#i suppose there's a chance that if the movie is dreadful the fandom will Rise

[words-writ-in-starlight]

Just saw Animorphs is getting a movie. Any thoughts?

I never keep track of media news, so asks like this are the only way I learn anything about movies.  I went out and did some research and...

Listen.

I’m going to try to go into this with an open mind.  I’ll read all the reviews and Internet comments when it comes out, and I might even go see the thing in theaters, if theaters are a thing again by then.  I work hard not to be completely consumed by my pessimistic nature about stuff like this.  I’ve been wrong about movie adaptations before--maybe I’ll love it and watch it a hundred and fifty times and finally revel in the Animorphs Renaissance I (and they!) deserve.

However.  First problem I foresee, the last two things that were made by Scholastic were Goosebumps and Clifford the Big Red Dog.  I am not optimistic about what that portends for a book series best known for gore, body horror, war crimes, moral ambiguity, and the grim realities of how there is no such thing as a just war.  Offhand, I can’t think of a way to make a G or PG live action Animorphs movie that is...good.  Maybe if you bump it to PG13, we could talk (admittedly, the guy in charge of Picturestart has been involved with a lot of blockbuster YA movie adaptations, all of them with serious problems in my opinion but not always, like, ruinous problems, eg: Hunger Games, Divergent) but even then, they’ll probably end up cutting back on a lot.  Okay, I’ll live if they cut the body horror (I’ll complain, but I’ll live) but it is a series about war.  There’s only so much you can cut to get under a rating and preserve the actual point of the story.  This is the short version of my long ramble about how an animated Animorphs series would be better and more functional in basically every way.  Which brings me to...

Second problem I foresee, how much are these fools planning to adapt????  On the one hand, I think you could very competently turn The Invasion into a full length movie without, A, a huge amount of dull filler breaking your pacing into tiny pieces, or, B, losing any important plot or character beats.  On the other hand, I absolutely do not trust movie studios and I’m concerned that their desire to have Ax for the Alien Value will make them over-ambitious and try to do multiple books.  Don’t do multiple books.  The Invasion is plenty of plot for a movie.  If you desperately desperately want to shoehorn Ax in there (I don’t think you should do this!!!!  Scholastic, are you looking at my post?  Are you there, Eric Feig?  It’s me, Starlight.  Don’t do that!  And if you HAVE to do that, call me to check your plans!), you can just pop him on Elfangor’s ship and have an emotional beat about Elfangor’s death, or else have Elfangor give the kids an exact location and make it their first Morphing Caper to go get an alien.  Don’t do multiple books.  One book.  If this movie covers more than one book, I am going to be Very Upset, and I will without a doubt have reason to be Very Upset, because it will be a mess.

As some just...general concerns: 

I’m concerned that they’re going to make everyone a one-note character.  Specifically, I’m concerned that this is going to be a movie starring Protagonist Boy, also featuring Clown Boy, Nice Girl, Mean Girl, Alien, and Cautionary Tale.  

I’m concerned that they’re going to strip back the moral ambiguity to the wire, which is to say “everyone but Tom is A Bad Guy, no complications needed.”  I know everyone gets a lot of jokes in about the Oatmeal Book, but that book and others like it make the requisite legitimate points about the issues with fighting Controllers.  Those are real people!  Make sure you mention it!

The Yeerk Pool scene at the end of Invasion is an outstandingly good moment to underline that.  Hell, you can dredge up the later Yeerk Pool scene of the temporarily free Hork Bajir and humans forming a wall of bodies to buy the kids time to run, shove that in there (because we’re not going to do multiple books, right Scholastic????).  Foreshadow the absolute shit out of it with Tom and the other Controllers (hell, if you gotta, have Jake discover why Chapman is voluntary when he scopes out his office), and then come out swinging with the free hosts protecting the kids with their own bodies, and you’ll be able to minimize the “gore” rating while preserving the “body snatcher horror” aspect.

I’m concerned they’re going to overplay the humor.  These books work because they understand how to balance humorous scenes with serious scenes, and how to employ dark humor during dark scenes, and when there shouldn’t be any fucking jokes.  If I hear one joke during Elfangor’s death scene, I’m suing.

Basically, I’m concerned about these books getting the Percy Jackson treatment (or, apparently, the Artemis Fowl treatment), by which I mean that I’m worried they’re going to make an objectively terrible movie, which will be righteously hated by the fans and critics alike, and then they’ll go “okay, these books are poison, we will never adapt them into anything again.”  Which would be tragic on a lot of levels, most of all that it will mean I never get the animated Animorphs series we all deserve, ideally featuring one episode per book (except the Invasion, which obviously deserves a double-length pilot) and directed by, I dunno, Noelle Stevenson or someone else who will give us the bisexual Marco and gender-confused Ax and deeply traumatized Tobias I crave.  I would trust the She-Ra team implicitly with the Animorphs.  Not so much the companies that gave us The Maze Runner and fucking Clifford.

[chromecutie]

Not A Ghost - part 13

A/N - Multi-part fic. Colossus x OC where OC has come home after being wrongfully imprisoned in the Icebox. Warnings for whole fic - references and flashbacks to harsh prison environment, including various types of abuse. Takes place shortly after events in Deadpool 2. Whole thing will end up on my AO3 eventually.

Taglist: @emma-frxst  @ra-ra-rasputiin  @holamor ​  @empressme-bitch  @marvel-is-perfection  @hazilyimagine ​ @marvel-forever-17 @rovvboat @angstybadboytrash ​ @whitewitchdown ​ @master-sass-blast ​ @mori-fandom @mooleche @dandyqueen . Wanna be added or removed? Holla at me.

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Wade insisted he wanted to play games, and Pictionary was the lowest effort game they could get him to agree to with the least chance of him inflicting property damage or bodily harm. And, as it happens, Piotr and Rhonda were absolutely unbeatable at Pictionary. Piotr could convey complex ideas quickly, with his honed skills, and Rhonda knew well enough how he thought that he usually didn’t even have to finish his sketch on the big dry erase board before she guessed correctly. Rhonda herself wasn’t much of an artist, and though her inelegant diagrams were inscrutable to Wade and Cable, they were very clear to Piotr.

For Rhonda, playing a game felt nice, but a little strange and uncomfortable like slipping into old clothes from when her tastes were very different. Recreation in the Icebox had been limited to fighting rings, giving or receiving tattoos, and making and hiding the most extreme shivs. Of course she remembered all the times she enjoyed playing Pictionary with her husband, but she also couldn’t shake the last few years being dangerous to focus on anything without also checking over her shoulder every second.

Wade and Cable made a chaotic team. No matter what he was supposed to be drawing clues for, Wade mostly drew penises and added different clothes or props to them. The correct answers for all of Wade’s drawings were a stretch -- several penises with biceps were supposed to be the Summer Olympics. A group of excessively hairy penises was supposed to be the Amazon rainforest. A penis wearing a beard, a sweater vest, and a Rage Against the Machine tattoo was supposed to be a political science professor. And so on.

Rhonda shook her head with a quiet laugh, despite herself. For a long time, she was the most mischievous person Piotr would keep close in his life, and Wade was orders of magnitude more impish than Rhonda had ever been - even counting the time she smuggled in some weed brownies to eat with Ororo and Ilyana. As Wade drew a penis with insect wings that was supposed to be Jeff Goldblum, she thought he was an unusual choice of friend for Piotr. But then, Piotr had also started dating a telepath, so maybe he had a few changes himself that she didn’t understand.

Cable huffed, “That’s it. I wanna switch teams.”

“Fine,” Wade said, voice completely level, “but I get Colossus.”

Cable and Rhonda exchanged a cold glare, before the four of them rearranged on the sumptuous leather couches according to the new teams. Her chest was tight and it was getting harder to stay calm as she gripped the dry erase marker. Her hand absently found her neck and rubbed where the collar used to sit. Cable drew out his stick figure diagrams - he had precise geometry with perfect circles and straight lines. It took Rhonda a few guesses, and time almost ran out for their turn, but she eventually guessed correctly.

Piotr’s turn was next, to draw for Wade. He had only roughed in a few simple shapes before Rhonda was sure the correct answer would be Claude Monet, but Wade seemed determined to guess everything but the correct answer. Piotr had practically recreated one of the water lily paintings before time ran out and Wade shouted his last guess, “JURASSIC PARK!”

“NO!” Piotr barked, frustrated.

Rhonda looked at her prompt while her husband argued with his friend. She carefully considered the best strategy to draw this out in a way Cable would correctly guess. They set the timer going and she quickly got to work making a rough representation of a werewolf fighting a vampire. Cable floundered through some guesses that weren’t even close, so she slashed a big line through the first one. In another corner of the board, she made her best drawing of Hades from the Disney version of Hercules, with fire around him. She looked over at her teammate and saw his brows knit together so tightly he could hold a half dollar coin in the furrow.

Time was running out. Rhonda twisted her hand in a circle, urgently encouraging him to keep guessing. She started a third drawing with some blocks to represent a city street with skyscrapers, and an arrow pointing under the street, with a lot of crude dollar bills. When she felt the push in her mind, an unwelcome other-ness like sticky fingers crawling along her spine, she froze.

“Underworld,” Cable finally said with complete confidence, two seconds before the timer started beeping.

Rhonda clenched her jaw and capped the marker. She snarled, “Stay out of my head, telepath,” and hurled the marker straight at Cable’s chest.

The marker halted, frozen in space with Cable’s telekinetic ability. He plucked the marker from the air and stood, gently setting it on the coffee table. His gaze fixed on Rhonda in a hard stare. One eye flared with bright orange-gold light.

Rhonda couldn’t stop the fight-or-flight rising in her chest. He looked just the way he had when he came into the Icebox and started shooting up the place. He looked like every other inmate or guard who had set eyes on her with murderous intent.

She shifted her stance and some whispers of lightning laced over her clenched fists. They both ignored Wade chattering about the movie Underworld and how it was a cinematic masterpiece.

Piotr moved quickly to get between them, throwing an arm in front of his wife in case she lunged. He shook his head at the silver haired soldier, “Please, Cable, don’t press her. Leave my wife alone.”

Cable’s brows quirked, then softened. “You’re scared of me?” he asked, but it didn’t sound much like a question. He eased a step backward. “You’re scared of everyone,” he said with more certainty.

“STOP IT!” she yelled.

She flicked her hand. Wade cocked a handgun. Cable shifted and raised his fist, ready to deflect.

Piotr caught her around the torso, immobilizing her, and raised his voice, “Wade, Cable, no!”

But instead of a bright streak of electricity arcing through the air, only a few paltry sparks flew and died no more than eight inches from her fingers.

Cable was never in any danger from her.

Wade giggled, smirking, “What is that, a warning shot? Or are you about as vicious as a nine-volt battery?”

“Drop it, Wade,” Piotr was desperate to de-escalate. It was so unlike Rhonda to lash out like this. He regretted putting her in a room with his friends when he knew she was uncomfortable with Cable, and Wade could be an abrasive jackass who wouldn’t leave well enough alone. This was a mistake.

Rhonda tried to wrench herself from her husband’s grip, only managing to bruise her ribs against his arm. “Let me go,” she growled.

“[No fighting. Relax,]” Piotr rumbled in Russian close to her ear. He kept his tone calm with her.

She lashed out with her legs, trying in vain to squirm out of his arm. “[Take your hands off me, now!]”

“[Not until you relax.]”

Wade raised his gun, but didn’t point it. “Uh, should I…?”

“No!” Piotr and Cable said at the same time. Cable took a few steps backward, palms up.

Rhonda huffed, winded from struggling against a giant vice grip.

“I promise it’s airsoft!” Wade said indignantly, “Look.” With a soft hiss, a small plastic pellet hit Cable in the chest. Cable grunted and before anyone could respond, Wade puffed his airsoft pistol again and shot Rhonda in the forehead.

The sting was enough to startle and stun her, and she halted her struggle against her husband’s grip. Still, he didn’t let go until she mumbled through a clenched jaw, “I’ve got an appointment with Hank. I should go.”

Finally, Piotr released his hold around her torso and gave her space. She took a deep breath, wincing at her sore ribs. The floral paint on her right arm had cracked all over from the motion, and was flaking off to reveal the Xs lurking underneath. Without looking anyone in the eye or saying another word, she stalked off, snatching her cardigan off the couch on her way out.

Cable watched her go, and when the door to the lounge shut, he turned to Piotr. “That’s all she’s got, isn’t it? The sparks. There used to be more.” It wasn’t quite a question. He knew. He had read her dread and humiliation and disgust and heartbreak.

Piotr swallowed and forced himself to speak evenly, “The power dampening collars in the Icebox.”

Wade shrugged and crossed to a shelf that had a bowl of mints. He picked through them until he grabbed a half dozen that were shaped differently from the rest. “Hellooo my little friends! Daddy needs some Percocet!”

Piotr looked at the candy dish in horror. He quickly set to laying into Wade for hiding pharmaceuticals in the candy; Wade insisted it wasn’t a big deal since it was in an adults-only room, and he was probably doing the X-Men a favor.

Rolling his eyes, Cable politely excused himself and headed for the infirmary.

--

Rhonda’s follow up with Dr. McCoy went well enough. He didn’t ask her why she had shown up so early, nor did he prod her about seeming agitated. “Take things as slowly as you need,” he reminded her, “Your relationships with your friends, with yourself...it will all come back.” Hank gave her a reassuring smile.

She nodded, but her jaw didn’t relax. Her gaze set on the paper bag full of medication for injuries and infections that hadn’t quite healed on their own. The paper crinkled in her fist. “Thank you,” she forced herself to speak.

Pointing at her arm, Hank said, “This looks nice. Piotr?”

Her expression flickered brighter when she followed his gesture to the flowers on her arm. “Yeah, we were playing with paint this morning,” she explained. “It was gorgeous when it was fresh.”

Hank watched her smile fade and fidgeted with his stethoscope. He went to the supply drawers and took out the spare lightbulb from a few days ago. “Try this again,” he held it out to her.

Rhonda heaved a sigh loaded with hesitation. “No.”

The doctor’s encouraging smile didn’t falter. “Why don’t you take it with you, then?” He set to putting it back in its flimsy cardboard box. “That way you’ll have it whenever you’re ready. When you can light this bulb, we’ll move on to other things. How does that sound?”

Crinkling the bag and letting out another slow breath, Rhonda begrudgingly took the boxed lightbulb. “It feels like I’ll be like this forever.”

Hank saw the chance to get her to elaborate, “Be like what?” When she gave him a pointed look, he didn’t push. “It will feel like that sometimes,” he conceded, “even when you know you’re doing better. I think it helps to remember you have a lot of people who love you, no matter what you’re able to do.”

Rhonda returned a weak smile. “Thanks,” she said, “I’ll try.” She gestured a loose salute with the lightbulb, and backed out of the office.

She almost backed right into Cable, but he sidestepped her and cleared his throat. Startled, she spun, ready to drop her things and throw punches right for his gut, but he took another step back and raised his palms.

“I want to apologize,” he began.

Her jaw worked, chewing on her emotions as she tried to remember she was home and to keep her manners. Rhonda took a moment to study the opulent wallpaper over Cable’s shoulder before meeting his eyes. “And?” she prompted.

“I have a...condition,” Cable gestured with his left hand, which was metal, but a little darker and less polished than Piotr’s steel. All the way up his arm and over his shoulder, the metal crept up his neck, where his skin puckered and pinched as it gave way to the metal. He continued, “I use my psionic powers to keep it from getting worse, and sometimes that makes it harder to control my telepathy.” He lowered his hands and let them rest on his belt. “I’m sorry I got in your head. There’s...some heavy shit in there. It’s harder to avoid than most people’s thoughts.”

The tension in Rhonda’s shoulders eased just a hair. “Most people can’t feel a telepath poking around,” she warned, “I can.”

Cable nodded, “So it’s hard for you to trust us.” At Rhonda’s sharp inhale, he added firmly, “That part’s obvious, ma’am, I don’t have to pull for it.”

“Ma’am?” she scoffed, trying to force herself to loosen up.

“Just tryin’ to be respectful,” he took a step to the side, starting to edge away. “And maybe,” he added, fumbling for words, “Try practicing to music.”

Her brows twitched together and she tilted her head. “Okay?”

Cable shrugged, “Just something my daughter would probably say if she met you. She used to say music made everything better. A lot of good advice.” He gave a warm smile that didn’t show any teeth, but made him look years younger and with half of whatever worries he carried now.

They exchanged curt nods and went their separate ways. With her meds and the lightbulb in hand, Rhonda headed to her room. She shook her head wondering why, as a dancer, she hadn’t thought of practicing to music herself.

[kittenwritesstuff]

Touch it off

Fandom: Marvel Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader Genres: tiny bit of angst, fluff, humor Words: 2.260 Summary: A sudden turn on a mission forces Bucky and reader to seek a place to hide. During the wait Bucky has a surprising request - requested by Anonymous

You have been on countless missions, easy and difficult ones, short and long, dangerous and exhausting.  You were paired up with all of the team, yet nothing could ever prepare you for what you have been faced with now.

A god-only-knows how much time, locked in what looked like storage, with your very good friend. Sure, you wouldn’t be panicking if it was somebody else, but Bucky… Bucky makes your blood boil every time you’re near him.

And no, not in a bad way. He doesn’t annoy you and heavens know you are not scared of him because of what HYDRA made him do. You have met him when he was recovering, trying to regain his memories. You, Sam and Steve had traveled to Romania to save Bucky and you weren’t thinking about anything else than to get everybody somewhere safe.

But then, as the conflict was, more or less, solved and you were staying at Wakanda, you and Bucky have become more than just teammates. You had been supporting Steve where Bucky was in cryo, and then when he was awoken, you had helped him readjust.

Quickly, Bucky and you become friends. Hours spent on talking strengthen the bond between the two of you gradually, and much to your happiness, there were times when Bucky favored your company over Steve’s.

Still, you made sure than two old friends were around each other frequently enough, more often than not ending up as the third participant of movie nights, pranking Sam or simply reading books while cuddling.

Yet, somewhere along the way, when your mind was at ease, when there was nothing threatening, you noticed that Bucky has become significantly more important. You couldn’t imagine not seeing him, even once a day. You had waited for him to knock on your door where a nightmare woke him up in the middle of the night. When something happened, Bucky was the first person you wanted to tell.

It happened quietly, as if you were always meant to fall in love with him, you just needed time to grow to it, just as Bucky. It was easy to be around him and forget about all your worries when he started to joke or sing a song from his past. It wasn’t hard to lose yourself in his stories about old times, or when enthusiasm lit up his ocean-like eyes when he kept rambling about a new thing he discovered.

Of course, you read about soulmates in many books. However, it never occurred to you that the term might be real, might be reflected in your own life. It seemed impossible to feel something that strong, something that fulfilling and earth-shattering to other person.

It all changed when you got to know Bucky. When you realized that you truly thought that his and yours soul were the same.

Or, because to you Bucky’s mind and soul were as rich and beautiful as a galaxy, you and him were made from the same star.

You didn’t utter a word to anyone. Although you were sure that Nat knew (she always knows, nothing can be a secret for too long around her), nobody was to know about what you truly felt for Bucky.

Simply because you did not think he would feel the same way about you. What else could you be to him but a supportive, kind friend?

“Y/N? You okay?” Bucky whispers close to your ear, bringing you back to the present moment. Your situation is problematic, to say the least.

The two of you were supposed to sneak in to a probable HYDRA facility and retrieve the Red Notebook, which somehow got into their hands again. Bucky’s brain was fixed, but better safe than sorry, right?

Well, sure, it was going perfectly until you stumbled upon a room, filled with dozens of armed HYDRA soldiers, looking as if they were waiting for a certain someone to come in. You assumed it was most likely Bucky they were waiting for.

So, you and Bucky did one thing you could at the moment. You ran to a nearest empty place which happened to be a storage. You have sent a message to T’challa, asking for help and now you are stuck in a small space with your crush, who is pressed in a weird position against your back. His arms are propped on a wall in front of you, just above your head, his feet on the floor between your slightly parted legs. And for some reason he’s been trying not to touch the opposite wall, but you didn’t have time to sneak a peak of what’s there.

You rest your forehead on a cold wall, heaving out a sigh.

“I’m fine, Buck. You?”

“You don’t seem fine,” he remarks seriously but you can hear concern in his voice.

“I’m very much fine, really. I just don’t like this place.”

“Yeah, me neither. How long Kitty King said it would take him?”

You roll your eyes, happy that Bucky can’t see you. No matter how long he and T’challa spent with one another, they couldn’t stop picking on each other. The bickering seemed to their way of communication and various sarcastic nicknames soon subbed for their real names.

“An hour, more or less. I’m counting on less.”

“Same here, doll. I don’t think I can bear much.”

“What, you’re not happy to be in my company?” you tease, glancing at his over your shoulder. You can hardly see more than his jaw and his lips, which are curled up in a smirk.

“Nope, that’s a huge perk of being stuck here. It’s just that- you won’t panic, will you Y/N?”

A cold shiver runs down your spine but you brace yourself and shake your head.

“Good, ‘cause there’s a loaded grenade launcher behind my back.”

“A what?!” you shriek, suddenly very fond of the wall as you press yourself further into it, folding your arms on your chest. You place your palms flat onto the wall, your head resting on them.

Bucky shifts a bit closer to you, gaining a small, yet oh so important distance from the weapon.

“Why the hell is it loaded?”

“Dunno, Y/N.”

“Who keeps a loaded grenade launcher in a tiny storage?”

“Maybe they wanted to have it close at hand?”

“Bucky!”your voice rises an octave and Bucky shushes you.

“Just breathe, doll. T’challa is going to rescue us and we’re going to get out alive from here.”

“Promise?”

“Yeah, promise.”

“Alright,” you smile softly as Bucky leans in and kisses the top of your head. Of course, dread doesn’t leave you mind, it skyrockets as you realize that Bucky would be the first one to het the blow.

Damn him and his gentlemanly manners.

“Buck?”

“Yeah?”

“If we get out of here, I’ll make you a pile of pancakes.”

“When we get out of here, Y/N.”

“Okay, when we’re out of here, I’ll make you pancakes.”

“Sounds great. With maple syrup and marshmallows?”

“Sure, whatever you want. By the way, how can you stomach so much sweetness it’s beyond me.”

He shrugs a little, a small movement that sends tickles over body.

“It’s yummy and I love it.”

“Super-soldiers,” you mumble with mocked disbelief, but there’s fondness in your voice and it makes Bucky chuckle soundlessly, his chest vibrating against your back.

You can’t stop a shiver from coursing through your body.

“You’re cold?”

“No, it’s nothing.”

“Y/N?”

“Yes, Buck?”

“This may be our last moment alive - ”

“You’re such an optimist, James.”

“Let me finish, doll. As I was saying, this may be our last moment alive, which is way I want to ask you something.”

His voice sounds oddly bashful and you want to turn around and look at him, but you know you can’t. The launcher could fire, depriving Bucky of a chance to say what he has in mind.

Bucky takes a deep breath and only now you realize how nervous he is. The jesting and lighthearted tone was only a façade, most likely meant for you to stop panicking. But the truth was – Bucky was beyond anxious, stuck in a small space with you, the girl who made him believe in love again, who made him want to share his every waking moment with her, who he wanted to see the first thing in the morning and the last at night.

Sure, for a very long time he only thought of you as a great friend and frankly, never even considered a possibility that you might want something more, yet now, when he was face to face with the possibility of missing his chance, Bucky decided that there he couldn’t wait anymore.

“Can I kiss you?”

Time freezes, for both of you. Bucky’s afraid that with that question he’s ruined your friendship and you frown, unable to believe your own ears.

Has your mind tricked you?

“W-what?” you cleverly ask, shifting a little to be able to gaze at him.

Bucky’s tongue glides over his bottom lip as his eyes drop at your parted mouth.

“I know I never gave you a sign, doll, but damn, now I know I should. I was a blind idiot, so forgive me for wasting so much time.”

“O-okay,” you mutter and Bucky nods.

“So, I’m gonna kiss you now.”

“Sure,” you smile and tilt your head to the side when Bucky leans in. Your lips meet and even though the position is not very comfortable, you wouldn’t want it any other way.

The kiss is tender and chaste only at the beginning. It quickly turns into an intense, hungry one, both of you desperate to taste one another and you moan breathlessly when Bucky’s tongue rubs against yours in the second you part your lips.

His flesh hand lands on your hip, the metal one remains propped onto the wall as you reach to hold onto it while your other hand tangles into his hair, pulling him closer.

You only break the kiss for a short moment when the two of you need a breath, but as soon as your lungs are refilled with air, your lips are locked again, not having enough of each other.

The two of you are way too lost in one another to hear the sound of shooting, quickened footsteps and shouting in Russian. Surely, with your senses invaded and focused only on Bucky, you are too overwhelmed to fathom that the facility is very quiet.

Much to your surprise, the door to the storage is swung open and you pull away from Bucky with a yelp, covering your mouth with the hand you had in Bucky’s hair.

“They’re fine. Found them making out in a storage at the back,” Sam reports into his com, amusement evident in his voice and you wish that the Earth opened up and swallowed you.

Of course, nothing of that sorts happens and you have to walk past snickering Sam as, with Bucky’s help, you squeeze yourself out of the small room. Before you close the door, you look in the opposite corner and your eyes grow wide, your blood boiling with not lust but anger.

“James Buchanan Barnes!” you growl, spinning around and marching towards the man.

“Y-yes, babydoll?” you got to admit, he tries to keep his cool, despite looking more than frightened.

“Are your eyes fine? I mean, do you maybe need glasses?” you sync your steps with his, being now at his side as you stare at him with feign worry.

“No, why are you asking, my beautiful angel?”

“Don’t sugar me, the launcher wasn’t loaded.”

“You told her it was loaded?!” Sam gives in to the laughter, cackling loudly as he pats Bucky’s back while passing him. Bucky gulps and tries to sport an innocent look.

“Y/N, please-“

“Stop with puppy eyes, you’re in so much trouble once we’re back in Wakanda.”

“But pancakes?” he whines and you throw your arms in the air.

“No pancakes for you. No cuddles and no Eskimo kisses either.”

“Y/N, doll, please!”

“No, Bucky,” you say sternly and climb into a quinjet, Bucky following  suit. Before you can take a seat next to Sam, who’s the pilot, Bucky drops onto his knees in front of you and wraps his arms tightly around your hips. You roll your eyes at him.

“I’m sorry.”

“You better be.”

“I’m a fool.”

“There’s no denying it.”

“I’m only a fool for you,” he murmurs and pouts adorably and you can feel yourself melting at the sight.

“You guys are so fucking sappy,” Sam mumbles, though he doesn’t sound disgusted. There’s an odd fondness in his voice. “Y/N, he meant well, he’s just incapable of showing his emotions without life-threatening danger looming over his head. He created favorable circumstances.”

“Is that true?” you quirk up a brow and Bucky nods his head fervently.

“Are you comfortable in this position?” you ask, spinning your finger over your lower half and Bucky.

“Yes, why?” he knits his brows a little although the sparkles in his eyes tell you that he knows what you meant.

“You’re gonna be in it a lot tonight,” you announce and laugh when Sam lets out a heavy sight, mumbling something about not being paid enough to deal with this shit.

You giggle when you feel Bucky’s head pressing against your stomach and you comb your fingers through his hair.

Even if the danger wasn’t real, what Bucky said was, and you think you can forgive the little antic.

After all, you gained a whole lot more.