#mcu wakanda forever

[wlwsuperheroine]

[angelremnants]

Heat Waves l J. B. Barnes

PART THREE.⠀FADING IN THE HEAT OF YOU

summary : After years of manipulation by Hydra, Bucky Barnes must find his place in a world that has long moved on without him. With you, an independent and unwavering agent by his side, he reluctantly embarks on a transformative journey of recovery in Wakanda. Amid the kingdom's vibrant culture, your connection to Bucky deepens as he confronts personal demons and embrace the healing process. Bucky learns to welcome the warmth of new beginnings, understanding that even after winter's cold grip, the sun can shine through. Inspired by Heat Waves by Glass Animals.

pairing : James ''Bucky'' Barnes x f!reader

warnings : Mature (18+—MINORS DO NOT INTERACT), trauma recovery, emotional tension, mild angst to fluff, hurt/comfort, explicit sexual content, graphic descriptions, pwp (porn with plot—lot of it actually), oral sex (female receiving), unprotected penetrative sex (wrap it before you tap it!), praise/degradation kink, creampie, mutual orgasms, soft dom!bucky/sub!reader, strong language. Proceed with caution if you're sensitive to such material.

word count : 21.4k

author's notes : Here we are at the final part of this piece! Despite the horrendous headache I earned from spending way too much time staring at my laptop, it truly has been a blast writing this. For my fellow horny adult readers, here's a little treat to end this chaotic year on a good note—of course, it is mandatory to read the first two parts to understand the context of the following chapter.

Minors, it's not for nothing that I ended the last part on their kiss; please do not engage with this post and be mindful of what you choose to consume on the internet.

Once again, wishing you all a Happy New Year and nothing but amazing things for 2025! With this, I’m officially signing off from writing for the year. It's been an amazing first month here; thank you for all of the constant love and support, dear readers, and I hope to see you soon—next year, probably. :p

(ao3 version)

The days in Wakanda passed in a tranquil rhythm, starkly contrasting to the chaos that had defined much of Bucky Barnes’ life—the relentless missions, the disorienting bursts of violence, and the weight of a mind that was never fully his own. The serenity was almost disarming here, a world away from the harsh clang of metal restraints or the suffocating darkness of Hydra’s labs. The Vibranium-powered chamber, nestled within the heart of Shuri’s state-of-the-art lab, became a sanctuary of sorts. The air was tinged with a faint metallic scent, mixed with the earthy undertones of the herbs Shuri kept in small jars nearby. A soft, rhythmic hum filled the space, blending seamlessly with the occasional chirp of holographic interfaces. The walls shimmered with subtle hues of blue and gold, their glow casting intricate shadows on the sleek, obsidian floors. Touching the chamber’s surface revealed a surprising warmth, a testament to the dynamic energy harnessed for healing. It was a marvel of Wakandan brilliance—walls glowing faintly with soft hues of blue and gold as the nanotechnology worked tirelessly to stabilize Bucky’s brain activity. The hum of advanced machinery was oddly soothing, a constant reminder of the healing taking place within.

You accompanied him daily, sitting quietly on a sleek chair Shuri had graciously provided. She often teased you about your devotion and, more recently, had been ecstatic upon finally hearing what had transpired between you and Bucky. Her teasing was relentless, but there was an unmistakable warmth behind her words, a genuine happiness for the bond you were building. The moments in the chamber were both heavy and hopeful. The technology was doing its job, methodically erasing the remnants of Hydra’s mental conditioning. Still, progress was not without its challenges.

Bucky sat in the center of the chamber, his expression neutral but his fingers twitching ever so slightly. The faint glow of Vibranium circuits danced along his temples, tracing patterns that seemed almost alive. Despite his stoic demeanor, you could see the strain etched in his features—his jaw clenched tightly, the muscles in his neck taut with tension. His fingers twitched restlessly against his thighs, and every so often, his brows would knit together in a fleeting moment of anguish that he couldn’t entirely suppress—signs of an internal battle raging just beneath the surface.

“You okay in there?” you asked softly, your voice barely breaking the quiet hum of the room. You leaned forward, resting your elbows on your knees as you studied him.

His eyes flickered open, the piercing blue momentarily dulled by exhaustion. “Yeah,” he replied, his voice low and rough. “Just... takes some getting used to.”

“That’s the understatement of the year,” you said with a small smile, trying to lighten the mood. It earned you the faintest curve of his lips—a victory in itself.

As the treatments progressed, Hydra’s influence faded bit by bit, but the process was not without its setbacks. There were days when fragments of his past would resurface—flashes of missions, orders barked in harsh tones, and the cold detachment of the Winter Soldier. On those days, he was quieter, his silence heavy with unspoken pain. You knew better than to push him, but you also refused to let him face it alone.

When the sessions ended, you would walk together back to your room. The atmosphere during these walks often shifted—sometimes quiet and contemplative, with the two of you lost in your thoughts, and other times filled with light conversation, your voices carrying softly in the cool Wakandan air. On rare occasions, you’d catch him smirking at one of your quips, a fleeting glimpse of the man he was becoming, unburdened by the past. It had become a shared space over time, a place where he felt safe enough to let his guard down. The bed was a modest size, but neither of you minded the closeness. On good nights, you’d lie tangled together, his arm draped over your waist as your fingers traced lazy patterns on his chest. Small kisses were exchanged—gentle and unhurried, a silent acknowledgment of the connection you shared.

One night, as the glow of the moon filtered through the sheer curtains, you turned to face him. His eyes were closed, but you could tell he was awake. “Penny for your thoughts?” you asked, your voice a soft murmur.

He cracked one eye open, a hint of amusement flickering in his gaze. “They’re not worth that much.”

“Oh, come on,” you teased, nudging him lightly. “I’ll even throw in a nickel.”

A low chuckle rumbled in his chest, and for a moment, the tension that so often clung to him seemed to dissipate. He cracked an eye open, giving you a small, playful smirk. “It’s a secret.”

“A secret, huh?” you raised an eyebrow. “You can’t keep secrets from me. You know that, right?”

“Oh, I think I can,” he shot back, his voice low and teasing. “It’s one of those ‘too dangerous to know’ things.”

You snorted. “Dangerous? You’re telling me you—the super soldier who fought Nazis and got cryogenically frozen—have a secret too dangerous for me?”

He gave you a wink, and you couldn’t help but giggle. “Alright, maybe it’s not dangerous. Just… weird.”

“Now I’m curious,” you said, leaning in. “Tell me, or I’ll take the nearest pillow and suffocate you with it.”

He sighed dramatically, clearly enjoying your reaction. “Fine. I was just thinking how weird it is to be here with you. To feel... I don’t know, normal for once. Not like the guy who’s been stuck in the past, just... me.” He shifted a little, his gaze growing soft. “Feels nice. Kinda like it that I can be more than just a weapon.”

You smiled, your heart swelling. “Bucky, you’ve always been more. You were never just that guy. You’re this guy,” you said, tapping his chest lightly with your finger. “The one I’m hanging out with right now. The one with way too many cute smiles and a bit of a dorky side.”

“Dorky?” He raised an eyebrow, pretending to be offended. “I’ll have you know I’m a highly trained, super soldier with zero dorkiness. I’m all edge.”

You snorted, reaching out to poke his side. “Uh-huh. Totally no dorkiness. Zero. Zip. Nada.” You grinned as he chuckled, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “Seriously though,” you said softly, “You’ve always been more than that. And you deserve everything. Even if it’s just hanging out with me, doing absolutely nothing but being adorable.”

His face softened, and he looked at you like he couldn’t quite believe what you were saying. “How do you do that? Make me feel like I actually deserve this?”

You leaned in close, your noses almost brushing as you whispered, “Because you do, Bucky. You really do.”

Before either of you could say anything more, you couldn’t resist. You leaned in slowly, your lips brushing his in a soft, teasing kiss. It started gentle, just the lightest touch, both of you savoring the moment like you were testing the waters, but his lips were warm and inviting, making it impossible to pull away. The kiss deepened slightly, and you felt the heat grow between you, soft and steady, as you moved closer to each other.

His hand gently cradled the back of your neck, his thumb stroking the sensitive skin there. You melted into his touch, your own hands resting against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your palm. You both pulled each other closer, a quiet giggle escaping from you as his lips were soft and gentle but full of a quiet hunger. His kiss was slow, deliberate, as if he was trying to savor every second, and you did the same, taking your time as you enjoyed the sweet closeness.

When you finally pulled away, your lips tingling from the kiss, you both exhaled in unison, breathless. Your foreheads touched, and you closed your eyes for a moment, just basking in the quiet intimacy.

“You know,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire but still that familiar playfulness in it, “you’re making this very hard to resist.”

You smiled, still a little dizzy from the kiss, and giggled softly. “I’m not trying to make it hard, but I’m not complaining if you’re enjoying it.”

He chuckled softly, eyes darkening with something more. “You’re trouble.”

“Good trouble, I hope,” you whispered, your voice low and playful, your lips brushing over his again in another gentle kiss.

His grip on you tightened, the playful softness quickly giving way to something far more desperate, more urgent. This time, there was no teasing—only the raw, unspoken need between you. His kiss grew hungrier, his lips pressing harder against yours, as though he couldn’t get enough, as though he was trying to pull you inside him. His hand slid down your back, cupping your waist and tugging you closer, the heat between you building with every movement. The tension snapped, and the kiss became frantic, your bodies instinctively responding to each other. You felt every inch of him against you, the pulse of his heartbeat matching the erratic thrum of your own.

You eagerly matched his pace, your hands threading into his hair, tugging him closer, your bodies so pressed together you felt like you might melt into one another. He groaned softly, the sound low and thick with need, and you felt a shiver of desire race through your body in response, your pulse quickening, heart pounding in your chest. His lips moved against yours in a way that made your head spin—delicious, dizzying. His hands roamed, fingers tracing the curve of your spine, making you arch into him, your body reacting to each touch like it was the first. The air between you was thick with heat, your breaths shallow, as if neither of you could catch your breath long enough to slow down.

His hands moved lower, his fingers gently brushing along the silky straps of your pajamas, his thumb lightly grazing over the delicate laces of the top. He tugged softly at the string, teasing it with gentle pressure, his fingers brushing your skin, sending a jolt of warmth through you. It felt like he was trying to strip away the barriers between you, his touch slow and deliberate, each movement sending a shiver of anticipation through your body.

His hands slid to your waist, tugging you even closer, and you could feel his chest rise and fall with each ragged breath. The heat from his body pressed against you, making you feel like you were burning alive in the best way possible. The kiss deepened once more, more urgent now, your lips parting as you both gasped, the desperation for more building, an almost frantic need to feel every part of each other. Your tongues met in a frantic, eager dance, tasting and exploring as if the world around you had vanished. All that mattered was the overwhelming sensation of his lips, his body, the way his touch made your skin tingle with every inch of contact.

The room around you seemed to fade away entirely, leaving only the sensation of his lips against yours, the taste of him lingering on your tongue, and the undeniable pull of his body. Every shift of his hands, every soft groan, every caress made your own body ache, and you pressed even closer, feeling him everywhere. You felt him hard against you, the desire between you so palpable it was almost suffocating, but in the best way possible.

Finally, when you pulled away, gasping for air, your chest rising and falling with every labored breath, you both stayed close, foreheads resting against each other, completely breathless. The world was spinning, and your hearts were thundering in your chests as you tried to find some semblance of control.

He blinked, still a little dazed. “Well, that wasn’t dangerous at all.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” you teased, your lips curling into a grin. “You looked pretty dangerous there for a second.”

He snorted, the warmth of a smile tugging at his lips. “I’m always dangerous,” he said, but there was a playfulness in his voice now.

“Yeah, yeah,” you said, rolling your eyes. “Dangerous, but still a dork.” You tucked yourself under his arm, letting him pull you close. “I’m not complaining though. You’re my dangerous, dorky soldier.”

“You’re lucky I like you enough to endure being called a dork,” he muttered, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.

“I’m the lucky one?” you teased, poking his chest. “I think you’re the one who’s lucky, getting to be my dork.”

And with that, he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you even closer as you snuggled against his chest, feeling the warmth of his body enveloping you like a protective cocoon. His embrace was grounding and comforting, the kind of closeness that made everything else in the world feel insignificant. You could feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your ear, each thud a soft, reassuring reminder that he was here, with you, in this moment. It was the perfect lullaby—a steady, familiar sound that eased the lingering tension in your muscles and settled the storm in your mind.

As you lay there, tangled together, the quiet of the room seemed to stretch around you, the outside world no longer exists. The soft rustle of the sheets, the faint hum of the air around you—it was all drowned out by the feeling of his arms around you, his warmth sinking into your skin. His chest rose and fell with each breath, the motion soothing and rhythmic, syncing with your own as you relax deeper into him.

Moments like these, simple and unassuming, felt like everything. The rush of emotions, the heated exchanges, the tender kisses—all of that had led here, to this fragile, perfect stillness. Nothing had to be said; there was no need for words when everything you needed was already here, in the quiet intimacy between you. You could feel the gentle weight of his body against yours, the way he was holding you as if he never wanted to let go, and it made your heart swell with a warmth that had nothing to do with the heat of the room.

In that space, time didn’t matter. The worries, the fears, and the complications of life all faded into the background, swept away by the gentle closeness of your bodies and the connection you shared. The comfort of his presence made you feel safe, like you could face anything as long as you had him by your side. The world could be falling apart outside, and it wouldn’t matter, because, in this moment, everything was just right.

As you nestled deeper into him, you could feel his fingers lightly tracing patterns on your back, the tenderness of the gesture sending a ripple of warmth through you. You smiled softly, not needing to say a word, just enjoying the simplicity of being here with him, knowing that no matter what the future held, this—this moment—was enough. The peace you felt in his arms was more than just physical; it was emotional, something deeper that neither of you had to speak aloud to understand.

For now, you don’t need anything more. Just this—just him—was everything.

⠀

The sun had set, casting the room in a soft, dim light. The gentle hum of the Vibranium chamber’s machinery was the only sound, a comforting presence that usually helped Bucky unwind. But tonight, the air felt heavy, thick with something unspoken. Bucky had been quieter than usual—more withdrawn. Your room felt colder somehow, despite the warmth of the lights. 

Finally, you found him sitting in front of his mirror, his eyes locked onto the new arm Shuri had designed for him. It was sleek and polished, almost flawless—a work of engineering genius. But as you watched him, you could see something deeper in his gaze, something unsettling. There was no joy in his eyes, no relief, just an unmistakable unease that twisted his features. The arm—meant to be a symbol of progress, a new beginning—felt like a foreign object in his hands. It wasn’t part of him yet.

His fingers traced the cool surface of the metal, like he was trying to understand it, maybe even willing it to feel like it belonged. But his expression was far from peaceful. His lips were drawn tight, his jaw set, like he was fighting something deep within himself. His old arm—the one that had been corrupted by Hydra, the one that had caused him so much pain—sat beside him on the table, abandoned and broken. It was rusty, its edges chipped and scarred, a stark contrast to the sleek, polished new design beside it.

You leaned against the doorframe, your gaze lingering on him, but you didn’t rush in. His assigned room always felt so foreign to you; like a place too hallowed for you to penetrate in it. You knew Bucky had his moments of solitude, and though it was often hard to watch him retreat, you had learned to give him space when he needed it. But this time was different.

Normally, when he retreated into himself like this, you’d hear from him in a few hours—just a quick text or a call, a simple ‘I’m okay’ or ‘I’ll be back soon.’ It was his way of checking in, of making sure you knew he wasn’t disappearing into the darkness for good. But today… today had been different.

The entire day had passed without a single word from him. You’d checked in, and tried to give him some time to process whatever it was that had him on edge. But as the hours ticked by, that familiar knot of worry began to tighten in your chest. When he didn’t reach out by midday, you started to feel the unease settling in, creeping into the back of your mind. By the time the sun started to dip behind the horizon, the silence felt deafening.

You tried to shake it off, tried to convince yourself that he just needed more time. But now, standing in the doorway, watching him sit there as though lost in thought, you knew something had shifted inside of him. It wasn’t just the arm—it was more than that. It was like the weight of his past had caught up with him all at once, and he couldn’t escape it. He wasn’t just holding onto the broken arm. He was holding onto everything it represented: the missions, the manipulation, the memories of bloodshed and betrayal. And now that he was faced with a new, clean slate, it was too much. Too overwhelming.

You stepped into the room quietly, taking a deep breath before speaking, but your voice felt unsteady. "Bucky?"

He didn’t respond right away. His fingers continued to trace the arm absentmindedly, like he was trying to feel something—anything—that would make it real. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, his head lifted slightly, and he gave a small, almost imperceptible shake of his head, as if to shake off the thoughts that had been consuming him.

"I'm fine," he muttered, his voice tight, the words coming out clipped and distant.

But you knew that tone, the one that was just a little too flat, just a little too guarded. The tone he used when he was shutting everyone out. And you could feel the walls going up before your eyes, higher and faster than ever before.

"You’ve been distant all day, Buck’," you said softly, but with an edge that you couldn’t suppress. "You didn’t give me any sign of life. It’s not like you. And now this…" You gestured toward the arm, your heart heavy. "You’re not fine. You’re avoiding something, and I think you know it."

For a long moment, he didn’t respond. His gaze was still locked on the new arm, but now, it seemed like he wasn’t seeing it at all. His mind had drifted somewhere else, somewhere darker. His silence only deepened the worry that had been building in your chest all day.

“Hey…” you pressed, taking a step closer, your voice softer now. “I get it. I do. This… this isn’t just about the arm, is it?”

Finally, his eyes met yours. But instead of the usual warmth or the flicker of his familiar, sardonic smile, there was nothing. Just emptiness. He was holding onto something, and it was suffocating him.

“I can’t,” he said, his voice cracking just slightly, a vulnerability you rarely saw in him. "I can’t just let go of it. It’s all I’ve ever known. It’s… it’s all I am."

You felt your heart ache for him, but the frustration simmered just below the surface. You couldn’t let him do this again. You couldn’t let him spiral back into the darkness.

"Yes, you can," you replied firmly, your voice unwavering. “You are not just limited to big muscles and a metal arm. You are Bucky Barnes, sacred White Wolf by the royal Wakandan family. You don’t have to carry the past with you. Not anymore.”

He flinched at your words, his brow furrowing in pain, but you didn’t back down. "You’re letting your past control you. It’s all you’ve known, all you’ve remembered, but it doesn’t have to be all you are. You’ve fought so hard to get here, James. Don’t throw that away just because you’re scared of who you’ll be without it.”

He stood up abruptly, the chair scraping harshly against the floor, and for a moment, you thought he might walk away, shut you out completely. But he didn’t. His eyes were filled with pain, his fists clenched at his sides as if holding onto something—something deep inside him—that he couldn’t let go of.

"You don’t understand," he muttered, his voice strained. "You don’t know what it’s like to be nothing without it. To be this… broken thing, struggling to hold it together. I don’t even know who I am anymore."

You took a step forward, meeting his gaze with a fire of your own. “I do understand,” you shot back, your voice sharp, cutting through the tension. “I’ve been there too, James. I’ve had to fight my own demons, too. But you don’t get to hide behind them. Not anymore.”

He was breathing heavily now, his chest rising and falling with every shallow breath, and you could see the war raging inside him. He was so damn close to breaking, so close to letting go of everything that had been keeping him from healing. But you couldn’t let him. Not now.

"You’ve been through hell," you continued, taking another step closer. "But it doesn’t have to be your excuse to keep living in it. Not when you have the chance to get out of it. And if you keep holding onto your old identity, if you keep letting it define you, then that’s all you’re ever going to be."

His jaw tightened, and for a second, you thought he might lash out, the frustration and pain in his eyes threatening to spill over. But instead, he sank back into the chair, his gaze dropping to the floor. He didn’t want to hear it. He didn’t want to face it.

“Bucky…” you breathed, your voice gentler now but still firm. "I’m not asking you to forget your past, but you have to let it go. You can’t keep holding onto the weight of it. You’ve carried it for so long, but it’s destroying you."

He was quiet for a long time, his head hanging low, his hands gripping the armrest like it was the only thing tethering him to reality. You could see his struggle, could feel it radiating off of him, but you weren’t going to back down.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you said softly, but with a strength that only made him flinch harder. “I’m here. But I won’t watch you drown in this. You don’t have to do this alone. But I need you to let me help.”

You could feel the tension in the room thickening, the weight of Bucky’s silence pressing down on both of you. He wasn’t looking at you anymore, his eyes cast downward, his jaw clenched, as if he were trying to suppress the storm inside him. The words you had said earlier—words of hope, of strength—hung in the air between you both, unanswered. And despite your best intentions, you could see it in his eyes: nothing was getting through to him right now.

He was retreating inward, walling himself off from everything and everyone.

It was a painful realization. You could tell that pushing him any further at this moment would only send him deeper into that dark, quiet space. You could see the pain and frustration building in his chest, the way his breath came in short, shallow bursts as if he were holding onto something. He was barely there, barely present. He was a soldier still fighting his war inside his head.

You wanted so badly to reach him. To break through, to remind him of the man he was, the man he could still be. But at that moment, you knew that forcing the conversation further wasn’t going to do either of you any good.

“James…” you whispered softly, your voice barely audible, your heart breaking at the sight of him so far away. “I can’t help you if you won’t let me in.”

He didn’t respond, and you could feel the frustration bubbling under your skin, but you forced it down. Instead, you took a deep breath, your gaze softening, your mind racing. He needed space, but not isolation.

“I’m not going anywhere, okay?” you insisted, your voice quieter, gentler now. “You need time to process this, I get that. But I’m not leaving you alone. Not this time.”

Bucky didn’t look at you, but you could see the muscles in his jaw tighten. It was the same withdrawal, the same pattern he’d fallen into so many times before. The same fear of being a burden, of pushing everyone away.

You stepped back a little, taking a breath before speaking again. “I’ll be in the hot springs if you want to talk. I’m not leaving. But I won’t force you to say anything before you’re ready.”

You made your way toward the door, your eyes lingering on him for just a moment. There was a part of you that wanted to stay, to keep pressing, to tell him how much you cared, how much you hated seeing him like this. But you also knew that pushing him now would only make things worse.

“I’ll be there when you’re ready,” you said one last time, voice steady but laden with emotion. “Just… please don’t shut me out. I’m here. You’re not alone.”

He didn’t respond, didn’t even look up. But you could feel the weight of his pain, the quiet struggle within him. It was clear he wasn’t ready to talk, but the ache of the silence between you was unbearable.

You walked out of the room, closing the door softly behind you, but you didn’t walk far. You stayed just outside, leaning against the wall. You wouldn’t give him more space than he needed, but you also wouldn’t let him slip away into the shadows again. Not tonight.

You would wait for him. And when he was ready—when he decided to talk—you would be there. Even if it took time.

⠀

Bucky couldn’t shake the feeling of unease, the gnawing discomfort in his chest that only seemed to deepen the more he thought about the new arm, about the memories that rushed in uninvited. His fingers still felt like they were brushing against the old, corrupted one, the weight of it lingering in his mind like a specter.

He needed to move. Needed to feel his muscles burn, to get lost in the motion until he didn’t feel the weight of everything pressing down on him. So, he found himself heading to the training room, the soft hum of the facility an almost soothing contrast to the turbulence in his mind.

The room was empty except for a few training dummies and equipment. Bucky didn’t bother with the warm-up. He started immediately, hitting the punching bag with a series of calculated strikes, his focus entirely on the rhythm of his fists meeting the bag. The training room was almost too quiet, save for the dull thud of Bucky’s fists slamming into the punching bag. His body was drenched in sweat, his muscles aching with the relentless repetition. He wasn’t here to perfect his technique; he was here to escape. The rhythmic pounding was all he could focus on, the only thing that helped drown out the memories clawing at the back of his mind. Each strike was like an attempt to knock them away, but no matter how hard he hit, they always came back.

His new arm—the one Shuri had designed for him—felt wrong in his grasp. It was sleek, smooth, and polished, a cutting-edge piece of technology meant to represent his chance at a fresh start. But every time his metal fingers tightened, all he felt was emptiness. The weight of it was there, yes, but it wasn’t the same weight that had always been with him. The Winter Soldier’s arm had been a part of him, a constant reminder of the life he’d led, the things he’d done, and the man he’d become because of it. This new one—this shiny, clean prosthetic—felt like an alien extension of himself, like something else he had to learn to control. And for the first time in years, it didn’t feel like something he could trust.

With every punch, the frustration built. His muscles burned and his breaths came in sharp gasps, but it wasn’t enough. He was trying to outrun the ghosts of his past, the shadows that lingered even in the light. The memories of the Winter Soldier, of the pain he had inflicted, of the people he’d hurt—they were always there, just beneath the surface. No matter how much he tried to ignore them, they were waiting for him. And tonight, they felt louder, more insistent.

The bag swayed from his last punch, and his new arm slammed into it again. But this time, something felt off. He felt a sharp pang in his shoulder, then a light grinding sound. His gaze snapped down, eyes widening when he saw the small metal shard fall to the floor. 

"Damn it," he muttered, flexing his fingers. His heart dropped into his stomach as the reality hit him. The arm wasn’t just unfamiliar. It was already falling apart.

He stepped back, pulling his arm away from the bag, and his eyes flicked to the broken pieces scattered across the floor. It felt like the final straw. The thing he’d hoped would be a symbol of his redemption, the key to moving forward, was now a reminder of how little control he had over his own life. His fists clenched, and his breath quickened as the frustration boiled over.

“Damn it,” he growled again, slamming his arm against the wall. The loud crash reverberated through the room, and a jolt of pain shot up his arm as the pieces rattled.

His mind was a blur. Why couldn’t this just be easier? Why couldn’t he just accept that he was allowed to heal? He looked down at the arm again, the new, clean metal reflecting the harsh light. The Winter Soldier’s arm had been worn and chipped, like him. It had scars, a history—his history. But this new arm was pristine, unmarked, and it felt like it didn’t belong to him at all. It was too perfect, too far removed from the chaos of his life.

I’m not that man anymore, he thought bitterly. I can’t be.

But then, a deeper part of him whispered something darker. What if you still are? What if the real you is just a mask, and you can’t outrun what you’ve done? The voice echoed in his mind like a chilling reminder. He didn’t know who he was anymore. He’d spent so much time buried in the shadows, pretending to be something he wasn’t, that he couldn’t even remember what it felt like to be him.

The silence in the room stretched, and he stood there, looking at the arm like it was something he couldn’t comprehend. He tried to move it again, flexing his fingers, but the weight felt all wrong. It was like trying to wear someone else’s skin.

He closed his eyes, trying to block out the memories that were surfacing once again—the violence, the bloodshed, the whispers of Hydra calling him “Soldier.” His fists clenched harder, and for a moment, he thought he might throw the arm across the room just to feel something again. Something that wasn’t this emptiness gnawing at him.

And then he heard a voice, calm and teasing, cutting through the fog of his thoughts.

From the doorway, a voice broke through the tension like a crack of sunlight through storm clouds. “You’ve got quite the temper, White Boy.”

Bucky’s body tensed, and he snapped his head toward the door, only to find Shuri leaning casually against the frame. Her arms were crossed, and her gaze was fixed on the broken pieces of his vibranium arm scattered across the floor.

“I could hear you all the way in my lab,” she said, her tone teasing but light. “I thought maybe you were wrestling a rhino. But no, you’re just here throwing a tantrum. Very dignified.”

“Not in the mood, Shuri,” Bucky muttered, his voice low and taut. He turned away, crouching to collect a twisted piece of vibranium.

“Oh, really? Because it sure looks like you’re in the mood for breaking things,” she quipped, ignoring his obvious dismissal as she stepped into the room. Her sharp gaze landed on him, assessing. “You’ve been stomping around like an elephant all day, and now you’re trashing my tech? I should charge you for this. Vibranium doesn’t grow on trees, you know.”

Bucky huffed, irritation flashing across his features as he stood, clutching a broken panel in his hand. “It’s not just the arm,” he muttered. His voice dropped as he added, “It’s everything.”

Shuri arched an eyebrow. “Everything? You mean the global crisis, the existential dread, or the fact that you haven’t really laughed in approximately 84 years?”

He shot her a look, but she continued unfazed, stepping closer. Her teasing tone softened just slightly, enough to convey she wasn’t entirely joking. “You think destroying the arm I built for you is going to fix ‘everything’? Hate to break it to you, but vibranium isn’t a substitute for therapy.”

He bent down to pick up a piece of his shattered arm, his movements stiff and deliberate. “It’s not just the arm,” he repeated quietly, his voice strained. “It’s everything. I’m not who I used to be, but I’m not sure who I’m supposed to be either.”

Shuri tilted her head, studying him with a mixture of exasperation and something softer. “It’s just a tool, Soldier. It’s not a chain. It doesn’t define you any more than your past does.” She crouched next to him, taking the piece from his hand with practiced ease and examining it. “But you—you’re holding onto all that weight like it’s part of you. That’s the problem.”

Bucky let out a frustrated sigh. “It’s not that simple.”

“Oh, but it is,” she replied, crouching down to examine the broken piece in her hand. “Simple doesn’t mean easy, though. Trust me, I’ve met plenty of stubborn people—T’Challa included—and you’re giving them all a run for their money.”

For a moment, they sat in silence, the tension between them easing slightly as Shuri adjusted the mechanisms in the damaged arm with precise, practiced movements. Finally, she spoke, her voice softer but still unwavering. “In Wakanda, we say, ‘The river does not stop flowing because the stones are heavy.’ You’ve been carrying those stones for too long. Let them go. The river keeps moving. So should you.”

He swallowed hard, her words striking a chord somewhere deep inside him. “It’s not just me,” he said quietly, the words heavy with guilt. “I’ve hurt her, Shuri. I keep pushing her away, and I don’t even know how to stop.”

Shuri straightened, placing his arm back into its rightful place on his body. Her gaze softened, but her tone remained firm. “Well, you’re not pushing her away because you want to. You’re doing it because you’re scared. Scared of letting her see the parts of yourself you still haven’t forgiven. But that’s not fair to her—or you.”

He shook his head, the self-doubt tightening around him like a noose. “I’m not good enough for her. She deserves someone better. Someone whole.”

Shuri’s eyes narrowed, and she placed her hands on her hips, her posture radiating authority. “Stop it,” she said sharply. “You’re not a machine, Barnes. You’re the White Wolf. A brother.” Her voice softened as she added, “To us.”

That made him look at her, his expression caught between disbelief and gratitude. Slowly, he stood and turned toward her.

She looked at him again, an expression of affection mixed with irritation. “Now go find her before I start charging you rent for all this moping around. You’ll figure it out. Just don’t wait too long, you might lose your chance.”

Bucky stood there for a moment, torn between the self-doubt that had plagued him for years and the glimmer of hope that maybe—just maybe—he could get it right.

He finally exhaled, feeling a little more grounded than he had in days. “Thanks, Shuri,” he said, his voice quieter, softer than usual.

She grinned, the familiar, teasing glint returning to her eyes. “I know, I’m amazing.” She patted him on the shoulder, giving him a look that was both playful and a little bit of a challenge. “But next time, don’t break anything. That’s my job.”

He smirked back, feeling a flicker of his old self return. “I’ll try to keep my punches to the punching bag next time.”

After a brief hesitation, Bucky raised his right arm across his chest in the Wakandan salute, his other fist resting over his heart. The motion wasn’t rushed; it carried weight, respect, and a silent acknowledgment of everything Shuri and Wakanda had done for him. “Thank you... for everything.”

Shuri’s expression softened, her usual teasing replaced by a rare warmth. After a moment, she mirrored the gesture, her fists crossing her chest as she gave him a nod. “Always, White Wolf.”

As he turned to leave, Shuri called after him, her grin back in full force. “And Barnes? If I find out you two are sneaking around breaking more things, don’t come crying to me when the Dora finds out.”

He smirked, glancing over his shoulder. “You’d love that, wouldn’t you?”

She shrugged, her tone mock-innocent. “What can I say? I’m rooting for chaos.”

She added a moment later, “Also, please burn everything you two touch when you’re done, I don’t want any germs to spread around.”

“Oh go milk a goat, princess.”

⠀

The roar of the quad echoed against the trees, the sound tearing through the stillness of the Wakandan evening. Bucky leaned into the curves of the dirt path, the wind tugging at his hair and brushing against his skin. For the first time in years, he felt… free. There was no mission, no orders, no lurking specter of his past to weigh him down. It was just him, the open trail, and the quiet promise of finding you at the end of it.

The sky above blazed in shades of gold, orange, and deep lavender, the sun dipping low to kiss the horizon. The air smelled of earth and blossoms, cool and fresh as he neared the edge of the springs. He slowed the bike, eventually stopping at a rocky clearing. Cutting the engine, he swung his leg over the seat and glanced around, catching sight of faint steam rising in the distance.

The hot springs looked like they belonged in another world—hidden by tall, jagged rocks and lush greenery, with clear, crystalline water reflecting the fiery hues of the sky. Steam curled lazily above the surface, mingling with the golden light of the setting sun. The soft sound of water trickling over smooth stones mixed with the gentle rustle of leaves. It was a sanctuary, untouched and serene.

Bucky stepped closer, boots crunching softly on the gravel. That’s when he spotted you.

You were partially submerged, your back to him, the warm water lapping at your shoulders as the steam swirled around you. Your hair clung to your damp skin, the curve of your neck illuminated in the fading light. You hadn’t noticed him yet, lost in your own world. For a moment, he hesitated, unsure if he should interrupt. But then, his boot scraped against a stone, the sound startling you.

You turned sharply, eyes wide, and let out a small yelp. “Bucky!” you exclaimed, water splashing as you shifted to face him. “You scared me, idiot!”

A grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Didn’t mean to. Thought you’d hear me coming.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, but the corners of your lips twitched. “You stomp around like a cat burglar and expect me to notice?”

Before he could respond, you scooped a handful of water and flung it at him. He flinched, the cold droplets splashing across his face and shirt. “Hey!” he protested, laughter creeping into his voice.

“Serves you right!” you shot back, a mischievous glint in your eyes.

Bucky didn’t hesitate. He crouched at the edge of the spring, cupped his hand, and sent a wave of water your way. You shrieked, diving to avoid the worst of it but laughing as droplets hit your arms. The brief, playful battle continued until you both surrendered, your chest heaving from laughter and his smile softer now, lingering as he watched you.

Eventually, you swam to a shallow corner, leaning back against a smooth rock. You looked up at him, the teasing fading into something quieter. “Are you just going to stand there, or are you coming in?”

Bucky hesitated for a moment, then with a wry smirk, he shrugged off his jacket and boots. He stood there for a moment, eyeing the water, before pulling off the rest of his clothes, leaving only his pants. “Well, I don’t usually make a habit of getting into hot springs with people, but,” he raised an eyebrow, “this seems like a good exception.”

He stepped into the warm water, the heat soothing his stiff muscles almost immediately. The spring was a natural wonder, the water bubbling gently around them, steam rising in soft curls into the evening air. It felt like a small piece of paradise, the perfect end to a long ride.

“Comfy?” you asked, your voice soft, a teasing hint in it. You leaned back, resting your arms on the stone edges, your fingers trailing lazily through the water.

Bucky sank into the water beside you, his eyes drifting over the lush, serene landscape. “More like 'just what the doctor ordered,'" he muttered, a relaxed smile spreading across his face. "Should’ve joined you sooner."

“You had to take your sweet time,” you teased, a playful glint in your eye. “What’s that old saying? Better late than never?”

Bucky snorted, shaking his head. “If I were you, I’d be glad I showed up at all, dove. Wouldn’t want you to get lonely, right?”

Your eyes flickered over to him with a smirk. “Oh, I can handle being alone. I’ve spent enough time by myself to know how to make the best of it.”

“Yeah?” He leaned back against the rock, allowing the water to envelop him. “And how’s that working out for you? Trying to find peace in the middle of all this chaos?”

For a while, you both didn’t speak, the silence comfortable as the golden light dimmed into twilight. It was you who broke the stillness first. “You didn’t have to come looking for me, you know. I know I proposed it to you, but you could’ve just waited for me back there.”

He nodded slowly, his gaze on the rippling water. “I know. But I needed to get out of my head. And… I wanted to be with you.”

You nodded in comprehension, regarding him while holding a certain warm glint in your eyes that was only reserved for him. Silence was king again, only battling its place with the sound of water rippling around them. The peaceful surroundings almost seemed at odds with the weight of the conversation, but Bucky could tell it wasn’t just the air that had gotten heavier.

You were quiet for a moment, glancing up at the sky as if considering his question. “It’s not easy, by the way,” you said softly as he looked at you in a questioning manner. “Finding peace in the chaos. But... it’s better than the alternative.”

“The alternative being what? Pushing everything down and pretending it’s all fine?” He asked with a raised brow, clearly skeptical.

“Isn’t that what we all do, at least a little?” You turned toward him then, your voice steady. “We all try to convince ourselves we’re okay when we’re not.”

There was a flicker of something in Bucky’s eyes. A recognition. “I know that feeling.” His tone was low, quieter than it had been before. The words hung in the air between you, heavier than the steam swirling around.

He looked down at the water, his expression unreadable. You weren’t sure what was going on inside his head, but you could feel the shift in the atmosphere. There was a weight to the silence, something shared but unspoken.

Finally, he broke the silence. "Sometimes it feels like I’m stuck on a loop, you know?" Bucky's voice was low, rougher than usual. "I keep thinking I can outrun the stuff I’ve done, but it never works. It just keeps catching up with me, no matter how fast I try to go."

You let his words hang in the air, taking a moment to think. The weight of his admission wasn't lost on you, but you knew better than to rush in. After a long pause, you spoke softly, but with purpose. "You don’t have to outrun it, Bucky. You don't have to keep pretending it’s not there." You turned toward him, meeting his eyes with a steadiness that almost felt like an anchor. "The only way forward is through it. It won’t go away just because you avoid it."

Bucky exhaled slowly, as though the weight of his thoughts had finally found a crack. A small, self-deprecating smile tugged at his lips. "Great. So now I’m supposed to just... accept being a walking disaster, huh?"

You chuckled, though it was light. "Well, I did tell you once that you were a work in progress, right? Like my suitcase that I was unpacking," you teased, but your tone was softer now. "This is the same thing. You can’t face your fears head-on, it takes time. Doesn’t mean you’re stuck with them forever either."

Bucky let out a small snort, shaking his head. "So I’m just like your suitcase, huh? Full of emotional baggage and in desperate need of unpacking?"

He smirked, but the playful edge was gone, replaced by a quiet sincerity. "Guess that makes me a little less scary, huh? If I’m just another project in your life." He leaned back slightly, his fingers skimming the water’s surface. "But I get it. It’s not about forcing myself to be something I’m not. It’s just... finding a way to live with all of it."

Unable to resist the pull of him, the rawness of his words grounding you, you slowly moved from your place in the water, your legs brushing against his as you slid into his lap, facing him. You rested your hands gently on his shoulders, a quiet comfort you hoped he’d feel as much as hear.

"You're not a project, James," you said, your voice calm but firm, making sure he understood. "Not some thing to fix or unpack. You’re a person. You’ve always been more than whatever anyone else has tried to define you as." You held his gaze, your fingertips grazing lightly along his shoulder, warmth and reassurance radiating through your touch.

"I’ve seen you," you continued, your voice softening but not lessening in conviction. "And I’ve seen you fight. You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for. Not just physically... but emotionally. Mentally. You’re not broken, you’re just... learning how to heal."

He looked down, a faint laugh escaping him. "Learning how to heal, huh? Sounds like you’re writing a self-help book." He glanced up at you, a smirk dancing on his lips, but it didn’t hide the flicker of something deeper in his eyes.

"Maybe I should," you said with a smile, your hands still gently massaging the muscles of his shoulders. "But seriously... You’ve done things. Things you’ll never be able to undo. But that doesn’t make you less of a person."

Bucky’s eyes softened, the tension in his shoulders easing as your words sank in. He let out a deep breath, his voice quieter now. "I don’t know if I’ll ever really be... free of it. Not completely. Not the way you’re free."

You hesitated, your fingers pausing mid-motion as the silence between you deepened. The weight of his admission settled around both of you. "I don't think anyone's ever truly free of their past. I’m not," you said carefully. "I still think about everything that happened to me from time to time. It’s inevitable, like Mother Nature every thirty days of the month,” you let out a small laugh at your comparison before sobering up, “But I remember that I’m in a better place, surrounded by better people; just like you are, and just like you should."

He looked up at you again, the vulnerability in his eyes making his usual guarded demeanor seem so far away. "I don’t want to hurt you," he muttered, his hands coming up to rest gently on your waist.

"You won’t," you assured him, your voice barely above a whisper. You slid your hands down his arms, taking a steadying breath before continuing. "I’m not afraid of what you’ve been. I’m... here, because of who you are now."

His hands tightened on your waist, his eyes searching yours. "And who am I now?" His question was soft, almost a plea for reassurance.

You gently smiled as you leaned in closer, your chest resting lightly against his. "You’re someone who is trying. Who wants to be better—to do better. Someone who’s been through hell and still has the strength to stand up. And most importantly, you are whoever you decide to be. That’s who you are."

Your heart thrud at the closeness, and you looked at him with affection. "Remember when you fixed my watch?" you asked quietly. "I couldn’t do it. I tried, I really did, but I couldn’t fix it. And then you showed up. And just like that, you fixed it for me. Not because you had to, but because you wanted to."

Bucky’s expression softened. He didn’t answer immediately, just watching you, as though absorbing your words.

"You didn’t need to fix the watch," you murmured, your fingers mindlessly tracing his biceps in a comforting manner. "It was perfect already, even when it was broken. I would’ve still worn it, because I love it. It’s been with me for so long." You took a slow breath, gathering your thoughts. "But you fixing it... it gave it new life. Now it’s working as it should. But either way, I would have cherished it, no matter its state." 

You looked up at him, your eyes steady and sincere. "My point is, you’ve never been broken, James. Not like you think. You’ve always been someone worth fighting for. Whether or not you’re still battling with your faults, you’re someone worth having in life. And I—" you hesitated, your voice catching slightly as your heart fluttered in your chest. You could feel the weight of the moment, the vulnerability of the words you were about to share. "We love you either way. All we want is your well-being and for you to be able to enjoy life... normally."

Bucky froze, his breath catching in his throat as your words settled around him, heavy and real. His heart hammered in his chest, each beat feeling louder, faster. It was as though the world around him had stilled, his thoughts racing even faster than his pulse. He could’ve sworn he heard you almost say something else. The almost I love you had hung in the air for just a moment, lingering in the space between you, almost like a secret you hadn't even realized you were about to share.

His gaze locked onto yours, his chest rising and falling in shallow breaths, his expression unreadable as he took a tentative step closer. The distance between you felt like a chasm, even though you were standing just feet apart. "You… you said 'we love you,'" he repeated softly, his voice almost trembling as he tasted the words, his heart soaring at the sound of them. "But—" His voice faltered for a second, the vulnerability creeping into his tone. "Did you mean it? The love part?"

You swallowed, feeling the tension in the air thicken like a tangible weight, and your heart skipped a beat. The way he was looking at you, with hope and uncertainty swirling in his dark eyes, made your chest tighten. You nodded slowly, almost as if to reassure both him and yourself, the depth of your feelings suddenly rising to the surface. "I do," you said, your voice quiet but steady, though you could feel the tremor in it. "I meant it. You’re loved, Bucky. By me. By all of us."

Bucky’s expression softened, but there was something more there now, something raw and unguarded, like a window had opened to a part of him he hadn’t let anyone see in a long time. His breath was uneven, but his eyes never left yours, as if searching for something he hadn't known was there. He took another step closer, and you could feel the heat from his body now, the closeness almost suffocating but comforting in the same breath. "Say it again," he whispered, his voice low, barely a rasp. "I need to hear you say it... for me."

Your heart stuttered in your chest at his request, a nervous flutter of emotion stirring inside you. You didn’t hesitate, not this time. "We love you, Bucky," you said, your voice barely above a whisper but full of sincerity. Your lips felt dry, but you licked them briefly before continuing. The words felt real now, like a promise. "You’re so much more than you think."

He closed his eyes for a moment, his lashes brushing his cheeks as he let the words wash over him. You could hear him breathe out a silent sigh, his chest rising and falling with the weight of everything you had just shared. When he opened his eyes again, they were darker, more intense. His gaze was fixed on you with such depth that it felt as though he could see straight through you. "No," he said softly, shaking his head, the words almost a plea. "Say it for yourself, for you. Say it the way you feel it—just I."

Your heart raced even faster at the way he asked, with such raw sincerity and quiet desperation that you could almost feel it in your bones. You smiled softly, your breath catching in your throat, your body suddenly alive with the emotions you’d kept hidden. You nodded, feeling the air between you shift as you finally spoke the words you’d been holding back.

"I love you, Bucky," you said again, the words feeling easier this time, flowing from you with a newfound certainty. The tension that had knotted in your chest loosened as the truth settled into the space between you both. "I love you for who you are, all of you."

Bucky’s eyes softened even more, and it was as if something inside him unraveled, like a thousand little walls he'd built up were slowly crumbling. His breath caught, and for a brief moment, he didn’t know whether to smile or to just hold you and never let go. But there was still something more he needed—still an ache that wasn’t quite satisfied.

"One more time," he urged, his voice low and tender now, a softness that you hadn’t heard before. "Say it for you, please."

Your chest tightened, your pulse quickening once more, but this time, there was no hesitation. The warmth of the moment—the sincerity of his need—was too much to hold back. You laughed softly, a sound of pure happiness, as the words came so naturally, like they had always been there, just waiting for the right time.

"I love you, James Buchanan Barnes," you whispered, your heart feeling full in your chest, the weight of it all pressing down gently but with great significance. "You’re worth loving, and you always have been."

Bucky’s breath hitched in his throat, his eyes locking with yours, the intensity of his gaze making your pulse race even faster. His face softened, the tension in his jaw easing as a smile tugged at his lips. "God," he whispered, his voice barely audible now, a mixture of awe and relief. "That’s all I needed to hear. You have no idea how much that means to me."

You laughed again, a joyous sound that filled the room, and in that moment, everything felt right. For the first time, it wasn’t just the weight of his past, or your past, that filled the space—it was hope. Real, raw, shared hope, woven together by the truth of your words and the vulnerability of this moment.

Bucky stepped closer, his hand moving gently to cup your face, his thumb brushing against your skin as if memorizing the feel of it. "I’ve waited so long to hear that," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "You’ve no idea how much you’ve healed me already, just by saying those words."

Your breath hitched as he leaned in, and before you knew it, his lips were on yours.

The air was thick with tension, the steam from the hot spring rising around you like an enveloping fog, as your lips finally met his. It was different this time—so much more intense, raw, and consuming than any kiss you had shared before. His hands slid to your back, pulling you closer as your body pressed against his chest, your heart pounding in your ears. The warmth of the water surrounded you both, but it did nothing to ease the heat building between you.

Bucky groaned against your lips, his hands gripping your waist as if he needed something solid to anchor him. The feel of your body so close to his sent shockwaves through him, stirring something deep inside that he had buried for far too long. His fingers dug into your skin, not painfully, but with a desperation that mirrored the intensity of his emotions. You could feel his heartbeat against yours, racing, as if he was finally allowing himself to surrender to the moment.

As the kiss deepened, his lips moved against yours with a fierceness you hadn’t expected, but it felt right. He was more than just the man you had been comforting; he was a man who had finally allowed himself to feel, to let go. His tongue brushed against your lips, seeking entry, and you parted your mouth for him, letting him explore. His taste was intoxicating, his scent even more so—the mingling of the hot spring water with the natural musk of his skin.

You couldn’t help but moan softly into the kiss as he pulled you further onto his lap, your legs straddling his hips, the heat of his body and the water surrounding you making you feel dizzy. The closeness, the sheer intimacy, made everything else fade away. There was nothing in the world except for you two, wrapped in each other’s arms. His hands slid up your back to your neck, fingers threading into your hair, tugging you closer, if that was even possible.

Your body pressed fully against his, the water around you barely enough to hide the way your bodies aligned. You could feel the tautness of his muscles beneath his shirt, the strength in his grip, and the hardness of him against your hips, sending a rush of heat straight to your core. Bucky’s lips trailed down your jaw, leaving a trail of soft kisses, before his mouth found the sensitive spot on your neck. He kissed you there with a hunger that made you gasp, his teeth grazing your skin before sinking in just enough to mark you, a soft bite that sent a shock of pleasure straight through you.

You arched into him, gasping as the sting of the bite faded, leaving behind a heated throb that pulsed between your legs. Your fingers dug into his shoulders, pulling him closer as his lips moved from your neck to your ear, his breath hot against your skin. “You’re mine,” he whispered, his voice thick with desire, and his words sent a shiver down your spine.

Your hands slid from his shoulders down to his chest, fingertips grazing the hard muscles beneath the fabric, urging him closer, wanting more. His own hands moved lower, tracing the line of your spine, before dipping to your hips, gripping them firmly and guiding you against him, making you feel every inch of his body as he shifted beneath you. The water around you sloshed with each movement, the heat of the spring adding to the fevered temperature between you both. 

Bucky pulled away slightly, his forehead resting against yours, breathing heavily. His lips were swollen, and his eyes were dark with desire, but there was something else in them too—a vulnerability that took you by surprise. "I need you," he muttered, his voice raw, as he ran his hands down your back, tracing the curve of your spine before moving to the soft skin of your thighs. "I’ve wanted you for so long."

The confession made your heart race, your body trembling with the intensity of his words. You leaned down, pressing your lips to his again, deeper this time, your hands sliding beneath his shirt to feel the warmth of his skin. The sensation of his muscles flexing under your touch, the way he responded to your every movement, made your head spin.

You kissed him again, this time with a tenderness that matched the rawness of the moment, before moving down to his neck, your lips trailing over the tender skin there, finding the spot where his pulse raced just beneath the surface. His grip tightened around you, pulling you even closer, his teeth sinking gently into your shoulder as he groaned your name, the sound low and throaty, like a plea for more.

The heat of the moment continued to rise, and you could feel yourself losing control, caught in the wave of passion that surged between you and Bucky. His hands were everywhere—caressing, exploring, pulling you closer, never once letting go. His lips trailed down your neck, his teeth grazing your skin in a way that made you gasp, your body arching into him as if it couldn’t get close enough.

But amidst the chaos of it all, you felt a pull to reality—a sense of practicality trying to claw its way through the haze of desire. You pulled away slightly, gasping for breath, and your fingers brushed against his chest, trying to make him pause, but he wouldn’t. “James…” you managed to whisper, your voice shaky from the intensity of everything. “We should head back, we’re—”

His lips were on yours again before you could finish the sentence, devouring you in a kiss so intense, you couldn’t remember what you’d been trying to say. His hands slid lower on your back, pressing you even closer as he kissed you with a ferocity that took your breath away.

“No,” Bucky’s voice was a soft growl against your lips, his hand sliding to the back of your neck to hold you firmly in place. “Not yet. I want to enjoy this a little longer. Just... just a bit more.” His words were barely more than a whisper, but the conviction behind them made your pulse spike. His mouth found the sensitive spot behind your ear, his teeth scraping lightly over your skin, making your body tremble in response.

You tried to pull away again, trying to ground yourself, to remember the outside world. “But we’ve been out here too long, James—” Your protest was interrupted as he pulled you back into another kiss, deeper this time, his hands slipping beneath the water to press you more firmly against him. The heat of his body, the way he moved with you, was more than you could resist.

His lips broke from yours for a split second, just enough for him to look into your eyes, his expression fierce with an emotion you hadn’t seen before—desire, yes, but something more. “I’m not ready to go back yet,” he whispered, his hands sliding to your hips, fingers digging into the soft skin there. “I want to stay here. I want to savor this... savor you.”

His words were like a spell, wrapping around you, making you forget about everything else but him and this moment. Your body was already responding to him, the closeness, the warmth, the way his lips trailed over your skin, biting gently in all the right places. You wanted to protest again, to make sense of everything, but his hands were firm on you, coaxing you to surrender to the moment, to give in to the sensation of being with him in this way.

“I want all of you,” he whispered again, his voice hoarse with desire, and you couldn’t deny the pull. You didn’t want to leave either—not just yet.

His lips were everywhere—on your neck, your jaw, your lips. The heat from the water around you only amplified the heat that was building between your bodies. You could feel his heart racing, his pulse quickening, as he pulled you even closer, his hands roaming over your back, gripping you with a desperation that matched your own. Every touch, every movement, sent a jolt of electricity through you, and for a moment, it felt like the world outside didn’t matter anymore. It was just you and Bucky, the water, the heat, the closeness.

But as his lips moved to your collarbone, your heart raced, and your mind screamed to slow down. “James,” you gasped, your hands trembling as they gently rested against his chest, pushing him back slightly. “We... we can’t keep going like this here. We need to stop.”

Bucky paused, his lips still hovering near your skin, his chest rising and falling with the same rapid breath as yours. His hands stayed on your hips, but there was hesitation in his touch, as though he’d heard you but wasn’t ready to let go of the moment. “I know,” he murmured, his voice ragged. “I don’t want to either, but I think… we’ve already crossed a line.” His hands slowly lowered from your back, though he didn’t pull away entirely.

You both sat there for a moment, the sound of your breathing the only thing that filled the space between you, the water gently lapping around you both. The heat was still there, but now it was mixed with a new awareness—an understanding that you needed to pause before things went too far.

“Yeah,” you whispered, looking up at him with wide eyes, your chest still rising and falling rapidly. “We should head back, before we... before we don’t stop.” Your voice was breathless, a little shaky, but the weight of what you were saying hit you both at the same time.

Bucky looked at you, his eyes dark with desire but also with understanding. His fingers brushed a stray lock of your hair behind your ear, a small, almost regretful smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “You’re right,” he said softly, the intensity still there, but tempered by something else now. “Let’s go back.”

For a moment, neither of you moved, your foreheads resting gently together as you both tried to steady your breaths. The closeness, the heat between you, was still undeniable, but you knew this was the right decision. The moment had been perfect, but it wasn’t meant to go any further—not yet, at least.

With a deep sigh, you pulled away slowly, the weight of the spring around you feeling suddenly heavier, colder. Bucky moved carefully, making sure you were both stable as he stood up, offering his hand to help you out of the water. His touch was gentle, yet there was still a lingering sense of connection, as though you were both tethered together by something deeper than just desire.

“I guess we should head back before either of us changes our minds,” you said with a soft laugh, trying to break the tension, though your body still thrummed with the echoes of what had just transpired.

Bucky chuckled, though it was softer now, tinged with a hint of amusement. “Yeah, let’s not test our willpower any further.” His hand was warm in yours as he guided you out of the spring, both of you walking back toward the shore in silence, the night air cool against your heated skin.

As you both dressed up, the shared intimacy of the moment lingered, and even though you had stopped before things went too far, there was an unspoken promise between you—one that neither of you needed to say aloud. For now, you were content to simply be with each other, knowing that whatever came next would be something to look forward to in its own time.

⠀

Bucky's quad hummed beneath you as you rode back to the palace, the cool night air brushing against your face. The ride was quiet, save for the low rumble of the engine and the occasional rush of wind. You couldn’t help but notice how tense the atmosphere felt, how his body seemed to stiffen every time you moved a little too much, every time your hands brushed against his back and the wet fabric of his pants. The echoes of the passionate moment you'd just shared were still alive in the air between you, both of you carrying the weight of what had almost happened in the hot spring.

You let your mind wander for a moment, grateful that you’d decided to take that walk to the spring earlier. If you hadn’t, if you’d just taken the vehicle straight there, you would’ve missed the chance to burn off some of that nervous energy, and maybe you would have been less clear-headed about how far things had gone. Your sharp mind had worked in your favor for once.

As you neared the palace, the road began to feel longer, more like an obstacle, the silence in the air stretching between you both. You could feel the muscles in his back and arms shifting beneath your hands as you held onto him, the way he unconsciously tensed, still caught in the pull of your shared kiss. Every moment, every second of the ride, the tension built, and you could sense it from the way his shoulders were tight, his grip on the handlebars firm.

When you finally reached the palace, you didn’t speak, your heart still racing from the closeness you’d just shared. You moved to slide off the bike, instinctively heading toward your apartment, ready to slip into the comfort of your own space, but Bucky’s hand on your wrist stopped you.

"Wait," he said, his voice low, a slight roughness to it. "Come with me."

You turned to face him, surprised by the intensity in his eyes, but there was no hesitation in his expression, only an invitation.

"I... I thought we were going back to my place."

He smirked, a small, teasing smile playing at the corners of his lips, and stepped closer to you, his hand brushing against the small of your back. "Let’s go to mine tonight."

The simple words hung in the air between you, an unspoken understanding passing between the two of you. The tension was thick, but there was something in his eyes that made it impossible to turn down.

"Okay," you whispered, your voice barely audible as you nodded.

Bucky's invitation to his room was not something you had expected. You were used to seeing his stoic and somewhat guarded nature, and the idea of him letting anyone into his personal space was a huge leap. He had always been a man of boundaries, of keeping his emotions and his life hidden away, so to be invited into the very space where he let down his guard, where he was himself, was a startling realization. You knew this was significant.

His apartment had been a sanctuary for him, a place where he could just exist without anyone prying into his past, into the layers of himself he kept hidden. You could see it in the way he moved through the space, a careful tension in his every step. Even the way he approached you now, his gaze softening just a fraction, revealed how much this meant to him. He wanted you to be there, to witness him in his most vulnerable state.

Your initial surprise was quickly replaced by a quiet thrill, a subtle rush that spread through you. You followed him in silence, taking in the unfamiliar yet comforting warmth of his apartment. It felt different from the cold, distant image you’d once had of him. It was his space—quiet, lived-in, but somehow alive in a way you hadn’t expected.

You felt the weight of that hesitation. This wasn’t just any invitation; it was an opening of the door to parts of himself that no one else had seen. The space beyond that door represented everything he kept hidden—his history, his emotions, and his sense of safety. It made your heart race with both surprise and something else, something exciting. You knew this moment wasn’t to be taken lightly.

“C’mon in,” he said, his voice quieter than usual, tinged with uncertainty. He stepped aside, allowing you to pass through the threshold first, though his eyes didn’t leave you, constantly gauging your reaction as if unsure whether this was the right move. The room was dimly lit, a little lived-in but comforting, a far cry from the cold, controlled demeanor he often presented to the world.

You followed him in, the tension palpable between you. He closed the door behind you, a soft click that seemed to echo louder than it actually was. Bucky moved across the room in a way that suggested he was still processing the weight of his own decision. His movements were a little fidgety, his hands occasionally brushing his hair back or adjusting his jacket as if trying to find a sense of calm in this moment of vulnerability.

You took a moment to take in your surroundings, but your thoughts were interrupted when Bucky cleared his throat and turned to face you. His eyes flickered briefly toward the bathroom, and he shifted uncomfortably, running a hand through his hair.

“Uh, you can hit the shower first,” he suggested, his voice unusually soft, as if the request was somehow awkward. He was trying to be polite, to give you space, but you could tell he was still on edge. “I mean, you probably want to… you know. Relax. After tonight. I kinda ruined the purpose of the springs.”

There was an undeniable gentleness in his tone, an openness that wasn’t typical of the Bucky you knew. The small gesture felt like an invitation not just to the shower, but into his world, into a space where he had allowed you in, even if only for a brief moment. You could sense that this wasn’t just a casual offer; it was him trying to make you comfortable, to let you see him, just a little bit more, without the weight of expectations. His fidgeting only highlighted how much this meant to him.

As you stepped into the bathroom, you noticed the smallest details—the familiar scent of his cologne in the air, the slightly rumpled towels, the faint imprint of someone who lived here alone, yet never truly alone. It was a stark contrast to the polished exterior Bucky always presented to the world. And then, off to the side, you spotted it: a small wardrobe tucked into the corner of the bathroom. It was an unexpected but telling detail, a discreet little corner of his private space. The wardrobe wasn’t large, but it was enough for a few essentials—simple shirts, sweatpants, maybe a pair of shorts.

You rifled through the clothes, choosing a shirt that looked comfortable—soft cotton, slightly faded, with the familiar feel of something well-worn. You paused for a moment, then put back on the panties of your swimwear. The top, though simple, felt like a piece of him—just a little more access into his world.

After you showered, the warm water easing away the tension from your muscles, you emerged to find that Bucky had given you the space to refresh without hovering, as if he wanted to ensure you felt welcomed but not intruded upon. He was sitting on the edge of his bed, eyes briefly lifting from the floor to meet yours when you reappeared, his gaze full of unspoken thoughts.

It was then you noticed it—the strawberry chapstick, sitting casually on the bathroom counter. You smiled softly, a warmth spreading through you. He always carried it. The same one you had used countless times, its sweet scent now filling the air as you applied it to your lips. You found it strangely intimate, almost as if you were claiming a piece of him, too. The realization that he carried it with him—just like the little details of his life he kept hidden—made you feel closer to him in a way words couldn’t express.

When you stepped out of the bathroom, everything about the moment felt different—charged in a way you couldn’t quite place, but it was undeniably there. You felt more like yourself, yet more a part of him than you had before. The shirt you wore, his shirt, hung loosely around your frame, carrying his scent, his presence, and the weight of his trust. The fabric wrapped around you like a protective shield, but there was something more intimate about it, something that made your heart beat a little faster.

As you moved back into the room, you could feel the air shift. Bucky, who traded his wet jeans for comfortable sweatpants, immediately eye-tracked your every step as you approached him, and there was a slight hesitation in his gaze as it lingered on the shirt you wore. The way his eyes moved—slowly, deliberately—told you everything you needed to know. His pupils had dilated, and his breath hitched. He seemed to be holding his breath, almost like he didn’t want to make a move, yet the tension between you was palpable.

He let out a soft exhale, the words coming out as a low murmur. “You smell like me,” he said, his voice rough, almost like it wasn’t even meant to be heard. It was a simple statement, but there was a rawness to it, a possessiveness that made your pulse quicken.

Your smile was soft but teasing as you met his gaze. “I guess it’s not so bad, then,” you teased gently, running your fingers through your damp hair. There was a playfulness to your voice, but beneath it, you could feel the warmth building between you two, the same warmth that had been growing since the moment you walked into his room.

Bucky’s lips curled slightly at your words, but there was a flicker of something deeper behind his eyes. He took a slow step toward you, his hands lightly brushing against your arms. The contact sent a shiver down your spine, and he noticed it immediately, his lips twitching in a smile.

“Can’t say I mind it,” he murmured, his voice lower now, as if something had shifted inside him. His hands were gentle, almost reverent as they cupped your face, his thumb tracing the curve of your jaw. “You’re everything, you know that?”

The tenderness in his voice, the vulnerability that had slipped through, made your heart swell, but before you could respond, his lips brushed lightly against yours. The kiss was sweet at first, soft and careful, as if he were testing the waters. But as his lips moved against yours, something changed. You could feel the intensity building between you both, the undeniable chemistry drawing you in. It wasn’t just passion—it was a raw need to connect, to solidify the bond that had been quietly forming since the moment you met.

When his lips pulled away, his breath was shaky. His eyes searched yours, and it was then you noticed the flicker of something darker in his gaze. He shifted closer, his chest almost touching yours, and his gaze dropped to your lips again.

Then, in a movement that felt both reckless and inevitable, he kissed you again. This time, the kiss was deeper, hungrier. His lips were firm and urgent, demanding, but there was still something tender in it—something that sent your pulse into overdrive.

But it wasn’t just the kiss. As his lips moved against yours, you felt it—a subtle taste of something sweet, something familiar. The hint of strawberry lingered on his lips, and it was a small, but unmistakable sign that you had left your mark on him. The chapstick, the same one you always used, had made its way onto his lips. The sensation, the sweetness of it, broke something inside him. It wasn’t just the taste, it was the fact that you had left a part of yourself with him. It was the straw that broke the camel's back.

He pulled away with a sharp intake of breath, his forehead resting against yours. His hands gripped your waist, pulling you closer to him. “God, you’re going to kill me, aren’t you?” he murmured, his voice thick with both amusement and something more primal.

You smiled, a soft laugh escaping your lips, but before you could speak, he kissed you again—this time, it was no longer sweet. There was an edge to it, a desperation that you hadn’t felt before. His hands tightened around you, pulling you even closer, as if he couldn’t get enough of you. His lips were insistent, almost frantic, as if he were trying to erase the distance between you.

The moment Bucky kissed you again, the air between you seemed to crackle with an intensity that was nearly impossible to ignore. The chemistry that had been building since the first stolen kiss in the hot springs now flooded over you in waves, each touch more urgent, more desperate than the last. His lips pressed against yours with an insistent hunger, pulling you closer, as if he couldn’t bear to be apart from you for even a second. His hands, which had been gentle before, now gripped you with a possessiveness that made your breath hitch. You responded just as fiercely, your hands running through his hair, tugging him closer, wanting more, needing more.

"You're driving me crazy," Bucky muttered between kisses, his voice rough, as if the weight of everything between you had hit him like a tidal wave. "I can’t stop thinking about you. About this. You’re all that’s in my brain."

Every word that came from his lips was a jagged edge, a reflection of the tension and desire that had been steadily building between you both. You smiled against his lips, teasing him, your voice low and seductive as you whispered, “I think you like this loss of control.”

His reaction was immediate. His body tensed beneath you, his grip tightening as though he was trying to anchor himself to reality, but the pull of you—your body against his, the heat between you both—was too much. "God, you're... I don’t even know how you do this to me," he groaned, his voice shaking with desire. He kissed you again, harder this time, his lips moving with an intensity that matched the pounding of your heart.

You felt the shift in him, a kind of desperate need, and you pushed back against him. The momentum of your body pressing into his was enough to have him falling back onto the mattress. You quickly straddled him, your thighs sliding over his as you positioned yourself on top of him, feeling the hard outline of his arousal beneath you. The sensation was intoxicating, a rush of heat that only intensified the ache in your core. You could feel him—his breath quickening, his heart pounding beneath his chest—and you knew that everything between you both had changed.

Bucky’s hands moved up your thighs, stopping just shy of the hem of your shirt, and for a moment, the heat of his touch lingered there, like a promise of what was to come. His eyes were dark, burning with an intensity that made your pulse race. He watched you as you moved, his eyes following every motion you made, his breath coming in shallow gasps as if he couldn’t believe you were here, straddling him, so close—too close, yet not close enough.

"I need you so much," He growled, his hands finally reaching the waistband of your panties, his fingers trembling with restraint, as if he was trying desperately to hold on. "I can't wait any longer."

But you weren’t ready to let him rush this. Not yet. Slowly, you slid your body down his, pressing your chest against his as you placed your lips to his ear. "Then don’t," you whispered, your voice husky, taunting. "Don’t wait. Don’t hold back."

His hands gripped your waist, pulling you closer, his lips crashing into yours once again, the kiss now feverish, urgent. You could feel the tension between you, thick and palpable, as if everything that had been simmering beneath the surface was about to boil over. The sensation of his hands on you—caressing, pulling, guiding you closer—made everything inside you tighten, your body reacting to him in ways you hadn’t anticipated. The heat between you both, which had once been confined to the springs, was now multiplied tenfold, and you could feel it in every kiss, every touch, every breath that left your lips.

As Bucky's hands slid under the waistband of your bathing suit’s underwear, pulling it down, the sensation of his clothed skin against yours sent a jolt through you. The vulnerability of it—the fact that you were both shedding the last bit of armor between you—made your heart race even faster. But you didn’t stop him. You let him pull away your swim bottom, your skin now bare against his covered one, and the sensation of his fingertips slowly coming up and grazing over your chest underneath your shirt made you gasp. His touch was possessive but gentle, like he was savoring every inch of you, learning you, mapping you out in ways that only deepened the connection between you.

You responded by pulling his shirt off, your hands slipping over the smooth, taut muscles of his chest, feeling the way he trembled under your touch. His body was just as hard as you remembered, and just as perfect. You could feel his heartbeat underneath your fingertips, the steady rhythm mirroring your own. His breath hitched when you traced the lines of his chest, and for a moment, the world outside of this room no longer existed. There was only the heat between you, the fire that was growing hotter by the second.

"I can’t—I can't stop," Bucky whispered against your lips, his hands sliding to your hips, guiding you closer, the need in his voice impossible to ignore. "You have no idea what you're doing to me."

You could feel it, though. The way his body reacted to every touch, every press of your skin against his. The way he tensed and shuddered when your lips met his neck, trailing soft, heated kisses down the column of his throat. It was everything—the raw need, the tenderness, the way your body seemed to be in perfect sync with his.

"Let go, baby," you breathed against his skin, your lips brushing over the sensitive skin of his jaw. "You won’t bite. Not unless I want you to."

He let out a soft, strained laugh, the sound full of desire and disbelief. "I think you know I do."

The intensity was mounting. Each breath felt heavier, each touch more urgent, and when you slid your hands lower, to the waistband of his sweatpants, he didn’t stop you. Instead, he helped you, his fingers tracing over the curves of your back, slowly pulling your shirt up in the process with trembling hands. You helped him pull off his pants, the movements slow, deliberate, as you both got closer, the anticipation building to an almost unbearable point.

You moved to kiss him again, the fire between you two finally igniting completely as you pressed your body against his, your lips tasting the faintest hint of strawberry chapstick—an innocent reminder of earlier. It was a small thing, a simple detail, but it was enough to send Bucky spiraling. The sweet, familiar taste of it on your lips was the breaking point for him. He kissed you deeper, harder, the need in him raw, his hands desperate now, pulling you against him as he let go of every last bit of control.

The room was charged with electricity, the air thick with tension, as Bucky looked at you, his gaze dark and predatory. His hands, which had been so careful before, were now eager, exploring the soft curves of your body as if he couldn’t quite believe you were here, in front of him. His eyes traced every inch of you, as though committing your bare skin to memory, and when they finally met yours, you saw the heat there, the raw hunger that burned behind them.

"God, you're stunning," he whispered hoarsely, his voice thick with a mix of awe and desire. 

You didn’t say anything, just let him look, let him admire you in the way that made your pulse race. He wasn’t in a rush, he didn’t want to rush this. His hands lingered on your skin, fingertips grazing over your waist, up your back, trailing over your collarbones and neck. He seemed to take his time, savoring every touch, every inch of your naked skin, as if trying to imprint the feeling of you onto himself.

Then, slowly, he leaned in, his lips brushing lightly against the delicate skin of your shoulder. The sensation was enough to make you gasp, but what followed took you by surprise—a sharp, teasing nip on the soft flesh of your neck. You shuddered at the sensation, your body responding to him instantly. Bucky pulled back just slightly, watching your reaction as a devilish smile curled on his lips.

"Did I hurt you?" he asked, his voice soft and tender, though his eyes betrayed the fire that burned in him. But he was too impatient, he couldn’t wait for an answer and his mouth was immediately back on your skin, trailing down your collarbone, over your chest, as he left another mark—a small bite—just below your breast. You mewled softly, unable to hold back the breathless sounds that escaped your lips. The sensation was both pleasurable and painful in the best way, and it only seemed to fuel his need for you more.

He didn’t stop there, though. As his lips and teeth traveled down your body, each mark he left sent a shock of pleasure through you, each bite more intoxicating than the last. He was claiming you, marking you in a way that left you breathless, your body trembling beneath his touch. His hands were steady, holding you securely as he made you lean back slightly, his strength keeping you from tipping over, anchoring you to him as his mouth moved lower.

"Bucky..." you gasped, your hands trembling as you reached for him, your body arching into his touch. But he didn’t let up, his lips moving with purpose, each bite making your pulse quicken, each mark drawing you closer to the edge.

"Shh," he murmured against your skin, his breath hot as he moved to your other side, his hands moving to your thighs, squeezing them gently. "I need to see all of you. Need to know you’re mine."

When his lips reached your hip, he paused for a moment, savoring the moment. Then, with careful deliberation, he bit down, slow and purposeful, and you couldn’t suppress the soft moan that escaped you. The pressure of his teeth on your skin was both deliciously painful and overwhelmingly pleasurable, making you gasp and shudder as the heat between you grew more intense. His grip on you tightened, holding you firmly in place as your body arched into him, craving more of his touch.

You gasped as he trailed his mouth down to your stomach, another bite, this time at your side, just below your ribs. The sensation sent a ripple of desire coursing through you, and you couldn’t hold back the soft mewls that escaped your throat. Your fingers dug into his hair, the pleasure of his touch combined with the intense marks he was leaving on you sending waves of heat flooding through your body.

Bucky’s hands reached the outline of your thighs, his fingers lingering on the sensitive skin, and the warmth between you both grew even more intense. His lips didn’t stop their slow trail, leaving heated marks all along your body, each one igniting a fire inside you. His breath was shallow, almost frantic, as he finally pulled away from your skin just enough to look up at you, his eyes dark with need. “Sweetheart, I want—no, I need to taste you. I've never needed anything so bad,” he muttered in a low, urgent tone, the words laced with desperation as he continued to mark you, his mouth finding the soft flesh of your breasts. The intensity of his touch, coupled with his raw hunger, had you gasping in pleasure, unable to suppress the waves of need crashing over you.

Bucky’s teeth grazed your skin again, the sharp sting followed by the deep heat of his kiss. Each bite, each press of his lips sent a shudder of pleasure through you, leaving you gasping and arching against him. Your body was burning with need, each sensation building into something overwhelming. You could barely comprehend the words slipping from his lips as his teeth sank into your skin once more, the intensity of his touch clouding your thoughts. “Please, let me just…” he asked, his voice rough with desire. But the only coherent thought you could form was a soft, breathless protest, “Bucky—I can’t... I’m too heavy...” You barely recognized the words as they left your mouth, but the guilt lingered, even as you felt his hands tighten on your hips, his movements never ceasing, even in the face of your doubt.

Bucky growled at your protest, the sound low and almost animalistic as it rumbled from deep within his chest. He didn’t hesitate, his hands tightening around your waist as he lifted you effortlessly, settling you above him. With a growl, he slid further back into the bed, pulling you along with him until you were completely positioned over him, your sex now mere inches apart from his face. His breath was ragged, his eyes burning with an intensity that had only grown since the moment you’d stepped into his room. 

“You don’t get it, do you?” he said with a rough voice, filled with both desire and frustration. “I don’t care about that. I'll make you feel so good. I promise I'll be gentle. Let me eat this sweet cunt, let me make you come on my tongue until you're senseless...” His hands traced the curve of your hips, pulling you down ever so slightly, his gaze never leaving yours. “Let me do what I want,” he pleaded, his lips almost touching yours, the words a desperate whisper. Despite the way his body was reacting, he still waited for your answer, though it was clear he wouldn’t be able to hold back much longer.

You hesitated for a moment, the intensity of the moment clouding your mind, but then, your initial judgment failed as your eyes caught his that were burning with need, and you finally felt the weight of his words sink in as a shiver passed through you. A soft sigh escaped your lips as you finally nodded, giving in to his demand. The moment you did, his grip on you tightened, and with a low, urgent growl, he surged forward, crashing his lips to your lower ones with a fierce, primal hunger. 

As Bucky's hands continued to explore the contours of your body, his fingers dug deeper into the flesh of your hips, pulling you closer to him. The warmth of his breath danced across your skin, sending shivers down your spine. Your gasp of surprise had barely escaped your lips before it transformed into a moan of pure, unadulterated desire. The sensation of his stubble rasping against your sensitive skin was almost too much to bear, and you felt your body arching towards him, craving more.

His mouth was a masterful instrument, teasing and tantalizing your entrance with gentle, probing kisses. The heat of his tongue as it delved deeper, tasting the very essence of your being, was intoxicating. You could feel your body responding, your muscles tensing and relaxing in a rhythmic dance, as if beckoned by the symphony of sensations he was creating.

Bucky's groan of relief was a low, rumbling sound that vibrated through every cell of your body, resonating deep within your core. His words, husky and laced with desire, only served to heighten the anticipation building inside you. "Thank you," he whispered, his voice a gentle caress against your skin.

"Fuck, you smell divine…" The way he spoke, as if savoring each word, each syllable, was a testament to the depth of his arousal. "Gonna taste you on my tongue until you're writhing and shaking above me." It was a vow, a pledge to take you to the very limits of your endurance, to push you to the edge of ecstasy and hold you there, suspended in a state of pure, unadulterated bliss. The thought sent a shiver coursing through your veins, and you felt your body begin to tremble, your muscles quivering with anticipation.

Bucky's tongue continued its gentle exploration, you could feel yourself becoming lost in the sensation, your mind fragmenting into a thousand different threads of pleasure. Your breath came in short, ragged gasps, and your heart pounded in your chest like a drum, beating out a rhythm that seemed to match the pulsing of your very soul. The sensation was akin to being consumed by a raging inferno, each lick and probe igniting a fire that threatened to incinerate every last shred of your sanity. Your body, a tautly strung instrument, vibrated with an otherworldly energy, as if the very notes of pleasure were being played on your skin like a maestro conducting a symphony of desire.

"Fuck, you're so sweet," Bucky groaned, his voice a low, husky whisper that sent shivers coursing through your veins like a shot of liquid adrenaline. "I could eat you out all day, every day, and never get enough."

As he spoke, his tongue delved deeper, tracing intricate patterns across your skin like a cartographer mapping the uncharted territories of your desire. His words coursed through your veins like a river of pure, unadulterated desire. You felt your body respond, your hips rising off the surface like a supplicant offering herself to the gods. You felt his lips, soft and gentle, as they wrapped around your entrance, sucking and pulling with a gentle, insistent pressure that seemed to draw the very marrow from your bones. Your entrance, already swollen and sensitive, throbbed with an aching need, as if beckoning Bucky's tongue to delve deeper, to explore the hidden recesses of your very soul.

"Oh, shit—mmh, Bucky..." you moaned wantonly, your voice a barely audible plea that seemed to hang in the air like a challenge. "So good, need to feel you so bad…" Your hips rose off the surface, offering yourself to Bucky like a supplicant to the gods, and he accepted the offering with a growl of pleasure.

The sensations built and crested, and you felt yourself becoming lost in the moment, your mind fragmenting into a thousand different threads of pleasure. Your body, a finely tuned instrument, vibrated with an otherworldly energy—as if the very notes of pleasure were being played on your skin like a symphony of desire. You were a puppet on strings, danced by the masterful hands of Bucky's desire, and you felt yourself soaring on the winds of ecstasy, unencumbered by the shackles of reality.

Bucky's fingers, deft and skilled, reached up to tease your nipples, pinching and rolling them between his thumbs and forefingers. The sensation was like a jolt of electricity, sending sparks flying through your body like a firework exploding in the night sky. Your breasts, already sensitive, seemed to swell and grow, as if responding to Bucky's touch like a flower blooming in the sun.

"Ride my face," He growled, his voice a low, husky command that seemed to shatter the very foundations of your being. "Take what you need, sweetheart. I want to feel you come on my tongue." His words were a challenge, a dare, and you felt yourself responding, your body and mind acknowledging his dominance.

You lowered yourself back down, your entrance hovering just above Bucky's mouth. His tongue, warm and wet, darted out, tasting your skin and sending shivers coursing through your veins. You felt yourself being drawn to him, your body responding to his touch like a magnet. Your hips moved in a slow, sensual rhythm, grinding your entrance against Bucky's tongue. His mouth was teasing and tantalizing your skin with gentle, probing kisses. The heat of his tongue as it delved deeper, tasting the very essence of your being, was intoxicating.

"What a dirty girl, my filthy slut," Bucky whispered, his words sending a thrill through your body. "You love riding my face, don't you?" You felt a surge of pleasure at his words, your body responding to the dirty talk like a key turning in a lock. You could feel your body responding, your muscles tensing and relaxing in a rhythmic dance, as if beckoned by the symphony of sensations he was creating. Your breath came in short, ragged gasps, and your heart pounded in your chest like a drum, beating out a rhythm that seemed to match the pulsing of your very soul.

The sensations built and crested, you felt yourself becoming lost in the moment, your mind fragmenting into a thousand different threads of pleasure. Your body, a finely tuned instrument, vibrated with an otherworldly energy, as if the very notes of pleasure were being played on your skin like a symphony of desire.

Your hips bucked and twisted, grinding against his face as you sought to extract every last ounce of pleasure from the experience. "Oh, god, Bucky," you moaned, your voice barely above a whisper. "You're killing me, your mouth is—oh, fuck." As you rode him, you felt your hands instinctively reach out, gripping his hair with a fierce intensity. You pulled his head closer, feeling his tongue delve deeper and deeper into your entrance. Your hips bucked and twisted, grinding against his face as you sought to extract every last ounce of pleasure from the experience.

And then, when you gazed down at Bucky, you saw it. His body, tense and coiled with desire, was unconsciously thrusting up into the air, his hips bucking with a rhythmic intensity that seemed to match the pulsing of your own heart. His eyes, closed in ecstasy, seemed to be pleading with you, begging you to take him, to ride him, to make him yours.

The sight of him, so lost in his own desire, was like a spark to dry tinder. Your body, already aflame with pleasure, seemed to ignite with an even greater intensity. You felt your grip on his hair tighten at the sight, your hips grinding down against his face with fierce, unrelenting pressure.

In an instant, you were coming, your body arching and convulsing as the pleasure seemed to shatter the very foundations of your being. Your grip on Bucky's hair tightened, your hips grinding down against his face with a fierce, unrelenting pressure. Your breath came in short, ragged gasps, and your heart pounded in your chest like a drum, beating out a rhythm that seemed to match the pulsing of your very soul.

As the sensations slowly began to recede, you felt yourself collapsing back onto Bucky, your body exhausted and spent. But instead of holding you close, Bucky's arms wrapped around your thighs, holding you in place as he slowly began to kiss your cunt. His lips, soft and gentle, brushed against your sensitive skin, sending shivers of pleasure through your body.

"Good girl," Bucky whispered, his voice a low, husky possessiveness that seemed to shatter the very foundations of your being. "You’re my good girl. Forever and always, mine." His words were a claim, a statement of ownership, and you felt yourself responding to them, your body and mind acknowledging his dominance.

His hands, warm and caressing, stroked your thighs, holding you steady as he helped you ride out the ecstasy with his mouth. You felt his tongue, gentle and probing, as it delved into your depths, tasting and savoring the remnants of your orgasm. The sensation was exquisite, a gentle and soothing balm to your frazzled nerves.

You laid there, catching your breath, and you couldn't help but notice the tension in Bucky's body. His chest was heaving, his eyes were closed, and his cock proudly jutting against his abdomen. You reached down, your hand slowly descending to his crotch, and Bucky's eyes snapped open. He watched, his gaze intense, as you wrapped your fingers around his shaft.

His hips began to buck, his cock twitching with each movement, his body trembling with anticipation. "Oh, fuck yeah—just like that," he whispered, his voice trembling with desire, and his words barely audible over the sound of their heavy breathing. He lets out a low, husky moan, his eyes fluttering closed in ecstasy. His breathing grew more ragged, his chest heaving with each stroke, his muscles tensing beneath his skin. The air is filled with the sweet scent of desire, the sound of your heavy breathing, and the gentle friction of skin on skin.

Your touch was like a spark to dry kindling, igniting a flame of passion that threatened to consume them both. Bucky's hands reach out, his fingers grasping for your hips, pulling you closer. "I love the way you touch me," he admitted, his voice filled with adoration, his words dripping with sincerity. "You always know just what to do to drive me crazy, to make me lose control."

You continued to stroke him, and his body began to tremble, his muscles tensing, his skin growing hot and slick with sweat. His eyes snap open, burning with intensity, his gaze locking onto yours, his pupils dilating with desire. "Ride me," he growls, his voice low and husky, his words filled with urgency. "Want to see you bounce on me, want to feel you—please, sweetheart."

You felt a rush of heat course through your body at his growled plea. The intensity in his eyes, the raw need in his voice, it all combined to ignite a fire within you. Without a second thought, you moved to straddle his hips, taking a moment to line him up with your slick entrance.

As you slowly sank down, taking him inch by delicious inch, stars exploded behind your eyelids and you let out a ragged moan. He stretched you so perfectly, filling and completing you in a way that stole your breath. Your hands braced on his firm chest as you rolled your hips, working him deeper. His fingers dug into the flesh of your hips, holding on tight.

"Fuck," he groaned, his head falling back against the pillow. "So fucking tight, so good. Never want to be without you, sweetheart."

You set a slow, sensual pace, rising up until just the tip remained before dropping back down. The drag of him inside was exquisite, sending sparks of pleasure shooting through your veins. He began to thrust up to meet you, matching your rhythm. Each downward press of your hips brought him deeper, his cock kissing your sweet spot and sending you spiraling further toward the edge.

Your hips gradually moved faster, enjoying the sound of your flesh slapping together filling the air, and the smell of sweat and sex hanging heavy over you. His hands move to your waist, his fingers digging into your skin and pulling you down harder onto his cock, his touch burning with intensity. "I love you," he growls, his voice filled with emotion, his words dripping with sincerity. "I love the way you make me feel, the way you touch me, the way you ride me like a filthy animal. My little Silver Fox."

Hearing him calling you by your newly given title made you feel unknown things you didn’t know you were capable of feeling. You responded in a low, throaty moan, your body moving in perfect sync with his, your breasts jiggling with each movement. "Love you too," you said in an urgent tone, your voice barely audible over the sound of your heavy breathing. "Love the way you fill me, the—ugh, the way you make me feel like I'm the only person in the world—fuck, Bucky, right there, right there!"

Bucky groaned under his breath, eyes squeezing shut in ecstasy as your velvety heat enveloped him like a tight glove. "Deeper," he growled, his voice dripping with need and urgency. "That's it, angel, take all of me."

His large hands gripped the yielding flesh of your ass, kneading and spreading you open wider. The burning intensity of his touch left searing fingerprints on your skin. "Yes, just like that," Bucky moaned, head falling back in bliss. "You're so unbelievably tight. I can feel you milking me."

Pleasure built to a fever pitch between your joined bodies, coiling tighter and tighter with each thrust and caress. He fought to keep his rapidly unraveling control as you clung to him, urging him on. "I-I'm almost there," he panted against your neck, hips starting to stutter. "Gonna fill you up, make you mine..."

"Please, do it," you gasped, nails scoring down his back. "I'm yours, Bucky, all yours. Come inside me, give me everything."

With each slow, deep thrust, the pleasure mounted higher, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. Bucky seemed to sense it, his mouth trailing down to your neck, teeth and tongue working the sensitive skin.

"Come on angel," he growled, the low timbre of his voice sending sparks skittering through your nerves. "Come for me, let me feel you..."

Tilting your hips, he changed the angle, each long drag of his softening length hitting that spot inside you that made stars explode behind your eyes. Your hands scrambled for purchase against his sweat-slicked back as the tension wound tighter and tighter.

"Bucky!" You keened his name, thighs trembling and toes curling as your orgasm slammed into you. Waves of ecstasy crashed through your system, your inner muscles rippling around him. You could only hold on for dear life as Bucky worked you through it, his mouth and hands never ceasing their delicious torture.With a guttural groan, he joined you and finally crested that peak. His cock twitched and jerked as thick ropes of his seed pulsed deep into your welcoming heat. "I love you," Bucky whispered fervently, voice raw with emotion. "I love you so much it hurts." His powerful body shuddered through the intense waves, holding you flush against him.

In the aftermath, Bucky’s lips still burned with the intensity of the kiss, each movement a reminder of how deeply he cherished you. His hands, now tender and reverent, cupped your face as if he were afraid that if he let go, you might slip away. The kiss had been more than just a physical expression—it had been an outpouring of all the words he struggled to say in the moments before. At that moment, there were no walls, no masks, just the raw vulnerability of two people who had found a haven in each other.

Bucky pulled back slightly, his forehead resting against yours, his breath still coming in short, heated gasps. His eyes, usually so guarded, were now open and exposed, his love for you shining in them like a lighthouse in the dark. "You're incredible," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion, the words reverberating through your heart. He was still breathless, but his gaze never left you. "I’m glad to have found you."

There was something about that phrase, about the sincerity in his voice, that made your chest tighten with affection. He wasn’t just happy to have you in his life—he was grateful, deeply grateful, as though you were the one piece that had finally fit into the puzzle of his life. His past, filled with darkness and confusion, had finally given way to this, to you.

As you lay there, your bodies still intertwined, the world outside seemed to vanish. The noise, the chaos—everything melted away, leaving only the two of you in this perfect, fleeting bubble of peace. Making love with Bucky had always been more than just physical—it was a sacred act, a melding of souls. There was a quiet reverence in how he touched you, a tenderness that spoke of both healing and a love that had been earned over time.

Every caress, every movement between you, felt as though it was binding your hearts together in the most intimate way possible. It wasn’t just a union of bodies—it was a union of everything you both were, everything you had endured and learned, and everything you had yet to discover about each other. In those moments, time itself seemed to slow, the world outside no longer mattered as you existed together in your perfect reality.

In the silence that followed, you rested against him, your hand tracing lazy patterns over his chest as you both found your rhythm in the stillness. You knew, without a doubt, that no matter what challenges awaited you—what demons from his past or the threats from the outside world—this was your blissful reality. You had found something pure, something that transcended the struggles of your pasts, something that you both would fiercely protect.

As he held you close, his arms wrapped securely around you, the weight of his devotion felt like a quiet promise. No matter what came next, you would face it together. This love—this connection—was something that would endure, and in the deepest corners of your heart, you knew that no matter how the world changed, this moment, this perfect, stolen peace, would always belong to the two of you.

⠀

The morning after, the soft rays of dawn filtered through the thick trees, casting a warm, golden hue over the room. The air was thick with the scent of earth and warmth, a stark contrast to the chaos that loomed over the horizon. You stirred in the quiet, Bucky’s arm still wrapped around you, his steady heartbeat a comfort against your back. The feeling of him close, his body tangled with yours, felt almost surreal—like you were still in a dream, still wrapped in the cocoon of the night you’d shared.

But even as you lay there, the world outside was shifting. The gentle hum of Wakanda’s advanced technology, the soft whispers of nature, and the quiet buzz of anticipation all spoke of something inevitable. Something you both knew was coming.

Bucky's breath was slow and rhythmic, but as if sensing the change in the air, he shifted behind you. His hand slid to your waist, fingers brushing your soft skin as he murmured your name.

"Good morning," you whispered, your voice raspy and soft from sleep as you turned to face him. He was watching you now, his eyes tired but intensely focused, as if his soul had already started preparing for what lay ahead.

He cupped your cheek with a tenderness that felt like a promise, grounding himself in the fleeting tranquility before the storm. "Morning, sweetheart," he replied with a slow, content smile. His thumb traced the curve of your jaw before he leaned down to press his lips to your forehead, a kiss of comfort, of love.

The warmth of his touch lingered, but that peaceful moment didn’t last long. The silence of the room shattered with the sudden crackling sound of a communication coming through from the nightstand nearby, urgent and clipped. The voice on the other end was frantic, struggling to stay calm.

"The Avengers are needed," it said, the words tight with the gravity of the situation. "Thanos is coming. Prepare for battle."

The tension in the air shifted instantly. Bucky’s muscles tensed under you, his eyes narrowing as the weight of the message sank in. You could feel the heat of his body, the rhythm of his breath changing as he pulled away slightly, his face hardening with resolve. The love that had filled the room moments ago was replaced by the cold reality of the war ahead.

"Guess the calm didn't last," you said softly, your voice steady despite the turmoil swirling in your chest. You knew what was coming, had known since the moment you heard the first whispers of Thanos’s name. Still, hearing it so directly made everything more real, more urgent.

Bucky’s lips pressed together in a tight line as he swung his legs off the side of the bed, the shift in his demeanor stark. There was no hesitation in his movements now, no sign of the tenderness from just moments ago. He was already preparing, mentally, for what lay ahead.

"Stay close," he said, his voice low and commanding, as he reached for his gear. The weight of his words carried more than just a request—it was a promise, an order. You didn’t need to be told twice. Without a word, you joined him in dressing quickly, racing down your room to pull on your tactical gear, your heart racing as the sound of distant engines began to reverberate through the walls.

You shared one last lingering kiss as you met up again, a silent promise between you both to be safe. His eyes were filled with determination, but there was something more—something that spoke of his desire to protect you, to shield you from what was coming. You could see it in the set of his jaw and the way he held your gaze, as if trying to imprint this moment into his memory.

When you arrived at the Wakandan command center, the familiar faces of the Avengers were already there, gathered around, discussing their plans to defend Wakanda against the coming invasion. T’Challa stood at the forefront, his regal presence commanding the room. Queen Ramona and Okoye were strategizing on the tech and military fronts. The tension was palpable.

The calm was gone, replaced by a sharp urgency as you both made your way out of the room. Outside, the air felt charged, the energy of Wakanda buzzing as the people there prepared for the oncoming storm. You knew what awaited you—a battle that would determine the fate of everything.

The command center was already alive with activity when you arrived. The Avengers were assembling, and despite the chaos, there was a sense of focus in the room, each member already falling into their role. T’Challa stood at the center, his regal posture unwavering, his face a mask of determination.

"We stand together," T'Challa said, his voice strong and calm. "Wakanda will not fall."

The gravity of his words settled in your chest as you stood with Bucky. The world felt like it was teetering on the edge, a precipice from which it might never return. But, in that moment, you found yourself holding onto him, drawing strength from his presence as the world outside continued to swirl in chaos.

Just then, you caught the familiar, bright-eyed face of Shuri as she approached, her usual playful demeanor tempered by the weight of the situation. She paused for a second, her gaze shifting from you to Bucky.

"Well, well, look who’s back from the shadows," Shuri teased, but there was an underlying softness in her words, a recognition of the storm coming. "You two ready to help us kick some ass?"

Bucky smirked, his usual stoic self, but there was warmth in his eyes when he looked at her. "We’re ready."

Shuri grinned before quickly growing serious again, her hands coming to rest on her hips as she scanned the battlefield preparations. "Good. I’ve made some adjustments to the tech. We’ll need everyone on their toes." Her eyes lingered on you for a moment, her expression softening. "You two stick together out there, okay? We’ll need all the help we can get." She placed a hand briefly on your shoulder in a gesture of support, one that felt like a promise.

You gave her a small nod, the weight of the coming battle settling into your bones.

Bucky’s hand squeezed yours, his thumb brushing over your knuckles as the sound of distant engines filled the air. The Avengers were assembling outside, each gearing up, preparing to face the war that loomed over them.

As you stood there, trying to steady your racing heart, Bucky’s attention shifted to Shuri. Without a word, he raised his hand, placing his fist over his chest—the Wakandan salute. It was an unexpected gesture, one that you had never seen from him before. Shuri blinked in surprise before a proud smile slowly spread across her face.

"Looks like the White Wolf is finally embracing his new pack," she teased, her voice warm with pride and amusement.

You couldn’t help but be surprised, your eyes darting between them as the significance of the moment hit you. Bucky, the Winter Soldier—once a weapon of destruction—now stood before Wakanda, acknowledging them in a way that was both powerful and humbling.

Bucky’s face softened, his usual stoic expression giving way to something more vulnerable, something sincere. "Wakanda has shown me a new way," he said quietly, the words more weighted than anything he had said before.

The warmth between them, the bond forged not just in battle but in trust, was palpable. Shuri nodded, her gaze flickering between you and Bucky. "You two are ready," she said with certainty before turning her focus back to the preparations. "Let’s make sure Wakanda stands strong."

Bucky squeezed your hand again, his thumb brushing over your knuckles, grounding you in the moment. Together, the two of you stood ready to face the coming storm—no longer just soldiers of war, but symbols of the redemption, loyalty, and fierce love that had bound your hearts.

As the first tremors of the impending battle rumbled through the earth beneath your feet, you and Bucky found a moment of stillness. The chaos of the command center, the preparations for war, seemed distant, fading into the background as the two of you stood together, hand in hand.

Bucky’s gaze was steady, but there was something vulnerable in the way his eyes held yours. His face, usually so hardened by years of pain, was softened by the quiet strength of his love for you. You both knew what was coming, knew the war would demand everything of you, but in this fleeting moment, you had each other.

His hand reached up to cup your cheek once more, the touch gentle yet firm, grounding you both. The weight of the world seemed to fall away, if only for a breath.

“We’ll come back,” Bucky whispered to you, his voice a soft promise, raw with the emotion he rarely allowed himself to show.

You didn’t need words to understand. You could feel it—his determination, his love, his devotion. And with a tender smile, you pressed your forehead to his shoulder, your hearts beating in time as the warmth of your connection enveloped you both.

Without hesitation, Bucky leaned in and kissed you. It was a kiss that spoke of everything—of battles fought, of victories won, of losses endured. But most of all, it was a kiss that said, no matter what happens, we’re together.

When the kiss finally broke, you remained close, his breath mingling with yours, his forehead resting against yours for a long, silent moment. The air around you seemed to shimmer with a quiet promise, like the calm before the storm. And as you stood there, holding onto him with everything you had, you realized that this was your peace. This was your love. And nothing, not even the coming battle, could take that away.

Outside, the sun broke through the cold, its light streaming across the Wakandan sky, casting a soft, golden glow on the landscape. It was a moment of warmth, a stark contrast to the winter that gripped the world. The chill in the air seemed to melt away for an instant, as if the very earth was holding its breath. It felt like a sign—one of hope, a reminder that even in the darkest of times, light could find its way through.

But beneath that fragile warmth, danger lurked. The wolves and foxes would show no mercy to those who dared to stand in their path. In the distance, the swirling gusts of white and silver began to merge—symbols of two warriors whose fates were as intertwined with the cold as they were with the people who had given them new names.

Winter was coming, and this time, it was theirs to face.

PART ONE. l PREVIOUS PART.

Want to read more of my works? Check out my masterlist !

taglist : @stilleobjection — @the-fandoms-onceler — @zyra-7 .

⠀⠀

dividers ©️ @cafekitsune .

angelremnants ©️ 2024. All rights reserved. Do not repost, reproduce, or distribute without explicit permission.

[aolechan]

“He embodies so much of what I had read Namor to be.” Joel Harlow - Makeup Dept Head & Special Makeup Designer.

Tenoch Huerta Mejía as Namor in ASSEMBLED: THE MAKING OF BLACK PANTHER WAKANDA FOREVER (2022)

[klecrone]

The incredible @elkleggs (https://twitter.com/elkleggs) created a gorgeous piece of artwork of Barnes reading which was originally meant to connect with Chapter 79: Tattered Pages, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that this felt like a different, more private moment where the contents of the journals weren’t so fresh, and where they had some added context he could grasp.

While the contents of the journals are often grim, I’d like to imagine that between Nomble’s book and the notes he’s jotted down by hand, that Barnes occasionally finds entries that spark moments of levity. Perhaps it’s an update about whatever hijinks Sam got up to way back, an observation about Steve, or some fluff concerning one of those many stray cats he tended to. Whatever it is: I love the idea that it reminds him that he’s not as truly alone as he sometimes feels.

I deeply appreciate this gorgeous painting Elkleggs created to accompany this chapter. I love all of the careful thought and intention she put into it. She completed this piece over a year and a half ago, and it feels cathartic to not only finally work our way to this scene, but to be able to share the associated art with you. Once again: A *huge* to her for bringing this impactful story moment to life, and for all of you wonderful readers for keeping the story alive.

Please check out her social media accounts to see more of her incredible art! (Only 18+, please!)

Chapter 92: "The Gravity of Ink" - (Read my story on Ao3 and FFnet) "Winter of the White Wolf" MCU FanFic

[sobbingstars]

Watching Marvel Dude Bros get mad about newer marvel stuff is so funny. Oh no, most marvel heroes are WOMEN and they’re MINORS and LESBIANS so I can’t SEXUALISE them to cure my ERECTILE DYSFUNCTION, like calm down

[hydravns]

BLACK PANTHER: WAKANDA FOREVER (2022) Dir. Ryan Coogler

[pedro-reed]

Lupita Nyong'o as Nakia BLACK PANTHER: WAKANDA FOREVER (2022), directed by Ryan Coogler

[kukvlkan]

namor + outfits

[strangerambeau]

I feel the need to point out how strong Queen Ramonda is. She has been put through so much

Her husband is killed

Killmonger comes and “kills” T’Challa

She finds out T’challa is still alive but that happiness doesn’t last long because he gets dusted for 5 years along with her daughter.

For 5 years she was ruling an entire country by herself

She dealing with other countries trying to steal vibranium

Then her kids come back and her son ACTUALLY dies

Then Shuri gets kidnapped months later and her country is at war with a nation no one knew existed

THEN SHE DIES??

[kisskourt]

stem riri williams headcanons

pairing: riri williams x black!reader

contains: fluff, smut (18+)

taglist: @inmyheadimobsessed @shurislover @phantomof-themcu @sapphicvqmpires @sapphicjunglefever @playhousedistee @thtgirlllmona @vixentheplanet @dejaonline @prettymrswright

author’s note: this version of riri lives rent free in my head. s/o to my baby @inmyheadimobsessed for helping me with this. i love you pookie wookie! thanks for reading!

SFW

🔩 the epitome of a girly tomboy. her closet is a mixture of men's and women's clothing. her go to look is a fitted top, baggy pants, and a pair of sneakers. around the house, she likes to wear a sports bra and boxer briefs. for formal events, she opts for a tailored suit and heels.

🔩 cornrows, box braids, knotless braids; she's tried them all. of the styles, straight back cornrows are her favorite. if she's feeling nostalgic, she'll add beads at the end of her braids. regardless of the style, her edges must be done. when she’s in a rush, she’d rather throw a hat on than to be seen without her edges laid.

🔩 without jewelry she feels naked. gold is her preferred metal but she’ll wear silver if it matches her outfit. her chains are a staple with anything she wears.

🔩 obsessed with getting her nails done. there is an agreement between the two of you that you pick the color and she picks the design. however, sometimes she’s adventurous and surprises you with a random color.

🔩 the biggest baby ever. after a long day of classes, she craves you. engulfed in your arms is her safe space. if she could live in your skin, she would.

🔩 before attending MIT, she worked at a car repair shop in high school. her love for cars stems from her relationship with her step-father. as a child, she would help him repair his plymouth barracuda in the garage. getting her hands dirty reminds her of the time she spent with him. in her free time, you often catch her in her garage modifying the plymouth barracuda. she recently installed a set of brake calipers in the color red.

🔩 legos! legos! legos! your girlfriend is a fein for anything lego. legos allow her to keep her hands busy while keeping her mind stimulated.

🔩 gym rat DOWN! she lives in the gym; it’s a safe space for her. for riri, each set, each rep, are not just pursuits of strength, but a ritual of equilibrium. she chases that release of dopamine; it balances her.

🔩 she’s your personal stylist. riri spends hours on pinterest saving fits and curating looks for you. she enjoys seeing you in the clothes she buys you, and she’s even more obsessed with taking your pictures. you have an entire instagram page dedicated to the outfits she’s made for you, and you must tag her so that 1. your followers know that she put the fit together and 2. you’re absolutely 100% taken, so they better not try anything!

NSFW

🔩 horny 25/8. 3 in the morning? horny. 5 in the afternoon? horny. she’s down for whatever, whenever.

🔩 a strap slinger! she loves seeing the way you react every time her strap disappears in you. her favorite position is missionary because it allows her to look into your eyes as she’s drilling you.

with her hand wrapped around your throat, riri smiles. her pace is relentless; a clear indication that she is determined to overstimulate you. your legs are wrapped around her torso, holding on for dear life.

tears began forming in your eyes; the feeling of pain and pleasure mixing.

"give it to me, baby." she hums.

“let go.”

you know what she desires, and you know how much she loves discovering the intricacies of your body.

the grip on your neck tightened as she hit your g-spot. the aroma of sex and musk fill the room as you close your eyes. seconds later, your right nipple is met with a harsh slap, followed by a demanding suckle.

"did i say you could close your eyes?"

🔩 devouring you is her favorite pastime. you're upset? head. stressed out? head. it doesn't matter when or where; she's always ready to drop to her knees for a taste of you.

with a sigh, riri places her keys on the kitchen counter. picking up her phone, she sends you a series of texts:

🔩 undoubtedly a switch. as much as she loves bending you over, she yearns for your dominance. relinquishing control to you is easy for her.

🔩 has a tramp stamp that reads "lucky you" in red ink.

🔩 she loves the feeling of you tugging on her braids as she cleans you up. slurp after slurp, she doesn't dare complain about how tight your grip is. all she cares about is how lovely you taste.

🔩 tying you up so she can see you squirm is one of the ways she punishes you when you've been a brat.

🔩 when she's frustrated with you, she makes you watch as she rubs her clit.

you extend your arms, attempting to touch her. swatting your hand away, she smirks.

"do you deserve to touch me?” you shake your in defiance.

"then stop trying to touch me!"

[cyb3rscoups]

There’s just something about writing a black woman being loved and spoiled that really hits home for me. It is simply unmatched on my happiness scale.

[angelremnants]

Heat Waves l J. B. Barnes

PART ONE.⠀THROUGH THE SHIMMERING ROADS

summary : After years of manipulation by Hydra, Bucky Barnes must find his place in a world that has long moved on without him. With you, an independent and unwavering agent by his side, he reluctantly embarks on a transformative journey of recovery in Wakanda. Amid the kingdom's vibrant culture, your connection to Bucky deepens as he confronts personal demons and embrace the healing process. Bucky learns to welcome the warmth of new beginnings, understanding that even after winter's cold grip, the sun can shine through. Inspired by Heat Waves by Glass Animals.

pairing : James ''Bucky'' Barnes x f!reader

warnings : Mature (16+), slow burn, eventual romance, fluff, mild angst, hurt/comfort, mentions of PTSD, trauma recovery, themes of mental health, anxiety, mentions of mind control/brainwashing, minor violence, mild language, physical tension. Proceed with caution if you're sensitive to such material.

word count : 15.1k

author's notes : The people have voted, and a promise is a promise: here is the long awaited Bucky fic. I was originally gonna write about one of the spideys for this song, but the idea of exploiting Buck's journey in Wakanda struck me and I couldn't get it off my mind since then—though, I'm not exactly following Civil War's plot here, so beware. This is quite long, so I'm dividing the fic into two parts.

My lonely ass couldn't find anything better to do on New Year's Eve than write, so I hope that the story appeals to you and that, unlike yours truly, you're enjoying the festivities. I wish you all a happy new year to come, & Wakanda forever. <3

NEW ! — Find the continuation here.

(ao3 version)

The fluorescent lights of SHIELD headquarters buzz faintly, casting a pale glow across the sleek metallic walls of the hallway. The atmosphere is heavy, a tension so thick it seems to creep under your skin as you hurry past the agents going about their duties. They barely glance your way, but their hurried movements and hushed whispers set your nerves on edge. Something’s wrong—very wrong.

Maria Hill’s voice over the comm has been short and clipped, urgent in a way that leaves no room for questions. “Report to Briefing Room C immediately. It’s about Barnes.” There are no further details, just enough to make your heart pound as you practically sprint down the corridor, scenarios running wild through your mind. Has Bucky been injured? Is he captured again? Or worse—has he been triggered?

The doors to Briefing Room C slid open with a faint hydraulic hiss. The moment you stepped inside, the scene hit you like a punch to the gut.

The room is dimly lit, its walls lined with glowing monitors displaying various feeds and data streams. Fury stands at the far end, his broad shoulders silhouetted against the blue-green glow of a tactical screen. His expression is as unreadable as ever, but the tightness in his jaw speaks volumes. Maria Hill is at his side, her posture rigid, arms crossed as she stares at something across the room.

And then you saw him.

Bucky is seated in the middle of the room, his hands and feet restrained by glowing vibranium cuffs. His chest rises and falls rapidly, his long, dark hair obscuring part of his face. The metallic glint of his left arm reflects the light, but what strikes you most is the sheer tension radiating from him. His jaw is clenched so tightly you think his teeth might shatter, and his eyes were wild, distant, as if he were seeing something—or someone—no one else could. The moment you stepped further into the room, his head jerked toward you, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your breath catch. For a split second, time seemed to freeze, and in that brief instant, you saw the depth of the pain and confusion that was consuming him.

“You’re just gonna let him stay like that?” you asked, your voice sharp despite the knot forming in your stomach. Fury’s eyes met yours, and you saw a flicker of uncertainty in them for the first time in a long while. It made your heart sink even further.

“It’s the only way to keep him contained,” Maria Hill replied, her voice cold but laced with an undercurrent of concern you weren’t sure you were imagining.

You took a step forward, your instincts screaming at you to do something—anything. You couldn’t just stand there and watch him suffer. But then, as if sensing your movement, Bucky’s body stiffened. His eyes flashed with panic as he struggled against his restraints.

“No,” he rasped, his voice hoarse and low. “No, please… don’t come any closer.” His breath was coming in ragged gasps now, his chest heaving as if he was suffocating.

You paused, your heart breaking at the sight of him, at the sound of his voice, so desperate and filled with fear. But you knew Bucky. You knew what he was capable of—and you knew that beneath the terror, there was still the man you trusted. The man you had once fought beside.

The room fell silent for a moment, the weight of his words hanging in the air. You could see the conflict in his eyes, the way he waged a war within himself. It was like watching someone trying to outrun their demons, knowing that they would never be fast enough.

Maria Hill’s voice cuts through the heavy silence. “Agent [Y/L/N].”

You tear your eyes away from Bucky and turn to Hill, your professional mask slipping into place. “What happened?”

Hill exchanges a glance with Fury, who gives a slight nod. “You might want to see this.”

You step closer to the monitor as Hill gestures to a technician. The screen flickers to life, displaying grainy footage from a street camera. It shows a busy city street, pedestrians weaving in and out of frame, and there, walking along the sidewalk, is Bucky.

He looked calm—serene, even—as he navigated the crowd. His leather jacket was zipped up against the wind, his gloved hands were shoved into his pockets. But then, a man appears from the edge of the frame, walking briskly toward him. You lean in, your brow furrowing as you study the stranger. There’s something off about him—his movements too deliberate, his gaze locked on Bucky with unnerving precision.

The man brushes past him, murmuring something too quiet for the audio to catch. Instantly, Bucky freezes. His entire body tenses, his head snapping to the side to follow the man. The shift is chilling. His shoulders were square, his posture rigid—almost predatory.

“No,” you whisper under your breath, your stomach twisting into knots.

The footage plays out like a nightmare. Bucky turns and closes the distance in two strides, grabbing the man by the throat and slamming him against the wall with terrifying force. The crowd scatters, screams echoing faintly in the background. The man struggles, but Bucky’s grip doesn’t falter. His expression is eerily blank—detached.

Before he can do more damage, a group of nearby S.H.I.E.L.D. agents intervenes. They move quickly, deploying stun darts that finally bring him to his knees after a brief but violent struggle. The feed ends abruptly, leaving the screen black.

You exhale shakily, your fists clenched at your sides.

“It was a Hydra operative,” Hill says, her voice as calm as ever, though her eyes betray a flicker of concern. “He used a fragment of the Winter Soldier’s trigger words. Not the full sequence, but enough to momentarily break through.”

“This wasn’t his fault,” you say firmly, your voice sharp as you turn to face them.

“No one’s saying it was,” Fury replies, stepping closer. “But this is a problem we can’t ignore. He was triggered. In public. If our agents hadn’t been nearby, this could’ve spiraled out of control.”

Your heart sank as the weight of the situation settled in. The footage, the raw power of Bucky’s reaction—it was all too familiar. Too dangerous. The fragment of the trigger words had done more than just snap him into action; it had ripped through the layers of control they’d fought so hard to establish, revealing the deadly force beneath.

You turned back to Bucky, who was still sitting motionless in his restraints, eyes hollow as if the memory of that moment played in his mind over and over. Your throat tightened as you couldn’t help but wonder—how much longer would it take before that darker side of him broke free for good?

“You said it was only a fragment,” you recalled with a tight voice and a racing mind. “How much more of that can he withstand?”

Hill’s expression was unreadable as she glanced at Fury, who looked as grim as ever. “We don’t know. But this wasn’t an isolated incident. There’s a pattern. Hydra operatives are still hunting for ways to manipulate him, to use him as a weapon again. And if they get their hands on him...” She let the implication hang in the air.

“Then we lose him,” you finished for her in a low tone.

Fury nodded once. “We can’t let that happen. Not again.”

You shake your head, your heart aching as you glance back at Bucky. He hasn’t said a word, but his silence is deafening. His shoulders are hunched, his breathing shallow, as if he’s trying to make himself smaller despite his restraints.

“This isn’t his doing,” you say quietly, your voice trembling with conviction as you turn back to Fury and Hill. “You know that.”

You gesture toward Bucky, your hands tightening into fists at your sides. “This isn’t who he is—not anymore. I’ve spent months working with him, watching him fight tooth and nail to reclaim his humanity. You don’t see the effort he puts in every single day to untangle himself from the chains Hydra left behind.”

You take a step closer to the table where Hill stands, your voice gaining strength. “He’s not the Soldier. Not even close. He’s a man who apologizes when he thinks he’s crossed a line, a man who can barely look at his reflection because he’s so haunted by what they made him do. And yet, despite all of that, he’s still here—still trying to do better.”

You then point toward the now-black monitor where the footage had played. “What you saw out there—that wasn’t him. That was a remnant, a ghost of the programming Hydra burned into him. He didn’t want that to happen. Do you have any idea how many times he’s told me he’s terrified of exactly this? Of hurting people again—of losing himself again?”

Fury remains stoic, but you don’t stop. You refuse to let them reduce Bucky to a liability.

“Do you know what it takes for him to even leave his apartment some days?” you continue, your voice breaking just slightly. “He’s had nights where he’s called me, barely able to breathe because of the nightmares. And still, he pushes forward. He goes to the market. He feeds stray cats. He shows up to his therapy sessions, even on the days he feels like a monster.”

You turn toward Bucky again, your gaze softening as you look at him. He still won’t meet your eyes, but his shoulders shift ever so slightly, as though your words are breaking through the thick wall of guilt that has wrapped itself around him.

“He’s made so much progress,” you say softly, your voice trembling with emotion. “You might not see it in this room, but I do. He’s not the same man Hydra controlled. He’s more than what they turned him into. So don’t tell me he’s a problem we need to ‘solve.’ He’s a survivor who deserves a chance to heal.”

The room falls silent again, the weight of your words settling over everyone present. Fury breaks it with a dry tone. “Well, that was one hell of a speech. If this was a courtroom, Barnes would’ve walked free five minutes ago.”

Hill smirks faintly but quickly straightens her posture. “And that’s exactly what Wakanda is offering,” she says after a moment, her voice gentler than before. “We’re not trying to punish him, Agent [Y/L/N]. We’re trying to find a permanent solution to give him the chance to live without looking over his shoulder for the rest of his life.”

You blink, momentarily caught off guard. “Wakanda?”

Hill nods, gesturing to a control panel beside her. The room dims slightly as holographic projections flicker to life above the table. A glowing map of Africa materializes, the continent's outline illuminated in soft blue light. Within seconds, the image zooms in on a secluded region encased in lush greenery and mountainous terrain, marked by golden energy fields pulsing faintly like a heartbeat.

“This,” Hill begins, motioning to the projection, “is Wakanda. Or, at least, what they allow the world to see.”

The hologram shifts again, peeling back layers of dense jungle to reveal a city hidden beneath an intricate shield of shimmering gold. Sleek towers of black and silver rise high into the sky, their designs flowing seamlessly as if the earth itself shaped them. Vibrant streaks of energy—bright blues and radiant purples—course through the city like veins, fueling what looks like hovercrafts darting silently between buildings. The architecture is a breathtaking blend of modern sophistication and traditional roots, with murals of panthers and warriors etched into the structures.

You find yourself momentarily transfixed by the beauty of it all. “This is... incredible,” you murmur, your eyes reflecting the golden glow of the projection.

Hill nodded again. “Wakanda has technology and resources far beyond anything we can dream of. Their advancements in medicine and neuroscience are decades ahead of ours. They’ve recently opened limited communication with select parties, and we’ve exchanged information for resource purposes. In those discussions, we mentioned Barnes’ situation. They’ve offered their assistance.”

The hologram changed once more, this time displaying an intricate diagram of a human brain, with glowing red nodes scattered across its surface. Lines of text and equations scrolled beside it, too fast for her to catch more than snippets: neurological interference... synaptic pathways... subliminal programming... neural erasure protocol.

Hill pointed to the red nodes. “These represent the triggers Hydra embedded into his mind. Wakanda believes they can isolate and remove them without damaging his memories. Their vibranium-based technology allows for precision on a level we can’t achieve with traditional therapy or medical intervention.”

Another image appeared: a sleek, black table in a futuristic lab, surrounded by devices that looked as though they were pulled straight from science fiction. A glowing halo-like contraption floated above the table, pulsating with faint blue light. Beside it stood a tall figure clad in flowing robes—King T’Challa, the Black Panther himself. His expression was calm yet resolute as he extended a hand, as though offering help through the projection.

You tore your gaze from the holograms and glanced at Bucky. He was staring at the images too, his expression unreadable. His jaw clenched slightly, and his hands, restrained to the chair, twitched as though resisting the urge to reach out.

“Bucky,” you said softly, stepping toward him, but his gaze remained fixed on the projection. You turned back to Hill and Fury. “They’re sure they can do it? That they can completely remove the programming?”

Hill hesitated for a moment. “No one can guarantee a hundred percent success,” she admitted. “But if anyone has the capability, it’s Wakanda. And Barnes’ situation is urgent. The alternative is keeping him in custody indefinitely, which... we know isn’t the right solution.”

You swallowed hard, your fingers tightening into fists. You turned back to the projection of Wakanda, the hope it represented mingling with the weight of what this meant for Bucky.

“They can help him,” Fury said, his tone low and steady, as though trying to reassure you. “And right now, that’s our best shot.”

You hesitated, glancing back at Bucky. “And Cap’?”

Hill and Fury exchanged a glance. Fury folded his arms and sighed. “Rogers’ tied up with another mission. Something that, frankly, only he can handle right now.”

“That’s not good enough,” you said sharply, your voice rising despite yourself. You took a step forward, your gaze steady. “Steve has been a cornerstone of Bucky’s progress. He’s more than his best friend—he’s his anchor. You’re asking him to go to Wakanda, to face this terrifyingly unknown situation, and you want to strip away the one person who’s been with him through all of it?”

Fury remained silent, his gaze unflinching, while Hill stepped in. Her tone was calm but resolute. “You’re not wrong, Agent. Rogers has been a crucial part of his progress, but that’s exactly why we need you now. You’ve been just as instrumental in helping Barnes rebuild himself. Steve can remind him of the past, but you’re the one who’s been guiding him into his newfound path.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but Hill raised a hand. “I understand your concern. Trust me, we thought about this. But we can’t afford to have Rogers split his focus right now. His mission is critical to the broader stability of our operations. He’s still dealing with the fallout from the Sokovia Accords—missions and compromises that require his full attention. We need him focused on ensuring our larger efforts stay intact.”

You frowned, your heart aching with the weight of the responsibility being placed on you. You glanced back at Bucky, who still sat in silence, his hands flexing against his restraints as though they might disappear if he tried hard enough.

“You’re asking me to fill the role of someone who’s been his family since before Hydra,” you said quietly, your voice laced with doubt. “What if I’m not enough?”

Fury spoke again, his tone unexpectedly softer. “You don’t have to be Steve. You just have to be there. And right now, that’s what he needs most.”

The lump in your throat felt almost unbearable as you turned your gaze back to Bucky. You weren’t Steve. You couldn’t be. But you couldn’t let him face this alone either.

“You’re one of his closest confidants,” Hill said simply. “And more importantly, he trusts you. If he’s going to Wakanda, you’re going with him.”

Before you could respond, the sound of metal striking metal echoed through the room. The sharp, jarring noise cut through the air, and Bucky’s metal arm slammed against the chair’s armrest with such force that the walls seemed to vibrate with it. His body was rigid, his every muscle taut, fighting against restraints that seemed like nothing more than a reminder of what he couldn’t escape. His jaw clenched, and his blue eyes burned with a cold fury that thickened the air around him.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Bucky growled, his voice low and full of frustration, as if daring anyone to challenge him. The words were barely more than a snarl.

A rush of helplessness surged inside you, but you pushed it down, steadying your breath. You took a step closer, your hands trembling slightly but not enough to stop you. You could feel the intensity of his anger radiating off him, yet you didn’t flinch. You couldn’t.

“Bucky,” you spoke, your voice cutting through the tense air, cool and deliberate, like a measured exhale after a long, heavy pause. You crouched, your movements unhurried, and the sound of your shoes on the floor felt muted in the charged atmosphere between you. You reached for his forearm, your fingers lingering above it for a heartbeat before making contact—steady and unflinching, a quiet gesture meant to ground him.

He didn’t react at first. His focus remained fixed on the metal restraints, his body rigid with tension, the edges of his breath jagged, as if each intake of air was another battle to hold back the chaos. The silence stretched between you, thick with the weight of everything unsaid.

But then, slowly, his gaze shifted, reluctant, as if the effort required to meet your eyes was a struggle. The shift in his expression was subtle—a flicker of something, an internal conflict you knew all too well. You could see the strain, the stubborn defiance buried beneath the surface of his wariness, and a deep, unspoken fear.

“James,” you said again, not a command but an invitation—an offering, as if asking him to join you in the quiet place between conflict and trust. You didn’t need to fill the silence with words. The air was thick enough with understanding, so much so that his silence spoke volumes.

His chest rose and fell unevenly, his eyes wild, full of a tension that reached past anger, into a place where self-preservation and vulnerability tangled.

You leaned in just a fraction, bringing your voice lower—closer. “This isn’t about punishment, you know. It’s just the opposite. It’s a chance, James. A real one. Wakanda has answers we don’t.”

There was a sharpness in his gaze at the mention of Wakanda, the flicker of uncertainty quickly masked by something harder. He didn’t speak, but you saw it, that tightening at the edges of his expression, the unwillingness to trust something unknown.

But you didn’t pull away. You couldn’t.

“I’ll be there,” you continued, your voice steady despite the maelstrom churning inside you. “Through all of it. I’m not going anywhere. You don’t have to face this by yourself.”

The space between you felt like a world unto itself, your words the only bridge between his resistance and the possibility of something else—something less solitary. He didn’t respond immediately, but his eyes softened in ways that didn’t require a spoken answer. The tension in his posture—so rigid just moments before—had eased, imperceptibly. It was a shift, small but real, like the first signs of a storm breaking after days of pressure.

He exhaled, the sound rough but quieter, as if the weight of the past few moments had cracked something open inside of him. It was subtle, almost too small to notice, but it was there—a shift in his breath, a loosening in the tightness of his body.

You didn’t let yourself breathe yet. It wasn’t a victory; it was progress. One step at a time.

“I’m not going to let you down,” you murmured, the words more to yourself than to him. But the truth of it hung between you, more meaningful than any promise. The smallest bit of trust had passed from him to you. And that was enough—for now.

For the first time since you had entered the room, Bucky’s posture eased, his shoulders relaxing slightly as if the burden he carried had lessened, if only for a moment. He didn’t speak again, but the silent understanding in his eyes was enough. The anger, the fear, and the uncertainty were all still there, but something in his gaze told you that he was willing to try. He was willing to trust you.

The tension in the room slowly dissipated as Fury and Hill exchanged a glance, their eyes sharp, filled with a quiet understanding. The moment hung there, charged with anticipation before Fury’s voice cut through the silence.

“You leave in 24 hours,” he said, his tone final, unyielding.

You barely had time to process his words before you noticed the subtle shift in Bucky’s demeanor. The moment the restraints were removed, his shoulders sagged slightly, as though the weight had been lightened, even if just a little. He rubbed his wrists, the red marks from the cuffs fading as he did, but his eyes never left you. The intensity of his gaze made your heart race, the silent communication louder than any words could be.

"Together," you insisted softly, your voice steady despite the emotions swirling inside you. You gave him a small smile, one that you hoped could carry the weight of everything that lay ahead.

Bucky’s gaze softened ever so slightly as he took in your words. For a brief moment, the mask he wore cracked just enough for you to see the vulnerability beneath it. He had carried so much alone for so long, always fighting battles on his own, and the idea that someone would stand by him, through everything, was still something he wasn’t sure he deserved.

But when he finally met your eyes fully, there was something new there—trust. It wasn’t much, but it was enough. And in that moment, you allowed yourself to believe that things might get better.

He nodded, slowly, almost imperceptibly, and for the first time that day, the weight on his shoulders seemed just a little lighter. The uncertainty, the fear, and the anger hadn’t gone away, but now there was hope—a flicker of it. And that was enough for you to keep moving forward, side by side, as you had always promised.

The tension in the room eased further as Fury and Hill exchanged a look, silent but understanding. The air was heavy with what was coming, but it was also filled with the possibility of healing. The first step, at least, was taken.

Bucky’s hand rested on his knee, his eyes still on you, as if testing the reality of your words. The quiet acceptance between them spoke volumes, louder than any battle cries or violent confrontations ever could. You dutifully chose to stay with him, basking in a silence speaking more than any words ever could.

Maybe, he thought, just maybe, he could have a chance to not be defined by the relics of his past and discover more about him than his broken identity.

⠀

The jet’s hum is steady, a soft vibration thrumming beneath your feet, filling the air with a quiet constancy. Outside, the world stretches out endlessly, a canvas painted with shifting colors. Golden plains give way to emerald forests, their hues blurred by the heat shimmering in waves. The sun hangs low on the horizon, casting long shadows across the cabin, where the faint glow of the dashboard monitors adds a cool blue contrast.

Inside, the tension is palpable. You sit diagonally across from Bucky, your fingers laced together as you try to focus on anything other than the heavy silence between you. The cabin’s sleek interior, all polished metal and leather, feels sterile, almost suffocating.

Bucky sits rigid, his posture tense and unyielding. His titanium arm rests on his thigh, the faint gleam of its surface catching the golden light from the window. His other hand grips the armrest tightly, his knuckles pale, the muscles in his forearm taut. He stares out the window, but his expression is far away, his eyes unfocused as if caught in a memory—or maybe a nightmare.

The heat waves outside ripple and dance, distorting the view, and for a fleeting moment, you think it mirrors what he must be feeling: a distorted reality, everything just out of reach, as though he’s swimming through a haze he can’t escape.

You finally break the silence. “Bucky,” you say softly, your voice gentle but firm.

He doesn’t move, doesn’t even blink. His jaw tightens slightly, the only sign he’s heard you.

“James,” you try again, leaning forward in your seat.

This time, his head turns, the movement slow, reluctant, as though every fiber of his being fights against acknowledging you. When his eyes meet yours, you feel your breath catch. They are turbulent, stormy—blue-gray like an ocean during a tempest, filled with anger, fear, and something even deeper: a bone-deep exhaustion that words can’t touch. For a moment, he doesn’t respond, his throat working as he swallows hard.

“What?” His voice is low and raw, like the sound of gravel scraping against stone.

"What’s in your head right now?" you ask quietly, the words almost a suggestion, as if you’re just offering him space to release what’s been bottled up. "You don’t have to explain it all at once."

He exhales sharply, shaking his head before his gaze slips back to the window. “That’s a loaded question,” he mutters. “What’s there to say? Same fight, different day. It’s all the same. I’m stuck. Like I’m running in place, but the ground’s always moving.” His voice drops, a hollow edge creeping into his words. “And now, I’m supposed to just… trust this is going to fix me?”

You take a breath, considering him for a moment. “I don’t think it’s about fixing you. It’s more about... giving you a place to stand. To breathe. Something you haven’t had in a while.”

He lets out a sharp exhale, his fingers twitching, flexing around the armrest. “Feels the same.”

You shift slightly in your seat, your gaze calm but not dismissive. “You’ve been carrying that weight for so long,” you say. “And you’re not wrong to feel it. But that’s not all you are. This? It’s a step. Not a cure, not magic. But a step. A chance for something different.”

Bucky’s lips press into a thin line, his jaw tightening as he looks at you, still skeptical. “And if it doesn’t work?”

“Then we keep moving forward,” you reply. “We don’t stop. We figure out what comes next.”

The silence between you deepens, but this time, it feels different. Like the weight of the words you haven’t yet said is finally beginning to shift. Bucky doesn’t speak, but his posture relaxes, just a little, as if he’s testing the space you’ve offered him.

“You make it sound simple,” he mutters.

“It’s not,” you admit with a quiet sincerity. “But simplicity isn’t the point. What matters is that you don’t have to carry it all on your own anymore.”

The hum of the engines fills the silence between you, a steady backdrop to your conversation. You lean back in your seat, your gaze drifting to the window. The landscape below has shifted again, the golden plains now giving way to a dense, emerald forest that stretches as far as the eye can see. You take a sip of your drink—a strawberry smoothie you’d grabbed on the way to the jet—and the sweet scent lingers in the air, subtle but unmistakable. It wafts across the cabin, reaching Bucky, whose sharp senses catch it almost immediately.

Strawberries.

It’s such a small, seemingly insignificant thing, but it hits him like a soft gust of wind, pulling him out of the maelstrom in his mind. He always associates the scent with you, a faint trace of strawberries that’s noticeable when you sit close, during those late-night talks, your presence warm and grounding. It’s not overwhelming, just... you. Sweet, fresh, and comforting.

He shifts uncomfortably, the faint scent tugging at something buried deep in his mind. For a moment, the warmth of the jet dissolves, replaced by the golden haze of a late summer afternoon in Brooklyn. He can almost hear the clatter of a bell above the door of a tiny corner bakery, the kind of place you only know about if you live in the neighborhood.

It was Steve who had dragged him there the first time, eager for a treat after a particularly grueling boxing session. The memory unfurls in fragments: the way the sunlight slanted through the windows, how the air inside was heavy with sugar and yeast, the cheerful laugh of the owner as she handed over two strawberry tarts fresh from the oven.

"Best you’ll ever have," Steve had said, his mouth full of pastry, his grin unapologetic. He’d laughed, his fingers sticky with jam as he agreed. They’d sat on the stoop outside, trading bites and talking about nothing important.

The scent in the jet now is the same—ripe, sweet, and just a little tart. It pulls at the edges of his mind, softening the sharp lines of his worry.

His grip on the armrest loosens slightly as he turns his head, his gaze finding you. You’re looking at him now, your brows drawn together with concern, your lips parting as if you’re about to say something.

“Bucky?” your voice breaks through the haze. You turn to him, concern flickering in your eyes. “You okay?”

He blinks, the memory dissolving like sugar in tea. “Yeah,” he says gruffly, clearing his throat. “Just… your drink.”

Your brows furrow, and then your lips curl into a small smile. “What, this?” You hold up the cup, the pink liquid inside sloshing slightly. “Strawberry lemonade. It’s my favorite.”

He nods, his gaze lingering on the cup before meeting yours. “It smells nice. Reminds me of something.”

Your curiosity piqued, you lean in slightly, your voice softer now. “Something good, I hope.”

For a moment, he hesitates. The words are heavy on his tongue, tied to a life that feels like it belongs to someone else. But there’s something about your presence—steady, warm, and unrelenting—that makes him feel safe enough to share.

“There was this bakery,” he begins, his voice low, almost as if he’s afraid to disturb the memory. “Back in Brooklyn. They used to make these strawberry tarts. The kind you could smell from down the block.” His lips twitch into the ghost of a smile. “Steve and I used to go there after boxing. It was stupid, really, but… it was nice.”

You don’t say anything right away, letting the moment settle between you. When you finally speak, your voice is gentle. “It’s not stupid. It’s a good memory. One worth holding onto.”

He glances at you, the corners of his mouth lifting just slightly. “Yeah. I guess it is.”

For the first time since you boarded the jet, his shoulders relax. The tension that had gripped him like a vice began to ease, the scent of strawberries still lingering in the air like a quiet promise.

“Want a sip?” you offer, holding out the cup with a playful tilt of your head.

He huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Nah. I think I’ll just enjoy the smell.”

The banter is light, but the moment carries weight, grounding you both in something fleeting yet profound.

"You know," you said, your tone lighter, "I've been reading about Wakanda. Apparently, their sunsets are supposed to be the most beautiful in the world. Vibranium makes the sky light up in colors you've never seen."

Bucky glanced at you, a faint crease forming between his brows. "You've really done your homework, haven't you?"

You smiled softly. "Someone had to. Besides, I wanted to make sure you were walking into something good. You deserve that."

His gaze softened, the tension in his shoulders easing ever so slightly. "You really believe that, don't you?"

"I do," you said, your voice steady. "You've been through hell, Bucky. But you've fought your way back every single time. That's not something everyone can do."

He turned his attention back to the window, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Maybe," he said, his voice so quiet you almost didn't hear it.

You lapsed into silence again, but this time, it felt lighter, less suffocating. You watched him out of the corner of your eye, the way his fingers relaxed slightly, the way his breathing steadied.

As the jet began its descent, the cabin was bathed in a golden glow. Outside, the horizon was ablaze with color—deep reds and oranges melting into purples and blues, the landscape below shimmering like a dream.

"We're almost there," you announced softly, your gaze returning to the window.

"Yeah," he rasped, his voice steadier now. "Almost."

Bucky leaned forward, his gaze fixed on the view, a flicker of awe breaking through the walls he'd built around himself. "It's beautiful," he whispered, almost to himself.

Outside, the horizon blazed with color as the jet continued its journey. But inside, the small bubble of quiet understanding between you felt like its own kind of sunrise—a soft light breaking through the shadows, hinting at the possibility of brighter days ahead.

⠀

The jet's engines finally cut off as it touched down gently on the smooth landing pad. Outside, the deepening twilight bathed the landscape of Wakanda in a golden glow, and the air felt almost electric with anticipation. Bucky’s boots thudded softly on the jet’s floor as he stood, his posture rigid but his steps measured. He paused for a moment, taking in the moment—this was the first time in years that he'd stood on solid ground and not felt the familiar weight of his past suffocating him. But it was different now. Wakanda. The future. Maybe this place could offer him what he'd been searching for.

You were right behind him, your heart beating just as fast. You'd done your research and read every report you could get your hands on about Wakanda, but nothing had prepared you for the feeling of stepping onto the soil of this secretive, powerful nation. Your eyes scanned the surroundings, taking in the sleek, futuristic city that rose from the heart of lush green hills, framed by shimmering mountains. Vibranium gleamed in the sunlight, reflecting the colors of the setting sun in every direction.

As the jet’s door slid open, a cool breeze stirred the air, carrying with it the earthy scent of fresh rain and something distinctly metallic—Wakanda’s essence. It was strange, like nothing else you’d ever smelled before. It felt otherworldly, yet natural, as if the land itself was alive with energy.

Bucky stepped out first, squinting against the sudden change in light. He kept his head slightly lowered, his broad shoulders tense, but something in the way he held himself was different. As if the city—the country—held a promise, a shift he hadn’t yet fully processed but felt in his bones.

You followed, your hand brushing against the doorframe as you stepped onto the pad, your eyes now fully taking in the grandeur of the scene around you. It was surreal to be standing in a place so rich with history, so far removed from anything you'd known. You noticed Bucky was already looking around, and for the first time, the air around him felt lighter.

Before you could take more than a few steps, a procession of figures appeared before you—imposing yet welcoming. A group of highly trained Wakandan guards in their traditional attire stood tall, their presence unwavering, yet their expressions unreadable. But it was the figure at the front of the group who caught your attention.

Shuri.

She stood with an air of confidence that was immediately apparent. The sharpness in her posture and the grace with which she moved spoke volumes about her authority and presence. She wore a sleek black and gold ensemble, her hair pulled back in a series of intricate braids. There was no immediate warmth in her eyes, but there was an undeniable sharpness—a curiosity in her gaze as she looked over the newcomers.

“Pleasure to meet you, soldier,” Shuri greeted, her voice clear and full of authority, but softened by an unmistakable warmth.

Bucky gave a stiff nod in return, his jaw set, but there was a slight softening around his eyes as he regarded her. He didn’t speak right away, but his gaze shifted slightly toward the cityscape behind her, almost as if taking it all in.

Then, Shuri’s attention turned to you, and she gave a small, polite smile. “And you must be Agent [Y/L/N],” she said, her eyes scanning you with a hint of curiosity. “I trust the journey was pleasant?”

You blinked in surprise—didn’t expect such a direct greeting. You offered a smile back, albeit a bit more reserved. “Yes, it was. Thank you for the warm welcome, Your Highness.”

Shuri’s lips curled slightly. “Oh, don’t bother with stupid titles—call me Shuri. It’s not every day we have guests arrive, especially those with such… unique backgrounds.” Her words were punctuated by a sharp but knowing look at Bucky, as if she were aware of the weight he carried. “But I assure you, here, you will find more than just refuge. You’ll find purpose.”

Bucky didn’t respond right away, but you could feel the tension in his body, the flicker of recognition—of understanding—that passed between the two. It was subtle, but it was there.

“Come, we’ll get you settled in,” Shuri continued, motioning toward the waiting transport. She stepped aside as the guards parted, and the sleek vehicle hummed to life. “We’ve prepared a place for both of you to rest, but I think you’ll find Wakanda has much more to offer beyond that.”

Bucky hesitated for a moment, then gave a slight nod, stepping toward the transport. You followed, your steps light but steady. The air felt charged with the promise of what was to come—both the uncertainties and the possibilities.

The faint whir of energy around you seemed to grow as you arrived at your destination, and you found yourself mesmerized by the city in the distance. Wakanda was everything you had imagined, and yet, nothing like you had imagined. The towering structures were like nothing seen elsewhere in the world, made of materials that shimmered in the fading light, as if they were woven with the very fabric of the earth itself.

Shuri’s lips curled into a small but knowing smile. “Wakanda is a land of contradictions,” she said, stepping forward and sweeping her hand toward the city beyond. “We blend the ancient with the advanced. What you see here, what you feel, is a reflection of us: strong, proud, and unyielding.” She glanced at Bucky, her tone softening just slightly. “And you, soldier, you’ll find something here that you may not have known you were looking for.”

Bucky stiffened slightly at the mention of “something,” but you could feel the weight of the moment. You knew Bucky’s past, and the burden he carried, and you could only imagine what he was thinking as Shuri spoke.

Trying to ease the tension, you stepped closer to Bucky, your voice gentle as you spoke to him. “Hey, it’ll be alright. Just take a moment,” you told him, offering him a quiet smile. You could see the tightness in his jaw, the way his muscles were coiled, like he was preparing himself for something.

Bucky glanced at you, his face betraying the slight hesitation in his gaze, but then he nodded almost imperceptibly, the tension in his shoulders slightly easing.

Shuri noticed the exchange, and after a beat, her expression softened as she turned back to you. “Oh, but you must be tired from your trip,” she said, her tone taking on a more inviting warmth. “Wakanda’s energy can be overwhelming, especially for first-timers. Allow me to guide you to your rooms. You’ll want to rest before we get to the more… exciting parts of your stay.”

You nodded gratefully, turning to Bucky. “Let’s get settled, alright? We’ll have some time to relax and get comfortable.”

He gave you a small, almost imperceptible nod. He seemed to appreciate your presence more than he let on, though his eyes still lingered on the sprawling city as you followed Shuri.

Shuri led you down a wide path, the guards falling into step behind you, their presence a quiet but ever-present reminder of the security that Wakanda maintained. As you walked, you couldn’t help but be in awe of the blend of nature and technology that surrounded you. The city had an organic feel to it, with towering trees growing beside shimmering, metallic buildings. The contrast was striking, yet harmonious.

“You’ll be staying in one of our guest suites,” Shuri continued, her voice light, almost playful. “It’s not quite as grand as the royal chambers, but it’s comfortable enough. A place to rest your head, away from everything else.”

Bucky remained quiet, but you could see the slight tension in his shoulders beginning to ease. You kept your attention on him, making sure he felt at ease in this unfamiliar place.

“Wakanda is a place of healing,” Shuri added, glancing over her shoulder at you both. “And for you, soldier,” she said with an almost surprising directness, “this land has much to offer. But remember, healing doesn’t happen overnight. You have to allow it to.”

Bucky’s expression was unreadable, but he didn’t reply, his gaze focused forward as you approached a building that seemed to glow with an ethereal light.

“This is it,” Shuri said, gesturing toward the entrance. “Your rooms are inside. Rest for now, and when you’re ready, we’ll meet to discuss what comes next.”

As you stepped inside, you took a deep breath, watching Bucky carefully as he entered his assigned room. You could tell he was still processing everything—the enormity of being here, the unfamiliarity of the city, and perhaps the weight of his doubts. But for now, all you could do was offer a quiet, reassuring presence.

“Thank you, Shuri,” you said, offering the princess a smile. “We’ll take it from here.”

Shuri nodded, her expression softening just a touch before she turned to leave. “Of course. Take your time. Wakanda will be waiting when you're ready.”

The door closed behind you, and for the first time since you’d arrived, there was a moment of quiet. The sensation of apprehension in the air seemed to dissipate, if only slightly, as the reality of your arrival in Wakanda settled in.

⠀

You took a deep breath, letting the silence wrap around you for a moment before moving toward your suitcase. As you crouched down, unzipping it, you couldn’t help but smile a little. There was something comforting about the mundane task of unpacking, a small semblance of control amidst the uncertainty of your new surroundings.

You pulled out the first few items—clothes, toiletries—and started to sort them, placing them neatly in the drawers. You were methodical about it, folding everything just so, organizing even the smallest details. It helped you focus and keep your mind occupied, away from the unknowns of this strange new place.

Later that night, the door creaked open again while you were still folding clothes in your given wardrobe, and you looked up to find Bucky standing in the doorway. He looked like he was still adjusting to the quiet, his face creased with that familiar tension.

“Can’t sleep,” he muttered, his voice low, almost sheepish. He stood there for a moment, as if unsure what to do with himself.

You gave him a sympathetic glance and nodded toward the small couch across from your bed. "Well, I’m just unpacking. You’re welcome to hang out for a bit."

He nodded and walked over, sitting on the edge of the couch, his posture stiff. "I thought you were supposed to be making this place feel more like home," he said with a small grin, watching as you folded a shirt.

"Yeah, well, one suitcase at a time," you teased, folding a pair of pants. "Besides, we’re in Wakanda. You’re gonna have to give me more time to adjust. It’s not exactly like putting up posters of our faces and calling it 'home.'"

Bucky chuckled, leaning back on the couch with a sigh. "I don’t think they’d let me hang up any of those old SHIELD ones... You know, the ones Sam still sends me with our faces on them. Like we're supposed to be some kind of... well, I don't know, 'heroes' or something."

You let out a laugh, shaking your head. "Sam’s probably got a whole wall of them. I mean, that guy never misses an opportunity to remind us how pretty we are, huh?"

Bucky smirked, his eyes softening. "You’ve got to admit, he’s got a point."

You rolled your eyes, playfully throwing a sock at him. "Sam’s got an ego the size of the Milano. Just wait till we get back. He’ll be acting like he’s the one who saved the world every five minutes."

Bucky leaned forward, nudging your leg with his foot. "And he’ll probably do it with that ridiculous grin of his." He paused, a grin spreading across his face as he mimicked Sam’s signature cocky smile. "You know, the one that looks like he’s just won a race, but also thinks he’s won the race before anyone even started?"

You laughed harder now, imagining it. "God, yes. And don’t forget how he says, ‘This is the Falcon, signing off.’ I’m not even sure he knows how to take anything seriously."

Bucky’s expression softened at the mention of Sam. "Yeah, well, as much as he annoys me, it’s hard to imagine being stuck with anyone else. Can’t believe I’m saying this, but... he’s been a good friend. Even if he never lets up on the jokes."

You nodded, a smile tugging at your lips. "He has a weird way of making you feel like everything’s gonna be okay, even when it’s not. I think that’s why I like him... even when I wanna smack him with a pillow for talking too much."

Bucky snorted, his posture relaxing. "I think we both know Sam would take that as a compliment. He'd probably think it's an honor."

You finished folding the last of your clothes, turning to face him. "So, how are you holding up? You’re quieter than usual."

Bucky rubbed the back of his neck, his eyes flicking over to the window. "It’s just... strange, you know? This place is different. And I’m still getting used to everything."

You stepped closer, offering him a soft, understanding smile. "Yeah. It’s not exactly the city we’re used to,” you said, returning to your unpacking. “Wakanda's got a lot of energy to it, doesn’t it? It’s a lot to take in.”

He took his time to take in the room, glancing around, his gaze lingering on the walls and furniture as if trying to get used to the space. “It’s... quieter than I’m used to,” he admitted, his hands shoved into his pockets. “I thought I’d be able to sleep, but I guess my brain didn’t get the memo.”

You paused in your unpacking, glancing over at him with a wry smile. “I’m not sure ‘sleep’ is something you can just force, you know. I mean, look at me—I’m still unpacking.” You gestured to your neatly arranged drawers. “I’m practically unpacking my life here, one pair of jeans at a time.”

Bucky’s lips twitched at the corner, though his expression remained guarded. “So that’s the secret, huh? The key to surviving Wakanda? Unpack your emotions through your clothes?”

You rolled your eyes, shaking your head. “No, just the stuff. My emotions are a whole different thing.”

He leaned against the headrest of the couch, his arms crossing loosely. “I’m not sure I have the patience for all this organization.”

“Maybe not, but it helps,” you said, moving to your toiletries and setting them in the bathroom area. “You’d be surprised how something so simple can give you a little peace of mind. If only for a few minutes.”

Bucky grunted softly, looking out the window, as if the city beyond could provide the answers he was looking for. “I don’t know if peace is something I deserve.”

Your eyes softened at his words, but you didn’t look at him directly. You just kept moving your things around, neatly arranging personal care products with deliberate care. “Well, if you want my professional opinion, I think peace is something we all deserve,” you said quietly. “Even if we don’t think we’re ready for it.”

Bucky didn’t respond right away, but you could see his shoulders relax a little, the weight of his thoughts easing for just a second.

After a pause, he broke the silence with a small, rueful smile. “You’ve got a point, dove. You really do.” His voice softened a little. “Guess I just... haven’t figured out how to live in peace yet.”

You stood up, brushing your hands off on your jeans as you moved to your suitcase to grab a few more things. “It’s a work in progress, Buck’,” you said, offering him a grin. “One step at a time. Unpacking your stuff is as good a place to start as any.”

Bucky chuckled, a genuine sound this time, though it still held a trace of his usual wariness. “Maybe I’ll try it. I don’t think I’ve ever actually ‘unpacked’ before.”

You gave him a teasing look. “Well, you’re in Wakanda now. Time to learn how to take it slow.” You shrugged lightly, glancing at your suitcase. "Besides, we’ve got each other, so we’ll figure it out."

Bucky gave a small smile in return, though it was tinged with something bittersweet. "Yeah... we’ll figure it out." He paused, and then, with a mock serious tone, added, "I mean, as long as Sam doesn't pop in for a surprise visit in the middle of the night, ready to preach about how we're supposed to 'embrace the change.'"

You burst out laughing, holding your stomach. "Don’t even get me started on his 'life lessons.' The guy should really write a book: How to Be a Pain in the Ass While Pretending to Be a Therapist."

Bucky shook his head, chuckling along with you. "If he ever does, I’m not getting the first copy."

You both laughed for a moment before the room grew quiet again, the kind of comfortable silence that came with shared understanding. Bucky looked at you, his expression softening. "Thanks, dove."

You met his gaze and smiled softly, feeling the warmth between you both grow. "Anytime, Bucky. Anytime."

For a brief moment, you both stood there in comfortable silence, the hum of the city outside mingling with the soft sounds of the room. Bucky finally pushed himself off the wall, moving toward the door.

“Alright, I’m gonna try to get some rest. But if I end up staring at the ceiling all night, I might come knock on your door.”

You chuckled softly, nodding toward the bed. “I’ll be here, unpacking my life.”

As he stepped out of the room, he offered one last glance over his shoulder. “Good night,” he said, his voice quieter than before, something unspoken in the simple word.

You smiled, and for the first time since you’d arrived, the weight of the moment didn’t feel quite so heavy. Maybe Bucky would find his peace here, in his own time. Maybe you would too.

⠀

The sound of hovercrafts in the distance mingled with the hum of the city’s energy, filling the air with a futuristic melody. The capital city of Wakanda stretched out before you and Bucky—an intricate dance of nature and technology. Towering trees with glowing, bioluminescent leaves stood alongside sleek, gleaming structures made of materials that shimmered with a blue and purple hue. The holographic images that floated seamlessly in the air combined with the natural landscape in a way that felt entirely harmonious, like both elements had always been meant to coexist.

The door to the ship opened, and before you could even step out, a familiar voice rang out, filled with energy and excitement.

“Welcome to Wakanda!”

You turned, and there stood Shuri, flashing a bright, welcoming smile. She looked every bit as confident as the stories suggested. "I know it’s a lot, but you’ll get used to it. Wakanda isn’t just a city; it’s a way of life. Here, we don’t just build for the future—we build for everyone."

Your breath caught as you stepped out of the transport. The sight before you was nothing short of breathtaking. Massive trees stretched high into the sky, their roots intertwined with sleek, gleaming structures of Vibranium that rose from the earth, seamlessly blending with the natural landscape. It was like stepping into a world where technology and nature lived in perfect harmony.

Bucky, following you out of the transport, looked around with wide eyes, clearly trying to take it all in. His brow furrowed slightly, and he muttered under his breath, "I’ve heard a lot of things. Not sure I buy it."

You smiled, trying to mask your awe. "You’ll get used to it. Everything here, every piece of technology, is designed to coexist with nature."

Shuri nodded enthusiastically, practically bouncing on her heels. "Exactly! Everything you see here, from the trees to the tech, is powered by Vibranium. Not just for progress, but for balance. The future isn’t just about advancing; it’s about thriving together."

You glanced at Bucky, who seemed both impressed and confused. "Wakanda is one of the few places in the world where technology isn't just about what it can do—but how it helps everyone," you explained. "It’s all about progress and sustainability in equal measure."

“Sustainability, huh? I've seen a lot of places claim that and end up hollow promises,” he asked, his voice tinged with skepticism. 

She gave him a knowing look and grinned. "Oh, we have a skeptic among us." She walked up to Bucky with a mischievous glint in her eyes. "It’s alright, soldier, we’ll get you there. You just have to trust the science."

“Yeah, I’ve heard that before. A lot of science. Not really the biggest fan here,” he gave a dry, half-smile, his voice tinged with sarcasm as he gestured to his metal arm to make a point. Bucky squinted at her, his brow furrowing deeper. "And what exactly makes you an expert in all this? You don��t even look old enough to be handing out wisdom."

Shuri raised an eyebrow. "Oh, you think I’m not old enough, huh? Maybe I don’t have the experience you do, but I've got something better—Vibranium." She held up her wrist, where a sleek device hummed softly. "A little tech I designed, just for moments like these. It’s called patience—you could use some, by the way."

You laughed at the back-and-forth. "Careful, Buckaroo. You don’t want to get on Shuri’s bad side. She might turn your arm into a really high-tech paperweight."

Bucky chuckled reluctantly, his shoulders loosening a bit. "I’m starting to think I’m going to need one of those gadgets to survive here."

"Don’t worry, we’ve got plenty," Shuri quipped. "And if you keep acting like this, you might just need a stress monitor for your recovery too."

Bucky shot her a side-eye, but there was the faintest trace of a grin on his face now. "You’re really starting to sound like a tech guru now."

Shuri shrugged dramatically. "What can I say? Genius runs in the family. You should see my brother."

You could feel Bucky's skepticism starting to crack just a little bit, but he still looked like he wasn’t entirely convinced. "I’m still not sure about all this. You’ve got tech everywhere, but does it actually work?"

"Oh, it works alright," Shuri said, practically bouncing with enthusiasm. "Everything here has been designed to help us move forward. From food to healthcare, to your recovery." She gave him a knowing glance. "That’s why you're here, remember?"

Bucky snorted. "Yeah, right. I guess we’ll see if it works."

Shuri grinned even wider. "Oh, I know it works. You’ll feel like a new man by the time we’re done." She glanced at you, then back at Bucky. "Besides, if it doesn’t work, I’ll just have to fix it. Like everything else I do." Her voice was teasing, but there was a glint of genuine pride in it.

You smirked, unable to resist joining in. "I’m almost 100% sure that their motto is 'If it ain’t broke, I’ll make it better.'"

She waved her hand dismissively. "You’re not wrong, but it’s more like, ‘If it is broke, I’ll fix it before anyone notices.’"

Bucky gave an exaggerated sigh, shaking his head with a small smile. "I can already tell this is going to be... interesting."

She wasn’t done yet, though. "Oh, it gets better. Come on, I’m taking you to see the market. If you think this is impressive, wait until you see the food. You’ll never want to leave."

"Do you sell anything that doesn’t involve turning me into a guinea pig?" he questioned, half-joking.

Shuri paused for a moment, her smile widening. "I’m pretty sure I could sell you anything, but I won’t turn you into a guinea pig... unless you ask nicely."

You groaned in mock frustration, putting your hands over your ears. "Please, no more. If you start talking about guinea pigs, I’ll never hear the end of it."

Bucky, now chuckling, nudged you lightly. "Yeah, she’s not wrong, you know. I have a feeling we’re going to be hearing about guinea pigs for the rest of our lives."

You winked at him. "As long as it keeps you laughing, I’m happy to take the hit."

Shuri led you both through the heart of the city, and you couldn’t help but be mesmerized by the way the holograms danced above the streets, integrated into the towering trees and buildings. The city itself was alive with energy—there was music floating through the air, laughter from children darting between stalls, and the soft whirr of drones hovering like curious birds overhead.

As you walked through the open market, the scents of fresh fruit and spices filled the air. Vendors proudly displayed vibrant goods—scarves and jewelry, woven baskets, carved wood, and delicacies that looked too beautiful to eat. Your stomach rumbled as you walked past a stall brimming with bright, ripe strawberries, their sweet scent almost intoxicating.

You grinned, leaning toward Bucky. “Okay, we’re getting some of those,” you said, practically grabbing his arm and tugging him over to the stall. “Trust me, you’re going to love them. Wakandan strawberries are next-level.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow, looking at you like you were a little unhinged. “Strawberries again? Seriously?”

You gave him your best ‘don’t question it’ look. “I’ve been craving these for days. And I promise, you’ll understand once you try them.” You reached out and handed him a basket filled with the plump, ripe berries.

Bucky hesitated, clearly not convinced. But when he finally took one and popped it in his mouth, you watched his expression shift from skepticism to surprise. “Alright,” he said with a slight grin, "I admit it. These are... ridiculously good."

“Told you,” you said smugly. “Strawberries are basically a cure for whatever’s bothering you. Forget about all that mood-ring nonsense.” You gave him a playful nudge, making him chuckle under his breath.

Shuri laughed from behind you. “Wakandan strawberries have a special place in everyone’s heart here. They’re like a little taste of home for all of us.”

Your group made your way through the market, sampling fruits, laughing at a few street performers, and taking in the vibrant life all around you. As much as Bucky tried to stay on guard, you could see the faintest softening in his posture. He was still unsure about letting himself go, but the relaxed pace of the market and the genuine warmth of the people around him were starting to wear down his defenses.

Finally, Shuri led you to a tech stall, where a series of gadgets were displayed—sleek, high-tech devices designed for physical recovery and mental wellness. Bucky eyed them with a raised eyebrow.

"These are wearable devices that monitor your mood and stress levels," Shuri explained, picking up a small device that looked like a high-tech bracelet. “They use Vibranium’s unique properties to help balance your energy and emotions. We’ve used them to help soldiers and citizens alike manage their mental well-being.”

Bucky stared at it, still skeptical. “What is this, a wearable therapist?”

You laughed at the remark. “More like a personal mood assistant,” you said, lifting an eyebrow. “It helps track your recovery. Think of it as a tool for healing—not just your body, but your mind too. You’ve been through a lot, Bucky. This could help.”

He glanced at the device, then back at you. “I don’t know if I need anything that tracks my stress.”

"You’ve got a lot of it, buddy,” you teased. “Look, just try it. It’ll be worth it. It’s not like they’re going to put a tracking chip in your head... yet.”

Shuri jumped in, her eyes lighting up. “You’ll love it! This thing is perfect for stress management. And we all know someone here could use a little stress relief.”

“Ha-ha,” Bucky muttered dryly, but a small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Alright, I’ll bite. But only because you two are relentless.”

The tour continued as Shuri led you both toward the final stop: a sleek, Vibranium-powered chamber nestled within the heart of the city. The walls hummed with energy, a soft, almost soothing vibration that seemed to pulse in tune with your heartbeat.

“This,” Shuri said, “is where you’ll undergo the treatment for your Hydra triggers. The Vibranium will stimulate your mind, breaking the neural connections tied to Hydra’s programming.”

Bucky glanced at the chamber, a slight wariness returning to his face. “And this is going to help?”

You stepped closer, your voice calm but firm. “Yes, Bucky. It’s cutting-edge, and it’s the best treatment available. You’re going to be okay.”

Bucky looked at you, the walls of his emotions crumbling just a little. He gave a small nod, his voice barely above a whisper. “Alright. Let’s do it.”

⠀

Wakanda’s advanced technology was beyond anything Bucky had ever experienced. Even as he stepped into the sterile, high-tech facility, he couldn’t shake the feeling of being out of place. The room was cold and sterile, yet somehow comforting in its advanced design. The walls hummed with quiet energy, their sleek metallic surfaces reflecting the soft blue glow of the Vibranium-powered technology that filled the room. It was all so very Wakandan—a perfect blend of high-tech gadgets and sleek design, wrapped in the ancient energy of the country’s prized metal.

Bucky sat in the chair at the center of the room, looking far too tense for comfort. His brow furrowed as he glanced at the odd machinery around him, a combination of devices connected by smooth, glowing wires. Shuri was at the controls, her fingers dancing across the holographic panels, eyes sparkling with excitement as she prepared for the procedure.

"Alright, white boy," Shuri said, her voice smooth and filled with anticipation, though there was an underlying seriousness to it. "This will take a few rounds to clear the Hydra programming from your mind. Don’t worry. We’ve been working on this for a while, and you’re in good hands. It’s a lot like rebooting an old computer."

Bucky glanced over at you, his face still shadowed with doubt. "Should I feel offended that you just compared me to ancient tech? You know what, don’t answer that. You’re sure this will work, right?" Bucky asked, a slight tremor in his voice. His skepticism was clear—years of Hydra’s control had made him wary of trusting anyone, even in this sanctuary of high-tech Wakanda.

You gave him a reassuring smile. "I wouldn’t let them do this if I didn’t think it would help. Besides, Shuri is the best. She knows her stuff."

Shuri flashed him a confident grin. "Of course I do. This will work, Barnes. But we may need to run a few tests, and it might take some time to fully clear out all the lingering effects of Hydra."

Bucky’s shoulders tensed at the mention of “lingering effects,” but he nodded, letting out a slow breath. "Let’s get it over with."

The machines hummed to life, and the lights dimmed as Bucky’s chair tilted back slightly. Thin, silver-like tendrils of light wrapped around his temples, their ends pressing gently against his skin. The energy was soft at first—barely noticeable—but soon the feeling intensified. Bucky's jaw clenched as he fought the discomfort, his hands gripping the chair's armrests.

Shuri’s hands moved deftly over the controls, and the room seemed to come alive with a soft, electric hum. Light from the machines shifted from a cool blue to a deeper shade of violet, and several devices surrounding Bucky powered on. Thin, silver threads of light extended from the machines, wrapping gently around his temples and wrists.

"This first round is designed to target the specific Hydra triggers in your mind," Shuri explained. "We’ll disarm them piece by piece. It’s a delicate process, but nothing we can’t handle. This won’t hurt," she reassured him, though there was a glimmer of mischievousness in her eyes. "Well, not much."

Almost immediately, the first wave hit. Bucky's eyes widened as a sharp, invasive sensation shot through his skull, sending a jolt of panic down his spine. His body went rigid, and for a moment, you saw the old soldier in him—the one who had fought through Hydra’s control and survived against all odds.

His breathing hitched as his mind began to flash with images: snow-covered landscapes, dark rooms, the heavy, cold sound of a gunshot, whispers in languages he couldn’t understand, but that sent terror through his chest. The Hydra programming wasn’t just a set of memories—it was a feeling, a trigger buried so deep in his psyche that even now, he could feel it clawing its way to the surface.

"James," you said firmly, your voice cutting through the noise. "James, focus. You’re not there anymore. You’re with us. You’re safe."

He flinched, a strangled noise escaping him as he struggled to regain control. His fingers dug deeper into the armrests, nails biting into the metal.

"Stay with me," you said again, this time with more urgency. "Take a breath. You’re safe. This isn’t real. You’ve come so far already."

Bucky’s eyes flicked to yours, a momentary flash of panic in them before he took a deep breath. His body trembled for a second, but he forced himself to center on your voice. Slowly, the images of Hydra started to fade, but they didn't disappear completely. The fear and anxiety remained just beneath the surface, faint but persistent.

Slowly, very slowly, the panic started to fade. His breath steadied, and the bright blue light around him flickered and pulsed, syncing with his heartbeat. After what felt like a century, the light dimmed, and the invasive presence in his mind faded, leaving only a dull ache where the triggers once were.

"How are you feeling?" you asked, your voice gentle but still steady.

Bucky blinked rapidly, trying to clear the fog from his head. He seemed disoriented, his expression a mix of confusion and relief. "Like... like someone just tried to tear my brain out of my skull," he muttered, his voice rough.

Shuri gave him a sympathetic glance as she adjusted the settings. "Don’t worry. We’ll make this a little easier each time. You’re doing great."

Bucky ran a hand through his hair, his eyes a little too wide, but he nodded. "Great? That felt like... like I was back in their hands for a second."

"I know," you said softly. "But that’s why we’re here. We’re making sure it stays in the past."

Shuri watched the readings carefully, her brow furrowing. "The main triggers are gone, but there’s still some residual tension in his mind. I’ll need to adjust the frequencies to target that."

You nodded. "Take your time, Shuri. He’s doing great."

As the second wave of scans began, the light around Bucky intensified. His eyes locked onto the ceiling, his hands gripping the armrest so hard that his knuckles turned white. The machine flashed bright, blue light, and his body tensed, back arching as the memory overwhelmed him. The trigger was strong this time—one of Hydra’s words in his ear, sharp and laced with command.

"It’s happening again," Bucky muttered, his voice strained. "I can’t stop it."

The faintest tremor of panic started to creep into his voice as the memories surfaced again—less distinct now, but still there, like shadows lurking in the back of his mind.

You leaned in, lightly placing a hand on his. "James, listen to me." You spoke softly but with conviction. "You are not the Winter Soldier. You’ve beaten Hydra before. You’re stronger now. They can’t control you anymore."

He blinked hard, still trembling, his eyes flickering in confusion and terror. "It’s... it’s still in me," he muttered, barely audible.

You met his gaze, locking eyes with him, forcing him to look at you. "It’s not in you anymore, Bucky. You’re free. This is just the residue. You’ve been through the worst of it, and now you’re healing. It’s not going to take hold again."

For a moment, it seemed like the weight of your words cut through the fog of fear clouding his mind. Bucky’s breathing steadied slightly as his fingers relaxed on the armrests. The sensation of fear and control began to subside, replaced by the quiet buzz of the tech doing its work. His eyes searched yours, and after a long pause, he gave a small nod, forcing himself to relax. Slowly, the machine’s light dimmed again, the invasive presence receding.

Shuri nodded from the control panel, her voice filled with approval. "We’re almost there, Barnes. A few more adjustments, and you’ll be free of this for good."

The next rounds went by much like the first, with Bucky getting progressively more used to the sensation. Each time, the light would flare up as the machine scanned for the dormant Hydra programming. The invasive memories still crept in, but they became more distant and easier to ignore as the process went on. Shuri worked her tech with precision, using pulses of energy that helped rewire Bucky’s synapses, recalibrating the damaged pathways left by Hydra. But it was clear—it wasn’t a simple fix. Even with the tech clearing his mind, it was going to take time for Bucky to fully adapt. The mental scars didn’t vanish overnight.

In between rounds, the poor soldier would let out short, sharp breaths, his gaze never staying still, his body tensing at the smallest sensation. But each time, he managed to push through, knowing you were right there, watching him, guiding him.

At last, the princess finally signaled that they were finished. The machines powered down, and Bucky’s chair slowly returned to its original position. He let out a deep breath, the tension in his muscles slowly melting away. The heavy weight that had been pressing on him seemed lighter, and though there were still shadows in his mind, they no longer felt like they could control him.

As the machine powered down for the last time, Bucky sat there, his expression weary, but the light in his eyes softer, less clouded.

"That’s it," Shuri said with a smile. "The triggers are gone. For now, anyway."

You stepped forward, placing a hand on his shoulder. "You did great. You’re in control again."

Bucky looked at you, his face tense but grateful. "Feels weird," he admitted, rubbing his temples. "It’s like I’m seeing everything for the first time again. It’s not all gone, though. It’s like the memories are still there, like... a weight."

You nodded, understanding. "It will take time, Bucky. You’re not expected to be perfect right now. We’ll help you through it."

"Alright, white boy," she said, her tone light but with an edge of focus. "Before we get to the fun stuff, we’re going to test your physical limits. Time to give you a break—how about a friendly sparring match?"

Bucky raised an eyebrow, clearly not expecting that. "You’re testing me now? After all those mind games?"

"Oh, don’t worry, you’ll survive," Shuri said, her eyes dancing with mischief. "But first, I need to see how well your body’s holding up. You know, just to make sure the mental recovery is syncing with your physical condition."

He glanced at you for a second, a slight smirk tugging at his lips. "I shouldn’t worry, right?"

You chuckled, already knowing what was coming. "Don’t let her intimidate you, old man. Just go with it."

Shuri took a step forward, motioning for Bucky to follow her as she walked toward the large training arena, a vast space made for simulations and sparring. "Now, before we get into the arm inspection," she said, flipping a holographic switch to bring up a grid-like fighting field, "I want to see what you can really do. How well is your body handling your recovery?"

Bucky raised an eyebrow. "You mean you want me to fight you?"

Shuri nodded, already cracking her knuckles. "Exactly. I’m not going easy on you, so be prepared."

You gave Bucky an encouraging grin. "Don’t worry, it’s not all about brute strength. You’ll do fine, just listen to her."

Shuri’s eyes glinted as she stepped back, preparing herself for the spar. "Come on, Soldier. Show me what you’ve got."

Bucky shifted into a defensive stance, his metal arm twitching slightly, like it was itching to do some real damage. But as soon as the simulation’s holographic lights flashed, you saw the hesitation in his movements. His years of conditioning were still there, as though he was ready to go full force at any moment, but something held him back.

You couldn't help but feel a little proud at how far he’d come, but now was the time for him to let go of his past baggage.

"Come on, Barnes," you called out from the sidelines, your voice light but encouraging. "You’re not going to be in control of yourself if you don’t just let go."

Shuri smirked at you, then turned her attention back to Bucky. "She’s right. Relax. I’m not here to test your limits to break you, just to push you. Let’s see how much you can really control."

Bucky hesitated for a second longer before lunging forward. His metal arm swung with force, but Shuri was quick, ducking under the blow and countering with a well-placed jab to his stomach. The force wasn’t enough to knock him back, but it was enough to push him off balance.

"Not bad," Shuri commented, grinning. "But you’re holding back. I know it’s there."

Bucky growled slightly, clearly frustrated, but tried to adjust. He aimed another strike at her, this time with his human arm. But Shuri was too fast again, dodging and weaving around him, her foot sweeping out from under him and sending him crashing to the floor.

You chuckled from the sidelines, unable to resist. "You’re gonna have to do better than that, old man."

Bucky groaned as he pushed himself up, a grin starting to spread across his face. "I don’t need you getting on my case too, dove."

You shrugged with a smirk, crossing your arms. "Hey, I’m just telling you how it is. You can’t fight like you’re trying to hold back all your life. Trust me, I know. You’ve got it in you."

Shuri watched, impressed by the banter. "You know, this is better than I thought it would be. You’re starting to loosen up a little. Now let’s see if you can catch me."

And with that, she was on him again, her movements like lightning as she pressed her attack. Bucky was more aware now, his body reacting faster, his movements flowing with more freedom. You could see the change, the way his rigidness slowly started to fade as he gave in to the fight. The tension in his body started to dissipate, and he was no longer fighting with the same heavy burden on his mind.

"There you go," you called out. "That’s what I’m talking about!"

Shuri was grinning now as she took a step back. "This is getting good. You’re not as slow as I thought, white boy."

Bucky was grinning too, though there was a glint of determination in his eyes. "I told you I could keep up."

You could see the way he was moving now—faster, more fluid. Each strike felt like it was coming from a man who was no longer under the weight of Hydra’s control. It was like he was finding his rhythm again, and you couldn’t help but feel a little proud of how far he’d come.

Shuri raised an eyebrow, clearly impressed. "I think you’ve earned a break. But not before we get to the real reason you’re here."

She flicked her wrist, and the holographic field shifted. A soft hum filled the air as she made her way to Bucky. "We’ll test your arm now. But remember, I’m not just checking for damage. I’m also making sure there’s no... lingering side effects."

Bucky held out his arm, now fully aware of the attention it would receive. "Yeah, yeah, go ahead."

Shuri ran her fingers over the metal, pressing certain points and watching closely as Bucky shifted slightly under her touch. She tapped a few buttons on her wristband, bringing up a scan of his arm on the nearby holographic screen.

"Everything looks good so far," she said after a moment, but then her expression turned serious. "But there’s some wear near the joints. I’m going to run a diagnostic test on the connections later—nothing to worry about for now, but we need to make sure it’s in top shape before you get back to real combat."

Bucky nodded. "I don’t need a babysitter for my arm, little girl."

"I’m not babysitting, I’m just making sure it’s running like a well-oiled machine." Shuri gave him a smirk before turning back to you. "I’d say he’s ready for more. What do you think, Sparky?"

You raised an eyebrow at the nickname, watching Bucky as he stretched, clearly still ready to go. "I think he’s ready for whatever’s next."

⠀

The diagnostic on Bucky’s arm didn't to take long, and Shuri quickly completed it. "Alright, Barnes. Now that your arm’s not going to fall off just yet," she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm as she looked him up and down, "Let’s see if your strength is actually matching up with all the talk."

Bucky rolled his eyes but grinned. "You know, I don’t want to offend my host. I might just let you win again."

Shuri shot him a look, her eyes narrowing as her stance shifted. "Please. I’m the one who invented half of this stuff, white boy. You’re not gonna get off that easy."

"Not for lack of trying," Bucky muttered, readying himself. He squared up and dropped into a more familiar stance, feeling the weight of the training and all the work he’d been putting into his recovery. Even though his body felt stronger, his mind was still in the process of catching up. The battle against the Hydra programming wasn’t a one-and-done situation—it was going to take time.

Shuri went first, her movements a blur as she darted toward him, landing a quick strike to his ribs before he could even react. Bucky stumbled, but quickly regained his balance. The momentary trigger of a past fight or memory didn’t set him off, but it did make him hesitate for just a fraction of a second.

"Come on, Soldier!" Shuri called out, her grin widening. "I thought you said you were keeping up!"

You stood off to the side, arms crossed, watching intently. "Remember to relax, she’s not gonna break." You offered him a teasing smile. "Just let loose a little. She’s just showing off."

Shuri danced around him with ease, dodging his attempts to grab hold of her. She was fast—faster than he expected—and her moves were filled with an effortless grace. It was clear she was toying with him, but Bucky wasn’t backing down. He adjusted his focus, blocking and dodging her blows with more precision, his footwork becoming more fluid as he reacted in real time.

For the first time since he’d entered the arena, Bucky felt something inside him click. He stopped thinking about every move. Instead, he allowed his instincts to take over, trusting his strength and speed rather than his muscle memory. The hesitation was gone, and he was moving like he used to, without the mental chains holding him back. He had Shuri in his sights and wasn’t going to let up.

Shuri’s expression shifted from teasing to impressed as Bucky finally landed a blow—a clean jab to her shoulder that sent her staggering back a few steps.

"Well, I’ll be damned," Shuri said, her tone more approving now. "Seems like you still have it."

Bucky smirked, his chest rising with satisfaction. "Told you I could keep up."

The two went back and forth, a fierce but playful exchange of blows, until finally, Shuri backed off and raised her hands in mock surrender. "Alright, alright. You’ve proven your point."

Bucky stood there, breathing heavily but clearly energized by the fight. You stepped up, clapping your hands together with a wide smile. "See? Wasn’t that fun?"

Bucky’s grin was infectious as he wiped a bit of sweat off his brow. "Yeah, I guess it wasn’t that bad."

Shuri turned to you, her eyes gleaming. "Alright, Sparky, your turn. Let’s see if you can catch me off guard like you did in the last match."

You raised an eyebrow, glancing at Bucky, who gave you an encouraging nod. "Well, now you’ve set the bar high. I’m not going easy on you, Shuri."

"Please," Shuri shot back, her hands up in mock defense. "You’ve been watching me fight for hours. You should be learning from the best."

Without further hesitation, you lunged forward, engaging in a playful but intense match with Shuri. The two of you danced around each other in a blur of motion, your moves swift and calculated. Despite the lighthearted nature of the spar, you could feel the tension lifting from your body with each exchange, just as Bucky had felt it earlier.

While you were engaged with Shuri, Bucky stepped to the side, wiping his hands on his pants, trying to catch his breath. It felt good to get some of the old tension out, and he could already feel a weight lifting off his chest. This wasn’t just about physical recovery; this was about reclaiming who he was before Hydra took everything from him.

As you landed a final mock hit on Shuri, the two of you paused, both out of breath but smiling. "Okay," Shuri said, raising her hands in mock defeat. "You win. For now."

Bucky chuckled and gave you an approving glance. "Not bad at all, dove."

Before you could respond, the hum of the training facility shifted, and you turned to see none other than King T’Challa himself entering, his imposing presence filling the room. He stood tall and regal, as always, his black suit glimmering in the light.

"I see I’ve missed the fun," T'Challa said, his voice smooth and commanding but laced with amusement. His gaze flickered to you and Bucky, a hint of recognition sparking in his eyes. "It’s good to see both of you adjusting to the training."

Shuri quickly approached him, a grin spreading across her face. "You’re late, brother. We were just finishing up testing the new recruits."

"Your Highness," you greeted with a respectful nod, trying to keep it casual despite the obvious presence of royalty.

Bucky shot a quick, somewhat uneasy glance at T'Challa. "Good to see you, my King." There was an awkward pause. "You know, for a king, you really get around."

T'Challa raised an eyebrow, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips. "I have to keep an eye on all things Wakanda, soldier. You know how it is." He nodded to Shuri, who was now standing by his side. "But it seems like you’ve both been testing your skills. Shuri tells me you’re adjusting well."

Bucky gave him a nod but glanced at you for a second, unsure of how to respond. "It’s... a process." He wasn’t one for small talk, but he appreciated the respect, however minimal.

Shuri couldn’t resist chiming in with a teasing grin. "Oh, he’s adjusting alright. You should’ve seen him during his first simulation—he was more stiff than an old tree trunk." She grinned at Bucky’s groan, enjoying every second of it. "But he’s getting there. Slowly but surely."

T'Challa’s expression softened as he looked at Bucky, understanding more than Shuri likely realized. "Recovery is not an easy thing." He glanced over at you. "And neither is learning to live with one’s past."

You gave him a nod, your gaze meeting Bucky’s for a second before you turned back to T'Challa. "We’re getting there, one step at a time."

T'Challa smiled approvingly. "I admire that resilience. It’s something we value here in Wakanda." Then, with a sudden shift in tone, he looked at Bucky with an intrigued glint in his eyes. "Though, I must admit, I’m curious to see how well you fare against me. A bit of friendly competition. What do you say?"

Bucky raised an eyebrow, but there was a fire behind his gaze. "You want to spar with me?" There was a hint of hesitation, but he stood tall. "Alright, but don’t say I didn’t warn you. I’m not exactly new to this whole combat thing."

You chuckled at the banter between them, feeling a slight tension lifting in the air. "Bucky’s modest, your Highness." You raised your eyebrows playfully. "He’s a bit of a pro."

T'Challa shot you a smirk. "We shall see." His eyes gleamed as he turned to Shuri. "I trust you’ll monitor the match?" His voice was both joking and confident, a reflection of his quiet authority.

Shuri, clearly amused, leaned back against a nearby pillar. "Of course. But don’t expect me to step in and save either of you."

The two warriors squared off, and the battle began. It was intense, the simulation environment adapted around them to create a variety of settings that challenged their skills. The air seemed to crackle with anticipation as Bucky and T'Challa went back and forth, exchanging blows and testing each other’s limits.

T'Challa was swift, his agility unmatched, his movements fluid and precise. Bucky, though initially stiff, was growing into the rhythm of the fight. Every time he took a hit or made a mistake, you could see the mental gears turning as he shook off the old training, not just physically but emotionally. The fight, at its core, was a way for him to break free from the grip of his past, and with every successful move, you saw more of that freedom in his eyes.

At one point, Bucky got a clean strike on him, and you couldn't help but grin. "Nice one, Bucky!" You teased, winking at him as T'Challa tried to regain his footing.

T'Challa let out a chuckle, raising an eyebrow at you. "I see you’ve got a knack for encouraging troublemakers." His tone was light, but the respect was evident in his gaze.

As the match continued, Bucky and T'Challa pushed each other to their limits, the combat becoming more than just physical—it was a test of strength, willpower, and resilience. Finally, after a long, hard-fought battle, T'Challa managed to get the upper hand, pinning Bucky to the ground.

Both men panted, sweaty and bruised, but there was no malice in T'Challa’s eyes, only a deep respect.

The king stood up and extended a hand to Bucky, pulling him to his feet. "I must admit, I did not expect that much resistance. You’ve earned my respect." He grinned, looking over at you. "And you, my friend, are no slouch either."

You laughed, wiping some sweat from your brow. "Well, someone has to keep him on his toes." You nudged Bucky playfully.

T'Challa looked at you both, a thoughtful expression on his face before he nodded. "You both are warriors in your own right." He walked over to the side of the room, where a ceremonial dagger rested on a pedestal. With a dramatic flair, he picked it up, turning back toward you and Bucky. "In recognition of your resilience and strength, I will knight you both."

Bucky’s eyes widened in surprise. "Knight us? Really?"

T'Challa nodded, his tone light but firm. "Yes, indeed. The royal family needs soldiers like you—strong, resilient, and fierce." His smile was playful, but there was a deeper meaning behind it.

You both protested, not wanting to accept the title, but T'Challa insisted with a laugh, his voice warm and commanding. "You don’t have to like it, but I’m already planning something for you two anyway."

Bucky glanced at you, then at T'Challa, and, after a beat, gave in with a grin. "Alright, alright. But don’t expect us to start calling ourselves knights or anything."

You nodded, smirking. "Yeah, we’ll stick to being not-so-humble soldiers."

T'Challa’s grin widened as he placed a hand on each of your shoulders. "Very well. But know this—you are both welcome here."

You and Bucky exchanged a look, a silent understanding passing between you. Whatever came next, it was going to be a memorable ride.

PART ONE. l NEXT PART.

Want to read more of my works? Check out my masterlist !

taglist : @stilleobjection — @the-fandoms-onceler — @zyra-7 .

⠀⠀

dividers ©️ @cafekitsune .

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[thenadnerb02]

Peter Quill: You seemed pretty casual about me returning from space like it was no big deal

Grandpa Quill: Please, compared to the other stuff that’s happened on Earth these past few years, you returning from space is nothing

Peter: Oh yeah, I guess after the snap anything’s normal

Grandpa: You better believe it. Did you know they added Captain America’s shield to the Statue of Liberty?

Peter: That’s unexpected but it’s not too weird

Grandpa: A witch placed a whole town in New Jersey under some spell and mind-controlled them into acting in her sitcom

Peter: Okay that’s fucked up

Grandpa: One day the sky turned back 2000 years

Peter: This is NOT normal

Grandpa: There’s an entire race of humans that live and breathe underwater

Peter: Please stop

Grandpa: Werewolves and vampires are real, always have been apparently

Peter: Is this what a midlife crisis feels like?

Grandpa: Oh, don’t forget djinn, they’re out there too

Peter: I’m just gonna stop listening

Grandpa: A newborn Celestial emerged from the ocean and got immediately petrified, then another Celestial showed up a few days later, it was larger than the entire planet

Peter: Alright that’s it, we’re moving to another planet right now

Grandpa: Oh and rumor has it the entire multiverse is in danger of falling apart, we’re not safe anywhere

Peter: FUCK!

[calvincell]

The fact that an extremely high visibility Marvel project like Marvel Rivals earnestly includes & adapts Cloak & Dagger has me foaming at the mouth with joy!

I was already on board the moment they included both Black Panther & Storm as playable heroes but to go the extra mile & put Tandy & Tyrone on the roster AND as a paired hero rather than splitting them up ensures that I’ll likely be putting in hours equivalent to the 100+ I clocked back when I played classic vanilla Overwatch.

Now all I want for future Marvel Rivals content is the addition of Silver Surfer to the roster. Only then will I be satisfied that all of my woefully under-appreciated/under-represented faves get time in the limelight that IMO is long overdue!

[talkingparrotkee]

One thing I like about MCU Shuri and also think several people sorely get wrong is that she's the more cool-headed character. She is slower to shout, panic, and anger, being relatively more laidback. Shuri would rather wall up and bury herself in her lab (M'Baku confirms this at Ramonda's funeral, and we see her doing just that in the beginning) before lashing out.

Even Ryan described how T'Challa was more hotheaded to T'Chaka's diplomat, while Shuri was the more cool and laid back one to fiery Ramonda.

We see it in her clothing styles.

We see this in the way she initially approaches things. Two key instances:

The way she first responds and confronts Namor. Shuri is still on defense at the river, but she is less combative or reactive compared to Ramonda. Shuri more quietly assesses and responds to him. Compare this to Ramonda, who immediately fires back and disregards what he says without even checking if it could possibly be true, to which Shuri has to point out some truths by empirical evidence (i.e., Ramonda dismissed him saying only they had vibranium, Shuri gently nudges her, saying he's covered in it, so that cannot be the case). A similar thing happens when she is down in Talokan with Namor. Throughout it all, Shuri kept a leveled head and bit back her tongue to think of solutions, even when things started turning south. She knew how to shut up as well rather than argue him down more (something not many people know how to do).

The way Shuri tried to extract Riri compared to Okoye. For starters, Shuri did not break into bathrooms or bring spears in Riri's dorm - she blended in and used the door. She did not make threats and give an ultimatum either. Shuri just tried to explain the urgency to Riri and draw her out without the use of physical force.

We also see it in her reactions with other characters.

In the first movie, she tells T'Challa to "calm down" when he shouts at her to drive. We also see her not care to fight T'Challa for the mantle, even if it is her birthright (she just wanted to go home and get out of a particularly uncomfortable corset). Instead, she prefers to fight alongside and as support.

Black Panther: "The Black Panther lives. And when he fights for the fate of Wakanda, I will be right there beside him."

Black Panther 2: "I was not trying to save the mantle mother, I was trying to save my brother."

For another example regarding her interactions with characters from Wakanda Forever, Riri is consistently depicted to be the more anxious and is more inclined to lose composure. Shuri, even when she's stressed or overwhelmed too, is often the one to remain composed. Shuri attempts to calm Riri down so she doesn't have a panic attack. Shuri also didn't reply when Riri started snapping at her about the FBI, only calmly working about and mapping out an escape plan.

One last particular example is with Okoye. Shuri is less quick to be defensive or shout compared to Okoye. We see it in the way Okoye commanded her to get in the car, and rather than shout back, she simply uttered quietly, "Why are you shouting at me..." Shuri didn't reply to Riri snapping, but Okoye did not let anything slide, pointing the finger back to her. During this entire exchange, Shuri was quietly observing before cutting in, saying how they needed to work together to get out of their situation.

Black Panther Wakanda Forever was her later in-character out-of-character. In other words, that unrivaled anger and snapping you saw was never her baseline. She's not an angry or vengeful person. That was the point of Ramonda, "Show him who you are," when she was hesitating killing Namor.

It was the result of her character at a breaking point. Shuri was not coping properly and dealing with frustrations she couldn't see her way out of. Shuri was struggling with spirituality. She was trying to know if her family was truly still there. She was trying to find the reason behind her failure and loss. Shuri already began cracking since T'Chaka died (see: Wakanda Files). T'Challa's death just broke her, with her narrowly holding her pieces together.

[hydravns]

NAMOR, KING OF TALOKAN

BLACK PANTHER: WAKANDA FOREVER (2022) Dir. Ryan Coogler