#winter soldier goes by frost

[loveindefinitely]

༊*·˚ FOREVER WINTER (IF YOU GO) — task force 141 x reader

12 — IN SOME SAD WAY, I ALREADY KNOW

featuring. simon 'ghost' riley + johnny 'soap' mactavish + kyle 'gaz' garrick + john 'bravo six' price + (non-endgame phillip graves)

warnings. nsfw, fem!reader, fmmmm, enemies to lovers, slow burn, polyamory, ghostsoap, pricegaz, alerudy, heavy angst, requited unrequited love, graphic violence

series masterlist. read on ao3. read on wattpad. fanfic playlist.

<- previous part | next part ->

“A written statement from the General himself.”

You mindlessly nod, eyes unfocused and ears ringing as you sit at the conference table, Laswell at the head with the paper in hand. Her brows are furrowed, and one of her hands rests at her hip as she reads over the paper’s contents once more.

Everything feels numb. Like your entire body’s been reset, and nothing makes sense – as if your very existence has been muffled.

Price and Ghost sit at the table, too, sharing looks with each other. The Sergeants are out training rookies – and a small, minute part of you is grateful. You don’t want them to see you so…

Whatever you are. Numb, cold, unfeeling. Any adjective that fits.

“Shepherd traded her,” Price seethes, knuckles whitening on the tight grip he has around his pack of cigars. 

“But why?” Laswell asks, exasperated, pacing at the front of the conference room. The overhead beams have been left off, so the frosted window is the only source of light. It allows a soft, gentle glow from the moon to fill the room, and it helps with your racing mind.

“We need to find him,” Ghost demands, voice gruff and icy. Thinly veiled anger – you recognise the tone all too well. 

“This gives us evidence to push the search further,” Laswell cuts in, her footfalls pausing as she searches the scrawled handwriting for something. “And it opens up a new trail. Why did Graves want you? And what did Shepherd deem worthy of trading his star soldier?”

Your leg’s bouncing, the soft tap tap tap of your foot against the linoleum floor sounding more like a ticking time bomb than anything.

When you look up from the table, your eyes instantly clash with a pair of dark brown. Ghost.

He’s watching you – something hidden behind his gaze that you can’t unpack. Not now, at least, with your mind racing at a million thoughts per hour. With your body feeling as sensitive as a live wire. Every breath feels manual, a feat in and of itself.

You break your eye contact with him suddenly, weary, looking to the window instead. The moon isn’t so complicated; doesn’t hold so many layers of darkness, both in colour and soul.

There’s nothing like the feeling of moonlight against your skin, the brush of nightly breezes against your chilled skin.

“Sweetheart –” Your attention instantly goes to Price, whose hands are clasped on the table, gaze heavy where it sits on you, “Do you know anything at all that could help us. Any leads.”

You go to open your mouth, but everything feels wrong, your stomach sinking and hands trembling and vision going blurry.

Without any thought, or reason, you abruptly stand, slightly shaky on your feet. You swallow, once, a difficult movement against your barren throat. Scratchy and harsh.

“I – I’m sorry, I need a moment,” you manage to mutter out, taking a step back in a shadow of defence.

Brows furrow, a question’s asked – you don’t hear, don’t see, because all you can do is turn and bolt out of the room, shouldering the door open and heading down the hospital light-white corridor, the white burning your vision.

Your eyes sting with unshed tears, your chest heaving, the echoing sound of your boots against the floor a distant soundtrack.

“Fuck,” you mutter, palms coming up to rub harshly at your face as you slow, unsure. You just need space, a moment to yourself, a place to break apart with no one as your witness.

A slightly ajar closet to your left seems like your best bet.

Heading for it, you push in, the stale scent of cleaning products hitting your nose. It’s difficult to find any part of you that cares in the slightest.

The door closes, and you just stand, for a moment, your head resting against the wood. Every breath rattles your bones, like your core is falling apart at its seams. Another breath. Two more.

Except it’s getting harder, with every breath, to fill your lungs. They come out harried, shallow and not unlike slices of a knife against your windpipe. They tear from your mouth like coughs.

Your back hits the wall, and you slide down, until you’re sat on the floor, head sat between your bent knees as the first tears finally fall down your cheeks. Hiccups leave your chapped lips, and you squeeze your eyes shut as your shoulders shake.

You haven’t allowed yourself to break down like this in... Gods, you can’t even remember. All you know is that it hurts, at your very core, but it’s also kind of freeing.

It’s as if your world is closing in around you; your breaths doing nothing to quell that intense sense of suffocation, cruel in the grasp your fear has around your throat. Nothing makes sense – everything hurts, your tears leave lines of heat down your cheeks –

The door creaks open.

Heart stuttering in your chest, you look up from your balled up frame with blurry vision, to see who your intruder is. Did Gaz or Soap leave the rookies early? Did Price or Laswell get worried and come check on you?

“Sweetheart.”

The tall, threatening frame of the man fills out the small crack of the door in a way that has your breath catching for a whole other reason.

“Ghost?” You find yourself asking, your voice threatening a whine with the state you’re in. 

He steps in, the scent of blood and some cologne filling the space as he does. You wipe at your bloodshot eyes, curling in closer.

“If you want to kill me, this is probably your best bet,” you bite, posturing, an attempt of goading so your image isn’t completely ruined. The idea isn’t completely unfound, either – he very well could pull out his gun and shoot you clean through the head.

He shakes his head, closing the door – allowing pitch black to envelop you both.

“You’re too cheeky for your own good,” he mutters, and despite all of your notions of the man, he slides into a sitting position next to you.

If you could stabilise your breaths, you would, if for no other fact than your own embarrassment. Your body still trembles, and small hiccups still leave your lips with every shaky breath.

His presence is warm against yours, and when he moves, the fabric of his uniform brushes against your own.

“Why are you here?” You find yourself asking, a whisper under your breath. Just loud enough for him to hear, for him to hear the fragile undertone. The risk you’re taking, sitting beside him in this state. 

He looses a breath – easy, soft. Unlike everything you know about the hulking man. “I understand.”

You can’t help the uneasy chuckle that leaves your lips. “You understand? Mister been-conspiring-against-me-since-day-one?”

“I understand what it’s like to have the weight of the world on your shoulders, with no one you trust there to hold you, too.”

You look to him, but in the darkness, it’s more of an instinctual act than anything. 

“Didn’t realise you were a poet, Lieutenant,” you chide, voice breaking slightly around the syllables. He doesn’t comment; a small mercy.

He shrugs, brushing against you as he does. “Not a poet. Just a soldier.”

“And an asshole,” you hum, and you can’t help the breathless laugh that escapes you when he elbows you in the dip of your waist. You elbow him back, unthinkingly, freely.

Silence fills in the gaps, except for the background noise of your shaky, tight breathing, and the bounce of your knees.

That is, until the man beside you breaks it.

“I asked my dog what two minus two is,” Ghost says, easily. You loosen your posture, just slightly, brows furrowed when you turn your head towards him once more.

“What are you on about?” You ask, incredulous. He shrugs. Nods.

“I asked my dog what two minus two is,” he continues, despite the confusion that is surely emanating off of you. “She said nothing.”

You let out a shocked, lost bark of a laugh at that, turning your body around so you’re facing him in the enclosed space. “Was that a dad joke?”

“I found out why my dog’s such a bad dancer,” Ghost starts once more, continuing despite your elongated groan. Seems to relish in your dismay.

“And why’s that?” You entertain him, despite the anxiety in your gut, the words left unsaid burning your tongue.

“She’s got two left feet.”

You heave a sigh, shaking your head – but the corners of your lips pull into a cheesy grin, and your breaths are lighter. Easier, natural, less harsh against your dry throat. “Do you even have a dog?” You ask.

“Her name’s Riley. She’s my family,” he says, earnestly, and your heart shatters just a bit more.

“What breed is she?”

“German Shepherd. Used to work in the military, till a mission gone wrong left her too scared to work in the field. Saved ‘er from the pound.”

How can this man be the same one who threatened your life? Who – who had made it very clear how little he trusted you, and was generally such a jerk? A complete asshole, of whom you had no qualms hating?

“She’d like you,” he adds, and you blink, “Always did like girls more than guys. Strong ones, at that.”

“You think I’m strong?”

You can tell he rolls his eyes, even without being able to see it. “I’ll bring ‘er in, when this is all said and done.”

“When this is all said and done, we’ll probably never see each other again. Small mercies, hey?” Your tone takes on a joking lilt.

He doesn’t laugh.

And it hits you, then. How fragile this very situation is. How unimportant, in the real scheme of things, your relationship with the 141 is. When Graves and Shepherd have been dealt with, where do you fit in? What purpose will you have?

You don’t, can’t, truly fit in with them. They’re already so interconnected, memories spent together that you’ll never understand, connections you have no place in joining.

Oh, what a stab in the gut that is.

“I can get Johnny or Kyle if you want,” Ghost offers, but you find yourself answering just this side of too soon.

“No.”

You realise, as you sit here beside him, that he is all you need. Soap and Gaz would’ve tried to ramble or make a move on you, Price would’ve tried to embrace you. Ghost just sits, and waits, his presence speaking a thousand words. He’s your anchor, right now.

“What does a bee use to brush its hair?” Ghost breaks the quiet, once more, his words steady and grating with the low timbre of his voice.

You exhale, but go along with it anyways. “I haven’t a clue.”

“A honeycomb.”

You scoff, but the smile on your face doesn’t waver – your cheeks hurting from the way it tugs on the muscles of your tired face. “That was awful, Lt.”

“Johnny laughed at that one,” he replies, head tilted to rest his skull against the wall. His arms rest on the bends of his knees.

“That’s cause he feels bad for you,” you hum, satisfaction weighing on your words.

Ghost elbows you once more, a bit too hard, but you find the movement grounding more than harmful. Like a way for your body to come back to itself, and register the world around you. No need for self-destruction or derealisation.

“They really like you, y’know,” he murmurs, and your breath pauses in your chest. “The Sergeants. Won’t shut up about you when you’re gone.”

“Well, if you’re gonna hate me, some support is nice,” you retort, and he huffs a low breath. Pauses, like he’s thinking something over. Weighing the risk and reward of his next statement.

“I don’t,” he rolls his tongue in his mouth, “I don’t hate you.”

“You’ve had me fooled,” you retort, the cool wall against your cheek a steady reminder of the world. “The whole threatening to kill me thing, and all.”

“If it means protecting Johnny, Kyle – even Price, I’d do it. Still will,” he says, the last statement bordering on a warning. “If you’ve somehow fooled us all, then I won’t hesitate to pull the trigger.”

You swallow. Scratch at the skin of your wrist.

“I just need to figure this shit out,” you admit, looking to the roof for answers. “Once Shadow Company’s been taken down, and Shepherd’s dealt with, everything can go back to normal. This’ll just be a blip in time.”

“The Sergeants aren’t going to let you go,” Ghost warns, an edge to his words. “What are you gonna do, anyways? Live in the countryside?”

“I don’t know,” you confess, picking at your fingernails. “I’ll figure it out when it comes to it. We’ve got bigger things on our plate.”

With his shoulder pressed against your own, you let your body relax, your breaths finally even. No tears on the verge of falling down your cheeks – and no fear lacing your veins with a thick coat of adrenaline.

However, that short-lived relief is quickly replaced with the all too familiar crash.

Your head pounds, and your limbs suddenly feel heavy. Your eyelids threaten to close, even though you don’t feel the need to sleep.

“Tired?” Ghost asks, low and soft, careful not to startle you. So at odds with the idea you had of him.

Without meaning to, you lean further against him, using his frame to hold your own up. He doesn’t comment on it. “I’m – just need a minute,” you murmur.

His hand moves to rest at the side of your head, pulling you in so your temple rests against his shoulder. It’s warm, comforting – a parallel to the man of which you thought you hated.

Rest comes easy, at the side of one of the men who wants to kill you.

*

When you come to, it’s with the feeling of fingers brushing through your hair, and the scent of cajun.

The gentle mid-morning light filters into the room, casting light through your closed eyes, the faraway sound of bullets being fired an odd comfort. Soft sizzling, too, can be heard, as well as the chopping of a knife against a board.

“That smells bloody divine, Si,” a familiar, Scottish voice calls, quietened by what you can only suspect is due to your ‘sleeping’. “Ya’d be a bonnie housewife.”

“Watch it, Johnny,” Ghost replies, stern, even with the undercurrent of humour in his voice. 

The fingers in your hair continue to card through your strands, pausing to massage at your scalp every now and then. The movements have you melting further into Soap’s lap.

“Ken the other two are goin’ at it?” Johnny chides, and even without vision, you can see the goading smile on his face.

“I ken you should shut your face,” Ghost retorts, the sound of chopping finally coming to a pause. “And, no, you’re a bloody idiot.”

“Rude.”

Fluttering your eyes open, you let out a small huff of air, stretching your tense muscles. They feel sore with lethargy, and stiff from the position you fell asleep in.

“Mornin’, Sweetheart,” Johnny smirks, looking down at where your head sits in his lap.

When you look towards the kitchen, it's to find Ghost, flipper in hand as he stands by the stove, a glass bowl filled with salad to his side. One thing in particular has you looking twice.

“A bit promiscuous, don't you think, Lieutenant?”

Ghost's eyes narrow, but Soap lets out a pleased chuckle. “Like a lad seein’ an ankle, aye?”

Instead of gloves, the pale skin of his hands is shown for the first time, patterns of ink decorating the back of his hands. The small hint of a sleeve has you desperate to see the full thing.

“You're both fuckin’ ridiculous,” Ghost scoffs, starting to swap the contents of the pan into the salad bowl.

As you move to sit up, Soap’s hands fall to your waist, pulling you so your back presses against his chest. His thumbs trace circles into the skin where your shirt rides up, but it’s more out of instinct than anything else.

“What’d you make us?” You ask, rubbing at your weary, sleepy eyes as you deflate against Soap.

“Cajun chicken ‘nd salad,” Ghost quips, serving up a plate for each of you. It smells nothing short of delicious, and you sit up straighter against the Sergeant.

“Lt and Gaz are our personal chefs,” Soap chimes, squeezing you tighter against him. “Bloody perfect at it.”

Ghost rolls his eyes, but comes over with two plates, setting them on the coffee table in front of both you and Soap. It’s a small space, next to the personal kitchen, but it’s nice. Intimate.

The first mouthful of salad is like heaven on your tongue, and you look up at Ghost with wide eyes as you swallow. “This is amazing.”

“You’d better eat it all then,” he jerks his chin towards your plate, grabbing his own before sitting on the chair to your left. Soap, still with his chest to your back, shovels his food into his mouth like a man starved.

It’s quiet, for a few moments, just the three of you enjoying your food.

“What’s the next step?” Johnny asks, around a mouthful. You elbow him in the side, and he feigns hurt. He swallows, before continuing, “Aye mean, what’re we gonna do? What lead do we follow?”

“I think,” you work your jaw around the words, thinking, “I think if we get to the root, we can bring down the whole tree.”

You scan the two men, and it’s Ghost who understands your words first.

“Shepherd. You think we should take him out first,” Ghost leans back in his seat, studying you with calculating, chocolate brown eyes. They shine in the midday light.

Nodding, you swallow around some lettuce, before continuing, looking between the two. 

“If we can find Shepherd, and learn why everything’s happened the way it has,” you rub at your face, “Then we can bring it all crumbling down. Like dominoes.”

“He’s MIA,” Soap furrows his brows, placing his empty plate on the coffee table. “We’ve tried finding the twat – he’s gone.”

You shrug, a plan forming in your mind like the final pieces of a puzzle connecting. A small, pleased smile spreads on your lips, before you’re moving off of the couch, ready to head to Price’s office.

“Where’s you going?” Ghost queries, leaning forward, elbows resting on his spread knees.

You tilt your head.

“Power in numbers, right?” Heading for the corridor, you open the door, before turning back to look at the two men one more time.

“I know two soldiers who’ve been waiting for a call.”

taglist. @lilpothoscuttings @jng-yuan @iruzias @insatiablekittie @1wh4re1nova @kaoyamamegami @supernaturalstilinski @inthemiddle0feverywhere @msecho19 @nogood-boyo @alfa-jor @lalashhyl @letmeapologise @honeybeeznutz @1mawh0re @lalashhyl @someonepleasedateme @letmeapologise @uhhellnogetoffpleasenowty @inarabee @simp-sentral @littlecellist @clear-your-mind-and-dream @browtfyoudoing @oreo-cream @fanngirl19 @infpt-zylith @marispunk @emotion-no-hot-yes-hotel-trivago @xvintageghostx @thigh-o-saur

[t-lostinworlds]

Warm Winter & Fiery Frost | B.Barnes [Completed]

》 PAIRING: bucky barnes x ex-HYDRA assassin!female!reader

》 TROPE/GENRE: grumpy x grumpy, enemies to lovers-ish, slow burn-ish, angst, fluff-ish

》 SUMMARY: They say opposites attract. You and Bucky were so alike—He was called The Winter Soldier and you were called Frost, for fucks sake—that it's probably the reason why you hated each other. Or was it the denying of powerful feelings in fear of getting hurt? You know, like how the cliché goes. Because you know what they also say: There's a fine line between love and hate.

》 WARNINGS: canon typical violence (blood, guns, combat, etc.), canon divergence, meanness against each other (at the start & that one scene™), emotional constipation! (on both sides. they both need therapy lbr), poorly translated russian prolly, soulmate vibes (not really?), r has bucky at knifepoint quite often (& threatens to kill him), bucky's kink unlocked? (not explored lol), down bad!bucky, r has a backstory, mentions of: past traumas, grooming (no specific ages but it's implied that r was very young), manipulation, experimentation, child trafficking, torture, murder (u know hydra tings), a sweet, happy and open ending (+ if i missed anything pls let me know!)

》 TOTAL WORD COUNT: 29k+ (my longest fic yet)

A/N: i actually started this a year ago??? (according to my doc) which is crazy to me?? bc it feels like i only had this idea for months? where has the time gone. ANYWAYS. first behemoth bucky fic & first fic in a few months so pls be kind ksksks

++ also would like to say that r in this isn't the usual happy-go-lucky, sweet, emotionally capable, sunshine-y person compared to what i typically write but she has her reasons. cold & hardened but mushy on the inside. u know. like our fave supersoldier. they're honestly the same person just different fonts lmao. ANYWAYS,

++ additional note: tumblr has a limit of only 1000 paragraphs (or text block so to speak). the fic itself is 1300 paragraphs so it's waay over the limit. so i decided to cut it into two parts BUT i also posted it on AO3 if you want to read it as a whole already. hope you guys still read and enjoy it! <3

📍 BLOG NAVIGATION ✩ B. BARNES MASTERLIST ✩ MAIN MASTERLIST ✩

⊱ ─────.⋅♚ *｡･ﾟ.★. *｡･ﾟ✫*.

PART ONE | PART TWO

or READ ON AO3

✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ♛ *.

↬ thank you for reading lovely! reblog & leave a comment if you enjoyed! feedback is always appreciated! ++ consider supporting me on ko-fi if you can!

✉ NO TAGLIST: go follow @t-lostinlibrary​​​​ and turn on notifications to get updated on my works!

© t-lostinworlds, 2024 ✘ I do NOT give any permission to repost, translate, & use any of my works (writings, gifs, dividers, etc.) on any platform, with credit or otherwise. Please respect that. Thank you.

[sergeantbarnessdoll]

Cupcakes » Bucky Barnes/Winter Soldier

Pairings: Boyfriend/Avenger!Bucky Barnes x Girlfriend!Reader with the Avengers.

Summary: You made too many cupcakes so you take some to the Avengers.

Warnings: Fluff, language, kissing, pet names

Written on my phone. I’m sorry for any mistakes.

Header made by @buckys-wintersoldier

GIF IS NOT MINE! Credit goes to the creators. I found it on Pinterest.

“Hey, doll.” Bucky kisses your lips sweetly. “What’re you doing here?” He asks curiously.

“A girlfriend can’t visit her boyfriend at work?” You say with a playful pout.

“You can.” Bucky kisses you again. “What’s in the containers?” He asks.

“Cupcakes!” You answered. “I made too many and I thought the Avengers might want some.” You say with a smile.

Bucky wrapped his metal arm around your waist and led you to the conference room where all the Avengers were talking.

“Y/N, brought us cupcakes.” Bucky announces.

You put the two containers on the table and let them get what they wanted. Bucky wrapped his arms around your waist from behind and leaned his chin against your shoulder.

“You’re so sweet to think of them.” He says softly in your ear.

“Like I said, your friends are my friends.” You say with a smile.

Bucky turned your head towards him and kissed your lips. The kiss was short lived when the Avengers spoke up.

“These are amazing.” Steve says.

“You have to teach me how to make these.” Wanda says.

“I see why Barnes is in love with you.” Tony says.

The Avengers continued to compliment your cupcakes while you stood there with a smile on your face.

“Thank you, guys.” You say with a smile.

Bucky took a seat in one of the chairs surrounding the table and pulled you down to sit on his lap. He wrapped his right arm around your waist, his hand settling on your hip.

“Did you make my favorite?” Bucky asks.

“You know I did.” You pecked his lips. “Your apartment smells like a bakery now.” You say with a giggle.

“What’s Bucky’s favorite?” Clint chimes in.

“Chocolate with chocolate frosting.” You tell him.

“Double the chocolate, good choice, Barnes.” Natasha says.

“What can I say? My doll makes the best cupcakes.” Bucky says, looking at you with a smile.

You hung out at the Compound for the rest of the day and you and Bucky went home together.

“I’m sorry about the mess in the kitchen.” You apologized.

“Don’t worry about it, doll.” Bucky kissed your lips softly. “Are mine in the kitchen?” He asks.

“Yes.” You answered.

Bucky kissed you once more before going to the kitchen to eat his cupcakes. You followed him to the kitchen and went straight to the sink to do the dishes.

“I’m so happy that I asked you to be my girlfriend.” Bucky says, wrapping his arms around your waist.

You hummed in response and smiled, turning your head to take a bite of his cupcake.

“Hey!” He playfully scolded. “That’s mine!” He says.

“I’m the one who made them.” You say.

“I know and I thank you for that, but you can’t just take a bite out of my cupcake without asking.” He says.

“My apologies, Sarge.” You say with a giggle.

Bucky took the plate of cupcakes and went to the living room. When you were done with the dishes, you changed into something more comfortable and joined Bucky in the living. You looked at the plate and noticed that he ate five cupcakes.

“Slow down on the cupcakes, baby.” You sat down next to him. “You’re going to get sick.” You say, snuggling yourself against his side.

“I don’t get sick, remember?” He says.

“Oh yea.” You say.

You leaned towards the cupcake in his hand and took a bite of it.

“What did I just say?!” He says, playfully scolding you again.

“I don’t know.” You grinned. “Why don’t you remind me.” You say.

“I’ll do a hell of a lot more than just remind you, babydoll.” He says, kissing you.

🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵

-Bucky’s Doll

[tarottsi]

blood helps roses grow in winter —Retired! Simon Riley & sunshine reader

nsfw | bloody injuries | s.a | hurt/comfort | corruption

retired! simon riley who lives in this one mattress on the floor, barely maintained apartment. he’s not to keen on upgrading on new furniture. it won’t rid of the nightmares. it won’t rid him of the mind throbbing headaches. the only good part of living here, instead of settling in some quiet country side, was his neighbor.

if sunshine was a person, it would be you. those warm smiles. the way you walk with a cool breeze in every step. the way you laugh like flowers could bloom at every note. he was one of the many people who appreciates your presence. neighbors from other floors make it a habit to greet you in the morning as you head for a jog.

retired! simon riley who goes for a jog too. not in a stalker way (he tells himself). you just head on the same direction, same time, same place, as him. always. and you’re either stupid to not notice a bulky 6’4ft man behind you, or you know that it’s him so you feel safe.

it’s always those cute baby pink jogger clothes too. the sun cap with a floral design. and you move with a spring on your step towards the city park. towards the pink bushes of hydrangeas by the benches near the lake, almost everyday like clockwork. she caught him one time, his hands on his knees as the years of life threatening mission took a toll on his body. you slowed down to the same pace as him, making sure they could reach the peak of the hill together.

“do you want some water?” you offer to him. the sun on your back was the hallo glowing from your ethereal kindness. he took the bottle. taking the chance to place his lips where you places yours. an indirect kiss, he prays.

from then on, they would head to the park. side by side, he can see that you aren’t as young a you look. the crows feet and wrinkles on your skin were proof of the earth’s toll on you. the angelic image he made was shattered. you were human. you had flesh he can sink his teeth into. bits and bits of you, he loved the more as he could connect himself with you.

and he saw the signs clearly one early morning in the late december frost. the days were getting shorter, while more and more people yearned for the warmth of the flesh. he wasn’t meant to see it, the rose colored lenses he wore turned cherry red as he saw you on top of a man, heaving and bruised.

swing after swing, the flowers in your sun cap was drenched from the man’s blood. your fist curled in perfect form. a single tooth sent flying, making you turn to see simon. your eyes widened as you lay over the criminal as a champion.

the pink top simon liked was torn from your shoulder, an evidence of a fight or the man under had dragged you by the shoulder to the the alley.

and before realization hits you, that you had toppled a man taller than your size. simon picks you up to ease you from the traumatic incident. he scans you from head to toe, asking when, where, who, and why this as happened (an s.o.p habit of his as a soldier) before he calms you down. breath in. breath out.

you had five light puncture wounds from your shoulders. you were shaking from both the cold and fear after being assaulted, but you held your ground.

nothing makes him love you more than to see you marred, reliant and vicious. the same image only sinners like him could adore.

a/n: i love to see more of older y/n in fics. y/n here is in the mid-30’s and simon in his mid 40’s. oh yeah, blood actually helps roses grow but it can only be done once or twice a year (during winter!). any more than that and it harms the roses.

[samodivaa]

Deny the truth,set my world on fire (Part 4)

Bucky Barnes x Reader (Winter Soldier x Reader)

Part 1⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ Part 2⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ Part 3 ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆* ┗━━━ ━━━┛ He knew that she was having an affair...she denies, but the love marks on her body are still there. She can't tell him the truth, it will break him - the Winter Soldier is indeed inside of him, fucking her at night and Bucky doesn't remember. ┏━━━ ━━━┓ Quotes - Pushkin, Fyodor Tyutchev, Dostoyevsky └── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

Warnings - heavy ANGST, some fluff Words - 3000

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆⋆⋅☆⋅⋆⋆⋅☆⋅⋆⋆⋅☆⋅⋆⋆⋅☆⋅⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ Song ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆Eventually

Did i cry from my own fic? Yes? ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆⋆⋅☆⋅⋆⋆⋅☆⋅⋆⋆⋅☆⋅⋆⋆⋅☆⋅⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

4 years ago Bucky’s triggers words were present more than anything, anyone else in his life. Beneath the sheet of gleaming snow, his human-self slept for decades, frozen in time. And everywhere he goes, it follows him; the past is always spreading ashes of memories : all of Winter’s footprints are effaced by her love, the waves of fury are at peace – she is his homeland shores, grounding his soul like an anchor. „Ah, my last love! Thou art both bliss and pain. And joy - and hopelessness-“ Bucky moves to sit next to her on the couch, putting an arm around her and pulls her in close until his head rests on her shoulder. „Doll, what are you quoting?“ he squints his eyes, quotes always brush against the edge of his curiosity, before taking a peek at her book. „My last love; Fyodor Tyutchev“ she proclaims, hardly attempting to hide her growing smirk. „Am I your last love?“ He drawls, a bit of sarcasm touching his tone, but he feels the seed of doubt embed in his heart at his own words echoes in his head. She just giggles, looking at him with glittering eyes, not moving from her comfortable repose. „Of course, Bucky“ She smiles and nods, before turning her gaze to the book once again, rolling the paper sheet between her fingers and gazing at it thoughtfully. „Read me more, I want to hear more“ he mumbles after completing an impressive yawn. He adjusts his position to get more comfortable on the couch as she continues to read, with his head on her lap. His soul is a wounded dove, it has a painful, longing call. A flying bird about to fall, that was poisoned, festered with the past…and now Bucky is surrendering in her embrace, and quietly drinks the healing rays of poem; of poetry - drinking mouthfuls from this healing light, her light – finally seeing the world bright and complete. "It is amazing what one ray of sunshine can do for a man!” ― Dostoyevsky 3 years ago „Snow, frost and sunshine ... Lovely morning! Yet you, dear love, its magic scorning, Are still abed ... Awake my sweet!“ Suddenly her voice sounds in the nothing of the night. Though no louder than falling snow, it cuts across the emptiness, so shocking in the endless silence that the words seem craved into his mind, crackle of emotions infuses the void of his soul after the nightmare. „Winter morning, Pushkin. Why do you always read me that when I have nightmares, doll?“ he feels an oppressive weight settling over him. „Because after a raging snowstorm, a lovely morning always follows, Bucky“ „Yeah, because you are the sunshine in my mornings“ He burbles out a delirious giggle as sweat streams down his face. Having her in his life is a kiss-inspired dream, he needs to touch her to make sure she is real. With his shoulders squared and his body tenses from the unknown reality, his hand gently outstretches to her face. She responds by inching impossibly closer into his palm with sliver of softness in her eyes. She is real.

2 years ago Nature is an artist as it strokes swiftly a winter wonderland. But now, wretches, every drop of blood — don't stain the innocent snow. The scene is set, exquisitely divine — snow always pluck the vibrating strings of Bucky's mind, but her voice is enough to make his worries melt away. Sometimes they talk of the past where еre any roamed or died. They talk of old times when Winter only meant death and not Christmas chimes. There is no wind to speak of, more an icy winter chill outside; because If he wants to overcome the whole world, he needs to overcome himself so they go for a walk to the park, snow crunching beneath their feet. Their hearts are not connected to each other through mutual understanding alone. They are, instead, linked deeply through the wounds of his past — hanging by a string, loosely holding him from collapsing. And she knows when thoughts are tossing him around, bathing in his blood — so she chooses to speak.

„I still remember that amazing moment. When you appeared before my sight. As though a brief and fleeting omen, Pure phantom in enchanting light.“

„Doll, I really think that you love Pushkin more than me“ „I remember reading him for the first time, it was so romantic“ „You are telling me that meeting me was not romantic?“ „Sometimes I just imagine meeting you in a café, far away from here - I imagine that nothing bad has happened to you, Bucky. Sometimes I wish you didn’t remember the past.“ And this is what Bucky learns now: that her love is an antidote to his worries, always, that stands within this otherness of the world, of nature — the beauty and the mystery of the Winter season, out in the fields or deep inside their favorite books at home — both those activities, her ideas; are re-dignifying his worst-stung soul. He doesn’t need to fight darkness. Bring the light, and darkness will disappear, she is his light. She uses his moment of distraction to move away and makes a small ball of snow and throws it right at his nose. „I was thinki-“ Bucky shouts as he wipes the snow from his face. She has the audacity to laugh as he removes the snow, and he decides to chase her. Bucky easily tackles her into the snow, putting his arm around her to make sure she wouldn't get hurt in the fall, faces very close together. „Now, this is romantic, Bucky“ He nodes his head, speechless still. To heal is to touch with love that which was previously touched by Hydra.

Present „How are you holding, Buck?“ „I’ve lived too long with the pain, I won’t know who am I without it“ „You still quote stuff just like you did with her, Buck. Why don’t you talk to her, she is still recovering I talked with her today“ „She doesn’t remember anything, I want her to move on“ his inquisitiveness nearly outweighed his reluctance to talking to Sam about it, attempting to simmer the flames of the protective nature over her. „She might remember, she needs time, Buck-“ Sam pressures him with a challenging look that he more than gladly returns. Bucky considers the proposal and the fact that Sam is giving him a guarded expression that seems so hopeful, followed by a slight nod of his head before speaking.

„The time I spend at Wakanda, with Shiru- I’ve decided to go with the procedure. I can’t trust my mind unless they restart my bra-“ „You can’t-“ Bucky rises from the chair and is halfway to the door of Sam’s house when he turns and says „Enough, Sam, please“

Bucky has fond a peace in nature which was irreplaceable once; he steps outside looking at the colorful sunset. The sun is out, but he is cold, eyes are wild, but the mind is asleep, the world is alive, but Bucky has dead. Nature is love, nature reminds him of her, but he is aloof of everything that screams live for today — he died the moment he woke up to her laying in the white sheets. ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆⋆⋅☆⋅⋆⋆⋅☆⋅⋆⋆⋅☆⋅⋆⋆⋅☆⋅⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ Flowers will grow back after he stepped on then and maybe in a less miserable times they may see each other again — all his grief says the same things „this is not how it’s supposed to be“ and the world laughs and holds at his hope by the throat „but this is how it is“ The final turn is that. Oh, how strongly grabs them, the secret plot of fate and everywhere he goes, it follows him; the past is always spreading ashes of memories: all of Bucky’s footprints of love are effaced by Winter, the waves of fury are not at peace – no longer is there a homeland shore, no longer someone grounds his lost soul like an anchor.

The sadness won’t last forever, he won’t be able to remember it and for the last time Bucky goes to sleep so he could see her in his dreams for the last time – she taught him everything except to how to live without her – the present feels like the past. It’s a fitting punishment for a monster to want something so much, to hold it in his arms and know beyond a doubt that he never deserved it, that he ruined it – his soul bleeds and the blood steadily, silently, disturbingly slowly shallows him whole –  Bucky is too gone to be healed – he almost robbed her of her life. Now, she will carry the scars forever, but he selfishly remembers their love, there was love and it was theirs. Bucky was too deeply afraid to face her, that the moment their eyes meet and she finds herself staring at a stranger and he will realize that he has become a person she no longer recognizes – he stares at the poem she left for him, it makes him smile, because it reminded him of him and her; of what they used to do – James doesn’t want this to be the end of the chapter but it is – it’s the end of the line for love – nothing ever ends poetically he realizes end and his trust to poetry, it was not beautiful – it was just pain. He performs autopsies on their conversations long ago – he can to lie Sam, but he can’t lie to the hole deep inside – he lets himself cry, it’s better than feeling nothing at – wearing her shirt, because it’s still smells like her, but it will soon fade like his memories of her, of everything, erased forever. How can he live with a conscience that suffers whilst acknowledging his sin; with the memory of knowing she left this poem behind, thinking she would die from his own hands? ◤━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━◥ I loved you; and perhaps I love you still, The flame, perhaps, is not extinguished; yet It burns so quietly within my soul, No longer should you feel distressed by it. Silently and hopelessly, I loved you, At times too jealous and at times too shy. God grant you find another who will love you As tenderly and truthfully as I. Your sincerely, your Doll ◣━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━◢

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„Excuse me for interrupting, but I just saw that you are reading `The Brothers Karamazov` and couldn’t resist coming to talk to you“ a calm voice cut through the silence. „Oh, I just wanted to reread it- you can sit with me“ She has a thoughtful look on her face, heart shattering into so many tiny fragments that it is hard to speak, it leaves her incredulously blinking when she sees his blue eyes eerily crystalline. She only heard about him in periodic whispers over the mouths, hearing about his recovery and adjustment to life all over again.   She never intended to stay long, but she does because it is peaceful and she is not in a rush to leave, but his presence is overwhelming, feeling the presence of eternal harmony, fully achieved just like before. „I need to go for work, it was nice meeting you“   She senses that she should be following a different path, a path where their lines don’t cross. It is too much, she can barely breathes. There is a furious discontent from a moment, which verged on loathing; for her to have all of her memories and for him to be just a stranger taking interest in her book. This inexhaustible fantasy of them meeting again, of them reading books again – she needs to get out here of here, but then Bucky speaks and it’s impossible to smash the idea of them being together into splinters and turn it to dust – his eyes are the ocean, all flows and connects when their eyes meet. „Wait, can I get your number?“ he whispers from beside her, worry clear on his face at her sudden urge to go. He continues to stare intently into her eyes, waiting for their gazes to meet again and he feels his heartbeat speeding up.  „Oh?“ Bucky almost chokes on the air as she turns around to face him, not responding with any words. She just furrows her eyebrows slightly. And it hurts so good that its Bucky’s own free unfettered choice to ask her, to come speak with her. „I want to buy you a book“ his blue eyes trail from her eyes, to her lips thinking about how gorgeous this girl is. She is not sure which is worse – the intense feeling of him being here, or the absence of his previous love for her. Maybe it will be worse if she doesn’t let herself be part of his new life. She is too afraid of giving herself to someone she might lose again, she is too afraid that Winter might come again. Her loyalty to his past, to keeping it a secret its want cost her the most and she needs to bare all of her sins all over again, to keep a secret. „You don’t want to take me on a date?“ she questions while watching him with an amused gaze. „Yeah, yeah – I want to do that, too“ he responses with uncertainty laced in his voice, trying to hide a nervous laugh between closed lips. “You will burn and you will burn out; you will be healed and come back again” „Is that a quote?“ he shrugged, looking startled. „Yeah, it’s from the book, James“ „How do you know my name?“ it is a tormenting thought that refuses to take shape, not even sure if he wants to know the explanation behind this. “I am a fool with a heart but no brains, and you are a fool with brains but no heart; and we’re both unhappy, and we both suffer” Her eyes get a little teary, but she's quick to put a lid on her emotions, it is overwhelming that he doesn’t remember any of her favorite quotes, of the quotes she used to tell him. „Where is that from?“ „Idiot“ „Excuse me?“ „The Idiot, Fyodor Dostoevsky“ she hesitatingly looks at him, he is already looking at her with those ocean blue orbits that hold so much kindness, curiosity, just as they used to. „Oh…that was clever, I will give you that“ he laughs to himself, shoulders shaking with humor. „And I will give you my number“ „Really?“ „No“ “We sometimes encounter people, even perfect strangers, who begin to interest us at first sight, somehow suddenly, all at once, before a word has been spoken”

„That is from Crime and Punishment“ she purposely tries to add amusement to her voice, trying to appear as this has never happened before. She is frozen, words caught in her throat. „Yeah.“ He licks his bottom nervously. "O-okay, I will give you my number"

An invisible thread ties them together – the pull the drag deep inside beneath her skin, the heavy gravity of him. She loved him enough to spend forever waiting, no amount of time is ever enough and even one day if forever runs out, she will be fine, because it’s her decision waiting for Bucky, getting to love him all over again. To exist with him is her greatest privilege and pain – but he has settled into the depth of her soul because, she has found what she loves and it almost killed her – the thought of him forgetting her terrified her before, but it probably terrified him too before his mind was fully reset – she searches for quotes which remind her of them, but he probably did too. This time she is learning him slowly, taking her time; in no rush with her love – there are oceans in James’ eyes and when she looks at them, both emotions and memories hit me waves. Sometimes she wants to scream so loud that the ground trembles, there is so much fear and grief within her that she is decaying from the inside out and there is no one to help me but herself. She needs to stay silent, need to be here for him once again – she loved him and will love parts of him that are not easy to love, turning the pages gently and helping him re-write a happy ending to his narrative. She has loved none, but him and it cuts her soul a million times just to form a constellation to light his way home – angry and half in love with the new him and tremendously sorry for how it turned out for them – it’s not a metaphor, this ache, this fear of Winter all over – but all Bucky’s life was grey before meeting her one day at the café. He brushes up against pink and the barest touch and - the rest of his life is green again, green like Spring. He doesn’t know who he is and the cycle begins again – he pierces her soul ,she is half agony and half love – Bucky is too tangled there, finding his way back to her unknowingly.

And that’s how Bucky imagines it, meeting her all over again after his procedure - in a café, far away from here - he imagines that nothing bad has happened to her. Sometimes he wishes he was just Bucky, sometimes he wishes that the past has never happens - sorrow compresses his heart. His grief passes gradually into quiet tender joy of that daydream. Her memories never returned. Bucky’s memories were deleted successfully. They never met again. ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆Tag list⋅⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ @dear-lolita @i-loveyoubutyourenotmine @blackwood-bodecker-housewife @montyrokz @sarah5462 @mooievis @almosttoopizza @midnightramyeoncravings @itsmadamehydra @ravenromanoff @beetlejuicesupremacy @queenashen @kandis-mom @whitexwolfxx310 @msoldier @venting402 @avery199 @pandabearrrrrrr @tilltheendofthelinepal13 @tokoyamisstuff @happinessinthebeing

“The most monstrous monster is the monster with noble feelings” ― Fyodor Dostoyevsky, The Eternal Husband

[thebestofoneshots]

My mate went off on me because I don’t know who Bucky Barnes (did I even spell that right?) is because I don’t like Marvel. The thing is I couldn’t really tell her “oh I do know who he is, I read smut/regular fics about him on Tumblr”…

Anyway, now I’m obsessed with a fictional character I know nothing cannonically about -🫎

Oh you’ve come to the right person. Allow me to educate you on canon.

His name is James Buchanan Barnes, nicknamed Bucky by his best friend in the whole wide world Steve Rogers (that’s Captain America). But we also call him Winter Soldier, Bucky Bear, babe, or one of Lily’s husbands in the Marvel Universe

What’s his story though? Easy peasy. It’s the 1940s he’s besties with Steve, back when he still looked like a twink, and gets drafted to fight in WWII (tho he pretends he enlisted)

That’s him back then. Yeah, we know. How could you not? Also, he’s played by Sebastian Stan, who is an absolute fluffball of a human being.

Anyway, Bucky gets drafted and then we see Steve’s story where he basically just becomes Captain America.

But then, and this is what the interesting stuff happens, Steve gets sent to a camp to cheer up the soldiers like he’s been cheering up the people, and then he finds out that the 107th Infantry Regiment (Bucky’s Unit) was captured by the German army, so he goes (against orders) to search for him.

After a lot of badass Captain America scenes we finally see our baby again. But oh no! He was tortured by Hydra and they clearly did something to him, we don’t know what.

So, Steve makes friends and they form a team Called the Howling Commandos, and they do a lot of badass things, helping the US army win WWII. In one of those missions, there’s a train.

Oh no the train.

Basically, cool fight scenes and all, Bucky falls off the fucking train on a heart wrenching moment.

And then… we don’t see him again until…

But, and this is a good question, HOW DID WE GET TO THAT?

Well, Bucky falls, hydra rescues him bc he’s alive (it’s the super soldier serum they injected on him while they tortured him), also, that’s when he loses his left arm.

They torture him for years:

Fry his brain so he doesn’t remember Steve and also add a little code so they can control his mind.

That’s how our beautiful and sweet Bucky Barnes becomes THE WINTER SOLDIER

Who is he tho? Basically, Hydra’s trained little weapon that does whatever they ask him to do. But it’s okay, eventually, he starts remembering who he is, and there’s a huge drama with this because Tony Stark (Iron Man) finds out Bucky killed his parents (it wasn’t Bucky it was The Winter Soldier) and gets all mad and pissy about it and wants to unalive poor Bucky.

But Steve thankfully defends Bucky and they escape together to Wakanda, with black panther. There Bucky gets frosted, also he looses his arm because of the fight.

Then he’s defrosted and the Wakanda people get him to get rid of the mind control codes put in by Hydra and this incredible scene happens

They also give him a new metal arm (this one’s black and gold)

And then my boy has to go to therapy (literally forced by the law)

Also he cut his hair too hehe.

I feel like I’ve summed up cannon Bucky pretty well so far. Of course, there’s a lot of emotional trauma and other plot points that I left out, but next time someone askes you about Bucky, you’ll know.

Also, I used to write almost exclusively for him, so the obsession is pretty heavy still, Bucky baby I still love you, I have not forgotten you my dear (my like 10 funko pops of you literally prove this)

Read Bucky Fanfics here

[the-chosen-none]

I have no real interest in mods aside from somewhat following the Frontier mess, but when I found out that the fairly popular old New Vegas Bounties mods included incredibly blatant references to Judge Holden and Glanton from Blood Meridian, plus a character named "Javier Sugar" who speaks several lines lifted straight from No Country for Old Men, I wanted to find out how many references to other things pop up throughout the three mods. Turns out, a LOT.

I identified some of them myself, but eventually when I realized how much time it would take for me to watch a whole playthrough or try it out myself, I decided to look up the rest on TV Tropes and put them all together in a list.

The aforementioned Judge Holden knock-off is also said to be seven-feet tall and is a child predator (though only technically implied to be in Holden's case)

The character literally named Glanton runs a group who goes around killing "tribals"

There's a character named Cormac, as in Cormac McCarthy

During the scene with "Javier Sugar", in addition to all the NCFOM quotes there's also a random quote from the movie The Outlaw Josey Wales thrown in there... to spice things up? IDK, the quote is something like "Dyin' ain't no way of livin', boy"

A character called "Harmonica" references one of the main characters of Once Upon a Time in the West

The ghoul Doc Friday references the historical figure Doc Holiday, and his revolver the Huckleberry references the famous quote from his depiction in the movie Tombstone, "I could be your huckleberry"

Marko's outfit seems to reference the character Loco from the movie The Great Silence.

The Frosthill segment of III is also lifted from The Great Silence, what with its Utah setting during the winter, the main character getting shot through the hand, and bounty hunters pretty much kill the whole town.

Aaron Flagg the cult leader seems to be inspired by Randall Flagg the Stephen King villain

The sniper Charlie Halfcocked references the U.S. Marine sniper during Vietnam, Carlos Hathcock, the previous record holder for the most kills

Tom Quigley references the movie Quigley Down Under, the titular character being played by Tom Sellick.

Enclave members Quantrill and Onoda, who keep fighting despite the Enclave's repeated defeats, are named after Confederate guerilla William Quantrill and WWII Japanese soldier Hiroo Onoda, who did the same for their sides (okay, I thought that reference was pretty good)

Eileen the Fiend = serial killer Aileen Wuornos

Tony Idaho = Tony Montana from Scarface

Tommy the former Omerta enforcer who killed a made man references Tommy DeVito from Goodfellas

Alex and his gang in Freeside reference Alex DeLarge and his droogs from A Clockwork Orange

Freddie the ghoul = Freddy Krueger

Jack, former muscle for Heck Gunderson, references the villain Jack Wilson from Shane, his revolver is called "Shane's Bane"

Albert Quisling = Vidkun Quisling

Mario Barksdale = character from The Wire

Prometheus is named after the subtitle for Frankenstein: "The modern Prometheus", his Deathclaws are Mary and Shelley

Pancho Cortina = Pancho Villa

"Squirrelly" Bill Blasius references outlaw "Curly" Bill Brocius

Angel Lee is a combination of Angel Eyes from The Good, The Bad, and the Ugly, and the actor Lee Van Cleef

Godwin, who mails out bombs, probably references Unabomber

Joe Frost = Edward Snowden

Guys fighting over treasure named Clint and Tuco

Fiend chem lab has characters Walter and Pinkman, references Breaking Bad

John Ramsey's body is put on display with a quote referencing the movie Unforgiven, "This is what happens to assassins/rangers around here".

Those are the ones that I either caught myself or saw other people list, if there's more, go ahead and add on.

Some of the historical references are kinda funny, though others are either tasteless (Aileen Wuornos) or eye-roll worthy (Carlos Hathcock = Charlie Halfcocked, GEDDIT IT'S A GUN JOKE), and the majority of the pop culture references are so blatant and so numerous that it gets annoying.

If I made my own mod or anything else, of course I too would love to stick in a bunch of references to the things I love, though I would try to be less obvious about them, put different spins on them, you know? You can't really judge mods to the same standard as the source, and I would be more forgiving if the rest of the mods didn't look like such an edgy slog.

[landwriter]

Flower King | Dream/Hob | 3.5K | General | Complete

Magical Realism, BAMF Hob Gadling, absolutely nothing to lose Hob Gadling, King of Mortal Realm Dream of the Endless, lonely Dream of the Endless, Quest to Save the Kingdom, not so much a winter wonderland as a winter hellscape, curses that remain unbroken, sad dads reaching out to each other, dream is the antagonist but the real villain is loneliness, mentions of the canonical fates of Orpheus and Robyn, rated G in a fairytale sort of way

“Who goes there?” called a voice. It was deep and heavy as all the snow that covered all the land, and the man knew he was speaking to the king. “I was a soldier once,” he said. “I am nobody anymore.” “Show your face, Nobody Anymore,” said the king. He crossed into the king’s chambers and saw a ghastly figure lying on a bed. If it were not the king’s own bed, he would not have thought the man there the same fair king he had once seen at great distance as a youth. Frost latticed his blue-white skin. His black hair was tangled and wild. A fine layer of snow lay over him as it did everything, like the dust of a forgotten room. For a long moment, the king’s form was so still that the man wondered if he was still able to move, or if he was frozen to the spot. Then cold grey eyes opened, and the king slowly sat up with the same sound of trees creaking and breaking under the snow. His golden crown was trapped in a frozen waterfall of ice that flowed down from his head to drape itself across his shoulders in the mockery of a hooded mantle. The king bore the tremendous weight of it like it was nothing. “What do you want?” he asked. He approached the king and knelt. “I was born in the summer, your grace, and I would like to see another summer before I die.”

A fairy tale about barren winter landscapes, burials, and forgiveness.

[Read on AO3]

[just-a-dinosaur-i-guess]

eternal winter au you say

img from here btw

YESSS i fucking LOVE that au

okay so

lemme just set the scene. fantasy au basically.

it has been winter for as long as anyone remembers. the sun hasn't been seen in centuries, only covered by clouds. sometimes the edges of it will peek out, but never for long. the nights are bitterly cold, and if you do not have a shelter, your blood will turn to ice and your flesh to frost. cities are few and far between, the only way to get to them being dangerous treks on paths only barely there, even with use. the snow does not falter. those who live in seaside villages know that not even the ocean was spared; the waves have long since stopped moving, ships now still, ice as far down as anyone's dared to look. perhaps there is a depth at which its crusade halts, but no one would know.

and in one of these cities, this one being a theocratic city, is nathaniel hawthorne, a priest who has warm lodgings and steady meals. his life is good, it is easy, and then it is not.

walking home one afternoon, he gets bit by a vampire. (they, too, cannot survive in the cold and so must do their hunting in the day. the sun is not there to scorch them, after all.) he's horrified; as anyone else would be, and attempting to go to the church for some kind of help only gets him kicked out.

night is soon arriving, he can feel the chill in his bones, but then the vampire comes crawling back. he learns his name (nikolai gogol), and that he is taking him to his shared home.

he does not have an argument as to where else nikolai could take him. as what little light there is disappears beyond the horizon, they arrive safely.

nikolai lives with a butcher named fyodor, his apprentice sigma; and now nathaniel. fyodor is a fairly devout man and is pissed, to say the least, about nikolai turning a priest. nathaniel and sigma awkwardly get to know each other while fyodor and nikolai argue in the back.

sigma is a rather special person; they have no city that they came from. instead, they came out of the unyielding winter, shivering, having no idea who or what may have made them.

there's others like them; those whose origin comes from nothing but snow and ice are rumored to have powers; magic in their blood, though sigma does not know what type is running through their veins. it has not surfaced yet despite how long fyodor has been waiting.

(it is worth noting that there is another person around like this, a redhead who used to be called arahabaki, but we'll get to them in a bit.)

nathaniel just prays the magic sigma holds could turn him back, to save him from this fate; but perhaps he should have prayed for luck getting used to it.

sigma is interested in helping nathaniel, and fyodor won't argue if it means that sigma gets to hopefully finally unlock his abilities.

as this goes on, elsewhere in the city, two lives once again intertwine. the famous bard, osamu dazai, walks into town, strumming his instrument as always. on the other side of town, chuuya nakahara enters, blade worn from use against elemental constructs that lurk outside of civilization. they meet again as they met at first, in a warm bar with too many people in it.

they used to be a traveling duo, chuuya accomplishing feats while dazai sung about them, but they split up for reasons unknown. dazai still holds onto the songs he wrote of them, but their tunes have all soured.

but he still remembers their softer moments together; chuuya coming to him one late night, telling him arahabaki was not a name they liked being theirs any longer. he told them he'd love them regardless. he said arahabaki was a stupid name anyway.

back to the priest's troubles; eventually, fyodor's friends come to visit. they call themselves the hunting dogs, and they hunt the same things as chuuya does. fukuchi is a good guest, his pack of soldiers the same, albeit a bit chaotic.

nathaniel notes how tachihara seems to get along so well with sigma before he goes and asks fukuchi and the others if they have any cure to the vampirism.

he does not get any results there, and his search to save himself continues.

and that is the plot of my eternal winter au. i hope you like it :)

also i have a pinterest board of it

[voiceoffenrisulfr]

Silver & Gold - Chapter Eight

Everyone's favourite couple go exploring - but not everything goes as smoothly as they'd like. Prompts fulfilled;‘Died in Your Arms Tonight’ -@multifandom-flash (Dozen) - BINGO! (Masterlist here!); ‘Lost in the Woods’ (Alternate), 'Hypothermia' (Alternate), ’Lost in the Woods During a Storm’ - Winter Wonderland Bingo (@seasonaldelightsbingo); ‘Can’t Keep Their Eyes Open’ and ‘Lost Together’– Bug’s First Bingo; ‘Idiotic Partner Confession’– @multifandom-flash (Beehive). CW: Exposure, hypothermia, accidental injury

Check it out below, or on AO3 here. Boards at the bottom. Divider by our own tiny Swan!

Yoshitsune didn’t mention my nightmare when we work in the morning – although he was oddly silent over breakfast, barely uttering a single word as he sipped coffee while I winced at the bags under his eyes.

“Are you okay?” I murmured, poking morosely at my cereal. He signed and looked away for a moment, fingers drumming on his mug, the rhythmic sound of metal on china oddly comforting.

“I have to tell you something,” he admitted quietly. I froze as my heart picked up uncertainly in my chest, a lump forming in my throat and making it hard to breathe.

Is this it? Is he going to tell me he really is sick of me? He offered me a weak smile, shaking his head quickly as he wrapped his fingers with my own, the alloy warmed by his grip on his drink. “Nothing so dire, don’t look so worried. I…” he hesitated, eyes lowering once more. “I saw the fire starting to die, and I didn’t do anything. I was just so comfortable and sleepy, and I didn’t think it would get so cold that…” He grimaced, and I exhaled in a soft laugh, squeezing his hand reassuringly.

“Oh, sweetheart…” I sighed, shaking my head fondly. “My dear, sweet boy.” He met my gaze uncertainly, and I rounded the table to drop into his lap, burying my face in his neck. “You’re an idiot, and I love you so much.”

With a nervous chuckle, he held me close, pressing a kiss to my hair. “You’re not mad?”

“Of course not.” I drew back to press my forehead to his, fingertips tracing his jaw. “Of course not. I don’t blame you at all, Silver. My silly boy.”

“But… But I know you get nightmares when it’s too cold; I should’ve-”

I silenced him with my lips on his, hand knotting in the hair at the base of his neck. “No. What you should have done is stayed cuddled up with me, happy and content, just like you did. It wasn’t even a cold-induced nightmare – they’re… Specific.” I winced reflexively, and his arm tightened a little around me protectively. “This was just… A regular old bad dream. It happens, and it’s not your fault, okay?”

His smile firmed a little, and he kissed my cheek, letting out a quiet, relieved sigh. “I’m glad.” With a gentle nuzzle against my jaw, he patted my leg encouragingly. “Come on. Finish your breakfast, and we’ll go for a walk, yeah?”

The small sound of joy that escaped me as I hopped to my feet made him chuckle, and he watched me as I settled back into my seat and tucked in to my cereal, making me blush under his reverent gaze.

It was snowing by the time we headed out, and while I was warm enough in my thick winter coat, I let out a theatrical shiver, offering my soldier a sidelong glance and a cheeky giggle. He laughed affectionately, draping an arm over my shoulder. “You’re adorable,” he informed me seriously, lips brushing my cheek and earning a shy squirm in response.

“It’s beautiful out here,” I murmured, running a fingertip along the frost-crusted bushes lining our path. “How did you find it?”

With a chuckle, he pulled me a little closer, pressing a kiss to my temple. “I had some help,” he assured me mysteriously. I raised an inquisitive eyebrow, and he shot me a crooked grin. “Utseo and Greg, the Spiders…”

Looking about myself, I blinked in surprise. “They… All those people… They helped find the perfect place for us?” I clarified, eyes tearing up at their consideration.

“Mostly for you,” he corrected, grinning, fingers teasing my hair lightly. “It’s generally agreed sentiment that there’s never been someone who deserves to be blissfully happy more than you.”

I wriggled happily, nestling further into his side as silence descended peacefully between us, our footsteps hushed on the falling snow.

We walked for half an hour or so, Yoshitsune’s steps determined despite the rapidly disappearing dirt trail.

He pressed a kiss to my cheek, hand coming up to smooth the cool pad of his thumb over my forehead. “Close your eyes.”

I obliged immediately, unwavering in my trust of my soldier, and his fingers found mine to gently guide me forward. “Where are we?” I giggled, squealing as he hoisted me into his arms.

“About two miles from home. There’s something I’ve been meaning to show you… And I figured, after last night, you could use it today.” I could hear the smile in his voice, the warmth of his tenor enveloping me and driving away the cold, and I couldn’t help but squirm happily in his embrace.

I buried my face against his chest contentedly, a happy sigh escaping me. “As soon as I woke, I knew it wasn’t real. Even if you didn’t want me… You could never speak to me like that. Not ever.”

His fingers smoothed my hair as he hummed in agreement, lips skimming over my forehead. “I could never not want you, either. You’re my Swan. I’ll love you for the rest of my life.” I let out a soft, happy sound, and his hand cupped my jaw to tilt my face upwards to kiss me gently. “You can open your eyes now.”

I blinked my lids open, gazing in awe at him for a moment and earning a chuckle before turning my head to see where he’d taken me.

Stretched before us was a lake, glistening and sparkling despite the falling snow, frozen solid and smooth as glass.

“I figured… It’s a little bigger than the pond, you know?” he murmured shyly. I squeaked excitedly, scrabbling from his arms to kneel at the edge of the ice.

“It’s amazing!” I giggled, running a finger over the surface gently. “Will it hold?”

He squatted beside me, grinning, and raised an eyebrow. “You think I’d put my perfect Swan at risk? I tested it. It’ll hold, I promise.” He pulled the rucksack from his back, excitement fizzing in my veins as he delved inside to offer me my skates. “Why don’t you show me what you can do with a little more room?”

I loved the way he looked at me when I danced.

So much so that neither of us noticed the snow getting thicker until I shivered so hard that I fell out of my pirouette, landing hard and twisting my ankle in the process.

The second I landed with a yelp, he was by my side, his hands on my leg and brow furrowed with concern. “Fuck! Baby, are you okay? That looked like it hurt…”

I sobbed softly, clutching at my ankle and burrowing against him. “It did.” I slipped off my skate to assess the damage, wincing at the rapidly darkening skin. He cursed again and held me tighter, cradling me to his chest, rocking me gently.

“It’s okay,” he soothed softly, lips pressed to my hair. “It’s okay. I’ll get you home, little one. Don’t you worry about a thing – I’ve got you.” One strong, metal arm slid under my legs, the other pressed against my back as he lifted me carefully. Despite his delicacy, I whimpered as gravity took hold, and he flinched visibly. “I’m sorry- sorry. I’ve got you. I’ll be as careful as I can, but I need to get you home, okay?” As he stood, we both looked around at the swirling snow, and I noticed the subtle twitch in his jaw at the uniform whiteness.

“D-d’you know how to get us home?” I stammered softly, my voice hushed with anxiety. He nodded, uncertainly at first, and then a little more firmly as he started out toward the backpack.

“I’ll never let anything happen to you, Swan. I’ll get you home. I promise.” He clutched me a little closer as I shivered, my fingers curling in his jacket, eyes half-closed against the swirling flakes.

“You promise?” I repeated, barely above a whisper, and he glanced down to meet my gaze, silver burning into emerald with fierce determination.

“On my life, Aurelia.”

It had taken us around half an hour to get to the lake.

I was tucked against his chest as the minutes ticked by – thirty, forty, fifty minutes, my heartbeat increasing as I grew colder, his pace getting faster until he was loping as smoothly as he could, trying his hardest not to jostle me, not to show his panic.

But his own pulse was quickening with every step, every anxious scan of his eyes over the environment.

“We’re lost,” I noted softly. He shook his head hard, and I rested my cheek against his chest, tired and frozen. “It’s okay. It’s not your fault.”

“I’m getting you home,” he murmured firmly, fingers tightening minutely against me, casting about wildly for some sign of familiarity. My nod was weak as I burrowed further, slender limbs offering little resistance to the painful cold, and he pressed a kiss to my forehead when my lids grew heavy. “Stay awake, Swan. Just a little longer. We’re almost home.”

“It’s okay. I’m okay here,” I breathed, offering a weak, exhausted smile blindly in his direction. “It doesn’t hurt anymore.”

“You can’t go to sleep, Aurelia.”

“It’s okay. If I have to go anywhere, I’d rather it was here, with you. I love you, Yoshitsune. I…” My words died as I lost the capacity for speech, fingers dropping uselessly from his jacket, my violent shaking finally subsiding as I slipped into the warm embrace of unconsciousness.

The cracking and spitting made me smile and burrow closer to the soft material beneath my cheek with a pleased hum. Waking up with the fire roaring and Yoshitsune cuddled up with me was one of the best things in my life, and I shifted nearer instinctively - then let out an audible hiss as my foot dragged against the sofa, sending me jerking upright as comprehension dawned.

Gentle hands met my shoulders as I rubbed my eyes, blinking until my vision cleared, my soldier’s face steadily gaining definition. “Aurelia,” he breathed, kissing me softly, desperately, dampness forming where his skin met mine when he drew back to bury his face against my temple. “My sweet girl… You scared me.”

“I did?” I clarified softly, glancing around, rubbing my arms. “… You got us home.” He nodded against me, then shrugged.

“I got us lost.”

“You got us home,” I pressed again, leaning into his hand as it found my cheek. “We’re safe. I’m safe.” Shifting a little closer, I blinked in surprise, looking down at my carefully strapped ankle. “… You… You did this?”

He nodded once, fingertips grazing against my calf lightly. “I… I called Stephen. You were so cold, and I wanted to make sure… I mean, I know how to treat a sprain, and hypothermia, but I just…” He shrugged again, and I leant closer into him, tangling my fingers with his as he pulled my blanket closer around me.

“Thank you,” I breathed, tipping my head up to kiss him softly. “I’m sorry I got hurt…”

His eyebrow raised as he considered me wordlessly, confusion evident. “There’s nothing to be sorry for. Accidents happen, Swan. I should’ve paid more attention to the weather.”

Nuzzling closer, I shook my head once, made lethargic by the warmth enveloping me and the safety of my soldier’s embrace. “You were watching me. I could never be anything but grateful for that.” His fingers caressed my spine as he hummed softly, his gentle touch soothing the last of my ragged nerves, the quiet singing against my hair lulling me back into an easy sleep.

[acoldsovereign]

THE KOKYTANS.

Blue-skinned and translucent, all of their organs are visible from the outside. They are all 5'0" max, aside from one-- Ollvrox. That one in particular is barely under six feet but this is considered a mutation, one that finds them outcasted amongst the enslaved subjects under Maiz's reign. Ollvrox is, also unfortunately, the Eldest Living Kokytan that remembers life before her invasion and subsequent conquest. They are 60.

The Kokytans have no concept of gender nor sex, as they have no outer or inner genitalia. They all look the same, more or less. They don't discern or understand differences aside from genetic mutations. B.M. (Before Maiz), if one was found to have a mutation, they were either exiled from mainstream society (becoming the scientist/medic caste) or they were studied (modern concepts of medicine and technology came out of these practices).

When Maiz crash landed, there were thousands upon thousands of them. During the siege, that number dipped drastically. After they surrendered to her, the population recovered, but the numbers were never the same. If they weren't dying because they performed their new duties incorrectly or they didn't address her properly, it was due to botched operations and forced medical procedures. Around this time, a hundred Kokytans were sacrificed, tortured and killed in order for Maiz to master her new technique: COLD INSTINCT.

The Kokytans are a telepathic Race. Although they have mouths (which would suggest a digestive tract, and therefore a stomach), they don't speak with it. Their ki technique allows them to bind themselves to one another ala hive mind, and track each other as well as 'hijack' another Kokytan's body if they sense one of them is in danger. Due to many of the original Kokytans dying off during Maiz's siege, it's unknown whether this was natural, brought out because of evolution, or if it was a side effect of the experiments under her orders. None of them would be able to tell you. To make things worse, many of them have abandoned their old ways and their scientific minds are now geared towards violence and war. Regardless-- their thoughts are charged by their ki, and they can project them into their target's head*.

Kokytans have cerulean-colored blood and purple organs. Therefore, their veins, nervous system, brain, etc are all varying shades of purple. To be frank, the Kokytans are an atrocious, hideous Race without the charm of being/looking humanoid. Their eyes are small, beady and luminous under low lighting, their teeth shrink with each generation, growing more uneven and their lips are salmon pink-- cracked, and dry. Their heads are elongated and squid-like. They have hollow cheekbones. Three to four fingers on each hand with no opposable thumbs (the flesh underneath their fingertips can be adhesive to grab onto objects easier). Modern Kokytans have sturdy, strong shoulders and resilient arms but the rest of their strange bodies are terribly squishy. Despite Maiz's best efforts, the Kokytans are just not made for fighting. They are useful in other ways though, and she mainly employs them for their scientific and technological know-how, their espionage potential, as bodyguards, grunt/foot soldiers, as a display of power or force, etc.

BONUS:

While Planet Kokytus wasn't the first planet she ravaged (that honor goes to Frieza Planet #699999), it was the first she conquered. This feat was achieved at the ripe age of 13.

Planet Kokytus is a crystalline wonderland of frost, ice and cold (Think of Krypton's Fortress of Solitude except it's everywhere). Amazingly like Earth, they have four seasons but they're all variations of coldness. One could say they experience different degrees of an eternal winter. Water is present on the planet as well. Since most of Kokytus is frozen, the water underneath is either clean or holds pollutants (from the partial Genocide Maiz wrought upon them. This remains a current problem as the planet has underwent a bit of a climate crisis because of her; there is slightly less ice and the mountains are melting slowly . . . .)**

**Water filtration systems were built. A.M. (After Maiz) Kokytans fell ill and got sick because of the water. The Kokytans that came after developed robust immune systems as a result of this.

A decade after she asserted herself as the High Queen of Kokytus, a rogue Kokytan buckled under the weight of her tyranny and broke through the carefully crafted hive mind to try to kill her. The would-be murder weapon was similar to a polearm. The attempt backfired spectacularly, even though she was caught off guard by the 'outburst'. After the individual was subdued, she had them cooked. She never ate a Kokytan again (or drank their blood) after that incident-- "they taste disgusting. How disappointing."

*Their ki allows them to supercharge their feelings and thoughts. Since the Earthly definition of emotions are "the physical way feelings are expressed", it would be entirely accurate to say their ki technique is essentially that-- applied feelings/emotions weaponized as telepathy. They can use that ability to 'read' thoughts but that's a misnomer; what they're really doing is reading ki signature. If there's an intent or feeling behind it, best believe a Kokytan can and will pick it up.

[thefanciestborrower]

Haha lol Ice Emperor goes Brrrr part 6

The winter coat did wonders for Lloyd’s complete lack of natural cold resistance. Gone was the uncomfortable shivering, instead replaced with a seemingly-endless desire to explore the winding halls of the palace. The Emperor—Julien, as the child had taken to calling him—spent much of his time simply letting Lloyd perch atop his shoulders as he went about his business, though sometimes the boy went off to explore on his own.

He couldn’t say the concept didn’t worry him, and really, wasn’t that a novel experience? The Emperor of Ice worried for the safety of a child? Were his generals not so afraid of the power he wielded, they would laugh at him. Still, he had ensured to inform the guards of the palace—and Boreal for good measure—that Lloyd was not to be harmed in any way, and perhaps to humor his more harmless desires. He was, after all, just a boy, albeit a strange, determined sort.

For the most part, though, Lloyd stayed at least somewhat close to him, whether that be from him taking The Emperor’s advice on being careful in his diminutive form—his soldiers needed to be quicker about locating the plant. The leaf’s effects did not appear to be the sort to wear off, and The Emperor didn’t know how the child’s lack of autonomy in a world that wasn’t built for him was going to affect him in the long run—or because he simply preferred it. Either way, it was a rare day that set Lloyd and The Emperor in two entirely different sections of the castle.

And a rare day it is, The Emperor thought, idly watching Vex stride to the foot of the flight toward his throne. Ice shattered as he tilted his head. “Vex. What news do you bring?” Vex was not one for friendly encounters on most moons. Always working. Always focused.

“My lord, I believe it is pertinent to speak about your… ward.” Ward? Did he have a ward? Was this about Lloyd? Again?

“Ward, Vex?” Another crackling of ice as he leaned forward, interest playing at the edges of his mind. “I gather you speak of Lloyd.”

“Yes, m’lord. His… wandering troubles me.” The Emperor rested his head on a hand, nodding for his advisor to continue. “I fear he may still be looking for his friend. That he could lead the prisoners to arms against you. Repairs are becoming more difficult, Emperor; you mustn't put yourself at unneeded risk.” Frost danced around his fingers like a bird. Something familiar. Like the falcon’s cry that resonated so softly in his mind. “I fear that he may be manipulating you.”

The Emperor banished the forming ice, idly watching the single, ice-blue eye fall from his hand. It was supposed to be something more, he thought. “Vex.” He turned back to look at his advisor. “You are a wise man, but do you think that you place too much suspicion on a boy? He’s not even ten summers, I highly doubt his ability to manipulate me.” A breath laced with something warm. Like the ice had fallen away. “If I truly fall from my mind, then I trust you, Vex, to bring me back.” A hand brushed across his advisor’s shoulder, tracing the lightest pattern of silvery-white frost. “Is that all?” It was a whisper, light on his tongue in the same way as his smile.

A snort, something in the area of amused. “That is all, m’lord.”

“Then do get some rest. You walk these halls like a phantom.” He leaned back, letting his shoulder hit the back of the throne and stick there with a dark sort of ice crawling over his armor. “An emperor is only so well as his advisor.”

Vex bowed as he left, a theatrical affair even as he hummed in what The Emperor could place only as assent.

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

Months’ walk away, in a flash of purple light, warm bodies fell in an ungraceful pile, multicolored gis standing out against the white. Shouting voices rang loud against the mountain, disturbing the snow.

And watching it all, he turned to the guard to his left, eyes half-lidded in lazy amusement. “Have the traveling party kill them all. Leave nothing. Dump whatever of them you can’t burn into the river. He must not know of this.”

Beyond, Neverberry in hand, a figure dressed in black slipped out from behind a shard of ice, returning to the palace unseen.

[t-lostinworlds]

Warm Winter & Fiery Frost [1] | Bucky Barnes

》 PAIRING: bucky barnes x ex-HYDRA assassin!female!reader

》 TROPE/GENRE: grumpy x grumpy, enemies to lovers-ish, slow burn-ish, angst, fluff-ish

》 SUMMARY: They say opposites attract. You and Bucky were so alike—He was called The Winter Soldier and you were called Frost, for fucks sake—that it's probably the reason why you hated each other. Or was it the denying of powerful feelings in fear of getting hurt? You know, like how the cliché goes. Because you know what they also say: There's a fine line between love and hate.

》 WARNINGS: read full warnings here

》 WORD COUNT: 12.6k+

A/N: so, i decided to divide the fic into two just to give you guys the option to read it here as well since i feel like a lot of ppl are more comfortable with just reading it on tumblr sksksks but you also still do have the option to read it on AO3 if you want. will be posting part 2 tomorrow around the same time. it will be linked at the end. i hope you enjoy!

📘 READ ON AO3 | ★ FIC MASTERPOST

📍 BLOG NAVIGATION ✩ B. BARNES MASTERLIST ✩ MAIN MASTERLIST ✩

⊱ ─────.⋅♚ *｡･ﾟ.★. *｡･ﾟ✫*.

Some said first impressions have a lasting impact, that it might even be a crucial pillar of any relationship. Others would vouch that it could be a bit misleading, that everybody deserves a second chance, that getting to know someone on a deeper level was far more important. After all, people were good at pretending, wearing masks for different occasions, putting on a façade depending on who they were standing in front of.

Bucky's first impression of you was that you were downright rude.

You definitely were not the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen, a confident aura surrounding your graceful form as you entered the conference room. You definitely didn't capture his attention easily, didn't make his heart skip a couple of beats when he briefly caught your piercing gaze, eyes a beautiful shade that he wanted to look closer to see if there were any variations or they were as perfect and pure in color at first glance. You didn't make his breath nervously hitch when your head tilted ever so slightly, almost scrutinizingly as you studied him with your pretty lips pursed.

He definitely didn't linger there for a second or two, either.

Nope.

All he could think about was how cold and arrogant you seemed to be, head held high as Steve introduced you to the team one by one, settling for formal handshakes and a barely-there smile.

Bucky definitely was not thinking about how you were able to keep your features impassive yet stay so gorgeous in his eyes. He definitely wasn't intrigued about the slight gray of cautiousness tinting your irises, definitely not curious to know more of your quiet and reserved nature. He wasn'tat all itching to peel back your layers with such tenderness and care, to know more about you—light, darkness and demons alike.

Who knew lying to yourself could be so easy?

"And this is Bucky Barnes," Steve said, patting his shoulder, smiling excitedly for some reason he knew nothing of. "You know, the one I kept telling you about."

Bucky glared at his best friend curiously before turning to you, keeping a straight face as he held his hand out.

"I read your file."

That was Bucky's first words to you.

A second after they left his mouth, his stomach churned as he watched your face harden, lips pressed tightly into a thin line. You glanced at his outstretched hand, pointedly ignoring it as you crossed your arms over your chest. Chin up, you looked at him dead straight in the eyes, a certain fire flickering over yours, a brow raised in challenge.

You didn't say a word.

Bucky only got a curt nod before you turned back to Steve.

"My room?" you asked the blonde, features softening.

"Come on," Natasha interjected, nodding towards the door.

Bucky felt a sudden surge of jealousy at the cordial way you regarded the two. He felt envious when you returned Nat's grin with a small smile of your own as you followed her lead. It was faint enough to not be noticeable if you weren't particularly observant but definitely better than the scowl you wore when looking at him.

He ignored the way the redhead shot him a look over her shoulder as she guided you out of the conference room.

It was safe to say that as far as first impressions went, both of yours definitely weren't the best.

"What?" Bucky sighed when he caught the way his best friend was looking at him.

"Really?" Steve scolded, hands on his hips. "'I read your file' is not a conversation starter, Buck."

Fine. Maybe that wasn't the best—nor appropriate—thing to say to you first. But it was exactly because of that file that he was wary of you.

You were a spy, an assassin, trained in the Red Room only to get traded to HYDRA after some negotiations. They probably saw your potential—took you under their wing before you could even graduate so you didn't class as one of the Black Widows. Still, that didn't mean you didn't have the abilities of one, especially when you started young like most did. Now, adding the brutality and mercilessness HYDRA taught their killing machines?

You were one deadly mix.

The file said you were enhanced in some way. It didn't have the specifics as to what but it did state what wasn't. No superpowers, nothing magic-related, not even a case of superhuman abilities. But since these were organizations known for their hunger to experiment and enhance individuals, he had an inkling that you weren't just human, either.

Bucky didn't understand what level of consciousness you were in when you were doing their bidding. All he knew was that newer technology was involved, something to do with a microchip embedded on the back of your neck, connected right into your brain stem that any attempt at removing it carelessly would lead to your death.

He didn't know the extent of what that chip could do, didn't know if it was roughly the same as his programming where his mind was wiped and then controlled. It was possibly different yet similar—two sides of the same coin.

That part of the file was redacted, and Steve was adamant about staying quiet with that side of your story when asked. It was understandable, he supposed. It was nobody's place to tell but yours.

But judging from those alone, Bucky could guess it wasn't a lovely walk through the fields.

You were free from that now—thanks to Shuri, of course—but you could never be too cautious.

Just because Natasha saw you as a long lost sister, or how Steve was quick to trust you enough to escort you to Wakanda himself, and for both to vouch for you to join the team, didn't mean Bucky had to follow in their footsteps of plain blind faith.

It definitely had nothing to do with how nervous he suddenly got when you were standing right in front of him, or the way his heart picked up the pace when you were in the vicinity, let alone, glanced his way.

But with all the lies he'd been keen on feeding himself, Bucky had to admit, you were mesmerizingly and gorgeously terrifying.

There was just something about the way you carry yourself that even as simple as you walking down the hallway had everyone parting out of your way like the Red Sea.

Your reputation preceded you—Frost, a name most people feared to cross, belonging to a list of the most feared assassins who were still alive, of those who roamed free.

Whether that was second, equal, or better than The Winter Soldier…well, it depended on who you asked.

It somehow conjured this unspoken competition throughout the entire facility.

Who was more menacing?

Who was more skilled in hand-to-hand combat?

Who had the best death glare?

Who wielded the knife better?

Who had the better murder strut?

Who was the better assassin?

Who would win in a staring contest?

Who was grumpier, colder, the deadlier killer—The Winter or Frost?

Even the core Avengers team was silently in on it. The bets were mundane but they were there. An extra pizza slice, a dollar or two, who gets to go on the next coffee run, who gets to do whose laundry—they were thoroughly entertained by it.

Even Sam commented how you made Bucky's glare look like puppy eyes.

He honestly felt a little offended.

Probably because the truth sucked since, hell, even Bucky felt intimidated by you—in more ways than one.

Nobody intimidated him, not until you.

Bucky hated it.

If you asked his ego and pride, they'd tell you it was because the comparisons were insulting. He was the best in his field, he had decades of experience under his belt—he was a goddamn super soldier for crying out loud. A newbie, someone who didn't even reach half of what he'd been through, wasn't going to be better than him, even with similar skill sets.

But deep down, he knew it was something else entirely.

If he were to truthfully answer those questions that circled the compound, he would be biased, subjective, completely and utterly infatuated because his answer was you.

In Bucky's rose-tinted eyes, you win anything because he would wholeheartedly give you everything.

That was another thing he was entirely terrified and intimidated by.

Never had he ever felt this strong pull before, an intrigue and need to be closer to someone, let alone someone he just met. It was new territory, something unfamiliar, especially in the last couple of decades.

Bucky hated not being able to understand what he was feeling, hated not being in control of the way his thoughts sprinted in all directions, fast and unrelenting to match the beating of his heart. He hated the way you made him feel a plethora of overwhelming yet warm emotions all from a simple look, a complicated concoction of admiration, fear, infatuation, lust and everything in between.

He hated the way you threw his whole world off its axis when he'd been doing good so far at gradually understanding his mind, his heart, his whole self.

Now, he was confused, terrified, captivated by you in so little time and he hated it.

And like Pavlov's dog and the Theory of Classical Conditioning—

Bucky hated you.

•••

As it turned out, you hated him too.

You weren't verbal about it for the first few months you lived in the compound. But then again, you had been keeping to yourself most of the time.

People barely saw you roaming around. You didn't sit with the team during meals, you even skipped over movie nights or any other 'team-bonding' exercise the rest came up with. The only other person who saw you more frequently than most was Natasha. But given that you two were floormates, that was to be expected.

Bucky would sometimes catch a glimpse of you in the gym during the early hours, dancing around punching bags like a graceful ballerina but with a forceful punch and kick that would rival the best and the greats—ruthless just like how you were trained to be.

It was the same time he usually went down, hoping to let off steam when he couldn't shake a particular nightmare. But when you got there first, he opted to go for an early run outside instead, giving you the space to yourself.

He had a feeling you needed it more.

Other than that, you were like a ghost in the compound. There was no physical evidence or any lingering traces of you in the common spaces.

But if and when you were around, your presence alone was palpable—quietly minding your business in a corner, but everyone was aware that you were there. It was that commanding and powerful aura you exuded.

It definitely reminded him of how a certain someone acted when he first got into the compound.

So he didn't take your indifference, borderline coldness to heart at the start since you weren't overly friendly to everyone.

But as weeks turned to months and the atmosphere around you began to shift, the contrast between your attitudes suddenly became more apparent.

There was a difference between how you acted around the team and how you behaved around him.

Bucky was quick to realize that you were definitely colder and much more judgemental when it came to him.

From your deathly glares during meetings, pointed eye rolls with each question he asked about letting you join on missions, audible enough scoffs to every comment he made, to completely turning away from him with a disapproving shake of your head, cursing him out in Russian under your breath as if he wasn't fluent in the language, as if he wouldn't catch you with superhuman hearing.

Your dislike towards him was excessively obvious.

Even more so as you began to acclimate in the compound, feeling more and more comfortable around fellow Avengers as you came out of your hard shell—you were now present during game nights and movie nights, you'd sat in the dining hall with the team during dinners, and willingly joining in when it was time for training. You'd even become fast friends with Wanda and Sam.

You were now a little less menacing towards acquaintances and agents, too. Most were still scared of you, and rightfully so. You always wore that impassive expression that never gave a hint whether you liked the person or not. You barely even smile, at those you didn't know anyway—well, unless you wanted to make a point.

Like that one time you knocked an agent off his feet during a spar, clean and swift when he told you, 'You would look prettier when you smile.' You towered over the heaving man on the floor, eyeing his bleeding nose with a grin, wide and sarcastic.

Other than that, you'd learned to be somewhat cordial—consisting of curt nods, to tight-lipped smiles and less glaring—with everyone else.

Well, everyone except him.

Oh you hated him.

Bucky could feel it searing on his skin just from one simple look, rattling deep in his bones with every scoff of disdain.

As a matter of fact, everyone could feel the simmering tension in the air when you both were in the same room, quietly bubbling like magma under the earth, waiting for that small opening to finally burst into chaos.

It didn't take long for the first shift to happen, a crack between each other's resolve, the slight change between you both.

Bucky couldn't say it was for the better.

After all, going from silent glares and unspoken distaste to petty comments and loud arguments wasn't exactly classified as an improvement.

•••

"I don't trust her, Steve."

"You haven't even given her a chance."

"She's an ex-HYDRA assassin," Bucky pressed, his scowl deepening when his best friend brushed him off. "They can never be trusted."

"Takes one to know one."

Bucky's heart stopped at the sound of your voice, body freezing momentarily once he saw you sat on the kitchen counter, legs kicking aimlessly as you read a book.

You looked innocent—so fucking cute, but he wasn't going to acknowledge that—like you could never do any harm. But he knew better. Which was why he couldn't stop his stomach from churning solely from the fact that you heard what he said.

And without even lifting your eyes from the page, you still were able to get a read on him.

It was frustrating how good you were.

"What?" you scoffed, taking a bite of the plum he was sure was taken from his stash. He was the only one who constantly brought them into the team. Finally looking at him, you raised a brow, pouting at him tauntingly. "Too scared to say it to my face?"

"I don't like people who keep secrets," Bucky huffed, arms crossed over his chest with a sharp glare as he looked you straight in the eye. "It was never mentioned how they found you, and we usually don't pick up strays off the street."

"Buck," Steve warned.

You closed your book with a harsh snap, hopping off the counter swiftly before walking towards him with a blank face. Taking another bite of the plum, you never broke eye contact, the fire in your gaze flickering the second you were standing right in front of him.

Bucky swallowed the lump in his throat, his skin prickling with heat as you pointedly scanned him from head to toe, arms over your chest to mirror his stance, your head tilted in that annoyingly adorable way.

Yet the smallest adoration he held was quickly replaced by pure animosity the moment you opened that pretty little mouth of yours.

"Rich coming from HYDRA's favorite lost and found pet," you said, face calm, voice just as much with a touch of being cold. The only other hint that showed your emotion was the fire that kept growing in those gorgeous eyes. Brow raised, you added, "At least I don't look homeless."

"Watch your fucking mouth," Bucky snarled, taking a challenging step forward, towering over you with fists clenched at his sides.

You pouted, seeming innocent as you hummed, "You know, they say lice make people irritable. You should get that checked."

His vibranium arm whirred, nostrils flaring as a growl rumbled in his chest.

You did nothing but smirk.

Before he could even open his mouth for a rebuttal, Steve was quick to get between you both.

"Alright, knock it off," he sighed, hand firm on Bucky's chest as he shot him a silent warning before turning to you. "There's a quick undercover op in Palermo, Sicily. Nothing more than a quick recon mission. Fly in, attend a party, gather intel, interrogate if necessary, fly out. And I want you two to be partners in it."

"When is this?" you asked, turning to Steve with brows furrowed in curiosity.

"In two days."

"Okay."

Bucky blinked.

He was surprised at how quick you were to agree. He expected you to argue against it, whine and complain about how you didn't want to go with him, list a bunch of things where he wasn't capable enough or just downright say you didn't trust him.

As if reading his mind—or perhaps he really needed to work on his poker face—you shrugged, adding, "It's a job at the end of the day. I can work with anyone and be professional about it."

You definitely did that on purpose to make him look bad.

Fucking kiss-ass.

"Good," Steve said with a smile which you irritatingly returned. "I'll have FRIDAY send you the file."

"Rogers that, Captain," you snorted at your own joke, waving your hand at Bucky before turning on your heel, your voice echoing down the hallway as you called out, "Just make sure he washes his hair! I don't want whatever's living in there to inhabit mine!"

Once you were gone, Bucky let out an exasperated sigh when Steve gave him that I'm-not-angry-just-disappointed look.

Again.

"Are you seriously taking her side?" he griped.

"I'm not taking any sides." Steve shrugged, arms crossed. "But, I mean, you called her unreliable behind her back, basically told her you didn't like her to her face, and then called her a stray which was unnecessary and uncalled for. You were kinda asking for it."

Bucky pinched the bridge of his nose, a few deep breaths before grumbling, "Is there really no one else available for this mission?"

"Well, I'll see if Liam—"

No.

Liam was an arrogant piece of shit agent who stared at you for far too long during training to be considered appropriate. It was obvious enough, how he saw you as a prize to be won, proof of being 'the ultimate alpha male who could tame the lioness.' Those were the exact words Bucky overheard in the gym showers and it took everything in his power not to break a jaw or two.

That idiot would bottle the whole op trying to get your attention. And judging from what Bucky knew about him, it wasn't difficult to assume that he would end up thinking with the wrong head. He'd be more of a burden to you than an actual help.

Bucky was already filled in on what the mission was about, including what you were going to be pretending as. It was one of the many reasons why he was having doubts about you two being partners in this.

After all, for the mission to be a success, you had to sell the cover first. When you both couldn't be in the same room without showing utter disdain, when all of your conversations—the rare moments that you did have one—were more or less an argument, when you didn't even like each other, how on earth would you manage to convince everyone else that you two were happily and lovingly married?

It was impossible.

So you couldn't really blame him for being doubtful.

And no, it had nothing to do with how his whole body tingled with anticipation—and maybe excitement—nor the way his heart stuttered at the thought of being your husband.

But with all that said, he would be caught dead first before he'd allow Liam to take full advantage of it and see this mission as an opportunity rather than something to be taken seriously.

"Liam is incompetent. He'll only slow her down, compromise her and end up blowing their cover. It's obvious he's going to be distracted with all the fancy shit to not do his job at all. Someone's going to get hurt because he's fucking full of himself and—" Bucky stopped when he caught the way the blond was looking at him.

Steve was smirking, proud and all-knowing, wriggling his brows as if he got the exact reaction he wanted.

It was obvious Bucky fell right into his trap.

The consequence of having a best friend who knows you too well.

"I fucking hate you, Rogers," he growled, shoulder-checking Steve as he made his way back to the elevator.

It only made the punk laugh.

"I'll see you at the briefing, buddy!"

•••

Bucky rolled his eyes when he saw the audience waiting on the tarmac two days later.

The whole team was practically present, obviously wanting to see what would happen during your first mission together with him.

It was ridiculous.

They somewhat made this whole thing between you two as a source of entertainment. It was harmless enough since they never really did anything to provoke reactions. It was wholeheartedly both your own doing. But that didn't make it less annoying.

His scowl deepened when Sam took one look at him before bursting out into rambunctious laughter. He also didn't miss the way Nat and Wanda were trying their best to hold back their giggles.

"Looks good on you." Clint nodded, grinning.

"Thanks." He rolled his eyes, instinctively running his fingers through his newly cropped hair.

It was closer to how he used to wear it back in the 40s. The long cut was starting to get in the way, even during simple, everyday errands. It was also to help him look less recognizable for this undercover mission, paired nicely with the flesh camouflage Bruce had temporarily installed on his metal arm.

Other than that, Bucky figured it was time for a change. And what better way to mark a new chapter in his life than by getting a haircut?

It definitely wasn't because a small part of him was craving your approval.

"Oh," Steve said when he reached the tarmac, blinking a few times before smiling. "It looks good, Buck."

"Why is everyone making a big deal out of my haircut?" he grumbled exasperatedly.

"It's not about the haircut," Natasha butted in, the corner of her lips curved up. "It's why you got it."

"I didn't think you'd take what she said seriously," Steve chuckled.

"First of all, I got this haircut because I wanted a haircut. That's it. Second—" Bucky glared at his best friend. "—did you tell everyone about the lice insult?"

"I didn't tell anyone!" he defended, hands in the air. "I swear!"

"He didn't. Frosty was ranting to Nat and Wanda and I just happened to overhear the best parts," Sam snickered. "But God, you need her attention so bad."

"I don't need her attention," he huffed, crossing his arms. "I very much enjoy it if it's elsewhere."

"Whatever you say, Buckaroo."

Speaking of the beauty that was the devil, you walked out of the building with Tony, his hands gesticulating wildly, probably explaining the enhancement on the outfit you were currently wearing.

A newly improved tactical suit.

Bucky cleared his throat as he ran his fingers through his hair, straightening out his gear as he tried not to stare.

But fuck it was hard.

How could he not look when the combination of Kevlar and lycra hugged your body in all the right places? At first glance, it was all black from head to toe, but underneath the light, the color would shift. There was a bluish tinge to it, the straps and belts a deep silver-blue, the combination of colors representing the likes of dark ice and frost. He couldn't see the lower half of your face, your signature mask only showing off those menacing eyes. And show them off they did because not only did the half-mask make you look even more threatening, it also made your eyes even more beautiful. The dark fabric definitely brought more attention to them, a twinkle in your irises especially when the sunlight would hit them just right.

You definitely brought two different meanings to the phrase 'If looks could kill.'

One, your death glare was definitely promising, and two Bucky had never seen someone be so beautiful, so gorgeously deadly that his heart felt like it might take him out.

He didn't realize that he was actively staring until Sam's voice snapped him out of his reverie.

"Damn. You're more pathetic than I thought."

Bucky shot him a glare, landing a very soft punch to his stomach before storming into the Quinjet, quickly settling into the pilot's seat. He was done dealing with the team's antics, and he knew they'd only get rowdier when you're close. 

"Why is everyone here?" you said, and he could almost picture you rolling your eyes. "Why are you guys acting like you're sending your kids to boarding school?"

"Well, with how you and Terminator behave, it's not that different," Tony quipped. You must've glared at him because he was quick to add, "I'm kidding! You two are very mature adults."

"You guys are ridiculous," you snorted, boots hitting metal echoing around the space as you made your way inside.

"Have fun you two!"

"Not too much fun! I want that jet spotless when it gets back!"

"Please don't kill each other on the way!"

"Oh they grow up so fast."

Bucky rolled his eyes, shutting the latch once you finally settled yourself right beside him.

Your reasoning for the choice, he had no idea. You honestly could've picked every other available seat which was plenty. He decided not to dwell on it, stopping his mind from wandering too far into presumptuous thoughts.

But he definitely didn't miss the way you glanced at his hair.

He also didn't miss the way you were trying not to smirk.

"Stop gawking and put your goddamn seatbelt on," he grumbled, starting the jet before shrugging. "Or don't."

"You're so full of yourself," you scoffed, yet did as he said without any more protest.

"You're not as subtle as you think you are."

"M'just glad to know you actually listen to me, much less, take my advice."

"Now, who's full of themselves?" he mocked, rolling his eyes. "My haircut has nothing to do with you."

You were quiet for a moment. But he should've known better. It was something he learned lately, how you always felt the need to have the last word.

"Whatever pacifies your ego, Barnes."

Bucky could only growl in response.

•••

"Can you hurry up!" he called out after glancing at his watch for the fifth time.

He was fully dressed, in a suit and tie this time instead of his tactical gear. He'd already double-checked his weapons twice, a variety of them hidden underneath his jacket for ease of access.

And you still hadn't come out of the bathroom.

Bucky was sitting on one of the lounge chairs by the bed, glaring at the dark wood separating you from him as if it would help you be quicker with whatever it was you were doing in there.

He was about to call out again when the door slammed open, harsh and quick that it bounced off the wall.

Bucky's breath was sucked out of his lungs once he saw you in your long and fitted black dress, the silk fabric complementing your figure, a very high slit exposing your thigh, straps thin on your shoulders they might as well be non-existent and a deep V neckline to match.

He suddenly felt hot when he saw that the dress was unzipped, exposing your back from the nape of your neck all the way down, stopping just above the swell of your—

He blinked out of his haze when you ignored him completely and marched towards the floor-length mirror in the corner of the room. Your scowl was deep, irritation obvious in your demeanor as you looked for something, your back facing the mirror as you glared at your reflection over your shoulder.

"I'm going to kill Natasha for picking this dress," you mumbled under your breath, so obviously talking to yourself but without taking into account his enhanced hearing. "Who puts a zipper this goddamn small you can't even find it."

"Jesus—" Bucky rolled his eyes, standing up from his place and stalking towards you. "Turn around."

Your eyes snapped up to his, glare deadly as you hissed, "I don't need your help—"

"Get over yourself will you?" he scoffed. "We're going to be late."

"Fine," you gritted, turning around abruptly and crossing your arms. "Since you so badly want to make yourself feel useful."

Your quip went in one ear and out the other. Not because he was done with your shit—which he was—but because he was rendered speechless by what he was seeing.

There was a temptation to trace the path from the small of your back up to your spine, to feel your warm and naked skin underneath his fingertips.

But his attention was captured by something else entirely.

His lips curled into a frown as he scanned the nape of your neck. Now that he was closer, he could see the way your delicate skin was littered with scars, ones that weren't his nor was his infliction, but were familiar to him it made his chest ache.

Absentmindedly, his fingers hovered over it, close and featherlight to feel a prickle of electricity, but not enough for it to fully touch. He circled the smallest yet deepest one, right in the middle where he assumed the chip was embedded. His frown deepened as he traced the various jagged lines that started from the center, crawling down like roots and stopping just at the juncture between your neck and shoulder. 

Bucky ignored the goosebumps that rose from your skin, heavily fighting the urge to kiss it.

You cleared your throat, looking at him through your periphery. "What, you've never seen scars before?"

"Those are scratch marks," he stated as a fact, voice coming out rougher than he'd intended to.

Bucky knew because he had similar-looking ones that covered his left shoulder.

Like someone was trying to claw it out of their skin.

"Yeah, well," you grumbled, shifting in your black heels. "It's not like I wanted that chip in me."

Almost instinctively, he leaned closer, lips parted, your body shivering as his breath brushed over your skin. He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head, hurriedly yet carefully zipping up your dress before walking towards the door.

"I'll wait for you outside," he said before closing it behind him without looking back.

Bucky paced up and down the hall in hopes that it would help shake the absolute rage he felt.

Not at you, but for you.

It was sudden yet burning, the anger in his blood at the simple thought of what those fucking assholes did to you. It didn't help in the slightest that he was so familiar with their methods.

It made him want to burn every person who laid a hand on you alive.

If the world managed to catch fire during that, then so fucking be it.

Bucky didn't know where it came from, the sense of protectiveness over you. It was so strong and unrelenting that it blatantly showed the second you stepped into the ballroom. From the way he'd held you closer by his side, arm secured around your waist as you mingled with guests, to his sharp glare aimed at any man who lingered too close and stared at you far too inappropriately.

He was telling himself it was part of the ruse, to sell this fake marriage to a viable audience so you could get the intel—gathering names that were connected to the Mafia, and when you're attending the birthday party of the Don, it wasn't difficult to do so—that you needed. He was watching your back like how any good partner should during missions. Even though he hated you, he wasn't cruel enough to let you get hurt. You could never know who was harmlessly flirting with you, and who was there with ulterior motives. It was better safe than sorry.

It definitely was not anything personal for him.

Despite everything, the mission went surprisingly well—smoothly even. It was impressive, borderline uncanny, the way you matched each other as if you'd been partners for years instead of this being the first.

It was easy, reading the signal you gave before Bucky made his way toward the elevators. The few moments he left you alone were enough for you to do what was needed, tempt and seduce. It was easy, a slimy yet important capo immediately taking the bait. Not that Bucky could blame him either. Nobody stood a chance when you were the one luring.

And just as the metal doors opened with a soft ding, Bucky stepped aside, letting you and the unsuspecting, inebriated man stumble in, slurring obscenities about 'getting some' as he clung to you, grumbling about 'showing you a better time than your husband.'

Bucky didn't even hide his scowl as he followed, fist slamming harshly on the button of your hotel floor. He wasn't gentle either as he injected the guy with a drug Bruce had concocted, one that made someone drunk to a point that they wouldn't remember what happened the next day while they were under the influence. Something about brain chemicals and whatnot.

Once you reached your shared room, he let you take the reins, sitting in a corner with a glass of whiskey as he watched. He wanted to see just how immersed you got when you were in your element.

And Bucky was impressed.

The way you circled that tied man, unhurried yet calculating, fingers trailing, taunting him, making him shiver in anticipation as to what you'd do next. Your voice was sickly sweet yet never less threatening as you asked questions that even Bucky had a whiplash listening to you talk.

You were like a poisonous wild berry, sweet, alluring, tempting on the outside, but downright deadly if you take a bite.

He also found it extremely hot but he wasn't going to talk about that.

It didn't take long for the man to spew out valuable information. But when he was being particularly difficult in some cases, Bucky stalked closer, shrugging his suit jacket off, rolling up his sleeves, and turning the flesh camouflage off. When the lamp on the bedside reflected on his metal forearm, it was enough to make the captive talk more.

Bucky took the liberty of doing cleanup once you got all the information you needed while you changed out of your dress in the bathroom. You were adamant about not needing his help with the zipper this time. He didn't bother to insist.

He stripped the unconscious man down to his boxers, tucking him to bed to make it seem like a one-night stand and nothing more. It wasn't like the idiot would remember much in the morning, anyway. He also made sure there was no trace of any of you in the room, checking twice to be sure he didn't miss anything.

Once everything was cleared and his bag was packed, you emerged out of the bathroom, now back in your tactical suit. You wordlessly made your way out of the hotel, Bucky right on your tail.

Neither of you spoke a word as you flew back home that same night.

The air was tense in the Quinjet.

And as much as people could argue that it was always like that whenever you and Bucky were in the same room, this time, it felt different.

Bucky couldn't just pinpoint as to why exactly that was.

The only thing he could clearly see was that you were even more guarded than before. Yet as hardened as your face was, your eyes were telling a different story. There was a distant look in them as if you were in a different place right this second.

Even as you got back to the compound and sat in one of the conference rooms for a debrief with Steve, there was still something off about you. You were quieter than usual, only speaking when spoken to. You even rushed to leave the room before Steve could fully wrap things up.

The blonde had shot him a questioning—almost accusing—look, probably also noticing your uncanny behavior. But all Bucky could do was shrug because even he wasn't quite sure as to what was on your mind that undeniably put you off.

Was it the moment in front of the mirror when he'd traced your scar? Or was it everything that transpired in the ballroom?

Having his arm around your waist, pulling you so close to his side he could practically feel your body heat through the layers of his suit, moments where he'd lean down to whisper in your ear, you masking it with a giggle as if the intel was the funniest thing he'd ever told you.

It was without a doubt the closest you two have ever been physically, pretending to be husband and wife, gazing into each other's eyes as if you were in love.

That was quite a lot for people who hated each other.

Or was that just him?

And even though Bucky was tired after the mission, he couldn't get a wink of sleep.

It wasn't from nightmares this time though—well, not his anyway.

Laying in his bed, staring at the random design engrained on the ceiling, Bucky couldn't stop thinking about what horrors you went through while you were under HYDRA's influence.

He wished his imagination was way worse than reality, that his head was making every situation far more gruesome and cruel than it truly was.

But Bucky knew better.

He knew that his imagination couldn't even come close to what truly transpired. And in this line of work, reality was always much worse.

Besides, he did live through it himself.

But knowing you had gone through something similar, somehow, it felt much more…hurtful.

Maybe this was the whole not wishing it on your worst enemies type of thing. Maybe it was an understanding. Maybe it was simply empathy. Maybe it was the culmination of everything mentioned all at once.

Or maybe it was something else entirely.

•••

"I didn't think I'd see the day where someone would actually challenge his staring problem."

"She doesn't look phased, though."

"He's definitely losing."

"I can hear you," Bucky said, loud enough for Sam and Wanda to hear but never taking his eyes off you even for a second.

"Good morning, Frosted Flakes." Sam walked over to you with a pat on the head.

You looked away from Bucky then, swatting Wilson's hand away, nose scrunched adorably with a snort, "What happened to 'Frosty'?"

"Oh no, your nickname is still Frosty," Sam chuckled. "Just sprinkling some spice every once and a while."

Bucky's grip on his mug tightened when he saw you flash Sam a genuine smile.

It's been a week since your mission together and you were back to your usual self—friendly to the team and absolutely loathing him still. As a matter of fact, you'd been acting as if the mission didn't happen at all, fully putting it behind you like a closed case.

Bucky wasn't quite sure if he was relieved or annoyed about it.

Fine.

He was annoyed because how could you be so nonchalant about the whole thing when he hadn't been able to think of anything else since?

It was infuriating seeing you so unaffected while he was still losing sleep, remembering how your warm body felt pressed up against his and the way your breath tickled the skin just below his ear whenever you whispered some information to him.

Then came the thoughts about your scars—what ifs and I hope not's with what happened to you in that facility. His chest would ache every time he closed his eyes and the image of your hurt skin would flash in his mind.

Or he'd find himself blushing like a schoolboy, wondering how things would've played out if he didn't hesitate, if he actually tried kissing it better—

"I never got to know why your alias is Frost," Wanda asked out of genuine curiosity.

"Cold-blooded killer, stone-cold heart, grew up and was trained in a cold climate, pretty basic actually. And, well," you paused, raising a brow his way. "Winter was taken."

"Can never trust someone who still goes by their name as a killer," he scoffed.

The way your whole face turned cold as you looked at him was so impressive it made Bucky's heart sting with longing.

Still, he didn't shy away from your glare.

It was only during these moments that he could shamelessly look into your gorgeous eyes, after all.

"I'm reclaiming it as my own. You give the name they gave you power, they still have control over you. Now, when I take back that power, the only one who has control over me, is me." You crossed your arms over your chest, head tilting as you added, "I think you can learn a thing or two about that, Soldat."

The chair screeched as Bucky stood from his seat, stalking towards you with a low growl. You simply turned to look at him, letting him tower over you with no ounce of fear in your demeanor. His fists clenched, vibranium arm whirring when you dared to smirk at him. 

You raised a brow, chin raised high and cocky, so defiant, so bratty, it makes him want to—

"Case and point," you whispered proudly.

Before Bucky could even come up with a comeback, Steve's voice interrupted,

"Break it off." The captain walked into the room with his shoulders slumped as if he was tired of dealing with the same shit every day.

Bucky almost felt bad for him.

Almost.

"Do you have a radar for when we start fighting?" you snorted.

"Maybe," he said, brow raised at you. "Nat's been waiting for you in the training room."

"I don't need any more training," you grumbled, and with Bucky still standing quite close to you, he could almost see you pouting.

Or maybe he was just imagining it.

"There's no such a thing as too much training," Steve said in that 'captain voice' of his. "Besides, you need to learn how to hold back your punches."

"So, you're saying…" you sighed. "You don't trust me not to kill anyone?"

Bucky has never seen Steve turn bright red so quickly in his life.

"No! That's not—"

You giggled.

Bucky couldn't even begin to describe what his heart did in his chest.

You walked over to the blushing blonde, patting his chest with a bright smile. "Just messing with you, Steve."

He wasn't sure if he was jealous of the casual affection you were able to give to Steve, or the fact that his best friend got along so well with you that you might as well have known each other all your life.

Yet either thought was pushed to the back of his head as he watched you walk away in those goddamn leggings. There was always a certain sway to your hips whenever you moved, a confidence he couldn't help but be captivated by. But those goddamn gray leggings, for reasons he couldn't explain, were somehow accentuating everything that much more. From your hips to your thighs and that ass—

"Get out of my head, Maximoff," Bucky grumbled, cheeks burning when he caught the way the redhead was quietly smirking in the corner. 

"I wasn't even in your head," Wanda laughed, still honoring the promise she made to him to always respect his boundaries when it came to his mind, which he was grateful for. "It's all over your face."

"You look hungry as hell, man," Sam added, grinning. 

"Well, if you want to ogle more," Steve teased, smiling amusedly. "Don't you have your recruits to train?"

Bucky could only flip them off as he walked towards the elevator.

•••

Fists hitting against bags, punches blocked with precision, hisses and groans as bones met muscle, bodies landing on padded floors with low grunts, and the occasional cheers and hollers from the opposite side of where he stood.

There was quite a crowd at the training room—and by room he meant a whole floor—at this time of day. After all, it was mostly everyone's schedule for it.

It was hectic, and for someone with enhanced senses, it can be overstimulating. But Bucky had grown to learn how to focus the amount of input his brain took. Right now, it wasn't on the young boy he was currently sparring with.

Oh no.

It was over at the mats where a crowd had formed. It was like fight night, a challenge born out of pure pride and ego as to who could land even just one blow on the current victor.

You.

From the corner of his eye, Bucky watched you dance around a man who was more or less a foot taller than you. It was graceful, the way you jumped onto his shoulders, your legs wrapping around his neck before you twisted your body, using the momentum to flip the agent onto his back, tightening your thighs around his neck before he rapidly started tapping on the mat.

You barely even broke a sweat.

Bucky swiftly raised his right arm, blocking a high kick from the recruit. It was a valiant effort but it simply wasn't quick enough to surpass his enhanced senses.

"Good thinking to use a moment's distraction to your advantage," he commended, grabbing his ankle and flinging the kid over his shoulder. "But never underestimate your opponent."

He looked around his group, fresh graduates and all looking properly beaten and tired, and not just physically. None of them had ever won a spar with him. But, well, not to sound egotistical, but it was never a fair fight to begin with.

He was a supersoldier for crying out loud.

As their trainer, he could keep going. There were no breaks out there in a real fight. But then again, he has to remember that his blood was fueled differently compared to them.

Besides, his attention was most definitely elsewhere, and he kinda wants to watch a different session instead.

Was he slacking on the job? Maybe.

But hey, let's say he was simply trying not to drain the life out of the newbies.

"Great job today," Bucky said with a curt nod. "We'll continue this tomorrow."

Relief rolled over the group like a wave, and he resisted the urge to chuckle. As they all left one by one, Bucky remained at his station, leisurely sipping on his water as he watched the commotion across him.

"Do I really need to keep doing this?" you sighed at Steve after you pinned down yet another recruit who was definitely a few sizes bigger than you, swift and hard to disorient them but not enough to cause any real damage. Properly learning how to hold back your punches. "Aren't I supposed to be showing what I'm truly capable of?"

"You're getting cocky," Nat chuckled, throwing an M&M in her mouth.

"I'm not," you shrugged, yet your smirk said otherwise. You stood up, dusting your shoulder to make a show out of it. "I just want a challenge for once."

"Okay," Steve hummed, scanning the room before his eyes met his, gesturing for him to come over. "Hey, Buck!"

Here we go.

With a sigh, Bucky walked over to your group.

"Really? You want me to hold back on him?"

You couldn't have toned down your disdain even if you tried.

"Bold of you to assume you can lay a finger on me," he countered, crossing his arms over his chest.

"You wanted a challenge so, go ahead," Steve hummed. "No holding back this time. I'm sure Buck can take it."

"I feel insulted that he's the standard," you grumbled, hands on your hips as you raised a brow at him. "But if you're telling me not to hold back I might end up killing him."

Bucky rolled his eyes. "Cute."

"Let's see if it's cute if I've got a knife down your throat."

"Jesus—" Steve ran a hand over his face before shooting you both a look. "I didn't say kill each other."

"Fine," you sighed dejectedly. "I'll try not to."

"Don't worry, Steve," Bucky hummed, smirking. "I'll go easy on her."

You were the first to attack.

Bucky expected you to go for the chest. With the short moment he observed you, that was usually what you went for when an opponent had a much larger stature than you. But surprisingly, you slid through his legs, kicking the back of his knee to make them buckle, causing him to fall forward. Catching himself on both hands, he rolled to the right just as your foot landed on where his head had been.

Is she actually trying to kill me?

He grabbed your ankle then, pulling it so rapidly that it had you landing on your chest with a cough. Before Bucky could even blink, you twisted, your leg hitting the side of his face. He stumbled back with a groan, giving you enough time to get back on your feet.

With deep breaths, you glared at each other from your places on the mat, bodies at the ready for another round.

Bucky attacked.

From the outside looking in, you two might as well have been doing a choreographed routine. You were dancing around each other, blocking some punches, landing a few kicks, and just when you thought that one had locked the other down, they'd immediately slipped from their grasp.

And this went on and on and on and on.

Nobody could decipher as to who would win this fight.

It was mesmerizing.

Bucky was impressed at the way you could keep up with him. He wasn't counting the time, but your stamina never seemed to waver. You didn't seem to have any need to catch your breath. You were definitely better than any of the agents, and dare he say it, any of the Avengers he'd sparred with.

Then again, your skills were a mixture of a Black Widow and HYDRA. It shouldn't have come as a surprise that you were simply that good.

But Bucky was better.

He was also at an advantage since The Winter Soldier's fighting style was so clearly the blueprint for your training. That was one of the things he always noticed when it came to HYDRA. When one thing was a success, they were going to run that program to the ground.

If Bucky hadn't known any better, he might as well have trained you himself.

He was able to predict your next move quite easily, already knowing what his counterattack would be before you could even land a blow.

It was making you frustrated.

Bucky couldn't help but be cocky about it.

"Killing me, huh?" he whispered against your ear once he had you in a chokehold.

Again. 

"Don't tempt me to do it," you hissed, head thrown back abruptly to catch his nose.

Once his grip loosened even the slightest bit, you pushed his arm and dropped to the ground in a crouching position, spinning with one leg out to sweep him off his feet. He stumbled but didn't fall. In an attempt to keep the momentum, you tried to go for a handstand kickup, but Bucky caught your ankle before you could even complete your move, tossing you over his shoulder with little effort.

Quickly, you were back on your feet. Sweat covered your body as you heaved. There was a cut on your brow to match his bleeding nose, the bruise on your lip was looking quite similar to his, too.

Still, you looked absolutely beautiful.

But even with your fists up, seemingly ready to go again, Bucky could see your strength waning by the second, and your frustration wasn't helping you one bit.

That was always aweakness.

You will lose if you let your emotions come into play, no matter how well trained you were.

"That all you got?" Bucky taunted, arms out as he tilted his head with a pout. "He told you not to hold back, принцесса."

He hadn't meant to taunt the nickname in Russian. It just slipped out, like it somehow felt right to say it that way.

Yet the fire that lit your eyes was screaming at him otherwise—a look so raw and unnerving it made Bucky break out into nervous sweats.

It all happened so fast.

Bucky was caught off-guard when you ran to him at full speed with a growl, your knee hitting his chest with such force it knocked him onto his back. He hissed when he felt your knee dig into his rib, putting all your weight on it to hold him down. His head tilted up once he felt the cold, sharp blade against his neck.

In his periphery, he saw Nat patting herself down, eyes flickering over to the knife you were holding against Bucky's throat, her eyes wide in shock. 

Natalia Alianovna Romanova, one of the world's best and deadliest assassins, didn't even notice you taking a knife from her belt.

That was how fast it happened.

"Call me принцесса again and see what happens," you said, low and menacing. You were so close, your warm breath was tickling his lips but Bucky could only focus on your eyes.

There were so many emotions swimming in them, yet the sadness was what intrigued him the most.

But before he could get a proper read, you were gone.

The next thing he knew there was a dagger flying past his head, embedding itself on the mat. He felt something warm trickle down his ear. Bucky didn't need to see to know that you'd managed to graze his skin enough to draw some blood.

A warning.

He wasn't even given the time to collect himself before you were already leaving the room, the door slamming shut behind you.

Blinking twice, only then did Bucky realize that you had managed to gather quite the audience, all of which were silenced as to what just happened.

"What'd he call her?" Sam asked, holding a packet of Skittles in one hand.

"Printsessa. It's Russian for princess," Nat explained, shaking her head disappointedly before rushing to follow you.

Bucky was confused. 

He thought it was quite an overreaction to calling someone an innocent nickname.

"Right! The show's over!" Steve's 'captain voice' boomed. "Everyone back to their duties!"

Bucky sighed, running a hand over his face before taking the outstretched hand Steve was offering him.

"I don't get it," the blonde murmured once he helped him up and offered him tissues.

"What?" Bucky asked, wiping the blood off his skin. 

"You and Y/N," Steve elaborated. "I really thought you two would get along so well."

Bucky frowned. "What made you think that?"

"You're basically two peas in the same pod," Steve said as if it was obvious enough.

"We're nothing alike," he scoffed, rolling his eyes.

"The two of you are more alike than you think."

•••

"What's all this?"

It was never common to see Steve Rogers hauling boxes out of his room on a random Thursday morning. And one glance at his open door, the space was completely empty.

"You're leaving?" Bucky pressed worriedly.

"No," Steve chuckled. "Just moving floors."

Bucky's brows furrowed. "Why?"

"Because you—"

The blonde was cut off when the elevator dinged. It was more stacks of boxes being rolled into the space. But then a figure stepped into view. Steve turned to him with a shit-eating grin.

"—are getting a new floormate."

Bucky has never wanted to punch him so badly.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me, Rogers."

His so-called best friend only smirked at him.

To most, Steve Rogers was the golden boy, America's greatest hero.

To Bucky? He was just an annoying little shit.

"Y/N," Steve greeted once you crossed paths in the living room.

"Steven," you responded, moving aside to let him and his stuff into the elevator.

"Try and don't kill each other please," he said, raising his brow knowingly.

You shrugged. "No promises."

"Be nice!" was the punk's last words before the elevator doors closed.

You didn't even spare Bucky a glance.

Instead, you just started bringing the boxes you brought with you into Steve's—well, your room.

Bucky, with no desire to help, casually leaned against the wall. He simply watched you make the repeating journey, taking box after box with you.

"Why did you agree to this?" he asked after a minute.

"Because I'm a good fucking friend, Barnes."

"What did Natasha bribe you with?"

"Fuck's sake," you groaned, dropping the box only to shoot him a glare. "Are favors for friends a new concept to you?"

"Favor? What favor?" he pushed. "Having Steve as a floormate?"

You ignored him, continuing with your task at hand.

"Why would she want Rogers to be next to her room—" Realization hit Bucky like a flying red white and blue shield. "Oh."

"Wow," you scoffed. "I knew you were dense but I was hoping Steve would've at least filled you in."

Bucky always knew that there was a little something between those two but he wasn't buying it as the only reason why Steve suddenly switched floors with you. They probably thought he wouldn't notice, but he did. Nat and Steve were the number one duo who had been trying to push the two of you to get along.

And when the tension only grew that much more after that incident in the training room, Bucky wouldn't be surprised if this whole floormate switch-up had something to do with their pursuit of making you act at least civil with one another.

"Don't worry," you said, placing the last box on the floor before meeting his eyes. "You won't even notice that you have a neighbor to begin with."

You slammed the door shut.

For the rest of the day, your statement remained true. Bucky barely heard from you at all, despite staying in his room given that it was his day off.

You were back to your ghostly ways, he supposed, keeping to yourself for the most part. But then again, it was only day one.

Unfortunately, your statement was immediately proven wrong that very same night.

Bucky was woken up by the faint whimpering he could hear through the wall. 

They weren't exactly thin, but they weren't soundproof either. There was a feature to cancel out the noise and prevent it from going out, but you had to enable it through FRIDAY.

You must've forgotten to turn it on.

He bolted out of bed when he heard you scream.

Bucky was outside your door in seconds, chest heaving as he pressed his palm flat against the surface.

He couldn't bring himself to knock.

Bucky simply didn't know if rushing inside your room was going to help you, or make things worse.

So he stood there, right outside your door, eyes screwed shut as pain clawed at his chest, listening as your screams turned to heart aching sobs.

Bucky had never felt so useless in his life.

He didn't know how long he was standing there, ears on high alert as he listened to every shaky breath you let out. He only went back to his room once you had gotten calmer.

Yet he didn't quite get some sleep that night.

Bucky—unbeknownst to you and him—had grown even more protective of you.

It was an unconscious act on his part, one he didn't even realize he was doing until Sam pointed it out.

It was always him who pointed things out, unfortunately.

"Since when did you become her guard dog?" Wilson had teased him once, right as they got back to the compound after a morning run.

His actions came to him in flashes. Whether that was immediately clocking any HYDRA agent coming your way and taking them out of the equation before you could even notice, taking extra precautions on missions for your behalf, or simply glaring at any agent who even did as much as look at you the wrong way. And if they actually said something, best believe Bucky didn't make it easy for them when it came to training.

But he never acknowledged Sam's words or outwardly showed that they affected him.

He only walked past Sam with a soft punch on the arm.

•••

Living on the same floor as you was…something.

For the first two weeks, it felt like Bucky was truly alone and that nobody lived in the room next door.

But as weeks turned to a month, traces of you were slowly integrating themselves around the common area, little things that made him know more about you.

You had a few cat-shaped mugs in the cupboard that made Bucky think you were a cat person. But then on a random day, he saw an orange one which looked like a dog, its face on one side and its butt on the other. He deduced that you simply liked animal mugs altogether because he saw a raccoon one, too. 

Then there was a knitted throw blanket on the sofa that smelled so much like you. It didn't take long for that to get followed by a fluffy pillow or two. All of them were one specific color but Bucky didn't know if that was your favorite one, or you simply liked to keep things coordinated. Maybe it was both.

Whether that was random knick knacks around the shelves, a DVD set by the TV, a well-loved book on the coffee table, the breadcrumbs of him having you as a floormate were starting to become apparent.

Besides that, he never truly felt like there was someone else on the same floor as him because rarely did you end up in your shared space at the same time.

If you did, you two always bickered to no end.

But as the sky turned from a shade of blue to the deep black of the night, Bucky was reminded that you were there right next to his room.

He wasn't overly fond of how the reminder was given.

Your nightmares didn't happen as frequently as he was prepared for them to be. But every other night was still a lot for one person to handle.

Bucky was yet to gain the courage to knock on the door.

It might have been creepy to just stand outside, it might as well have been cruel to do nothing while you were in distress.

But he was scared.

Not for him, but for you.

He honestly couldn't decipher whether he would be of any help or not if he just burst into your room unannounced. Because as confusing as living with you was, one thing remained clear.

You definitely still hated him.

"Can you fucking pick up after yourself?" you complained.

Bucky rolled his eyes. "It's one fucking spoon."

"Then put it in the sink!"

"Jesus fucking Christ what has that spoon ever done to you?"

"It's dirty and you're leaving it on the counter!"

"And?"

"You've got milk and cereal all over it!"

"I'm not asking you to clean it."

"But it's fucking annoying, you fucking slob!"

"Stop acting like you own this whole fucking place, printsessa."

It was truly impressive, how fast you had him pushed against the fridge with a goddamn bread knife against his throat.

It also stirred something in him but he wasn't ready to unpack that.

Bucky was holding his breath because if he did as much as relax, he knew the blade would nick his skin.

Who was he kidding, that definitely wasn't the reason he was holding his breath. He was a super soldier for crying out loud. He healed fast. A menial scrape wouldn't do much harm.

But you had just finished showering after your morning run and Bucky could smell your shampoo. Vanilla. Simple and sweet, a stark contrast to your fiery glare and the way you were holding a knife to his throat.

It was driving him insane.

"What did I say about calling me that," you said lowly.

"You know, you act so tough in front of everyone," he said, eyes defiantly glaring back at you. "But a meaningless nickname scares you this much?"

"Ne ispytyvay udachu, Soldat," you growled, pressing the knife that little bit harder.

Don't push your luck, Soldier.

Such a simple sentence yet it threw Bucky into an emotional rollercoaster.

He didn't know if it was the threat in itself, the way you spoke another language in that deep growl, or the fact that you were holding a knife down his throat but he felt scared there for a moment.

You were terrifying when you were angry.

And maybe this was such a fucked up thing to say but why was he turned on by it?

Bucky was grateful that you quickly left him alone after that. Once you were out of his enhanced earshot, he dropped his head and sighed, hoping and goddamn praying that you didn't notice the tent that had grown in his workout shorts.

It would've been so humiliating otherwise.

Shaking his head, Bucky could almost hear Sam's voice. 

"Damn, you're more pathetic than I thought."

•••

The mission was a bust.

One of the most important HYDRA scientists got away and managed to take with him the files they needed to track down other facilities.

The Avengers were gathered around the forest where the Quinjet was hidden. But instead of getting aboard and being on their way home, everyone was watching a screaming match instead.

Whenever a mission would go awry, everyone would regroup in the jet to try and discuss what went wrong and how to improve it on the next mission. There were never fingers thrown around as to whose fault it was because it was never anyone's fault.

But right now, you decided to blame it on him.

"What the fuck is your problem!" You all but marched up to Bucky, shoving him hard on the chest, making him stumble back in surprise. "Do you always get a kick at sabotaging my part of the mission?"

"Sabotage?" Bucky laughed humorlessly. "I don't care about you enough to do that."

However, if someone had seen what happened beforehand, they absolutely would call him a liar right to his face.

"Oh really?" you argued, shoving him again. The action was really riling him up. "Then why are you so fucking hell-bent on meddling with what I'm doing!"

"Because I don't fucking trust you!" Bucky gritted, aggressive with no ounce of truth as he took a step towards you. "I wouldn't be surprised if you let him get away. Sure as hell looked like you recognized him."

"Wow." You shook your head, scoffing, "So we're going to pretend like I'm the only one who used to work for HYDRA here?"

"Then why didn't you catch him?"

"You shoved me away!" you yelled, hands balling into fists. "I fucking had him!"

"You were being careless!" he stated the obvious, growling when you decided to shove him out of spite. Again. "You were about to get shot!"

"So fucking what!"

That only angered him more.

"Well, I'm sorry for fucking saving your life then!"

"How was I supposed to know someone was behind me? I don't have eyes on the back of my fucking head!" you countered, shoving a finger at the Captain without taking your eyes off Bucky. "And no, Steve, my partner didn't say a fucking thing even though he was supposed to watch my back!"

Bucky will throw his hands up and admit that you were right. But he didn't get a chance to warn you about it because he admittedly got distracted by nothing else but you.

For some reason, Steve found it helpful to partner you and Bucky during missions from time to time, said it was to build up the team chemistry. He had no qualms over it the first couple few, since you two did work quite well together despite your personal animosity.

But something about today's mission threw him off—specifically, the second you managed to get a hold of that scientist whose name he was yet to learn.

Yet it was clear as day that you recognized this man.

It was the first time Bucky truly saw this darker side of you. The pure and unbridled anger that captured your whole being was mesmerizing, the low drawl of your voice akin to a siren, captivating and that much more deadly.

And your eyes.

You didn't have superpowers but they honestly looked like they were starting to catch fire as you examined the man, as if thinking about all the ways you could make him suffer, turn him inside out with as much pain as you could muster.

During that moment, Bucky realized that he would've let you scorch the earth if it meant finally getting that revenge over the people who'd made you endure years of torture.

He would've stood by your side proudly.

It both aroused and scared him.

Embarrassingly so.

By then, Bucky didn't notice the HYDRA agent until they were already too close. All that was needed was one pull of the trigger.

So in a moment of panic, he ran, straight at you and shoved you out of the way.

It was either a slight bruise on your side or a bullet to the back of your head.

Bucky didn't take any chances.

Unable to control his strength, he pushed you across the room and knocked the breath out of you. And when he finished off the agent and you still hadn't gotten up, Bucky panicked. He honestly thought he might've killed you. And as he stood there in shock, only breathing again once you let out a sharp cough, the scientist already used that slim time to get away.

Yet despite the fear he felt during that moment, and the utter shame he was harboring because he failed as your partner on the field, his ego right this second couldn't even begin to admit that it was all his fault. So, he matched your glare.

"What's the point of saying something if you won't even fucking listen?"

"You know what, sure," you threw your hands up, so clearly exasperated. "Nothing of sense comes out of that mouth anyway,"

"Maybe I should've just let you take that bullet," he seethed, anger boiling over. Your defiance and absolute lack of fear as you squared up to him didn't help by one bit. "Finally get rid of the pain in my ass."

"As if you don't like getting pegged."

"Walk away you two," Steve commanded, voice stern and void of any patience. He gave Bucky's shoulder a push. You turned on your heel then.

But Bucky was just so angry that he couldn't stop himself from muttering under his breath in Russian. 

"Useless bitch."

He didn't mean it.

But you heard.

Oh you heard it loud and clear.

Bucky was sure of it because the next thing he saw was a gun pointed right in between his eyes.

"Maybe a bullet to the head will finally heal that blended brain of yours," you said, voice scarily calm, your face hardened and void of any emotion as you stared at him dead in the eye. "Or at least give justice to those innocent lives you took."

"Y/N!" Steve scolded, attempting to get you two to break it off.

But neither of you budged.

Everyone was on edge now, not entirely sure what to do next in case one wrong move would set either of you off.

"Rich, coming from you. But go ahead," he challenged, taking a step until the barrel of the gun was pressed right against his forehead. "Besides, it won't be too hard for you since you don't really discriminate against who you kill, do you? I mean, this wouldn't be the first time you killed your own teammate."

Tilting his head tauntingly, Bucky pouted. "Or was that your boyfriend?"

"Bucky!" Natasha gasped.

It wasn't the firm push of Steve's hand nor his tall stature standing in the middle that sobered Bucky up.

Oh no.

His anger left his body way before that.

The way your hand began to shake, the tremble on your lips, and the look of pure pain in your eyes was like a bucket of ice cold water.

Bucky knew that look.

He'd seen it through the mirror when a memory would replay itself in his head and there was nothing he could do except watch—the light leaving their eyes, the echo of screams, a gunshot, a body falling on the floor.

It was a look that was too familiar that Bucky felt the guilt clogging his throat because he knew he'd just managed to make you relive that specific moment over and over.

"That's enough!" Steve said firmly. "Both of you."

Bucky tried to meet your eyes, tried to immediately take back what he just said. But Natasha was already guiding you towards the jet, your head down with your arms around yourself.

"Don't," he sighed when Steve shot him a disappointed look. "I know."

Bucky followed the rest of the team after that.

The silence hung in the Quinjet during the journey home, a touch awkward but thick with tension.

You both have been forced to sit on opposite ends, as far from each other as possible. Well, forced wasn't the right word. You willingly put as much distance as you could from him, as if breathing the same air as him was out of the question.

Still, the jet felt as cramped as ever.

Rotting in his own guilt and self-pity, Bucky couldn't help but glance at you from time to time.

There was a harsh tug on his heartstrings when he saw you fiddling with the fabric of your tactical suit, flinching at the slightest turbulence or even the softest of sound. You'd never looked up once the second you sat there.

You were anxious.

He had never seen you like this before.

Mission reports could only tell so much, and when yours had been mostly redacted, Bucky knew nothing about what truly went down. Yet despite not being stated on the pages, he had an inkling that whatever your bond was with your aforementioned partner, it went far deeper than just a simple boyfriend and girlfriend relationship.

He didn't even know if it was given that label to begin with.

The worst of it all, Bucky knew that during that circumstance, you did the right thing.

And you paid a heavy price.

PART 2

✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ♛ *.

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[ex0rin]

Whumpcember 2022 - Day 2

@whumpcember Day 2: Avalanche winterbones (vaguely) - 690 Words The Winter Soldier, Brock Rumlow buried alive, canon-trauma, soldier plus cold you know how it goes

The soldier clenches his teeth as the first full wave of snow hits.

The gunshot echoing through the mountains had given him an extra moment to prepare, the crack and crumble of packed white snow shifting from above him - somewhere near the back of his mind he’s annoyed by someone taking a shot at him without considering that the snow would then bury him; although, that could have been the plan all along.

Seems messier than he would choose.

Confirming the kill would be difficult for them.

He’d managed to get behind a large, sturdy tree before the beginnings of the avalanche had started - his body wrapped around it to keep him effectively blocked with something to hold onto; it’d been second nature to click his tracker on before being surrounded by snow.

The soldier is used to the cold.

He’s used to the first painful inhale in his chamber, when this current generation of men in button up shirts and small black bow ties hit the button to flood the tube with icy air - the crackle of it climbing down his throat and lulling him back to sleep; he’s used to waking up, too, with sharp frosted crystals covering his skin, teeth chattering through the thawing process

This is different, he reminds himself - he is not in the chamber right now, he is out in the field.

It doesn’t help with the way his body wants to sleep, both an instinctive reaction built into him through conditioning and by the usual way that dying out in the snow is supposed to make him feel.

The snow stops rushing by him eventually, settling into a packed coffin on all sides - the tree gives him the space to move a little, but it’s dark and cold and –

His handler is there - the usual smirk at the corner of his mouth traded for the downturn of his lips, he doesn’t seem pleased when he says, “Time for another nap sweetheart,” as he leads the soldier through the green-tinted corridors and towards where the soldier knows is the large chamber that houses him until he’s needed again.

They’ve never taken that memory from him.

The glass and steel encased cylinder seems bigger in this room than it had been the last time he’d woken up - that other place grey and concrete and always so large that the spoken words would echo up around him, each one getting heavier, digging deeper into his brain, “How long?” he asks once he's inside, watching his handler’s frown deepen.

“You won’t even notice.”

The soldier shakes his head - his hair had been wet from the snow outside and now it moves as a single block, frozen solid when he shifts; the slats in his metal arm try to recalibrate as he stretches out his fingers but they’re moving slow and he hears the click of one of them getting stuck mid-transition.

It’s dark in the ice, nothing to focus on except for the sound of his breath.

He struggles not to close his eyes - it’d be easy and familiar to let the same icy sleep take him and maybe when his handler finds his tracker he’ll just be taken back to the facility and thawed again; he doesn’t know how that works, but it stands to reason that he can be brought back in the same way he usually is.

His arm clicks again –

“Do you not have any self-preservation instincts?”

The words jar him.

He remembers the sound of them from another night - a time long enough ago that he shouldn’t be able to hear them anymore, they should be lost and gone but he can still see amber eyes and feel warmth and hear a low whisper of good boy against his ear.

The soldier shudders through another shiver, the noise of his teeth chattering adding in alongside the slowed way his breath comes - he feels the tree in front of him and is certain he didn’t get turned around during the rush of snow; there’s no way of knowing how deep he’s buried but his handler would be upset if he died here without even trying to get out.

Rumlow would be mad.

He starts digging.

[starssunsoftheinfinite]

MasterPost Please Read

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

WRITTING REQUESTS {OPEN still working on that Loki fic but I'm now in a spot where I can fill in more requests while I do it! Might be a little slow though<3 my apologies}

ART REQUESTS {OPEN}

Full Fanfictions can be found posted separately here, as well as eventually a large collection of one-shots from Tumblr as I write them for ease of reading ☆

Who will I write for? {more to come}

☆MCU☆

Bucky Barnes/Winter Soldier {Please specify if you'd like WS Bucky}

Loki/Jotun Loki {Please specify if you'd like Jotun Loki to be canonical as in smaller than the usual frost giants or something more like the what if? Jotun loki}

Steve Rogers

Thor Odinson

Peter Parker {I won't write smut for him thats anything more than extensive kissing}

☆The Witcher☆

Jaskier

Geralt

☆The Hobbit☆

Bilbo Baggins

Thorin Oakensheild

Fili

Kili

Thranduil

Legolas {Please specify if youd like Hobbit Legolas or LOTR Legolas}

Bard

☆The Lord of the Rings☆

Frodo Baggins

Samwise Gamgee

Pippin Took

Merry Brandybuck

Aragorn

Gimli

Legolas

Sauron {He would be portrayed in a physical form, please specify if you'd want your own description of him, please provide this in the ask, Sauron in his armor, Rings of Power Sauron, or the Sauron that's often depicted in fanart E.G the long blonde hair ect}

Elrond

Lindir

☆Castlevania☆

Alucard

Trevor

Would you write for ships?

Yes! Nothing incestuous {that includes thorki} or with questionable dynamics/age differences {e.g tony stark and peter parker} though.

Even if it's an obscure ship or a rare pare such as Loki and Bucky or something like that I'm willing to give it a go.

I will write ships for all the fandoms I have in my Bio.

Do you write x readers?

Yes! If you don't specify what gender you'd like them to be for, I will always go for completely neutral {Please message me if you notice any slip-ups that give the reader a gender identity in these fics!}

I'll happily write for Cis men, Nonbinary{transmasc or transfem}, Agender, Genderfluid, Transmen, or any other identity you'd like to be written about.

However, I don't feel comfortable writing Female readers, my apologies.

When requesting a trans reader, please specify things that you want to be mentioned such as does the reader wear a binder, have top surgery, or neither? Bottom surgery? Hormone therapy? etc... If any of these aren't specified I will do my best to keep the language either neutral or on the more masculine side for Transmasc or Transman readers {E.G referring to the genitalia as a dick in smut fics if needed whether they have surgery or not}

What kinds of things can I ask for in smutfics?

Im open to writing most kinks.

I WONT WRITE {more things to be added as time goes on}

age play {in nonsexual situations its fine}

race play

excessive food play {I'll write it lightly but I dont like to get too into it}

Non-con or dubious consent {this includes if both of either character is intoxicated in some way}

Urine play

Scat fetishes

Fart play

I will not write the use of slurs during sexual interactions

Can I be given a nickname if I want to ask anonymously but still want you to know it's me?

Of course! Just request a nickname or emoji/symbol to be used for you and Ill add you to a list I have to make sure only one person has that nickname.

Taken sign offs - 💚

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

If you have any questions please send them in my ask box

[marveltrumpshate]

July 2023 MTH fills

The best way to see all the fills that have been shared with us is our monthly roundups tag or our #MTH-fills channel on our Discord, but you can also view them through the following methods:

Our Tumblr tags: 2018, 2019, 2020, 2021, 2022

Our AO3 collections: 2018, 2019, 2020, 2021, 2022 (only has works posted to AO3)

Completed works tag list

To find specific content, use our completed works tag lists above which includes instructions on how to search for a particular character, gen or romantic relationship, universe, and fanwork type. 

SOLO CHARACTERS

BUCKY BARNES

@captainjimothycarter - Four paintings representing Bucky Barnes through the years, from CA:TFA to TFATWS for buckybarnesdeservestobehappy

DAISY JOHNSON

Lalaith Quetzalli/@lalaithquetzallicaresi - Banner of MCU Daisy in her different identities: hacker, agent, and hero for @athletiger

STEVE ROGERS

@Call-Me-Kayyyyy - Art of Steve naked except for red, white, and blue stockings and his shield lifting his legs up and above himself with his core strength for @liloau

GEN/PLATONIC RELATIONSHIPS

BUCKY BARNES & MARIA HILL

@uofmdragon - "A Frost in Spring" (MCU AU fic where rookie SHIELD agent Maria Hill meets the Winter Soldier on her first mission and things get complicated) for @bulkyphrase, @oper1895, and RhubarbKetchup

JAMES "RHODEY" RHODES & NATASHA ROMANOV

@uofmdragon - "5 times Rhodey had a Conversation with the New Avengers (+1 time He talked with their sponsor)" (post-AoU Rhodey fic where he gets to know and support his new teammates) for @bulkyphrase

JAMES "RHODEY" RHODES & SAM WILSON

@uofmdragon - "5 times Rhodey had a Conversation with the New Avengers (+1 time He talked with their sponsor)" (post-AoU Rhodey fic where he gets to know and support his new teammates) for @bulkyphrase

JAMES "RHODEY" RHODES & STEVE ROGERS

@uofmdragon - "5 times Rhodey had a Conversation with the New Avengers (+1 time He talked with their sponsor)" (post-AoU Rhodey fic where he gets to know and support his new teammates) for @bulkyphrase

JAMES "RHODEY" RHODES & TONY STARK

@uofmdragon - "5 times Rhodey had a Conversation with the New Avengers (+1 time He talked with their sponsor)" (post-AoU Rhodey fic where he gets to know and support his new teammates) for @bulkyphrase

JAMES "RHODEY" RHODES & VISION

@uofmdragon - "5 times Rhodey had a Conversation with the New Avengers (+1 time He talked with their sponsor)" (post-AoU Rhodey fic where he gets to know and support his new teammates) for @bulkyphrase

MARIA HILL & NICK FURY

@uofmdragon - "A Frost in Spring" (MCU AU fic where rookie SHIELD agent Maria Hill meets the Winter Soldier on her first mission and things get complicated) for @bulkyphrase, @oper1895, and RhubarbKetchup

MATT MURDOCK & FOGGY NELSON

ceterisparibus/@ceterisparibus116 - "Sunlight on Chessboards" (post-Daredevil season 3 Matt & Foggy case fic) for metaderivative

SHIPS

BUCKY BARNES/STEVE ROGERS

E_Greer - Podfic of "Bucky and His Stubborn Goat," a non-powered Bucky/Steve A/B/O AU fic by and for @aquatigermice

BUCKY BARNES/STEVE ROGERS/TONY STARK

E_Greer - Podfic of "When Your Isosceles Triangle Turns Out To Be Equilateral," a MCU Bucky/Steve/Tony Valentine's Day fic by and for @aquatigermice - Podfic of "Sign Your Name Across My Heart, I Want You To Be My Baby., a Bucky/Steve/Tony A/B/O AU fic by and for @aquatigermice - Podfic of "Only in My Dreams Am I Happy," a Bucky/Steve/Tony A/B/O shapeshifter fic by and for @aquatigermice

EMMA FROST/SCOTT SUMMERS

@flightinflame - "Homeflight" (Emma/Scott dragon riders AU fic) for @mmgth (MTH 2021)

PETER PARKER/GWEN STACY

TheCuriousSofa - "First Aid" (TASM Gwen/Peter hurt/comfort fic where Peter goes to Gwen to get patched up even though they've broken up) for wombatking

PETER PARKER/JOHNNY STORM

@bardicious - Art of 616 Johnny lying down in Peter's lap, talking to Peter for Mech

STEVE ROGERS/TONY STARK

Hermit/@hermit-writes - Typesetting for "A Common Guttersnipe," a My Fair Lady Steve/Tony AU fic by and for @betheflame (also here)

Ravin/@shadow-ravin - Podfic of "It's Diet Coke Time," a non-powered Steve/Tony getting together AU fic by and for @betheflame

@superdecibels - Art of a grumpy Steve in a suit sitting in a car next to a happy Tony wearing casual clothes for @betheflame