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sankttealeaf · 8 months

Note

First of all happy birthday!!!!

Second of all omg I love your writing, and the prompts you just shared.?? Could I request gn Tav and Astarion for the:

⋆ "i'd still know you." Bonus points if it is not ascended Astarion saying this to Tav 👀

Thank you in advance if you choose to write this and have a great birthday!! ❤️

thank you!!! ended up thinking too much about astarion "ah yes i will manipulate tav into doing what i want - oh no i think am in love" baldur'sgate3 too much while writing this. i hope you enjoy it!!<3

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

"i'd still know you" [prompt list <- send me another!] [ao3]

pairing ; astarion x gender neutral!reader

summary ; Astarion's plan is fool-proof until you come along and start to break it down brick by brick.

other info ; may have gone a little wild with this. a deeper look into astarion and tav's relationship throughout the game and how easily astarion's walls were broken down by them. mainly astarion pov but kind of jumps between tav + astarion thoughts

warnings ; manipulation, astarion backstory, implied sexual content but nothing explicitly mentioned, things get resolved in the end

word count ; 3.2k

“I don't need to know where we begin and end, I'd still know you”

De Selby (Part 2) - Hozier

When he first meets you, Astarion thinks you are a fool.

He despises the way you offer to help anyone in need, no questions asked. It’s even worse when you deny any form of payment for it. He cannot help but allow the frustration to take over each time you get side-tracked. Why now must he meet someone with so much goodness in their heart after he spent centuries suffering? Why must you be so kind?

Your kindness consumes him as he spends his days trying to figure out ways to use it against you. He’ll need help with his own personal goals and it would be oh so easy to exploit how eager you were to help others. He buries you with pretty words and sultry looks and can feel you falling for his trap, hook, line, and sinker.

You begin to seek him out each morning and night, asking for his opinions on things and listening to everything he has to say. He finds it amusing each time you walk up to him with a list of things to talk about. You even start to offer your own blood to him after the rather unfortunate incident of catching him trying to feed on you. Really, this was too easy.

Laying with you after the party with the tieflings is only to cement the snare he places around you. It was hunting season and you were the poor deer that fell into his trap. A shame, but it mattered not to him. He gets what he wants and you get to feel useful helping someone. It doesn’t matter what emotions he has to exploit along the way. Each time he feels himself grow distant during the entanglement you brought him back, fingers tracing his skin and pulling him closer. When you feel the harsh lines of his scar and a frown appears on your face, he distracts you with a kiss, any questions melting away in your mind instantly.

A fool-proof plan, and Astarion is executing it perfectly so far.

As time passes on he starts to find himself waiting for you to approach him in the evenings. He pretends to not care but every time he hears you approach he feels anxiety gnawing in his stomach and if his heart could beat he was certain it would be pounding. He’s managed to memorise the sound of your footfalls whenever you get near his tent, a small thing he assumes is just another step in his plan. That’s what everything was, another box to tick, another thing to cross off. He was remembering things about you to use against you - no other reason.

Recently you have been giving him books you pick up along your travels, claiming you had heard him talking about the lack of “good reading material” to Gale one morning. He stacks each one neatly in his tent, keeping them to himself and refusing to share. You got them for him, after all. He searches his brain for days on ways to repay you for the ever-growing library in his tent and has to stop himself because that is not part of his plan. He isn’t supposed to want to thank you. It’s like you entered his well-defended home and started to disarm all the traps aimed at you. You broke down the walls with such care, placing the bricks to the side to rebuild into something else. He can’t stop you from doing so, no matter how hard he tries.

With each kind gesture he notices more about you. The way you laugh loudly at camp with the others or how you make each person you speak to feel like they are the most important person in the world. He yearns to speak to you, to get his share of loot or hear a funny story from your day. He wants you around him and it confuses him. Your kindness is infectious and Astarion begins to feel like a fever is brewing inside him. He needs to sweat it out yet the only thing he finds craving for is you. Always you.

Why must it be you?

He hears you approach before he looks up from his book, already throwing a suggestive comment your way to see your cheeks flush and your eyes dart around nervously. You ask if he’s doing alright and Astarion decides that this is the perfect time to be vulnerable with you. He wants to know if his plan was working, if you truly would do anything for him. You listen carefully with bated breath as he lays out his backstory to you, how he wants revenge on his master for all the years of torture and torment he was put through. Even though he had been hoping for it, he’s still shocked when you tell him you will help him get his vengeance in any way possible.

Of course you would help him. He has been betting on your kindness all this time, it’s why he chose you to begin with. Yet as you walk away he cannot help but feel seen for the first time in years. You want to help him. You are willing to put your life on the line to help him. He swallows down a bubble of guilt and ignores how sick he is feeling. Any more of this and he was certain he would perish.

For the next few days you talk to him first. Every morning and every evening you would check in and at first he waits for you to take back your offer to kill Cazador with him, but you never do. The only time he spots that you have doubts is when he mentions how he should be the one to ascend, not his master. He should have the power, right? It’s only fair after all. When you tell him that you didn't think that was a good idea, he’s caught off guard. Power is what he always wanted and you are refusing to help him? The conversation ends with a bitter taste in his mouth and you walking away from him. He wants to reach out for you but he can’t.

It’s fine, he tells himself. With enough convincing, you will support his need for ascension. You had to. He wants you by his side, after all.

There’s a lack of conversations with you going forward from that point, the whole talk of becoming a powerful vampire lord being something you weren’t entirely wanting to help Astarion go through with. You mention how he’s just continuing the cycle of abuse, that he’ll be as trapped as Cazador is, but you aren’t sure if Astarion is even listening to you. So, you decided it was best to give him space and let him come to that conclusion by himself. And if he doesn’t? Well, you suppose there will be two vampires you’ll have to kill in the future.

Even if you aren’t talking, you still look out for him when you find yourself in combat. A gentle touch of his arm as you move around him to flank an enemy, throwing your last potion of healing his way, finding high ground for him to run to for a better advantage. You seek him out at the end of the fight to check he wasn’t too badly injured and he notices you only give cursory glances at the others. When you’re happy he isn’t too hurt, you give a gentle squeeze of his arm before going to rummage through the dead bodies for loot. The warmth from your hand lingers on his arm long after you are gone and he finds himself holding the area, watching as you call over Lae’zel to show her some new weapons that could be of use. Still, after killing enemies, you treat everyone with kindness.

The walls around him are fully gone now and he can’t help but wait for you to come back to him again. Perhaps the traps in his metaphorical house aren’t there to keep anyone out, but to keep him in.

You begin to talk to him again, dancing around the topic of Cazador and his plans for taking his master’s place like a deadly waltz. The closer you get to Baldur’s Gate the more Astarion’s plans weigh heavily in the air. Your uncertainty that it is the best option begins to rub off on him and one night he finds himself doubting that this is really what he wants. Of course it was, he wants the power and the control. But that meant losing you - you made your stance clear one day as you travelled, catching him in conversation to tell him you would not be by his side if he chose to complete the ritual himself. You walked away before he could question you further.

Your opinion is ruining him. It’s wrecking everything in his mind and leaving him stranded on an island he isn’t sure he wants to be on anymore. His plan made sense when he could picture you by his side, probably not as an equal - he didn't want to worry about another vampire fighting for his rule over the city, after all, but maybe as a loyal spawn. You are already so loyal to everyone, it would be like nothing changed! But everything will change. You are in his head. He wishes he had never picked you to be the target of this plan. How could he be so foolish? Of course your kindness wouldn't allow him to grow in power. You are too, too kind.

Astarion thinks himself a fool.

Defeating Cazador is a brutal task that he has only ever dreamed of seeing to completion. He stands at a crossroads now, knowing he could easily complete the ritual for himself and ascend to the god-like power that Cazador wanted. It would be so easy to do so, yet he looks back at where you stand with the others and something in him breaks. Something in him snaps and it feels like all those traps he set up around him suddenly went off with him in the middle of it. It’s cathartic, with each plunge of the dagger into his master’s chest Astarion feels like this is what he deserves. Over and over again he settles into this weird mixture of grief and anger and allows himself to have his moment of complete power over Cazador. It’s not the ascension he wants, but the one he deserves.

You watch from the sidelines as he allows his anger to consume him, Cazador lying limp in front of him as he repeats the motion of getting his vengeance. You turn your head away to let him have this moment to himself.

He’s distant that night. His plans are complete and there’s nothing left for him to worry about except removing the parasite. He’ll return to the life of shadows and can only hope you would still want to be around him when all is said and done. No matter how badly the outcome of this drags him down he still can’t bring himself to be angry at you for causing him to doubt it. Frustrated or annoyed, maybe, but never angry.

So when he can’t find you at camp, he starts to worry.

Gale calls for everyone to grab some food and Astarion does not see you approach the fire. He does not see you sitting with anyone else, nor does he see you giving affection to the various animals you refused to leave behind. There’s no sound of your laughter or gentle touch from behind as you walk by him, no hint of you anywhere. It’s not hard to slip away from the group as he begins to do a loop around the outskirts of camp to try and find where you are. Concern rattles his bones as he wonders if something happened, if he would stumble across your dead body or worse - you decided to leave.

His anxieties are eased when he finds you sitting a few minutes away from camp on a fallen tree, your back to him. There’s no need to spook you so he purposefully steps on an old branch, breaking it to gain your attention. You turn quickly, hand coming up to ready yourself if there was a fight. With a sigh, you relax once you see him approach.

“Hello,” you say quietly, shuffling over to give Astarion room to sit beside you, if he wants.

“You’re not at camp?” It’s a stupid question but it’s the only thing he could think to say. There is so much he wants to tell you but finding the right words is proving difficult.

You laugh, and Gods he has missed hearing it. It’s such a simple sound but he is certain it was better than any healing from a bottle or Shadowheart. If he could make you laugh forever he would do so, if you only gave him the chance to. He takes a seat next to you, the cool evening air whipping around you both. Astarion sees you frown as you look down at your feet, hands fidgeting nervously. Despite himself, he reaches out to hold them still.

Looking up at him, you take a deep breath as you prepare for what you want to ask him. “You didn't go through with the ritual?” you ask, even though you were there to witness it. You saw him kill Cazador and give up the power with each stab he carved into the vampire lord and had no idea what made him have a change of heart at the last minute.

Astarion shrugs, wanting to blow it off like it didn't bother him at all, but it did. It really did.

“It was you.” The words sound threatening as he speaks and he winces as your eyes grow wide, worry spreading across your face that he was here to get revenge on you interfering.

“Astarion, I’m sorry, I didn't mean to ruin it,” you say quickly, moving your hands away from him and slinking back to put some distance between you both.

The way you move away from him in fear hurts him as he retreats back in on himself. Maybe he should have taken the power, that way you would have something to fear about him-- No. No. He refuses to think like that. Not at you. Never at you.

“What I meant is that you were the one to put the doubts into my head about the ritual,” he corrects himself and you are confused. Still, he continues. “You kept saying things that weren’t aligning with my plan and I thought-”

You interrupt him. “Plan?”

Maybe it is time to come clean. “I had a plan. Manipulate you, say and do whatever you wanted me to so that you would help me with Cazador. You’re so kind and compassionate I knew it wouldn't take me long to get you hooked on me.” He can’t stand to see the look on your face as he explains himself. “And yet I found myself wanting you more than I planned for…”

His words fade out as you begin to realise how foolish you had been to believe anything he told you was truthful. He’s pacing in front of you now, explaining how this all fell apart because of you and it feels as if he should be blaming you, but he never does. You wait for the accusatory points and looks that never come.

“So you used me?” you ask once he stops speaking, out of breath from how quickly he threw that at you and looking at you in a way you can only describe as sad.

He runs his hands through his hair in defeat, shoulders slumping and hands falling to his side. “Yes. At the start I used you. But things changed! You changed! You changed me!” He’s certain he’s not making any sense but carries on regardless. The floodgates of whatever feelings he’s been repressing have opened and he was going to drown in them if you didn't give him a hand to pull him out. “It’s you! It’s always been you. Even if I ascended it would still be you I searched for. You have ruined me, and yet I can’t help but want you to see me, to look at me, to simply exist in the space around me!”

“That’s what the Gods made me for, right? To ruin you?” You look at him with a smile as he stops in his ranting.

He’s confused, giving you a frown as the words hit him like a spray of water in the face. “Are you quoting me?”

You shrug. “It’s a good line. Even if you didn't mean it.” Your voice has a hint of sadness to it and Astarion knows if he throws any other sweet line at you you wouldn't believe him. He says your name softly like it’s the first time he’s ever said it and you look at him, conflicted at how you should feel right now.

“I mean it now. My plan was perfect until you started showing me actual kindness…” He sits back down, hands in his head. “How was I supposed to revel in power if you aren’t by my side? How was I supposed to live knowing you hated me?”

“I don’t think I could ever fully hate you,” you admit, giving his shoulder a small nudge. “Though I was fully prepared to kill you if you got too power hungry.”

“It would be an honour to be killed by you,” he replies, hand brushing against yours. He wants to hold you close, promise you that everything he says from now on was the truth but he wasn’t sure you would believe it. “I do regret what I did, you know. At first I didn't care what happened but then…”

“Then you started to care.”

It’s the truth yet Astarion feels so exposed when you say it. He cannot place when he started to care about you beyond his plan but he knows that he does. And he accepts it, here and now. He accepts that this is the ending fate has given him and wishes for you to hold his hand as you progress into the next chapter of life.

“You made me feel happy. You have no idea how long it has been since I was truly happy.” It’s like a weight is lifted from his shoulders as he reveals this to you. All those long days of mentally keeping himself in check and in line with what he was planning and now it is crumbling away. “I will gladly take the rest of my life in the shadows if it means I get to hold you in the morning. No matter what happens next, I’d still know you. And that’s all I care about right now.”

You pull him into a hug, arms tightly wrapped around him and keeping him close. He melts into your touch and is relieved that you haven’t pushed him away. Because after all this, he still knows you, and you are so very kind towards him. Even when he feels as if he doesn’t deserve it.

Astarion is foolish for believing your kindness wouldn't be his downfall. He’s a fool for you.

#astarion x reader #astarion x tav #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #astarion x gender neutral reader #; tealeaf's writing

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hwaightme · 2 months

Text

Panacea

OUT NOW: Panacea

song used in teaser: de selby (part 1) by hozier

🌊pairing: poet!seonghwa x doctor!gn!reader 🌊genre: fluff, slice of life, slow burn, healing, strangers to lovers, comfort 🌊summary: what do a poet who lost his inspiration and a cosmetic surgeon who lost their empathy have in common? when you make an escape from the city to a memory-filled cottage on the edge of the world, you meet park seonghwa, a poet who, after growing fatigued of shallow critique and unwanted attention, is on a search for true beauty. you, a surgeon who cannot bear to hear nor assess another patient , abhor its twisted definitions. as the seasons change, storms abate and your paths entangle, you discover a new, unparalleled kind of beauty. 🌊wordcount: estimated around 30k 🌊warnings/tags: semi-edited, ??? attempts at sijo (forgive me), discussion of beauty standards, mention of surgery/clinics, weather imagery, dreams/nightmares, discussion of life and death (jokes relating to death), talk of side character death, urban/rural comparisons, isolation, burnout, philosophy, judgement of media, seaside, cliffs, dialogue + inner thoughts, perspective switching, falling in love, loving another's mind, talk of what is 'real' beauty, food, eating, cooking, implied anxiety, implied impulsive thoughts, sneak into home 🌊author's note: happy birthday, seonghwa. thank you for all you inspire me to do, and for teaching me how to find the sun even in a rainstorm. sincere and diligent, you are the spring, the renaissance, the glimmering light. wishing for you and for atiny alike to have a cherished panacea and a love brighter than the stars.

teaser (1.3k):

...Mid-spin, just as you were finished with making the filling and were in the process of lining a baking tin with some of the pastry, the front door creaked open, revealing the figure that you had spotted outside of your window, walking alongside the beginnings of what would be a cliff’s edge. You stood still, holding the pie tin, feeling the grooves of its edges, balancing the dough that was still wrapped in clingfilm right in the middle, as though if you were to not move this man would not see you. Heart quickening to a nauseating pace, the intense scrutiny that you were receiving made you want to collapse behind the counter. Before this moment, you had convinced yourself that you had fully adopted a devil may care attitude, and that you were ready for whoever you would encounter, having prepared the humble abode for a you-style reception and to assert who truly was deserving of ownership of this property. But something about this enigmatic persona who, just like you, remained unmoving, echoed the seastorms. A roaring of the waves was contained in his orbs, so dark due to the light being behind the man’s back that you could barely detect the transition from pupil to iris. A nose worthy of being depicted in renaissance paintings, in fact, if you had to pinpoint one way to describe the stranger, is that he reminded you of subjects that graced the walls of art galleries, selected by masters to be immortalised in the artists’ name. Nameless, much like he was to you in this present moment. His lips, ever so slightly parted as if he had been on the verge of saying something to you, only for the aim to fall short of execution, voice drowning in doubt or disgust. The corners of the man’s mouth were gently downturned - not unpleasantly so, but rather giving him an aura of intimidation that intrigued you. Shadows on his face suggested to you that he was unshaven, though, you had to admit that it was not too bad of a look. In fact, an interesting edge of ruggedness that balanced with his longer locks gave the man a new form of allure, and in turn, forced you to keep your eyes on him despite feeling inklings of terror. The scene reminded you of a faceoff between two territorial wolves - whose domain was this? Only time and a match of resolve would tell.

He was the first to break eye contact, sighing and moving to take off his shoes and trench coat. You remained still - a hostile animal that was expecting aggression at any moment. The man was silent, unphased by your ‘out of the blue’ appearance at least outwardly, and you were not certain whether his lack of reaction was something to be taken with gratitude or suspicion. As you inspected his motions, how he stretched out his arm to hang the trench coat on the rack that was hammered to the wall, with the right nail ever so slightly lower than the left, how he ran a hand through his hair, casting shadows over what hinted at months of fatigue. Not quite pallid, but definitely tired skin, holding times of discomfort, sleeplessness. Dark circles under those deep, pensive orbs, cheeks that were somewhere between sunken and youthful. The man stood before you in a white shirt, the colour a last cry to some form of purity and hope. You could guess why he was at the cottage, since it was not too challenging to see your own reflection in the corners of his soul, much like you could sense that he was reading you. He reminded you of an angel who was tired of praying, barely capable of carrying his body. Pressed down by the story that had been written for him, he was likely here for an escape, to drown out the sounds of whatever he was running from. Perhaps you should be friendly, and welcome this lost soul. After all, he could be unaware of where he is nor of what unspoken rules exist around here. The least you could do is make him feel at home-

“You made a mess,” and just like that, all desire to be amiable flew out of the window and into the sea. His curt comment was like a burning cold scalpel, words too familiar to be neutral and well-received.

Before you could respond, the man was well on his way to the bathroom, and judging by the slam of the door, he was not very pleased to see the rearrangements you had made. No comments followed, however, and instead, the pause was filled by the sound of running water, followed by a muffled mumbling when following a couple of rattles, the pressure inevitably dropped and there was barely a trickle. You shook your head, amused by how this man had been living in this property without the basic knowhow. Clearly, he was one of the many cityfolk who wanted to try his luck while on holiday. Exotic stay to talk about with his glamorous friends, you bet. For him to explain how ‘the bucolic was not even as appealing as literature made it out to be’. Standard. Faceless. You would forget him in no time, especially since he would probably leave before it got less fun and more mundane to stay out in the wilderness. That pretty face should not know harshness. With a huff, you set the tin down onto the counter and set the oven to preheat. With swift, irritated movements, you took to lining the metal with the dough, and in no time shifted to ladling the filling inside, halting to watch the last of the fruity cinnamon remnants dribble from the bowl down to join the rest of the sweet and sour promise.

The man returned when you were in the process of lacing strings of dough together to structure a coherent design. With an embarrassing surgical precision, you focused on the patterns - culinary sutures, almost horrified by the technique that you could not prevent from channelling itself through your body, to your very fingertips especially now that there was an audience. If he wanted to give you a stern talking to, it had quickly dissipated and mid-stride, the stranger was observing you as though you were carrying out a sacred ritual. The spotlight was on you as you demonstrated how to put the flesh back together. Piecing the skin bit by bit so as to ensure minimal scarring, careful now, people come to you to make themselves feel beautiful after all. String by string, the pie was looking more like itself, a recipe book photograph, something worthy of immortalising as the model step before baking. A beeping confirmed that the patient was relaxed, steady, with a perfect heart rate - good, all the readings were steady, now all you needed was to make the final - you felt for the tray finding empty space. Did someone misplace the tools? Panic shot into your nervous system and with a jolt you pushed yourself away from the table, only to find yourself gazing, startled, at someone who you had begun to assume was an intern. The guest, or cohabitant? An eyebrow raised, the ghost of a smirk on his lips as he took in your state. You clicked your tongue, finally putting two and two together and grabbing the timer behind you, purposefully taking your time so that you would not have to look at your newfound personification of madness for longer than necessary. So much for an introduction; the figure who was still a mystery to you slinked back into the shadows, with only the click of the office door serving as a confirmation that he was real. You rubbed your temples, the distant thrumming of a headache resembling a thunder that crawled over the horizon. Demonstratively, you sprinkled some flour onto a previously clean spot on the wooden countertop, only to automatically reach for the towel and drop the action again. No, it was time to bake. You needed to bake. You needed to make this place feel like home for the next couple of months, even if this peculiar character was going to be sharing it...

🌊 perma-taglist: @acciocriativity @justhere4kpop @starrysvn @byuntrash101 @shakalakaboomboo @uwuheeseungie @frankenstein852 @charreddonuts @miriamxsworld @innsomniacshinestar @foxinnie8 @preciouswoozi @wooyoungjpg @nebulousbookshelf @wowie-hockey @hongjoongs-patience @jaehunnyy @maddkitt @ren-junwrld @pyeonghongrie-main @marsstarxhwa @pocketjoong-reads @yeooclock @yeonjunnie @asjkdk @lucky-cat-cafe @northerngalxy @my-loves-my-life @http-gyu

interested? send me an ask to be added to the perma-taglist or to a taglist for Panacea <3

#cromernet #hm/announcements #hm/panacea #seonghwa x reader #seonghwa fluff #ateez fluff #ateez x reader

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rosewaterandivy · 4 months

Text

fade away with you

summary: “And your heart, love, has such darkness / I feel it in the corners of the room” from De Selby (Part 2) - Hozier

w.c.: 1.6k

a/n: welp, this is a miniseries now, i guess. enjoy my inability to let something go.

previously | next

Two months go by with infrequent visits he could count on one hand.

Sequestered away in Hop’s cabin, patched up so as to be suitable for habitation, you kept to yourself; licking your wounds and wasting away the balmy summer days.

Much like volunteering at the high school, Steve and Robin took shifts in checking up on you. She’d ride her bike up the trodden paths of woods to the cabin, or get dropped off by a beemer bursting at the seams with cross-chattering teens on their way to Harrington’s.

You’d emerge with a shy wave as Robin clambered out of the car, crowing a greeting and following you inside. A gauzy dress hanging from your frame, the silhouette of your legs drawing his eyes downward in a slow arc, molten gold glinting in the twilight.

Turning back, with a smile quirking at your lips, a laugh tumbling from your mouth at something Robin had said. And if Steve let himself linger in the stolen moment, he could almost believe that there was a special look there reserved just for him.

Or maybe it was just a trick of the light.

But not then.

On that fated summer’s day, Robin couldn’t make it to the cabin. The late summer rains muddying the trails and making it impossible to pass.

He was folding clothing donations when she’d brought it up.

“You should go and see her,” She murmured, dropping off a sandwich for his lunch break. One of the rare moments Robin extricated herself from Vickie.

“What, tonight?”

A nod, her head bobbing as a blush creeps up her cheeks. “I have an, uh, thing with Vic.”

He huffs a soft laugh, “Oh, a thing? With Vic you say?”

Robin cuffs him lightly on the arm. “Shaddup, ya dingus.” Her eyes cut back to the redhead across the gym, a smile pulling at her lips. “Besides, you haven’t been in a while.”

He rolls his eyes, “Only because I’m stuck playing chauffeur for you lot.”

She regards him momentarily, eyes flitting up and down in concern. “Really? Because lately it seems as if you’ve been avoiding her.”

Steve feels heat thrum through his chest, wills it pass, prays the flush won’t make it to his neck— a dead giveaway for Robin, who knows him like the back of her hand.

And it’s not that he’s been actively doing it, avoiding you. It just happened, he didn’t mean for it to become habit. But like so many things he hasn’t meant, Steve was slow to course correct. But maybe it wasn’t too late.

This is what he finds himself thinking as the soft summer rains begin to fall. He pulls the car into a patch of worn grass, steps out, and closes the door quietly. The world is oddly still— gone is the familiar clattering inside just before the wooden door creaks open.

In fact, it doesn’t open at all.

Steve is hesitant to approach. He doesn’t want to startle you, though his presence is hardly a surprise. Robin had called earlier to let you know the change of plans, or at least that’s what she’d said.

The storm begins in earnest and forces Steve to seek shelter on the porch. He raps his knuckles against the rough grain of the door, parts his lips to call your name, but the door creaks open on its own.

The cabin is dark and silent, save for the sound of rain tapping at the windowpanes. It’s eerie enough for goose bumps to prick along his skin. Steve steps in slowly, cursing himself for leaving the nail bat in the car, fingers jonesing for some kind of weapon. He loathes that his gut reaction is violence.

Dirty dishes piled in the sink, windows thrown open with drops of rain lashing in and dripping down the walls. A slight movement out of the corner of his eye, something beneath the lump of blankets on the sofa. He holds his breath, fight-or-flight hammering in his chest.

Your head pops out from underneath a blanket as you press your body into the cushions. Eyes blinking owlishly as you wake. Making out the vague shape of Steve from your kitchen, you still.

God. You’re beautiful. Skin glowing from days in the summer sun, a red pout pulled taut as your hand scrubs at your eyes. Hair kissed by the rain and breeze, slightly frizzy from an impromptu nap. You stretch languidly as a cat might, a bare leg kicking out from the blankets accompanied by a soft yawn.

“Steve?”

His name slips from your tongue so sweetly that it’s a blow to his chest. And this, this is why he stayed away because Steve knew the awful things he’d do for but a moment of your time. Recalls waking after that first terrible night, how he’d held you, how you’d let him, and felt himself spinning out of control.

A girl wrapped in cozy wool blankets, soft in the fading light.

A girl who was never his to begin with.

But damn if he didn’t want you to be.

“Did I know you were coming tonight?” You ask, eyes flitting to the overflowing kitchen sink and open windows.

“Rob called.”

“Hmm.”

You pull the blankets aside for him to sit; he doesn’t, taking a step closer instead. And it’s only now that Steve can place it— that the entire cabin smells like earth and salt, as if the wood had been flooded with tears and was just now drying out.

Have you eaten? Have you showered? Have you done anything?

He could ask any of those things, but what he ends up doing is allowing you to burrow deeper into the mountain of blankets. He rummages through the drawers and cabinets, finds a half-open bag of chips from god knows when - stale and stiff, and shoves a handful of it at you.

“Eat this, it’s the best we got.”

When your cheeks resembled that of a chipmunk’s and the sadness had somewhat gone from your eyes, Steve sat back arms crossed at the edge of the couch and huffed. A beat of silence, and then two as you chew and swallow. You laugh dryly and cradle your head in both your hands.

Your body slumps against the sofa cushions, “I’m so fucked Steve.”

Steve didn’t know what you meant, not really. But then again, everyone was all engaged with their private griefs, but none so much as you.

It took him all of two minutes to piece it together, the open window despite the rain, an overturned empty bottle of whiskey on the floor. The depression cave made sense, he knew you missed Eddie—

Sobs wrack your crumpled frame, fingernails digging into your scalp that came away pricked in red as he peeled them away.

“I’m pregnant.”

Two months gone, to be exact.

Time seemed to slow in that moment, Steve’s hand staying yours from clawing at your skin, wrestling your arms to keep you from hurting yourself, wrapping his legs over yours, and holding you tight.

It didn’t take a genius to put it together.

The loose-limbed ease of both you and Eddie that past spring, touches that maybe bordered on less friendly and more laden with intent, shy glances exchanged when you thought no one was looking.

But when it came to you, Steve was always looking.

A wet laugh falls from your mouth, “What’s a fuck between friends at the end of the world?”

Steve presses his chin to the top of your head, grips your waist, the warmth of his chest against your back, and rocks you to and fro.

“It’ll be okay. I got you. I’m here with you, whatever you need.”

There was a storm the night you told him. There was another the night the boy arrived.

Nine months you carried him inside of you, hating yourself and hating the world. Long nights of stifled tears missing Eddie like a phantom limb.

Joyce, Hop, and Wayne came to the cabin. Steve wasn’t sure if you could be bothered to leave. You were more than happy to die in labor, apparently. Had said as much with a grin. Joyce twisted her face in a grimace and Steve stood at her side, mouth set in a firm line, and told you to shut the fuck up.

No one was dying today, at least if he could help it.

At that you let loose the first genuine laugh he’d heard in months. Had to cover your face with both hands since you couldn’t seem to stop and when you pulled them away, Steve’s breath caught in his throat.

You were positively radiant. And he thought the glow some women get while pregnant must’ve been doubly true for you.

The baby came with a flash of lightning and a clap of thunder.

And Steve had seen some shit in his time. Had known carnage, blood, and viscera. But the birth was so horrific that when you paled with the loss, he swore that if you got what you desired, he’d die right along with you. Joyce yelled at him to get the water, the towels, the bucket and needle. Wash the boy, wrap him, look alive Harrington!

The swaddle thrust into his arms was softer than snow, wetter than the lashing rain outside, red sluiced with blood. Two eyes gleamed from the bundle in his arms and even though people say newborns are beautiful, Steve could only see a crimson angry thing, tearing the life from you and staring back at him with a curious expression.

A world away, beyond the woods, and the shuttered gates, Eddie Munson’s eyes fluttered open once more.

“Welcome back,” A low voice purrs from a far-off corner of his mind, “Kas.”

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fanfiction

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immediatebreakfast · 5 months

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Marmion time once again!

The fourth canto is the compeling errand given to lord Marmion after the dinner. A very politically charged canto since it mentions a tense situation between england, and Scotland which could very much escalate into a war. Moreover, in this exsct situation is where lord Marmion has to accomplish this errand.

No bird whose feathers gaily flaunt Delights in cage to bide; ... In fair Queen Margaret’s bower. We hold our greyhound in our hand, Our falcon on our glove; But where shall we find leash or band For dame that loves to rove? Let the wild falcon soar her swing, She’ll stoop when she has tired her wing.

The bird symbolism in the poem is very well used within the character of lord Marmion. He is established as a lord, but unlike the role that he could have played, Marmion is more of a knightly leader that uses his position as a lord to command his men. Restless to accomplish great things, and not yet satisfied to sit still. Marmion is the falcon whose eyes see everything, and actions help the Queen. The use of "trapped" in the first canto now seems to reflect Marmion's light distate for formalities such as these even if they are crucial to his campaings.

Nay, if with royal James’s bride The lovely Lady Heron bide, Behold me here a messenger, Your tender greetings prompt to bear; For to the Scottish court addressed, I journey at our King’s behest, And pray you, of your grace, provide For me and mine, a trusty guide.

So that is what is needed, a guide through Scotland as a errand for the english King. Lord Marmion, and his men need to act as messengers to represent the King in the eyes of the Scottish court. A task in which they need a guide, more specifically a religious guide that could guide them, and be a voice of reason and peace in between all of the knights.

A herald were my fitting guide; Or friar, sworn in peace to bide Or pardoner, or travelling priest, Or strolling pilgrim, at the least.

A very reasonable request. Yet, thanks to @warrioreowynofrohan helpful explanation, and the poem itself admiting through the captain's the failures of their political system, we learn that literally none of the clergy in Norham are suited for the job at all.

And though a bishop built this fort, Few holy brethren here resort; Even our good chaplain, as I ween, Since our last siege we have not seen: The mass he might not sing or say, Upon one stinted meal a day; So safe he sat in Durham aisle, And prayed for our success the while.

This chaplain didn't like that he had to ratio his food like everyone else so he just left Norham, and to this day has not come back.

Our Norham vicar, woe betide, Is all too well in case to ride; The priest of Shoreswood—he could rein The wildest war-horse in your train; But then, no spearman in the hall Will sooner swear, or stab, or brawl.

The vicar is in excellent condition to go! The problem is that he might as well be another knight with how much he likes to fight.

And then, the one who made me laugh, the Friar John of Tillmouth.

A blithesome brother at the can, A welcome guest in hall and bower, He knows each castle, town, and tower, In which the wine and ale is good, ’Twixt Newcastle and Holyrood. But that good man, as ill befalls, Hath seldom left our castle walls, Since, on the vigil of Saint Bede, In evil hour, he crossed the Tweed, To teach Dame Alison her creed. Old Bughtrig found him with his wife; And John, an enemy to strife, Sans frock and hood, fled for his life.

An alcoholic friar who is known for gambling, and straight up has by @warrioreowynofrohan's own words, "a neighbouring Scottish lord after his head because he snuck across the border, slept with the lord’s wife, was caught in the act, and ran away naked."

What a charming man of the cloth huh. However, and very solemnly, young Selby (Heron's nephew) explains that friar John is literally the best option they have if they want lord Marmion to do his errand well.

#It doesn't matter how you write a poem or a text somehow politics will seep into the narrative because our existance is political #So good luck to Marmion!#marmion daily #marmion #poetry

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violetmuses · 1 year

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Between The Lines - Zemo (18+ MINORS DNI)

TITLE: “Between The Lines” - Helmut Zemo (18+ MINORS DNI)

FANDOM: Marvel’s “Falcon and The Winter Soldier”

CHARACTER: Helmut Zemo

MAIN PAIRING: Helmut Zemo + Female Reader

MAIN STORYLINE: What happens in Madripoor….

Author’s Note: Hey! As a warning, this One Shot includes SMUT content. (18+ Minors DNI) Adult themes, strong language, etc. Thanks so much for reading and feedback would be greatly appreciated. - V. 💜

Main Masterlist 💜

__________

2024

Despite staying in character at the Brass Monkey Saloon, Zemo notices you walking right past him. He and Sam take shots.

Meanwhile, James steels his expression through his former Winter Soldier mode. All men should continue blending in here.

“Who is that?” Zemo questions the bartender, rasping his voice.

“Oh? You saw her.” The bartender peers over his glasses through dim lighting found overhead. “Wait one second.”

“Of course.” Zemo agrees. Sam narrows his eyes for a moment, but knows so much better than to blow everyone’s cover right now. James remains silent, not once speaking up.

The bartender walks elsewhere to handle whatever business and Zemo takes a quick breath, slyly noting your stance found across the room.

You wore this shapely dress and turned heads without fail. If not for the gravity of this mission, Zemo would’ve surely made a move.

Only minutes later, the bartender returns to his post and nods, gesturing as if to give permission.

“Go ahead.” The bartender says.

“Thank you.” Zemo nods at the man once more, prompting James and Sam to follow him.

________

“Looking for me?” You say, playing up another femme fatale role and immediately recognizing Zemo’s presence.

“Very much so.” Zemo nearly purrs, stepping up with nothing short of danger lurking through his entire body.

All in all, Helmut Zemo spent far too much time rotting in prison alone. If given proper consent, he would destroy you in the best way possible.

“Is there anything that I could help with before all of you visit Selby?” You step closer to Zemo and dare to run your palm along his clothed chest.

“Well…” Zemo nearly struggles to breathe now, fighting an incredible urge to break character.

His known brown eyes scope you up and down. Eight long years of isolation, lust, or pent-up chaos start to rattle from within.

Flashing possibilities slap him in the face.

Through echoes of his racing mind, he can hear you almost screaming out loud in the name of pleasure. During sex, you could be nude and give him full permission to touch your beautiful skin.

In reality, perfume wafts towards his nostrils, trapping him as you bite your lip and curl your manicured nail to smooth his bare chin.

“Lost for words?” You tease again.

No. I want you. Zemo truthfully thinks to himself.

“No, but I will return.” Zemo reaches out and kisses your knuckle, leaving to focus on the mission before it’s too late.

__________

You’re cornered in the midst of gunfire. Just moments earlier, this large bounty chimed through your phone as soon as Selby hit that carpeted floor, dead on sight.

A back alley veils you in the shade of night as one gloved hand covers your mouth.

Zemo.

“Do…not…speak…” His accented English leaves the ultimate warning and you find your own back scratching up against dirtied brick walls.

His belt buckle jingles like music of war and scorching lust reaches those brown eyes in the dark. Even then, you can’t respond, still muffled by the leather that dressed his manipulative fingers.

Salted coastal of the island, breezes towards your body, leaving you with quite a shocking realization:

Somehow, this man took off your panties and now the core is exposed for his delight.

“Go.” Your head nods obediently, giving absolute consent for an intelligent monster to defile you.

Because he will complete his goal at last, and thereby return to prison before long, he might as well “enjoy” this moment with you.

Sam and James do not matter. Not right now.

Bare for obvious reasons, Zemo lines up your soaking entrance. Your core weeps through adrenaline. The violence has blurred and you find yourself aching, needing him right away.

Moments later, Helmut plunges into you, almost hissing because of how tight and warm everything feels.

With his upper body still clothed, Zemo set his maroon sweater up against the top of your dress and still covers your whimpering mouth.

“Don’t…give me…away…” His Sokovian accent worsens, rasping as if to growl when you almost cry in the name of ecstasy. Another warning.

“I’m sorry.” Your voice mewls in the smallest tone possible. In truth, you can’t reveal his location, no matter how good he feels while thrusting over and over again.

Some pristine and light-brown hair rustles out of place, leaving curls to fall around his slightly pale forehead.

He even doesn’t give you an immediate alert when cum warms the naked space found between you both. There’s no other choice.

Yet, he’s calm enough to pull out of your core, finally making you hollow.

lWithin seconds, Zemo, an international terrorist and the former Baron of Sokovia, caresses your face, gently placing his sweating forehead against yours.

“Goodbye,” His breathing shallows. Before long, he leans inward and kisses your cheek, cornering elsewhere to fix his clothes and run off.

Now, you’re alone once more, facing the rest of tonight without him.

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cryingoflot49 · 4 months

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Book Review

The Room by Hubert Selby Jr.

In pre-modern times before prisons became institutionalized, criminals were punished by shunning or exile; they were either ignored by other members of society or they were sent out of their villages to fend for themselves in the wilderness. Since prisons were invented, criminals have been contained and segregated from the general population and sometimes even segregated from the prison population when put into solitary confinement. Humans are mammals, specifically primates, and so social bonds and community are necessary for survival. Isolated primates become mentally sick. A notorious scientific experiment was once conducted on rhesus monkeys where one monkey was separated from his peer group by a glass wall. He could see them but could not associate with them. He became depressed and angry and when the lab technicians released him back into the rhesus monkey population, he became hostile, aggressive, and violent towards the other monkeys. Solitude had made him insane and so he had to be permanently removed. The main character of Hubert Selby Jr.’s The Room is a lot like that rhesus monkey.

That main character, who I will call the Prisoner because he is unnamed in the narrative, remains isolated in his jail cell, waiting for his trial, throughout most of the novel. Unable to leave, save for meal times, his only escape is inwards into his own mind where he indulges in either memories of his childhood or fantasies involving either his pursuit of justice or indulgences in the torture of the policemen who arrested him.

The first thing to notice in The Room is Selby’s writing style, a continuation of how he wrote his previous novel Last Exit to Brooklyn. The punctuation is minimal and follows Selby’s own invented rules. This makes his prose rush along at a rapid pace. It also demands a lot from the reader in a way that benefits his style; it is difficult to be a passive recipient of information when reading Selby since the writing demands you pay careful attention to what is happening, when people are speaking since there are no quotation marks. The narrative also shifts between first and third person which is something else to watch out for. This benefits the narrative because it shows you who the Prisoner is from an inner and outer perspective. The shifts from third to first person also draws you into his inner world in a way that might not be possible using a different writing technique.

Needless to say, the Prisoner’s childhood memories are not pleasant. Two persistent themes are his relations with the police and a snowballing sense of shame. From a young age, he plays solitary games where he pretends to be having shootouts with the police. Otherwise, his real life interactions with them are not so bad. In one scene, a policeman helps him when he gets bit by a dog. Another policeman helps him when he gets injured. But then there is a suspicious incident where the Prisoner is in a park and a cop hiding behind a bush jumps out and smashes his hand with a billy club then runs away. It’s an improbable story and one that marks the Prisoner out as an unreliable narrator. This is the story he tells his mother when he returns home with an injury. It sounds like the kind of a story a twelve year old would make up if he were doing something he shouldn’t have been doing and was too ashamed to say what really happened.

The theme of shame and dishonesty persist throughout the Prisoner’s childhood memories. Most of these revolve around sex as his thoughts keep coming back to stains on his pants from either urine or semen. Some of the incidents that lead to these stainings are narrated more than once with differences in details each time therefore reinforcing the status of the unreliable narrator. For example, one story he tells his mother is that the urine stain on his pants was the result of an incident with a girl. He says he urinated on her and she got him back by urinating on him; somehow she had good enough aim so that her urine stream landed precisely right on his crotch. Again it sounds like a story a child would make up out of shame for what really happened like losing control and pissing in his pants.

Another stain he gets on his pants is the result of the Prisoner and a girl fondling each other in a movie theater. He has to walk home and performs an excessive cleansing of himself in the bathroom so no one can see the stain left by the semen. And so the theme of shame and the attending cover ups through actions and lies persist. You might also notice the way the Prisoner lies to himself in his jail cell inner monologues to justify his mistakes as if his self-deceptions are the only thread of hope he has to cling on to. His thoughts are just as much of a prison as his cell is.

As he lies in bed, the Prisoner’s mind becomes a stage for the acting out of his fantasies. One involves himself writing an imaginary letter to the press which sparks a government investigation into injustice and police brutality. You might notice that the letter is neither detailed nor persuasive, but in his fantasies it is. This launches into a grandiose story of the Prisoner being lauded as a hero for standing up for justice and speaking out to the media and in the courts. He also daydreams about representing himself as a defendant in court. His cross-examinations of the cops who arrested him are deranged, unrealistic, and absurd. They serve the purpose of confusing the witnesses more than cross-examining them though that really doesn’t matter because the Prisoner’s objective is to humiliate them more than anything. These grandiosities are silly and pathetic, but they reveal a lot about the Prisoner. He is a man with a mediocre mind fantasizing about being a genius, but since he lacks intelligence, his idea of “genius” just looks stupid. It also tells you something else about who he is. People fantasize about what they don’t have. So what kind of man would have grandiose fantasies about being a hero and an intellectual giant? A nobody, that’s who. Also notice that the Prisoner never writes, let alone sends, the aforementioned letter. He only dreams about it because he is a coward and could never bring himself to do such a thing. Indulging in self-pity suits his self-destructive purposes more than being assertive ever would.

Then there are the torture and rape fantasies. In two scenes, the Prisoner imagines himself kidnapping the two policemen who arrested him, taking them to a dungeon, which he calls the kennel, and training them to be dogs in ways that are sadistic and homo-erotic. They read like gay BDSM sessions that have gone horribly wrong. In another scene, he fantasizes about the two cops kidnapping and raping a woman in the woods. If this passage isn’t disturbing enough, then you have to understand that there is a whole other dimension to it. This fantasy is about not just the rape but how the two cops get away with with their it so the Prisoner can use it against them as evidence during the cross-examination during the imaginary trial. Tom Waits once sang “you’re innocent when you dream.” The Prisoner really puts this idea to its ultimate test.

These fantasies make the Prisoner look absolutely repulsive. And yet they are only fantasies and they come from the mind of a chronically lonely man, suffering from inadequacy and shame to the point of despair. He wallows in an inescapable pit of depression and his sadism is an attempt to make himself feel superior to someone else. At some level, these fantasies are also a means of torturing himself. In one part, he imagines cutting off the cops’ eyelids and shining bright lights at them while using eye drops to moisten their eyes. He controls when they are allowed to get the drops in a combination of the psychology of water torture and physical sadism. This transitions into the Prisoner lying on his bed and holding his eyes open for as long as he can while staring at the lights and then closing them to form tears. Those tears are just as emotional as they are for physical relief. He also uses similar language to describe the way the police restrained the woman during her rape and how they restrained him during his arrest while pushing him into the back of the police car. By associating himself with his imaginary victims, we get a sense that his own thoughts are a means of hurting himself.

When the Prisoner emerges from his memories and daydreams, he is alone with his thoughts in his cell and nothing else. He gets obsessed with a pimple on his cheek. Every time he prods at it, the painful thoughts of the police start up again. To him, the pimple is disproportionately painful to what it actually is. To most people, such a blemish would be a minor discomfort but for him it is an excruciating reminder, like the semen and urine stains on his pants, of how worthless he feels. While suffering in his shame and isolation, such a trivial thing becomes magnified to a point of incomprehensible pain.Then while in his bed, his pants get stained again and he has to go to the mess hall trying to hide it from the other prisoners. He begins feeling nauseous and finally admits that nausea has been the only friend he has ever had. You can’t get anymore sick with loneliness than that. There is no way out of his cell, there is no way out of his isolation, and there is no way out of his mind. All three are his inescapable prison.

The subject of this book is a loser. He is a whiner, a complainer, a coward, a weakling, and a failure. His isolation is a double-bind since it causes him to be miserable while his misery drives other people away. Can you blame those other people for ignoring him? You have to admit that you probably wouldn’t want to be around him yourself. He’s just one of those problematic people you’d be better off avoiding. It is a discomforting thought that we might be complicit in this man’s loneliness and despair. On the other hand, by reading this book we get up close and personal with him. At some level, we relate to him. Is anyone happy all the time? Hasn’t everyone felt alone in the world at some point? We may not be as miserable as he is, but we have all been miserable at least once and the Prisoner reminds us of that. It is another discomforting thought that we might have something in common with such an unappealing person.

As unique and provocative as this novel is, there is one major flaw in the prose. There are at least three passages where Selby just goes on for too long. The most memorable one is the scene where the main character and a girl fondle each other in the movie theater. It goes on for a good fifteen pages and, honestly, that isn’t necessary. Once you know what they are doing, it doesn’t need to be excessively explained over and over again. We all know what a hand job feels like and don’t need it to be explained. There are a couple other passages where Selby just plain overshoots his mark. It is also a little too obvious at times that this novel was inspired by Jean Genet’s Our Lady Of the Flowers which, I have to say, is actually a much better work of art.

I can’t say The Room is for everybody. Then again, Hubert Selby Jr. generally isn’t for everybody either. It takes a certain amount of courage and dedication to finish a novel like this. The kind of courage it takes is motivated by the desire to understand someone who is not like we are, someone we would rather not know about, the kind of person most people would ignore. Then it also takes a certain kind of honesty to admit that we might have some common ground with such a person. It gives you a different perspective on life, but maybe one that is tragically important for understanding the human condition.

#book reviews #hubert selby jr #fiction #novels #vintage books #american literature #transgressive fiction

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royal-songbird · 9 months

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One bright morning [changes all things]

hi. guess who started listening to Unreal Unearth and wrote about the two random character that have yet to be named again

thats right. i did <3 i wrote this while listening to De Selby (Part 1) specifically, but the title is from First Light, enjoy!!

Wordcount: 1.5k words Warnings: Brief mention of death

I linger on the edge of the village, my feet shuffling hesitantly in the grass. The forest looms over me, shadows creeping up from its depths, beckoning me closer. I glance back at the houses behind me, smoke curling from their chimneys and warm candlelight spilling from their windows. Families sit together for dinner, smiling and laughing.

I set my jaw, turning back to the forest. I can’t let my resolve fail, not now, not when I finally have the chance to slip away. If I’m caught now, I may never learn of what happened that night, or if anything I’ve been told is true. I have to keep going.

Clutching the strap of my bag, I step forward, entering the forest’s domain.

Leaves crunch underfoot as I walk, my skin prickling with apprehension. The forest is silent, suffocatingly so. Each little sound I make is far too loud- my footsteps ring out like gunshots, and my heart beats louder than a drum, its quick thump-thump-thump echoing through my ears. My grip grows tighter around the strap of my back, my knuckles going white with the strain.

Despite my unease, I press forward. Using the little moonlight there is, I follow a worn, beaten dirt path, careful to avoid tripping over the curling roots cutting across it. My pace slows as I notice claw marks cutting across the bark of a tree, the mark far too large to be any normal animal. I run a hand over the deep indentations, the splintering wood catching against my skin. With a frown tugging at my lips, I step away, and back onto the path.

The village elder always told stories of the things that lurk just outside the village walls- Great, terrible beasts, with sharp fangs and long claws, who snatches up any children who strayed too far from their mothers and devours them. Those stories used to terrify me, back when I was younger, and still had a mother. I would stay up all night, huddled in my blankets, waiting for a monster to burst through my window and take me away.

Instead, it took my mother. Or, that’s what I was told. I hadn’t been home when it happened, I’d stayed out too late, playing with the farmer’s cows, when a roar echoed through the streets, followed by a blood-curdling scream. I rushed home, only to find my mother lying dead in the grass, her stomach torn open and eyes devoid of life. I was told a beast had broken into the village, and slaughtered my mother.

I had believed that for a while, and grew up angry and bitter towards the world, swearing to myself I’d burn down the forest someday, and get rid of the monsters once and for all. That is, until I saw…them.

A person, standing on the edge of town, with gleaming eyes and wild hair.

No words were exchanged, and the next morning, nobody believed me when I told them what I saw. They told me it was a dream, a hallucination, the final cry for help that my mind so desperately needed. And yet, I still found myself drawn in by the mysterious figure, unable to resist the temptation to learn more. I threw myself headfirst into learning more of the monsters I was told of, and soon discovered a tale I had long since forgotten.

Long ago, there was a small village. It couldn’t even be called a village, not really. It was barely a few houses, still young and barely established. The people who lived there lived peacefully and without fear. They had plenty of food and water, provided to them by the forest around them. Until, one day, someone went too far, and stumbled across an old, crumbling temple nestled in the trees. A great Beast slumbered inside, and when they entered the temple walls, they awakened it, as well as its wrath.

The Beast attacked the village, slaughtering and devouring anyone who got in its path. Its sharp, monstrous fangs gleamed crimson, stained by the blood of its victims. By the third night of the Beast’s constant terrorizing, a brave warrior stepped forward, and drove it away, banishing it into the forest. Of course, the warrior could not keep it away forever, so the village built up walls, protecting it from any other monster that may try to break its way inside.

The stories spoke of a Beast, as if it was some looming, terrible animal, and yet, when I looked into the eyes of that person… All I saw was a longing, desperate, grief. How could someone like that be the monster I was told of? How could they have been the one who murdered my mother?

Even if I’m just walking myself to my doom, with nothing but a loaf of bread and a kitchen knife in my bag, I refuse to leave this forest until I find my answers.

After what feels like hours of nonstop walking, I finally reach the end of the path. The trees here are bigger, older, with great, thick vines twisting around their trucks and hanging from their branches. Mushrooms grow in clumps around their roots, glowing dimly in the darkness. It's no longer quiet here- insects buzz quietly, though there’s a strange echo to them, one that makes my head spin if I listen too closely.

In the middle of it all sits an ancient temple built from marble and stone, with large pillars and intricate patterns carved onto its walls. Clumps of stone sit on either side of the steps leading up to the entrance, leaving me to wonder if they used to stand as proud, impressive structures, before nature weathered them down into something unrecognizable. I hesitate, overwhelmed by the sheer awe running through me.

I’ve never felt smaller in my life, standing at the base of the steps and staring up at the structure looming over me, as if I was nothing more than an ant. The stories had said the temple was dangerous, they never said anything about how mystical it was here.

A shrieking cry cuts through my thoughts, and I jump back into awareness, stumbling over my feet as I rush up the stairs. I throw a quick glance over my shoulder, my heart stuttering in my chest as I catch a glimpse of bright, colorful feathers swooping through the canopy, another cry ringing out. I manage to get past the temple entrance without face-planting, a breathless laugh bubbling up in my chest.

I didn’t know how to react to this all- the mystical trees, the strange mushrooms, the giant bird- it was terrifying, yet wonderful at the same time. Why was this not included in the books? Why would people willingly avoid a place like this?

I let out a breath, running a hand through my hair. Later, I tell myself. I can obsess over this later, when I’m not already looking for something else.

I redirect my attention back to the temple, stepping further into its threshold. The ceiling arches high above me, old, peeling murals painted in the empty spaces. I can’t see much of what they’re supposed to be murals in, the details drowned out by shadows or weathered away with age. My gaze trails down to the ivy-covered walls, and the carvings engraved into them. Much like the paintings, I can’t make much out of them, aside from one, which is suspiciously clean compared to the others.

A woman with long, flowing hair stands knee-deep in a body of water, her eyes closed and head tilted up. Her arms are raised, welcoming the beams of sunlight- or possibly moonlight?- shining down upon her with a soft smile. The light reflects against a simple crown nestled in her hair, flowers woven among it.

I brush the fingers against the carving, feeling the groove of the stone underneath my skin. This isn’t the same person I saw, but they look familiar. A relative, maybe? I stare at the mural for a few more seconds, taking in every detail I can, before moving on, heading further down the hall.

It doesn’t take long until I stumble across another room, though this one is much, much larger than the one at the entrance. I stand just inside the doorway, my eyes wide with awe. A deep pool stretches across the room, beautifully clear water sitting inside it. Except, the water is also glowing.

Fireflies dance around me as I step into the room, standing at the edge of the pool. A few lily pads float past, boasting giant, bright pink flowers. I crouch down, reaching out and dragging my hand along the surface of the water. My skin tingles at the contact, a strange rush going through my body, as if I had finally taken a breath of fresh air after breathing in nothing but smoke.

I lean back on my heels, blinking down at my reflection.

“This is insane.” I mumble to myself, pressing my hand against my cheek.

“Hey!”

I whirl around, coming face to face with-

“It's you.”

#finch does stuff #writing warm up #writing #fantasy writing #Unreal Unearth #i dont know what to tag this withh

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threestandingstones · 2 years

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anyway i know that the ethel cain eps arent related to the story of preachers daughter but i like to think that casings tells the story of why willoughby tucker left. it was so simply and humanly tragic as ethel driving him away through sheer insecure adoration.

#idk i think it works #i think you can slot most of the songs in the eps (at least golden age and inbred havent listened to carpet bed in years) into the story #and sunday morning is officially interpolated into american teenager #the song inbred is probably the only one that doesnt really work #selby wall too #by the way im still fucking pissed out of my mind that i spent 30 fucking dollars on a golden age cd thats in fucking MONO #also this is just a headcanon!!!

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therenlover · 3 years

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One Last Night In Madripoor (An 18+ Helmut Zemo/Reader Oneshot)

Synopsis: Baron Helmut Zemo is a lonely, wanted man looking for some fun, you’re a piss-poor bounty hunter in search of a connection before leaving your life of crime behind, and fate has brought you together at a party the likes of which has never been seen before. You only have one night left in Madripoor, so why not take a chance?

Tags: Smut, SoftDom!Zemo, Hook Up, Semi-Public Sex, Drinking, Safe Sex, Explicit Consent, First Meeting, Wall Sex, Blow Jobs, Cunnilingus

Rating: 18+

Warnings: Swearing, Explicit Sexual Content

Word Count: 4200~

This fic has been crossposted under the same title to my AO3!

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Madripoor was a place like nothing you had ever seen.

It wasn’t that the sights were anything special. You could find seedy criminal underbellies lined with neon where the streets ran red with blood anywhere if you looked hard enough. Even the ocean view didn’t do much to set it apart from any other place visually. No, Madripoor’s scenery and architecture weren’t what kept your eyes wide with wonder whenever you found yourself wandering through the winding back-alleys without a purpose. It was the people that kept you around.

Thieves, pirates, and miscreants had been taking shelter at the docks since before anyone there could remember. It was a city borne of the underbelly of society, the people nobody sees, but you saw them. You saw them every day when you stood in the main market waiting for an easy bounty. There were faces everywhere; big and small, tall and short, scarred and flawless. No two people in the streets of Madripoor were ever exactly alike. If you needed to remember someone, their unique face was right there waiting in your mind.

After living on the island for almost 6 months, most people were already cataloged neatly in your mind as friend or foe. This man, though, he was new. He was different.

The night was still young. There was some trouble at the Princess Bar that ended with Selby dead and a few murderers loose in the streets with a price on their heads, but you steered clear. Going after the killers meant going up against hundreds if not thousands of trained bounty hunters and assassins and no amount of money was worth dying over now, not while you were so close to freedom. Instead of chasing your doom, you decided to head to your room, get dressed up, and head out to wherever the music was loudest in search of a place to forget about your problems for the night. The thudding sounds of poorly DJ-ed club remixes led you to Leonardo’s Place. That’s where you found him.

You were two drinks in and sticking close to the wall when he stumbled into your line of sight. What initially caught your eye was his dancing. He couldn’t move for shit. What kept your attention, though, was his face.

There was transience to him, like at any moment someone could bump into him and he would disappear without a trace at their touch. Despite that he was gaudy. Everything about his clothing screamed wealth and fine taste from the thread count of his obnoxious purple turtleneck to the shine on his boots. He was strange, a walking contradiction, and one who had never had the pleasure of gracing your presence or screwing you over in the past. In the simplest of terms, he intrigued you. With nothing left to lose you downed the last of your cocktail and made your way to the gap in the crowd where the stranger had staked his claim. It was game time.

“You come here alone?” You asked. Your voice was barely a whisper above the heavy thrumming of the music.

He gave you a long look up and down before answering as if he were trying to size you up. Something about having his gaze linger on your body made your heartbeat soar. “I’m not looking for company,” His accented tone was gruff but left a sliver of room for reconsideration. You took the chance. What could go wrong?

With as much tact and grace as you could muster you let yourself slip a little closer to him. “What, do I look too expensive for you?” you teased, before backing off with a grin, “Thanks for the compliment, but I’m not here for that. My job is a little more… dangerous.” As you danced, the hem of your dress rode up your thigh just enough to reveal the knife holster in your garter belt. It pleased you greatly to see this handsome stranger do a double-take; that meant he was looking at your upper thigh in the first place. “I just liked what I saw in you… do you like what you see in me?”

Somehow, your little joke had endeared him to you, however minutely. Instead of brushing you off the man paused his jerky dancing for a moment to really take you in. Then, he caved. “Would you like a drink?” He asked.

You smirked. “Who would I be if I turned down a free drink from a handsome stranger,”

He met you in the middle as he offered you his hand. “I never promised it would be free,”

So, the two of you found yourselves at the bar, bodies leaned into each other and away from the rest of the sweltering crowd as the bartender slid you your order. The stranger was drinking a brandy straight while you opted for a sidecar. It was enough alcohol that you were starting to feel pretty buzzed, but you still felt in full control of yourself. You took a long sip before speaking. “So, what should I call you?”

It took him a moment to respond but once he did, he seemed sure of himself. “You can call me Helmut, but Baron is fine as well,”

You cocked up an eyebrow. “Is that a nickname?”

“More of a title,”

He took a drink as you gawked. “Like royalty?”

“Not like. I am,”

Your cheeks flushed. The rational part of your mind was so stunned by the ease with which Helmut lied that it seemed to short circuit completely, leaving you very puzzled and more than a little intrigued. “Well, pardon me, Mr. Baron. What’s royalty like you doing in a place like this?”

“There are plenty of reasons a man like me would have business here. A woman as beautiful as you, though… not so much,” he waved his hand in loose gestures as he spoke, “Why risk your life and beauty for this? A life living in the underground where you cannot so much as dream of seeing the stars?”

You finished your drink in one large swig. It burned down your throat but you relished in the pain. “Not all of us are lucky enough to be born in a place where we can see the stars. Funny enough, though, I’m just about to get out,”

“Is that right?”

“I finally saved up enough money from small jobs to buy my way out from under the Power Broker’s thumb,” Something about the way Helmut smiled at you made you feel safe. It was like you could tell him your worst, darkest secrets and not feel an ounce of fear or guilt. “I’m nothing special here, a small-time bounty hunter, and I kept it that way for a reason. I’m not valuable and I don’t know much. If I just pay my dues and keep the money coming until I can get their claws out of my back, I should be free to leave with a freighter tomorrow morning,”

Helmut was quick to respond. “Ah, travel by freighter. It’s terribly dangerous to be a stowaway, you know? Impossible to predict quite what the seas will be like,”

“Well, that’s just a risk I’ll have to take to get out of here and stop… what was it that you said I was doing? Risking my life and beauty?”

The two of you chuckled as Helmut took one last drink to empty his glass. Then, the conversation stilled. Around you people were alive, gyrating to the music as their pulses thumped to the beat, but it was like they weren’t even there. Instead, your whole being was focused on the strange man in front of you who had stolen away your sensibilities with his cool tone and thick accent. He made you feel alive. No, more than alive. Every color was brighter, every sound was sharper, every sip of your drink was crisper. He was a once-in-a-lifetime man, and this was a once-in-a-lifetime night. Oh, to hell with it!

“I like you, Baron,” you purred, pressing yourself close to him. His breath hitched the moment you touched him. He acted as if it had been a very long time since he was last touched like that. “And I think you like me too. In fact, I think you like me enough that we should take this conversation somewhere a little more private. What do you say?”

He didn’t respond. Instead, his gloved hand made its way around your wrist, and in a moment’s time, he was pulling you across the crowded dance floor towards a small, secluded hallway. You assumed that meant yes.

The instant you made it to the shelter of the shadows Helmut was on you like a man starved. One of his hands was quick to explore the skin just above the hem of your dress as the other pressed against the wall, caging you in and holding you as a more than willing hostage to his affections. He didn’t kiss your face, and you weren’t complaining about that, but he did put his mouth to good use sucking a dark bruise into your collarbone. His ministrations only stopped when a high, keening sound escaped your lips.

“You like that, don’t you, meine kleine schlampe?” he growled through gritted teeth. Something about his tone turned your already weak legs to jelly. The second you went limp in his grip, though, he pulled back. Straightening himself out, he offered you a steadying arm. You took it without hesitation. “I’m terribly sorry to be so rude. I assure you that I am not usually the type of man to hook up with someone on a whim, I’ve simply been… indisposed for many years and haven’t had many opportunities for pleasure, especially not with a woman as beautiful as you,”

His compliment was enough to have you blushing like a schoolgirl. You had killed more people than you could reasonably count, and probably fucked even more, but something about the way Helmut looked and sounded and acted made you feel almost innocent to his advances. He was a drug and you needed to get your fix before he disappeared forever.

“Does that mean you think I’m special?” You asked, all doe eyes with an innocent smile. Helmut ate it right up.

“Yes, schatzi. Very special,”

You hitched a leg up, letting your heel dig into his expensive dress pants and drag him closer to you once again. “First your little slut and now your little treasure? Which one is it, Helmut?”

“And so smart,”

“Move, Baron!”

At your insistence, Helmut was on you once again, leaving a trail of hot, wet kisses down your neck as he fiddled with his gloves, yanking them off and shoving them in his back pocket before he continued. “So demanding,” he chided, and yet he continued to lavish you with affection, his hand climbing higher and higher up your thigh. Your back was pressed flush to the wall now, and you were painfully aware of just how warm Helmut was. He smelled like a rich man’s cologne and yet his skin tasted of cheap soap when you leaned in to give him a bruise of his own.

“You love it,” you replied. He let out a husky laugh.

“I suppose I do,” he chuckled, and then his fingers brushed over your core. Your knees buckled. Helmut kept you upright with his body as he continued to taunt you through your underwear, but he seemed more confident now, almost cocky. “My needy schatzi, have you no patience?”

Your response was breathless; a confession.

“Not with you,”

Something about your words lit a fire in Helmut’s eyes. In an instant he had your leg hiked up while he ground his hardened length against your clothed wetness. Your mind went blank. He felt big. A mindless whimper fell from your lips.

“How do you want me?” Helmut asked. As he spoke he ran a light finger down your elevated thigh. You offered up another whimper. “I’ll need you to use your words and tell me what you want or I can’t give it to you,” His tone had you wet enough that you worried you were dripping.

With a gulp, you managed to fumble out the words. “I’ll blow you first if you promise to fuck me,”

That had him grinning like a wolf. “Perhaps you are my little schlampe, so eager to get down on your knees for me…” And you were. Even on shaky legs, you found yourself happily falling to your knees as the Baron fumbled with his fly. It was only then that you found yourself gazing down the hall towards the cacophony of lights and sounds and people maybe 20 feet away from your hiding place in the shadows. As if he could sense your discomfort, Helmut paused. “Are you alright?”

You nodded quickly. “I just forgot we were out in the open for a second,”

“Do you want to stop? If the location is the problem, I would gladly pause so we can find a new hideaway,” he stopped short, looking down and meeting your heavily lidded gaze, “or perhaps the idea of putting on a show excites you?” Your heart jumped out of your chest. Helmut noticed. “Well, if my little schlampe is so keen on putting on a show, she should get a move on,”

That was your cue to get to work. In a swift motion, you finished unzipping his fly and shifted his boxers, letting his lovely cock spring free. It was a pleasant penis and far as they went, average in length but thick with a leaking purple tip at half-mast. Just looking at it made you clamp your legs together.

Slowly, you gave a tentative lick up the underside of his length. He felt heavy on your tongue in the best of ways. Helmut jerked upward, a man possessed. You couldn’t help but laugh. “It’s been a long time, huh?”

“Less talking, more working little schlam-” you cut Helmut off quickly by taking most of his length into his mouth. That seemed to shut him up. His wolf-like grin had dissolved into a slack-jawed mess the second you started to suck him off. Oh, this was going to be fun.

For the most part, the Baron let you set the pace, bobbing your head and taking as much of his length as you comfortably could, but after a short while his hands were buried in your hair as he fought the urge to buck into your throat, hard. With a particularly rough snap of his hips, Helmut pulled away.

“You are an angel from heaven, schatzi,” he groaned, pulling himself slowly from your mouth as you got your first good deep breath in a while, “but a deal is a deal, and it wouldn’t be quite fair if I got to have all the fun, now would it?” Your breath hitched in your throat. Finally time for the main event.

Helmut was surprisingly gentle with you as he offered you a hand and helped you back up, only pausing to wipe a line of dribble off your chin with his thumb. With anyone else, it would have felt wholly humiliating but with Helmut… well, it did things to you you would rather not admit. You quirked up an eyebrow, though, when he got on his knees in turn, mirroring your past position. “What are you doing, Baron?”

“I simply assumed my sweet schatzi would enjoy a reward for taking my cock so well,” his words had you biting your lip as your cheeks flushed, “now be a good girl and take what I give you. I want to hear those pretty noises you made earlier,” With that, his face disappeared under your skirt. He pulled down your panties and… snickered?

“What now?” you groaned, squirming as his hot breath hit your exposed nub.

“You’re sopping wet,” he replied. Out of habit, you moved to shut your legs but found Helmut’s large hand was holding them open. “I do enjoy being sandwiched between your thighs, but you shouldn’t hide yourself from me. Take your pleasure. You’ve earned it,” That was when he began his assault on your folds.

You had been with plenty of partners over the years, all with varying proficiencies when it came to giving pleasure, but no one had ever made you feel quite as good as Helmut did while you gripped his hair and rode his face with reckless abandon. He always hit just the right spot, alternating between sucking on your sensitive clit and running his rough tongue in sloppy circles against it. In no time flat your pleasure was building toward’s its peak as your knees trembled.

“Helmut,” you squeaked, “Helmut I’m gonna cuuuUUOH!”

You were suddenly thrown over the edge of pleasure as the Baron worked you open with his fingers, pressing that spot inside of you just right. It was a revelation. Nothing would ever compare to him and you hadn’t even fucked yet. Once you had regained some semblance of stability he emerged from his place between your thighs, face slick with your juices, wearing the expression of a cat that got the cream.

“You make such lovely sounds for me, schatzi,” Helmut groaned, rising from his place at your feet and reaching into his pocket. While he fumbled for a condom you took the time to actually remove your panties, lifting one shaky leg at a time before balling them up and tossing them on the ground. You could grab them later. Or not! In all honesty, your ruined undies were the last thing on your mind as your watched Helmut roll the condom onto his proud cock, pumping himself a few times. “Now, are you sure you want this?”

You had never felt more sober in your whole life despite the drinks you’d downed earlier.

“God, yes,”

“Wonderful,”

He caged you into his body once again, lining himself up on your slick folds, and then with a pronounced bite against your collarbone, he was entering you. It wasn’t painful or uncomfortable, you just felt full, like a missing piece of your body had been completed. For the first few thrusts, you were too blissed out to really take note of anything around you, but once you tuned back into the world of the living you realized Helmut was talking. Well, babbling was more like it. He seemed to simply be speaking his stream of consciousness into your ear as he pistoned in and out of you like a madman. There was a jilted rhythm to it, but the abnormality kept you on your toes.

“I won’t be letting you go any time soon, schatzi, and definitely not on some dank freighter like a rat from the gutters. No, you will travel with me. Once I help my friends and slip away from the front lines I can take you anywhere your little heart desires. Paris, Vienna, Australia… Mein Gott, what a sweet cunt,”

Any sane woman, after hearing his sex-drunken musings, would have run. They would have heard the wild ramblings of a madman and left after their little fling was done to never see him again. It was only rational. He didn’t even know your real name. Sane women didn’t run away with strangers claiming to be barons they hooked up with in a seedy club selling stolen Van Goghs in a hub of the criminal underworld.

The only thing was, though, that you weren’t a sane woman.

You were a killer, a child left in the streets to live or die who had scraped themselves together and dragged themselves towards life. So what if the idea of some rich mysterious benefactor with a good dick coming in to save the day sounded fantastic? It was fantastic. Like your own personal version of Pretty Woman. Even if he wasn’t as rich as he claimed to be, being poor and getting dicked down by him was better than being poor and alone.

For just a moment, and with no regrets, you let yourself get lost in the fantasy and just let go.

It was as if Helmut could sense a difference.

“Are you close, little schlampe?” He gasped, letting his thrusts take on a faster staccato rhythm.

You could do little more than moan and nod as he pounded you into the wall. That seemed to be enough for him to get the message, though.

“What a good girl,” he purred. His mouth was so close to your ear, his hot breath tickling the sensitive flesh with each heaving breath he took. As he chased his own climax, he brought a hand between your bodies and rubbed tight, wet circles around your clit. It was already sensitive, your body was only barely recovering from your first orgasm, and yet something about the overstimulation was thrilling, like racing towards an impossible dream. With a shout, you came for the second time, melting into Baron Helmut’s arms as he quickly followed.

The two of you stayed there, slumped against the cool wall and still connected by your dripping sexes, for a few moments, breathing heavy. Surprisingly, you were the first to speak.

“Wow,” you breathed, letting a soft laugh escape your lips.

Helmut returned the sentiment. “You were wonderful,” In a strange moment of intimacy, he pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, but then he pulled out, tying off the full condom and tossing it to the ground as he tucked himself back into his boxers and zipped up his fly.

“Are you just gonna leave that there?” you made a gesture towards his litter.

“They have janitors,”

A burbling laugh escaped from your lips. “That they do,”

Back in the main room of the party, the crowd had only grown larger as the night progressed. Nobody had seen you, nor had they noticed your cries as they danced and drank and made merry under the neon lights. You were, for all intents and purposes, invisible at Helmut’s side. Within and without. There was something exhilarating about knowing he was the only one that truly saw you in a room packed with hundreds. It was like something out of a twisted fairytale.

“So…” you broached the subject gently while you pulled down your dress to protect your modesty, “Did you mean what you said back there about Paris and Vienna, or…”

“Oh, you heard that?”

You snickered. “It was pretty hard not to with you breathing in my ear,”

“I apologize,” he leaned against the wall beside you, shoulder to shoulder in the darkness, “but yes, I meant what I said. I-”

Suddenly, from down the hall, a booming voice interrupted your moment.

“There you are!”

“Goddamnit, Zemo, I thought we told you to stay low not hire an escort,”

There, at the mouth of the hallway, stood two massive men. They were obviously displeased, and though their faces were obscured by the lights you could tell you weren’t the one they were after.

They called him Zemo… where had you heard that name before?

Helmut stepped away from the wall with a shrug. “At least I didn’t cause a scene by forgetting to put my phone on silent,”

The larger of the two men stayed where he was, while the other walked to meet the Baron in the middle.

“I swear to God, man, you’ve gotten ten times more insufferable since I learned you were rich.

The Baron shrugged. “It comes with the territory,”

“But you don’t have to be such a jackass about it,”

You felt it was a good time to chime in.

“Thank you so much for that, Helmut, but I think I should give you guys some privacy,” you said, straightening out your dress and walking deeper into the hallway. There had to be an exit somewhere…

“Wait!” When you turned, you found Helmut rushing to meet you. The men in the background looked shocked and almost smug. “Save your money. Meet me out at the airstrip tomorrow afternoon if you feel like seeing me again. If not, know that the Power Broker doesn’t let go of assets cheap, and you just slept with a man with a million dollar bounty, so buying your freedom isn’t an option. If you want to go without me, you’ll have to hitch a ride on a cargo ship but not as a stowaway. Working for your keep is the best way to stay under the radar. Nobody can touch you once you’r-”

You cut him off by pressing a finger to his lips. “I’ll see you at your private jet, Baron,”

He smirked. “So you will,” With as much gusto as a man could muster, he returned to his companions but not before offering one last goodbye. “Farewell, schatzi, until tomorrow,”

As you leaned up against the wall once more, you watched them go with a twinkle in your eye.

“Who was that?”

“None of your business, James,”

“Guys, what the hell did I just step on?”

“I believe that was my used rubber,”

“ZEMO!”

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a/n: I hope you enjoyed the filth! I haven’t written for Zemo before, even though I’ve loved him for years, but he’s definitely going into my main rotation now. If you have any ideas, send them my way! I’d love to fill the void, because there just aren’t very many Zemo x reader fics out there. If you enjoyed this, maybe reblog or leave a comment! I’d love to hear your thoughts. Thanks again!

Please do not post my works to any other sites, thanks! <3

#oh my god this is filth #Would you believe I wrote my first smut like a week ago?#zemo #baron zemo #helmut zemo #zemo x reader #helmut zemo x reader #baron zemo x reader #marvel #falcon and winter solider series #fatws #bucky barnes #sam wilson #smut #marvel fanfiction

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tricksters-captain · 3 years

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Helmut Zemo (TFATWS) imagines - Craving

AN: Okay I’ve given in and become a Zemo simp but Bucky is still my number one don't worry.

Summary: After playing the part as Zemo's arm candy in Madripoor, Zemo tries to confront you on your unspoken connection, only to be rudely interrupted...

Pairing(s): Zemo x Fem!Reader, very slight Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2,326

Warnings: Some small spoilers for Ep3, lots of sexual tension

“I still can’t believe I agreed to do this.” You grumbled as you climbed the stairs, falling behind at the fear the men could see straight up the skirt of the dress Zemo had chosen for you.

“I, for one, think you have the easiest job of us all. James must be someone he detests, Sam must be a notorious criminal he doesn’t know and you must sit and look pretty.” Zemo spoke under his breath as you came to the entrance of Selby’s HQ.

You glared at the man but he didn’t care. He was too busy worrying about Selby.

The door was opened for you by one of Selby’s men. Zemo nodded curtly at the guard before entering.

You went ahead of Bucky and Sam to stay close to Zemo, following your role as his current inamorata.

It was a short walk into Selby’s office but with every step you could feel the fear rising in your chest. You weren’t convinced that you’d get away with this; Sam wasn't exactly the most kosher criminal and Zemo’s story didn’t quite add up on just how he managed to have the Winter Soldier in his mitts again.

“You should know, Baron. People don’t just come into my bar and make demands.” Selby spoke as she came into view. She was an expensively dressed woman with a short white pixie cut.

Zemo sat down opposite her but you remained next to Sam.

“Not a demand. An offer.” Zemo waved his finger as he spoke. It was a small yet dominant motion directed towards you. You tried not to clench your jaw as you walked towards him.

“A lot has changed since you were here last.” Selby’s eyes followed your every move as you made your way over to Zemo. “By the way, I thought you were rotting away in a German prison. How did you escape?”

“People like us always find a way, don’t we?” Zemo held out his hand to you, guiding you to stand behind him. “I’m sure you’ve already figured out what I’m here for.”

“You’re taller than I’d heard, Smiling Tiger.” Selby cocked her head towards Sam.

Sam’s only response was a quick nod of his head. Selby purred at Sam, a wolfish smile on her face.

“What’s the offer?” Selby turned back to Zemo. Her eyes flickered up to you before landing back on Zemo’s face. You weren’t stupid you knew what her gaze meant.

“Tell us what you know about the super-soldier serum.” Zemo pushed himself out of his chair. You watched him cross behind Bucky, placing his hands on Bucky's shoulders. “And I give you him, along with the code words to control him, of course. He will do anything you want.”

Selby grinned widely as Zemo wobbled Bucky’s chin with his forefinger and thumb, showing just how under control the ‘Winter Soldier’ was.

“Now that’s the Zemo I remember. I’m glad I decided not to kill you immediately.” Selby seemed to be convinced. “Yeah, you were right to come to me. Arrogant, but right.”

Zemo returned to his seat before Selby continued.

“The super-soldier serum is here in Madripoor. Dr. Wilfred Nagel is the man you wanna thank. Or... condemn, depending on what side of this you’re on. The Power Broker had him working on the serum, but... things didn’t go as planned.”

“Is Nagel still in Madripoor?” Zemo asked.

“Oh. The bread crumbs you can have for free, but the bakery is gonna cost you, Baron. And before you get all cute, don’t think you can find Nagel without me.” Selby rose from her chair, finding a place beside Sam as she very openly let her eyes roll down your body now that you were in her full view.

“What else do you desire?” Zemo questioned. He had clocked onto Selby’s behaviour and didn’t really need to ask to know what the answer was going to be.

“Her.” Selby pointed you out. She gnawed on the inside of her cheek as she awaited Zemo’s response.

“No, no, no.” Zemo tutted, holding out his hand for you to take. “This little bird only sings for me.” Zemo guided you round the side of his chair and pulled you gently onto his lap. You crossed your legs as you tried not to seem uncomfortable. The scent of the Baron’s cologne, mixed with his strong grip on your waist was making your heart race. You had never been this close to Zemo before and now you were sat on his knee with his arm around you.

“Well, you’ll make her sing for me or you won’t be getting what you want now, Baron, will ya?” Selby wasn’t playing games. She folded her arms across her chest, cocking her eyebrows at Zemo.

Zemo titled his head as he thought.

You felt yourself tense up when he placed a cool leather clad hand on your thigh. His fingers started to draw circles on your skin, edging your skirt higher, drawing Selby’s eyes down to your legs.

“She is very dear to me.” Zemo stated. He retracted his hand from your thigh to brush your hair from your shoulder, his finger traced a line from your jaw down your neck to your collarbone. Zemo, being so close, could see the goosebumps that covered your skin at his touch.

“Unless you have something better to offer other than your two play things, Baron, I suggest you hand them over to me... unless you don’t want the whereabouts of Dr Nagel.” Selby let her smile drop.

“I will––” Zemo was cut short by Sam’s phone going off.

“Answer it.” Selby suddenly lost all interest in the deal and only desired to prove the authenticity of the Smiling Tiger. “On speaker.”

That’s where things went wrong.

For the rest of the trip in Madripoor, you didn’t get the time to confront yourself and Zemo on what happened back there.

You were so confused to why you reacted the way you did. You had never been attracted to Zemo before but you couldn’t stop thinking about the way he smelt, the way his breath tickled against your arm, the way the heat radiated out from under his thick coat.

You knew he was thinking about it too.

Every time you let yourself glance over at him, he was watching you and not in the same way as he usually would. You knew too well that Zemo often studied his surroundings like a hawk. He was silent and observant; he always knew where he would go next and he often watched you, Sam and Bucky as if he were calculating your next moves.

It wasn’t until you arrived in Latvia that you were confronted by your feelings again.

You were sat at the island in the kitchen as you ran your hands over your face and hair. You were tired.

“You should rest.” Zemo’s voice suddenly snuck up on you.

He had been so quiet walking into the kitchen that you hadn't even noticed he was there.

“I should but insomnia kinda comes with the job.” You sat up, trying not to act any different from how you usually would.

“Ah. My time in a cell has acquainted me with such the dilemma.” Zemo confessed as he moved towards the cupboards on the back wall.

You didn’t respond. You couldn’t help but watch his hands as they reached for the coffee pot, his fingers gripping it lightly. You could still recall the feeling of the cool leather on your thigh, his touch climbing higher as he pushed your skirt up...

“Coffee?” Zemo offered, interrupting your thoughts as he raised a mug and an eyebrow at you.

“Please.” You folded your hands together as you leant on the island.

There was a brief comfortable silence as Zemo fixed up some coffee for you both. He could feel your eyes on him but he didn’t say anything. He just let the corner of his lips tugged into a smirk as he poured you a cup. He let the smirk drop when he turned to face you.

He slid the cup along the countertop and you thanked him quietly. He pushed a thin smile onto his face for a second before returning to his usual stoic expression.

“There was something I wished to discuss with you actually.” Zemo announced as he picked up his own cup.

You almost choked on your drink at the words but you hid behind your mug, hoping he didn’t notice. He did.

“About what?” You asked.

“I wanted to apologise for Madripoor.” Zemo surprised you with that.

“Apologise?” You were confused to what he was talking about.

“I am aware that it was merely a role, that we were undercover, but I touched you without your consent. I wanted to apologise for when we were with Selby.”

You were completely shocked. You didn’t not expect this from Zemo at all.

“It’s okay. We all have to do stuff we don't want to do on missions like these.” You tried to brush it off. After all, Bucky had to become the Winter Soldier and Sam had to drink a cobra’s heart back in Madripoor. There was definitely worse things that could’ve happened.

“I never said I didn’t want to do it. I am simply apologising for not asking for permission first.” Zemo’s eyes were glued to your face as he sipped his coffee. He was watching for a reaction.

You felt your mouth go dry, you tried to swallow as you began to rise from your seat.

“Uh, t-thanks for the coffee, Zemo but...” You tried grabbing your mug but you only knocked it to the floor by accident.

“Shit!” You hissed as you bent down, picking up the broken bits. You felt your heart racing from the look Zemo had just given you.

Zemo rushed around the island with a rag, he placed it over the split coffee before taking hold of your wrist to stop you from picking up the pieces.

Electricity shot up your arm and your head snapped up to meet his eyes.

“No use crying over spilt coffee.” Zemo muttered, a smile tugging on one corner of his mouth.

“I-I wasn’t––”

“––Is there a particular reason you are so jumpy tonight?” Zemo inquired.

You rose back to standing; Zemo let your wrist go as you did but followed your action.

The air was thick between you as you withheld your answer.

There was no way you could admit you were worried of being close to him because of the undeniable pull he had on you since that night.

“I think...” Zemo stepped over the soaked rag which only made you take a step back. “...You enjoyed being touched and now you are confused to why.”

Your chest began to rise and fall heavily as Zemo continued to walk towards you until your back hit the wall behind you.

“But forgive me if I am wrong.” Zemo held his hands up with a smile, taking his final few steps until he was close enough for his cologne to engulf the air around you.

“You are.” You whispered but your voice had failed you in sounding convincing.

“Is that right, little bird?” Zemo used the pet name he had given you in Selby's office. He lifted his hand to brush your hair from your cheek behind your ear. “Because I believe you haven’t stop thinking about it. Just as I haven't.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” You only just breathed out your words. If Zemo hadn’t been so close, he wouldn’t have heard them.

“Don’t you?” Zemo titled his head at you. “Because I am at liberty to remind you that I once worked for Sokivian intelligence. It was my job for a long time to study people, learn them, read them.” Zemo let his eyes drop down to your body before coming back to meet your eyes. “I can tell how a person is feeling just from observing their body. The way they move. The way they are breathing.” Zemo placed his hand in the centre of your chest where your silver necklace sat. The metal burned against your skin underneath Zemo’s warm flesh.

Your slow deep breaths lifted Zemo’s hand up and down as you stared back at him.

“I can feel your heart racing.” Zemo uttered. “Are you afraid?”

“No.” You shook your head as your eyes flickered to the man’s lip for just a second.

“Good.” Zemo smirked.

Suddenly Zemo was ripped away from you.

Bucky had teared Zemo back and pushed him across the room. Zemo staggered backwards before standing and adjusting his sweater from how Bucky had grabbed him.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Bucky growled at Zemo with a look in his eye that could kill.

“I was merely having a conversation with (Y/n).” Zemo shrugged, acting as if everything was perfectly innocent.

“Oh yeah it looked like a real polite conversation with (Y/n) backed up in a corner and your hands on her!” Sam was stood behind Bucky. The both of them were squaring up in front of Zemo to protect you.

“I didn’t need your help.” You stepped forward, trying to intervene.

“You put your hands on her again; I won’t stop myself next time. I’ll turn you into a new coat.” Bucky warned Zemo as he ignored you.

“I apologise.” Zemo lifted his hands up in defence.

“No.” Sam pointed back to you. “Apologise to her.”

Zemo turned his head to you. When your eyes met, he smirked just ever so slightly, you knew the boys didn’t notice at least.

“I apologise, (Y/n).” The way your name sounded in Zemo’s mouth made your stomach flip.

“It’s fine.” You said before pushing past Bucky and Sam. You hated it when they played protective big brothers and you didn’t even need saving... You think...

(PART 2)

#baron zemo #Helmut Zemo #Zemo #Zemo x reader #zemo imagines #Helmut zemo x reader #Helmut Zemo imagines #the falcon and the winter soldier #the falcon and the winter soldier imagines #daniel brühl #Daniel bruhl imagines #Daniel bruhl x reader #Bucky barnes #Sam Wilson #imagines

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thighs-of-betrayal-blog · 3 years

Note

*chanting*

Jea-lous Buck-y

Jea-lous Buck-Y

Jea-lous BUCK-Y

Jea-LOUS BUCKY

JEALOUS BUCKY!!!????

Pretty pretty please with all the cherries on top?

I’d Back Off If I Were You

A/N: Of course! How could I resist a jealous Bucky?? Thank you so much for the request and I hope you enjoy! :)

Also, this story is based off episode 3 of TFAWS, I just changed some things around!!

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger! Reader

Warnings: violence, alcohol, cursing, implied smut, angst

Zemo, at first, was your biggest concern. Breaking him out of jail scared you; it made you worry about how it would affect Bucky. However, Zemo wasn’t your number one concern at this moment. It was the number of stares you were receiving at this bar.

After breaking Zemo out, he’s had numerous ideas, this one being your least favorite. He brought you all to a bar in Madripoor, to seek out information about Dr. Nagel’s whereabouts. Unfortunately, both Walker and Lemar were invited along. For what reason, you couldn’t say.

The loud music beats around you, as you pull your short, red dress down a little.

Sam was to your left, buying you a drink. He was your pretend boyfriend for the night, dressed up to resemble a man known as the Smiling Tiger.

Sam slides a double rum and coke your way. “Here, thought you might want something a little stronger.”

“Thanks.” You pick up the glass and take a sip, scanning the dance floor as you drink.

You instantly spot Bucky across the room, looking mad as all hell. He didn’t agree with this plan for two reasons: first, he had to pretend to be the Winter Soldier, a part of him that he’s been trying to erase completely and second, you had to be Sam’s arm candy for the night.

He locks eyes with you and you give him a small smile. The left corner of his mouth lifts into a smirk and he tilts his head to the side. You could only imagine what he was going to do to you later. The thought makes your pulse quicken.

You shake your head and look away from him. Right now, you need to focus on the task at hand.

To the right of Bucky stood Walker and Lemar, both drinking a beer and chatting quietly to themselves. Zemo was talking to the bar manager, trying to persuade him to let us see Selby, who can give us information about Nagel.

You’re pulled out of your thoughts when you feel Sam put a hand on your lower back.

“Want to go dance?” he asks. “I feel like everyone is looking at us.”

“Buck’s not going to be happy,” you say.

“Yeah, well, I’m sure Tin Man is going to be brooding all night, so what’s one dance?”

You bite your lip, thinking to yourself. You shrug your shoulders. “I guess you’re right.” You grab Sam’s hand and pull him onto the dance floor. “Show me what you got, Sammy.”

Sam immediately starts dancing around you and grabs your hand, spinning you towards him before dipping you low to the ground.

Across the room, Bucky is watching you and Sam intently, arms crossed. He trusts you both, he just wishes that was him dancing with you. Walker and Lemar walk up next to him, disrupting him from his thoughts.

“I’m wishing that was me too,” Walker says, looking at Bucky with a smirk on his face.

Bucky turns his head, glaring at Walker. “Excuse me?” he asks.

“I mean just look at Y/N,” Walker continues. “That tight, red dress accentuating every inch of that body. If I was Sam, I’d be doing a lot more than just dancing, if you know what I mean.”

In seconds, Bucky has Walker pinned to the wall, his metal arm wrapped around his throat. “If one more fucking word comes out of your mouth, I’ll rip your fucking tongue out, so you’ll never speak again. Understand?”

Lemar touches Bucky’s shoulder. “Hey, let’s not make a scene.”

Bucky yanks his hand off Walker’s throat and walks away, heading towards Zemo.

Lemar looks at Walker. “You, my friend, are asking for a death wish.”

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

The mission was a half success. You managed to get one piece of information on Nagel, but you were then chased out of the bar by people shooting at you. Now, you were all holed up at Sharon’s place, after connecting with her as she saved you from the shooters.

She lent a room for you and Bucky to sleep in for the night and you were currently watching Bucky as he angrily pulled off his suit jacket and flung it to the floor.

“Well, that’s a little rude,” you say. “What did that suit jacket ever do to you?”

Bucky looks at you, annoyance written all over his face.

“What’s wrong?” you ask.

“Fucking Walker. Said some fucked up shit about you. I swear, I’m going to kill him.”

You get up and stand in front of him. “Buck, don’t let him get to you. He’s trying to get under your skin.”

“Yeah,” Bucky says. “Well, it’s working.” He grabs your chin with his metal hand. “Anyone who even looks at you the wrong way is going to have a problem with me.”

“My, my, sounds to me like you’re a tad jealous.” You laugh.

Bucky’s metal hand glides down your body, reaching your waist and tugging you towards him.

“You think that’s funny, doll?” The hand on your waist tightens slightly.

You watch his eyes darken and gulp.

“I hope you’re not tired. I have plans for you tonight.”

He picks you up and tosses you on the bed.

“I’m all yours,” you say, before he smashes his lips onto yours.

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mostlysignssomeportents · 3 years

Text

The S&L crisis perfected finance crime

When the Great Financial Crisis hit, suddenly there was a lot of talk about the Savings & Loan crises of the 1980s and 90s. I was barely a larvum then, and all I knew about S&Ls I learned from half-understood dialog in comics like Dykes to Watch Out For and Bloom County.

As the GFC shattered the lives of millions, I turned to books like Michael W. Hudson’s THE MONSTER to understand what was going on, and learned that the very same criminals who masterminded the S&L crisis were behind the GFC gigafraud:

https://memex.craphound.com/2011/03/07/the-monster-the-fraud-and-depraved-indifference-that-caused-the-subprime-meltdown/

Hudson’s work forever changed my views of Orange County, CA, a region I knew primarily through Kim Stanley Robinson’s magesterial utopian novel PACIFIC EDGE, not as the white-hot center of the global financial crime pandemic.

https://memex.craphound.com/2015/01/15/pacific-edge-the-most-uplifting-novel-in-my-library/

That realization resurfaced today as I read the transcript of UMKC Law and Econ prof Bill Black’s interview with Paul Jay on The Analysis, when Black says, “Orange County is the financial fraud capital of the world, not America, the world.”

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jFH5-5D5_Lc

Black is well-poised to tell the tale of the S&L crisis. He served as a bank regulator during the crisis, and his notes on the “Keating 5” meeting were the turning point for public and Congressional attention to the crime:

https://theanalysis.news/economy/the-best-way-to-rob-a-bank-is-to-own-one-bill-black-pt-1/

In 1998, he finished a criminology doctorate at UC Irvine (in Orange County!) on the S&L frauds, entitled “The Best Way to Rob a Bank is to Own One,” a title he used for his 2005 book (updated in 2013) on the scandal:

https://utpress.utexas.edu/books/blab2p

The S&L crisis shares a lot in common with today’s financial crimes, but it had one key difference: ultimately (with Black’s help), more than 30,000 criminal referrals were made against the bankers involved in the crisis, and more than 1,000 were convicted of felonies.

The story of the S&L crisis is both a roadmap for holding finance criminals to account (a roadmap we threw away and forgot about) and a roadmap for committing gross acts of financial crime with impunity (which the finance sector studied carefully and keeps close its heart).

Black calls finance a “crimogenic environment,” in where deregulated institutions become pathogenic, “like a cesspool that produces lots of bacteria and viruses and such and causes lots of infections.”

The S&L crisis began with the Carter-Ronald deregulatory blitz. Both presidents assumed that because S&Ls (a kind of bank) in California and Texas were doing really well after deregulation, that meant CA and TX had nailed it and their example could be expanded nationwide.

In reality, the rosiness of the California and Texas S&Ls’ books was the result of “control fraud,” when a person who controls the bank is stealing from it.

Black likens this to a homeowner who commits insurance fraud — an ultimate insider, who knows the code to de-activate the alarm system and also knows just where the most valuable items are kept.

The major control fraudster of the S&L crisis was Charles Keating, a “top 100 granter” who was among the 100 highest donors to Reagan and Bush I. Keating has stolen a vast fortune from Lincoln Savings, and he was able to trade some of that loot for political cover.

Keating hired Alan Greenspan (!) to lobby for him, and Greenspan suborned five senators (the “Keating Five”) who threatened regulators with dire consequences if they didn’t stop digging into S&Ls.

This was also a priority for Reagan, whose plan for vast tax-cuts for the wealthy might stumble if it the public found out that the US government needed billions to bail out these walking-dead fraud zombies.

Reagan turned to Ed Gray, a PR guy, to run the S&L operation. Gray was hand-picked by the S&L’s trade association, and they told him flat out that he was there to make S&Ls look good — not to blow them up by investigating their balance-sheets.

The problem is that Gray — who was a hardcore Reaganite partisan and deregulation true believer — was honest, and the fraud was so obvious. The Texas S&Ls were originating fraudulent loans to build housing tracts that didn’t exist.

When Gray went out to look at these building sites, he just found endless rows of desolate concrete pads — he called them “Martian landing pads” — and abandoned ruins. These were the collateral on billions in loans!

Gray is a believer in sound finance, and this is undeniable evidence that deregulation has led to catastrophically unsound practices, so he starts imposing regulation on the S&L sector.

Keating pulls strings to sideline Gray, but Gray keeps pushing. Keating gets the leadership of both parties in the House to sponsor legislation ordering him to stop. He keeps going.

Donald Regan — an ex-Marine who went from CEO of Merrill Lynch to Reagan’s Chief of Staff — leans hard on Gray, but Gray won’t stop.

The Office of Management and Budget swears out a criminal complaint against Black for closing too many S&Ls. He won’t stop.

They go after Gray’s guy in Texas, Joe Selby, a former acting Comptroller of the Currency with impeccable credentials, demanding that Gray fire Selby. Democratic Speaker Jim Wright says Selby should be fired because he’s gay. Gray won’t budge.

Homophobia turns out to be a powerful weapon for criminal impunity. Keating sued Black and the Federal Home Loan Bank of San Francisco, claiming the bank’s gay employees had conspired against Keating because Keating was an evangelical Christian.

Gray took finance crime seriously. He had two priorities: one, eject anyone committing fraud from working at any financial institution, and; two, criminally and civilly charge those former execs and take back all the money they stole and ruin them financially.

Black and colleagues took this to heart, making thousands of criminal referrals. When law enforcement refused to act on these, they started publishing their referrals, and newspapers published stories about how none of these criminal referrals were leading to prosecutions.

Gray eventually gets sidelined by a “team player,” the disgraceful Danny Wall, who studiously ignores all the crime that has been uncovered. But then Bush I replaces him with Tim Ryan, whose marching orders are to root out finance crime.

Ryan ultimately made over 30,000 criminal referrals over the S&L scandal, and brought prosecutions against elite criminals, including Neil Bush, the son of the President of the United States of America.

Black: “Tim Ryan sacrificed his career for the public knowingly…he’s been unemployable since.”

And as for Bush I, his first major legislative priority became the removal of financial crime from the jurisdiction of independent watchdogs, so this would never happen again.

This is as far as the interview gets (it’s part one of nine!), but it’s already answering some of the most important questions the Great Financial Crisis raised, like, “Why didn’t any of the bankers who stole trillions from the world go to jail?”

Image: Dykes to Watch Out For strip #90 (1990), “The Solution,” Alison Bechdel https://forums.somethingawful.com/showthread.php?threadid=3908728&userid=99998&perpage=40&pagenumber=10

#pluralistic

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azaleavi · 3 years

Text

Woman Like Me - Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Bucky meets someone in Madripoor who reminds him of himself a long time ago

Warning(s): language, bad writing lol

Author’s Note: this is my first time writing so any feedback is appreciated and i didn’t know how to end it so it’s horrible but i tried

Word count: 2.2K

Part 2

“Selby will see you now”

The three men walk through the corridors and into the room where Selby is waiting for them. It is full of cash and guns on tables.

“You should know Baron. People don’t just come into my bar and make demands.”

“Not a demand, an offer” Zemo sits down on the couch while Sam and Bucky stand on either side of it.

“A lot has changed since you were here last” Selby eyes Bucky up and down, clearly recognising him as the Winter Soldier “By the way I thought you were rotting away in a German prison” she turns back to the man sitting in front of her and lifts her eyebrows “How did you escape?”

“People like us always find a way, don’t we?” Zemo shrugs “I’m sure you’ve already figured out what I’m here for”

“Yore taller than I’d heard, Smiling Tiger” the woman points at Sam then smiles at him, not paying attention to Zemo anymore. Sam nods slightly, trying to speak as little as possible. Selby playfully purrs at him, joking about his name. Sam looks away not wanting to give her the satisfaction of replying to that. She turns back to Zemo and smiles.

“What’s the offer?”

“Tell us what you know about the super-soldier serum” Zemo stands up walking over to where Bucky is standing acting like the Winter Soldier “and I give you him, along with the code words to control him, of course” he holds Bucky’s shoulders while he tries his best to not react. That was not part of the plan. But of course you can’t trust Zemo to not change it to whatever benefits him.”He will do anything you want” he grabs a hold of his chin insinuating things Bucky doesn’t even want to think about. He hates it. Feeling like a toy between the two and he can’t do anything about it. Not if he wants to succeed in getting the information they need.

“Now that’s the Zemo I remember” she smiles, pleased. “I’m glad I decided not to kill you immediately” Zemo sits back down on the couch waiting for Selby to start talking.

“Yeah you were right to came to me. Arrogant, but right. The super-soldier serum is here in Madripoor. Dr. Wilfred Nagel is the man you wanna thank. Or…” she looks at Bucky for a second “condemn, depending on what side you’re on.”

“Is Nagel still in Madripoor?”

“Oh. The bread crumbs you can have for free but the bakery is gonna cost you Baron. And unfortunately you don’t have the means to pay me” she stands, walking closer to Sam. Bucky immediately tenses, ready for a fight. Something doesn’t feel right.” I don’t need your Soldier” she smiles, something sinister behind it ”as I have my own little puppet. Tell her to come in” the three of them freeze as one of the men with guns goes through a door in the back.

They hear his voice but can’t make out what he says. When he stops talking a woman walks out, into the room they’re in. Bucky feels like his world is turned upside down. The woman is fully decked out with guns and knives and is wearing tactical gear with combat boots. But that’s not what unnerves Bucky. It’s the dead, soulless eyes that stare back at him. A cruel reminder of what he used to look like.

“Come here girl” Selby smiles and the woman complies without a question never taking her eyes off the strangers in the room “look at that. Isn’t it amazing what a few words can do a person’s mind when said in the right order?” Bucky finally looks at Selby realising she is watching him “Isn’t that right Winter Soldier?” Bucky can’t speak. He knows he can’t break character, but it’s damn hard not to when he sees someone like him and he knows he should help.

“How is this possible?” Zemo breaks the silence, clearly baffled by seeing another winter soldier-like person.

“Well it was quite easy to get a hold of Hydra’s files in Madripoor” Selby walks behind the woman who can’t be older than 25 and puts her hands on her shoulder. “Don’t worry though, they were sadly destroyed after we used it once on her. But we got the perfect soldier out of it” Bucky tenses at the mention of the perfect soldier. That’s what he was called back then. I need to help this girl he thinks I can’t let her go through the same shit I had to go through. He looks at Sam who is already looking back at him. They seem to think about the same thing.

“Harcos…” Selby starts talking in a foreign language but she is interrupted by a glass window shattering. Bucky sees Selby on the floor dead, a bullet hole in her chest and he immediately goes into fight mode. The woman or harcos he should say doesn’t waste any time and takes a gun off her back but before she can start shooting he is in front of her. He tries to twist the gun out of her hands but he finds out that she is strong. Too strong for her to be human. She is a super soldier which shouldn’t surprise him at this point but it still does.

They start fighting but their strength is evenly matched and Bucky doesn’t want to kill her. He uses his metal arm to finally grab the gun from her and throws it to the side. She kicks him in the chest and he is flung backwards into the wall. Bucky gets a hold of the gun he threw away and knocks her out with the back of it. The others finish fighting as well and they look at each other.

“Now what?” asks Sam looking at the woman lying on the floor.

“I recommend we kill her” chimes in Zemo before Bucky can start talking.

“We are not killing her” Bucky goes and picks her up, thinking about how they could get her out of here without drawing too much attention. He hold her bridal style and puts her head against his neck, hiding her face.”we need to get out of here and fast” Zemo walks to the door, opens it a little and looks through the open space.

“Put down your guns and follow my lead” the other two are hesitant to do what Zemo says but they don’t really have any other choice. They walk through the doors and out into the streets trying to look as casual as possible. Well, as casual you can be with an unconscious woman in your hands. But in Madripoor it’s not an uncommon sight so no one really pays attention to them. That is until every single person in the vicinity starts getting text messages and looks at them. Shit they know what happened Bucky thinks and they start to walk faster. Suddenly the people around them get out their guns and start shooting at them. Zemo runs to the right while Bucky and Sam start running straight down the street.

“I can’t run in these heels” Sam shouts trying to keep up with Bucky who is running slower than he could so he doesn’t leave Sam behind. They turn into a darker alley with to people on motorcycles following them. Suddenly two shots rang out from somewhere in one of the buildings and the motorcyclists are dead on the ground.

“You seem to have a guardian angel” Zemo shows up, out of breath from all the running.

“Well this is too perfect” Sharon shows up out of nowhere holding a gun in her hands. Her eyes immediately go to the woman in Bucky’s hands and the men can see her surprise. “Please tell me that’s not Harcos in your hands” Bucky looks down to see the woman, who seems to be calmly sleeping. How she didn’t wake up while they were running around is beyond him, but he is glad he doesn’t have to fight her again.

“Would you believe me if I said no?” asks Sam trying to lighten the situation.

“We need to get out of here before they see you carrying around Madripoor’s most valuable asset.” Bucky tenses, pulling her closer and not liking how that sounds. Asset. The word brings back horrible memories of times he would much rather forget. He needs to help this girl. He will not allow someone else be called asset “come on, I have a place in High Town where you can lie low” Sharon starts walking and the men follow him, Sam dragging Zemo with him.

They walk into her place which is filled with stolen artwork, that turns out to be the original.

“So can you tell us who is this harcos that Bucky decided to save?” Sam sends a look at Bucky who is putting the woman down on the couch. She is still out cold which is starting to get concerning.

“Y/N L/N. 24 years old. Has been a super soldier since she was a kid. She was Nagel’s first patient” she draws air quotes with her fingers ”well… the first successful one anyway. And when the Blip happened Selby used the chaos to get the files on the brainwashing and used it on her. Her memories are not gone like your resident Winter Soldier here but she still has trigger words that turn her into a mindless killing machine” they all watched the girl who started to stir awake from her deep sleep.

“Uhm… how are we going to go about this?” Sam watched her intently, getting ready for a fight. Bucky was still standing next to her when she opened her eyes staring straight into his. She sat up, panicked trying to crawl back from him. She obviously knew who he was and she was scared. How is she scared of him? She is supposed to be a super-soldier.

“What do you want?” she speaks for the first time.

“Hey it’s okay, we don’t want to hurt you” Sam walked over to her trying to calm her down. She snaps her head at him.

“Well then I would like an explanation” Y/N is till unsure about them but once in her life she wants to trust people and maybe the Avengers would be a good start.

“Do you remember fighting me?” Bucky speaks up.

“Yeah, kinda hard to forget fighting the Winter Soldier” she looks back at Bucky.

“I’m not him anymore” he shakes his head.

“Well at least someone got out of this thing” she shows a pained smile

“I head you have trigger words too”

“Yes and I would rather you don’t say them” he can’t understand how she can joke about something like this.

“We don’t even know the words” Sharon speaks

“Although I wish I did” Zemo smiles trying to get a rise out of y/n. But he doesn’t know her so he doesn’t know that that’s a very hard thing to do. Oh she gets angry easily but she was trained to not show it and not act on it.

“Very funny Zemo” she sends him a mock smile. He seems surprised that she knows who he is which she notices “Yes I know who you are, don’t be so surprised. So what are the Avengers doing in Madripoor?” she turns to Sam.

“A group of people got hold of the super-soldier serum and they used it on themselves so we are trying to stop them” Sam explains

“Sounds fun”

“I think she would be a valuable help” Zemo speaks again and Bucky immediately thinks that he has some ulterior motives.

“Stop your schemes Zemo” Sam shuts him down but y/n seems to be deep in thought.

“I mean she could help…” Bucky starts but Sam sends him a pointed look so he shuts his mouth.

“We do not need another liability with us” Sam looks at y/n who is already looking at him “No offence”

“None taken, but I agree with James” she stands up and walks over to Sam “I understand that I’m not stable, but I know what it’s like to have the serum in your veins and I want to help any way I can. As long as no one says the words I’m good”

“Yeah that’s exactly my concern. What if someone does know the trigger words and uses it against us? Against you?” he points at her. She thinks about if for a second.

“Okay how about this? I go with you but only step in to help when you say I can.” She offers, a hopeful look in her eyes. Sam knows she just wants to help but it’s still risky. He sighs.

“You can come if you do what I say. But if I feel like you are risking our mission you are sitting it out and only come in when I tell you to. Understand?” he says firmly, holding out his hand. She takes it and they shake hands.

“Let’s get these super-soldiers”

#bucky barnes #tfatws #tfatws spoilers #bucky #the falcon and the winter solider spoilers #the falcon and the winter soldier #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x female reader #marvel #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fic #sebastian stan #winter soldier #woman like me bucky

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rainydaydream-gal18 · 3 years

Text

(TFATWS) Bucky x Reader: Protective- Part 2

(Link to Part 1)

You exhaled in relief as you moved to walk beside Sam, looping your arm with his. It was admittedly more comfortable since you and Sam went back years. As the group neared the bar, Bucky became more rigid as he took on the appearance of his role. Zemo led the way, standing as tall and confidently as someone who had the Winter Soldier for a bodyguard.

Sam exhaled sharply once the other two continued on their way, mumbling under his breath, “good ol’ Sam. Always putting out fires.” He gave your hand a squeeze. “You good?”

“Yeah, you?”

“So far. I wouldn’t say I’m totally into this plan, but hey, Zemo’s the expert I guess.”

“An expert at being annoying sometimes,” you muttered. Sam chuckled.

You took a deep breath and put on a smirk, forcing your shoulders to relax a bit. You caught the sight of several armed individuals scrutinizing the crowd. You avoided eye contact and instead stole glances at Bucky. He was already in the zone.

Zemo set foot in the bar and uttered a few words in Russian- ones that you knew to be control words. Several pairs of eyes were drawn to your group. “Winter Soldier” was in the mix of whispers. So many people appeared to be fascinated by the idea of having a human being under their control. So many of these people hungrily watched your group pass through. It was a struggle to keep from bristling with alarm. The pounding music and bright lights only added to the stress, but you kept your cool as you shuffled past several unsavory characters.

A man with large glasses behind the bar approached.

“Hello, gentlemen.” He nodded in your direction. “Ma’am. Wasn’t expecting you, Smiling Tiger.”

You remained at Sam’s side, arm looped with his, and pretended to give him an affectionate look.

“His plans changed,” Zemo answered smoothly. “We have business to do with Selby.”

The man hesitated, giving Sam an uncertain glance. “The usual?”

Sam nodded, and the man’s eyes flickered between the two of you before he set to work on preparing a drink. You nearly froze as he reached into a jar for a dead snake and started slicing it open. Sam caught your gaze, his eyes widening ever-so-slightly to show you his discomfort at the situation, and you returned the silent cry for help with a subtle shrug.

“Ah,” Zemo broke the silent exchange with a smug look. “Smiling Tiger, your favorite.”

The glass of alcohol and snake innards was placed on the counter, and you feigned an impressed look while Sam gave Zemo one final glare before picking up the glass.

“I love these,” he stated, though it wasn’t very convincing.

“Cheers, Conrad.”

You bit your lip to hide your amusement as Sam hesitated, tipping the glass back only to pull it away as he gathered his courage. Finally, he gulped the revolting beverage and grunted as he struggled to keep it down.

Another man approached Zemo from behind, not going unnoticed by you. You kept smiling and pretending to be oblivious, though you turned so one ear was closer to the exchange to listen.

“I got word from on-high,” the man said. ”You ain’t welcome here.”

Zemo turned to face him fully. “I have no business with the Power Broker, but if he insists, he can either come talk to me...” He gestured to Bucky, who leaned against the counter with a scowl.

“New haircut?”

“Or bring Selby for a chat.”

The bearded stranger glowered before sauntering away, and Zemo turned around shaking his head in annoyance. Bucky’s expression lost a degree of harshness.

“A Power Broker? Really?”

“Every kingdom needs its king.” He sighed. “Let’s just pray we stay under his radar.”

“Do you know him?” Sam asked.

“Only by reputation. In Madripoor, he is judge, jury, and executioner.”

“Lovely,” you mumbled. Before you could comment further, Zemo turned around and calmly called Bucky to attention. The second an individual laid their hands on the baron, Bucky marched forward to grab their wrist with his metal arm, twisting it as he pushed them back. He glanced over his shoulder at the three of you before using his other arm to lock the attacker into a hold. Something cracked as the man went straight down to the floor, groaning.

Your heart raced. You knew Bucky had the situation under control. It was still unsettling to see him in a fight, especially using such lethal combat moves. His eyes seemed to go blank as he executed his next attack on another individual that launched themselves at him. The man went flying to the floor, and Bucky gave him a swift kick that sent him rolling. Zemo took hold of another attacker approaching from behind and sent him Bucky’s way.

A hand rested over yours, and you realized that you had been clutching Sam’s suit sleeve. He leaned in a little to utter words of reassurance. “Don’t worry, he’s got this.”

That’s what worried you. He ended the fights so quickly, so easily, with ferocity that you hadn’t seen since he fell under Zemo’s control before. Despite his words, you knew Sam noticed too. The first time you both even met Bucky was when he was the Winter Soldier. Back then, you had no idea of the person that was underneath all that.

“Didn’t take much for him to fall back into form,” Zemo commented. As if on cue, Bucky dragged a man by the throat to lay him on the bar with his metal arm. Choking sounds filled the room for a few seconds until you started hearing the click of guns being cocked and ready to shoot.

On instinct, both you and Sam separated to intervene, but Zemo shot both of you warning glances. “Stay in character,” he said quietly, “or the whole bar turns on us.” Sam took his hand from Bucky’s shoulder, and instead took your hand again. Zemo turned to Bucky and spoke the words in Russian to end the attack.

“Selby will see you now,” the bartender said.

“Thank you.”

Bucky finally released his hold, and the man gasped for air as he crumbled to the floor. Sam took the opportunity to look Bucky in the eyes. “You good?”

Bucky merely exhaled sharply in confirmation, eyes falling to you for the first time since setting foot in that place. Something flickered in them before he turned and followed after Zemo.

- - - - - - - -

You slipped out of the dress and began changing into the new clothes Sharon provided, glad that this outfit was a little more on the casual side. Both you and Sam struggled to keep up in heels after the Selby fiasco. It was a relief to finally kick them off your feet. You stared at your reflection in the full-length mirror after you were dressed. What an evening it was turning out to be. An undercover mission turned into a firefight and an escape with the help of an old ally. Fortunately, Zemo had been able to get a name out of Selby. The next step was finding Dr. Nagel.

You emerged from the room to see Bucky leaning against the wall beside your door, already changed. He looked up from the floor upon your approach.

“Hey,” you greeted. “You okay?”

“Yeah. You hurt at all?”

“Thanks to Sharon, I made it out without so much as a scratch.”

Bucky nodded in agreement, shifting so that he leaned on his other shoulder. He averted his eyes and scratched the back of his neck. His lips parted, but no sound came out when he met your gaze. You waited patiently.

“Look, I wanted to talk about earlier. About Zemo. About me and how I acted.”

“It’s okay…”

“No, it’s not. Not really.”

“Zemo has been trying his best to push our buttons,” you pointed out. “Sometimes it worked, and sometimes it didn’t.”

“It’s not just that.” Bucky tipped his head back to rest it against the wall. “Zemo knows things about me- things that I’d rather you hear from me directly instead of through his weird mind games.”

Concern bubbled up inside of you. What sort of things was he talking about? Were there indeed more signs of the Winter Soldier lurking underneath? Did Zemo have something over Bucky?

“I don’t understand,” you murmured, heart aching for him, as you reached out a hand. Your fingers brushed through the short hair on the side of his head, and his eyes fell closed as he allowed the contact, even leaned into it. Casual contact wasn’t uncommon between you two: the occasional brush of hands when passing something to the other, feeling his chest against your back when taking cover during firefights, or even on really good days a light punch to the shoulder with a laugh. This was different, though. This wasn’t a line you’d crossed before in the time you’d known him. “I don’t understand, but you know you can tell me anything.”

His eyes opened, and he angled his head to look at you fully. “I know.” Then, he pushed off the wall, gently taking your hand from his hair. He held it in his own and studied your expression as he continued.

“Zemo knows what you mean to me. You, specifically. I don’t know what you’d call it. I don’t even want to say you’re my weakness because… the truth is, you’re my strength.”

Your lips parted at the tender words that you’d certainly not been expecting. Bucky held your stare, though his mouth turned up briefly in a nervous smile.

“I know I probably sound ridiculous right now. Here we are in the middle of a mission. The thing is, every time we put ourselves at risk, I wanted to tell you. But every time, I waited because, well, I still wasn’t right for a while. It took time to be purged from the Winter Soldier. Now, I just don’t have it in me to keep this from you any longer.”

You offered a smile, though part of you was scared to hope. Was this confession merely the result of the stress of Steve’s absence? Zemo’s taunts? You didn’t want this if that were the case. “Are you sure this is how you feel? I’m sure Zemo’s games haven’t really been helping.”

“Trust me, he doesn’t have anything to do with this,” Bucky shook his head. “I just don’t like him bothering you. At all.” He sighed. “I’ve felt this way for a long time, ________. Before the snap. I know we weren’t here for those five years, but I came back thinking about you. Haven’t stopped since.”

Your eyes had begun to water as emotion gripped you. Suddenly, it was hard to swallow, and it was hard to look at him when it registered that you were indeed crying. You tried to hide your face, and Bucky put an arm around you to pull you to his chest.

“Hey, it’s okay,” he mumbled. “Obviously, you don’t have to feel the same way. I’m not mad. Just please, don’t cry.”

“What?” you sniffled. “No…” You pulled away to face him with teary eyes and all. “I do feel the same way. I just can’t believe you do too.”

He exhaled, pulling you to his chest again, and chuckled at the end. “You had me there for a second. But seriously, it would’ve been okay if you didn’t feel the same way. I just had to tell you.” He searched your face as if still unsure, as if giving you another opportunity to retract your confession. Like you’d ever do that.

With your hand still in his, you lifted the other to brush the stubble and rest on his cheek. He raised his gloved vibranium hand to cover that one. His eyes were magnetic, drawing you in. Seconds passed before your lips met in a warm kiss that made you feel like you were flying. He pulled away, keeping his forehead pressed against yours. A smile unlike one you’d seen in a long time on him spread across his face. Both of you chuckled quietly in the hall. Despite what was going on in the world, at that moment, you felt so giddy. You let out another chuckle as his stubble brushed your chin as he kissed you again.

“Oh, well then.” A female cleared her voice further down the hall, and both of you parted to see Sharon standing there with her hands in her pockets. “This is a new development.” She raised her brows at you. “Everyone’s changed. We’re heading down to the party so I can ask around about Nagel.”

“Okay,” you nodded. “Thank you, Sharon.”

“Uhuh.” She turned to head back out, pausing to give you another pointed look. “Watch out for these types. They sometimes have a habit of kissing you and then never calling.”

You winced at the comment as she disappeared around the corner. Bucky’s eyebrows raised as he let out an awkward whistle. “Wow.”

“I understand where she’s coming from,” you mumbled. “I can’t believe all this time she was out here, and Steve just...”

“I know,” Bucky said gently. “Anyway, we’ve gotta’ go.” He held your hand and began to lead the way down the hall, though stopped when you hesitated. “You think she’ll say anything to the others about...um…?”

“Doesn’t matter.” He shrugged. “I’m just glad it wasn’t Zemo, or else we wouldn’t hear the end of it.”

#the falcon and the winter soldier #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #tfatws bucky #tfatws bucky x reader #james buchanan barnes x reader #bucky reader insert #bucky barnes reader insert #tfatws reader insert #tfatws imagine #bucky #tfatws bucky reader insert

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bucky-barmes · 3 years

Text

☾✧✧✧ I'm just looking for a good night ✧✧✧☽

female enhanced!reader x tfatws!Bucky

In which you get dragged into a mess in Madripoor while just trying to enjoy yourself. But is the infamous Winter Soldier as bad as you always thought?

[ a/n: idk what this exactly is but i don't hate it, and who doesn't love asshole bucky? maybe i just have a problem, also loosely based on that madripoor episode. also also tried something new for the writing style so i hope you don't mind lemme know if it's shit ]

Minka is polish for strong-willed one, and is a name but here it’s used as a nickname as it’s reader insert

[ word count: ~3,580 words (this started as a lil drabble of reader meeting bucky at a bar, but i guess my brain had other ideas)

includes: asshole bucky, swearing - like a lot (i'm aussie okay?), drinking (alcoholism?), it's pretty fkn angsty, asshole bucky (i'm warning you ok), no -18 pls as it's not entirely g rated & has some implications

[ all works are my own, do not steal, repost or translate ]

tagging some friends (message if you wanna be on a perm taglist/if you don't wanna be tagged in future (i won't take it to heart i promise)) @sweetdreamsbuck @beefybuckrrito @mymindslabyrinth @igotnoname4thisblog @theluxuriousfangirl @posinhay @barnesand1

The music was blaring, sending vibrations through her body as she swayed to the fast beat. Drink sloshing around as she waved her arms around her above her head. This was it. This was living. Drunk, surrounded by strangers. No one knew her and she knew no one. She was free. And it was incredible.

Going to clubs alone was dangerous, she couldn't remember the number of times her mother had warned her not to. She must have been rolling in her grave at her daughter not only going to a club alone, but to a club in Madripoor no less. The thrill that anything could happen only exciting her more. That, and knowing that the Powerbroker wouldn't let anything happen to her, wouldn't let anyone lay a finger on her. That was the perk of being enhanced and not looking like it, it made you useful.

She had lost track of the hours, and the drinks, thinking only of how good the music made her feel. Of how nothing had felt this good in so long.

She waded through the sea of people, already locking eyes with the bartender as she made a beeline for the bar. She was stopped in her tracks, however, by a wall of bodies.

An almost animalistic growl ripped through her as she slapped her hand down on the shoulder of the man in the middle, a big fur collar adorning his coat. A hard hand gripped her wrist in response and her eyes shifted slowly from the back of man one to the owner of the hand.

Her eyes widened at who they landed on, then narrowed to barely visible slits. Yanking her hand back she didn't break her glare.

"I'm sorry, Dove, did we cut in?" The voice of the middle man broke her chain of thought, and when she looked back to him, he had turned to face her. "How about we buy you a drink to apologise."

"I don't want your handouts, Baron." Venom dripped from her words as she spat back her response. She wedged herself between the Baron and the third man, not someone she recognised, to snatch the drink the bartender placed out for her. "Besides, I don't pay here anyway, don't want you wasting your money."

She was about to work her way back through the crowd of people and to the middle of the dance floor again when she had a thought.

"Hold the fucking phone." Spinning on the spot, her eyes narrowed again, this time at the Baron, but that didn't stop her from seeing the man to his left step forward defensively.

"How are you even here? Last I heard you were stuck in a prison in Germany." Her drink was down and she slammed the glass down on the bar, getting threateningly close to him as she did. "Thought you were never getting out after what you did to them." Her sentence trailed off as her eyes flicked to the man next to him, the one with the metal arm.

The Baron offered her his signature smug smile. "Some people had other plans."

"Well, whatever you're planning," She closed the gap between them further. The shifting of bodies next to them was halted with a raise of the Baron's hand. "Stay the fuck away from me." Hatred seeped from her whole body.

Snatching the new drink that was placed on the bar, her gaze was turned to the apparent bodyguard.

"And I'd think twice before you lay a hand on me again." There was no response, but a subtle cocky smirk instead that only heated her further. She was gone before any of them could speak another word to her.

She was only able to start enjoying herself once more when the sight of the three men had disappeared, then, she was able to let her guard down and the beat of the music slowly took her over again. Until she got a call.

Plugging her other ear so she could hear, she took mental note of the location she was told to move to. The call ended abruptly, they always did with the Powerbroker, but this one was serious. She had begun picking up on the subtle differences between the calls.

Her gun was pulled from her thigh holster as she advanced towards the room Selby used for meetings.

She listened from a distance, the ability being one of many. A phone rang. An awkward silence as the conversation started. Names were thrown around, first Smiling Tiger. 'Yeah, that guy was definitely not Smiling Tiger', she thought to herself as she listened, remembering her run in with him one time. The phone call ended with a goodbye to "Sam"?

There were gunshot before she had time to process anything further.

Kicking the door down, she stepped through slowly, gun raised. It had fallen silent, the three men stood in the middle of the room.

"Holy fuck, what did you do?" Her voice was a mix of shock and anger. The men snapped their heads up.

"Things didn't exactly go according to plan, Dove." The Baron regretfully shrugged as he looked around at the collection of bodies on the floor, inclusive of Selby's.

"Well, why the fuck am I-" A fifth person joined the room before she could finish.

"Because the Powerbroker requested it." Sharon Carter approached her, stone-faced. “And nobody disobeys the Powerbroker.”

“I don’t know, I might’ve had I know it was for these idiots.” She was dead serious as she said it, glaring at the men responsible for the bodies strewn about.

Sharon shot the other woman a look, a look that said ‘you better cut it out right now’.

"Don't, Minka." Sharon's use of the others' nickname amplified the seriousness of it all.

The men in the room didn’t know it, but she, Minka, was the only one who knew who the Powerbroker really was. And you could say she was somewhat of a bodyguard for them.

“The Powerbroker requested it. End of, so get over it.” Sharon snapped at her.

“I can’t believe you’re helping these people.” Her grip on her gun tightened as she interrogated Sharon. “After everything that happened last time.” Her sentence ended with a scoff, clicking on the safety of her gun. She didn't place it back in her holster just yet though.

“Enough.” Sharon’s remark was a bark. An order. “Whether you like it or not, you’re involved now, you’ve seen the bodies. You’re part of it now.”

Minka just glared at her, mumbling “lucky me” under her breath as her daggers turned to the men again. Her anger only bubbled more when she saw the one with the metal arm, the Winter Soldier, staring right back, something she couldn’t quite pick up on behind his cold eyes.

Many hours and gun fights later, everyone made it Sharon's place alive, much to the acrimony of some of them. Of Minka.

"You have a beautiful place, Miss Carter." Baron was walking around, admiring the art as he made the genuine compliment, but he was being eyed. Sharon's personal guard wasn't about to let him touch, ruin, anything.

"Don't touch anything, and get changed, everyone knows what we're wearing now." The last part was directed at the whole group. "And you look like shit, too." Her nose scrunched as she looked them over. Even her associate was included in the statement.

Sharon watched as her figure retreated to the room she had set up, she was there often enough to warrant her own one, and then directed the men to where they could pick out some clothes and change.

There was a soft thump as her body landed on the bed, and she released a long sigh into the covers.

"Yeah, Sharon, I'm not in the mood." Her voice was mumbled from the bed, but was loud enough to hear the frustration.

"Minka, huh?" That was not the voice of Sharon Carter. Her head snapped up to face the door to her room that she swore she locked.

"You don't get to call me that." If looks could kill, the man in the doorframe would have dropped to the floor in record time.

"Is that not your name, Doll?" Arms folded over his chest, a mix of metal and flesh.

"Is your name The Winter Soldier?" The words were laced with malice as she slid off the bed, moving towards him to push him out of her room, her safe space. "Now if you don't mind getting the fuck away from me."

A heavy boot stopped the door from clicking into place, his metal hand forcing it back open, eyes dark. "No, I don't think I will." He stepped into the room, pushing the door closed behind him. This time it was her that stopped the door from closing, hand gripped tightly on the handle, pulling back.

"You've got some fucking nerve coming here like that." Minka yanked the handle as the soldier pushed the door harder, breaking it clean off. "Coming back into Sharon's life like you aren't the one that fucked it up in the first place." The handle dropped with a loud thud.

For a moment, something flashed through his eyes. Regret? Sadness? Whatever it was lasted a mere second before he regained control.

"So, you're like me?" His gaze dropped to the handle on the ground, taking the opportunity to gaze down her body as he did.

It was all she could do from punching him right then and there. "Absolutely not!" If the venom in her voice wasn't evident before, it definitely was now. "I don't kill innocents."

The tension was so thick you could cut it with a knife. The soldier staring down darkly at the smaller woman.

"It's Bucky."

Her eyes narrowed. "What?"

"My name, it's Bucky. And you can call me that."

She couldn't hold back the scoff that fell from her lips. "I won't be calling you anything. After all this shit is cleaned up, you'll never see me again."

Bucky's head tilted ever so slightly, his voice soft but dark. "I wouldn't be so sure of that." But before she was able to punch question him, Sharon's voice bellowed through the building.

"Downstairs, now."

The pair ripped their eyes from each other, Minka's falling to the handle on the floor. "I'm telling her you broke that. Now fuck off so I can change." And she shoved him out of the room, closing the door over between them, making sure to not close it the whole say so she could actually get out when she was ready.

By the time she had finished getting ready and made her way down to everyone else, people had begun meandering in, admiring the art.

"Took you long enough." Sharon walked up behind her, whispering harshly in her ear.

"Yeah, well you can thank your old friend for that. He's an asshole, by the way." "And he's not a friend." "Well he's the reason I need a drink." She turned to face Sharon, giving her a look of 'I hate you for dragging me into this' before heading to the bar, fully intending on double parking it the whole night.

It didn't take long for her to finally loosen up again, 5 drinks to be exact, and be back in the middle of the dance floor, surrounded by sweaty bodies. It may have been an art auction, but nothing was ever not a party in Madripoor, especially if it was organised by the Powerbroker themself.

Minka was so caught up in the moment that she had forgotten entirely about the events of the day, the people of the day.

She had, yet again, lost track of the number of drinks she'd had. But every drink handed her way was downed immediately, not taking any time to register where, or more like who, they were coming from. That was always her greatest weakness, denying alcohol.

She was happily about to take yet another unknown drink being handed to her, when it was snatched from her reach and discarded on a nearby table.

"Hey, what the fuck, that was mine!" She growled, turning with her fist ready to launch into whoever had the nerve to steal her drink.

"Stop taking drinks from strangers, are you an idiot?" Suddenly the memories of the men she had to deal with throughout the day came flooding back. "You're gonna get spiked- in fact, you were about to with that one."

"What? Have you been keeping an eye on me? That's not very Winter Soldier of you." Her tone was mocking as she glared up at Bucky, struggling to stand thanks to the combination of copious amounts of alcohol and continuous movement of people around her.

Bucky placed his large hands on her biceps to keep her steady, eyes narrowing at her words. "You really don't know how to be nice to people, do you?"

"You really don't know how to stay the fuck away from people that don't like you, do you?" She retorted immediately, pulling herself from his grip. "I don't need a goddamn babysitter, especially not you. You don't exactly have the best track record with protecting people." Her back was turned to him and stalking off before she even finished her sentence, but she was yanked back in by her forearm.

"Yeah, I don't think so. You're being watched like a hawk by at least 3 men. Who knows how many of them are trying to spike you and get you separated from the crowd." Bucky's eyes were anywhere but hers, scanning the vast room for anything suspicious, clearly on high alert.

"I don't understand why you fucking care?" Bucky's eyes snapped down to hers, alarmed by her intensity.

"Keep your voice down or you're gonna draw attention to us." He hissed at her, lowering his head and pulling her arm to move her closer to him.

"Good, maybe security will see you're harassing me and escort you out." She snarled, anger rising with every word he spoke. "I'm just looking for a good fucking night and you've managed to ruin it twice now."

"Well take it up with Sharon then, she's the one that told me to keep an eye on you. So clearly she thinks you do need a babysitter." He dropped her arm, that would be enough to keep her in her spot for now.

"You're lying." Her words were barely above a whisper, eyes narrowed at him. "She knows I can hold my own. She's literally hired me for personal protection before."

"Clearly not this time." Bucky's eyes were back to scanning the room. "Not with the types of people here tonight." Minka couldn't help but scoff.

"Oh, because you know Madripoor, right? You've spent how many years here? Oh, that's right, none." She suddenly saw her opportunity to escape, Bucky's eyes not trained on her and her arms free.

"Tell her, as much as I appreciate it, she can shove it." And with that she had weaved her way though the crowd of bodies.

But her abandonment didn't last nearly as long as she had hoped.

All of a sudden she was being pushed against the far wall of the room where she was escaping to, breath knocked out of her.

"What the fu-" Lips landing on hers cut off her protests. Her eyes widened when she realised who said lips belonged to.

"Get off of me!" She spat when she was finally able to push Bucky off. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"People are following you. If they know you're with me they're less likely to try something."

"I'm not with you. In fact, I want to be as far away from you as physically possible right now." Bucky's arms, which were trapping her in by pressing against the wall either side of her face, fell to his side. His face turned emotionless for a moment before returning to his usual arrogant demeanour.

"You can't tell me you didn't feel the spark." He winked, a cocky grin plastered on his face when he saw the heat creep to her cheeks.

"Please, you wish there was a spark." Her eyes rolled as she paused. "I've had knife fights with more spark than that."

"Maybe we should have a knife fight sometime then." Bucky's response was quick, and smooth.

"Have you forgotten that you're never going to see me again after all this shit? Although," Minka tapped her chin in mock thought. "If you're offering to let me stab you, I'll gladly take you up on that." Unlike Bucky's, her face held no semblance of humour.

"I'm sure you'll change your mind by the end of it." Bucky eyed her suggestively.

"God, please don't tell me you're into me. Maybe I do want those supposed guys to take me, seems better than the alternative." She groaned at the thought of having to deal with him fawning after her.

Bucky's face indicated that that was definitely not he case. His eyes, however, suggested her words had hurt him a little. "God, never. But if you really want, I can hand deliver you to them myself." He pointed in the direction of said men.

Her nose crinkled. "Okay, maybe not them."

"Yeah, that's what I thought."

"Sharon, we have a serious problem!" Minka stormed into the kitchen after the last few people had left and the party was over, Bucky not far behind her. "So I need a babysitter now? I thought I was the personal protection around here." Her fist collided heavily with the table.

"You are," Sharon looked at her nonchalantly as she poured herself a glass of whiskey. "Until alcohol is involved. You're as useless as that new Captain America when there's booze around." A sip. "Case in point." Sharon hummed, watching your eyes follow her glass from bench, to mouth, to bench again.

"Oh please." She snorted. "And you thought pairing me with this idiot was a good idea?" He hand gestured back to Bucky at idiot, not caring if it offended him. "He just makes me want to drink more."

Sharon was about to give her a look, but Minka just shook her head, throwing her hands up. "No, I'm not dealing with this tonight. I'm going to bed." "Take him with you." Sharon nodded towards Bucky.

"Oh fuck no, why the fuck would I-" "Because everyone knows you're involved, and your head is on a spike now, too. They want you dead, Minka." She couldn't argue with Sharon when she used her nickname for her. And the pain in her voice was evident.

"Fine, but you're sleeping on the floor." Bucky just shrugged, "nothing new."

"You sleep there." A finger pointed to the sofa on the far side of the room. Conveniently away from the bed. "I'll get you a blanket."

Bucky's brow quirked. "I thought I was on the floor?" He feigned confusion, head tilting to the side before his cocky smirk returned.

"Keep going and you will be." The blanket was thrown at his face, along with a pillow.

"A pillow too? Wow, it's like a 5 star hotel." She just glared.

"If you snore, you're out. If you sleep talk, you're out. You make any sort of noise and you're out. Capisce?"

"Guess it's a good thing I don't sleep then, huh?" Bucky threw the blanket and pillow onto the sofa.

"Now see, that just makes it weird. Like that scene from Twilight." "Well, yeah, when you put it like that it is." His face screwed up at the thought, recalling the scene.

"How do you- Actually no, I'm tired and I don't care." She had been about to ask how he understood the reference, but decided that was going to open a whole can of worms that she didn't care about.

"I may be over 100, but I have seen Twilight. Wanda made me watch it with her." He didn't need to be a mind reader to know what she was about to ask. And he didn't blame her, it probably would be surprising that a 106 year old had seen Twilight.

"Don't worry, Doll, I won't stare. Much." And now it was her turn to scrunch her face up.

"If you fucking touch me, I'll rip that metal arm from your body and shove it so far up your ass." Her sentence trailed off, however, when Bucky stepped closer to her, his gaze intense as he looked down at her.

"And how do you think I would touch you?" Another step closer, making her step back and gulp.

With her mouth agape, Minka was lost for words, probably for the first time in her life. Sharon unknowingly came to her rescue, though, when she knocked on the door while entering.

"Set your alarm for 6," Her eyes narrowed at them both and the distance, or lack there of, between them. "We've gotta be out of here asap tomorrow. Make sure you get enough sleep." "Will do, Sharon." Minka's gaze flicked to her, nodding once before she left the room, confusion plastered on her features.

"Right, well that's bed time then." Her tongue ran over her lips nervously, and she was painfully aware of Bucky's eyes watching. "I'm going to get changed." She turned and basically ran to the bathroom attached to her room.

"I'll be out here waitin'." "You're disgusting, don't think anything." "Wouldn't dream of it, doll."

#ya'll this gif makes me feel things #also i suck at knowing when to end & start paragraphs i'm sorry #bucky barnes #bucky barnes oneshot #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x reader #sebastian stan #sebastian stan oneshot #sebastian stan imagine #sebastian stan x reader #marvel #marvel oneshot #marvel imagine #marvel x reader #avengers #avengers oneshot #avengers imagine #avengers x reader

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