#of course this one was essentially a therapy session | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

coucouatoi · 1 year ago

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don't want to be alone | h.s.

Pairings: Harry Styles x Reader

Summary: Divorcing the biggest superstar on the planet is the hardest thing you've ever done. Almost as hard as marrying him was.

Warnings: Angst, couples therapy, a little bit of fluff, hopeful ending

A/N: I don't know why I'm feeling so full of angst... but, please enjoy!

Flashback are in italic and present day is normal text

Boxes are littered around the house. Some full and taped shut others still being stuffed with your items. It's a slow and torturous process, having to choose what to take, what to throw out and what things are a conversation waiting to happen "That's a wedding gift from my aunt" or "When have you ever used that?" or even better "I know it was a gift, but I paid for it so i'll keep it". It's like he knows exactly which buttons to press to get the fights started. Granted you might be doing the same thing... But it doesn't make him entitled to all the belongings you've ever shared.

You've managed to find all the picture albums, the ones you decided to make for sentimental value. The ones you gifted him in tender moments. The ones filled with so much love, so much hope and promises for a future together. The ones you're now highly considering throwing into a paper shredder and tossing into the nearest incinerator. The ones you won't be able to get rid of. The anniversary album you gave him on your one year, the wedding album, the honeymoon album, the many travel albums and, of course, your daughter's first album.

Little Anya, barely 9 months old just starting to babble her first words. Chubby legs working so hard to keep her standing and exploring. She can barely take 3 steps one after the other but she's a fighter. Your little girl that is now a cause for argument, no, fights. Custody battles. The true war between yourself and your husband, Harry Styles. Neither of you want to lose or call for a tie, it's not how either of you operate in conflict. That, most likely, is the reason for the downfall of your relationship.

Frustrated you put the albums back where you found them and you head to the kitchen.

Most kitchen items have been packed up, Harry had never really invested in worthwhile cutlery or electronics of any sort. You take some orange juice from the fridge and pour a glass for yourself. The fridge itself is barren, with only the essentials left... neither of you has gone to the groceries in weeks. Today is not going to be a good day.

From the rediscovery of your love-filled albums to the boxes you've spent most of the day doing, you still have one horrible thing to do.

Couples therapy, your first-ever session. You thought, well still think, that this is too far gone to save in therapy. There won't be anything new shared that you haven't already screamed in each other's faces and self-help talks aren't exactly going to do the trick. Anne, Harry's mother, insisted that your marriage doesn't only include two people anymore. Anya makes it worth trying, she is worthy of a stable home as she grows up. No matter how unstable having a superstar parent may be, divorced parents might just add to that an unruly amount. So, you've both agreed to try. Try your very best to reassemble your love no matter how shattered it has become. Love. Love hasn't manifested itself once since about your seventh month of pregnancy. Love has vanished from your husband's once warm and inviting eyes, it no longer lingers on his fingertips and doesn't even creep into the more tender moments you must share with your baby. Love feels like a complete joke to you now.

The waiting room is empty of other clients which is a blessing in disguise. This is the absolute last place you'd want to run into Harries. Even if the media has already been dragging you in the mud for "breaking their dear superstar's heart" and has been making all sorts of claims about you and your marriage. In the very beginning, Harry had spoken up about these articles and had gotten his team to shut some people up but he's been losing care for... well, you.

"Harry and Y/N?" you look up meeting the eyes of who you can only assume is your therapist. Without sparring your husband a glance you get up and follow her into her office. It's cosy and smells like vanilla. There's a yellow glow to the room, it bounces off her multiple frames and decorations. Very nonthreatening, immediately putting you a little more at ease. She gestures for you to take a seat on her velvet green couch and you sit down squeezing yourself onto the left armrest. Harry does the same to the right.

"Good afternoon to you both, I am Trinity Finch. Can I get either of you something to drink before I sit down?" She smiles politely as her eyes shift between both of you. You only shake your head as an answer not trusting your stomach at the moment.

"Water if it's not too much trouble, please" Harry's voice is strained, he had been at the studio all morning probably preparing a new album you aren't aware of.

Trinity nods and quickly grabs a water bottle from a small fridge she's got right behind her desk. Harry mumbles a thank you as she hands it to him. You don't realise that his hands are shaking as you're back to looking around the room. He takes a few big gulps before your therapist gets to sit in her chair.

"Today I would just like to start with a history lesson on your relationship. How it started, all important moments, how parenthood has changed your shared life and just how you two are as a couple" She starts getting things ready around her, notebook, pens, highlighters, some sticky notes and you swear that you spotted some bright childish stickers. Her long manicured nails tap against the glass of her desk a few times as the silence stretches. Neither of you taking the first step in this session. When she looks up again she doesn't look annoyed or surprised by the lack of an answer.

"Harry, how did you meet your wife?" Trinity asks him gently.

Harry seems caught by surprise to have been asked a question directly. He looks at you briefly before turning his eyes back to her.

"Um, we meet on the plane. For some reason, my private plane for that day was not available and they booked me on a regular flight. Premium ended up being full and I got an economy seat. I had the aisle and she had the middle we ended up bonding over our shared movie choice. Then I asked her out and um here we are?" He ends with a question. As if unsure if "here" is a good thing, it's definitely not but meeting has, unfortunately, brought you both here.

"And when was this?" she asks.

"April 2018" he answers quickly. She nods presumably writing it down.

"How was your relationship before marriage Y/N?" she looks at you now with kind eyes. They are big and dark. Staring right into your soul. It makes you slightly uncomfortable but at the same time you don't want her to look away she's your lifeline right now.

"It was very easy. I work remotely as a translator and an editor, so I've always been able to tag along on his travels and tours. He, um, he always insisted that he rather have me with him even if we couldn't see each other every single day. Just knowing I was near helped him..." you sigh. You don't want to shed tears this early into your session. You don't want Harry to see you cry any more than he already has over your lost relationship.

"I really loved following him around the globe" you add, looking down at your lap willing your wet eyes to dry.

"Any fighting? How did you deal with that?" Trinity is still talking to you maybe even sensing that you're about to cry. Is that what she wants from this?

"Well, yeah. I mean all couples fight, right? We fought over the same things all the time really. I wanted more affection I guess pressuring him to take some time away from the spotlight or he wanted me all to himself whenever it worked with him without thinking of my work. Our jobs were the main reason for fighting between us" Besides you, Harry scoffs before taking another sip of water. Your head turns to him

so quickly that a sharp pain forms in the back of your neck. Your posture immediately tightens, muscles locking and your breath gets heavier.

"What? You don't agree?" you question him in a much harsher tone than you were previously using. He meets your gaze and shrugs.

"I do but that's not all we fought over" he shrugs again not looking away. Is he trying to pick a fight right now? Here of all places?

"Then what? What am I missing?" you prepare yourself for the worst. Ready to feel like absolute shit at anything he might say.

"Your constant jealousy was a contender for the most appearances in our fights" his entire expression is accusatory but he does this thing with his posture. Gets all soft and somewhat blazé making you feel inferior and so incredibly small.

You want to storm out. Call Anne to apologise that it couldn't work out and immediately sign the divorce papers that are permanently placed right on your dining table.

Not wanting to fuel this energy taking over him right now you shrug as well before facing Trinity again. She's watching both of you like a hawk, processing the way you react to conflict with each other. Making mental notes as well as some physical ones all while hostility happens between her clients.

"We'll move on from this for now. Harry, how was the wedding? How did married life change your bond?" this seemingly calms his overgrown ego. His face is neutral again but there's a softness to it now, recalling the happy days.

"We had an Italy wedding. We, I love Italy. I flew everyone out, our families and friends, and then we stayed there for a month more for our honeymoon. The wedding itself was... amazing. We kept it small. Intimate. With my life it's always been hard to have that so, it was important to us" he sounds blissful towards the last part. Probably back there now in his mind. Ah, the good old days as they say.

"I don't think married life changed us much. We were living together before that and we'd been planning it since we got together practically" he stops talking again to take another sip of water. You look at the lady in front of you again and as she begins to open her mouth to probably question him more Harry starts talking again.

"I guess tension started about a year in. The media wasn't kind to her. They made up cheating rumours on both sides and manipulated things to make them seem like something else. Someone even showed up at our old house while I was out" he took a deep breath, cracking some of his knuckles at the same time, "We were always on edge around each other. Throwing these rumours at one another just to I don't know, get a reaction? Plus, we were stuck at home because of Covid and my tour was postponed. It was a real shit show" he laughs bitterly and you nod along to what he was saying. That was just a terrible time. For everyone.

"Then I got to go on tour, Y/N didn't follow along for all of it but she was there most of the beginning. It wasn't the same as before. There was this distance that just never got better. And then she got pregnant" he almost sounds exhausted. Maybe he is, you're not sure how much he's slept lately.

Shit. Fuck. This can't be happening now. Shit! The word "Pregnant" seems to be mocking you as you look down at it. Mocking the fact that you and Harry have not seriously spoken in two days and that you're flying back home tomorrow. Mockingly reminding you that this can only make things worse right now.

"Y/N, come on the car is waiting downstairs" your husband's voice is weak through the thick hotel bathroom door. He's performing in Toronto tonight. The second day, the last day before he flies to New York and you go back to London.

You walk out of the bathroom, straight past Harry, not wanting him to read your face and figure out that something is terribly wrong. You slip into your shoes for the night and take a deep breath, no scratch that, a huge breath. Willing your facial expression to cooperate before you turn to him and smile.

"Let's go superstar!" he smiles back and walks over to you. Grabbing your hand and bringing it up to his mouth so he can plant a kiss on the back of it.

"We just might have to cancel tonight if you look this good" his free hand wraps around you tightly glueing you to his body. You know he doesn't mean it but you pretend to consider it nonetheless.

"Mh what about all your adoring fans? Won't they be so utterly crushed?" you tease against his lips. He smiles wickedly before slowly nodding.

"I do have quite the engagement this evening... how about I make it up to you after?" he presses soft kisses to the sides of your face. Framing it.

"That's a pretty good offer, I just might have to tak-"

"HARRY STYLES GET YOUR ASS OUT OF YOUR HOTEL ROOM!!" Jeff's voice is full of annoyance as it cuts you off. Rude.

You laugh before getting pulled out of the room by your husband. The small plastic stick forgotten on the washroom counter for now.

You get a harsh reminder tho when you're back at the hotel after yet another amazing concert. You're laying on the bed completely stretched out and now only dressed in your underwear. Harry's currently using the washroom to try and get some of the remaining glitter off his face when he finds the secret you've kept all evening.

"Y/N, what's this?" his voice is so shaky that you barely even understood what he asked you. However, when you look up your brain catches up. He's in his boxers, left hand in his hair and right hand holding the test like it's made of glass as he looks at it as if it's going to explode. Fuck.

"No chance that you suddenly lost the ability to read?" you try and lighten the suddenly very heavy mood in the room. It fails.

"You're pregnant. How, I mean no I know how. Fuck, you're pregnant" he looks up at you panicked.

"We don't have to keep it" is the first thing out of your mouth. Probably as a panic response to his reaction. Not wanting this to turn into another fight.

"What?! Why wouldn't we, you don't want, I um" he takes a second. He's just breathing heavily while looking at you desperately. "You don't want to keep it?" he breathes out.

"You do?" is all you answer. You stand slowly, finding the clothes you just took off to put them back on. Whatever mood you were in is gone you're now filled with anxiety and a deep fear.

"You leave tomorrow... We won't see each other for what 3 months? In Mexico?" he hasn't moved an inch. Feet seemingly glued to the floor and limbs were frozen.

Pregnancy. One of the worst and best times of your life. Your gorgeous baby girl came out of all the pain you suffered. She gave a new meaning to the way you live, made you forget about all the physical pain you endured and...

"Why do you say it in that way? Like you still dread what the pregnancy brought" Trinity's voice almost startles you. You'd been so lost in your thoughts that you'd almost forgotten where you were.

"I don't! I love Anya" his voice is stern.

"What about your wife? What happened during the pregnancy?" she's digging. Wants to find the right buttons to push.

Harry stammers, but no answer seems to satisfy him. His hands are squeezed under his things, his right leg bouncing and his eyes avoiding either of you.

"We didn't plan her, I was right in the middle of my tour. We, um, we weren't doing very good and she was about to go home" he looks at you suddenly surprising you when he meets your eyes. You can't read him, can't understand what he's feeling. You haven't been able to read him in months.

"She- You, Y/N, she got really sick in February the seven-month mark. I was in Australia and I couldn't be there. It really strained us, we fought all the time over the phone and in person. I guess that's really when we went downhill" his jaw tenses when he looks away from you. Looks like he's not happy to have to have shared this with the room.

"Okay, thank you, Harry. I think now's a great time to take a breather. I'll meet both of you individually when we come back. So, see you both here in 20 minutes?" Trinity smiles at both of you and keeps smiling until you both walk out.

Harry doesn't come back. You wait 45 minutes in Trinity's office looking like an idiot. She dismisses you with a look of pity on her face before scheduling another appointment 5 days later, lots of work to do you assume. You rush out of the building humiliation creeping into every inch of your body. How could he do this on the first day? It was going fairly well, well you think so anyway... did he give up on your relationship right then and there?

As you make your way to your car you see him. Harry is pacing back and forth in front of his car as he seemingly argues on the phone. His free hand waves erratically in front of him, gesturing like mad for someone who can't even see him. So this is what he's been doing? Arguing over the phone while you sat in a therapist's office waiting to try and work on your ever-crumbling marriage. You scoff before turning away from him and to your car. But nothing seems to be on your side today as your husband hears you and immediately calls out to you.

"Y/N! Why are you leaving?" you hear him walk towards you, the clacking of his shoes getting closer to you but you ignore him and walk away faster.

You're completely focused on your black Subaru, the "You're so Golden" sticker catching your eye and making you more pissed off. Something that was put there because you loved the song, because of how beautiful your husband's voice is in the song but now all you want to do is rip it right off. So, that's what you do.

Your nails claw at the edges of it desperately. You don't want any reminders of Harry on your car, you don't want to think of him while putting the groceries away, while walking around the car after putting Anya in her car seat and you don't want to see it in your rearview mirror anymore. The top corner lifts as you're pulling at it giving you the perfect leverage to rip it right off. You throw it to the ground right before turning around to stare daggers into Harry's eyes.

"45 minutes, Harry. I sat there 45 minutes with our therapist looking at me like a beaten dog!" you hiss at him. He is now only about 2 or 3 feet away from you. His eyes are wide, in shock you guess, as he looks at the sticker. "What could you have possibly been doing for more than an hour that made you forget what we were here for?" you're sure you sound desperate right now. Your head is all over the place and your heart feels like it might explode out of your chest.

"An hour? I, no, that couldn't have been more than-"

"You can go back up and ask her if you want because I really really don't want to be around you right now" and now you're crying. Fuck. Why are you crying now? You need to leave.

While rummaging in your bag for your keys Harry grabs your arm. Well maybe not grabs, he just places his hand on you, resting it there delicately. If you weren't so aware of every single inch of your body right now you wouldn't have noticed. No matter how delicate the touch is supposed to be you flinch out of it aggressively.

"I'm, I'm so sorry Y/N. That was my mother, she, fuck" he sighs and runs a hand in his hair gripping it tightly. "She wants us to go up... she's rented a lake house or something I guess" his voice is so soft, shy even.

"Us? You mean you and Anya?" god you hope so.

"I'm so sorry" is all he answers.

Anne Twist is a very difficult woman to say no to. Actually, it's impossible to say no to her. In the many years you've known her, she's always been able to find a way to make you say yes. Always in a good way. She loves you, she has told you that countless times, and you love her but now that you're... the way you are with her son you don't know where you stand. Yet, she has still found a way to get you to agree to something you would have much rather not have gone to. You're in a small townhouse almost 4 hours away from your home in London with your mother-in-law, your daughter and your soon-to-be ex-husband. What has your life come to?

Anya is sitting in her high chair passionately eating banana slices as you watch her. She's already gobbled up the strawberries and pita bread slices she also had for her snack. She's such a good eater always so ready to try new things and taste whatever the adults around her eat. Especially the sweet treats her dad sneaks her.

"Do you want to go take a dip after huh? We should enjoy the water my love" you coo at her as she takes her final bite of food. She smiles at you like she understood what you asked and you chuckle wiping her chubby cheeks and hands. She'll be able to float around in the water for a little bit with you before you put her down for a nap. The steps of your morning are perfectly planned so that you can have your solo Zoom session with Trinity.

There is a small river behind the house you're staying in. The water goes up to just above your breast and it's the perfect warmth at this time of day. You've made your way down to it and are now setting up Anya's towel for when she'll be too tired to entertain you and ready for her mid-day snooze. She's currently lying right by you looking up at the sky with such curiosity, probably trying to figure out what the hell clouds are.

"You're so curious my love!" you shake her gently as you smile widely. "What do you see up there?" as you look up to join her sky-gazing you spot Harry making his way to the river as well. He's only got very short grey swimming trunks on meaning his entire chest, thighs, calves, and arms are out for the whole world to see. Maybe that's an exaggerated statement as you're the only one looking right now. You want to scold yourself for staring, you really really do but he's just so... so captivating and very enjoyable to look at no matter how much you resent him at the moment.

"Mind if I join you ladies?" his voice is more cheerful than when you heard it last. Must be because he's actually speaking to and looking at Anya.

However, when you don't answer his question he looks up at you. Expression now closed off again, how it's always been for the past few months. You smile politely and nod before turning your back to both of them so you can take your robe off. Your swimsuit isn't anything special; simple black one-piece that's high on the hips and low on your back. You think it looks pretty good on you but now you feel very aware of the amount of skin you're showing. You decide to just get in the water hoping its dark colour hides you. Hides away the skin your husband might be looking at.

"Looks like mummy is in a hurry, we should join her. What do you think sweetheart?" Harry picks your baby up and makes his way into the water. He holds her tightly to his chest as he climbs in, just in case he slips on the stones he uses as stairs. Once your daughter's chubby limbs meet the water her mouth forms into an adorable "O" shape. It's the second time Anya's been in the water now so she must still be unsure about this feeling. Harry turns her so that her front faces you and her back is against him. She smiles when she spots you reaching her arms out quickly which splashes some water around. She looks at you with a shocked expression and does it again with a giggle now.

"You little troublemaker! Trying to splash me!" you tease her sending some water her way. She answers with a sweet giggle and shakes her arms around as fast as she possibly can.

"Mh, my jokester gene is strong in her" Harry's voice is laced with pride. You playfully roll your eyes at him and hum affirmatively.

"And her love for singing too" you add remembering so many moments where she hums to any song playing. Her favourite thing to do is to harmonise with her father. His deep voice always gets her attention, always gets her to mumble and hum along with her own lyrics.

"Oh yes, she's the next big thing this one" he affirms kissing the top of her small head affectionately.

It's in moments like these that you tend to forget how bad it is between you. How many horrible things you've shouted at each other not caring how deep your words could cut. The accusations, the insults, the taunts and even the lies still weigh heavy on both of you. You like these softer moments, where you're reminded of how much love you both had for each other. Have? Had? You don't know anything about your feelings anymore, they are much too complicated to understand...

All three of you stay in the river for about an hour more before Anya starts yawning and fussing. When you exit the water you're quick to slip your robe back on still overly aware. Harry wraps the fluffy towel you had gotten ready around your baby. Her head rests in the crook of his neck, her eyelids already heavy as she blinks slowly. You all walk back to the house together silently. Might it be to keep the sleepy baby calm or to keep the peaceful aura around you and your husband, you don't know.

Harry insists that he will put the sleepy girl to bed and that you should take a shower first. After all, you have the first private sessions with your therapist. The mention of her does make the air in the townhouse tense again but Anne appears immediately to kiss Anya before she naps. You use that moment to sneak into your shared room with Harry. Luckily, it has two single beds so you don't have to share with him.

Signing deeply you rid yourself of the now damp robe you had on. Another blessing in disguise, this room has an en suite bathroom so you'll be able to jump right into the shower. Before that you do want to set up your laptop for the video call, you want to be as ready as you possibly can be. You grab your device from your backpack and make your way to the small desk in the corner of the room. There's a bunch of papers scattered around it, one glance at them and you immediately know what they are.

Lyrics. Drafts of songs and melodies written by your rockstar husband. You don't mean to read any of the words you really don't but as soon as you spot your name at the top of one of the pages you're doomed. You put your laptop down on Harry's bed which is right next to the desk and reach for that exact paper.

The words you read are full of longing, pain, sadness and fear. They mourn love, they are mourning your love. You pick up another sheet of paper, this one has no title but there are so many lines written. This one is reeks of self-hatred, of shame and guilt... it shakes the weak barriers you've built around your heart. All of the lyrics you read on different papers revolve around the same emotions. These are all about your relationship. About the death of it. About his desire to turn around. You don't realise you're crying until a tear falls onto the paper you hold. The ink bleeds into itself where it's been wet blurring the words slightly. You quickly wipe your face and put the papers down. You shouldn't be looking at these, you're invading his privacy.

"Thought you were showering" Harry's voice startles you out of the chair. You meet the floor with a loud thud. Your tear-filled eyes meet his sharp ones. Scrambling up to your feet you grab your laptop ready to explain, ready to apologise over and over again.

"At least tell me what you think" he sighs walking into the bedroom and shutting the door behind himself. This shocks you. What does he mean? He, he's not mad? Isn't disappointed that you invaded his creative space? Your mouth opens and closes a few times unsure what you should answer.

"I'm sorry" is all you're able to get out. Your brain is blank in absolute fear but tears keep falling from your eyes.

"I should be apologising... you, you weren't supposed to see those" he walks in your direction slowly, testing the waters of how close you'll let him get. He's closer than arm's reach when you flinch backwards slightly and he stops immediately.

"I was going to ask you for your permission before making any of those full songs but you know music is how I cope" he whispers now that he's so close to you. Silence takes over the room again, stretching out for too long. Your eyes somehow keep producing tears as you try and speak. Hopelessly searching for words to say.

"Do you really miss us? You miss me?" is what you come up with, your voice is so shaky that you're on the verge of sobbing uncontrollably.

This shocks Harry in place, seemingly not prepared for that kind of questioning from you. His mouth gapes and his eyes grow wide. This time you do see his hands start shaking. You're not entirely sure what this emotion is.

"Of course I do. Did you not think so?" while still whispering he reaches out to hold you but stops himself hands falling at his sides.

"Yo- Harry, you asked for the divorce. How was I supposed to know you miss me?" your voice breaks. You don't understand, why is this happening now, why is he saying these things?

"We should just get a divorce" Harry snaps at you as he fights back tears. Your expression immediately closes up, your body reacting before your thoughts and words do. Protecting you from what he just said, building walls around you and your heart as quickly as possible.

"Fine" you spit out as you turn away from him and walk straight out of your bedroom. If that's what he wants then so be it. You won't beg for anything now that he's made his decision.

"I know, okay? I know that I asked for it and that it's the reason why you don't talk to me anymore. Well, you do but not really" he sighs and sits down on his bed, damn swim trunks wetting the bed "We talk about Anya and when we're not we are yelling at each other... so when was I supposed to tell you that I missed you? That I regretted asking for the divorce..." he looks at you with a guilty expression, all his emotions are coming up at once.

"Why did you ask for it?" you ask him sitting back on the desk chair with your laptop still in your hands.

"I got in my head. You were saying we should take some time for ourselves maybe live apart... with everything that kept being said about us, I got so scared" he takes your laptop out of your grip and puts it down next to him.

"I thought you were going to fight me on it..." he adds as he grabs your hands tenderly. Like he's afraid you'll break.

You shake your head in disbelief not sure what to say. Your thoughts are all over the place, what should you make of this?

"It broke my heart" When did his face get so close to yours? You should really move away. You can't fall back into him, you can't let yourself do that. So you pull away from him roughly, your hands tugging out of his hold, face moving to the side, a sob making its way out of you as your back meets the chair-back.

When you meet Harry's eyes you can see the pain, the hurt, in them. They are brimming with tears that are so close to spilling out.

"Are we... are we too broken?" his voice has dropped to a whisper. He sounds so sad and scared.

"I'm worried" You take in a few breaths before you speak again, "What if we just end up hurting each other again? What if we can't go back?" you choke out the last few words. Tears spill endlessly out of your eyes and sobs rack your entire body.

It feels like you're running out of air and the little bits you get in are painful. Your eyes burn as you cry and your hands are shaking like crazy.

Harry might be answering or trying to communicate but nothing is making its way past your meltdown. What does make it through is the feeling of his arms around you. Him pulling you against his chest tightly, immediately rubbing your back as soothingly as he can. Your hands are grabbing his still bare skin desperately, wanting to anchor yourself in any way you can. Your face rests on his peck, right above his heart, the frantic beating bouncing around your head.

"Breathe, you have to breathe love" he speaks delicately in your ear, breaking through the barrier your body has put up.

"I'm- I'm, I can't... Harry I can't" your clawing at him almost trying to get under his skin, someplace you might be able to understand everything that's going through his mind.

He wiggles around a little before laying you both down as he keeps reassuring and encouraging you. He drags you on top of him your face now pressed up against the juncture of his neck. Your left-hand makes its way into his hair, pulling at it as softly as you can manage. Harry's hands run up and down your back, your arms, and your neck and he even pets your hair delicately. He's always known how to best calm you down... how to bring you back down to earth and out of the panic attacks you sometimes get when you're overwhelmed.

"I'm sorry. I'm so so sorry" he repeats that over and over with a pained desperation. Harry's scared shitless too. He doesn't know how things will go with your relationship. He can't guarantee that you won't end up actually wanting a divorce one day... But he can love you. He has and will keep loving you. He hopes it'll be enough to save your marriage. He'll work incredibly hard every single day to prove his love for you... if you let him back in he won't ever let you go. He'll leave it all up to you. Your little family is all he needs, he'll spend the rest of his life proving that to you if that's what it takes.

#harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry edward styles #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x you #harry styles angst #harry styles fic

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angelremnants · 5 months ago

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Heat Waves l J. B. Barnes

PART TWO.⠀LATE JUNE NIGHTS

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, pure fluff, mentions of past trauma, themes of healing, banter, teasing, mild language. Proceed with caution if you're sensitive to such material.

word count : 13.4k

author's notes : So, I lied. I said this next part was going to be the continuation AND ending of this fic.. Long story short, I went overboard (again) and wrote way much more than I had initially planned (I decided last minute to incorporate sexy time for the last part because I'm feral). Anyway, I highly recommend reading the first part beforehand, as it provides essential context for the following scenes.

Writing about Wakanda makes me miss my home country—listening to All the Stars (one of my fav' songs, btw) especially makes me miss all of the amazing summers I spent there, so I took a bit of inspo from them while writing some parts of the story.

I'd also like to adress an immense thank you to @stilleobjection for helping me get set on major components of the story. Live, laugh, love my moots<3

(ao3 version)

The sparring matches had ended on a high note, leaving everyone in good spirits. Shuri, still grinning after her mock victory over you, clapped her hands.

“Alright, white boy, Sparky, we’ve got plans for you today,” she announced, exchanging a glance with T’Challa. “Something is cooking back at the palace, so we need you two out of the way while it’s being perfected.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Out of the way? Should we be worried?”

The king chuckled as he clasped Bucky on the shoulder in camaraderie. “Not at all. My sister thought it would be good for you both to explore a bit of Wakanda’s countryside. It’s a chance to unwind after the training session.”

Shuri tilted her head toward a guide waiting nearby. “We’ve got quads—well, Wakandan versions of quads—prepped for you. Trust me, they’re fast, safe, and a lot of fun. And since I don’t trust you two to behave, I’ll be joining.”

“Wait,” Bucky said, narrowing his eyes. “Why do I feel like this is part of some elaborate scheme?”

Shuri gasped, feigning offense. “White boy, I’m shocked you’d accuse me of such treachery. This is purely for your benefit. You should be thanking me.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Alright, let’s do it. But if this is a setup, Shuri, you’re paying for the therapy.”

With that, the three of you followed the guide to an open clearing where two sleek quads—futuristic in design and gleaming in the sunlight—were parked. They looked like something out of a sci-fi film, with smooth, aerodynamic lines and holographic controls.

Shuri, clearly in her element, hopped onto one of the bikes with ease. “Aren’t they beauties? Vibranium-powered of course, eco-friendly, and ridiculously fast.” She patted the handlebars of hers. “You’ll thank me later.”

As she excitedly hopped onto one and began rattling off specs, you noticed Bucky standing back, arms crossed, staring at the vehicle like it was some alien artifact. He crouched down, inspecting the engine with a furrowed brow, his metal fingers tapping lightly on the side as if trying to figure out its secrets.

“It’s not going to break down, old man,” you teased, watching him lean closer.

“I’m just saying,” he replied, gesturing to the sleek design. “Engines like these don’t look like they belong to anything real. Where’s the exhaust system? The carburetor? This thing looks like it’s from outer space.”

Shuri, standing next to her quad, rolled her eyes. “It’s vibranium-powered. No carburetors, no exhaust. Welcome to the 21st century, Grandpa.”

Bucky gave her a flat look. “I like machines I can understand. Motorcycles, for instance. You know, things that don’t look like they’re about to fly off into orbit.”

Shuri smirked, leaning casually against her quad. “Don’t worry, white boy. It’s not as fragile as your Harley. And you might even like it if you give it a chance. Just try not to overthink it, alright?”

You couldn’t help but laugh as Bucky shook his head, muttering something about "vibranium death traps" under his breath.

Finally, he climbed onto his quad, still inspecting the handlebars as if they might suddenly sprout wings. “How’s it feel?” you asked, watching him warily test the controls.

“Like it’s about to insult my mother,” he muttered.

Shuri groaned. “Just start the thing! I promise you’ll survive.”

The ride began with a burst of speed as the quads hummed to life, their engines emitting a low, futuristic whirr that reverberated through the open air. The path wound through Wakanda’s breathtaking countryside, a kaleidoscope of vibrant greenery and golden sunlight that spilled across the landscape. Rolling hills stretched into the horizon, dotted with clusters of wildflowers in colors so vivid they looked almost unreal. Tall trees arched overhead, their bioluminescent leaves shimmering faintly in the soft light, as if breathing with life. Crystal-clear streams meandered alongside the trail, their waters catching the sunlight and scattering it like a thousand diamonds.

The air was crisp and cool, carrying the earthy scent of freshly turned soil mingled with the subtle sweetness of blooming flora. You breathed deeply, letting the scent wash over you as the wind whipped past.

“How’s it feel now?” Shuri called out, her voice cutting through the hum of the engines. She glanced back at Bucky, her tone half-challenging, half-playful.

Bucky, despite his earlier reservations, seemed more at ease now. His broad shoulders were less tense, and a hint of a smile tugged at the corners of his lips. “Not bad,” he admitted grudgingly, though his tone suggested he wasn’t about to heap praise on the machine just yet. The wind caught his hair, making him look a little less like the stoic soldier and more like someone who might actually be enjoying himself.

You couldn’t help but laugh, the rush of adrenaline making your heart race. “This is incredible! How fast can these go?”

“Fast enough to outrun your doubts, Sparky!” Shuri quipped, her grin evident even from a distance as she twisted the throttle and sped ahead.

The three of you carved your way through the trails, the quads kicking up soft plumes of dirt in their wake. Every so often, you paused to admire the scenery—expansive meadows that seemed to stretch forever, their grasses swaying lazily in the breeze, or ancient-looking rock formations jutting proudly from the earth like guardians of the past.

Shuri acted as a guide, pointing out landmarks with unrestrained enthusiasm. “That hill over there? It’s where some of the first Wakandan warriors trained with vibranium shields. And that tree? It’s older than most of the royal palace!” Her knowledge was infectious, her voice laced with pride and affection for her homeland.

Meanwhile, Bucky couldn’t seem to resist his inner mechanic. Every so often, he’d pull his quad to a halt and hop off, crouching down to inspect its parts like an overprotective grandparent. “These controls are too smooth. It’s like it’s driving itself,” he muttered at one point, tapping a finger against the engine casing.

“That’s because it is smart tech, white boy,” Shuri teased as she rolled up beside him. “Honestly, you’re acting like an old man trying to figure out a smartphone.”

Bucky shot her a withering look, but there was no heat behind it. “I’m just saying, machines like these don’t need to be this complicated. Give me a Harley, and I’ll be fine.”

It wasn’t long before the shenanigans began. Shuri, ever the troublemaker, led the charge.

“Think fast!” she shouted gleefully, swerving sharply to kick up a spray of dirt and grass that splattered across Bucky’s quad.

Bucky coughed, glaring at her as he wiped his face with the sleeve of his jacket. “Seriously?”

“Just keeping you on your toes, Grandpa!” she replied, her laughter ringing out like music.

You decided to join the fun, veering your quad closer to Bucky’s and revving the engine in a sharp burst. He startled slightly, giving you a side-eye glare that quickly softened into something resembling reluctant amusement.

“You too?” he asked, his voice tinged with exasperation. “What is this, ‘Pick on Bucky’ Day?”

“Every day is ‘Pick on Bucky’ Day,” you teasingly shot back with a grin. “You’re just an easy target, old man.”

Not one to back down, Bucky suddenly accelerated, cutting you and Shuri off in one swift motion. “Alright, if that’s how you wanna play,” he said over his shoulder, his voice carrying the smallest hint of a challenge.

What followed was a chaotic race through the trails. The three of you took turns speeding ahead, cutting each other off, and kicking up clouds of dirt. Shuri, ever the daredevil, led you both through a narrow trail with low-hanging branches that forced you to duck and weave to avoid getting smacked in the face.

“You could’ve warned us, Shuri!” you shouted, laughing despite yourself as you narrowly avoided a branch.

“Where’s the fun in that?” she called back, her voice dripping with mischief.

Even Bucky started to loosen up, his posture relaxing as he swerved around a sharp corner with surprising skill. At one point, you caught him grinning—an unguarded, genuine smile that made him look years younger.

Eventually, the path widened, revealing a breathtaking scene. A shimmering lake stretched out before you, its surface reflecting the pastel hues of the early evening sky. Steam rose lazily from parts of the water, hinting at natural hot springs, while rocky cliffs framed the area like an artist’s masterpiece. A few open-air huts dotted the shoreline, their thatched roofs blending harmoniously with the natural surroundings.

Shuri pulled to a stop and hopped off her quad, stretching her arms overhead with a content sigh. “Welcome to paradise!” she announced grandly. “The water here is the perfect remedy for sore muscles—and bruised egos.” She shot a pointed look at Bucky, her grin as wide as ever.

“This is amazing,” you said, your gaze sweeping over the tranquil scene. “Did you plan this, Shuri?”

“Of course I did,” she replied smugly. “You think I’d let you two wander around aimlessly? Now, go ahead and enjoy yourselves.”

The lake was even more breathtaking up close. Crystal-clear water stretched out in a shimmering expanse, its surface rippling gently as steam curled upward from the edges of the natural hot springs. The rocky cliffs surrounding the area glistened with dew, the rock faces streaked with veins of vibrant minerals that reflected the fading light like jewels. Overhead, the sky deepened into a tapestry of purples and gold, scattered with stars beginning to peek through. The air here was warm and heavy with the scent of mineral springs and blooming wildflowers, creating an almost dreamlike atmosphere.

A few open-air huts lined the shore, their thatched roofs blending seamlessly with the landscape. Inside, simple benches and woven baskets hinted at their purpose: a place to change or rest before enjoying the rejuvenating waters.

Shuri was already peeling off her outerwear to reveal a sleek bodysuit underneath, the kind of practical yet stylish attire that only Wakandan design could pull off. “Don’t just stand there gawking. The water’s calling, and I’m answering.” She didn’t wait for a response, striding toward the lake and stepping in without hesitation. “Perfect temperature, as always,” she called over her shoulder.

You watched her for a moment, then shrugged. “Why not?” You weren’t exactly prepared for a swim, but that wasn’t going to stop you. Stripping down to your underwear, you stepped into the water, the warmth spreading over your skin like a comforting embrace.

Bucky, however, stayed firmly on the shore, his arms crossed as he eyed the water warily. “I think I’ll sit this one out,” he muttered.

Shuri, already chest-deep in the water, shot him a look of mock disbelief. “What’s the matter, white boy? Afraid your arm’s gonna rust?”

Bucky raised an unimpressed eyebrow. “It’s titanium. It doesn’t rust.”

“Then you have no excuse!” Shuri countered, splashing water in his direction for good measure. “Come on, don’t be boring. Even Grandpa needs to have fun sometimes.”

You laughed, wading deeper into the water until it lapped at your shoulders. “She’s got a point, you know. What’s the worst that could happen? You’ll have fun?”

Bucky groaned, running a hand through his hair. “You’re not gonna let this go, are you?”

“Nope,” you and Shuri said in unison.

Finally, with a muttered curse under his breath, Bucky relented. He pulled off his jacket and shirt, revealing the solid planes of his chest and the intricate design of his titanium arm, which gleamed even in the dim light. He hesitated for a moment before removing his boots and pants, leaving him in just a pair of black briefs.

You swallowed hard, your gaze flickering over him before quickly looking away, your cheeks heating. Shuri, of course, caught it immediately.

“See something you like, Sparky?” she teased, her grin devilish as she waded closer.

“Shut up,” you mumbled, your attempt at nonchalance failing miserably, though your face betrayed you with its growing warmth.

Shuri wasn’t done, though. She tilted her head, the playful gleam in her eyes making you dread whatever she was about to say next. “Don’t worry about it. I saw him watching you earlier when you were stripping down, too.”

Your head snapped up, your eyes widening. “Shuri!”

“What?” she said with a shrug, her grin widening as she gestured toward Bucky, who was already halfway into the water and thankfully out of earshot. “I’m just saying, you’re not the only one doing some ogling tonight.”

You groaned, covering your face with your hands. “Why do you always have to do this?”

“Because it’s fun,” she replied with a wink. “And you’re just so easy to fluster. Besides, I’m practically doing you a favor. Now you know he’s looking.”

You peeked between your fingers, your gaze instinctively darting to Bucky, who was settling into the water. His broad shoulders gleamed under the dim light, and you hated how quickly your eyes lingered.

“You’re the worst,” you muttered, sinking lower into the water to hide your embarrassment.

Shuri’s laughter rang out, light and carefree. “You’re welcome!”

Bucky stepped into the water, his movements cautious at first, but he seemed to relax as the warmth enveloped him. “You two are insufferable,” he muttered, though the faintest hint of a smirk betrayed him.

“It doesn’t stop you from following us,” you shot back, splashing water in his direction.

What started as playful banter quickly devolved into a full-blown splash war. Shuri was the obvious instigator, as always, her cunning grin practically a warning sign as she cupped her hands and sent the first wave of water crashing toward you.

“You’re going down, Sparky!” she declared, her laughter echoing over the surface of the lake.

You retaliated immediately, scooping up water and hurling it back at her, though your aim wasn’t nearly as precise. “Oh, you want a fight? Let’s go, Princess!”

Bucky, who had been trying to stay out of the line of fire, quickly found himself dragged into the chaos. A rogue splash hit him square in the face, and he sputtered, shaking his head like a drenched dog.

“Is this what you call diplomacy?” Bucky grumbled as he shielded himself with his arm.

“Wakandan diplomacy is very hands-on,” Shuri replied, her laughter echoing across the lake.

“Alright, that’s it,” he muttered, his voice low and mock-menacing.

The next second, he sent an impressive arc of water flying in Shuri’s direction, catching her mid-laugh and soaking her from head to toe.

“Hey!” she yelped, wiping water from her eyes. “You’re gonna regret that, white boy!”

From that moment on, all bets were off. Shuri was the obvious victor, her technique unmatched as she sent wave after wave of water at you and Bucky. Her speed and agility made her nearly impossible to hit, and her laughter only seemed to grow louder with each successful attack.

You tried teaming up with Bucky to overpower her, but it was like trying to outsmart a hurricane. “We need a strategy!” you shouted, ducking behind Bucky for cover as Shuri sent another splash your way.

“Strategy?” Bucky replied, his brow furrowing in mock disbelief. “We’re in a lake. The only strategy here is survival!”

Shuri, grinning wickedly, used your moment of distraction to launch her most devastating attack yet—a double-handed splash that drenched you both in a massive wave.

“You call that survival?” she teased, her hands on her hips as she waded back a few steps, looking far too smug.

The water glistened around her like liquid silver, the bioluminescent glow of the surrounding foliage casting soft light on her triumphant form. You and Bucky exchanged a quick glance, a silent agreement passing between you.

“Truce?” you whispered.

“Truce,” he agreed, the corner of his mouth quirking up.

Together, you turned on Shuri, launching a coordinated attack that finally managed to take her by surprise. She shrieked as two simultaneous waves of water hit her, but her laughter was still loud and carefree.

“Alright, alright! I concede!” she said, holding her hands up in surrender, though the grin on her face made it clear she wasn’t entirely serious. “But don’t think I’ll forget this, you two.”

The three of you stood there, panting and laughing, the water rippling gently around you as the tension of the day melted away into the cool embrace of the lake. It was a quiet haven, the cool water lapping gently at your skin, but Shuri’s excitement quickly shattered the calm.

“Alright, I’m bored now. Let’s play Pirate Ship,” she declared, her eyes shining with mischief. She swam toward you both, a playful grin tugging at her lips. “It’s a team game—just like chicken, but with a twist. One person is the pirate ship, and the other two are the crew with one trying to take it down and one giving it directions.”

You raised an eyebrow, curious. “Pirate ship?”

“Yeah,” Shuri said, her voice full of energy. “It’s simple. Bucky, you’re the pirate ship. You’re the one we have to knock off balance.”

Bucky looked at her with a bemused smile. “I’m the pirate ship, huh? Alright, I’m game.”

Shuri turned to you. “And you’ll be the first crew member, perched on his arm like a lookout. I’m the second crew member, and my job is to throw you both off balance—knock you out of the game.”

Before Bucky could protest, Shuri swiftly lifted you from the water, her hands steady as she helped you onto Bucky’s broad, muscled arm. Your legs wrapped instinctively around his arm for balance, and you felt a rush of warmth at how strong and solid he felt beneath you. The water swirled around both of you, the gentle waves adding an extra challenge as you settled into place, hands gripping his shoulders for extra security.

“There we go,” Shuri smirked, positioning herself in front of the two of you. “Try not to fall off, pirate.”

Bucky chuckled, his eyes glinting with a mix of amusement and determination. “I’ll hold my ground. Ready?”

You nodded, gripping Bucky’s shoulder with a steady hand, trying to ignore the flutter of your heart as you realized just how close the two of you were—your body pressed to his in the stillness of the water, your chest lightly brushing against his, and his steady arm holding you firmly in place. You had to concentrate, but your mind kept wandering back to the warmth of his skin beneath your fingers.

Shuri lunged at you first, attempting to knock Bucky off balance. She was quick and agile in the water, and her first attempt sent a shiver of movement through Bucky’s body. But he held strong, his arm steady beneath you, his muscles tightening as he countered her push. You gasped slightly as you leaned into him for support, feeling the strength of his body underneath yours. His hand rested on your knee as he held you in place, his grip firm but gentle, like he was guiding you through a delicate dance.

“Easy there, Buck’,” you teased, your voice barely above a whisper, just for him. “You’re doing great.”

Bucky shot you a playful grin, but there was something deeper in his gaze—a quiet intensity that made your heart skip a beat. “I’ve got this,” he muttered, voice low, as he took a step forward, shifting his weight just enough to keep himself balanced.

Shuri’s second attempt was faster, a blur of motion as she surged forward, trying to get a grip on Bucky’s shoulder. You felt your balance teeter as the water surged around you, but Bucky’s hand shot out just in time, pulling you back into place. His fingers brushed against your skin as he steadied you, the contact sending a jolt of electricity through you.

“You’re not getting us that easily,” Bucky murmured, his voice surprisingly husky as his eyes flickered down to you, searching your face for any sign that he was doing okay. The warmth in his gaze was undeniable, and for a moment, you forgot where you were, lost in the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath you, the closeness of your bodies, the way he was so careful with you.

But before you could respond, Shuri lunged at him one more time. This time, her strategy was sharper and more aggressive, and Bucky’s arm gave way under the pressure. You lost your balance as Shuri grabbed hold of his shoulder, throwing both of you off-kilter. The next thing you knew, you were slipping from his arm and tumbling backward into the water with a splash.

The cold water shocked your senses for a moment, but before you could even panic, strong arms encircled you, pulling you back to the surface. You found yourself face-to-face with Bucky, his hands steadying you as he kept you afloat. His blue eyes locked onto yours with a quiet intensity, his breath warm against your skin as you both clung to the moment.

“You good, dove?” he asked, his voice softer than usual, the hint of concern there, though you knew he wasn’t worried about anything other than making sure you were okay.

You nodded, a smile tugging at your lips as your heart raced. “Yeah, just… didn’t expect you to catch me like that,” you said, your voice quieter now, as if the game was suddenly secondary to the warmth of his presence.

Bucky’s hand remained on your waist, a steadying anchor as you floated together, the water around you both barely making a sound. He didn’t pull away, and for a heartbeat, everything else faded—the playful banter, the game, the world itself. It was just you and him, suspended in time, your chest brushing lightly against his as you shared a quiet moment in the lake.

Shuri's teasing voice sliced through the comfortable silence that had settled around you and Bucky, her tone playful and laced with mischief. “Aww, isn’t this romantic,” she called from where she bobbed lazily in the water, her eyes sparkling with amusement as she floated a little too close, clearly enjoying the moment a bit too much. “But we should probably head back. Sunrise isn’t going to wait for you lovebirds.”

The spell that had wrapped around you and Bucky shattered in an instant. You felt the weight of the moment break as Shuri’s words brought a flurry of laughter bubbling to the surface. Your cheeks flushed as you tried to gather your bearings, feeling the playful spark of the moment slip away, yet, in a way, you didn’t mind. It was impossible to stay serious when Shuri’s teasing grin was so infectious.

You groaned, letting out a dramatic sigh as you pushed yourself upright in the water. “Let’s go, white boy. Don’t want you rusting after all,” you teased, your voice light but still holding onto the warmth of the moment.

Bucky’s eyes rolled at the nickname, but there was a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. He turned to you, his blue eyes glinting with a playful challenge. “Please don’t tell me you’re gonna call me that too.”

You grinned back, your heart still fluttering from the closeness you’d shared. “Impossible,” you replied with a wink. “I like the sound of it.”

Bucky gave you an exaggerated sigh, his hand reaching up to run through his damp hair as he shook his head. “I swear, I’m surrounded by trouble,” he muttered under his breath, but there was no malice behind his words—just a quiet affection that spoke volumes, even if it was wrapped in sarcasm.

Despite his mock grumbling, he followed your lead, swimming toward the shore. You matched his pace, your muscles still pleasantly sore from the game, but the gentle push of the water made it feel like the whole world was moving in slow motion. The distance between you and Bucky narrowed as you both swam side by side, the warmth of his presence a silent comfort, even with Shuri’s teasing commentary still echoing in the background.

Shuri, of course, didn’t let up. “You two make quite the pair,” she called, paddling along next to you. “I might need to start charging for this level of entertainment.” Her voice was full of laughter, but there was something else there too—an undercurrent of fondness for both of you, as if she was delighted by the connection she could clearly see growing between you and the soldier.

You shot her a playful glare. “Don’t make me make you regret learning how to swim.”

Her grin widened. “What’s the saying the white folks say again? Ah yes, ‘shiver me timbers’.”

Bucky let out a low chuckle beside you, the sound soothing and warm, as if he was finally letting the earlier teasing roll off his shoulders. The smirk he gave you was enough to make your heart skip again, the quiet moment of camaraderie between the three of you filling the air.

As the shoreline grew closer, Bucky’s smirk softened, and his expression turned a little more serious, though not in an uncomfortable way. He gave you a side glance, his voice quieter now, and tinged with something almost shy. “Thanks, by the way,” he said, his tone laced with sincerity. “For, you know, hanging in there with me.”

You blinked, surprised by the soft vulnerability in his words. “Of course, Bucky,” you said, your voice gentle. “You didn’t think I’d leave you hanging, did you?”

Bucky met your gaze, the softness in his eyes matching the quiet connection you felt. “I wouldn’t put it past you,” he teased lightly, but there was warmth behind it. “But I’m glad you didn’t.”

For a moment, you simply floated there, the water still and peaceful around you, the air filled with unspoken understanding. Bucky had always been a complicated puzzle, but right here, right now, it felt like you were finally starting to fit together.

Shuri, ever the interrupter, glanced over at the two of you with a knowing look. “Alright, alright,” she said, pushing herself up from the water as she began heading toward the shore. “You two are sickeningly cute, but seriously, we should get going before we turn into fish.”

Bucky took a look at you, and this time, the smile that tugged at the corners of his lips was genuine, not mocking, but something softer—something real. “Lead the way, little one,” he said with a grin, his voice warm and affectionate as he gestured for Shuri to go ahead.

⠀

The day’s warmth lingered as you and Shuri made your way to the huts nearby, your bodies tired but relaxed from the playful lake game. The sky was beginning to darken, hinting at the coming sunrise, and there was a subtle excitement in the air—soon you’d be heading straight to the palace.

As you reached the hut, you noticed the men’s and women’s changing areas were naturally sex-separate, allowing for a quiet moment of privacy before the more formal events began. You started to step inside your designated hut, but Shuri held you back with a mischievous grin on her face.

“Wait up, Sparky,” she said, her voice dripping with playful curiosity. “We need to talk.”

You raised an eyebrow but followed her inside the small, private space. “About what?”

“Oh, don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about,” Shuri replied, giving you a knowing look as she crossed her arms. “I saw the way you and Bucky were looking at each other out there. That moment—the way he held you steady. You two have something going on, don’t you?”

You felt a flush creep up your neck, but you couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips. “We’re just friends, Shuri. Nothing more.”

She tilted her head to the side, unconvinced. “Friends, huh?” she said, dragging out the word. “Then why do I sense a little more than that? Hmm? You didn’t look like ‘just friends’ when you were practically on top of him in the water.” She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively.

You let out a soft groan, trying to hide the warmth in your cheeks. “Shuri, we’re really just friends. We’ve known each other for a while now.”

Her eyes widened with exaggerated interest. “Oh? Tell me everything. How did this magical friendship start?”

You took a deep breath, trying to focus. “Well, it’s not all that exciting. I first met Bucky during a workout session at the compound—he was just sitting off to the side, hydrating or whatever. I’d been working out with some of the agents, and I was parched, so I grabbed a bottle of water. I didn’t notice him at first, but when I went to leave, I accidentally bumped into him, spilling some of the water on him.” You couldn’t help but laugh at the memory. “I was mortified, but he just laughed it off, saying, ‘You’re not the first, and you won’t be the last.’ It was such a small, funny moment, but I remember it so clearly.”

Shuri leaned in, clearly intrigued. “That’s it? That’s how the great Sparky and the white boy became friends?”

You nodded. “Pretty much. But we ended up running into each other again a few months later when we were both assigned to the same mission. It wasn’t planned or anything. Our superiors noticed how naturally we clicked, so after that, they kept putting us together. We just kind of... became friends after that.”

Shuri raised her eyebrows, clearly amused. “Became friends, huh?” She shook her head with a smirk. “There’s something you’re not telling me. The way you two interact is way too comfortable for just a friendship.”

You sighed, crossing your arms. “There’s nothing else. Trust me, we’re just close friends who get along well. He’s been through a lot, and I get it. I’m just... here for him. That’s all.”

Shuri didn’t look convinced. She started pacing back and forth, tapping her chin. “Hmm, well, I’m still not buying it. You two have some serious chemistry, whether you admit it or not. You’re telling me that’s all just... friendship?” She exaggerated the word with air quotes.

You opened your mouth to respond, but Shuri quickly cut you off. “I won’t let you leave this hut until you spill the tea. You can’t hide behind your ‘just friends’ act forever, Sparky.” She grinned playfully, clearly enjoying herself.

You groaned again, feeling the heat rise to your face. “Fine. There was a... moment, but that’s it. He just... makes me feel comfortable. It’s hard to explain.”

Your cheeks burned at the remembrance of that embarrassing move you’d unconsciously pulled. The kiss to his cheek—it had been a simple, spontaneous act of gratitude, but now, in the quiet of your room, you felt your heart race at the memory.

The day had been long, and you found yourself in your quarters, trying to unwind after an exhausting debrief. As your gaze wandered, it landed on something familiar—an old mechanical wristwatch sitting on your desk. It was an heirloom, passed down through your family, and it had always been a symbol of resilience to you. But recently, it had been failing—stopping intermittently, refusing to tick when it should, and making it clear that it needed repair.

You had tried to fix it yourself, but no luck. You hadn’t wanted to take it to the techs; it was too personal. You’d quietly hoped it might somehow start working on its own, but it never did.

That evening, after dinner, you placed it down on the desk and ran your fingers over its familiar face, as if trying to find some connection to the past. But just as you set it aside, a knock at your door startled you.

Opening it, you were surprised to see Bucky standing there. A tool kit was slung over his shoulder, his usual quiet but determined expression on his face.

"Hey," he greeted you with a small, awkward smile. "I—I saw the watch earlier. Thought it might need a little... tune-up."

You blinked, taken aback for a moment. "Bucky? You... know about watches?"

He shrugged slightly, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "More than a few, yeah. Before... well, before everything happened, I worked on mechanical things. Cars, watches, motorcycles—anything with gears."

You raised an eyebrow, clearly impressed. "You're telling me you're not just a soldier, but a mechanic too?"

He chuckled softly, a slight warmth in his eyes. "Not just. I used to spend a lot of time fixing things. Figured I might be able to help."

You gestured toward the desk, where the watch lay, still as ever. You hadn't realized just how much you'd been staring at it, silently wishing it could work again.

"I didn’t expect you to notice it," you said quietly, moving to pick it up. "But I—I can’t seem to fix it myself."

Bucky stepped inside and set down his tool kit, his movements slow and deliberate as he began working on the watch. His fingers were steady, his focus intense. There was a calmness in the way he worked, similar to how he handled everything else—with precision and care. But this was different. He wasn’t handling a weapon; he was working on something delicate, something important to you.

The rhythmic sound of his hands moving as he adjusted the gears filled the room. You watched him, the quiet and his attention to detail stirring something deeper in you. The way his brow furrowed in concentration, how his fingers moved without hesitation—it wasn’t just about fixing the watch. It was something more.

“How’d you learn to do this?” you asked softly, your voice quieter now, full of curiosity.

“I had to,” he replied, his gaze still fixed on the watch. “In the army, you don’t always have what you need. I learned how to fix whatever I could get my hands on.”

You nodded slowly, absorbing his words. There was something different about the way he spoke—like every skill, every moment he’d lived, had shaped him into who he was now. This wasn’t the Bucky you were used to—the soldier with a shield or the man in battle. This was another side of him, a gentler one, one that didn’t require fighting to prove his worth.

After a few minutes, Bucky stopped working, his eyes meeting yours as he gave you a small smile. "All fixed."

You carefully took the watch from his hands and examined it. The hands were moving again, ticking steadily, as if it had never been broken. When you reached to take it, your fingers brushed against his for just a moment, and the world seemed to slow. For a heartbeat, everything seemed to freeze—his blue eyes locked with yours, and there was something in the air, unspoken but understood.

You broke the silence, your voice soft but sincere. "You really didn’t have to," you said, still holding the watch in your hands, its ticking now a steady comfort. "But thank you, James. This means a lot."

Bucky’s gaze softened, a shy smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "It was nothing. I’m glad I could help."

You stood up, the watch still in your hand, and took a small step toward him. The space between you felt charged now, electric. Without really thinking, you leaned in, pressing a quick, soft kiss to his cheek—just a brush of gratitude, but it felt more than that. The gesture lingered longer than you intended.

The moment you pulled away, you realized your mistake. Bucky stood frozen for a moment, his eyes wide, and you felt your cheeks heat up in embarrassment. For a split second, the room was thick with unspoken tension, and the heat of his gaze made your heart race. You couldn't look at him.

"I—uh—well," he stammered, clearing his throat. "I didn’t expect that."

You quickly regained your composure, your heart still pounding, but your voice steady. "You fixed something important to me. I wanted to show my thanks," you said, though you could feel the rush of warmth on your cheeks. "You’ve done more than I could’ve ever expected."

Bucky’s expression softened, his eyes flickering with something unreadable. He nodded, though he couldn’t quite meet your gaze. "You’re welcome, dove," he said, his voice low. "Anytime."

Your cheeks were still burning, and you quickly opened your arms, pulling him into a quick, grateful hug. It was over in an instant, but his warmth lingered in the space between you. When you pulled away, you couldn’t help but feel the heat of his presence.

"Thank you," you said again, quieter now, more to yourself than to him. "For everything."

Bucky nodded but didn’t speak. His soft smile returned, but there was something else in his eyes—something deeper, like words weren’t enough. He didn’t say anything more as he turned to leave, but as he stepped out, you opened the door and hastily shut it behind him, your heart still pounding in your chest. You leaned against it, eyes closed, feeling the rush of blood in your face and the thick, lingering tension that had settled in your room. You didn’t know what had just happened, but one thing was certain: that kiss had shifted something between you both. And now, you weren’t sure what to do about it.

You shook your head, as if to chase the thought away. Shuri nodded sagely, her eyes dancing with mischief. “I knew it! Something’s going on.” She gave you a dramatic wink. “Don’t worry, I won’t force you to admit anything else. But mark my words, Sparky—there’s more to this than you’re letting on.”

Before you could say anything else, Shuri clapped her hands together, grabbing your attention. “Now, enough of this. You look like you need something to wear for the palace. I’ve got just the thing.”

You blinked, confused. “The palace? Aren’t we heading there soon?”

Shuri grinned. “Yes, and no offense, but what you were wearing isn’t quite appropriate. You’re heading into Wakandan royal territory, and I’m not going to let you go in looking like a tourist.” She quickly rummaged through a nearby chest, pulling out an intricately designed outfit. “Here, you’ll look stunning in this. It’s cultural, beautiful, and fits with the royal occasion.”

You took a step back, eyeing the garment she handed you. It was a royal Wakandan-style dress, the fabric shimmering with patterns that reflected the country’s rich heritage. The deep blues and golds complemented your skin tone perfectly, and the intricate beadwork along the neckline made it clear that this wasn’t just a casual outfit—it was something special.

“This is beautiful,” you said, genuinely touched by her thoughtfulness. “But are you sure I can wear this?”

Shuri shrugged. “Of course. You’re as much a part of this country as anyone. Don’t even think about it. This will be perfect for the palace.”

As you changed into the dress, Shuri stood by, watching you with a playful grin. “You know, I bet Bucky’s going to lose his mind when he sees you in that.”

You shot her a warning look. “Shuri, stop.”

But she was already walking out the door, clearly satisfied with her teasing. “I’ll meet you outside, Sparky. We’ll make an entrance, trust me.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle as you finished getting ready, feeling a strange mix of nervous excitement as you adjusted the dress. Shuri’s antics aside, something about the night ahead felt different. The palace awaited, and you had a feeling that no matter what happened next, things between you and Bucky were going to shift, one way or another.

You stepped outside the hut, feeling the cool air of the evening settle around you as you made your way toward the gathering area. The sunset painted the sky with hues of orange and pink, casting a warm glow over the land, the fading light reflecting off the distant peaks of the mountains. The air was thick with the scent of earth and flowers, the transition from day to night making everything feel a little more magical.

As you reached the edge of the clearing, you spotted Bucky standing there, his back to you. He was dressed in a traditional Wakandan outfit as well—his dark attire highlighted with silver accents, the intricate patterns on his chest and sleeves shimmering under the dying light. The fabric seemed to move with him, like it was alive, giving him an almost regal presence.

Your breath caught in your throat. There was something about the way he looked tonight—so different from the soldier you knew. The colors of his outfit and the strong but gentle lines of his form made him appear like he belonged here, among royalty and tradition. The fading light of the sunset seemed to soften the sharp edges of his usual demeanor, and in that moment, he didn’t look like someone haunted by his past, but rather, someone who had found a place in this world.

He turned as he heard your footsteps, his eyes immediately locking with yours. For a moment, neither of you moved. The setting sun illuminated his features, casting a warm glow across his face, making the familiar blue of his eyes stand out even more.

“You look… great, dove,” he said, his voice low and sincere, his gaze never leaving you.

You felt your heart flutter, the intensity of his words making your cheeks flush. Before you could think of anything to say, Shuri appeared at your side, her grin wide as she observed the exchange. “Told you,” she whispered under her breath, clearly pleased with the effect your appearance had on him.

You swallowed, trying to steady your nerves as you turned toward the palace. The walk ahead felt like a new chapter—one you weren’t sure how it would unfold, but you couldn’t help but feel that whatever happened next, it would change everything. And just as you and Bucky walked together toward the palace, the sun dipped below the horizon, leaving the sky painted with the soft colors of twilight, as if the world itself was holding its breath.

⠀

The grandeur of Wakanda’s capital was one of the many things that could never fail to take your breath away. Towering structures of gleaming stone and glass rose from the earth, bathed in the soft glow of the setting sun. The skyline shimmered with a blend of advanced technology and rich tradition, a city that harmonized its ancestral heritage with cutting-edge innovation. The air was heavy with the scent of spices and incense, mingling with the hum of machinery that made everything in Wakanda run with such fluid precision.

You couldn’t help but notice the vibrant markings on the faces of the people you passed, intricate designs painted in vivid colors that told stories of their lineage, their roles, and their connection to the land. It was clear that no one here was simply a passerby. Every person had a story, a purpose. The colors marked their identity, their culture, and their pride.

As you entered the palace, the sheer scale of the hall left you speechless. Massive stone columns rose to the ceiling, adorned with vibrant carvings that depicted the history of Wakanda—their ancestors, their battles, and their triumphs. Statues of past rulers and revered warriors stood solemnly along the walls, some holding ceremonial spears, others adorned with colorful beads, each symbolizing a different tribe’s history and honor. In the center of the room, massive holographic displays flickered to life, depicting abstract representations of Wakanda’s values—its strength, its unity, and its future. The air was electric, a seamless blend of tradition and technology.

You could feel the weight of Wakanda's history in every corner of the room. The way the ancient stone floor felt cool beneath your feet, and the vibranium that coursed through the very walls of the palace, pulsing with life. A soft, melodic hum filled the room, as if the palace itself was alive, welcoming all who entered.

The large hall of the palace was bathed in the soft glow of the setting sun, which streamed through massive windows, casting intricate patterns of light on the stone floors. The air was thick with anticipation, as the people of Wakanda gathered to witness the beginning of a new chapter in the history of their nation. The room was a perfect fusion of old and new: towering statues of past kings and queens stood side by side with holographic displays that shimmered with information, adding a layer of modernity to the ancient stone.

Wakandan warriors, adorned in ceremonial attire, stood at the edges of the room, their bodies marked with vibrant paints and designs that spoke to their clans, their history, and their strength. The designs were no simple decoration—each stroke carried meaning, telling a story of survival, legacy, and honor. The air was thick with the weight of tradition and culture, yet there was an unmistakable hum of technology coursing through the space. It was as if the room itself was alive, blending the spiritual and the technological into a perfect harmony.

In the center of the hall, a large circular platform had been set up, its surface marked with more designs—symbols of unity, power, and transformation. It was here that the ceremony would take place, where the destinies of two outsiders would intertwine with that of Wakanda. The people of Wakanda stood with reverence, waiting in hushed silence, as their king, T'Challa, walked to the front.

T’Challa’s presence commanded the room. The black panther suit that adorned him, regal and imposing, made it clear that he was both a warrior and a king. As he took his place, his eyes scanned the room, filled with pride for his people. He held the wisdom of his ancestors, yet there was a modern sensibility in his leadership. Today, he was not just a monarch; he was a protector of those who had fought for his country, and he was about to welcome new members into that fold.

At his side stood Shuri, her vibrant energy a stark contrast to the quiet strength of her brother. Okoye, standing at attention beside them, watched the crowd with a protective gaze, while M'Baku’s massive form loomed at the far side of the hall, his powerful presence impossible to miss.

And then, seated on a throne of gold and ebony, was the Queen Mother—Ramonda. Her regal presence exuded wisdom and compassion, a mother’s strength tempered by years of experience. She was a queen not just by birth, but by the force of her will, her calm demeanor a guiding light for the nation. Her eyes, sharp yet filled with warmth, scanned the crowd, but when they landed on you and Bucky, there was a spark of something deeper—a recognition of the weight of their journey, and the transformation that lay ahead.

Flanking her were several elders and respected leaders of Wakanda, each dressed in ceremonial garb and bearing the weight of their wisdom and responsibility. Shuri stood at your side, her grin wide as she observed the ceremony. She had been teasing you and Bucky ever since you’d arrived, her excitement palpable, but now, even she seemed to hold a reverence for what was about to take place.

The Queen’s gaze shifted between you and Bucky, her expression unreadable, before she spoke, her voice resonating like a deep, soothing melody. “Welcome to the heart of Wakanda, White Wolf, and Silver Fox.”

The words hit you both like a wave.

The ceremony began slowly, with the sound of a drumbeat filling the air, its rhythmic thumping echoing through the hall. The drummers, positioned at the back of the room, beat in time with the energy building in the space. Their rhythm matched the heartbeat of Wakanda itself, steady and unwavering.

As the drumbeats echoed, the elder who had been tasked with guiding the ceremony stepped forward, holding a sacred artifact—an intricately carved bowl, filled with a shimmering powder that seemed to catch the light. The elder held the bowl high, and the people of Wakanda rose in unison, chanting softly in a language older than time itself. The chants reverberated throughout the hall, weaving a sense of unity among everyone present.

T'Challa's voice broke through the chants, strong and steady. "Today, we gather not just to honor two individuals, but to witness the transformation of the past into the future." His words were simple, but they carried the weight of history. "James Buchanan Barnes, you stand before us, not as a man shackled by your past, but as a hero who has chosen to fight for the future."

Bucky, standing tall beside you, felt the eyes of everyone in the room upon him. His expression was resolute, though his hands clenched slightly at his sides. He had come a long way from the man he had once been—the Winter Soldier, lost to Hydra’s control—but now, surrounded by the people of Wakanda, he stood as a new man, a free man.

An elder approached Bucky with a pendant in the shape of a wolf’s head, crafted from the finest Vibranium. The pendant shimmered in the light, catching the glow of the surrounding candles. It was a symbol of his rebirth, his transformation into the White Wolf, the protector of Wakanda, and a man who had reclaimed his humanity.

As the elder placed the pendant around Bucky’s neck, he spoke softly but powerfully. "We welcome you into our legacy, White Wolf. This pendant, forged from Vibranium, will be your guide. It will protect you, strengthen you, and remind you of the path you have chosen. With this symbol, you become not only a part of Wakanda’s legacy, but a part of its future."

The elder then applied ceremonial markings, bright red and gold, to Bucky’s metal arm. Each stroke was precise and deliberate, representing his journey, his struggle, and his victory. The markings were a blend of art and function, combining ancient tradition with the advanced technology of Wakanda. The Vibranium in his arm shimmered with new energy, reflecting the changes that had taken place within him. The pendant and the markings on his arm connected him not just to the country, but to the people, grounding him in his new identity as the White Wolf.

When the ceremony for Bucky concluded, the elder moved to you, and the room’s energy shifted. Your heart raced in your chest as you felt the weight of the moment. The people’s eyes were now on you, waiting, watching. T'Challa’s gaze, though warm and respectful, carried the strength of a king. There was no denying that your journey had been just as profound, if not more so.

The elder, holding a beautiful bracelet crafted from Vibranium, stepped forward. They called your full name in a solemn tone, "Your resilience, your strength, and your unwavering commitment to healing are a testament to the power of the human spirit. You have fought for your freedom, for your people, and for those you hold dear. Today, we honor you as one of ours, Silver Fox."

The elder gently placed the bracelet on your wrist, the Vibranium glowing faintly under the light, as if responding to your very presence. The designs on the bracelet mirrored the ones etched into Bucky’s pendant—symbols of strength, transformation, and unity.

"As this bracelet binds you to Wakanda," the elder continued, "so do your actions bind us all to a future of hope and healing. You are now a part of this land, and this land is now a part of you. You, too, have earned your place in Wakanda’s future."

You bowed your head in gratitude, humbled by the honor bestowed upon you. The people of Wakanda stood once again, this time not only recognizing Bucky’s bravery but acknowledging your strength and resilience.

T'Challa then stepped forward, his voice firm and resolute as he addressed the room. "Today, we honor those who have shown us what it means to fight for something greater than ourselves. Bucky Barnes, the White Wolf, and [Y/N] [L/N], the Silver Fox. You have proven yourselves worthy of our respect, and of our future." His eyes flicked to you both, and there was something in his gaze that spoke of the trials ahead, but also of the hope that lay within them.

The Queen Mother, Ramonda, rose from her throne, her presence commanding the room’s attention. She was dressed in an elegant yet powerful gown of deep green and gold, the fabric flowing like a river of life, and her crown glinted with the subtle beauty of Vibranium inlay. Her eyes, filled with the wisdom of ages, fell on you both, and you felt the weight of her gaze, a mix of authority and nurturing kindness.

"Your journeys are not your own," Queen Ramonda’s voice rang out, deep and steady. "You stand here today not only for yourselves, but for the generations that will come after you. The strength you’ve shown, the resilience you've demonstrated, is a gift to Wakanda. And so, we recognize you—not just as individuals, but as part of our family, part of the legacy of this great land."

With her words, you felt something deep within you stir—a connection not just to Wakanda, but to a greater purpose. She smiled gently at both you and Bucky before turning back to the assembly. "It is my honor to welcome you both, [Y/N] and Bucky, into the heart of Wakanda. You are family now, and we will stand together, as one."

As the ceremony came to a close, Shuri flashed you a wide grin. "Told you it would be unforgettable," she said, stepping forward with an impish smile. Okoye, ever the protector, nodded approvingly, and even M'Baku gave a brief but respectful nod in your direction.

The air hummed with pride, unity, and the undeniable sense that this was only the beginning of something much larger. The ceremony had concluded, but the festivities were only just beginning. As the sun dipped below the horizon, the grand hall was transformed into a vibrant celebration of life, culture, and unity. Candles flickered in every corner, casting a warm glow over the room, while musicians began to play a lively rhythm on drums, flutes, and other traditional instruments. The sound of the drums reverberated in your chest, a deep, powerful beat that seemed to carry the very spirit of Wakanda.

You stood near the edge of the hall, still processing the significance of the ceremony and the honor bestowed upon you. The weight of the Vibranium bracelet on your wrist was a constant reminder of the new chapter in your life. But for now, the room buzzed with the energy of celebration. Laughter and chatter filled the air as people from all walks of life came together to rejoice in the moment.

Bucky, standing beside you, was visibly more relaxed now, a small smile on his face as he looked around the room. His hands were still touching the pendant around his neck, the wolf’s head symbol of his new identity. You could see that the ceremony had meant a great deal to him—this was more than just a formality; it was a true rebirth for him.

“Do you know how to dance?” you asked, nudging him playfully.

Bucky chuckled softly, looking at the dancers in the center of the room. “I’d like to think so but it’s been a little over fifty years since I’ve done some, so don’t expect much,” he replied with a grin. “But I think I could manage, with a little help.”

Before you could respond, a burst of laughter rang out behind you. Shuri had bounded over, her excitement infectious. She had already shed her ceremonial attire and was now in a more casual outfit, her vibrant energy still radiating from her. “Come, Silver Fox, don’t just stand there!” she called. “Join us! It’s time to dance!”

You hesitated, but Shuri grabbed your hand, pulling you into the center of the room. The music grew louder, faster, and the rhythm was infectious. The Wakandan dancers, moving gracefully in perfect harmony, invited you to join in. You couldn’t help but smile at the warmth of the moment, the energy of the people around you making it hard to stay still.

Shuri spun around with ease, and for a moment, you lost yourself in the beat, the swirl of vibrant colors, and the ancient movements. The dance wasn’t just about rhythm—it was a celebration of culture, a connection to the land, and a testament to Wakanda’s resilience. Each step was a piece of history, passed down from generation to generation, and you could feel the weight of it all in every motion.

During the dance, you caught a glimpse of T'Challa and Queen Ramonda standing nearby, both watching the celebration with approving smiles. T'Challa, his posture regal and composed, caught your eye and gave you a small nod, his expression warm. Queen Ramonda stood beside him, her presence as commanding as ever, but her face was soft as she watched the joy unfolding around her. Okoye stood off to the side, watching over everyone with a watchful gaze, her arms crossed over her chest but a small smile tugging at her lips. Even M'Baku, usually so stoic and serious, was tapping his foot to the beat, a twinkle of enjoyment in his eyes.

Shuri, not one to be outdone, suddenly appeared in front of you, her eyes sparkling mischievously. “You’re doing well, Sparky,” she said, before twirling around and laughing. “But I bet I could teach you a thing or two.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Is that a challenge, Princess?”

Shuri grinned devilishly. “Oh, you bet it is.” She spun once more before turning to Bucky with a playful look. “Hey, White Wolf! You’ve got nothing on me.”

Bucky’s eyes widened slightly at the mention of his new title. “You know,” he said with a hint of amusement, “I think I preferred ‘White Boy.’”

Shuri paused, a mock gasp escaping her lips. “Mother, do you hear this? He’s insulting his own nickname!” she exclaimed dramatically, throwing her hands up. “White Wolf is majestic, regal, a perfect representation of his new identity. White Boy? What is this, a beach vacation?”

Queen Ramonda, who had been watching the exchange with a knowing smile, let out a soft chuckle. “Shuri, dear, you are always so dramatic,” she said, her tone affectionate but firm. “Perhaps White Wolf has more gravitas, but White Boy has its charm. There’s no harm in both.”

Shuri huffed, but there was no real anger in her tone. “I’ll have to get used to it, I suppose. But mark my words, Mother—White Boy had a much better ring to it. It's simple and to the point.”

T'Challa, who had been listening to the exchange, chuckled softly. "Let us leave the nicknames to Shuri, shall we? As long as it brings honor to the warrior, that is all that matters." His voice carried an amused but gentle authority.

The conversation shifted to lighter matters as Shuri and T'Challa continued to banter back and forth, with Queen Ramonda watching over them, her serene smile never faltering. The warmth between the family was palpable, a testament to their unity and shared history. Even Okoye, who typically kept her distance from casual conversations, seemed to relax a little, her lips quirking up at the sight of the playful exchanges.

The music swirled around you as the dancing continued, and for a moment, everything seemed to blur into a whirl of color and rhythm. You found yourself moving with the flow of the crowd, caught up in the energy of it all. But even amidst the revelry, your eyes kept drifting back to Bucky.

He was standing a little off to the side now, watching the dancers with a small, amused smile on his face. His usual guarded demeanor had melted away in the warmth of the celebration, and he seemed to be genuinely enjoying the moment, despite his earlier hesitations about dancing.

You caught his eye and, with a playful grin, motioned for him to join you. “Come on, White Wolf,” you teased, using his new title with a grin. “You’re just standing there. Time to show off those moves.”

Bucky chuckled, shaking his head. “I told you, I’m rusty in my moves.”

“No excuses,” you countered, pulling him gently into the center of the room, where the dancers had formed a loose circle. You had no idea what you were doing, but that didn’t matter. The important part was being together, in the moment. “If I can do it, you can too.”

He laughed, but the sound was warm, genuine. “Alright, alright,” he said, his tone soft and amused. “You’ve got me.”

With a deep breath, he tried to mimic some of the movements you were making, his arms stiff at first, his steps slightly offbeat. But something was endearing about his attempts—he wasn’t exactly graceful, but his effort was enough to make you smile. You found yourself laughing along with him, not in mockery, but in genuine joy.

“Not bad, not bad,” you said, teasing him as you twirled away from him before pulling him back. “You just need a little more flair.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. “Flair? I thought we were just supposed to move to the beat.”

“Moving to the beat with flair is a whole different level,” you said, laughing again. You grabbed his hand, leading him into a spin that ended with you both standing close together. His breath caught for a moment, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he looked down at you, his eyes soft.

Bucky’s smile softened, his blue eyes locking with yours. “Hey, I’m—uh, I’m glad I am here. With you.”

The sincerity in his voice made your heart swell, and you couldn’t help but feel a bit breathless. You reached up, brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead, your fingers lingering just a moment longer. “I’m glad, too.”

As you moved together in the dance, a perfect balance of lightheartedness and closeness, everything else seemed to fade away. The music, the laughter, the people around you—none of it mattered. At that moment, there was only the two of you. No past, no struggles. Just the here and now.

Bucky chuckled softly, breaking the silence between you two with a playful glint in his eyes. “You know, I think I’m starting to remember this whole dancing thing. Might have to make it a regular occurrence.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Only if you promise to keep improving.”

He smirked. “Deal. But only if you promise to keep dragging me onto the dance floor every time.”

With a laugh, you leaned in just slightly, your face a little closer to his than it had been before. “I’ll hold you to that.”

The music swirled on, and it felt like the world had slowed down just for you two. As you both continued to dance, laughter and warmth filling the space between you, there was a simple, undeniable truth—you were exactly where you were meant to be. Together.

⠀

After a long and eventful evening, you found yourself in the quiet of your apartment, the warm evening air of June drifting in through the open balcony doors. The sounds of the city—distant chatter, the hum of cars, and the occasional burst of laughter—filled the background, soothing in its familiarity. You were curled up on one of the loveseats facing the starry night, a book in your lap and a plate of strawberry-covered chocolates within arm’s reach. The soft light from the moon illuminated the pages of your book, but you found your mind drifting more to the stars than to the words.

You heard the faint sound of a door creaking open, followed by the soft thud of footsteps. Looking up, you saw Bucky standing there in the doorway, his dark hair still slightly damp from his shower. He wore a simple pair of sweatpants and a loose T-shirt—his version of pajamas, just as casual and comfortable as yours. His gaze softened as he spotted you, and you felt a warmth spread through your chest.

“Hey, Silver Fox, you planning on eating all those by yourself?” he asked, raising an eyebrow in playful accusation as he crossed the room toward you.

You grinned, raising the plate slightly. “I might. They’re too good to share.”

Bucky chuckled, taking a seat next to you, his gaze flicking to the plate of chocolates. “Strawberries, huh? You know, if you keep eating those, you might turn into one.”

You let out a short laugh, shaking your head. “I could think of worse things.” You reached for one and popped it into your mouth, savoring the sweet, decadent taste. “Want one?”

He hesitated for a moment before shrugging. “Why not?” He reached for one of the chocolates, biting into it with a smile. “Guess I can’t resist.”

The two of you sat there for a moment, enjoying the peaceful quiet of the night, the only sound being the rustling of the pages of your book and the occasional crunch of chocolate. Bucky seemed to be content just being there with you, as if this simple moment of normalcy was something he hadn’t realized he needed.

“Do you ever think about what we’ve been through?” you asked after a while, your voice soft but steady. You didn’t look at him immediately, but you felt his attention shift as he processed the question.

Bucky let out a long breath, his gaze drifting to the stars. “All the time,” he said quietly. “Some days it feels like I can’t escape it… like I’m still trapped in that past. Like it’s following me.”

You nodded slowly, understanding the weight of his words. You’d been there, in that same mental prison. “It’s hard,” you said, your voice low. “I spent so many years running from my past, trying to forget what I was made to do. But you know what? You’re not defined by what happened to you. You’re defined by what you do now. Who you choose to be now.”

Bucky’s eyes flicked toward you, searching your face as if trying to read the sincerity in your words. “I don’t know if I’m strong enough to keep moving forward some days,” he said, his voice tight with a rawness you hadn’t heard from him before.

“You are,” you said firmly, meeting his gaze. “You’ve already taken the hardest step—admitting that you need help, that you want to change. That’s the hardest part. The rest will come with time. You’re not that man anymore. You’re the White Wolf. You’re… you.”

His expression softened, and for a moment, it was like the weight on his shoulders lifted just slightly. He let out a breath, glancing down at his hands before meeting your eyes again. “I never thought I’d get a title like that,” he said with a small chuckle. “I mean, who would have thought Bucky Barnes, a guy who can’t even remember most of his own life, would end up with a ceremony and a nickname like that?”

You smiled, leaning back into the cushions. “I think it suits you,�� you teased, nudging him lightly with your elbow. “I think White Boy was a little more fitting, though.”

Bucky laughed at that, a deep, throaty laugh that seemed to ease the tension between you both. “Maybe I should’ve kept that one,” he said, his voice still full of humor. “At least I wouldn’t have to deal with the whole... 'ceremonial' aspect of it. Steve would've been proud.”

“Yeah, well,” you shot him a sly grin, “Steve would have been proud, but you know, he never could resist calling you ‘Buck.’ Not that he ever had much room to talk with his Cap persona.”

Bucky rolled his eyes dramatically. “I swear, that man and his shield. Always had to remind everyone of his title. I never needed a title to know who I was. I remember him being all tiny and as thin as a twig.”

You burst into laughter, shaking your head. “You’re right. You were always the guy who saved his ass in a fight, and he gets all the credit.”

“That’s what I’m saying!” He let out a small laugh too, leaning back slightly and stretching. “But hey, it’s Steve. He’s got that whole ‘leader’ thing going on.”

Your smile faded a little as you watched the stars, your thoughts turning inward for a moment. “It’s not easy to forget, though,” you murmured. “The things they made us do.”

Bucky gave you a knowing look. “I know. But we’re not defined by what we were forced to do. We’re defined by what we’re doing now.”

You nodded, appreciating his words. “It’s funny, though. Everyone thinks they know you from what they’ve seen on the surface. But they don’t know everything. No one knows what it’s really like to survive what we did.”

He turned his gaze toward you. “Yeah? So, what was it like for you? I never really got the full story.”

You let out a breath, leaning back into the cushions, letting the weight of the question settle over you for a moment before answering. “I got trafficked to Southeast Asia when I was really young by an extremist group. They took kids like me and put us in a concentration camp, training us to fight. To become soldiers. It was like the Hunger Games. We weren’t seen as children. Just tools, you know?”

Bucky’s face softened, his eyes filled with sorrow and a silent understanding that only someone who had been through something similar could truly grasp. “Jesus. How did you… survive all that?”

Your voice dropped to a whisper, the memories still painful, even after all this time. “I was fifteen when S.H.I.E.L.D. rescued me. They raided the compound, took me in. But it wasn’t easy. For years, I had flashbacks, panic attacks. I could barely trust anyone, let alone let them help me.” You paused, letting the weight of your past hang in the air for a moment. "But S.H.I.E.L.D. didn’t treat me like a broken weapon. They saw me as someone who could heal. They got me therapy, helped me recover. I trained as an agent, but I wasn’t just a soldier anymore. I was... something more. I spent years figuring out who I was again. I’m still figuring it out."

Bucky’s eyes softened even more. “So you’ve also been through hell.”

You nodded, locking eyes with him. “I have. But I’m here now. And I’m not that soldier anymore. Just like you, James. We’ve both come a long way.”

Bucky sat back for a moment, his eyes staring off into the distance as he processed your words. You could see the wheels turning in his mind, as if he were comparing your journey to his own, seeing the parallels in your stories. The silence between you wasn’t uncomfortable; it was filled with mutual understanding, shared pain, and healing.

Finally, his voice came low and sincere, with a weight that carried more meaning than you expected. “I get it now,” he said, his gaze softening as he looked at you, like he was seeing you in a new light. “I always thought I was the only one who went through that. That no one could possibly understand the kind of hell I went through. But you... you went through something just as brutal. And you made it out. Not just made it out—healed. That’s… that’s something. It takes real strength to do what you did. To come back from all of that and still keep your humanity.”

You felt your heart tighten at his words, but there was no sadness in them. Instead, it was admiration. Respect. You hadn’t realized just how much of an impact your story had on him until that moment, until you saw the understanding in his eyes.

“James, you’re not broken. You’re not the man they tried to make you into,” you said softly, reaching out to rest a hand on his. “Neither of us are. What we went through, it doesn’t define us. It’s who we are now, who we choose to be going forward.”

Bucky stared at your hand for a moment, then met your gaze again, his eyes wide with something between awe and gratitude. “I don’t know if I could’ve gotten through it without you, dove,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "You're the one who showed me it was possible to heal, to still be something good after everything. I don’t know how you did it, but I’m… I’m starting to believe that I can too.”

A small smile tugged at your lips as you squeezed his hand gently. “You already are, Buck’. You’re already healing. You just need to believe it.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The quiet was comfortable, not awkward, as Bucky’s words seemed to settle into your chest, a warm weight that felt like something shifting inside both of you. He understood now. He saw the strength in you, the same strength that had once seemed impossible to find in himself.

Then, with a small, almost hesitant smile, Bucky spoke again. “And to think, I thought I’d be the experiment and teach you how to get through all of this.”

You smiled softly at that. “You’re a work in progress, Barnes. But you’re getting there.”

He chuckled quietly. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t let it go to your head, dove.”

You laughed, nudging him again. “You’re lucky I like you.”

Bucky laughed, but it was a lighter sound, the weight of the conversation lifting a little. He leaned back against the armrest, still holding your hand, but this time, it felt different. Less like a lifeline and more like an understanding, a bond between two people who had walked similar dark paths and were finally finding their way into the light.

The quiet between you grew, not awkward, but warm and heavy with unspoken emotions. The soft hum of the city below seemed distant, a background melody to the quiet connection you shared. Reaching for a chocolate-covered strawberry on the plate between you, you held it up, your smile turning playful.

“You know,” you began, studying the glossy chocolate coating, “this kind of reminds me of life. The strawberry is the tough stuff—the tangy, bitter parts you have to get through. And the chocolate?” You grinned. “That’s the healing. The sweetness that makes all the hard stuff worth it.”

Bucky raised a brow, leaning slightly closer. “So what you’re saying is, we’re both just strawberries trying to coat ourselves in chocolate?” His lips curved into a lopsided smirk, the teasing glint in his eyes unmistakable.

You laughed softly, rolling your eyes. “Not exactly what I meant, but sure. If that helps you sleep at night.”

Before you could take a bite, his metal hand reached out, swift but deliberate, and plucked the strawberry from your fingers. His smirk widened as he held it up to his lips, taking a slow, deliberate bite. His eyes never left yours as he chewed, and there was something almost maddening about the mischievous twinkle in his gaze.

“Hey!” you protested, feigning offense as you leaned forward. “That was mine.”

He shrugged, holding out the remaining half toward you with an innocent tilt of his head. “Sharing is caring, dove.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, but despite your mock irritation, a smile tugged at your lips. Leaning closer, you took a careful bite, the rich sweetness of the chocolate blending with the tartness of the strawberry on your tongue. You leaned back with a satisfied hum, but before you could savor it fully, Bucky’s expression shifted, his brow furrowing slightly.

“You’ve got some chocolate,” he murmured, his tone softer now, almost tender.

You blinked as he reached out, his metal thumb brushing the corner of your lip with a featherlight touch. The sensation was fleeting, yet it sent a small shiver down your spine. Then, before you could react, he brought his thumb to his lips, licking away the smudge of chocolate with a casual ease that left your heart pounding.

“Not bad,” he said, the corner of his mouth twitching up into a small smirk, as though entirely unaware of the effect he was having on you.

You swallowed hard, your thoughts scrambling for something witty to say, but the words caught in your throat as Bucky’s gaze softened. He leaned in slightly, his movements slow and deliberate, his attention flicking between your eyes and your lips.

“Is this okay?” he asked quietly, his voice low and careful, as though he was afraid of breaking the moment.

Your heart skipped a beat, and you nodded, your voice barely a whisper. “Yeah, it’s okay.”

His lips brushed against yours with a hesitance that made your heart flutter, as though he were trying to pour every unspoken word, every unacknowledged feeling, into that single, delicate moment. There was a warmth to his touch, not just physical but something deeper—a quiet reverence that made you feel seen, understood in a way you hadn’t expected. His lips were soft, yet there was a firmness in the way he pressed them against yours, as if he were grounding himself at the moment, testing its reality.

It wasn’t hurried, not the kind of kiss borne out of passion or desperation, but one that carried weight, and sincerity. He kissed you with an almost fragile hope, like he was afraid that pushing too hard might shatter whatever fragile thread had brought you both here. His breath mingled with yours, faint and steady, a subtle reminder of how close you were.

Your hand drifted to his shoulder, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as if anchoring yourself to him, to this moment. His shoulder felt solid beneath your touch, a quiet reassurance of his presence. You leaned in, tilting your head slightly to deepen the connection, mirroring his pace. The sweetness of the chocolate and the faint tang of the strawberry lingered between you, blending with the warmth of his kiss and creating a sensory memory you knew you wouldn’t forget.

His hand—flesh, not metal—came to rest lightly on your jaw, his thumb brushing against your cheek in a touch so gentle it sent a shiver down your spine. His fingers curled slightly, cradling your face as though you were something precious, something worth holding onto. It wasn’t just a kiss; it was a conversation without words, an exchange of trust, of vulnerability.

When he pulled back, it wasn’t sudden. He lingered close, his lips barely grazing yours as his breath warmed your skin. His forehead dipped to rest lightly against yours, his eyes still closed as if he were savoring the moment, reluctant to let it end. You stayed there for a moment, the world around you fading into nothing but the soft sound of your breaths and the steady rhythm of your heartbeats, perfectly in sync.

When he finally opened his eyes, the blue of his gaze was deeper, softer, filled with an emotion you could barely put into words. He looked at you like you were something sacred, something that had started to piece together parts of himself he hadn’t realized were broken.

You smiled softly, your thumb brushing against his arm. “You okay?” you asked, your voice gentle, a little breathless.

“Yeah,” he murmured, his lips curving into a shy smile. “More than okay.”

His hand lingered on your jaw for a moment longer, his thumb tracing the faintest line along your cheek before he pulled it away, his gaze never leaving yours. You weren’t sure what would come next, but for now, this was enough. This was everything.

“You’ve got a weird way of sharing strawberries,” you teased softly, your voice barely above a whisper, though it carried a warmth that matched the steady thrum in your chest.

Bucky let out a chuckle, his lips quirking into a shy smile. “Yeah, well, you’ve got a weird way of making metaphors. I think we’re even.”

You laughed, the sound light and genuine, and for the first time in what felt like forever, the weight of the past seemed to fade into the background, leaving only the warmth of his presence and the quiet promise of what could come next.

PART ONE. l NEXT PART.

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

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

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dividers ©️ @cafekitsune .

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antiquarianfics · 2 years ago

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Can I?

a/n: this is so fuckin’ goofy and not proofed. enjoy!

warnings: n/a

»»———-———-———-———-———-———-———-««

You follow Sam and Bucky out of the police station after a godawful impromptu therapy session with Bucky’s therapist. Sam and Bucky are arguing while you stay silent, stuffing your hands in your jacket pockets while you follow. You’re zoning out, thinking about Bucky’s confession that he thinks Steve was wrong about him, when a siren pulls you out of your thoughts.

Sam and Bucky abruptly stop, and you accidentally run into Bucky’s back. Your boyfriend turns around and steadies you, shooting you an apologetic look. You shrug and turn to find John Walker and Lamar Hoskins leaning against a police vehicle.

You find the whole ordeal just as obnoxious as your partners, and are glad when Bucky essentially tells them to fuck off. But the back and forth only made you starkly aware of Walker’s entitlement. That was your main issue with him being Captain America. After all, one of the most notable traits of Steve’s that made him The Captain America was that he never felt that he deserved the title.

Sam informs Walker that the three of you—Avengers—have no interest in working as government operatives because you’re free agents. The three of you begin to walk away at that point.

“Then stay out of my way!” Walker yells after you.

You scoff as you fall into step next to Bucky, who wraps his arm around your shoulders and holding you close.

“Can I kill him?” You huff. “I want to kill him. Can I kill him?”

Sam shoots you a perplexed look while Bucky smirks in amusement.

“No,” Sam says, albeit with little conviction. His own annoyance at the forefront of his mind.

“Not in public,” Bucky says at the same time.

Sam shoots Bucky an irritated and exasperated look which causes him to backtrack.

“No, of course not, Doll,” he corrects.

You huff out a laugh at Bucky’s correction.

Quickly, the conversation shifts to the Flag Smashers and what to do. This is when Bucky suggests talking to Zemo. Sam and yourself immediately protest.

“Have you forgotten what he did to you?” Sam questions.

“I haven’t,” you mutter under your breath, but you’re certain Bucky hears it by the way he tenses and shifts uncomfortably next to you.

The conversation goes back and forth, but, ultimately, Bucky wins.

Unhappy about it, you look to Sam.

“Can I kill him?” You point to Bucky, who is still holding you.

“No!” Bucky protests.

“Not in public,” Sam laughs.

»»———-———-———-———-———-———-———-««

ko-fi

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #marvel x reader #bucky barnes #bucky x you #bucky barnes x reader fluff #marvel fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x you #bucky x g!n reader #bucky fanfic #james bucky barnes #bucky x f!reader

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tremendouscreationperson · 9 months ago

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Logan x Reader pt.8

Not me and my mate watching Deadpool and Wolverine again

I forgot how mean and scrungally he is

I need him

<< Part 7 Part 9 >> Masterlist

Babygirl: party on saturday?

Y/N: Wade? Is this you?

Y/N: Did ya change your name on my phone?

Babygirl: shshsh

Babygirl: saturday?

Babygirl: party?

Babygirl: you?

Babygirl: normal?

Y/N: Yeah I'm not crazy if that's what ya mean

Babygirl: okie make sure wolvie knows

Babygirl: wear something nice

Babygirl: i like hearing you two at it

Y/N: Perve

“Why are you frowning?” Logan questioned, lowly. He was sitting on the sofa between you and Laura, the 2002 Scooby Doo movie playing on TV. You loved that damn dog.

The three of you had spent so much time together it was really sweet. Laura did still sleep on your bed whilst you claimed Logan's but after her therapy session yesterday she had asked you to sleep next to her - her nightmares were back - and, of course, you agreed. You felt really bad slipping into your bed because you essentially abandoned her on the second night.

“I'm sorry.” You stroked her hair. “I know the first night wasn't my fault but I've spent the whole time in Logan's bed.”

“It's okay.” She spoke and you could see she held no resentment. “I'm normally okay.”

“Well, you make sure you keep asking if you want a bed buddy.”

The bedroom door knocked and Logan quickly popped his head round. “‘didn't say night.”

That was a lie. He had said night.

The man walked to your side of the bed and bent to give you a quick kiss. You scratched the scruff on his cheeks and looked up at him. “Good night Logan.”

“Night, beautiful.”

He then leaned over you, his - barely, covered by a vest - pecs hovered by face and briefly kissed Laura's crown.

She accepted the kiss with a smile. “Night.”

“Night bub.” He ruffled her hair.

Logan hesitated for a second but did exit. You could tell he was worried. If Laura asked you she must've been scared. He also told you that he hadn't had a good night's sleep before sleeping next to you, so perhaps that was part of it. Maybe he was going to miss you being at his side.

“Wade is texting me every single emoji.” You whispered back, turning the screen, ping, elephant. Ping, arrow. Ping, music notes.

“Why-”

“I dunno.” You laughed. “But he says the party is back on this Saturday.”

Logan placed his hand out and you handed him the phone.

Y/N: stop harassing her or I'll break your face

Watching Logan type with his nails was hilarious. Laura had told the tech he wanted stiletto - the type she got - they weren't massively long but the shape was causing problems. Everything he's been doing has been made harder because of them.

Babygirl: promises promises

“I love your nails.” You gushed.

He displayed his fingers for you. One hand was yellow with a blue ring finger, his other hand was blue with a yellow ring finger. “I'm getting used to them.”

You held his hand, delicately moving it to see the glitter shine. “If they're hassling you, we can cut and file them to a better shape.”

“I like the challenge.” The hand you held was lightning quick and flipped positions. He pulled your hand to his and kissed the back of it. “Did you like the colour I chose?”

“Course I did.” You leaned your temple against his shoulder, hand still captured in his, and watched Scooby and Shaggy argue.

“No, Scooby Doo, your mum eats cat poop!”

Laura laughed at that, a full body laugh, deep from her stomach.

You were organising some of your things in Logan's room when it fell on the floor. Dedicating a bedside table and half of the wardrobe to yourself was easy because he already seemed to do that. Only using his half of his furniture.

You folded your jeans and placed them into the enclosed drawers in the wardrobe.

Logan's footsteps wandered into the bedroom. Usually heavy due to his skeleton but now they were light. You suppose it was a good thing this building was empty because the downstairs neighbours wouldn't like you.

“You alright?” You ask over your shoulder, tucking the drawer closed.

“Yeah.” He replied watching you neaten up the hangers.

He observed you potter about, sitting on the edge of the bed. You made his home yours. It was nice. He liked seeing your things intermingled. It felt real. This felt real and good and he was happy. He knew he didn't deserve this but he would grab ahold of it as long as possible. He would be happy and content.

Well, until his eyes caught something on the floor.

It sat face down just under the bed frame. Logan scooped it up and found it was a Polaroid. You were so young, smiling wide, one eye shut in a wink. Your hair was shorter, styled and you were wearing make-up. The top of a silky red dress visible on your shoulders. Next to you was him. He looked younger, his hair was longer, fluffier. He was grinning from ear to ear, one hand in the frame doing ‘devil horns’ whilst his other held two beers. He was wearing a black button down.

It was clearly a party.

You both were clearly having a good time.

“What was the occasion?” Came out of his mouth before he could stop it.

You glanced up and saw him looking at your Polaroid. Where had he got that? “It...it was Beast’s birthday.” You spoke, diplomatically, taking a seat next to him. “Rogue decided to throw a banger. W-I got quite drunk.”

“You look amazing.” You really did. There was a carefree aura surrounding you and you seemed to glow.

“Thank you.” When you had looked at this in the Void you didn't usually focus on yourself but you did look good. Better than you did now. "It's the makeu-"

"No, it's not." He vowed with an air of finality.

You didn't argue back, instead just thinking about how you wouldn't even know how to do makeup nowadays, all the women you saw were gorgeous. Their skin shone and they had sculpted cheeks.

"You are beautiful." He had told you this practically everyday but right now, sitting on the bed with him, gazing at an old vibrant version of yourself, you believed the words. Believed they were true, even if it was just to him.

“Thank you." Your hand found his arm. "You know, you can't see them but I loved the earrings I had on. Yo-” Cutting yourself off before you could act more of a fool.

“What?” He encouraged.

“Logan brought me them.”

He noticed the melancholy flicker in your eye. “What was he like?”

"Like you." You smirked up at him. “Sweet like you.”

“Longer hair.” His thumb traced the strands.

“I know, I loved the long hair, little kitty ears.” You giggled to yourself.

He saw the delight on your face, the scrunch of your eyes and wide grin. Immediately deciding to grow out his hair.

Dinner was actually really nice. Gambit had told you to come to his and he promised the best Cajun food you'd ever had.

He had decorated his apartment like any young bachelor. He'd painted the room a dark grey and accessorised with light colours. He had a white sofa and rugs and curtains. The TV was the centre of attention, underneath was a playstation with various game cases. You should really take Laura to IKEA or Home Depot, let her choose a paint or a bedspread or even buy her some posters.

“Like what you've done with the place.” You patted his back as he washed his hands.

“Thankin’ you ‘ere.” He flashed you a grin, towelling his hands dry.

“It smells lovely.” You glanced at the food. There was a pan sizzling and veg boiling. “What you making?”

“Jambalaya, cornbread ‘n greens, mon ami.” He smiled. “I don't remember ‘lot about ‘fore the Void but when I cook’ere this I feel a’ home.”

That was genuinely sweet, you felt a tug in your chest. “I'm so glad you're sharing this with us.”

“Ain't much.” He shrugged. “Bu’ it good.”

You both turned to the others, “Reckon Blade’ll have some?”

“I'll make a plate.”

You hummed. The Dhampir could consume food but it did nothing for him, it held no nutritional value which is why you guys ate the scavenged food and had to create the ‘feeding system’. “He might try it.”

“Sup bitches!” Wade and Al entered.

“Ah, mi amor.” Gambit opened his arms for Al.

Wade karate chopped between them. “Back off Magic Mike.”

Al shoved Wade to the side and slipped into Gambit's arms.

Wade dramatically rolled his eyes, slumping over to you. “Why do my friends leave me?”

“No one's left you.” You pat his head. “You alright? How was your day?”

Wade sniffed the food, finding a spoon and taste testing the Jambalaya. “Wo-hooah, that'll blow nips off.” He offered you the spoon, you declined, watching him expertly flick it into the sink. “Day was alright. I've been meeting with the Avengers. They do not like this bitch. Also Spiderman is young. I am not that way inclined. I'm looking more to an Andrew Garfield type.”

“Young?” You scrunched your face. “He wasn'- I guess that's another way this universe is different.”

Wade shrugged and skipped to the sofa, jumping over the back and landing right next to Blade.

“Oh, possum. How’s hunting Vampires? Need any help? I'm not sure we were friends last time but I'm willing to try again.”

There were two sofas and on the other was El and Laura, Gambit led Al over to it and the girls scooted up.

Logan was sipping a beer standing by the girls. He wore his low waisted boot cut jeans and a vest. Ugh. Seeing him casually in this outfit was fine, but haloed against the TV light, one leg cocked, was something else entirely. Why was he so good looking?

You wanted nothing more than to get on your knees and undo that stupidly large belt.

Logan stopped mid sip to blink over to you. His eyes raked up your body and he smirked over the bottle, mouthing ‘later’.

How did he know you were looking at him? Could he feel it? You watched him, moving yourself closer to the group - feeling the slightest slick between your legs - and you realised. Fuck. He could smell you.

Cou-could the others?!

Blade?

LAURA?

Could they smell your arousal?

Well, they'd certainly sense your panic. Calm down.

You sincerely hoped they couldn't and tried to calm yourself. Think of anything apart from him. Apart from his body. Fuck. Apart from his dick. FUCK. Apart from him, you can do it. I believe in you.

Apricots?

Good girl. God that's what he calls you.

The seat you took was a breakfast bar stool, pulled from the kitchen counter, placing it in-between each sofa.

“‘e’ere ready in a’ouple minutes.” Gambit informed the group.

The table was set so there were no jobs for anyone to do so you all just sat and chatted. Talking about stuff and nothing. Literally wasting what time you had. You could waste time.

You know you were becoming a broken record but you still couldn't believe everyone could just- just waste time.

Gambit announced the food was ready and you all settled at the table. It was hardly large enough for everyone and El had kindly brought her chairs in to accommodate everyone but you all made it work.

Gambit was at one end of the table and Wade at the other. Al, Blade and Laura on one side. You, Logan and El at the other.

“I jus’ wanna say a few words.” Gambit finished pouring the wine.

“Please.” Wade sassed.

He raised his glass. “No’ we all togethe’ I jus’ wanna ‘member those lost.” He took a deep breath. “Johnny.” Wade coughed. “Erik. Matt. Frank.”

“Whistler.” Blade carried on. “Safron.”

“Reed and Sue.” El tipped her head. "Victor."

You smiled at Gambit. “Anna Marie.” She had briefly caught his eye and helped you for a moment before her and Erik were killed. You knew he liked her. He told her to call him Remy, no one else did.

“My dad.” Laura’s voice was barely above a whisper. Her eyes were glued to Logan, brows pulled.

“Jean, Storm, Scott, Hank, Charles.” Logan's knuckles whitened.

Al nodded. “Deuce.”

“Deuce?” Wade questioned. “Your dog?”

“He was my eyes.” She shrugged. “I miss him.”

“Not as much as I miss Cable.” Wade starred off distractedly into the distance. “He was kinky.”

With that the speeches ended and you all tucked in.

It was scrumptious.

Absolutely brilliant.

You loved everything Gambit made and you definitely weren't the only one.

Bowls were emptied quickly, being filled with second and third helpings.

Once dinner was done you were sitting just idly chatting again when Logan placed his hand on your thigh.

Maybe it was the two glasses of wine you had - hadn't consumed alcohol in years - or the fact that he was fucking gorgeous but your legs not-so-subtly opened. You hadn't meant to, your body just merely responding to him.

Logan hummed in approval, patting your thigh before he rubbed it.

“So, Y/N, do you think you'll come with me to the gym tomorrow?” El asked, completely unaware.

“I was thinking of meeting you there.” You recalled the earlier conversation. “It's a quick walk and I haven't been out by myself so that might be good for me.”

Logan's hand slipped further, closer to where you wanted him most.

“I usually get there for eleven, leave at two but I'll probably hang about a little longer. Introduce you to Natalie.” She had told you about her gym friend and you were so happy for her. She deserved someone other than your broken family to talk to.

You all meandered back to the sofas, full and happy. Gambit gave you the choice Alien or Ghostbusters and it was decided that you'd watch the latter.

The final credits rolled along, you and Wade singing the tune very out of tune - singing the instrumential part ‘beeeeyneewneeewwwnewnewnenenew’ too.

Goodnights were quick. Everyone got a hug and a see you tomorrow.

Laura hesitated at her front door though, watching you head for Logan's. “Are you sleeping in there?”

“No.” You answered immediately. “No. I'll sleep with you baby.” How stupid were you to think she'd be alright. She had had an awful therapy session yesterday and needed you, she wasn't going to magically get better. She needed time. “My things are in here though, Hun, I'll get ready and meet you.”

She smiled small and let you leave.

Logan was on you immediately, bear hugging you from behind. “How long we got?”

You chuckled. “Not long enough Mr.” Extracting yourself from his arms, mirroring his earlier taunt. “Later.”

He grumbled but watched you get ready for bed. You hopped in and out of the shower - warning him to stay away - and began washing your face at the sink.

He watched you perform your ablutions, unobstructed by the nails.

“Why is it easier for you?”

You raised a brow. “Huh?”

“The nails.”

“I'm not sure, could be the shape? I think I had them done once for a wedding when I was younger.” A thought slipped through your mind and right out of your mouth. “You're like Victor.”

Logan guffawed. “He could suck his back in. Came in handy wh- wait- we will have to file these.”

“Why?” You squeezed toothpaste onto your toothbrush and began brushing your teeth.

“Well, these ones anyway.” Logan had separated his middle and ring fingers. Ah. That's why.

You decided to play coy, with an innocent “Why?”

“You know why.” He winked.

“There's a file in that draw, get the clippers and I'll help if you want. It won't take long.” You spoke over the toothbrush, taking time to spit.

He didn't comment on your hasty response, eager to avoid a future obstruction. Logan produced the items and waited for you to finish brushing your teeth. He sat on the lip of the bath. These apartments were brilliant because they had a bath and shower! You loved the choice!

You were precise in clipping them both and then made delicate work of filing, trying ever so hard to not destroy the paint job.

Logan sat patiently watching you work. The small frown on your face adorable.

He really liked you.

He knew that was childish.

But he really really did.

“Done.” You grinned proudly. “Can't wait to try them out.”

He hummed, taking ahold of your hips. “Why wait?”

A shaky breath left your lips but you were strong. “I'll see you tomorrow.” Kissing his nose. “Promise.”

You made a quick exit and entered Laura's front door. She was in bed waiting for you.

You tucked Laura into the covers before nestling in next to her.

The nightmares had returned, you had eased her to sleep yesterday. Being able to shush the problems away before they woke her was a blessing, you'd had to get good at that in the Void. Your Logan used to twitch and thrash about in his sleep, Laura does the same, you wondered if this Logan did also. Most likely. If you live as long as them you have a million ghosts hovering over you.

Laura fought sleep, pretending to watch a rerun of Law and Order. She'd become accustomed to watching TV in bed and you had to agree it was the way to go.

You never truly understand the show because you zoned in and out of slumber but the storylines were basic enough to grasp.

Laura spasmed next to you, rousing you from the light dozing. The TV was still on, telemarketers selling unnecessary products, casting a low light for you to see she was covered in a sheen of sweat. Her face was twitching and her shoulders were tense.

“Laura, baby?” You whispered. She usually responded to your voice alone.

Nothing eased her, instead she snarled.

“Laura.” You spoke more firmly. “Laura, I'm going to place a hand on your shoulder.” Again, that usually worked. This time, though, her eyes sprung open and she punched you in the gut.

You gasped, feeling more pain than a punch. It was sharp. Ah fuck.

“Laura.” You fought to keep your voice even.

Her eyes were blown wide and her mouth hung open.

“Laura don-” She retracted the claws.

Fuck!

Now the real trouble began.

You kept a hand on your side, creating a field around the wound to keep pressure on it. “Laura. Baby. It's okay.” You reached out to grab her hand but she scurried away. Clamouring off the bed and into the corner of the room, she shook with unshed tears

“Laura.” You didn't want to panic her but you needed her to focus. You needed her in the room with you. “Laura, I need you to get Logan.”

She spluttered, covering her mouth, and nodded frantically. Sprinting away.

You were alone.

Laying in bed.

Holding yourself together.

Shit.

This would stain.

You heard crashing and yelling before Logan stormed into the bedroom. The door flung so hard it came off the hinges.

“Baby.” He was immediately at your side.

“Logan.” You smiled in relief.

“Don't just stand there, call 911!” He yelled at Laura.

“Hey.” You frowned. “Don't be mean.

Logan snarled and ripped the phone from her hands. He dialed a number which was more than three and placed the phone to his ear, using both hands to hold your side. "It's me. I need the cradle. I don't fucking care. You owe me. Yeah this is my favour. Fuck off and help."

The phone was flung to the side and he smiled down.

"Help is coming, beautiful."

You tried to suppress a cough but that didn't work, blood spitting out of your mouth.

"What the fuck did you do?!" Logan growled over his shoulder.

You couldn't see Laura but knew he was talking to her. "Lo-logan." You warned.

"Fucking trouble."

He hadn't been like this with you. Hadn't been this angry. Hadn't swore so much.

"Stop." You ordered, vision blurring. "Logan?"

"I'm here." He promised.

You blunk and the room was different. Lighter. There were annoying led lights flashing past. You were moving. Your view was slightly obstructed due to Logan still being at your side. He was jogging, you could tell because of the way his hair bounced.

"Your hair." Your voice was muffled, restricted. Hands flying to your face to find there was a mask attached to your nose and mouth.

"Leave it on baby."

You grumbled but dropped your arm. Gosh it was an effort to move.

You were tired.

Why were you so tired?

How could you get to this level of tiredness?

Weren't you asleep a second ago?

These questions didn't matter because you found yourself easing back into a dreamless sleep.

Part 9

@littlecrowtime @geeksareunique @lovelyvaderx @melissa-ashe @st1nkabutt @maximumchilddreamland @catiwinky @twinkywink @ravenmedows @electricreader @racetrackheart @vulgarfuckinvirgo77 @bisasterbisexual @tzurue @narniansmagic @seamlessepiphany @4ria790 @caramelatae

Again not 100% if all ze tags be tagging

#marvel #james logan howlett #logan howlett #logan x reader #logan #logan 2017 #deadpool #logan howlett x reader #the wolverine #wolverine x men #deadpool and wolverine #wolverine #wolverine x reader #xmen #deadpool 3

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iniquitousyearning · 2 years ago

Text

MATTHEO RIDDLE- Beg For Me

Chapter Nineteen-Info: You and Mattheo have been butting heads for months, since you were assigned as his tutor, and one day during a session full of tense bickering, he has enough.

(This will essentially be a toxic book where we are Theos fucktoy. No love here, very minimal fluff.)

Tags: 18+, SMUT, Sub!Reader, Dom!Mattheo, Degradation Kink, Humiliation, DubCon, Fingering, Teasing, Multiple Orgasm, Overstimulation, Corruption Kink, Subspace, Praise Kink, Dirty Talk, Sadism. (Also like…I know Snape is a Legilimens and all, but for the sake of the chapter, let’s pretend he isn’t)

****FIND THE REST OF THE CHAPTERS HERE.

“What took you so long? I've been biting my nails to stubs!" Emily's voice, laced with genuine concern, sliced through the tension-filled air as she hurried toward you. Worry etched deep lines across her face, mirroring the turmoil inside you. "Did he expel him?"

Your ears buzzed, the echo of Mattheo's passionate anger still resonating within you. Words spilled from your lips, your own surprise evident in the tremor of your voice. "Expel who?"

"Mattheo," Emily pressed, her brows knitting together in confusion at your reply. "Did Dumbledore expel Mattheo?"

"Oh, no," you said, mentally cursing yourself. You needed to get yourself together, and quickly. "He's...uh, he's making him choose between a months worth of detention coupled with therapy, or a mentorship program."

"Mentorship program?" Emily's eyes widened, reflecting the disbelief that gripped you. "Under who?"

The weight of secrecy pressed upon you, and you hesitated before admitting, a subtle excitement bubbling beneath your surface.

"Under me..." as soon as the words left your lips, a look of disbelief clouded Emily's eyes as she processed the revelation.

"Under you?" Her voice carried a tone of concern, threaded with caution. "I don't know if that's a good idea...I mean, he's trouble, and you know it. Taking on that mentorship might just end up dragging you down...there's no fixing someone like him."

At her words, conflicting emotions churned within you. Sure, Mattheo appeared dangerous and careless to others, but to you, he was your sanctuary, a paradoxical blend of chaos and safety. You acknowledged the storm that brewed beneath his surface, yet you were willing to brave it, ready to endure any challenge to help him find his way. Despite the maddening frustration he often caused you, the exhaustion from merely attempting to understand him--you felt an unwavering, inexplicable determination to stand by him, no matter the cost.

"Yeah, maybe," you responded, a sly smile playing on your lips, one you tried to conceal but failed miserably at. "But Dumbledore believes in me, I think it's worth the effort..."

As you continued talking, you noticed Emily's eyes darting over your shoulder, her gaze distant and distracted. Her features softened with admiration, and she seemed entranced, seemingly ignoring your words.

"Em?" Confused, you blurted out, "what the hell are you looking at?"

Turning around, your stomach twisted into knots as you caught sight of Mattheo, that devilish smirk playing on his lips as his eyes met yours from down the hall. Alongside him was his brother, Tom, his penetrating dark eyes also peering in your direction, the two of them accompanied by Draco Malfoy and Theodore Nott--the lot of them making their way toward the dungeons for potions.

Your pulse increased at the sight of Mattheo, noting the clear anger simmering beneath his skin, a residue from the way you had left him only minutes earlier. Despite the tension, an inexplicable excitement coursed through you, fueled by the palpable frustration that radiated from his demeanour. Shooting him a brief, teasing roll of your eyes, you forced your gaze away from the group and turned back to Emily, who had finally snapped back to your attention.

"What was that?" you asked, attempting to redirect the focus of the conversation, though the memory of Mattheo's gaze lingered in the back of your mind, leaving a trail of anticipation in its wake. "Were you looking at Tom?"

Emily blinked, her expression momentarily caught off guard before she quickly composed herself.

"No, no, I wasn't," she stammered, her denial a little too quick and her gaze a touch too evasive, leaving you with a lingering suspicion that she was not being entirely truthful. "We should get going, we're going to be bloody late."

You agreed, deciding not to pry further while trying to shake off the lingering suspicion--and together you both made your way towards the potions classroom. An awkward silence settled between you, the weight of unspoken secrets hanging heavily in the air.

Upon arrival, you found yourselves among the last to enter the room, which was an entirely rare occurrence for you--so rare it was practically mortifying. Professor Snape, his patience worn thin, glared at you both.

"Late today, are we?" Professor Snape's voice dripped with sarcasm as he raised an eyebrow, clearly taken aback by your tardiness. "I had begun to believe that you had a Time-Turner hidden somewhere, given your usual punctuality. Let's hope this delay is simply a one-time occurrence, or I might have to reconsider my assumptions about you."

His words cut through the air, emphasizing the weight of your uncharacteristic lateness, and you were so fucking mortified you were certain you were about to pass out. Every pair of eyes in the room were fixed on you and Emily, including those of a certain infuriatingly handsome Riddle boy, one whose seething anger was still palpable, even masked behind that sickeningly devilish smirk of his.

"Miss Everheart, front and center," he commanded Emily with a voice sharp as a blade, his patience clearly dissipated at this point. His gaze then shifted to you, his piercing eyes seeming to dissect your very soul. "You, sit between Mr. Zabini and Mr. Riddle, right at the back."

You felt a sinking sensation in the pit of your stomach. You had never sat at the back, not once. The implications of this arrangement sent a chill down your spine. As you walked towards your seat, Mattheo's smirk grew, mischief glinting behind his eyes. He pulled out the chair for you, his gaze locking with yours in a challenge that made your cheeks burn with embarrassment. To add to your humiliation, Draco Malfoy snickered from the desk in front of you, his amusement clearly visible as you reluctantly took your seat.

Sitting between Mattheo and a clearly-hungover Blaise, you could feel the heat radiating off Mattheo's body, his proximity sending dangerous shivers down your spine. Being this close to him in class was doing perilous things to your focus, distracting you from Snape's droning lecture at the front of the room.

Snape continued to teach, his monotone voice washing over the classroom, not bothering to spare a glance in your direction. The rest of the students scribbled notes dutifully, but your mind was elsewhere, entangled in the web of emotions Mattheo's presence evoked. After a few moments of tense silence, Mattheo leaned in, his warm breath sending a shiver down your spine. He brushed his lips against your ear, his words barely audible over Snape's lecture.

"Karma is one sweet little bitch, isn't she, Raven?" he murmured, his voice a low, intimate whisper that sent your heart racing. "So, so sweet..."

You tensed, your entire body freezing at his provocative words. Determinedly, you kept your eyes on the parchment in front of you, attempting to ignore him and focus on Snape's lecture. However, your efforts were futile, all of your resolve blowing away with the wind when you felt the rough warmth of Mattheo's palm resting on your bare thigh. For a painstakingly long moment, he didn't move, just sat there, his touch sending a jolt of electricity through your veins, leaving you both trapped in a tantalizing silence amidst the classroom chaos.

Mattheo's eyes flicked up to the front of the room, a calculated glance to ensure no one was watching, then to Blaise, who appeared utterly drained, his head buried in his folded arms atop the desk. A dark determination settled in Mattheo's gaze as he shifted his chair closer to you, his presence overwhelming.

"I think you need to be reminded of who's in charge here, princess," he murmured, his voice laced with a dangerous edge. "Don't ever think you can tease me like that and get away with it. You're playing my game now."

Mattheo's palm slid higher, eliciting a subtle gasp that caught in your throat. Your heart raced, a wild blend of anticipation, fear, and desire flooding your senses. Each inch his hand ventured sent you into a delirious frenzy, and you shifted in your seat, desperately pressing your thighs together, attempting to halt his audacious movements. The classroom, once bustling with activity, now seemed to constrict around you, the sound of scratching quills and Snape's distant lecture fading into a muffled haze.

Mattheo's fingers moved with a bold determination, inching up your thigh and slipping beneath the fabric of your skirt. A surge of disbelief mingled with a heady rush of excitement, creating a tantalizing cocktail of emotions. You squeezed your thighs together with additional force, trying to hold back the flood of sensations that threatened to overwhelm you.

A muffled groan escaped your lips as Mattheo's nails pressed insistently against your bare skin, sending a sharp sting through you--the intensity of his touch leaving you with no choice but to oblige, your thighs parting slightly under the pressure.

"Don't fight it," he whispered, his voice a low, menacing murmur. "You won't fucking win."

His hot breath against your ear sent shivers down your spine, and internally, you cursed him in every language you knew, each word laden with frustration and desire, creating an unspoken battleground of wills between you.

Despite the desperation flickering in your eyes, you risked stealing a glance at him, silently pleading for him to halt his actions. However, as his possessed eyes met yours, you acknowledged the futility of your silent supplication. Mattheo was engulfed by an unrelenting determination and seething anger, his thirst for revenge propelling him to the precipice of control. It became painfully clear in that moment--nothing could deter his relentless pursuit of retribution.

All you could do at this point was surrender to him, and silently fucking pray to every God known to wizardkind that you could keep yourself quiet.

Slipping higher, Mattheo grazed his fingers over your clothed sex, teasing you over your panties. You held back a moan and bit your lip, trying not to give in to the pleasure that began to pulse through you. His fingers danced lightly over your sensitive skin, his movements gentle yet firm. Your hips bucked involuntarily against his touch, aching for more, and you heard Mattheo huff from beside you, clearly enjoying the power he currently held over you.

You stifled a groan of desperation as he began tracing small circles with the pads of his fingers, teasing your clit through the sheer, lacy fabric. You clutched your quill with enough force to nearly shatter it in half, the sensations making you dizzy with pulsing need. You grit your teeth, trying to steel yourself against his touch, but it only seemed to spur him on--his smirk practically radiating from his face as he slipped a finger under your panties, pressing softly against your clit.

"You like this, don't you?" He whispered, voice full of husk. When you nodded, almost impenetrably, he stifled a groan. "Yeah…my pretty little slut likes it..."

You shivered with pleasure, face flushing hot with shame, unable to deny the effect Mattheo Riddle had on your fucking body. His touch was electric, sending shockwaves of pleasure through your limbs with every stroke. He moved his fingers faster, pressing harder against your clit, and you felt your body responding dangerously fast, the heat building to an almost unbearable level.

A whimper escaped your lips, slipping out before you could stop it. Quickly, you covered your mouth, eyes dropping to your parchment in an attempt to conceal your agonizingly delicious distress. Surprisingly, no one seemed to notice; the rest of the class remained engrossed in their work while Professor Snape continued teaching, not even sparing you a glance, his harsh voice cutting through the air as if nothing had even happened.

You were so fucking close, you tried to resist, to hold onto some shred of control, but the pleasure was too intense, the need too overwhelming.

You snuck another glance at Mattheo, your voice not even a whisper. "I'm..."

"I'm, what?" Mattheo prompted, his fingers slowing down to a teasing crawl, smirk swallowing his stupidly perfect lips. You knew that asshole wanted you to fucking beg, to plead with him for release, and when you couldn't respond, he huffed. "...dumb little whore...can't even put a fucking sentence together..."

You muffled another whimper of frustration, wanting nothing more than to skip all the theatrics and cum in his stupid fucking hand, but Mattheo was in control here--and at this point, it was clear he wasn't going to let you off the hook so easily. You were sweating, your breathing harsh and ragged as he flicked his fingers over your clit in a painstakingly slow motion, before he slid lower, slipping a finger inside your dripping core without giving you even an inkling of warning.

Your mouth fell open, and you bit down on your hand to stop yourself from crying out, your entire body trembling as he pumped his finger in and out of you, thumb briefly brushing over your clit.

"Look how fucking wet you are," he whispered, breath washing warm over your ear. "You're so filthy, letting me do this to you in class…”

Shame enveloped you, a suffocating wave that crawled beneath your skin. Your eyes darted nervously to Blaise, still not having moved since Professor Snape's lecture had begun. A strange dichotomy of emotions churned within you--an odd relief that he remained motionless, juxtaposed with a gut-wrenching sickness at his mere presence. The situation was undeniably distorted, a grotesque blend of wrongness and filth that seemed to seep into your very soul. And yet, amidst the turmoil, a perverse, intoxicating love for the forbidden events soared.

Mattheo slipped a second finger inside your heat, and you sunk your teeth into the flesh of your knuckles with enough force to undoubtedly break flesh. The stretch was fucking delicious, the slow sensual movements of his long slender fingers making your entire lower body shake in ecstasy, your eyes fighting to stay open and your lungs screaming for oxygen that always seemed to be just one more breath out of reach.

You weren't sure how much more of this you could take. You were so close, so achingly close, even without stimulation on your clit.

Turning your head to glimpse Mattheo, you pleaded with your pathetic gaze, tears brimming in your eyes as you met his sight. You were soaked with arousal and every inch of your skin had become hypersensitive--you could feel each finger as it pushed up and pulled back, curving inside you, massaging you in all the right ways. With every stroke, there was an overwhelming friction that sent deep shivers through your body.

"Please," you whispered, so low you couldn't even hear yourself. "Please."

"Please what?" Mattheo husked, your walls clamping tight around his digits as he pushed them deeper, "did you want to cum, slut?"

"Yes," your voice hissed, desperation lacing every syllable. "Please, Gods, please."

Mattheo's lips curved into a twisted smile, thoroughly amused by the depths of your pathetic desperation. In that moment, he knew he held you entirely within his grasp, relishing the intoxicating power he wielded over you. Every second of your submission fueled his sadistic pleasure, and he savored each moment as if it were the sweetest, most decadent delicacy.

"No Gods in this house princess," his words, soaked in power and need, wrapped around you, binding you to his command with an irresistible force. "I'm the only God you worship now."

Your vision blurred as he curled his fingers against the spot inside you that made your toes curl, and began rubbing his thumb in tight little circles on your clit. The combination of sensations alone was almost too much to bear, and you almost, almost fucking forgot where the hell you were.

"Mattheo..." you whined, chest tight, lungs swarmed by need. "What do you want from me..."

"I want you to know who the fuck you're playing with," he growled, low and deep in your ear, scissoring his fingers deep inside your heat. "I want to remind you who fucking owns this tight little cunt."

You muffled a groan, every fibre of your being shivering in response. You cursed Mattheo's skilled fingers, cursed how he knew precisely where and how and at exactly which pace to touch you, knew exactly how to send electric jolts of pleasure through every ounce of your existence with ease. As he quickened his pace on your clit, your toes curled, your head spun, and you were forced to bite down on your lip to keep from damn near fucking screaming.

"Mhm, yeah, that's right..." Mattheo husked, the arrogance in his tone nearly pushing you directly over the edge. "Apologize to your owner, little slave..."

"I'm sorry," as the pleasure pulsed through you, you closed your eyes tightly, trying to maintain composure as you held off your peak. "I'm so fucking sorry."

Your body was wracked with waves of sensation as you twitched and squirmed, trying desperately to remain as quiet as possible. The classroom had never felt so dangerous, yet illicit, as Mattheo's movements brought out a primal need within you, one desperate to be dominated.

Pulling his fingers out of you, he returned his focus to your clit, practically glowing from the pulsing, gelid feeling coursing through his fingertips. The sensation was electric, yet intangible--and he dragged his fingers through your folds, circling around your slick entrance before returning back to your swollen nub. As his movements became more deliberate, you could feel your hips start to involuntarily buck and gyrate, your breath catching in your throat. Your eyes flew open, glimpsing him as he expertly manipulated your pleasure, pulling every single spark of passion from your body.

Mattheo hummed. "Cum."

Finally, finally, fucking finally--you shattered. Every nerve in your body seemed to explode at the same time--a thousand sensations pulled from every corner of your being. Heat washed over you, rolling and churning within your body--your thighs shook, the muscles working of their own accord as your hips involuntarily followed the rhythm set by Mattheo's hand.

You imagined, in this moment, that what was happening here might look completely questionable to an innocent onlooker--the schools biggest problem slumped low in his chair, leaning dangerously close to you with a smug expression on his face all while you, the schools best known good girl, shook and trembled in her seat like a pathetic little whore.

but even still, as Mattheo continued to rub you through your high, you couldn't focus on anything other than keeping yourself from crying out. You could fucking hear the heat in your breath and could fucking feel the way it burned on your tongue--you'd never known pleasure like you'd known this right now, in the back of the potions classroom, a passed out Blaise directly next to you, all while your Professor stood merely a few fucking feet away, entirely oblivious to the unholy sins the two of you were committing.

"You're such a nasty little thing..." Mattheo murmured, his voice torn with restraint as he shifted in his chair, fingers slowing their pace but not stopping. "You like being humiliated like this, huh? You like cumming for me in front of the entire fucking class?"

Your lungs shook, reaching for oxygen they couldn't find. "I...I hate you..."

"Oh, you hate me, huh? You hate me when I touch you so fucking good like this?" He sneered, his voice barely above a whisper. You nodded, cursing him under your breath as his fingers teased your dripping core. "Then you could at least try not to fucking cum, dumb little whore."

As Mattheo slipped a finger back inside your cunt, you jolted, squirming in your chair, overstimulation creeping into your veins. But despite your body's protests, the man paid absolutely no mind, slipping in a second finger and stretching you wide while his thumb resumed its merciless assault on your clit.

"Matt..." your voice was shredded, sweat pooling against the fabric on your back. "I...I can't..."

"You can," Mattheo retorted, pace unrelenting. "You'll cum for me again...I need you nice and wet and ready for me..."

His words made your head spin, the pleasure becoming almost too much for your body to handle as you felt every nerve ending, every sense heightened to a fever pitch. As he continued his ministrations, you could feel your mind starting to break apart. The pleasure had become so all-encompassing that it was almost impossible to focus on anything else, much less keep coherent thought. You were nothing but a mass of writhing flesh--consumed by nothing but the feelings of pleasure radiating throughout your body.

Yet, even so, Mattheo remained undeterred--his fingers unrelenting in their pursuit of your pleasure. Each stroke only seemed to increase your sensitivity further until you were practically vibrating with every breath, feeling as though your body had turned into a literal live wire. You were barely able to keep yourself from letting out a scream as the pleasure built to an even more intense level, your knuckles turning white as snow as you clutched onto your quill like it'd try to run away.

"There we go..." he purred, the praise in his tone fuelling your crumbling sanity. "No use to fight it, baby...you know you love it..."

You groaned, so low you were certain no one heard it, except Mattheo, that is. He huffed, revelling in the fact that your guttural response had only proved him right, admitting to him that yeah, you loved being used like his dirty fucking slut, despite how inherently wrong it is.

And then, just when you thought your body couldn't take anymore, he changed the angle of his fingers, dipping deeper, sending shock waves of pleasure coursing through you, causing you to gasp out a muffled moan into your hand incoherently as he pushed you up the edge and toward your second climax. You back arched in your chair, your chin dropping toward your chest as waves of pleasure radiated outwards from your center. You could feel the pressure building within you like a volcano about to erupt.

"Mattheo," you trembled, everything around you beginning to blur together, your thoughts becoming distant and hazy as pleasure enveloped you. "Y-you need to stop...I...I can't-"

You weren't even sure what you were saying. Of course you could cum again, of course you wanted to cum again--but you didn't think you'd be able to keep yourself from screaming if you did. It was as if Mattheo had unlocked some secret, intense pleasure center within you and was mercilessly teasing it to its breaking point--taking you to heights entirely unknown, and you had no idea how to handle it.

"You can, and you will," Mattheo replied, cooly, swirling his thumb without mercy. "You're my good little pet, and what I say goes--fucking cum for me."

Without needing another prompt, you exploded for the second time--your teeth sinking into the skin of your bottom lip with enough force to shatter the skin without hesitation. The taste of blood filled your palate, but you couldn't fucking care less as the pleasure that had been building and building inside you finally crashed over you in yet another brain-scrambling tidal wave of ecstasy, and this time, as the aftershocks began rumbling through you, Mattheo slowly pulled away, dragging his soaked fingers along the sensitive flesh of your thigh.

"Successfully ruined." He murmured, the smug tone in his voice making your brain swirl. "For now."

You could feel sweat pouring from your body as you tried to compose yourself, taking deep breaths and forcing a straight face as if nothing had even fucking happened. But your body was still shaking with the aftershocks of the intense orgasms you had just experienced, your arousal seeping from your cunt as you readjusted your panties back into place. Your heart pounded in your chest, and your limbs were trembling as the sensation slowly faded away, leaving nothing but the aching sensation between your thighs in its wake.

After a moment of collecting yourself, you looked over at Mattheo, who seemed almost bored with the whole situation, having gone back to his studies as if nothing had happened. You couldn't even fathom how he could be so nonchalant after just pleasuring you like that. It was as if he had complete control over his emotions and feelings, while yours were still in chaos.

Trying to shift your focus from your body's reactions, you turned your attention back to your work, pretending to read through your notes and follow along with Professor Snape's teaching, but you could still feel the aftermath of your orgasm running through your body; your core still pulsing with pleasure, your skin still tingling all over.

You bit your lip, trying to ignore the sensations as best as you could, but when Mattheo looked over, shooting you a knowing smirk, you felt yourself grow warm all over again.

He leaned in, voice a dark whisper. "Bathroom, third floor. Directly after class."

——————

Chapter twenty->

934 notes · View notes

scarletlizzard · 1 year ago

Text

Part 2: Remembering

Sessions Series

Pairing: psychiatrist Wanda x female reader

Tags Minors DNI: therapy, paranoia, mentions of mental illness, stalker, little cigarettes and drinking at the end

Masterlist

Current Fall 2018

"How did you sleep?" Wanda asks as she sits in front of you. You shrug, putting your hands in the pocket of your hoodie.

"Not too great. I uh, I sometimes have these dreams. Nightmares really, about that night." You swallow hard and look at the breathtaking woman in front of you. Even casual, in a yellow sweater and jeans, she would always be the most beautiful woman in the room. You blush at your own thoughts.

"You said you don't remember everything about that night?" She asks, you nod. "I believe you're blocking it out, mentally. Suppressing a trauma so hard you can't get yourself to open back up about it."

"So you believe me?"

"Of course, I believe you." Her tone is wavering.

"Every time I have one of these dreams, it reveals little pieces to me," you lean forward. "Maybe I can remember who it was, or more about them."

"But they were wearing a mask?" Wanda asks, making a note. You nod.

"They spoke to me, though.. I'm not sure. Sometimes they feel so close," you sigh, shaking your head. Wanda is still writing.

"And what did your shadow say to you?"

"They told me to run."

Wanda is silent for a moment, her eyes searching yours for something. Did she really believe you? When she had a list of your mental disorders and police forms at her fingertips?

"When your shadow told you to run," She stands and looks to the fire that was burning behind her in the fireplace. Her hands held behind her back. "What did you feel in the moment? What was your first thought?"

"I-I didn't know what to feel. Panic? Fear?" Your cheeks heat up, as you think back to the haunting voice. You were almost too embarrassed to speak. "But after, after the fear sunk in it felt.. exhilarating."

Wanda smiles at the fire, her back still to you. "So in your fear you felt, excitement. For what, why?" She asks thoughtfully, and you're thankful she still had her back to you.

You had thought about this a long time, every day. Why? "My life is the same, every day. The routines, the job, the same bottle of wine. Everything. You know I used to paint?" You ask Wanda. She turns to look at you.

"Really?" She asks with a smile, sitting back down.

"I had some work in an art gallery actually, in the city. Back when I felt.. more alive," you sigh again, looking into her emerald eyes.

"What made you stop?"

"My mom got sick, I had to take care of her. Then she died and I moved here and.. things were never the same."

"Your OCD intensified, essentially trapping yourself in your daily routines."

"That's how it feels, yes," you reply with a nod. Wanda reaches her hand out to rest on your knee. Your skin ignites under her touch.

"We'll bring you back," Wandas words are sure, you find yourself resting your hand on top of hers.

***

Summer 2017

You ran throughout your house, footsteps following close behind you. Before you can close the door to your bedroom, a strong hand reaches out, hitting the wood hard and swinging it wide open. You fall to the ground, heart racing, chest moving rapidly as you crawl backwards. Your shadow steps closer, taking 4 heavy steps towards you.

Another head tilt down at you, examining you. Behind the mask, under the hood, red strands of hair peak out.

***

Current Fall 2018

You stared at the brunette in front of you, a playful glint in her eye. "What?" She asks, leaning forward.

It had been a couple of weeks since your sessions with Wanda had started. Your anxiety had taken a backseat, and the compulsive thoughts in your head were easing. The two of you had even been flirting back and forth even, lingering stares and touches.

Wanda knew it was unprofessional. You knew it wasn't right. But neither of you couldn't help it. Each time she touched you, you felt your skin ignite. Each crooked smile ran up your spine with a shiver of pleasure. You look at her hands and count 4 rings between the two of them.

"Nothing, I really shouldn't say," you chuckle to yourself and sit back against the couch. Wanda grins, twirling one of the rings on her finger.

"No point in being shy now, Y/N. We practically know each others whole lives at this point," She says casually and mirrors you, leaning back in her chair. You think about her words.

"Actually, I don't know much about you, Wanda. I mean, I know some details, but you seem to have the upper hand."

She chuckles and lifts out a hand as if offering to you, "Ask away."

"Where are you from? I notice on some of your words, there's an accent." There's a blush on your face as you think of the way she says your name, her tongue sharp.

"Ah, you caught that, huh? I was born in Sokovia. I've lived here most of my life, though, the American accent kind of snuck in," Wanda thinks fondly of her home, it makes you smile.

"Do you visit often?"

"Not as much as I'd like. Last year, I had to go home for quite a while to help out my brother, Pietro. He got himself into some trouble," Wanda sighs and shakes her head. "We're twins," she smiles.

"Twins! Wow, I'd love to see a picture of the two of you sometime." You think of Wanda being a twin, not being able to imagine he was anything like her. She nods and crosses her legs.

"I'll see if I can find one for your next session," She says with a smile. You nod and smile back politelty.

"What did you do before all this?" You ask her and point to the room around you.

"I lived in the city for a while, actually. But I found something more... worthwhile here." Wanda grins, goosebumps on your arm arise.

There's a comfortable silence, and the fire behind her crackles softly.

"Tell me more about your art," Wanda says, a glimmer in her eye and a warm smile on her face.

"I wasn't good, by any means. But I wasn't bad. I was creative, if anything," you laugh as you think back to your paintings. "There is one hung still, I think, at the gallery I told you about. It's my favorite one. My last one."

"What was it?"

You find yourself laughing hysterically as you think of the painting, leaving Wanda confused. She leans forward to rest a hand on your knee.

You start to sob at her touch.

You think of the large painting that hangs in a gallery. People passing by not realizing it would foreshadow your own current state.

"It's of a beautiful woman.." You speak between cries.

"A woman running from her own shadow."

***

Summer 2017

"What do you want from me? Just leave me alone!" You shout at the figure standing above you, watching as they shake their head.

The shadow kneels down, a gloved hand reaching up to brush their thumb across your lips. Their eyes are hidden behind the white faceless mask, yet you can feel their gaze burning into you.

A spark of adrenaline and excitement fill your own.

"Game on," your shadow says.

***

Current Winter 2018

You awoke quickly in sweat covered sheets, thunder rumbling from outside. You rub your groggy eyes and reach for the nightstand to flick on the lamp. Your hand reaches for the notebook and pen you kept for this reason, and you began writing down your dream.

They were happening more frequently now. The details are becoming clearer each time. You had never felt so close. You were closing in on your shadow.

Yet, everything felt wrong. There was something you were missing. You read and re read the journal the rest of the night.

"How are things going with Wanda?" Natasha asks over lunch. She had invited you out today, hoping to hear some good news.

"Pretty great, actually," you smile at her, not telling her that you were still chasing your shadow. "I've actually started painting again." You look outside the window of the Cafe, seeing snow begin to fall.

"Have you really?" Natasha says in disbelief, but a smile on her face. "I knew this would be good for you! Almost two months and look at the progress you've made.." She beams at you, a guilty feeling rising inside of you.

"I'm having my Christmas party early this year, I'm going to spend actual Christmas at Yelenas this year. You'll be able to come, right?"

"Of course, I wouldn't miss it," you smile, counting 4 snowflakes land on the window.

As you walk home from lunch, the snow beneath your feet crunches with every step. You wrap your arms around yourself, wishing you had worn a warmer jacket, when suddenly you're aware of another set of steps from behind you.

You freeze, standing still. You inhale deeply, then exhale, and slowly turn around... to nothing. Empty air besides the light snow that stuck to the ground below.

Your hand reaches for your phone, dialing Wandas number. "Hello?" She answers on the 4th ring.

"Wanda.. can I come see you?"

"Do you need me to meet you somewhere?"

You look around, still seeing no one.

"No, I'll come to you."

You finish the walk home and grab your notebook and a warmer jacket before driving over to Wandas. When you get there, she's standing on the porch waving to you.

"Y/N, is everything okay?" She asks worridly, putting her arm around you and leading you into the warmth of her home. Wanda gets a fire going and watches as you sit on the floor in front of it. Instead of questioning it, she sits next to you, her warm body pressed next to you.

"What if it isn't real?" You finally admit, staring into the red and orange flames.

"What if what isn't real?" Wanda asks, looking at the notebook you clutched to your chest.

"My shadow," you whisper, feeling Wandas hand on your back. "You told me you believed me.. what do you believe?"

There is a silence between the two of you while Wanda sighs. She knew you would eventually ask this question.

"I believe that the mind is an extremely powerful thing. It's capable of persuasion and delusions. It can hide the truth from you.." she trails off, tears fall from your eyes.

She didn't believe your shadow was real.

"You believe... that I believe it's real. Right?" You ask and turn to her. Wanda nods slowly.

All this time spent chasing and running, you were tired. How many innocent people would have to get hurt before you gave up? How many more lies would you have to tell yourself and others?

You held out the notebook to Wanda. Her fingers brush against yours as she takes it from you and opens it up.

"My dreams, of a faceless shadow. That's all it is anymore. I'm done chasing it."

The rest of November passes quickly into December. You were back to your routine, ignoring the paranoid delusions of your mind. You continued your sessions with Wanda, trying to figure out why you had imagined up this person. You took medication. You still locked all the doors and windows. You painted. You dreamed.

***

Summer 2017

When the words came out of your shadows' mouth, you lift your leg, kicking them hard in the stomach and onto their back. You're able to run past them into the hallway, but you're quickly knocked down. Your shadow climbs on top of you, pinning your hands to the floor and straddling your stomach.

The two of you breathe heavily, adrenaline coursing your veins. "Such a pretty little mouse.." The shadow whispers.

***

Winter 2018

The party has long started by the time you walk in, a bottle of rum in your hand. The house is filled with familiar and unfamiliar faces. People in ugly Christmas sweaters, some in just red or green. You look for Natasha and wish her a Happy Christmas, along with a hug.

"I brought rum," you smile, holding up the bottle.

"Yes! Ugh, you know this is my favorite thank you," she laughs and hugs you again, clearly has already had a few. You decide to catch up with her, taking a few shots and pouring a cup of rum. After a while, the cup is empty, and you find yourself sweating in the heated house, filled with warm bodies.

"I'm gonna step outside," you say to Natasha, who is all but preoccupied with the girl in her lap.

You step out front, sighing in relief as the frigid air hits your skin.

"Alright, there?" A voice sounds, you turn to see Wanda standing in the driveway, leaning against her car. "Nasty habit, I know. I usually only smoke when I drink." She holds up the cigarette, letting out a puff of smoke.

You walk over, soaking in her appearance. "I'm alright.. alcohol goes straight to my head," You chuckle and stand in front of her. The alcohol also boldening you to reach out and take the cigarette from her, putting it between your lips. Wanda watches with playful eyes, putting a hand in her pocket. You take a slow drag, blowing into the air between you and handing it back to her.

Wanda wets her lips, shaking her head as she takes it back from you. "You're something else, you know that?" She says in a husky voice. You can smell a hint of vodka and mint coming from her as she leans closer. Your hands rest on her chest, tugging on her jacket. A familiar excitement swells in your chest.

The cigarette is tossed into the wet snow, her hands moving to wrap around your lower back. "I'm probably crazy," you whisper to her, a smirk on your face. Wanda chuckles and leans closer.

"I can deal with crazy," She whispers back, taking your bottom lip in between her teeth. Your blood runs hot, and you let out a small moan at the feeling. Wanda wastes no time connecting her lips to yours, both of you in familiar territory as your tongues sloppily twist together. Her grip is stronger than you remember as she pulls you against her chest.

"Your place?" You mumble into the kiss, not wanting to fully part. Wands hums and continues to kiss you. You feel her lips pull up into another crooked smile.

"Let's go," Wanda says after she finally pulls herself away from your lips, her green eyes darker than you had ever seen them before.

Goosebumps cover your skin. Everything in your body tells you to run. The feeling of your shadow was looming over the two of you.

You look to the house, then to the gorgeous brunette in front of you. There was no doubt in your mind that you would be going home with her.

#marvel #wanda maximoff #wanda x reader #wanda x you #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x you #wanda x fem!reader #elizabeth olsen

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rolandtowen · 5 days ago

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oh - my - god - keep - me from going lunatic: chapter 14

hear ye hear ye! the hiatus is over! a chapter of angst and fluff be upon ye! read on ao3 or under the cut.

content warning: non-graphic suicidal ideation in a flashback

The next afternoon, Bruce already has a preliminary dose for Bucky to try. The two pills wash down easily with Bucky’s lunch – tomato soup and a protein shake – and in under an hour, he…feels it. Or rather, he stops feeling so much. He’s like – like tangled yarn, being unwound, carefully and slowly, by invisible soft hands. The remaining musculature on his left side relaxes, and the lack of tension spreads through his body. He’s even able to complete one of the gentle exercise videos that Bruce had recommended, something called “yoga”, which relaxes both his body and his mind.

The worst of the pain remains between the shoulder blades, where the nerves are compressed, but – God, Bucky hasn't felt this good in…decades. He gets the first night of good sleep he's had in a long time too. He reads before bed – doctor's orders – and he's out like a light before the hobbits even leave the Shire. The first time he has two nightmare-free nights in a row, he notes it in his journal with three exclamation points.

Bit by bit, he starts to feel…whole. Like the pieces he's been gathering are finally starting to fit into place. Like…like a quilt. Small pieces of a whole stitched back together, creating something…new. Someone new. The seams are wonky, and the edges are raw, but the stitches are holding.

There's a little calm in Avengers Tower, for a while. Sam starts teaching Bucky some basic recipes that should be gentle on his stomach, including a version of the potato and leek soup he’d had during movie night a few weeks ago. In time, he slowly builds up to having some form of solid-ish food at every meal, and he can tell his body is finally retaining some weight and rebuilding his former muscle mass.

Rebecca clears him for taking walks outside of the Tower, but the first time he tries with Steve and Sam, the lively rush of New York and cacophony of honking cars has him cowering in an alley. Steve has to coax him out, carefully lifting Bucky’s hands to his ears to block out the noise. “You’re alright, Buck, you’re okay. I’m here.”

The next day Tony sets up a garden on top of the tower. He says it’s for Pepper, but the way Pepper immediately asks Bucky to join her for lunches in the garden makes him wonder if she heard about his disastrous attempt at getting outside. Or if she’s just as starved as he is for some calm as the CEO of Stark Industries. Probably both.

Rebecca recommends a new therapy for him to try. Exposure therapy. The name sends a chill down his spine, but he trusts Rebecca. Everything she’s done so far, from the worksheets to breathing exercises to sleep recommendations have helped him. He has to trust her.

“Today we're just going to go over what this therapy will look like, and if you're okay with it, we'll start next week.” Rebecca explains that she and Jason think it'll help break down his response to the Winter Soldier codewords. “This is going to be challenging,” she cautions him. “Exposure therapy can be very exhausting, but that's to be expected. We're essentially building up your resistance to the codewords from scratch.”

They're going to go slowly, Rebecca says. He'll be exposed to one word per session, and then they'll work to build up to the whole sequence. “Your coping skills are in a good place, but I think you should have a support person ready for after each session,” she cautions. “They could sit in on the session too, if you want. Of course, you’ll need to be okay with them hearing about any memories that come up with the code words.”

Bucky doesn't hesitate to ask for Steve.

***

The day comes, and Rebecca comes to therapy with a cassette player and a million more worksheets. The cassette player makes Bucky’s stomach turn. He knows, that she could let the whole tape play, and then–

“Before we get started, do you have any questions?” Rebecca asks. Bucky shakes his head and she continues. “We’re going to take our time getting into this session today. I expect it’s going to be intense. I saw Captain Rogers waiting in the hall, is he who you’ve chosen for your support person?”

Bucky nods. He’d broached the question when Steve had come to their nightly music hour. The hour had slowly turned into Steve sketching while Bucky read, the sound and smell of the graphite tickling a memory, tucked deep into the recesses of Bucky’s brain. Steve’d said yes almost immediately, before Bucky could get all of the words out. They agreed to have dinner together at Steve’s apartment after, Bucky anticipating that his skin would be crawling if they tried to stay in his apartment after such a tense session.

“And you have a plan for after?” Rebecca inquires. Bucky nods, holding tightly to the knowledge that Steve is waiting for him, here for him. “Okay, we’ll get started then.”

She slides a worksheet across the table, one with what looks like a temperature scale on it, numbered zero to one-hundred. Each interval of ten has a different label, with zero reading “no distress” and one-hundred labeled “worst distress you have ever felt”. He wonders briefly if he’s supposed to compare to what he, Bucky Barnes, has felt, or the worst distress the Soldier ever felt.

“This is called a subjective units of distress scale, or SUDS for short,” Rebecca explains. “When we conduct an exposure, I’m going to repeatedly ask you to rank the distress you feel on this scale so we can get an idea of how long it takes for your body to regulate after an exposure. Does that make sense?” Bucky nods. “Now, I know your…history…of distress is vastly different from anyone else who uses this scale. Anytime when you stop functioning entirely, I’m calling that a 100. Do you have any questions about the scale?” Bucky shakes his head. “Alright, before the exposure, how would you rank your distress right now?”

Bucky looks down at the chart and tries to match up the feelings in his body with the words on the page. “Um, 40.” Mild-to-moderate anxiety and/or distress.

“Would you say that’s a normal number for you in general?”

“It’s a little elevated – since we’re about to do this.” Bucky’s eyes flick to the tape in the cassette player, and he has a sudden impulse to crush the whole thing.

Rebecca nods and makes a note on her legal pad – she’d stopped bringing any sort of notebook by their second session – and sets it down. “Okay, I’ll give you an overview of how this will work and then we’ll get started.” She picks up the cassette player and Bucky’s stomach flips. “This tape has the codewords spaced one at a time, then gradually builds up to the whole sequence. We’re only going to do the first word today. Before I play the first word, I’ll make a note of the time. After you hear the word, I want you to try and ground yourself on your own as much as possible, and I’ll step in if I think your distress is getting too high, okay? I’m going to take notes, but all I’m writing down is the numbers you give me and the time. Do you have any questions?”

Bucky shakes his head. He wishes she would just do it, get it over with, instead of talking endlessly about it. Just dunk him in the water already.

“Alright, here we go,” Rebecca clicks the cassette player on and there’s a crackle of silence, before –

“Желание.”

There's a sudden pain in his temples. He feels a chill run down his spine, the sensation threatening to drag him under. There's a flash of memory, the cryo tube, ice in his veins, burning his skin. Someone's talking to him, who's talking to him?

–the bitter cold of the concrete walls leeches into his skin, but he’s too weak to sit up on his own. Voices filter into the cell from the gap in the door where meager rations are shoved at him every night. Twenty-nine days at this base, forty-two at the base where Zola operated on him. Where is Steve? He’d promised, til – til the end of the line – he’d come for him at Azzano, he’d come for him now, right? Unless, unless Steve knew – knew what they did to him at that camp, knew what they put inside of him, and decided –

“He's still too unstable, the conditioning is taking longer than expected.” The voices here, the accent is different. More melodic. Russian, if his mind isn’t failing him already.

“Doctor Zola sent the data from our branch in Japan, yes? The stasis, the cryochamber?” His body aches, God, does it ache. His – the arm flexes weakly at his left side. His shoulder burns whenever he uses the arm. He looks down at where flesh is fused to metal and has to resist the urge to vomit. What is he now? What have they done to him? He’s – he’s still James Barnes, Sergeant –

“Sir, that data…no subjects survived those experiments.” Good, do that to him. Whatever it is. Get it over with. He knows it’s a sin to pray for death, but he’s starting to think God forgot about him.

– “Bucky, take a deep breath with me,” a woman’s voice – Becca? No, no, not his Becca. Not her, but –

“That may be true, but our Soldier is no ordinary man. Start building the chamber immediately. We can't risk him escaping before the conditioning is complete. And send my regards to what's left of Unit 731. Ishii's at Fort Detrick now, I hear.” The voices fade down the hallway and he grasps at the edges of his fraying mind, clutching at seams ripping apart as silence tears at him again. James Barnes, Sergeant. 325…5? 32551 – no, dammit! James Barnes, Sergeant, 3255…325…32–

"--ucky, take a deep breath, open your eyes."

He shakes his head, nausea building in the back of his throat. Where's, where's the rest of the sequence? Why are they making him wait? What, what infraction–no, no, he’s not–he's not there . He’s in New York, not Siberia. He’s in New York and Steve is waiting on the other side of the door, waiting for him, and he’s safe. He breathes, his chest tight and throat raw. The blood pounding in his ears subsides, and he can hear again, Rebecca’s voice filtering to him like dust floating in sunlight.

"Can you tell me your number, Bucky? Can you nod if you can hear me?" He nods, words stopping in his throat. "Okay, keep breathing, Bucky."

There's some shuffling, and something soft is pressed into his right hand. His shaking fingers run over the object, the repetitive pattern of stitches jogging something. Knit, purl, knit, purl, knit–

The pain in the head drains away slowly, the nausea recedes, and he opens his eyes. Rebecca sits across from him. He's at the kitchen table in his apartment, and when he looks down–the sock he’s been working on is under his hand. For Sam. For his friend Sam. He looks up at Rebecca, his heart still pounding. “I’m, I’m here.”

She gives a gentle nod. “Remember how we talked about that number scale, a zero-to-one-hundred of distress? I’m going to put what just happened, not being able to speak, at 100. Can you tell me your number now relative to that?”

“Eighty?”

“What's causing that distress?”

Bucky takes a deep breath in, and lets it out as slowly as he can. “Knowing…that you have the words. That you could use them. I guess, knowing that they still work. It's not that I don't trust you,” he rushes to add.

“I get it,” Rebecca soothes. “That would make me distressed too, no matter how much I trust the person with the words. If it helps, Natasha is the one who provided me with the recording. And you know she wouldn't tolerate me misusing it. As soon as we finish this session, this bad boy,” she picks up the audio recorder. “Goes into a lock box in the Tower Vault.”

Bucky nods shakily. “It helps. Seventy.” His heart is still pounding, and he feels sick to his stomach thinking of the cryochamber.

Rebecca makes a note of that with the time. “Good, Bucky. Can you use one of those skills we've been working on? I want you to get down to at least a forty before we move on.”

“Okay, um. I can see you, the table, this sock, the window, um…this glass of water. I can feel…” he closes his eyes, focusing. “The carpet under my feet, the seat of the chair, the woodgrain of the table. The condensation from the water.” By the time he finishes the exercise, his mind is significantly clearer, his heart more steady. “Thirty, I think.”

“That's really good, Bucky. Do you want to jump into discussion or take a break first?”

He really, really wants this over with. “No break, I'm good.”

Rebecca gives him a look that means she's onto him, but she relents, letting him choose his path. “Alright. Tell me about what you felt during the exposure.”

“Cold.” He's always cold, but this was so much worse. The kind of cold that went down to his bones, froze his marrow. “I remembered, the first time I heard about the cryochamber. I overheard…they said the conditioning was taking too long. It'd been…maybe three months since the fall? I was unstable. I think they were worried I was either gonna escape or off myself before they got their perfect soldier.”

Rebecca nods. “How does knowing that make you feel? That they couldn't control you after months of captivity?”

Bucky pauses, running his right hand over the knitting again. “I think…I should feel proud? Or strong? But I just feel…sad. In the memory – I was so fucking naive.” His eyes are burning and he brings his other hand up to wipe at them angrily. “I kept thinking I was gonna be rescued, kept thinking –” He cuts himself off as realization dawns over him.

“Kept thinking…?” Rebecca prompts.

“I kept thinking Steve was gonna come save me,” he says slowly, pieces fitting together in his mind. “Because Steve fought too, didn't he?”

Rebecca keeps her expression neutral but nods. “You served together in WWII.”

“But – how, how is he still the same age as me? Did,” his stomach drops at the thought. “Was Steve captured too? Did they preserve him, like me? Is that how he became a supersoldier?” His mind runs wild with the thought, producing imagined memories of Steve going through the same hell that he went through.

“No, nothing like that.” Rebecca assures him. “I want you to recover some more memories before we get to what happened, but no. Steve wasn't captured. He was safe.”

First time for everything , Bucky thinks, and he smiles genuinely at Rebecca. “Thank you. I'm, I'm glad to hear that.”

Rebecca wraps up their session, double and triple checking that Bucky's calm and in a good place before departing. Bucky takes a moment to splash cold water over his face, to ground himself and to wipe the tear tracks from his face. When he deems himself presentable, he opens the door to his apartment to find Steve waiting for him, sitting on a bench in the hallway. At the sound of the door, his head snaps up and his face softens. “Hiya, Buck.”

Something cracks and blooms in Bucky’s chest when he looks at Steve’s soft smile. Steve hadn’t been captured. He’d been in the war, but he was safe. They both were now. He pushes down the cold that lingers at the back of his mind and follows Steve to his apartment.

Steve’s so thoughtful that Bucky could cry. As soon as the door to his apartment opens, Bucky’s hit with a wave of aroma from soup simmering on the stove. As he makes his way down the hall, Steve gestures towards his couch and makes them both a bowl. Tucked under at least two quilts and sipping carefully at the flavorful broth, Bucky finally, finally feels warmth cover his whole body, inside and out. When afternoon passes into evening, and finally into night, Steve makes up the couch and asks Bucky if he wants to stay the night. Bucky can’t say anything other than an emphatic yes . Here, with Steve, he’s safe and he’s warm. When he lays down at last, Bucky does not dream of surgeries, or the cryochamber, or even his missions. This night, Bucky dreams of Steve.

#stucky #bucky barnes #steve rogers #avengers tower #bucky barnes recovering #steve/bucky #captain america #the winter soldier #catws #fanfic #ao3 #rolandtowen

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punchdrunkdoc · 1 month ago

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Part 4, Chapter 13

Summary: After the events of S3, Matt Murdock is trying to once again balance life as a lawyer and a vigilante. But he’s been scarred by loss and betrayal - will a mysterious new neighbour help him heal? Or will her secrets drag him back into the darkness? Notes: This is a slow burn romance with an original female character, told in 4 parts. There is mystery, intrigue, action/violence and angst - all the good stuff!

Also available on AO3 and Wattpad

Masterlist

Reference pics

————–

PART 4

Chapter 13

Almost 3 weeks later

Calina approached the small suburban house on leaden feet. She wanted nothing more than to get back on her bike, return to her hotel room and lock herself away from the world.

But that was the old Calina. The one who ran when things got hard. The one who hid behind serums, and shut herself off from her loved ones, instead of confronting the pain of being human.

She was trying to be better.

Her intensive counselling sessions with Dr Gossard were helping. The tablets she’d been prescribed - proper FDA-approved and widely used anti-anxiety medication - was helping. And having an explanation for what was wrong with her had helped the most.

After their first conversation three weeks ago, Dr Gossard had ordered a PET scan of her brain. And the images had revealed that her amygdala was well and truly fucked. Of course, that wasn’t the actual scientific analysis. The neurologist had spoken of ‘unco-ordinated pathways’ and ‘signalling irregularities’. Dr Gossard’s theory was that her amygdala was underdeveloped to start with - due to the Red Room’s mind control - and the modified serum Melina designed for her had damaged it further.

Anya had come at it from a different perspective. “Think of your amygdala like a filing cabinet,” she’d explained. “Each drawer contains an emotion, with instructions on how to recognise it, and how to react to it, and even how to cope with it. Thanks to the Red Room, you - and the rest of us Widows - are lacking some of those instructions. Especially the ones about coping - that’s why you struggled so much after the Vanishing. But when you took the serum, you essentially tipped your filing cabinet over, emptied it out, and now all your files are jumbled up and scattered all over the floor.”

The metaphor - whether it was strictly accurate or not - had helped. It proved that what she was going through wasn’t normal. And it gave her a framework for getting better - she just had to re-wire her brain. Get those files back in the right order.

It sounded impossible, but Dr Gossard assured it would happen - with enough therapy and time.

Which meant she wasn’t cured yet. She still struggled to recognise what she was feeling. She still found her emotions overwhelming, and she still had moments where she broke down or lashed out. But she had some strategies to help her now. Most had come from Dr Gossard.

And one was tucked away at the bottom of her backpack, contained within a little glass vial.

It was the last dose of serum - the one that had fallen under her bed weeks ago, before the battle in New York and everything that had followed. She’d come across it a few days ago by accident when retrieving one of Nika’s toys. The sight of that little ampoule of amber liquid had forced all the air from Calina’s lungs. She’d sat on the floor, cradling it in her palm for what felt like hours, battling the desire to find a syringe and inject it into herself. She could almost feel the numbing relief it would bring…

But then Nika had grabbed the toy from her other hand, and woofed happily. Calina had glanced down into her dogs sweet brown eyes, and felt a wave of tenderness swell over her. And in that moment - just for that moment - she didn’t feel the need to numb anything. She wanted to bask in that love, and the bond she felt with Nika.

So she’d shoved the vial in her backpack, where it had lived ever since.

It was comforting, knowing it was there. Just in case one day it all got too much.

It was a safety net.

And it gave her the courage to come here tonight, to this little house in Brooklyn.

Something she should have done long before now.

Calina took a deep breath, clenched the strap of her backpack, and knocked on Karen’s door.

———

She was greeted with a hug, Karen’s slender arms clenching her around the shoulders. “I’m so glad you’re okay.”

“I’m okay,” Calina replied, her own arms around Karen’s waist.

She felt a tug on her jacket. “Lina!”

She glanced down at Izzy, her little arms outstretched. “Hug?”

“Of course you get a hug.”

She swapped Karen’s embrace for the weight of Izzy in her arms, those little arms now squeezing her around the neck. She breathed in the scent of innocence, and had to fight back tears. This was what she’d been denying herself all these years?

She’d always felt a bond with Izzy, from the moment she’d held her in the crook of her arm and stroked her soft cheek. But it was nothing compared to the reality of her feelings.

She loved this little girl. The strength of the emotion was dizzying. She felt her heart almost explode with it.

Izzy leaned back in her arms and smiled, oblivious to the seismic shift taking place within Calina. “Doggy?” she asked in her sweet piping voice.

Calina laughed, a wet, tearful sound. “You only want me for my dog, don’t you?” She kissed the toddler on her forehead and apologised. “Sorry, Nika had to stay at home for this trip.”

Izzy stuck her lower lip out in an exaggerated pout and stared up at her through her lashes.

Calina laughed again. “Where did she learn that?” She looked at Karen for the answer, expecting to see her smiling at her daughter’s antics. Instead she stood watching Calina intently, a frown furrowing her brow.

“What is it?” Calina asked, letting Izzy slide to the floor.

Karen shook her head. “I don’t know. There’s something so…different…about you.”

Calina bit her lip. Then nodded. “I have a lot to tell you.”

———

They were sitting at the kitchen table, a bottle of wine between them. Izzy had been put to bed half an hour ago, and the two adults had retreated to the back of the house to indulge in a glass of Malbec.

“I usually just drink beer with Frank, so this is a nice change,” Karen commented as she pulled out the cork.

“Where is he tonight?”

“At his place.”

“I thought he was practically living here now.”

“He is, but he still has a couple of months left on his lease. I think it's good for him to have somewhere he can escape to when it’s all getting a bit too much for him. Besides, he always makes himself scarce when—”

“When what?”

Karen shook her head. “Nothing.” She glanced at her watch again. The movement was subtle, but Calina was trained to notice these things.

“What’s going on? Are you expecting someone?” Calina asked.

“Nice try, trying to change the subject. But we’re here to talk about you.” She leaned back in her seat and pinned Calina with a stare - and Calina saw the echos of the investigative reporter she once was. “So talk. What’s been going on with you? Why did it take you almost two months to come see me, and why have you been avoiding Matt?”

Calina winced at the sound of his name. She dodged Karen’s probing gaze and played with the stem of her glass. “It’s a long story.”

“How long?”

“It starts three years ago. After I had my…episode…in the Memorial Park.”

She glanced up to see Karen frowning at her again. "Really?"

"Really," Calina nodded. She dropped her gaze again, took a deep breath, then told Karen everything. About going to Melina. Taking the serum. The fight in New York against Thanos’ army. Her injuries, how long it had taken to heal them, and the problems she’d been having since. “I’m sorry I didn’t contact you when I woke up. I was just…I honestly thought I was going crazy. I’ve never felt so out of control in my life, and it- it scared me.”

Karen said nothing. She just stood up and walked to the window looking out onto her garden. She stayed there, staring out into the darkness, her back to Calina.

“Karen?”

Karen turned around, one arm crossed over her stomach. “All that time…all those years…you were lying to me?”

Calina bit her lip, and nodded.

“You knew how much it hurt me when Matt kept his secrets from me. I thought he was my friend, and he deceived and manipulated me. And then you did the exact same thing. You came here for years, talking with me, laughing with me, playing with my daughter, and bringing her presents, and making her love you, and all that time you felt nothing? All that time it was just an act.”

“No!” Calina protested, hating the sound of betrayal in Karen’s voice. “I mean, it was sort of an act, but it was all real as well.” She scrubbed her forehead, trying to find the words to describe something she barely understood herself. “I was still feeling everything, it was just buried. Cordoned off. But some of it always seeped through - especially around Izzy. It was as if I loved her so much, there was no way to block it completely. And I do love her. I love you - you’re my best friend Karen. And I’m so sorry. I’m sorry for lying to you, but I knew taking that serum was wrong, and I couldn’t admit what I was doing. I was too ashamed. And I’m sorry for being so weak, and taking the easy way out, but I didn’t know what else to do! I didn’t know how else to survive!”

She felt the sharp, shallow rise and fall of her chest, her breath hitching as she tried not to cry. But she lost the battle. A sob escaped her lips, and she buried her face in her hands as her tears broke free.

She felt gentle hands on her shoulders as Karen crouched down beside her. “Shhh, Calina. It’s okay. I’m not blaming you for taking the serum. I understand that part of it - I was there, remember? After the Memorial Park? I saw what state you were in, and I was so worried about you back then. But then you turned up a few months later and you were so much better, and I was so relieved that I—”

Calina sat back up and wiped her eyes. “What?” she whispered.

Karen sat back down next to her. “I guess I was just glad I didn’t have to worry about you. I was pregnant by that point and stressed out about the baby, and I knew something was wrong with David. I was glad I didn’t have to worry about you, so I never really pried into why you were suddenly so much better.”

“I wouldn’t have told you, even if you had.”

“And that’s what hurts the most - the lying. So please don’t ever do that to me again.”

“I won’t. I swear.”

Karen blew out a long breath. “In the spirit of honesty…I should probably tell you that Matt’s on his way here.”

Calina jerked her head up. “What?”

“He’s coming over for dinner.” She looked at her watch again - openly this time. “He’s late, as usual.”

Calina staggered to her feet, shaking her head. “I have to go. I can't be here."

Karen grabbed her arm. “No. Please stay - he’s desperate to see you.”

“I can’t. Karen, I can’t. Not like this.” She could already feel herself starting to come apart, all those unnamed and confusing emotions rushing into her like a torrent. Her heart started hammering in her chest, and the urge to run was overwhelming.

“Calina, he loves you. He—”

“He loved the old me - the one he thought was strong, and brave and had her shit together. But she doesn’t exist anymore, Karen. I’m a mess, now. I’m weak and a coward and—”

“You’re none of those things.”

She could feel tears fill her eyes again as she pleaded with her friend to understand. “Please,” she said on a broken whisper. “I don’t want him to see me like this.”

Karen let go of her wrist. “Okay. Okay. If you don’t want to see him, can you at least call him? He’s been putting on an act lately - like you did - but I can see how difficult he’s finding all of this.”

Guilt welled up inside Calina. She could only imagine how he must be feeling after suddenly being catapulted into this strange new world. But the guilt wasn’t strong enough to override her fear. She opened her mouth to tell Karen that she’d try to call him, but a knock sounded from the front door.

The two women froze.

Karen gave her a look. It was a plea to reconsider, and resigned acceptance all at once. Then she sighed and left the kitchen. Calina heard the front door open moments later.

“Oh, hey,” Karen said in greeting, her voice breathy and high-pitched. “I, um, figured you weren’t going to make it.”

“Yeah, sorry about that.”

Calina gasped at the sound of Matt’s voice. Even quiet and muffled by the kitchen door, it was the most amazing thing she’d ever heard. Because it was him.

Finally, after all these years, it was him.

He was really back.

Calina clamped a hand over her mouth to stifle a sob. She wanted to run through the door and into his arms and have the last five years be nothing but a terrible dream…

But she couldn’t do it. She couldn’t make herself take even a tiny step forward.

Instead she lifted her jacket from the back of her chair, and snuck out the back door. She moved slowly, silently, desperate not to attract his attention. Eventually she made it through the back gate, down the path, and onto the main road. But just as she swung her leg over her bike, the pounding of footsteps rang out behind her. Then, “Calina!”

Her head whipped around, and she gasped again.

Because there he was.

He wasn’t a muted voice down a hallway. Or a blurry photograph on her phone. He wasn’t a conjured memory, or a visitor to her dreams, indistinct and ephemeral.

He was there, 20 feet away from her. Real and alive.

She drank him in.

The way he stood on the sidewalk, one foot frozen in front of the other, hand outstretched as if he was trying to hold her place with the force of his will. His dark hair, slightly dishevelled; his stubble, so much longer than she was used to; and his eyes hidden from her behind familiar red glasses.

He was alive.

He licked his lips— and oh, his beautiful, curved top lip was split and healing from a fist. And that somehow made him seem even more alive, because of course he was Daredevil, as well as Matt.

“Calina.”

Her heart stopped.

But then he took a step towards her. “Callie—” And the sound of that name on his lips broke her. She wasn’t his Callie anymore. She hadn’t been that person for five long, tortured years.

And she didn’t know if she ever could be again.

She wrenched her eyes from his, started her bike and tore away from him down the street.

———

The ride back to the hotel was a blur. All she remembered was clutching the handlebars so tight she thought the skin over her knuckles would split. As if her grip on the bike was the only thing keeping her from shattering into a million pieces.

She strode into the lobby after parking her bike, and veered straight for the bar. She couldn’t face going up to her room, where there’d be no distractions from her thoughts. And she really needed a drink.

Or five.

“Shot of Vodka” she ordered. She collapsed onto the stool, propped her elbows on the marbled bar top and dropped her head in her hands.

Almost immediately, the man who’d been seated three stools down sidled up to her. “Let me get that for you, sweetheart.”

Calina flinched at the pet name - the one Matt would often use. But whereas he’d said it with loving affection, this man laced it with oily smarm. “I can buy my own drink.” she replied without lifting her head.

“Yeah, take a hike sleazeball,” a voice chimed in. A very distinctive voice - one which made Calina’s head whip around. She watched in disbelief as her long-lost sister jumped onto the stool next to her.

“Hey,” Yelena greeted her, her raspy voice casual, as if they’d made plans to meet up here. As if they’d just seen each other yesterday…instead of five and a half years ago.

“Hey?” Calina parroted. “Just, ‘Hey’?”

Yelena shrugged.

Calina leaned over and pulled the other Widow into a crushing hug. She felt Yelena’s arms snake around her waist, her hold much looser.

Calina let Yelena go, and sat back. She felt the familiar burn of tears behind her eyes, but strangely no other symptoms of an impending breakdown reared their head. Maybe the last hour had wrung her out so completely, even her screwed-up emotions were taking a break to recover.

“Where have you been?” Yelena hadn’t been in Wakanda when she’d woken up. She hadn’t been in Geneva, either. After the battle in New York, she’d basically dropped off the face of the planet.

“Around. Went to see Melina for a while. Then just…” Another shrug. “Anya said you were staying here, so I thought I’d say ‘Hey’, and yell at you for stealing my dog.”

Calina recognised the last bit as a joke. But there was no levity to it. There was barely any inflection in Yelena’s voice at all. She seemed listless, flat. Smaller than Calina remembered, and lacking her usual fire.

Grief did that to people.

“I’m so sorry about Natasha.”

The bartender arrived with her drink and Calina passed it to Yelena before ordering two more. Yelena threw back the shot and slammed the glass onto the bar top. “Ironic, isn't it.” she said. “The whole world got their loved ones returned, but I lost mine in the process. Wait - is that irony? I always forget what it means. Maybe it’s not irony. Maybe it’s just my eternal bad fucking luck.”

Calina didn’t know what to say. And she knew from experience, that there wasn’t anything she could say that would ease Yelena’s pain. So she just sat beside her friend and drank.

“Did you go to see him tonight?” Yelena asked after her sixth shot.

“Matt?”

“No, Captain fucking America. Of course Matt.”

“No,” Calina replied, twirling her wine glass on the bar top - she’d given up on vodka after shot number four. “I went to see Karen, a friend. Matt came, though. I- I didn’t know he would be there, so I panicked and ran.”

She could still hear his voice as he called her name on the street. His deep, beautiful voice. It had been full of such hurt, and confusion, and disbelief…and a thousand other things she couldn’t recognise. She felt the burn of acid in her gut, guilt eating away at her. And she knew the only reason she wasn’t falling off the deep end and having another emotionally unstable crazy woman episode was because the alcohol was numbing the worst of her emotions.

So she took another large sip.

“Why did you run?”

Calina stared at her in disbelief. “Didn’t you hear what I…did? With the serum?”

“Yeah. I heard. Anya told me when I checked in yesterday. Who cares?”

“‘Who cares’?”

“Yeah, as far as I’m concerned those five years don’t count. The news is already referring to it as a blip. So that’s what it was. A blip. Meaningless. All that matters is what you do now.”

A blip.

Calina felt her jaw clench. The most cataclysmic event in human history…reduced to a fucking blip. A minor inconvenience. Like the world merely took a wrong turn on a road trip, and was now back on track.

All that grief. All that pain.

Reduced to a fucking blip.

It was insulting.

Infuriating.

Calina felt her gut burn again - in anger this time, instead of guilt. White noise filled her head, and she squeezed the glass she was holding so tight it shattered.

“Fuck!” Yelena yelled, the most animated she’d been all night.

Calina shook off the wine coating her hand and slid from her stool. “I need some air,” she gritted out.

Yelena found her outside moments later, pacing the small alley beside the hotel. She shoved a wad of napkins at her. “You’re bleeding.”

Calina glanced at the jagged cut across her palm, the oozing blood appearing black in the moonlight. She didn’t feel the pain.

She only felt rage.

Rage that was building by the second. Rage that felt like it would detonate insider her, blow her apart if she didn’t do something.

So she spun around, pulled back her arm and punched the brick wall.

Hard.

She felt the pain now. But it just fuelled her on. She cocked her arm, ready for another hit, but Yelena grabbed it instead, twisting it behind her back. “What the fuck are you doing, Calina?”

Calina wrenched herself out of the hold. “Go away, Yelena.”

“Not while you’re like this.”

She pushed the shorter Widow back. “Go!”

Yelena stumbled back a step, startled. Then she narrowed her eyes. Clenched her fists.

And attacked.

Calina dodged the first punch, catching Yelena’s fist in her hand. She grunted at the impact against her cut palm. Then she flung the hand away and followed up with a jab to Yelena’s flank.

Yelena retaliated by sweeping Calina’s legs.

And so it went on, the only sound in the dark, damp alleyway the thud of kicks landing and punches hitting, and both women breathing hard as they took their anger out on each other.

Until eventually Yelena had Calina pinned on the ground. Both were flagging by that point. Neither had been out in the field for over a month, and they were feeling the effects of that - as well as all the alcohol sloshing around their systems.

“Yield?” Yelena panted.

“Since when do we yield?”

“Since I’m fucking tired, and sore, and want to get out of this rat-infested alley.”

At that, all the fight went out of Calina. She dropped her head to the ground and nodded. “Okay, okay. I yield.”

Yelena stood up and offered her hand. Calina took it, and dragged herself to her feet.

She pressed her fingers to her cheek, wincing at what was bound to become a spectacular bruise tomorrow. Various other aches and pains let themselves known - including the torn skin on her knuckles and the sharp wound across her palm. She prodded at the cut, checking for any glass shards, and flexed her fingers, assessing movement.

“You good?” Yelena asked.

“Yeah. No tendon damage.”

“I wasn’t asking about your hand. I was asking if you were good. Are you over whatever the hell that was?”

“That was what I was trying to explain to you. That’s what I’ve been like ever since I stopped taking the serum - I’m either collapsing in on myself, or I’m lashing out and hurting people. It’s why I can’t see Matt—”

Yelena scoffed. “You don’t think your vigilante boyfriend can handle you?”

“He shouldn’t have to!”

“I think he’d feel differently, if you gave him the choice.”

Calina shook her head. “Why are you pushing this? You were never a fan of me and Matt.”

“Because you’re wasting what she gave you,” she growled. “And it’s pissing me off.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Natasha. She died- no, she sacrificed herself - to try to make everything right. To put the world back together. My sister died to give you another chance with Matt, and you’re throwing that away. It’s like you’re spitting on her death.”

The words stole Calina's breath - even more effectively than the elbow she’d taken to the solar plexus just five minutes ago. “Yelena,” she whispered. “I- I didn’t mean—”

Yelena shut her down. “Forget it,” she sighed. “I don’t want to hear it.”

Calina bit her lip.

“Make sure you clean that hand. And ice your cheek.”

Calina nodded, feeling a hint of relief. If Yelena was fussing over her injuries, she couldn’t be too mad at her. “Thanks. I will. And…I’ll think about what you said.”

“Good. Do that. Otherwise I’ll come find you again, and beat you up some more.”

Tough love, Yelena-style.

Calina smiled.

She’d really missed it.

————–

Chapter 14

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