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cuckoo-on-a-string · 2 years

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Soft Target - Ch. 2

Not strictly Zemo x reader, but so close they could kiss.

Chapter summary: Our girl meets Zemo properly, Sam gets to explain himself, and we all love Jurassic Park.

Chapter warnings: Language

Chapter 1: Link

Thanks for all the support so far! Likes are beautiful, retweets are blessings, and comments keep the Depression Beast at bay. nvtaliaromanovv, I don’t know why it isn’t always showing up in the tags, alas!

*I’m using original villains in this for reasons, but they’re very simple and quickly explained in this chapter.

She tried not to think as they ran down the alley, across a street, and around the corner. So, of course, she thought about everything. She thought of the heavy grip on her arm and the way her knife pushed through the thick resistance of muscle and tendon to reach the bar’s hardwood. She thought of the hesitation in Barnes’ posture and Sam’s careful words. She thought of the stranger leading them away from a place she’d thought so safe and wonderful a mere hour before.

But, as she thought, her feet moved, and soon enough they reached their ride, a black SUV a little too sleek for its class, but reassuringly large. If they were pursued, their hunters would have a challenge forcing the massive thing off the road.

The man in the ridiculous coat took the driver’s seat, and Sam rushed to take shotgun, leaving her to slide into the back with Bucky. The vehicle swung away from the curb before she’d even finished fastening her seatbelt.

“Are we being followed?” Sam asked.

Barnes, with his eyes fixed on the rear window, shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

Behind the wheel, the stranger hummed. “We’ll take the long way to the airfield. Just to be safe.”

A beautiful voice. His accent sounded familiar, but she had too much on her mind to place it. Eastern European, but beyond that…

Wait.

“Airfield?” Her eyebrows rose. “You have access to a plane?”

The man chuckled, and Sam rolled his eyes as he answered, “Yes. For all the good it does us right now. We’re out of leads.”

His eyes flicked her way, and she felt rather than saw Barnes turn to the window. No one had to explain. They came looking for an asset, not a friend, and every instinct she had during their earlier conversation had proven true. Damn it.

She took a deep breath, reigning in the urge to do something rash – like jump out of the fucking car. This could be worse, but she had to remind herself of the fact, so it couldn’t be much worse. Like it or not, they’d involved her. The man who grabbed her wasn’t the sharpest crayon on the pack, but he wasn’t operating alone, and he definitely had resources. She needed to resolve this before it boiled over into her private life.

Still, before she threw in her lot with the old married couple and their third wheel, she needed to know. This couldn’t be an intentional manipulation. Oversight she’d accept. Misjudging their relationship – fine. Even intentionally using her could be forgiven under certain circumstances. But if they knowingly put her in the line of fire…

“Before I give you anything, you need to answer a question.”

Sam turned in his seat to meet her gaze, firm but sincere. A second pair of eyes kept flicking towards her in the rearview mirror, and Barnes’ solemn attention burned against the side of her head.

“Did you know that would happen?” she asked. Sam looked like he needed clarification. “Did you know those men would follow you? Were you hoping one of them would touch me?”

“No.” Sam was a man of his word, and the weight of his sincerity pulled his voice deep. “That wasn’t supposed to happen, Triss. You were supposed to have a choice about all this, and I’m sorry.”

So, it was all another accident of circumstance. Why couldn’t these hero types cross a few more lines so she could hate them with a clear conscience?

A weak smile fluttered across her lips. “Apology accepted.”

Barnes squirmed a little in his seat, clearly torn. “So, did you get a lead?”

“I got a lot,” she scoffed. “But, yeah, I got some useful things. We’re heading to Lexington, Kentucky. I hope you like bourbon.”

It was enough for the moment, and an uncomfortable silence settled in for the rest of the ride. She couldn’t quite bear more eye contact at the moment, and her emotions fizzed in her gut, building towards an inevitable explosion. Conversation would make the pressure worse, and she’d hate to say something she’d regret since – apparently – they were stuck together for the time being.

Her gaze hopped from streetlight to streetlight, letting the beams lull her into transitive mindlessness. It wouldn’t last. Best to seize the quiet while she could. Sam and Bucky must’ve felt the same way. Everyone kept their eyes on the windows as they moved out of the city and past the suburbs. But she felt him looking. His attention moved from the road to her reflection in the rearview several times, but she only glanced back the first time his focus turned her way.

It felt like he was measuring her up for a fight, and not necessarily as part of his team.

As in the bar, he became a problem to prepare for. What had she given him to use against her so far? Very little. She knew the superficial analysis – blue hair, tattoos, and a strappy black harness dress to show them off. It was her professional look, but she doubted that was what he’d take away from her appearance. Men weren’t so great at distinguishing those kinds of details. He was welcome to his assumptions. They may keep her safe.

The last few minutes of the drive were particularly dark as they approached the small airfield. She tried not to read into it, her jumpy imagination summoning monsters from the shadows under the suffocating weight of the void. When she knew they were out to get her, and she couldn’t see a threat, she’d invent one. As they finally approached their destination, the lights lining the field, strip, and hangars offered relief. Even walking into hell, she liked to see where she was going.

The man behind the wheel parked them – seemingly at random – near the field’s edge, and everyone jumped out as he cut the engine. Backpack over one shoulder, she followed them not to a military aircraft, not even to a beat-up prop plane, but to an actual private jet.

Oh, she wanted to ask. They owed her answers, but if she held her tongue, she’d probably get them without asking. This wasn’t something Sam or Bucky could afford. That left the third man, and she didn’t want to show him her hand. She’d bury her curiosity for another day and trust her patience would pay off.

An elderly butler greeted them at the ramp, welcoming the stranger in a language she vaguely recognized as Sokovian. That explained the accent. Well. One answer given, a dozen grown.

The stranger replied in the same tongue, and she couldn’t help enjoying the sound. She wasn’t at all fluent, but she recognized “Lexington” and “Kentucky” when they popped awkwardly against the language’s natural cadence. A wave of goosebumps crept up her arm as he spoke more than a hasty sentence for the first time in their acquaintance. She’d always had a thing for voices – harmless in the end – and she’d long since learned how to accept such feelings as they moved through and beyond her. It was like they knew there was no point sticking around. Nothing could come of her crushes.

Sam followed the stranger up the stairs, and she followed him, Bucky bringing up the rear with a wary eye roving the dark field and shadowed hangers. Even if he didn’t think they’d been followed, he’d be ready in case they were. It brought her a bit of comfort, actually, having someone else prepared for the worst-case scenario.

The cabin was all oak paneling and creamy leather seats. Clearly expensive. A little dull. The muted environment made her three companions stand out, though, like dark sketches on a blank canvas. Sam and Bucky chose seats catty-corner across the aisle, ensuring she wouldn’t have to sit beside their… frenemy? Despite the distance, once they were settled, he reached forward for a handshake with the kind of smile she saw tossed around during professional networking events.

“I’m afraid we haven’t been introduced,” he said.

She heaved a deep sigh, glancing at his hand as she folded her own against the impulse to reach out. “You don’t want to do that.”

His head tilted to the side. “Pardon?”

“Touch me. You don’t want to touch me.” It felt like a test, or at least investigation. He must’ve seen what happened at the bar, and he certainly heard her discussion in the car with Sam. He had an idea, but he wanted details. Threat analysis.

“Ah.” He pulled back. “A personal preference?” He made the question sound friendly, though he watched for her reaction like a seasoned interrogator. Fishing for information.

“You don’t have to tell him anything you don’t want to,” Sam interjected. “This is Zemo. You might remember him from the news. He blew up the U.N. and murdered the king of Wakanda. Those are just the highlights, but you get the idea.”

Instead of arguing, Zemo ducked and raised his hands in a kind of shrug. “An oversimplification, but loosely the truth.” His eyes, a little sharper this time, returned to hers. “And may I have your name?”

She wasn’t about to give him anything. He’d turn it against her, claim some kind of power with it like a faerie.

“You already heard Sam call me Triss, right?” she asked. “You can call me that.”

His dark eyes sparkled with a cold fire as his smirk creased up into a smile. If her standoffishness irked him, he didn’t show it. He could even be pleased, like she’d just handed him a challenge, or a puzzle to beat.

“A pleasure to meet you.”

“Don’t bullshit me.” She said it without heat, weary from a long day’s work and rough night’s escape.

As the plane accelerated down the runway and inertia tugged hard on her stomach, she chewed her lip, watching the watcher as she balanced her thoughts.

“What have they told you?” she asked.

He didn’t even blink. “Nothing.”

Honesty was the best policy. How long would he keep to it? Probably only as long as it suited his ends, and she had no idea what those were. She could play by those rules.

“I imagine they have a reason for that.” She leaned back, fighting to ignore the helpless feeling of freefall that haunted her gut during takeoff. “You want to know about my condition, right?”

Sam jumped in again. “Triss, you really don’t have to –”

“If we’re working together, he needs to know. Don’t worry.”

He would worry. Of course he would, so would Barnes, and – frankly – she was counting on that, but at a certain point, good intentions became impractical. The sooner she dealt with this, the better. All three men watched as she straightened in her seat, Zemo raising a hand to his chin so one finger could sweep across his upper lip in thought. Even before she began, she must be telling him something.

“Skin to skin contact gives me unfiltered access to your head. What you think and feel, I sense and hear. I can’t turn it off, so a handshake would be a lot more intimate than you intended. Nothing personal.”

“I appreciate your discretion,” Zemo agreed. “And I think I understand why Sam thought your abilities would be… invaluable for this mission.”

“About that.” She turned her full attention on the Falcon, eyebrows up, ready for an explanation. “I think you owe me a story.”

But Sam wasn’t the one to answer.

“We’re hunting super soldiers,” Zemo said. He continued the instant he had her attention, before either of the other two men could do more than splutter. “James was kind enough to break me out of prison to assist in their efforts to track the source of the serum and prevent the remaining soldiers from escalating.”

Sam jumped in, giving Zemo a nasty side eye. “There’s a friend of mine, air force, who noticed a weird trend. Long story short, someone’s been running black ops without official sanctioning, and when we finally crossed paths, they hit harder than they should.”

She subconsciously touched her forearm, sure it would be black and blue by morning, as Zemo picked up the saga.

“We found the source of the serum,” he said, tone neutral, despite the dark glances exchanged by the other two men. “But a powerful figure in Madripoor already sold five doses to a private American security firm. We hoped to find them before they found us, but…” Zemo motioned to her. “You know how that story ends.”

“Yeah.” She combed her fingers back through her hair, massaging her scalp. “Sounds like a mess.”

The plane was leveling out, and as much as she liked this dress, she was ready for something with fewer straps and more give. She rose from her seat, bag in hand, and asked, “Is there somewhere I can change?”

Zemo, the gracious host, rose as well, ushering her towards the back of the cabin. “This way.”

Bucky twitched, like he might follow them, but she waved him down. No point starting a fight in a pressurized metal tube thousands of feet in the air, especially with the man who apparently owned said flying tube. The fact Sam didn’t jump into action assured her it would be fine. Apart from a warning glance in Zemo’s direction, he didn’t even acknowledge the interaction. Discussing their mission seemingly reminded him that he had his lead, and his phone claimed his attention as he tried to research ahead of landing in Lexington.

A discreet door in the paneling at the back of the cabin swung in to reveal a smaller space with a narrow bed to the left and a second door to what she assumed were the facilities on the right. Assuming the second door would have a lock – because trust be damned in close quarters with people she barely knew – she thanked him and ducked through.

She was right. It was the largest lavatory she’d ever seen on an aircraft, and she took full advantage of the space. Lock engaged and backpack on the counter, she set to work transitioning between work and leisure attire. Away with the dress and on with the jeans – much better for running, and fighting, and swimming neck-deep in someone else’s shit. When she tugged her faded Jurassic Park tee from the bottom of the bag, a pack of old make-up wipes fell out – not as wet as they could be, but still serviceable. Some groping deep in the side pockets brought up a surprising amount of makeup. Tubes of mascara, eyeliner pencils, and powder long believed lost returned to the light. She wiped off one face to replace it with another. Although the idea of keeping her maroon lipstick and heavy, winged liner tempted her, she knew it would only look messy in a few hours, and it would draw attention where they were going.

Ready to face the world again, she pulled open the door – and found Zemo waiting in the little sleeping area. She’d surged forward, eyes on her feet, and nearly ran into him.

“Ope.” She stumbled a step back. “Sorry.”

He shook his head, a lock of his hair falling softly across his forehead with the motion. It drew attention to his face, devoid of a smirk, and she only looked away when he extended his hand.

She glanced down, an excuse ready on her lips, when she realized he’d donned a glove.

“If you wouldn’t mind,” he said, “I’d like to try introducing myself again.”

“Why?” Consideration usually came at a cost, and she wanted to know his before she shook on it. Literally.

“Because some things should be done properly.” His devastating voice masked any insincerity beautifully.

She trusted him as far as she could throw him, but he had nothing in his hands, and the boys were just a shout away. Besides, she thought she might like this version of him better than the smirking menace he became in other company. He had more than one reason for cornering her alone, and it wasn’t just good manners.

But she took his hand anyway.

A small, firm shake brought a smile to his face, though nothing so vulpine as what he wore before.

“Baron Helmut Zemo,” he purred. “Again, a pleasure.”

Well, fuck. Didn’t that just explain it all. Of course, he was a baron. Of fucking course. Shaking her head, trying not to laugh, but definitely smiling, she said, “I’m still just Triss.”

“And that is more than enough,” he assured her.

He hadn’t let go. She realized she hadn’t either, but she made a point to slacken her grip and glance down at their joined hands. A whisper of the nefarious smirk crossed his face, but he buried it under a polite nod and the release of her palm.

“Apologies. I believe our companions will think I’ve eaten you if we linger any longer.”

Interesting word choice. She tried not to mull over it as they rejoined the others. They found Sam and Bucky with their heads together, leaning half out of their seats as they argued over… something. Bucky, who’d taken the rear-facing seat on Zemo’s side of the plane, saw them coming first.

“Everything okay?”

She shrugged, dropping her ass to the seat and her bag to her feet. “Fine, Barnes.”

Complicated emotions churned over his face at the use of his last name. Had she actually used it out loud before? It was how she most often thought of him. He was only “Bucky” with other people. Steve. Sometimes Sam. And he’d never given her permission to use the nickname. They really didn’t know each other, and he was lucky she didn’t use an honorific. She knew, because of their introduction, that he’d always associate her with Steve, and that may be a shadow she never shook off. She could empathize with that, really, she could, but if he wasn’t sure what he wanted from her – friendship, distance, support – she couldn’t give it.

She pretended not to notice how attentively Zemo monitored the exchange.

Sam took one look at her shirt and shook his head. “Damn, you’re a nerd.”

“Shush. That’s my childhood you’re insulting.” She was unspeakably grateful for the break in the tension and an opportunity to snark with someone who wouldn’t hoard every word out of her mouth as ammunition.

“Your childhood?” Sam asked. She could practically see the numbers rolling behind his eyes. Like a man suddenly feeling his age, or realizing that he was approaching an age to feel.

“Like it’s a surprise I’m the youngest person on this plane.”

Across the aisle, Barnes chuckled. “Be real careful what you say next, Sam.”

“Hey, I wasn’t going after anyone’s age,” Sam defended. “Just taste.”

“When I want fashion tips from the Junior Birdmen, I’ll ask.” She pulled up Google on her phone, ignoring the scoffing fallout of her parting shot as she looked up fragments of images and impressions from her time in the fucking super soldier’s head. The bar he’d thought of, the Clover, was easy to find.

She handed her phone to Sam, who took the change in her expression in stride. “What’s this?”

“Place our burning man used to hang out. Got banned or… something. I think he hurt someone. They may have a record of his tab, and that would at least give us his name.”

“And if they don’t?” Bucky asked.

A deep breath quashed her immediate urge to glare, and her palms rubbed up and down her thighs as a proper response came together. The texture of her jeans helped ground her as her mind spun with possibilities.

She’d been wondering how long it would take them to ask. They meant to at the bar, and Sam had insisted he wanted to give her a choice – and she still had one. She could leave them in this mess and hope no one thought to hunt down the weird little bartender who disappeared with the trio of snoops. She could depend on someone else’s oversight to keep her safe, or she could further involve herself. The fake I.D. she’d used for her old job wouldn’t lead the bad guys anywhere interesting, but their connections… Someday, she’d like to walk confidently through an airport again, and she couldn’t do that while goons with ties like Sam described had her name – real or otherwise – on their shit list.

A rock and a hard place – neither a destination she preferred.

“Then I’ll ask,” she replied.

As Sam leaned forward, probably to thank her for signing onto the team, she raised a hand.

“I will only ask, and I’ll only accept what I’m offered.” She let the pause hang, grateful none of them leapt to fill it. This mattered, and involved or not, she would stonewall them if they broke her rules. “I am not your interrogator. Do we understand each other.”

“Perfectly.” Sam nodded. “Thank you for helping us.”

He was so damn polite, and he worked so hard to stuff each word with grounded sincerity that it bordered on patronizing at times. Nothing intentional.

Then Barnes had to open his fucking mouth.

“We won’t let anything happen to you.”

She closed her eyes, taking the deepest breath she’d drawn all night, and wondered if it was too late to jump out of Baron Helmut Zemo’s ostentatious jet.

“Don’t jinx it.”

Chapter 3: link

Tags List:

@dweeb-central @nvtaliaromanovv

#Zemo #helmut zemo x oc #zemo x reader #zemo x original character #baron zemo x oc #helmut zemo #baron zemo #fanfiction #fan fic #tfatws #sam wilson #bucky barnes #original character #oc #zemo x oc

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what-am-i-even-doing-tho · 1 year

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October Drabble Challenge

Day 31- Overconfident

"He concluded that he should've thought farther ahead than he had."

#tfatws #caatws #bucky barnes #ao3 tags #major character death #mild gore #missions gone wrong #drabble #mine #my fan fic #october drabble challenge

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stonerwitch · 6 months

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i love when i start reading insert fic for a new character especially when its a popular character. it feels like i have something to occupy my time and its always comforting so its like, yay! more comfort!

#ive been a fan of marvel since iron man 1 #finally years later i see the appeal of bucky barnes #mostly because of tfatws #but like yay i have more fic to read!!!!

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rollforjackass · 11 months

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Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: The Falcon and the Winter Soldier (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe Rating: Not Rated Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Sam Wilson & Helmut Zemo Characters: Helmut Zemo, James "Bucky" Barnes, Sam Wilson (Marvel) Additional Tags: Nebulous Zemo Parole Universe | Helmut Zemo Paroled from the Raft, Developing Friendships, goofy self-indulgence with a smidgen of angst, not even really a smidgen more like a sm

Ah, shipping crates. The only way to travel.

“This is a stupid plan,” Bucky hisses from the general direction of Zemo’s lower back.

The crate they’ve crammed themselves into is made of iron, insulation padding the inside to protect them from heat-identifying technology. The lid is close enough that Zemo’s breath jets back into his face, hot and sour. The buckles of Bucky’s body armor are wedged uncomfortably against his spine, dragging at his skin and catching on his shoulder holsters with every restless shift. (And there have been many.)

“You’re the one who wanted to go back to Madripoor,” Sam retorts, voice muted through the layers of iron that separate their box from his. There’s a note of smugness in his voice that Zemo instantly hates; of the three of them, Sam had been the only one to get his own crate. Zemo and Bucky, on the other hand, have had to make do with being back-to-back and head-to-foot, a situation that Zemo takes comfort in knowing is far less cozy for the other, taller man.

“Want is a strong word when you're being chased by the US government, and I didn’t want to go by UPS,” Bucky snarls back.

Zemo resists the urge to kick out behind him, resorting to diplomacy instead. “Gentlemen, it is a fourteen hour trip by ferry, and we are to be contained for three of those hours. If we could refrain from wasting oxygen for that duration?”

“Funny, I was gonna say the same thing to you,” comes Sam’s muffled rejoinder. Bucky snorts softly and Zemo does kick this time, his heel thudding satisfactorily into something meaty and earning a grunt of pain.

“Terribly sorry,” he says sweetly.

Bucky says something that sounds like ‘truck cough’. Zemo’s sure he’s misheard.

The first hour goes by relatively painlessly. By his second year of Sokovian military service, Zemo had perfected the art of falling asleep at a moment’s notice, on ground far less comfortable and in environments far more dangerous; this time, he had had the forethought to remove his coat before getting in the crate, making a fairly comfortable pillow. It takes little effort to tune out the mutterings of his closed-in companions, and less to drop off.

The downside is that he has also perfected waking up at the slightest disturbance, and Bucky fidgets like he has a shirt full of ants. Every ten minutes, it seems, Zemo snaps to attention to the bump of a boot heel against his shoulder, an accidental smack against his ankle, an ammo clip wedged into his kidneys. It is immensely irritating.

Overcoming the increasingly-sincere desire to kick the former Winter Soldier in the head does not grow easier with time: before the second hour has passed, Barnes is humming to himself, songs that, from their strict tempo and rhythm, Zemo takes to be old wartime anthems. Through the wall of the case, he can hear Sam doing much of the same – albeit with more songs that he’s familiar with – as well as the faint thumps of what he takes to be impromptu drum solos against the insulation.

Yet more proof that life outside of prison is not always a better one, if I have to spend it with these people, he thinks, resigned.

He closes his eyes and tries to recall the old movies he had loved as a younger man, to keep from going any more insane than he already is. He had not watched many in the last six years, between his quest for revenge and prison; the details are hazy now, like the signal on the television when the bombings came too close to their neighborhood, each impact polluting Hitchcock and Herzog with static and warbled dialogue.

When Karl was born, he had paid an exorbitant amount for a Smart TV, hoping vainly that streaming sites and the Internet would be enough to shield his son from the wars outside, from the endless fighting. If only it could have held up the roof of his father’s home.

He swallows against the pain the recollection brings, frustration and nausea coagulating in his chest like the phlegm of a bad head cold. Sam and Bucky have taken to bonding over a song they both know, a repetitive number about the alphabet. It seems to bring them some measure of joy, although Zemo can’t piece together what ‘YMCA’ could possibly stand for. Something about men. None of them are particularly heteronormative, so that doesn’t surprise him.

He tries again to sink into his own mind, scrounging for something with detail and without the painful memories attached. He settles for recounting episodes of The Great British Bake-Off – they had watched it in Riga while staving off jet lag, after much disagreement over which sports constituted ‘entertainment’ and much difficulty locating English subtitles for Sam.

There’s something soothing about recalling the recipes and the designs, assigning arbitrary values to desserts that look like children’s clay creations; it’s a formula, simple and easy to follow. Challenge, explanation, the five stages of grief, banter that is neither entirely insulting nor entirely not. The schadenfreude of witnessing confidence crumble into despair.

Truly a staple of European television.

“She should have won off her fondant alone,” Bucky says wistfully, and Zemo comes to the appalling realization that he has been reciting the details aloud. In a confined space. With the only one of them who has enhanced senses.

“Her composition sucked, man,” Sam argues through the wall, picking up the thread of an old argument. “You can’t have just one thing going right and expect to win, it’s a combination of elements.”

“It’s bullshit,” Bucky retorts. “That cake looked better than all the other ones put together. You put some ice cream with that and no one would have been calling it dry.”

“So she should have won because something that wasn’t even part of the challenge might fix the texture if they added it? That’s not how it works!”

“You are very invested for someone who dismissed the competition as, how did you put it: ‘voyeurism for culinary sadists’,” Zemo points out, more than a little peeved by the eavesdropping.

“I said it was a show for white people who can’t bake to feel better about themselves, and I am one: not white, and two: an awesome baker, so I absolutely get to make fun of these people,” Sam protests. “Case in point, you guys are the ones who love it.”

“I can bake,” Bucky says, sounding genuinely hurt.

“No you cannot.”

“I bake! I baked all the time back before I shipped out.”

“Uh huh, heating up war rations isn’t the same as baking.”

“Steve and I made cakes on Christmas. He did the batter, and I did the icing.”

“I don’t believe a word out of your mouth right now. I can’t imagine you baking.”

“Well getting brainwashed for ninety years doesn’t exactly help my image.”

“I also bake,” Zemo offers, just to remind them that he's there. “In fact, with my experience, I would argue I am the most qualified person here to judge the contestants fairly.”

“Like hell,” Sam says, at the same time that Bucky says, “Bullshit.”

Zemo frowns, actually offended. “Neither of you can profess to be experts in the culinary arts when you are unable to sit still long enough to make a correct cup of tea.”

“Tea is completely unrelated to baking,” Bucky points out.

Zemo shrugs, forgetting that neither of them can see it. “On the contrary, I find tea to be an apt metaphor for the process. Tea requires patience, mindfulness, and the balancing of ingredients – too sweet and the flavor is diminished, too bland and there is little joy in its consumption. It can be a one-man endeavor, or it can be shared with others, and it can be decorated to personal taste. This is all much like baking, yes?”

“Did you make tea for your family?” Sam asks abruptly.

It can’t have been asked out of cruelty -- Sam Wilson is certainly a petty man, but he is not cruel -- but Zemo feels his stomach twist all the same, leveling his voice into smooth, polite neutrality that gives nothing away. “Tea is a social event in my country. Was a social event. As is baking, as in many countries, or the show would not exist and you would not feel so passionately about my superior expertise.”

“Were you born annoying or is that a social event for you too?” Bucky grumbles.

Zemo allows himself a grin, since neither of them can see it. “That is entirely dependent on the company. After all, people tend to mirror the personality traits of those they surround themselves with.”

“And you picked up ‘asshole’ from Bucky instead of ‘nice’ from me?”

“If it helps, I believe I picked up a cell on the Raft from you.”

“You’re about to pick up these hands,” Sam retorts.

"If you want someone to hold your hand, Sam, you shouldn't have chosen the solo crate," Bucky innocently points out.

Sam says something that sounds like 'truck cough.' Funny, Zemo thinks with real amusement, how people so easily pick up the colloquialisms of those they spend time with.

#tfatws #the falcon and the winter soldier #helmut zemo #bucky barnes #sam wilson #fan fic #my writing

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bleedxblack-bs · 1 year

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@klecrone has a recent update to this absolute TOME of a fan fic.... erebody go check it out

https://archiveofourown.org/works/31076714

#bucky barnes #sam wilson #fic recs #ao3 recs #the falcon and the winter soldier #tfatws #captain america #fan art

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klecrone · 1 year

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@hardwiredweird shared a beautiful study of Ayo that really felt fitting for the latest “under cover” chapter of "Winter of the White Wolf," and I'm thrilled to have the opportunity to share it with you! I love how he was able to really capture her poise, strong presence, and no-nonsense attitude

Please check out his Twitter and Tumblr accounts to see more of his incredible art! His skill with portraiture is phenomenal, and there are loads of recognizable characters across his art accounts! He’s also just an all-around fantastic person and watercolor and gouache enabler.

Chapter 83: "Light Echoes" - (Read on Ao3) "Winter of the White Wolf"

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wildestheart4ever · 2 years

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Just started reading a “Everyone lives-sticks around” fic, and am currently wrinkling my nose at this line of Bucky mentally dissing Steve for......not being around [He stays in the present, he just disappears into the wind to figure out his shit a la Bucky.]

Ya’ll really want Bucky to sound like a hypocrite, even in this kind of scenario??

#Random #It's weird. you have everyone basically together [in a sense]#this isn't a stu.cky fic [otherwise I wouldn't be reading it]#but you decided to portray Steve's absence from TFatWS in a way so you can lowkey diss on him???#I'm stuck on the defensive [as is life being a SR fan]#so maybe this bit is all there is to this nonsense #....hopefully

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sambuckylibrary · 2 months

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TFATWS Anniversary Event 2024

The @sambuckylibrary will be holding a The Falcon and the Winter Soldier Anniversary Event! The event will start on March 18th and run until April 28th. During that time, we will be reblogging and sharing the work you guys create here on our blog.

This event is not just for the creators, but for the commenters. You can post fanfiction, art, moodboards, edits, podfics, fic list recs, comments, etc. It’ll be a low-stakes event. No need to sign up. Just remember to tag @sambuckylibary in your post for each fill, and we will be tracking #tfatwsanniversary2024 for reblogs.

If you are posting on AO3, please add it toTFATWS Anniversary Event 2024 Collection.

Each week will have a different theme with prompts from Monday to Friday. Each prompt will also come with a badge you may use for it when you post. The weekly themes and their prompts will be:

For the text version of the information above as well as the FAQ and rules, check the information under “keep reading”.

WEEK 1 (March 18 - 24): THE WINTER SOLDIER TO PRE-INFINITY WAR

MONDAY: “I don’t think he’s the kind you save.”

TUESDAY: Sam Searches for Bucky

WEDNESDAY: “Can you move your seat up?”

THURSDAY: Team Up at the Airport

FRIDAY: On the Run

WEEK 2 (March 25 - 31) : INFINITY WAR TO PRE-TFATWS

MONDAY: Laying Low

TUESDAY: Reunite in Wakanda

WEDNESDAY: Soul Stone

THURSDAY: Victory Party

FRIDAY: 6 Months of Ghosting

WEEK 3 (April 1 - 7): The Falcon and the Winter Soldier

MONDAY: Couple's Therapy

TUESDAY: “Let me just walk you through a hypothetical.”

WEDNESDAY: Madripoor

THURSDAY: “You’re just gonna set me up like that, huh?”

FRIDAY: The Cookout

WEEK 4 (April 8 - 14): Post-TFATWS

MONDAY: Meanwhile, on the Boat...

TUESDAY: Divorce Arc

WEDNESDAY: Skrulls

THURSDAY: Better Thunderbolts Ideas

FRIDAY: Better Captain America 4 Ideas

WEEK 5 (April 15 - 21): AU Week

MONDAY: No Powers AU

TUESDAY: Period Piece

WEDNESDAY: Sci-fi/Fantasy AU

THURSDAY: Based on a Movie

FRIDAY: Ghost/Zombie AU

WEEK 6 (April 22 - 28): Sambucky Week

MONDAY: Didn’t Know They were Dating/Friends with Benefits

TUESDAY: Redwing

WEDNESDAY: Hurt/Comfort

THURSDAY: Separate, Long Vacations

FRIDAY: Dealer's Choice

FAQ

What is this?

It’s a SamBucky event.

Is there any pressure?

No pressure at all.

Can I fill more than one prompt with one piece of art/one fic?

Yes! You can fill one prompt with one piece of art or fic. You can try to fill all five prompts that week at once with one piece of art or fic. You can do any number in between.

Are there any prizes for making anything for this event?

Just the satisfaction that you made something cool.

Is it just SamBucky?

Yes please, just SamBucky. There can be side ships, but the main ship should be SamBucky.

How long will this event run?

It will run from March 18th and run until April 28th.

I heard there are badges I can use for each fill?

There are! You can find the badges here.

RULES AND GUIDELINES

What are the guidelines for the bingo?

I will be borrowing some of this from the MYSU Valentine’s Day Bingo 2022 Guidelines, since they were fantastic.

For Everyone:

1. Remember to @sambuckylibrary in the post as well as #tfatwsanniversary2024.

2. Please also tag the prompt you’re filling (for instance, if the square is “Redwing”, use “#redwing” as one of your tags when posting about it on Tumblr).

3. If you’re uploading to AO3, please:

a ) Say somewhere which prompt you’re filling.

b ) Add it to TFATWS Anniversary Event 2024 (TFATWS_Anniversary_Event_2024).

For Artists:

1. Create at least one piece of new art that can’t have been posted anywhere else before this.

2. All visual art forms are welcome:

a ) Gifsets, at least 3 gifs.

b ) Aesthetic boards or moodboards, at least 4 images each.

c ) Drawing/painting, that is not a sketch.

d) Fan video.

e) Graphics edit.

For Authors:

1. At least 500 words.

2. Posted on Tumblr or AO3.

3. Can be part of a series, but should work as a standalone.

For Podficcers:

1. The podfic should at least be 5 minutes long.

2. It should be posted on either Tumblr or AO3.

3. The podfic can be of a fic made for the event, a fic not made for the event while still adhering to the prompt, or a notfic.

For Fic Rec Lists:

1. You must have at least five fics or podfics on the rec list.

2. Make sure to give brief descriptions of the fics or podfics as well as their rating and wordcount.

For Commenters:

1. Any amount of comment counts, from a heart emoji (“❤️”) to an essay.

2. We would rather this be about what makes you happy and joyful about reading than any scathing critiques.

Things to be mindful of when creating:

For Sam

Avoid framing Sam only as a caretaker or emotional support for Bucky. Be mindful of Sam acting angry or aggressive in an out-of-character way and falling into the angry/sassy Black man trope (check out the MCU source material to help with character traits).

Avoid decentering Sam as a main character and refrain from focusing entirely on Bucky.

In art: avoid whitewashing Sam’s skin and research drawing Black characters.

General disclaimer: Race affects every aspect of his life, including interacting with police/government and the white structures of the world when it comes to performing his duties as Cap and simply being a Black man that lives in the U.S.

For Bucky

Avoid phrasing “flesh/normal/human hand” to refer to the contrast between his prosthetic arm and his right arm. The phrasing is ableist. You can simply refer to his prosthesis when relevant, otherwise use “right/left arm/hand”.

For more information, please check out this document suggested by @ninesdb on how to write Bucky as an amputee. @ninesdb is also open to questions if you have any queries not answered by the google doc.

Specific Tags:

Avoid tags in AO3 like “Sam Wilson is a Gift”, “Sam Wilson is a Saint”, and “Bucky Needs a Hug”.

Have fun and we look forward to your TFATWS Anniversary fics!

- The Mods

#tfatwsanniversary2024 #sam wilson #bucky barnes #sambucky #sambucky fan event #sambucky fanfiction #sambucky fan art #sambucky edit #sambucky moodboard #the falcon and the winter soldier #tfatws #the falcon and the winter soldier fan event #tfatws fan event #mod: thatmexisaurusrex

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burberrycanary · 1 year

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Art by @amoneth-art

“A pile of blankets and a pillow are set on the couch, although Steve finds Bucky outside on the front steps again, listening to the dark that surrounds the dim yellow light spilling out from the porch.”

The Same River, Twice (The Man Is Still Left with His Hands), by @burberrycanary

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tllgrrl · 1 year

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Blessed Be His Memory by Nefertiri Jones aka @tllgrrl

Summary: Bucky had wanted to go to the Ceremonies, but Life and Circumstances Beyond His Control prohibited.

So, like for other Wakandans who were outside of the country and couldn’t be there in person, a way was provided for him and his family to attend.

* * * * * * * * * *

So, we didn’t see any Avengers there. Not even Sam. Or Agent Ross.

Maybe it was that even outsiders who are friends and colleagues weren’t invited to such a sacred ceremony. That’s understandable.

But Sargent James “Bucky” Barnes? Who was accepted into the Community, and given a Wakandan name? Who fought against Thanos’ army with the Wakandans, both times?

Why wasn’t Ingcuka Emhlope, “White Wolf”, there?

#sarah wilson #bucky barnes #sarahbucky #buckysarah #sarah x bucky #bucky x sarah #sarah wilson x bucky barnes #bucky barnes x sarah wilson #sarah wilson x bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes x cass wilson x aj wilson #black panther wakanda forever/tfatws fan fic

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bucky-barnes-diaries · 1 year

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That Walk

Pairing || TFATWS!Bucky x Female!Reader

Summary || That walk. That goddamn walk of his that’s laced with [s]ex and confidence. Fuck, you can’t get enough of it.

Word Count || 524

Contents & Warnings || Smut, Fluff — [N]SFW, 18+ Only, Minors DNI, [e]xplicit content/language, [h]orny thoughts, alluding to [s]exual activities.

Authors Note || My submission for the One-Word Drabble @the-slumberparty My word is “walk”. A little bit of a different style of fic than I usually do, but I enjoyed it! Apologies for no readmore function on this. The gifs above just screws up the text below.

TFATWS!Bucky Masterlist

You and your boyfriend Bucky planned to meet up in the park today for some coffee, cakes, and adventure.

You were waiting for him on a bench amongst the busy crowd—wearing a summer dress. The sun [k]issed your exposed [s]kin—making you feel warm and relaxed.

That was until you spotted him—and that relaxed exposure turned into need and fantasies.

Oh. My God! That walk. That goddamn walk of his.

The way he walked was Godlike. The kind that had [p]anties and [u]nderwear drop within a mile radius.

Your heart started racing, your mouth [s]alivating, and your [s]kin ignited in delicious tingles as you examined all of him.

Power, confidence, and [d]ominance were evident in his posture, in his every stride, as he walked, trying to locate you.

His arms swung back and forth with each step he took—so much ease in them. His fists balled up at his sides.

His [c]hest was puffed out, and his shoulders were broad as he swayed with each move he took.

His groin tightened against his jeans with each foot he took forward—no secret that he was absolutely packing in those pants.

His mouth remained in a thin line. His eyes narrowed as he searched around for you. His expression made him look rugged and [h]ard—so [s]exy beyond belief.

You had to stifle a whimper as you felt the ache and need in your [p]ussy—[t]hrobbing, [b]egging, yearning for his riveting [t]ouch—[t]ongue, fingers, and [c]ock.

If people weren’t around, you would have snaked your hand into your [p]anties and played with yourself.

As soon as he spotted you, the contrast between his demeanor before and now was massive. The man that previously exuded [s]ex and [s]in turned into a boy seeing his crush for the first time—mannerisms softening, and his face beamed bright with love and joy.

“Hi, doll!” He cheered.

As he walked over, you got up to your feet, [l]egs unsteady as you were still spellbound by his magic.

He hummed as he towered over you and cupped your cheek, leaning down to [k]iss the other before pressing a captivating one to your [l]ips. He lingered there for a moment, making you dizzier, before pulling away.

Your face was stunned—[l]ips slightly parted, and eyebrows shot up. And he noticed, furrowing his eyebrows.

“What is it, doll?”

“I-I… yo-your walk.”

“My what?”

“Your walk… fuck, it’s so [s]exy,” you breathe out.

“Is that so?”

His previous hold on you—soft and endearing—turned into a [r]ousing and demanding one. He palmed your [a]ss and pulled your flush into his broad [t]orso, ignoring the [d]irty looks from the strangers.

He leaned his head down, brushing his [l]ips against your ear. His warm breath fanned the sensitive [s]kin of your neck, making goosebumps erupt all over you. You purred in approval of his intoxicating [t]ouch.

“Fuck this date then,” he hummed, making you shiver, “let’s go home, and I’ll walk for you like that there, [n]aked.”

Oh God…

Thank you for reading 🖤 Feedback through a comment is highly appreciated! Or let me know through an anonymous ask if that feels more comfortable. As well as a reblog to share my work with other people!

Follow @bucky-barnes-diaries-library and turn on notifications to never miss out on my writing!

Apologies for the [ ] on some words! I’m testing it out to see if I can evade getting a Label put on this.

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