.

Colors smear across the sky like blood in water. Reds and blues. Shouting and static. Flashing lights and fractured ground. Somewhere nearby, someone is screaming. Somewhere farther, something explodes.

But not for him anymore. He doesn’t seem to hear anything. Doesn’t seem to listen to anything other than your breathing, your pulse.

He walks fast, but carefully. Erratic feet cut through rubble, his jaw is locked so hard, his body so rigid, he surely is in pain from holding all that tension. His eyes are storm-dark and unblinking. No one stops him. Not Steve. Not Tony. Not even the medics who see the look on his face and take a cautious step back as though maybe the devil borrowed his bones tonight.

He never trusted any random medic to look you over. It has to be someone he knows.

You whisper his name.

Soft. Breathless. Almost an apology.

And he almost drops to his knees.

“I’ve got you,” he rasps, hoarse and urgent. “You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

You know you are. But he doesn’t.

Your fingers curl in the collar of his suit jacket. His real name - James - lives on your tongue but never quite makes it out because he’s holding you too close, and perhaps saying his name might crush him completely.

He smells like smoke and ash and steel and blood. Your temple is tucked against the curve of his neck, where his pulse thunders beneath the surface. He’s warm and shaking.

He bursts into the quinjet that brought you here like a man on fire, like a man trying to outpace grief, and he yells something sharp. He lays you down - reluctantly, tenderly, surrendering - onto a stretcher, but his hands don’t stop touching you.

He’s a storm with a purpose, and that purpose is you.

You, safe.

You, whole.

You, alive.

“Bucky,” you try to ease, blinking up at him, face pale under flickering emergency lights. “I told you, baby. It’s not that bad.” Your voice is soft. Slow.

“You were on the ground.” His voice cracks.

“I was on the ground for like two seconds-”

“You’re bleeding.”

“It stopped, baby. Okay? There’s no fresh blood.” You are close to whispering.

Bucky doesn’t seem eased, though. He sits beside you. Big body bent in half, elbows on knees, one trembling hand reaching to gently - so, so gently - brush your hair from your forehead.

And then he says it.

“I would’ve burned the whole goddamn city to get to you.” Quiet. Like a vow. Like a confession. Like faith. Like a truth, he doesn’t know how to carry anymore. “I would’ve torn down buildings with my bare hands if I didn’t see your breathing. I don’t care who saw. I don’t care what they think-” his voice breaks, his breaths spill all over his words. “I can’t be okay without you.”

You stare up at him. Your throat is tight, eyes are stinging. Because he doesn’t say things like that. Not often. Not out loud. You see it in his eyes every day, in the way he looks at you, in the way he treats you. But it’s something else entirely to hear him form those words and let his tongue roll them out.

He presses his forehead to yours. His breath ghosts over your lips. His eyes are closed. His hand cups the back of your head.

He’s holding you so close to him, as if he’s never intending to let go ever again.

[comfycozycrossfox]

the massive depression/ptsd episode i was in has kind of passed which is cool but has made space for Other Problems which is less cool

[cowboyhorsegirl]

ooo, thots in the reveal of what happened to Dean in the pit?

INSANE AMAZING LOVE IT OBSESSED WITH IT DEVOURING IT EATING IT WHOLE GAGGED AND BOUND ABT IT