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bucky-fricking-barnes · 1 year ago

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Someplace Like Home

Title: Someplace Like Home

Pairing: Nomad!Steve Rogers x Reader

Word Count: 8.3k

Warnings: Canonical violence, minor injuries, minor blood, non-descriptive mentions of hospitals, mild language

Summary: Y/N owns a hostel in Croatia. When the very handsome Grant comes to work for her, she falls hard and fast for the new handyman.

A/N: This story takes place between Civil War and Infinity War, when Steve is on the run. There are a handful Croatian phrases/words used, which are translated at the end of this fic. Don’t ask me why all my Steve stories suddenly have foreign languages in them. As always, thanks for reading and supporting my writing in all the ways you do. Enjoy!

Dividers are by @firefly-graphics

Your morning starts off slow, like it always does, and after the handful of guests have finished breakfast and left to spend the rest of the day at the beach or in the mountains, you settle yourself behind the front counter and pull out your laptop. The dirty dishes can wait until later—Ana will be here in an hour, and she prefers doing the dishes over going over the books, so you have an unspoken deal that you’ll do the bookkeeping if she cleans up after meals.

You’re just opening up the software on your laptop when the front door opens. The bell above it jingles as a man steps in, bringing with him a warm gust of air. June has been unseasonably cool, but today is the warmest it’s been in weeks. You’ve kept most of the windows open all morning, even though it was still a bit chilly.

“Dobro jutro,” you greet. You carefully shift the laptop off to the side a few inches, being careful not to mess up the carefully arranged papers you’ve sorted out on the counter.

“Kako vam mogu pomoći?”

The man has a gray hiking backpack slung over his shoulder. He’s tall and blond, a dark blond that looks golden in the light from the outside but brown in the shadows. His thick beard and mustache are well-trimmed. You automatically open up the leatherbound reservation book and reach underneath the counter for a key.

“Dobro jutro. Uh, govorite li engleski?” asks the man. He smiles politely, and you smile back, nodding.

“Of course,” you answer. “How can I help you?”

His eyes move to the pen in your hand, already poised over the next open spot in the reservation book. “I’m not here for a room. I’m here about the opening for a handyman.”

Surprised, you close the book again and tuck it back under the counter where it belongs, along with the key you’d grabbed. No one has come about the open position since you’d posted it months ago in the local cafe. Not even a sign outside the hostel has helped.

“In that case, my name’s Y/N. I’m the owner here.”

“Grant,” he replies, his hand already held out for you to shake.

You oblige with another smile. “It’s nice to meet you, Grant. Can I ask how you found out about the position? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you around town.”

He nods once. “I just moved here from Italy, and from Switzerland before that.”

“So you’re making your way through Europe, then?” you ask. You’re not entirely surprised—he looks rugged enough that he could handle a long backpacking trip or several months of solo travel, unlike some of the college students you normally have traipsing through your village.

“In a way,” he answers. “Truthfully, I’d like to settle down someplace, but it’s been a rough few years. I haven’t quite found the place that feels like home yet.”

Secretly, as you listen to him explain the various European cities in which he’s lived, you wish that he’ll come to feel at home here. Brdonik isn’t large enough to be on any maps, but it’s been your home for almost a decade now, and you can’t imagine a better place. The whole community bands together, and people look out for each other. There’s enough tourism from backpackers and small cruises that you’re not totally isolated, but you’re still far enough removed that your daily life isn’t saturated with commercialism and the big city nonsense you often hear about through your guests. You’d experienced it enough before coming to Croatia, and you don’t ever plan on going back to the life you’d had before you moved.

“To answer your question,”—Grant’s gentle continuation pulls you from your thoughts—“I saw a flier posted in the cafe down the street. I stopped there for lunch.”

“What did you order?” you ask. You prop an elbow up on the counter and level him with your gaze.

“Is that important?

“If you want this job it is. You can tell a lot about a person based on what they order at a restaurant.”

He smiles a little. “I got the turkey sandwich.”

You consider his choice for a moment before giving him a nod. “Simple, but respectable. A clear tourist choice, but I like it.”

“You can’t go wrong with a turkey sandwich,” he adds.

“It’s a classic!” You smile back at him and then come around the counter into the main part of the lobby. You grab your clipboard from its hook on the wall.

“Let me give you a tour,” you tell him. “I’ll point out some of the things that need fixing, and then you can tell me if you still think you’re a good fit.”

Grant agrees, and he walks beside you as you lead him through the hostel. You show him the currently unoccupied rooms, as well as the common areas, and you give him plenty of time to inspect the stalled projects and major fixes that he’d been in charge of. While he looks around, you watch him carefully. There’s something familiar about him, something you can’t quite put your finger on, but he doesn’t set off any alarm bells in your head like some of the previous candidates had. He’s respectful of the property and the few lingering guests you come across, and Grant is polite enough to open doors for you as you approach them. He speaks softly and clearly, and his sense of humor is well-timed. Somehow, despite his hulking frame and obvious strength, you feel safe around him.

Eventually, you lead him to your office. Grant takes the seat in front of your desk and you close the door behind him, then sit behind your desk and pull a pad of paper from the drawer. He’s almost too big for the chair you normally reserve for college-age backpackers looking for a few days of housekeeping work. He’s relaxed, though, and he rests both arms on the thin wooden armrests as you get out what you need. You sneak a glance at him as you sit upright again. His eyes move slowly and carefully over the framed photos and documents on the wall, taking in each one of them individually before he moves onto the next—your college diploma from NYU, a photo of you with your family the last time they came to visit, a certificate of operation from the local government. His backpack is leaning up against the front leg of the chair and his left leg, and you briefly wonder how he’s afforded to travel so much. The bag looks brand new, and high-tech, too. Is he a tech mogul of some kind? A grown-up trust fund kid? Did he steal it, or is he just really good with money?

“You’ll have to excuse me, I don’t have any questions prepared for you,” you tell him as you reach for a pen.

He nods and looks back at you. “You weren’t expecting me to walk in today, I understand.”

“Either way, I have to say that so far, I’m very impressed with you.” You glance up again and give him a polite smile, then look back down as you write his name and the date at the top of the page. “What did you say your last name was again?”

“Carter,” he says.

Nodding, you add that at the top and make your first bullet point.

“Grant Carter. Are you named after someone? That seems a pretty traditional name for a guy your age.” You immediately cringe at the question. “I’m sorry, that was inappropriate. You don’t have to answer that.”

Chuckling, Grant shakes his head. “No, it’s alright. My mother was a big fan of Ulysses S. Grant.”

“The 18th president?” you ask, grinning wide.

He nods and lets out another small laugh. “That’s the one.”

“He’s not normally up there on peoples’ lists of favorite presidents.”

“She had her reasons, I guess,” Grant shrugs.

You hum a little with a smile and look back down at your almost empty legal pad. You have a million questions that you want to ask, and more that you know you should, but you allow yourself to think for a moment before you look up again. Whatever you ask has to be the right mix of the two.

“You’ve lived in a lot of really impressive places,” you begin, and Grant nods in confirmation. “Why come here? There are plenty of larger cities with more job openings. Better paying job openings,” you add.

“You sell yourself short,” Grant easily replies. He sits forward a little, his elbows sliding closer to the ends of the armrests. “Your town is beautiful. It’s comfortable, and a bit secluded. I’m looking for something quieter.”

“A lot of people are, but we’re not often what they want in the long run. How long are you planning on staying?”

Grant stares at you for a long moment before he replies, “Until I’m needed elsewhere.”

You raise an eyebrow. “That’s a bit cryptic, so I hope you don’t mind if I ask for a clearer answer.”

“I plan on staying indefinitely, but if it changes, I promise you’ll be the first to know.”

Not quite satisfied with his answer, you still scribble down the response and make a second point on the next line down.

“Do you have handyman experience?”

Grant shakes his head. “But I’m a quick learner and I’m stronger than I look. Whatever I don’t already know how to do, I’ll pick it up quickly if I can get the information from someone or somewhere.”

I highly doubt you’re stronger than you look, you think, forcing yourself to look down at the paper and write, rather than at him. You already look pretty damn strong.

“Do you have a previous employer I can contact? Or references?”

“I can have that information to you by the end of the day.”

You nod and keep writing, and you don’t look up as you say, “We don’t typically provide housing for employees, as we’re a small enough village that commute isn’t an issue, but given that you’re new to town, I’m going to assume that you don’t have a place to stay yet.”

“No ma’am, I don’t.”

“I can get you set up in a room here, if that’s alright with you. I won’t expect you to work outside of normal business hours, except in an emergency, but that’s the same even if you lived off-property,” you tell him, looking up. You don’t lift your pen, and it’s a little satisfying to see that Grant looks mildly surprised. He doesn’t seem like the kind of person who could be surprised by anything.

“You’re hiring me?” he asks.

“Should I not?”

He quickly recovers and shakes his head, giving you a small smile. “I was just surprised that you’re not waiting until after you’ve seen my references.”

“Are you a horrible person?”

“I don’t think so, no.

“Are you a terrible employee?” you ask, putting your pen down on the desk.

“I’m loyal to a fault.”

“Should I be concerned about criminal activity?”

Grant laughs. “I’m a model citizen, though I did steal a piece of cake when I was a kid.”

“I’ll be sure to inform the local authorities,” you tease, grinning. You slide the notepad onto your desk and stand, holding out your hand for him to shake. Grant obliges. “You’re hired, Mr. Carter. If you’re ready, I’ll show you to your room so you can get settled in before your first day tomorrow.”

“I’d like that, thank you,” he replies.

“I won’t take the room out of your salary unless it prevents us from taking guests, but I don’t see that becoming an issue, except maybe in mid-July,” you tell him as you move around the desk to the door. “The handyman position pays 800 euros a month. You’ll be paid bi-weekly in check or cash, whichever your preference. We don’t have direct deposit here. If you need an account in town, there’s a bank down the road.”

“Cash is fine,” he says. He picks up his bag and swings it over his shoulder before following you back out into the hallway, then out to the lobby. You make a pit stop at the front desk to grab a key before heading up the main staircase.

The private, single person rooms on the third floor are a little older, and you briefly worry as you climb the stairs if the beds will be able to hold Grant’s weight. You don’t use them as often now that you’ve finished transforming the old hotel into a hostel. There’s a thin coating of dust on the handrail and you make a mental note to give this floor a thorough cleaning tomorrow while he’s occupied, that way you won’t be intruding.

You lead Grant to the end of the hall, where the rooms are slightly larger and the windows overlook the ocean. While the view is great, most of your summer guests only fill the dorm-style rooms, so you’re fairly certain you won’t be missing out on any profit by giving him this room.

“Here we are,” you say, and you open the door before stepping aside so he can enter first.

Grant ducks through the doorway and flips the light switch, then looks around in silence. You wait in the hallway, holding your breath as he makes his inspection.

“This is nice,” he finally says, looking back at you. He drops his bag at the foot of the bed. “You’re sure it’s alright if I stay here?”

You wave one hand dismissively. “It’s fine.”

Your phone chimes in your back pocket and you pull it out, quickly reading the notification. It’s only mildly urgent, but you can feel Grant trying to look occupied as he waits for you to leave, so you look up and gesture back towards the stairs with your phone.

“I’ve gotta take care of something, but you’re in luck. Every Thursday night we host a group dinner for the guests. The food is all cooked by a chef from a local restaurant in an attempt to promote the local cuisine, so you’re welcome to join us, or I can recommend some other restaurants in the area, if you want to explore a little bit more. We eat at seven.”

Nodding, Grant smiles and crosses the room to pull the key from where you’d left it in the lock. “I’ll see you at seven. It was nice to meet you, Y/N.”

“You too, Grant. Welcome aboard!” You smile once more, then turn and head back down the hall. His door closes as you reach the top of the stairs, and suddenly, you can’t wait for dinnertime.

You occupy yourself for the majority of the day by compiling a list of projects for Grant, as well as contacting the references he sends you using the email address on the hostel’s website. He gets glowing reviews from each and every person on the list, though they all seem a little confused when you first ask about him.

Grant comes down to the first floor at five minutes to seven, and you’re just greeting the first small group of guests to arrive back from their excursions when he steps down from the bottom step. You glance over and give him a quick, acknowledging smile before turning back to the guests.

“Dobor dan! How was your time at the beach?” you ask. They reply politely in a mix of English and their own native language. You vaguely recognize it as French. You’re about to tell them in English about the dinner schedule, hoping that they’ll understand at least partially, but Grant begins talking in rapid-fire French before you even open your mouth.

It takes everything in you to keep your jaw from dropping straight through the floor. None of Grant’s references had mentioned he was bilingual, and neither did he. It feels like it should’ve been obvious, however, given that every single person he’d talked to had mentioned his incredible intelligence and ability to pick up skills quicker than anybody they knew.

Still, you watch in stunned silence from behind the front desk and Grant chatters with the guests. He leads them from the lobby and into the adjoining sitting area, where you hear them sit down and continue to talk. Someone laughs, and then Grant does, too. It’s a deep, mellow baritone, and you catch yourself grinning before you manage to stifle it.

When the next group of guests walk in, you guide them into the sitting room with the others. Grant catches your eye as you turn the corner, and when he smiles, you swear that your heart stutters in your chest.

He’s your employee, you chide yourself, and you turn your back on the group on the premise of prepping a plate of cookies for the coffee table.

“Dinner should be ready soon,” you say as you set the plate in the center of the group. Grant translates for you, first in French, and then in a language that sounds almost Spanish, but you know enough of that to know that it’s something different. All the guests nod in agreement.

You settle against one of the heavy wood bookshelves and watch quietly as Grant chats with the guests, switching fluidly between languages whenever he turns to a new person. It’s amazing, so you simply stay silent as you listen to the flurry of foreign words in the sitting room. You’ve never heard the pre-dinner conversation so lively. It brings a new warmth to the hostel, and you can’t help but smile as you watch the guests come alive, even though they’re exhausted.

“Dinner is ready!” Ana calls. She pokes her head in the door, and she smiles wide when she sees the guests talking excitedly. Every seat is taken. When she turns to look at you, you only grin.

“What’s going on?” she asks, stepping closer so she can lower her voice. “Who is that?”

You lean in, whispering, “His name is Grant. He’s the new handyman, and apparently, he speaks multiple languages.”

“Apparently?”

“I didn’t know when I hired him! This,” you gesture with one hand towards the circle of guests, who have started to rise now that Grant has passed along the message about dinner, “was a surprise to me, too. He just started talking to them on his own. I didn’t ask him to do anything.”

Ana raises her eyebrows, giving you a meaningful look. Before you can scold her for trying to meddle in your love life, she slips away and Grant appears at your side.

“Who is that?” he asks.

Goosebumps erupt on your arms at the sound of his deep voice so close to your ear. He’s leaned down so you can hear him clearly, and though he’s not quite in your space, he’s still close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating from him. It should feel stifling in the early summer heat, but it’s comforting, and you turn towards him with a bright smile.

“Ana. She’s the manager when I’m not here. I’ll introduce you later. How come you never told me you spoke all those languages?” you ask.

Grant just smiles back at you. “You never asked.”

“I’ll make sure to add that to my list of questions for the next time I have to hire someone.” You gesture at the line of guests filtering through the doorway to the hostel’s dining room. “We should eat. Most of the guests have spent all day hiking or at the beach, and they’ll be hungry. Our local chefs are all amazing, so the food always goes quickly.”

“What’s on the menu?” Grant asks. He starts to walk and you fall into step beside him, noting how he angles himself sideways and stoops through the doorway so that you’re not squashed into the doorframe. It’s a miracle he doesn’t hit his head on any of the lowered ceilings or hanging decor in the building.

I’ll have to warn him about the lights in the rooms on the second floor, you note.

“Punjene paprike. Stuffed peppers,” you translate. You pause and watch as the guests choose their seats, silently making sure there are enough chairs. When it’s clear you’ve done the math correctly, you look over at Grant. “How many languages do you speak?”

He shrugs and surveys the long table filled with food. People are already piling their plates high and chattering with their friends and family, and the room is filled with amicable noise. The sun coming in from the windows is golden. The windows face south, which is one of the many reasons why you’d first purchased the building. It needs a lot of work, and it always has, but the view of the ocean from the dining room windows, along with the way the sun illuminates the whole room, helps make all the work worth it.

“This place is beautiful,” says Grant, quietly. “You’ve done well.”

You look over at him, surprised at the praise. It warms you from the inside out, and you smile when he meets your eyes. “Thank you. I’ve worked hard.”

He nods, and after a moment, he gestures towards the table. There are two empty seats beside each other, near the far end of the room. Ana has taken the seat across from them and she’s already begun to eat.

You follow Grant across the dining room, and you try not to act surprised when he pulls out the chair and helps you sit before taking the spot beside yours. Ana catches your eye as you reach for a dish, but you look away. You can’t risk having her embarrass you in front of the guests.

Or Grant, the cheeky little voice in your brain adds, but you quickly push the thought to the far reaches of your brain. Showing your hand—and your burgeoning feelings for Grant—right now is something you need even less.

“So, you’re from New York?” he asks.

You look up from where you’re pulling a napkin into your lap. “What?”

“Your degree. It’s from NYU, so I’m assuming that you’re from the States.”

Nodding, you allow him to serve one of the peppers onto your plate, and you heap an extra serving of rice onto the side of your plate before handing him the bowl. You don’t want to assume he likes anything, especially since he ordered one of the most American things on the menu at the cafe.

“I am. I grew up in Manhattan, and I decided to stay there for college. Once I got my degree in hospitality, I decided it was time I see more of the world,” you tell him.

“Why Croatia?” Grant asks.

You shrug and pick up your fork. “Honestly? I don’t know why. I didn’t even mean to come here. I ended up on the wrong train and decided to stick it out. I figured it would be a fun experience either way, but I fell in love with it here. On my second day here, I saw that this building was up for sale and I had just enough money in my savings to buy it. It was a big risk, but I think that it was worth it.”

He looks around the room, listening to the conversations for a few moments before he smiles. “I think so, too.”

“Where are you from?” you ask. “You’re clearly American.”

Grant laughs at that, nodding. “I grew up in Brooklyn. When I was old enough, I served in the army for a few years, and since then I’ve just been… traveling.”

The army thing makes sense, and you file that information away for later. The two of you start to eat, exchanging a few more words throughout the meal. Grant offers to help Ana with the dishes. She’s giddy at the proposal, so you let them head into the kitchen as you help guests arrange their plans for the next day. You find yourself straining to listen for the sound of his voice during the quiet moments, however, but by the time the dishes are finished, Grant tells you that he’s exhausted and he wants to get a good night’s rest before his first day on the job. You wish him goodnight from the front desk, then wait for Ana to appear and barrage you with a million questions about the new handyman.

You learn quickly that there’s even more to Grant than meets the eye. He’d been telling the truth in his interview—he’s deceptively strong, and he really does learn quicker than anyone you’ve ever met. His Croatian improves leaps and bounds in the first few months at the hostel. By the end of the summer, he’s practically fluent, even if he does bumble through some of the more complicated phrases with a faint blush on his cheeks.

The longstanding projects for the hostel are all completed by the end of August, leaving you scrambling to keep Grant busy. When you can’t find anything to do, however, he busies himself by exploring the far reaches of the island, speaking with the guests in a myriad of languages, and keeping you company in the lobby or in your office. His presence, which had once seemed much too large for the old brick building, has settled. He seems at home in the armchair you buy for the corner of your office, and he’s become a fixture in the doorway of the lobby, where he likes to stand and watch traffic pass by.

It’s on one of the hottest days of the year that you first get a glimpse behind Grant’s ever-friendly facade. You’re behind the desk, going through the reservations for the upcoming week, when there’s a shout from outside. The front door to the hostel is propped open in an attempt to let in a breeze, and Grant has taken up residence in his normal spot. You’ve only just processed the shout when there’s an explosion. The floor beneath you shakes and shudders, and you grip the edge of the desk in an attempt to keep upright.

Grant whirls around and fixes his eyes on you. He’s scanning you, up and down, searching for any sign of injury.

“Are you okay?” he asks. You nod, swallowing thickly, and peer over his shoulder. There’s no sign of what’s happened outside, but you can hear screaming and shouting. There’s a gunshot and you flinch.

“Stay here, and stay hidden,” says Grant, and you know in an instant that it’s an order. “Stay quiet and don’t let anyone in. Okay?”

Nodding again, you drop to a crouch, then curl up on the floor with your back against the desk. You clutch your phone in one hand and listen as Grant closes, then locks the door. When he doesn’t appear behind the desk, you crawl over to the side and look out into the small lobby. He’s gone.

Your arms shake beneath you and you have to fall back against the desk for support before you fall flat on your face. Squeezing your eyes shut, you listen to the commotion outside. There are no more explosions, but you hear more screams and shouts, followed by a crash and gunshots. Your heart pounds in your chest as the noise gets closer and closer. You know that Grant was in the army, so he must have military training, but the thought of him outside—the thought of him in danger—makes you want to puke.

There’s a thud against the front door and you flinch. Your body tenses and you curl up in the fetal position, trying to maintain your breathing. It doesn’t work, however, and when there’s another bang, you scream.

“Molim! Molim, let me in!”

You look around the edge of the desk again. It’s a woman on the other side, and the desperation in her voice propels you to your feet and into the lobby without a second thought. You twist the lock and yank open the door.

A slim woman dressed entirely in black grins at you. Her eyes are a shocking shade of electric blue and her teeth are bright white—a stark contrast against the mask that hides the rest of her features.

“Sorry, dragi,” she says, and you gasp when she reveals the gun in her left hand. With the other, she reaches out and grabs you. “You’re coming with me.”

“No!” You fight against the woman’s grip, and when you lift your eyes to search for help from someone else, you can’t believe what you’re seeing.

Grant is lifting a car off someone. He lifts the car and tosses it aside with a heave and a grunt, and then he’s fighting someone hand-to-hand. The man in black is clearly trained because he gets in a few hits, but Grant never stays down for long. He’s slowly forcing the man back down the street, towards the beach, instead of towards the line of shops that’s on the other side of the hostel.

There’s a blast as another explosive goes off, this time in a restaurant diagonal from your front door. Stone and rubble flies in every direction. The street is empty of people, thankfully, except for the people Grant is fighting. Somewhere down the street, a car alarm is going off, and the light from the harsh midday sun is almost blinding. Your ears are ringing from the blast and the alarm. You think you scream at some point, but you’re not sure.

The man that Grant has been fighting has been thrown back by the blast, but Grant is still standing, as if he’s anchored onto the pavement. There’s a metal car door in his hand. He’s gripping onto a piece of the leather interior, and the red painted finish on the outside has been battered by the flying debris. His chest heaves as he tries to catch his breath.

The woman drags you out of the hostel and onto the street. She wraps her arm around your shoulders and places the gun against the side of your head. You stop struggling then, and your breath catches in your throat as your heart begins to pound even harder. Your vision is going blurry along the edges, but not enough to miss the way Grant’s jaw clenches when he catches sight of you.

“Captain Rogers!” the woman shouts.

He throws a second man off of him and turns fully towards you and the woman. “Let her go!”

In your ear, the woman chuckles. It’s low and dark, and full of malice, and you shiver. You close your eyes and pray that it’s all just a bad dream.

“Not until you come with us,” the woman replies.

“Leave her and the others out of this.”

When you open your eyes, Grant is looking past you at the woman. The light reflects in his deep blue eyes, and it’s then that you realize what he’s been hiding from you.

How did I miss it before?

“Steve Rogers,” you choke.

He looks at you again. “Y/N…”

“You’re Steve Rogers.”

There’s a pause as he watches you with clear regret, and then the woman laughs, shocking you out of your revelation.

“How precious!” she exclaims. “Your little boss had no clue who you were?”

“Let. Her. Go.” Steve takes a step forward and the woman’s grip on you tightens. You can’t stop the whimper that escapes you when she pushes the gun harder against your head, making you crane your neck to one side.

Two new men in black come up behind Steve. He turns his head slightly, listening to their approach, but he doesn’t move. You can tell that he’s calculating what to do next.

There’s a moment of clarity as you watch them launch themselves at him. Steve fights like he was born for it—and maybe he was, you rationalize—and as he easily overcomes them both, you have a revelation that’s nothing short of a rock at the pit of your stomach.

Steve has to get out of this alive. So many people count on him, and they always have. Though you know that there are a lot of people all over the world who consider him a criminal, you also know that there are a lot of people just like you that think Steve deserves a place of honor for all that he’s done and all the sacrifices he’s made.

The safety on the woman’s gun clicks off and Steve freezes. The two men take advantage of that, and they grab his arms, pulling them tightly behind his back and pushing him to his knees. He falls with a grunt. One of the men grabs a fistful of his hair and yanks his head back until he’s looking at you and the woman from his place on the ground. He doesn’t fight back.

“Steve,” you plead. “You have to fight. You can’t let them take you.”

“I’m not leaving you,” he replies. He shifts his gaze to the woman without moving his head. “If I go with you, you’ll let her go?”

“You have my word.”

Heat swells in your eyes and you know that you’re about to cry. “No! Don’t trust her, Steve! You can’t believe her!”

The woman jostles you and you close your eyes on instinct. A tear slips down your cheek.

“Shut up,” she growls.

You swallow thickly. At your sides, your hands and fingers have gone numb, and your legs are barely holding you upright.

“Alright,” Steve agrees. “I’ll go with you.”

A sob bursts through and the woman releases you. She practically throws you to the ground, and you have just enough time to get your arms out in front of you before you hit the road. Pain shoots up both limbs and the pavement digs into your forearms. From where you lay, you watch the men pull Steve to his feet. He moves with them and doesn’t fight back as they drag him to a black cargo van on the perimeter of the blast zone.

“Steve!” you scream. Your voice breaks and your throat feels raw as you push yourself up and stumble in their direction. The movement sends pins and needles into your hands and feet, but you do it anyway. Your limbs feel completely out of your control as you attempt to go after them.

Steve looks back at you. He’s too far now for you to make out his expression, but you can see that he’s trying to tell you something. The man on his right shoves his shoulder and he’s forced into the van.

“Let him go! Steve!” You start to sprint, running after the van as the back door slides shut and the woman, who climbed into the driver’s seat while you were getting to your feet, begins to navigate it through the rubble from the explosions. The tinted windows keep you from seeing Steve inside and your mind immediately goes to the worst.

“Someone help me! Stop that van!”

You run until you physically can’t. The van is long gone, and when you collapse onto the street, a crowd gathers around you. People are murmuring and asking you questions. There are too many hands, too many faces, even if many of them are familiar. Your vision swims as you’re rolled onto your back. The summer sun beats down on you harder, and you try to focus, but all you can manage is a mumble of Steve’s name before you lose consciousness on the pavement.

When you wake, the soft beeping noise is enough to tell you that you’re in a hospital. You open your eyes, expecting to be greeted by white walls and bedding, and maybe a wall of cabinets with a sink. Instead, there’s a slanted wall of glass windows, each separated by a pillar of concrete. Thin, almost invisible computer screens with golden text are scattered around your room, each displaying charts, figures, and data in a language you can’t read. Some are embedded into the walls on either side of the bed, while others float above white counters that look more like control panels for a spaceship. There are scans of someone’s body and brain—your brain, you realize after a long moment—that spin in circles on the floating screens.

A hiss makes you flinch, and you quickly look away from the brain scan to where a young, dark-skinned girl is walking in through a set of sliding glass doors you hadn’t seen before. Her white, high-necked sheath dress looks nothing like hospital attire, especially since it’s sleeveless and only has mesh to cover her shoulders and a few inches below her knees, but she’s holding a tablet and looks so serious that you wonder if maybe she’s not a regular doctor. After all, this doesn’t seem like a normal hospital. Where are you? Did the men in black come back to get you, too?

“Y/N, it’s good to see you awake. How are you feeling?” she asks.

Her accent is jarring, and you blink. When you go to speak, you have to lick your lips a few times. They’re dry, and your mouth feels so much like sandpaper that for a moment you don’t think you’ll actually be able to say anything at all.

“Where am I?” you finally ask in return. “Who are you?”

She smiles briefly and checks something on her tablet, then glances over at one of the floating screens off to the side. Seemingly satisfied, she locks the device and sets it aside.

“My name is Shuri. You’re in Wakanda. You will be safe here.”

You frown. “Wakanda?” None of the hospitals even remotely close to the hostel hold that name, not even in passing, but it sounds familiar.

“Yes. We’re friends of Captain Rogers. When we heard about his capture, and how you were involved, we brought you here.”

Tears burn hot in your eyes as the memories from the street outside the hostel come flooding back all at once. How long have you been in the hospital? Who’s looking for Steve?

“We have located him already,” she continues, and you inhale sharply, shifting in the bed as you reach up to wipe your face. “And the Dora Milaje has been sent to retrieve him.”

“The what?” you ask. Your voice shakes and you swallow hard in an attempt to steady yourself.

Shuri smiles again. “The Dora Milaje. They are our special forces here in Wakanda. Let me ask again, how are you feeling?”

You move in the bed a little bit more, testing your limbs for stiffness or pain. Surprisingly, there’s very little. “I’m… I’m okay, I think. Confused, mostly. Thirsty.” Your stomach growls, so you quickly add, “Hungry.”

She laughs and nods, then picks up her tablet. Shuri taps a few times before glancing down at something through the slanted windows.

“Someone will bring you food shortly. I’ll also have someone come change the bandages on your hands and wrists. Your injuries are healing nicely. You should still rest a while longer, but I will make sure you’re notified when Captain Rogers has been safely returned.”

Nodding, you sit back against the pillows, but you quickly sit up again with a gasp. “The hostel! Ana!”

“We’ve sent someone to assist Miss Mitrovich in your absence,” Shuri soothes. She steps closer to the bed and you lie back as she approaches. “There were very few repairs that needed to be done to your building, but they are taken care of, and all your guests are safe. I have already dispatched a team of Wakandan specialists to help with the rebuild of Brdonik. We are also installing a security system in your building.”

You sigh in relief and close your eyes, swallowing against the dryness again. You lay in silence, listening to Shuri as she moves around the room and mutters to herself. When you finally open your eyes again, it’s because she’s greeting someone as the sliding glass doors hiss open for a second time.

“Grant,” you murmur, and he gives you a weak smile from just inside the doorway. You correct yourself, shaking your head. “Steve.”

“Grant is my middle name,” he quietly explains. “And Carter…”

“Agent Carter,” you finish. “I see the connection now.”

While waiting for your food, you’ve slowly been piecing together the different parts of Steve’s life that you knew, trying to get the full picture. You’ve known him personally as Grant, the quiet man from Brooklyn that is good with his hands, always knows exactly what to say when you’re in a bad mood, and is a hit with every guest that crosses your threshold. On the other hand, you also know him as Steve, the All-American super-soldier that’s plastered across every history textbook you’ve ever been given. He’s also the super-soldier that you’ve watched on the news, listening to reporter after reporter praise him like he’s a god, then publicly curse and shame him on their next breath.

Shuri quietly excuses herself. You stare at Steve as she leaves through the sliding doors behind him. There’s a cut above his right eyebrow, and blood caked in his beard, right below a nasty split in his lower lip. He’s standing lopsided, like he’s keeping the weight off his right foot, and he looks like he could use a shower and a long nap.

“Are you okay?” you ask.

He nods again. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For dragging you into this,” Steve answers. He sighs. “For getting you hurt. For putting you in danger.”

You shake your head and sit up a little more in the bed, allowing the pillows to prop you upright. “None of this is your fault.”

“It is, and—”

“And nothing,” you interrupt. You give him a stern look and he presses his lips together with a wince. “You didn’t know that there was any danger. If you had, wouldn’t you have left?”

After a second, Steve nods, and you continue,

“And if you’d been able to stop it from happening, you would’ve, right?”

Another nod and you smooth the surprisingly soft hospital blanket over your legs.

“Then it’s not really your fault, Grant. Steve,” you correct again, more firmly this time. You’re still coming to terms with the fact that he’s not 100% who he said he was.

“But you still got hurt. I still put you in danger just by being there. I shouldn’t have stayed as long as I did. I got too comfortable, and too close, and I was careless.”

You purse your lips and watch him for several moments. Steve stays still under your inspection, waiting for you to say something.

Finally, you tell him, “I don’t regret what happened, and if I had the chance to go back in time and change things, I wouldn’t. I’m not in mortal danger, and you’re safe again. The hostel is being taken care of. None of the guests got hurt. Tourism might be down for a couple months but…” You shrug. “It’s the end of the busiest season anyway, and I have enough savings that I’m not going to worry.”

Steve shakes his head at you, then turns to look at the screens. He doesn’t seem to be actually reading them, but he puts his hands on his hips as he stares at a spinning scan of your hand and wrist.

“Do you regret it?” you ask.

He turns back. He’s silent for a few seconds as he watches you fidget with the hem of the blanket in your lap. “No,” Steve finally replies. “I don’t.”

“Me neither.”

When he doesn’t move, you swing your legs over the edge of the bed. You’re not dressed in a normal hospital gown—someone has put you in leggings and a tunic of some kind—but you still shiver when your bare feet touch the floor.

“Y/N—” Steve limps towards you, holding both hands out to steady you if you lose your balance. You don’t, and he stops a few feet away.

“I don’t regret any of it, Steve,” you say. You start to close the distance between the two of you even more. “Not a single minute.”

“Volim te,” Steve murmurs.

You freeze, now within arm’s reach. “What?”

“Volim te.”

Your brain is working a mile a minute to catch up with what he’s said. Steve shifts in place, wincing as he transfers the weight to his injured leg.

“You should get that checked out,” you quietly tell him, glancing down at his leg.

He stares at you, as if he was expecting a different response. You know he was, but you’re suddenly so overwhelmed by everything that it’s the first thing out of your mouth.

“I—” You close your eyes and shake your head, letting out a small self-conscious chuckle. “I’m sorry. I love you too, Steve. I do. I love you. I don’t— I don’t know why I said that. I guess I’m just worried—”

He cuts you off by stepping into your space and cupping your face with one hand. His fingers thread up into your hair and he tilts your head back so he can press his lips to yours. Your arms fall limp at your sides for a second, but then your brain catches up. You close your eyes and reach up to put one hand on the back of his neck. The other slides around his waist, pulling him closer as he kisses you.

Steve’s body is warm and though he winces with pain, then pulls away slightly to touch his fingers to his busted lip, neither one of you actually moves away from the other. You stay close enough to feel the heat from his breath on your skin.

“You need to eat,” he murmurs.

“And you need a doctor,” you reply.

He smiles a little, more just pressing his lips together than anything, and kisses your forehead. You close your eyes again when he lingers.

“Don’t go,” he says as you step away.

You frown and crowd close again, and you place both hands on his chest. “Steve?”

“No. I mean, you should go now, but…” He struggles for a second, trying to find the words he wants to say, and you wait patiently. “What I meant was: Don’t go back to Croatia. Stay with me.”

“What about the hostel? What about Ana and the guests?”

“I’ve heard you say a thousand times that she could probably run the place on her own. Plus, it’s the end of the busiest season, and after everything that’s happened, tourism will probably be low. You said it yourself.”

Steve reaches up to pull your hands off of him, but he holds them and rubs little circles over your knuckles with his thumbs. He watches you carefully, giving you his full attention. His eyes are deep and blue, and the crinkle between his eyebrows has disappeared completely now that he’s sure you’re okay.

“So, what? I’d stay here in Wakanda? What would I do?” you ask, frowning. “They don’t really have tourists here, do they? It’s not like they need a hostel.”

“No, but I need a partner.”

“Don’t you already have partners, Steve? What about the Falcon? Or Black Widow? Or even your friend that you told me about—James? Isn’t he a superhero, too?”

Shaking his head, he answers, “That’s not the kind of partner I need, Y/N. I don’t need a partner to fight with. I need a partner that I can live with. Someone to make a home with.”

You stare at him for a second, allowing your brain to process what he’s just said, and then you give him a slow, sly smile. Inside, you’re giddy and jumping up and down, but all you do is pull your hands in a little more so he has to step closer to you.

“Steven Grant Rogers, are you asking me to move in with you?”

“I guess I am.” His ears are starting to turn a bright shade of pink, and it’s beginning to creep along his cheekbones as well, just above his beard.

Steve’s still holding your hands captive, so you simply raise an eyebrow. “Do you have a place to live here in Wakanda? Or are we going to be staying here in my hospital room until you find one?”

He shrugs and grins back at you. “King T’Challa gave me an apartment.”

“The king gave you an apartment?” You pull your hands away and step back. You can’t hide your disbelief, though deep down, you figure it’s very likely that the king tried to give Steve more. He’s a hero, even if most of the world doesn’t believe it.

“The princess was just in here going over your medical information, and you’re shocked that he gave me an apartment?” Steve asks, a smirk on his face.

You gape at him even more. “You’re kidding. Steve, that was not—”

“Princess Shuri. She’s made most of the technology around here, and she oversees the recovery of important patients. Like you,” he adds.

“If I’d known—”

He leans in and kisses your forehead again. “You don’t need to bow or anything. They don’t do that here, though I’m sure she’d appreciate a thank you the next time you see her. Maybe compliment one of her inventions. T’Challa says she likes that.”

“The next time?” you hiss. “Steve—”

This time, he laughs at you. It’s a full-bodied laugh, unlike the sparse chuckles you’ve gotten out of him since his return, and you relax. You smile, too, a real smile that makes your cheeks ache as you press your burning face against his chest. Steve wraps his arms around you. His body shakes as he laughs, but he quickly settles down and kisses the top of your head.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” you tell him, not letting go. In fact, you hug him tighter around the waist with both arms.

“Me too. Come on, ljubavi. Let’s go home.”

Dobro jutro = Good morning

Kako vam mogu pomoći? = How can I help you?

Govorite li engleski? = Do you speak English?

Dobor dan = Good afternoon

Molim = Please

Dragi = Darling

Volim te = I love you

Ljubavi = Love/my love

Thank you for reading! If you liked this, please consider reblogging my work so that others can enjoy it too.

I do not consent to have my work posted, translated, or published to any third party site or app. If anyone sees my work anywhere other than my personal tumblr, Patreon, or ao3 accounts, it has been reposted without my permission.

If you want to support me further, consider buying me a ko-fi! My ko-fi is also under my SPN fanfiction blog, but I promise it’s me.

If you would like to be added to my tags, please send me a message or an ask! I tag for Everything, Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers, Thor Odinson, and Peter Parker.

Forever: @aya-fay

Steve Rogers: @lipstickandvibranium @delicatecapnerd

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baewritez · 8 months ago

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Hello.

Before anything I am a BLACK women. Now that is clear let set some healthy boundaries.

No bullying of any kind will be allowed.

No racist comments or racial slurs.

Please be patient with me updating any bodies of work. ( I am only human and a college student.)

Yes request are open however DO NOT SPAM my dm box.

Be respectful of my writing choices.

Not following this will result in automatic blocking. Now that is clear I would like to introduce myself. Hello , my name is Bae. I am 24 years old , I hail from sunny Miami ,Florida , and I am a Leo and Cancer clasp. I write black women romance and adult fanfiction with a focus on plus size and curvy women. The request box is open and i will be updating and posting new work every Wednesday. Love you all and welcome to Baewritez.

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princessgriffin1998 · 25 days ago

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Specimen FX-23: Project Snow Fox // REBIRTH

This is a Bucky Barnes x AFAB!Reader/OC story. Reader does have a nickname/hero name.

Check out the rest of the story here!

Read here on Ao3!

Chapter Summary: Steve finally gets some time away from being ‘Captain America’ and you finally spend some one on one time with Steve Rogers.

Word Count: 5.6k

Previous / Next Chapter

Chapter Six: Art Supply Store

The first complete day off Steve has, happens to line up with everyone else being away.

Sam was visiting his family back in Louisiana. It was his sister's birthday this weekend so he'd been gone for two days but would be back later tonight. Wanda had a final exam she was studying for and was emphatically off limits for the day to anyone but Vision, who was only really interested in reading in her room with her. Bucky had to go with Natasha to DC for a meeting with some officials as a part of his pardons. He had technically been on a two week recon mission in the name of “amends” and was only just now reporting on it.

And so, on his first full day off Steve wanders into the kitchen wearing striped blue pyjamas and a white t-shirt to find you journaling at the island with some snacks.

You look up and wave, pulling the earbuds out of your ears and marking your current page.

“Morning Cap. Bit of a late start for you, what’s on the agenda today?” you ask as Steve pours himself a black coffee and joins you at the table.

“I honestly don’t know,” Steve answers with an easy smile as sips from a blue mug with his shield on it, “I haven’t been off call in so long, I’m not sure where to start besides not going for a run this morning with Sam before he left,”

You shrug, still unsure how to fill your own time at the compound without guidance most days. The only sounds in the kitchen are the scratches of your pencil across your page as the two of you sit in a comfortable quiet, sharing some of the sliced fruits, mixed nuts, and croissants that you’d ordered before Steve had wandered up from the fourth floor.

“What are you working on?” Steve finally asks, filling the room with something besides the scratching of your pencils on paper.

“It’s a picture of Shuri. I’m trying to experiment with faces more. I can do an outline but enough detail to make it look like the subject is a little trickier,” you mutter, erasing a smudge off the side of the paper before turning it to Steve.

Steve’s eyebrows raise to his hairline.

“Wow Snow Fox, that’s amazing! You said you’re struggling with details? Where?” Steve asks and you smile bashfully.

“It’s the proportions. It’s hard to line features up in a way that looks real on the face. I’m still not the level I want to be at before I try it with paints,” you muse, turning the book back to you, you hum quietly while Steve downs his coffee.

“Welp, I know what we’re gonna do today! Go get dressed and ready to leave the compound,” Steve says with a grin and a look on his face that leaves no room for arguing.

With an amused smile, you collect your pencil case and journal and head to your room, excited to actually be seeing part of the country you’d travelled so far to live in.

You start with brushing your teeth again, just so that your mouth feels clean as you give your face a quick wipe with a washcloth, then securing your hair back for the day. You hadn’t really spent time with Steve one on one like this. He was always with Sam and/or Bucky now that he was back at the compound. And that’s if Steve is around. For the most part he seems always away at the main building for the Avengers Initiate, working on things he obviously couldn’t share with you for security.

You change out of your pajamas and hesitate in your closet for a moment. Steve just said to leave the compound, but that could mean a lot of things. Deciding to pay it safe, you throw on a pair of black skinny jeans, a plain black long-sleeved shirt, followed by a pair of black socks and your combat boots from Shuri. You aren’t sure how long you’ll be gone, so after making sure your ID is secure in the pocket of your shield backpack, you stuff a black zip up in just to be safe.

You meet Steve back in the kitchen to see he’d changed into a pair of blue jeans, a grey t-shirt stretched tight across his chest, layered with a green plaid flannel and a brown leather jacket on top. He’s holding a black duffle bag, and his brown leather boots squeak on the tile as he turns to face you. Nodding his approval, the two of you head to the elevator.

Steve seems content to keep you in suspense as to your exact destination until the two of you reach the ground floor and make your way to the jet hangar.

“Taking the jet and landing at the tower is faster than driving into the city,” Steve grins, his arm sweeping towards the Quinjet’s descended ramp and the two of you climb into the cockpit.

“So what have you been studying this last week? Feels like every time I look in the kitchen you and Wanda are reading something,” Steve asks.

“It’s embarrassing to tell you,” you said quietly with a laugh, Steve only raising a brow, “I was reviewing the U.S constitution and founding history since most of my history has been, well, older than the US,”

Steve laughs at your reluctant admission but is an active listener as you describe your study session last night with Wanda and Shuri where what was supposed to be an eastern european history lesson turned into celebrity history and gossip. You hadn’t noticed just how much Steve’s laugh made you want to join, the rich sound setting you at ease as you made yourself comfortable in your chair.

The flight into New York City goes by faster and smoother than you could’ve imagined. Steve still hasn’t spilled what your final destination is within the city, but you’re just excited to be out of the compound and finally experiencing the “Big Apple”.

The jet is fast and sleek as it cuts stealthily through the sky and lands on the pad at the top of the tower. Tony isn’t around today, back in Miami with Pepper for work, so the two of you head straight to the private garage of the tower.

Sleek sports cars line almost every wall, glossy paints gleaming in the industrial lights. At the end of the row sit several motorcycles. Steve walks over to a workbench, tosses his bag on it before opening the cabinet to the right of the table and selecting a set of keys. Riffling through the bag, Steve produces a sketchpad and a brown leather pencil case.

“I’ve been meaning to shop for some new coloured pencils for a while now, thought we should make a day out of it,” Steve smiles and you grin back.

He tucks the supplies into a saddle bag on the motorcycle before grabbing a baseball cap and some aviator sunglasses and tucking them into an interior pocket of his leather jacket. Moving over to the cabinet, he pulls out a round motorcycle helmet and holds it out to you, watching as you put it on and adjust the straps until it’s comfortable.

He goes to sit on the bike but you hold your hand up to his chest. “And where’s your helmet?” you ask, brow quirked.

Steve just blinks at you for a moment, as if he can’t believe someone is lecturing him somehow, before sheepishly turning and grabbing a helmet. He gets himself settled on the bike before turning the key. The sleek engine roars to life, and you admire the way the reflections of the garage dance in the glossy black paint as the engine rumbles. Steve helps you get settled on the back of the bike, feet propped on the supports and arms around his waist before he slowly takes the bike towards the ramp to the streets. He clicks a button on the handlebars of his bike and the door to the garage starts to lift.

“You ready?” Steve asks over the rumblings of the engine, and the slightly cheeky tone in his voice makes you pause before nodding.

“Ready!” you call, a tentative smile forming on your cheeks that’s quickly wiped away with a gasp as Steve revs the engine then takes off up the ramp.

You pop out onto the street with a slight squeak of rubber, and Steve uses his left leg to steady the bike slightly before veering out into the New York streets.

You can’t help the breathless laugh that leaves you as the two of you zip in between cars and down the streets of the city. So many sounds, different kinds of chatter, all kinds of traffic and car sounds. It’s muffled by the helmet for the moment but you can already tell the city is loud. People hopping on and off buses, loud jackhammers from a construction site on your left, yelling from several blocks over. The sun glints off the towering glass structures, shining down on the hundreds of cars and people lining the streets below.

The phrase “concrete jungle” finally clicks into place as you try to take in the chaos of the city surrounding you.

Eventually Steve pulls into a parking spot and cuts the engine to the bike. You hope off and the two of you stash your helmets in the saddle bag and a compartment hidden beneath one of the seats. Steve quickly slides on the baseball cap to cover his blond locks and winks at you as he pulls out the sunglasses and slips them over his nose.

“Does this really work?” you ask, following Steve as the two of you start walking down a not too crowded street.

“You’d be surprised what people miss when they aren’t looking for something,” Steve says, leading you around a corner and up to a small cafe. “Most people, especially in the city, are usually too busy with themselves to notice us in public. No one thinks today is the day you bump into Captain America,”

A little brass bell chimes above your head as Steve opens the door and lets you in first.

The cafe is all exposed brick and wood beams, the smell of roasting coffee beans fills your nose as Steve directs you over to the large chalkboards hanging above the back wall. You bite your lip for a moment before you spot a tea latte menu and look to Steve excitedly while he reads about the kinds of beans the cafe is currently roasted. The two of you order your drinks, and Steve buys both of you a croissant as your beverages are made. The walls of the cafe are covered in art from all kinds of artists. There are some shelves in a corner with handmade ceramic mugs being sold along with other ceramic trinket dishes and knick knacks.

“Black coffee and London Fog with almond milk for Grant!” a barista calls out and you smirk into your croissant at the fake name as Steve grabs your drinks and the two of you make your way back out onto the streets.

“What made you go with Grant?” you ask, taking a bite out of your treat and flipping back the mouthpiece on the plastic coffee lid.

“It’s my middle name,” Steve says around a mouthful of pastry.

“Can’t have them calling out ‘Cap’ in the cafe,”

Croissant finished, you blow into the lid of your cup before taking a sip. A rich sweetness blooms across your tongue, and Steve laughs at the way your eyes widen before eagerly taking another sip.

“Glad you like it,” he chuckles into his own coffee and you beam up at him as the two of you make your way down the street.

“Is your middle name always your alias?” you ask as Steve directs you around a corner.

“For coffee shops usually, easy to remember since it’s technically true but for undercover work no. We try to switch things up as much as we can.”

“How do you come up with them?”

“Honestly? I don’t have to usually, the team will work out a story and someone else usually comes with it. By the time an undercover case crosses my desk they usually already have most of a cover story in mind and I’m just there to fill in the blanks for the strategy parts. I have a feeling it’s Nat though, since she’s usually the one taking charge on those kinds of cases. Why? Thinking about a new name?”

“Well, Wanda said ‘Snow Fox’ should be my hero name, not a name name a while ago, but I don’t have a middle name. I don’t have family to ask or someone to name myself after so I’m at a bit of a loss as to what to choose,” you sip your latte before continuing, “I’m not even sure where to begin. ‘FX-23’ was all I had before Shuri started calling me ‘Snow Fox’, and I like it just fine, but maybe Wanda has a point. Snow Fox or FX-23 would be a little weird to hear in a cafe,” you joke.

Steve just smiles down at you, a large, warm palm coming to rest on your shoulder.

“I think you should choose whatever makes you feel the most like yourself. You could always start with baby name books, get a feel for what you like or don’t like. And it should go without saying but I’ll say it anyway- whatever you decide on, whatever makes you feel like you when you hear it, see it written down, that’s what the team and everyone else will call you. Whatever you decide we’ll have your back,” Steve says.

He’s looking at you with a smile so earnest and supportive that you have to look away as the heat rises to your cheeks. You manage a small nod and a meek ‘thank you’ as the two of you continue your journey.

You’re trying hard to focus on all the little stories and tidbits Steve knows about the city, but as the two of you walk the sun seems to keep getting brighter, the noises and chatter of the city louder and louder until you’ve slowed your pace. Your eyes clenched shut as you stand in the streets, trying to breathe deeply and fend off the head ache slowly building behind your eyes. Suddenly a large hand comes to rest gently on your shoulder.

“Are you alright?” Steve asks, concern laced in his words.

You nod, trying to focus on taking deep breaths.

“I’m fine. It’s just bright out,” you mutter, trying to keep moving, “It’s weird but I don’t think I’m used to sunlight. I’ve always been inside in a lab, and there’s so many sounds here,”

Steve frowns but doesn’t argue and instead directs you into a small shop you hadn’t noticed on the street corner next to you. Another bell chimes and you distantly hear Steve asking the shop owner for something while you let the quiet of the bodega calm you back down. You turn to see Steve smiling with an older lady. She was maybe five feet tall, wearing a pink, floral blouse and she had grey wisps of hair escaping from a black bun at the nape of her neck.

“No Capitan, your money is no good here. You take what you need,” the woman is insisting and you finally notice the flush on Steve’s cheeks.

“Ma’am it’s alright please let me pay for the glasses,”

“No mijo, my shop has been here for ten years. I remember when those things attacked our city, and how you protected us. You take the glasses and a treat, okay?” she insists, coming around the counter to pat Steve’s cheek and press a white bag of something from the heated display case on the counter.

Steve just flushes even more red and nods.

You grin as Steve thanks the woman for her kind words and slips several bills (you’re pretty sure you only saw fifties in the stack) on the counter when she isn’t looking as the two of you slip out of the shop.

Steve hands you the glasses once back out on the street, and you find with some of the light dampened that the streets are far more bearable. Still too loud, but with the lights no longer overstimulating you it’s much easier to focus on Steve’s words about the history in the city. He opens the bag to discover two beef empanadas (which he fist pumps in excitement when he thinks you aren’t looking before), offering the bag to you so you can choose yours first.

The two of you walk the busy streets- sipping the last of your now cooled tea latte, eating one of the most amazing things you’ve ever eaten in your life, and weaving through the crowds. Eventually the two of you make your way to a building carved from a beautiful stone. You throw your cup away in a black metal garbage can before turning to the grey bricks. You’re not sure exactly what the building is made of and you’re so distracted with your pondering you almost miss the “Art Supply Store” sign on the tall, iron gates.

“Welcome to the League’s Fine Art Supply Store. They have everything you could possibly need here but we’ll start with coloured pencils,” Steve smiles as you take in the store.

“I thought we could pick up some paints here, maybe just some primary colours so you can work your way up, but the point of art is to experiment and try new things. You don’t have to have the skills to try something new,” Steve says kindly, leading you through the small store.

You’re blown away by the sheer number of paint tubes on the walls.

The two of you browse the different paints, brushes, and varnishes in the shop. You get stumped at the wall of moleskin journals and Steve barely hides a chuckle as you run your fingers along the spines. Eventually, you both decide on some new journals, a few tubes of acrylic paints in black, white, and the primary colours, along with a set of water colours and brushes for you to try out. With your purchases safe in a plastic shopping bag, the two of you head back out onto the streets. You start to retrace your steps back to Steve’s harley but he shakes his head and gestures the other way.

“C’mon, I’ve got some other places I wanna show you before we head back to the tower,” Steve smiles.

You smile back, seeing as how Steve has yet to steer you wrong. You follow him down a few more streets and gasp when you see Central Park come into view.

Steve just grins as he takes in your awe, thrilled to have picked another place you seem so excited about. The two of you get hot dogs from a passing cart, and take your snacks to a nearby bench where you both can people-watch while you eat. The guy running the cart was a little shocked when the two of you had rolled up and ordered five hotdogs each, but the temporary judgement on his face was entirely forgotten as the two of you polished off the rest of your lunch.

“Y’know, I’m so glad you guys get being hungry all the time. Like don’t get me wrong, I don’t go hungry at the compound, but man is it nice to not be the only one still eating,” you say, mouth partially full of your second hot dog.

Steve just snorts.

“Trust me I get it. I’m hungry literally all of the time. I’m just lucky that you can order food so conveniently at the compound, such a blessing,” Steve retorts, polishing off his second hot dog before offering you another.

“It’s just another surreal thing, if I let myself sit with the thought too long it blows me away. There’s food at the touch of a button, I can have as much sugar in my coffee as I like, the flavours in food now, y’know we used to boil everything,” Steve says as he wipes his mouth with a napkin, ”I can’t tell you how amazed I was going to a Costco- you know what Costco is right? Well Sam was the one who took us for the first time. He reactivated his membership just to take Bucky and I once. We couldn’t believe the crates of fruit. It was February! And oh- the candy aisle?”

You dissolve into more giggles as Steve tells you more about adjusting when he woke up in a new millennium and the two of you finish your meal.

Once everything is eaten and your garbage in a nearby bin, the two of you sit and soak in the atmosphere of the park. Steve cracks open one of his new sketchbooks and begins drawing the outline of the fountain across from the hotdog cart in the center of the circular clearing the two of you had found your free bench in. You, however, are completely entranced by all the people walking past.

You’ve mentioned your love of people-watching in the past, and Steve seems content to just sit and sketch with you and allow you your fill of observing. The weather is nice but there’s definitely still a little bite in the air. Being in the sun is warm today and New Yorkers seem buzzing to get their fill of sunshine but the sharpness in the breeze seems to slowly be corralling them out of the park.

Eventually, the wind picks up and begins to thwart Steve’s attempts at drawing (the outline of the space he’d created was so impressive to you that you made him take a picture of your view from the bench so that he could finish if when you got back) so the two of you pack up and make your way out of the park. You come out of the park on the opposite side and decide to walk the streets back to the bike. You’re about a block away before Steve’s arm catched your elbow. “Oh wait, we gotta check out this shop, Snow Fox. You’re gonna love it,” Steve insists, pulling you down a different street.

You can’t believe this side of Steve.

It’s not that he isn’t kind and caring at the compound, the day he taught you to box comes to mind, but today he seems extra concerned with making sure you’re enjoying yourself. It’s sweet and you wonder if Steve has anyone that cares this much about him back.

“I found this shop a few years ago and they’re great. It’s all second hand books and the owners are so sweet. Joan and Dianna always stock the best titles,” Steve rambles, telling you about the first time he stumbled into the store to get out of the rain and wound up talking with the manager for almost an hour about classic literature (and her wife).

All you can focus on while you enter the shop is the smell, the worn scent of old books strikes you from every angle, warm and comforting. You hear someone greet Steve as the two of you enter and you turn to see one of the most beautiful women you’ve ever seen. Her hair is a beautiful arrangement of blue, black, and purple braids piled on the top of her head and secured with a colourful silk scarf. Her skin is a beautiful deep umber, and her amber eyes are so warm you force yourself to look away and at the counter she’s sat behind.

“Hiya Cap! Looking for anything specific today?”

“Hey Dianna, great to see you! No thank you, just browsing today. How are Joan and the kids?”

The two of them get lost in a conversation as you start to browse the shelves.

The whole store is lined with and filled with book shelves, but the shelves aren’t so close that you feel claustrophobic. You hear Steve chatting with Dianna, something about a ballet recital, and you assume they’re occupied with each other while your eyes wander the well-loved spines. They seem to be organized broadly by genre- romance, mystery, fantasy. But the sections seemed to change at random, sometimes from shelf to shelf and you find yourself in what you assume is their science fiction area. There are some glow in the dark stars stuck to the wooden shelves and someone’s taped a little alien head to the back of the display, peeking out at you from above a couple books.

You’d been wanting to branch out in your reading since you’d largely been focused on educational reading and while you loved it, you needed something to “cleanse your palette” so to speak between books. Eventually, a big orange book with the word ‘Dune’ catches your eye and you pluck it off the shelf. The reviews on the back state it's a science fiction classic and you see if it was published in the sixties. Deciding a book that old could be a fun place to start your sci-fi journey, you take it to the counter where Steve is cooing over Dianna’s phone. Based on the grainy music you assume he’s catching the performance and wait politely before she spots you.

“Great choice! We’ve got all the sequels too if you enjoy that one,” Dianna smiles, leaving her phone with Steve and letting him fawn while she rings you up.

“That’ll be $27.62 after tax, cash or card hun?”

“Oh! I got it!” Steve says, rushing over to hand Dianna her phone back and pull out a black card.

“Actually, Stark’s got it, You sure you don’t want anything else?” Steve asks with a cheeky wink and you roll your eyes.

“I’m ok but thank you. Thank you for the book, you have a lovely store” you say as Dianna waves.

“Thanks! Come back anytime,” she calls as you and Steve exit the shop and make your way back to Steve’s harley.

The two of you stow your purchases in the saddle bags and head back to the tower. Once you get back and the bike is parked in the garage, the two of you quickly divy the art supplies. Steve’s in his duffle bag and yours in your shield backpack after you put your hoodie on. The clattering of paint bottles against the books on your back left you feeling giddy as the two of you then make your way back up via elevator and get settled into the Quinjet.

“Thank you so much for today, Steve,” you say once the jet’s engines are humming and Steve begins the maneuver to take off and head back. “It was amazing to see the city, somewhere so famous and I got to really be there! I had so much fun today, thank you,”

You watch Steve beam in the reflection of the windshield.

“Of course Snow Fox. And I meant what I said about that too. I don’t know what you’ll choose, but I’m sure whatever name you decide for yourself will be beautiful,”

You grin and while you mean to ask Steve more about himself and the team, you must doze off looking at the lights of the city below you because before you know it you’re jolting awake at the feeling of a hand on your shoulder.

“Sorry, I called out but you were pretty out of it,” Steve says with a small smile and you shake your head with a yawn.

The two of you head back up to the main floor where Sam, Wanda, and Vision are crowded around the kitchen table covered in chinese food.

“Hey you two! We didn’t know when you’d be back so we ordered take out,” Sam greets you both with a grin as he gestures at the table with an open container of noodles.

The two of you join the team and you tell Sam and Wanda all about the things you saw while Steve sits back in his chair, face full of pride. Dinner is a relatively quick affair and once you’re full Wanda drags you back to her room so the two of you can call Shuri again. Her test was tomorrow and you knew she just wanted to unwind before bed so that she’d dream about something else other than the exam.

You’re lounging on the floor against Wanda’s bed, propped up on pillows while Wanda lays on her stomach with her feet at the head of the bed when Shuri answers your call.

“Snow Fox! It’s so good to see you!” Shuri beams.

Her hologram via kimoyo beads projects her from the shoulders up and the two of you gesture kissing each other on both cheeks.

“Hi Shuri! I have SO much to tell you about the city!” you gush, Wanda grinning and waving from her place on the bed behind you, “We took the Quinjet to the tower, then we took Steve’s motorcycle to the city center and went to an art store and I got so many paints! We got free empanadas from a lady that pinched Steve’s cheeks in a corner store, I saw 67 dogs-”

“Oh wow Snow you had a better day than me for sure!” Shuri says with a laugh.

“Oh sorry, is now a bad time?”

Shuri shakes her head, but her posture betrays her.

“No, just some disappointing results in the lab. We’re trying to recreate the purple heart again, and I’m still not making any headway,” you winced knowing how significant the flower was to Shuri and the people of Wakanda.

“I’m sorry Shuri, I know you’re doing your best. I’m sure you’ll get it eventually,” you smile and Shuri takes a deep breath before smiling back at you.

“Me too. Now what kinds of dogs were they?”

You’re all too happy to gush over the different breeds you saw today walking around, Wanda chiming in occasionally to help you with a breed name if you couldn’t remember it, and the three of you eventually begin talking about Steve.

“It’s so weird, it’s like he was really worried about me having fun today, but not like you or Sam would be. He’s such a hover parent? Is that the right phrase? He made me put on a helmet but was fully going to get on that bike without one himself,”

Wanda let out a dry chuckle.

“Yeah that sounds like him. Totally worried about the safety of everyone else,”

“It sounds like he really is a boy scout, huh?” Shuri jokes and you laugh but shake your head.

“No it’s something else, I don’t know how to explain it. Not like I have any basis or comparison for this, but it’s what I think a Dad would be like?” you try to explain before Wanda erupts into giggles.

“Oh my gosh he totally is the Dad friend. We’ve teased him about it before, I wasn’t there but apparently he told Tony “language” over the comms once a few years ago?” Shuri let out a snort at that.

“But he’s totally the ‘Team Dad’. Nat’s a little like my ‘Team Mom’ but she’s still a little too scary to say that too,” Wanda admits prompting a laugh from you and Shuri.

“He said that the team would support me if I decided to change to a name name not ‘FX-23’ or Snow Fox. It was a little overwhelming, but he was so supportive it was really nice. Not that you guys aren’t!” you rush to explain but Shuri waves a hand.

“I get it, it’s different. He’s the leader of your team, not your best friends,” She says with an easy smile and a gesture towards Wanda who beams.

“He said I should start with baby books,” you say and Shuri and Wanda both nod.

Wanda grabs her laptop and slides to the floor next to you while Shuri’s projection moves to show her body at a standing desk flicking through a tablet.

“Okay top baby names for girls in 2017,” Wanda says.

“I’ve got top baby girl names for the decade so we can expand,” Shuri chimes in and you beam, so grateful for your friends and the support in your life.

“Serena?”

“Asha?”

“Asterid?”

“Imani?”

“Oh that’s pretty!” Wanda exclaims, “What about Imogen?”

The girls continue throwing names at you and you try to keep up, smiling and shaking your head politely at each suggestion.

“Lucille,”

“Aaliyah,”

“Charlotte?”

“Athena,”

“Wow we’re really on a roll with the A’s,” Wanda jokes.

“Well they are usually at the top of lists,”

“It’s ok if we don’t find it tonight,” you finally say with a laugh.

“C’mon this is fun! Maybe it won’t click tonight, but you can sleep on all these options and maybe you’ll know later,” Shuri says, her projection shaking a tiny tablet at you prompting more laughter.

You let the girls continue, thinking to yourself you’ll give them another five, ten minutes tops before you head to bed when Shuri says one that suddenly sticks out.

“Wait, what was that last one?” you ask,

Shuri repeats it and you feel it out on your own tongue.

“Something is special about that one, isn’t it?” Wanda asks knowingly and you nod, looking at the floor in a slight daze.

You really didn’t think you’d find a name you actually liked tonight, but you hear Wanda repeating it and you look up at her and suddenly it clicks into place for you.

That’s what you want to be called.

It makes you feel like yourself, your true self.

It sounds like someone who wasn’t designed to be the perfect killer, but someone who could be so much more.

Someone who could be whatever she wants to be if she can just be brave enough to chase it.

You tune back into the video call where Wanda and Shuri’s little projection are watching you with an indescribable warmth and you smile. Wanda, having slid her laptop onto the floor, turns and opens her arms to you.

“Welcome to the team, Y/N,”

You waste no time wrapping your arms around her in excitement, Shuri’s laughter over the call echoing through the room.

Next Chapter ______________________________

A/N: Wow I hope you liked this chapter! I hope the way I incorporated a name for the reader was alright, and I really hope you come back for the next one!

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naomis-daydream · 2 years ago

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omg there’s 300 of you guys?? that’s insane you silly little gays like my silly little posts🤭

i’ve been so swamped this semester, but i do have some things drafted for characters from various fandoms!

maybe y’all will get a little treat or we can do one of those celebration thingys :)

feel free to send me requests for shuri, izogie, abby anderson, ellie williams, and/or robin buckley

#shuri udaku #shuri x reader #abby anderson x female reader #abby anderson #ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams #robin buckley x fem!reader #robin buckley #izogie woman king

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mbakuxblackpanther · 2 years ago

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Hey y'all my next imagine was gonna be about T'challa but I just thought of one of the most interesting story plots for M'baku and I need to write it or imma forget 😂😭I'm also gonna put music in this next one for y'all to listen to while reading so stay tuned!

P.S: All of my work/stories come directly from the ideas I come up with. If my story resembles yours in any way, shape, or form it's coincidental

#black panther #female writers #wattpad #spotify #jordan calloway #namor x reader #shuri udaku #love triangle #black panther fanart #nba youngboy #fire country #black tumblr #lupita nyong'o #danai gurira #daniel kaluuya #letitia wright #chadwick boseman #michael b jordan #angela bassett

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angelremnants · 5 months ago

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Heat Waves l J. B. Barnes

PART ONE.⠀THROUGH THE SHIMMERING ROADS

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

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

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

word count : 15.1k

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

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

(ao3 version)

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

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

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

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

And then you saw him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You exhale shakily, your fists clenched at your sides.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

⠀

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You make it sound simple,” he mutters.

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

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

Strawberries.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

⠀

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shuri.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

⠀

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

⠀

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

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

“Welcome to Wakanda!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

⠀

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

⠀

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I see I’ve missed the fun," T'Challa said, his voice smooth and commanding but laced with amusement. His gaze flickered to you and Bucky, a hint of recognition sparking in his eyes. "It’s good to see both of you adjusting to the training."

Shuri quickly approached him, a grin spreading across her face. "You’re late, brother. We were just finishing up testing the new recruits."

"Your Highness," you greeted with a respectful nod, trying to keep it casual despite the obvious presence of royalty.

Bucky shot a quick, somewhat uneasy glance at T'Challa. "Good to see you, my King." There was an awkward pause. "You know, for a king, you really get around."

T'Challa raised an eyebrow, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips. "I have to keep an eye on all things Wakanda, soldier. You know how it is." He nodded to Shuri, who was now standing by his side. "But it seems like you’ve both been testing your skills. Shuri tells me you’re adjusting well."

Bucky gave him a nod but glanced at you for a second, unsure of how to respond. "It’s... a process." He wasn’t one for small talk, but he appreciated the respect, however minimal.

Shuri couldn’t resist chiming in with a teasing grin. "Oh, he’s adjusting alright. You should’ve seen him during his first simulation—he was more stiff than an old tree trunk." She grinned at Bucky’s groan, enjoying every second of it. "But he’s getting there. Slowly but surely."

T'Challa’s expression softened as he looked at Bucky, understanding more than Shuri likely realized. "Recovery is not an easy thing." He glanced over at you. "And neither is learning to live with one’s past."

You gave him a nod, your gaze meeting Bucky’s for a second before you turned back to T'Challa. "We’re getting there, one step at a time."

T'Challa smiled approvingly. "I admire that resilience. It’s something we value here in Wakanda." Then, with a sudden shift in tone, he looked at Bucky with an intrigued glint in his eyes. "Though, I must admit, I’m curious to see how well you fare against me. A bit of friendly competition. What do you say?"

Bucky raised an eyebrow, but there was a fire behind his gaze. "You want to spar with me?" There was a hint of hesitation, but he stood tall. "Alright, but don’t say I didn’t warn you. I’m not exactly new to this whole combat thing."

You chuckled at the banter between them, feeling a slight tension lifting in the air. "Bucky’s modest, your Highness." You raised your eyebrows playfully. "He’s a bit of a pro."

T'Challa shot you a smirk. "We shall see." His eyes gleamed as he turned to Shuri. "I trust you’ll monitor the match?" His voice was both joking and confident, a reflection of his quiet authority.

Shuri, clearly amused, leaned back against a nearby pillar. "Of course. But don’t expect me to step in and save either of you."

The two warriors squared off, and the battle began. It was intense, the simulation environment adapted around them to create a variety of settings that challenged their skills. The air seemed to crackle with anticipation as Bucky and T'Challa went back and forth, exchanging blows and testing each other’s limits.

T'Challa was swift, his agility unmatched, his movements fluid and precise. Bucky, though initially stiff, was growing into the rhythm of the fight. Every time he took a hit or made a mistake, you could see the mental gears turning as he shook off the old training, not just physically but emotionally. The fight, at its core, was a way for him to break free from the grip of his past, and with every successful move, you saw more of that freedom in his eyes.

At one point, Bucky got a clean strike on him, and you couldn't help but grin. "Nice one, Bucky!" You teased, winking at him as T'Challa tried to regain his footing.

T'Challa let out a chuckle, raising an eyebrow at you. "I see you’ve got a knack for encouraging troublemakers." His tone was light, but the respect was evident in his gaze.

As the match continued, Bucky and T'Challa pushed each other to their limits, the combat becoming more than just physical—it was a test of strength, willpower, and resilience. Finally, after a long, hard-fought battle, T'Challa managed to get the upper hand, pinning Bucky to the ground.

Both men panted, sweaty and bruised, but there was no malice in T'Challa’s eyes, only a deep respect.

The king stood up and extended a hand to Bucky, pulling him to his feet. "I must admit, I did not expect that much resistance. You’ve earned my respect." He grinned, looking over at you. "And you, my friend, are no slouch either."

You laughed, wiping some sweat from your brow. "Well, someone has to keep him on his toes." You nudged Bucky playfully.

T'Challa looked at you both, a thoughtful expression on his face before he nodded. "You both are warriors in your own right." He walked over to the side of the room, where a ceremonial dagger rested on a pedestal. With a dramatic flair, he picked it up, turning back toward you and Bucky. "In recognition of your resilience and strength, I will knight you both."

Bucky’s eyes widened in surprise. "Knight us? Really?"

T'Challa nodded, his tone light but firm. "Yes, indeed. The royal family needs soldiers like you—strong, resilient, and fierce." His smile was playful, but there was a deeper meaning behind it.

You both protested, not wanting to accept the title, but T'Challa insisted with a laugh, his voice warm and commanding. "You don’t have to like it, but I’m already planning something for you two anyway."

Bucky glanced at you, then at T'Challa, and, after a beat, gave in with a grin. "Alright, alright. But don’t expect us to start calling ourselves knights or anything."

You nodded, smirking. "Yeah, we’ll stick to being not-so-humble soldiers."

T'Challa’s grin widened as he placed a hand on each of your shoulders. "Very well. But know this—you are both welcome here."

You and Bucky exchanged a look, a silent understanding passing between you. Whatever came next, it was going to be a memorable ride.

PART ONE. l NEXT PART.

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

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

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dividers ©️ @cafekitsune .

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rosekpopfanfic · 1 year ago

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This should be the norm for anything and everything.

Can we stop tagging fics as one character when it's about another character? I understand that they're included in the story, but it's not their story.

#male writers #queer writers #black writer #women writers #female writers #x reader #x black reader #x male reader #x female reader #black reader #twilight x reader #criminal minds x reader #tvdu x reader #shuri x reader #vampire diaries x reader #x teen!reader #stray kids x reader

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ginnsbaker · 20 days ago

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All Of Your Pieces (24 - The Last Day)

Chapter Summary: “Promise me,” you murmured between kisses, your hands roaming over her bare back. “Promise me that when you’re backed into a wall, you don’t think twice. You run. Run back to me. Don’t be a hero.”

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Female Reader Chapter word count: 5.1k+ | Chapter Tags: angst, smut

A/N: Infinity War > Endgame, honestly. There won't be an update next Wednesday as it's already finals week for me :) // More author's notes here.

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Wakanda was a fortress.

From where you stood, gazing at the seemingly endless plains and lush forests that cloaked the hidden nation, you could almost believe you were safe. The sight of the golden African sun spilling over the landscape had a sort of hypnotic effect—like it was trying to convince you there was no danger beyond these borders.

Of course, you knew better. Nowhere was safe with Thanos out there, collecting the Infinity Stones one by one.

You tore your gaze away from the sweeping view, letting out a heavy sigh before turning to Wanda. She stood beside you on the balcony, arms wrapped tightly around herself, her face etched with quiet worry as she stared into the distance. With Vision gravely wounded and the impossible task of removing the Mind Stone without ending his life looming over everyone, she’d been on edge. You didn’t blame her. Vision was her friend and she cared about him.

You slid closer, pressing a comforting hand to her back. “You okay?”

Wanda nodded, though she didn’t take her eyes off the horizon. “I will be,” she murmured, her Sokovian accent thickening with anxiety. You didn’t even realize it was still there. “It’s just… I hate waiting like this.”

You remembered the feeling of helplessness in Scotland: Vision had been pinned down, helpless, and you and Wanda had been forced to watch as he was nearly killed for the stone in his head. You closed your eyes, shoved the memory down, deep into that place where unwelcome things go to rot. You were both seconds away from the same fate—until Steve and Natasha arrived, pulling you all back from the brink. Just in time. Always just in time.

“They’re good people here,” you assured her. “They’ll find a way.”

“I know. I just…” Wanda swallowed thickly, her words catching in the process. “I… we were naive to think this was just another assignment. We’ve lost so much already.”

She didn’t have to say who else she was referring to. You knew about her parents, her brother, everything she had endured. And now, this war was threatening to take more. You gently pulled her into a side embrace, resting your forehead against hers for a moment.

“We’ll do whatever it takes,” you promised, and you meant it.

—

You left Wanda alone with her thoughts and headed to the lab. It was a pressure cooker—hissing, ready to blow—filled with people moving like they were on rails, locked into some critical task. Everyone had a job, a purpose and no task felt too small when the goal was stopping Thanos.

You came here because you needed to know your place in all of this—what you could do, how you could help. You couldn’t stand the idea of just waiting around while everyone else carried the weight of the world on their shoulders.

Bruce Banner stood at a console, studying Vision’s neural scans. He didn’t look happy. You worried he’d start turning green from all the stress of figuring out the impossible task of separating the Mind Stone from Vision without reducing him to something less of a being and more like his former iteration.

“How’s he doing?” you asked.

Bruce didn’t glance up. “Stable, for now,” he said. “Shuri’s stasis is the only thing keeping him that way.” He finally met your eyes. “If we remove the stone and botch it, we lose him completely. We don’t have a margin for error.”

Shuri spun around, sweeping a hologram to the side. “Banner, look here,” she said, pointing to a tangle of code. “If we sever this pathway first, we won’t risk a chain reaction in the cerebral cortex.”

Bruce studied it. “You’re sure?”

“As sure as I can be,” Shuri replied, not missing a beat. “But I’ll need time to reroute all these connections.” Her face tightened. “If Thanos shows up in the middle of that, or if anyone so much as unplugs the wrong cable, Vision’s done.”

Across the lab, T’Challa and Okoye conferred with Natasha Romanoff over a holographic map showing Wakanda’s borders. Multiple defensive lines lit up around the perimeter, funneling any possible attackers into one choke point.

Okoye pointed at the display. “We force them here,” she said. “We strike from both sides, and the rest of our forces remain mobile—ready to reinforce wherever the line thins.”

Natasha didn’t look away from the map. “Works for me. If Thanos wants what’s in Vision’s head, he’ll have to go through an army of Wakandans first.”

You caught T’Challa’s eye. “Where do you need me?”

T’Challa broke away from the map and leveled his gaze on you. “I need you with Shuri,” he said, “I hear you’ve been trained by Barton and Romanoff—made a habit of picking up new skills fast. My sister needs the best at her side.”

You swallowed hard, nodding. You understood what he meant without him spelling it out. If Shuri’s lab got breached, there wouldn’t be much left to protect outside.

“Tell Wanda I want to speak with her.” T’Challa added.

It wasn’t your place to ask, but you needed to know. “Where do you need her?”

He let his gaze drift to the massive layout of Wakanda’s borders. “The front lines.”

You’d been afraid he’d say that. You knew Wanda could handle herself, but the thought of her out there—exposed to whatever Thanos threw their way—turned your blood cold. Still, there was only one answer to give.

“Understood,” you said.

—

You stepped out of the lab, feeling a strain behind your eyes you couldn’t shake. Down the hall’s half-light, you spotted Steve and Natasha talking in low voices. Whatever it was, you could tell right away it wasn’t a happy conversation—probably the number of casualties from other places, other worlds, an entire universe.

Steve caught sight of you first. His eyes dipped to your hand. “That a ring?” he asked. Then, without waiting for your answer, he offered a soft smile. “Congratulations. And… I’m sorry.” You understood exactly what he meant—sorry that a moment like marriage had to happen with a crisis looming.

“Thanks,” you said, offering him a timid smile. “For that and for coming to help me and Wanda in Scotland. I owe you.”

Steve shook his head. “No debts among friends.”

You cleared your throat again, forcing your nerves down. “Mind if I talk to Natasha alone?”

He glanced at her, then nodded. “Sure,” he said, stepping aside. “I’ll go see how Shuri’s doing.”

With that, Steve gave you a pat on the shoulder and slipped away, leaving you alone with Nat.

Natasha folded her arms across her chest and gave you a once-over. Her eyes landed on the ring before she spoke. “So,” she said, arching an eyebrow. “You got married, and I didn’t even get an invite?”

You fumbled for a response. “It wasn’t exactly a ceremony—”

She waved you off. “Relax, I know the details. Wanda and I caught up already.”

“Oh.”

Natasha’ss lips twitched into a half-smile. “So you married your assignment. I guess you really like to go above and beyond.”

A laugh escaped you, along with some relief. “We both know you only gave me that job so I’d have a valid excuse to chase after her.”

Natasha merely smiled, letting you know she was waiting for what you really came here for.

“Listen, Natasha. About the messages you sent…” You rubbed the back of your neck. “Look, I’m sorry about that. Things… they got complicated, and I just—” You trailed off, not sure how to put it all into words.

Natasha gave a slight shrug, like she’d seen all this coming. “I get it now,” she said. “Don’t worry about it. If I thought we couldn’t do without you, trust me, I’d have found a way to drag you back.”

You raised an eyebrow. “So you don’t need me, then?”

“Of course we do,” she shot back, “but it also means if you’d walked away, I’d understand.”

You exhaled slowly, guilt chewing at you. “I walked out on Steve, you know.”

A corner of Natasha’s mouth tugged up. “Steve told me he couldn’t find you.”

You looked down, your foot scraping the floor. Natasha took a step closer to you, her entire posture becoming a little rigid.

“This Thanos thing isn’t just another mission. It’s everything—our lives, the lives of everyone in this universe. Mine, yours, Wanda’s. I promise I’ll fight to the end for all of us. For this team. And I hope you’ll do the same,” she said.

You felt an odd calm settle over you. “I promise. For Wanda, for you, for all of them.”

Natasha’s face softened, and she clapped you gently on the shoulder. “I’m glad to have you back, Y/N.”

—

You found her in the small quarters Wakanda had assigned the two of you, sitting cross-legged on the bed, wearing pajamas you recognized from your old drawer in Scotland. The cotton was a bit wrinkled—made sense, given you’d both only had ten minutes to pack what you could before leaving the life you’d built together.

Wanda looked up when you entered, pushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “Hey,” she said.

You set your jacket on a nearby chair, letting out a long breath. “Hey yourself.”

You crossed to the bed, and for a moment, all you wanted was to sink into her warmth, forget the day, and pretend tomorrow didn’t exist. But the world wouldn’t let you off that easily.

“Natasha filled me in,” you said. “I’ll be posted in the lab with Shuri. Make sure no one interferes with her while she works on Vision.”

Wanda’s eyes lit up in quiet relief. “I’m glad,” she whispered. “Someone has to watch out for him.” She set aside whatever she had been distracting herself with. “You’re the best person for that job.”

You blew out a breath. “Doesn’t mean I’m thrilled you’ll be out there on the front lines, Maximoff.”

Wanda giggled and tapped the spot beside her. With an exaggerated sigh, you flopped onto it, resting your head comfortably in her lap. “You worry about me?”

You closed your eyes and she started massaging your scalp, making you mewl in appreciation. “Of course, I do. I’m your wife.”

Wanda laughed. “Wife,” she repeated fondly. Then she sighed and said, “I need to be where the fight is. All this power… what good is it if I’m not going to use it to protect the people I love?”

You opened your mouth, but no argument came out. You wanted to tell her to stay safe, to keep her away from Thanos’s reach, but you knew there was no talking her out of a fight she believed in. She had never backed down.

“Just… be careful,” you whispered, voicing the same plea you’d made countless times, even though you both knew Wanda could handle herself as well as anyone.

Wanda huffed softly, her hand smoothing over your hair. “I’m always careful,” she murmured, eyes softening with concern. “But I also have to do what I can out there. You know that.”

“I do,” you admitted, shifting so you could look up at her.

The bed dipped as she scooted beside you, the cotton of her pajamas brushing your arm. Wanda leaned down, her hand settling at the side of your face. Your hand slid around Wanda’s waist, pulling her closer until she was nearly on top of you, your lips parting against hers in a tentative kiss.

“Wanda…” you breathed, voice catching on the edge of desperation. You had missed her. It felt like an eternity had passed in the single day you couldn’t be alone together. She didn’t answer, only kissed you deeper, pouring a day’s worth of tension into the press of her body against yours.

You rose from your position and tugged her with you onto the bed fully, your fingers curling into her shirt. She helped you yank it off, and then she was pulling at yours, too, the scent of her hair flooding your senses. You helped each other strip away clothes that felt suddenly cumbersome, until there was nothing left but skin on skin. You found yourself pressed into the bed, Wanda’s body above yours, her hair falling like a curtain around your face.

In that moment, you could no longer stop yourself from being selfish.

“Promise me,” you murmured between kisses, your hands roaming over her bare back. “Promise me that when you’re backed into a wall, you don’t think twice. You run. Run back to me. Don’t be a hero.”

She froze, her mouth curved into that coy smile at hearing your repetitive plea. You could see the flicker of mild annoyance at your overprotectiveness—like she thought you were being adorably childish. But then you felt your throat tighten, tears suddenly burning in your eyes at the thought of losing her.

“Please,” you choked out, a tear slipping free. “Please, Wanda… I can’t—I can’t lose you.”

The teasing smile she wore vanished instantly. “Oh, love,” she whispered, pulling you into her arms. You let yourself cry silently into her shoulder for a few moments, feeling a little pathetic for breaking down like this. You knew asking Wanda to run was an absurd request, but you had to say it. Deep down, you knew it would absolutely destroy you to lose her in any way.

Wanda’s own voice cracked as she cupped your cheek, guiding your gaze back to hers. “I’ll come back to you,” she promised. “I promise—if there’s nowhere else to go, I’ll run. I’ll run straight to you.”

You swallowed hard, nodding as you let out a shaky breath. “Okay,” you whispered, brushing away your tears with the back of your hand.

Wanda kissed you again, and this time, her hands slid lower, her hips shifting against yours. You surged up to meet her, your palms sliding over her ribs as she gasped into your mouth. The slow, careful strokes turned into something more insistent: hungry, messy, a collision of lips and muffled pleas.

“Y/N, please…” Wanda mumbled almost incoherently as she moved down your jaw. The huskiness in her voice sent a thrill through you, and you pecked her inviting mouth one more time before moving behind her and circling your arm around her waist, as she braced herself on all fours. Her skin was warm under your touch, her back arching instinctively as she pressed her hips back against you.

Leaning forward, you pressed a line of kisses down her spine, your lips lingering at the base where her back dipped. She shivered, her breath hitching as your other hand trailed down her side, fingertips grazing her hip before settling between her thighs.

“You’re so beautiful like this,” you murmured roughly as you watched her body respond to your touch.

Her only response was a soft moan, her hands gripping the sheets as your fingers found her wetness. You teased her entrance, sliding two fingers slowly inside, feeling her walls tighten around you as you filled her. Wanda gasped, her head dropping forward as her thighs trembled, trying to adjust to the sensation.

“God, you’re always so tight,” you groaned, curling your fingers slightly to press against her sweet spot. “And so fucking wet for me…”

She whimpered, her hips instinctively rocking back against your hand. You set a slow rhythm, pulling your fingers out before pushing them back in, deeper each time. The sound of her arousal, slick and wet, only made your hand work harder, your body pressed closer, your clit brushing against the soft curve of her buttocks. The contact sent a jolt of pleasure through you, and you couldn’t help but let out a shaky moan. You adjusted slightly, angling your hips so your clit slid more deliberately against her with each thrust of your fingers.

Wanda’s moans grew louder, and with every motion of your hand, you felt her body tense, her back arching against you. She pushed her hips back more insistently, searching for the friction she needed. “Y/N… I’m so close,” she whimpered, her thighs trembling under your hands, her walls fluttering around your fingers.

But you weren’t ready to let her go over that edge yet. You slowed your pace deliberately, still lazily pressing your clit against her slippery skin. “Not yet, baby,” you murmured, lips brushing against the shell of her ear. “Just hold out a little longer for me…”

A frustrated moan escaped her lips, and she tilted her hips back more aggressively, trying to coax you into giving her the release she craved. But you held your pace, savoring the way her body trembled under your control.

“I want to come,” she whimpered, her hands clutching the sheets so tightly her knuckles whitened.

“Patience, baby,” you said, dragging your fingers almost completely out of her before easing them back in, slow and deliberate.

The friction of her skin against your clit, her soft gasps, the way she was so pliant beneath you—it was all driving you dangerously close to the edge. But you held back, biting your lip as you drew out the moment, not wanting it to end too quickly.

Your free hand, which had been holding her steadily against you, slid lower, fingers brushing over her swollen clit. The second you started rubbing her there, your own body jolted with need. Your hips snapped forward, rubbing yourself against her shamelessly.

“I’m close,” you ground out, fingers working Wanda’s slick flesh at a fast, demanding pace. “C-Come with me…”

Her body tensed, her walls clenching around your fingers as a broken sob of your name fell from her lips. You didn’t stop, didn’t ease up as your own orgasm hit, your hips grinding harder against her as you rode the waves of pleasure together.

Wanda’s cries blended with your moans, the two of you lost in each other as you shuddered and gasped. Your hand stayed on her clit, guiding her through every aftershock until her body went limp beneath you, her breath coming in ragged, uneven bursts.

You leaned forward, pressing your forehead to her shoulder as you both came down, your bodies still trembling. “You’re so perfect,” you murmured softly, kissing the damp skin of her neck. “So fucking perfect.”

Wanda let out a soft, tired laugh, her hand reaching back to thread through your hair. You collapsed beside your wife, your body still humming with the aftershocks of pleasure. A shaky breath left your lips as you rolled onto your back, exhaustion settling into your bones like a warm, heavy blanket.

Wanda was quick to shift position, sliding over to curl around you. She coaxed you onto your side, gathering you in her arms as though you weighed nothing.

“Come here,” she murmured, pressing soft kisses to your forehead. You sighed contentedly, letting yourself sink into her embrace. It felt so safe—like no matter what happened outside this room, no matter what the world threw your way, you could face anything.

“You love me,” you murmured, already drifting toward sleep. You felt her smile against your skin—amused by this little ritual of yours, saying the other’s love out loud first.

“You love me too,” she whispered back.

Wanda’s fingers moved in slow, soothing patterns across your back—until they stopped. She let out a shaky breath. “I’m sorry,” she murmured. “For making you cry earlier. For—”

You cut her off with a soft shake of your head, your arms tightening around her waist. “Just promise me,” you said.

“I promise,” she whispered, her own eyes shining. “I’ll always find my way back to you.”

—

It’s twenty-three days later, and Wanda’s promise never came true.

People wandered around in dazed confusion, half of them gone, the other half trying to make sense of what remained. You barely recognized the place. You barely recognized what was left of your team—or even yourself.

You had no idea where the motivation to wake up each morning came from. Maybe it was the faint ember of hope burning inside you, the belief that whatever the stones had done could somehow be undone. That if Thanos had caused this, he could reverse it. You just had to find him. As long as he was out there, there was a chance to bring everyone—and Wanda—back.

It tore at you to see Wanda’s location still pinned on your phone, only to realize it led to the bedroom you had shared in Wakanda. She had left it there that morning, tucked under her pillow on her side of the bed before joining Natasha on the frontlines. It killed you to know her true location was nowhere. And yet, in moments of weakness, you found yourself checking her GPS as if it would somehow change. Old habits die hard—and you couldn’t seem to escape this one no matter how much it amplified the Wanda-shaped hole in your heart.

This morning, you found yourself at the old Avengers compound. The halls felt cavernous and too quiet. You checked in, as usual, with Natasha, Bruce, Steve—whoever was around. Most folks you ran into had that same thousand-yard stare, the same one that greeted you in the mirror every time you looked.

You spent hours in front of the massive digital map that dwarfed the main operations room, searching for any scrap that might lead you to Thanos. Where’d he gone? How had he disappeared so thoroughly? You chewed on the question day after day, ignoring exhaustion, heartbreak, and even hunger. If there was a lead, you’d chase it. If there was a whisper of information, you’d hunt it down.

Steve approached as you stood at the console, looking weary in a way you had never seen before. He was usually so determined and motivated, but now, for once, he seemed human—no longer everyone’s constant beacon of hope. He rested a hand on your shoulder, a gesture he’d been making with everyone lately. You figured it was his way of reassuring himself that you were still there, after watching the people he cared about turn to nothing but particles in the air.

“You’ve gotta give yourself a break,” he murmured. “You look like you’re running on fumes.”

You pulled away gently, shrugging him off. “I can rest after we find him,” you said, voice clipped. You tried to keep the desperation under control, and so far, it was working.

Steve exhaled, resting his hands on his hips. “We’re working on it,” he said. “As soon as we locate Tony—”

“That’s one of my concerns, actually,” you cut him off, rounding the center table to put distance between you. “We don’t know if he’s even still alive, Steve. It’s been three weeks since—”

Steve’s posture stiffened, and his eyes narrowed. “Finding Tony is the top priority,” he said, voice low and taut, like he’d repeated it a hundred times already. “If Banner’s right—if the people we lost can be brought back somehow—anyone we lose now might be gone for good.”

You let out a scoff and almost regretted it immediately, knowing how apathetic it must have sounded. “It’s been three weeks, Steve. If he’s out there, do you honestly believe he’s got enough air, water, or food to survive? We’re gambling on a possibility that shrinks every day.”

“Those are the orders,” Steve fired back, his jaw set. “We focus on finding Tony.”

“Orders?” Your laugh came out harsh. “Whose orders, exactly?”

“Mine,” Steve said, squaring his shoulders. “And I’m not asking.”

You felt your pulse surge. “So that’s it? We chase a ghost ship with no sign of life, no backup plan—while the rest of the universe dangles by a thread?”

Steve’s hand slammed down on the table. “We don’t abandon our own!”

You closed the distance between you, anger flaring. “Don’t talk to me about abandoning anyone! I’m trying to be realistic—”

“That’s enough.” His voice was ice. “You’re out of line.”

“Am I?” You leaned in, practically nose-to-nose. “We all want Tony back, but it’s time we—”

Natasha, who had just arrived, slipped between you. She pressed a firm hand against your chest. “Both of you, stop. We don’t have time for this.”

Steve backed off first, turning away with a muttered oath. You stayed put, adrenaline coursing, hands balled into fists.

Natasha grabbed your arm and steered you out of the room. Once in the hall, she spun you around, eyes blazing. “Hit me.”

You blinked, breath catching. “What?”

She dropped into a ready stance. “I said hit me. Clearly you need to let it out.”

You didn’t move. “No.”

She shook her head. “If you don’t acknowledge what you’ve lost, it’s gonna eat you alive.”

“There’s nothing to grieve,” you said evenly, willing yourself to believe your own words with every fiber of your being. By now, Natasha understood that no matter what she said, it wouldn’t get through to you. She knew Wanda meant the world to you, and you were driven by a personal mission. In her opinion, you were still handling it better than Clint, who had lost his entire family.

“Look, Steve needs you,” she said after a moment. “And I—”

Her sentence was cut short by a sudden commotion from outside. You both froze, exchanged a quick glance, and then ran for the exit.

People were already gathered on the makeshift runway by the compound’s wide hangar doors. You elbowed your way through the small crowd—Bruce, Rhodey, Steve, and a handful of others—until you reached the front.

And there, at the heart of it all, Carol Danvers was bringing Tony Stark home.

—

It figured that the missing piece to finding Thanos was his own daughter, Nebula. A snap-like energy signature had been detected across the galaxy just two days earlier, and with the new information she provided, Steve gave the team only a few hours to prepare before setting a course for Planet 0259-S.

If you had been a little apprehensive about the plan to find Thanos, the actual act of locating him—now the biggest hurdle solved—allowed you to fully lean into the expectation that it was only a matter of time before everyone was back, and everything returned to how it was supposed to be. The Avengers had never lost to anyone, not even gods. There was no doubt in your mind that you could all overcome a mere Titan.

So you and the remaining team boarded the modified Benatar—Nebula insisted it was the only ship fast enough to reach the planet in time. You still remembered the moment the engines roared to life, and you caught yourself thinking about Wanda. She would’ve stood at the viewport, eyes wide, taking in the stars with that sense of wonder she always had. But you also reminded yourself that you wouldn’t even be here if Wanda—and trillions of others—hadn’t vanished into dust.

It was your first trip beyond Earth’s orbit, but it felt like mere minutes before Nebula’s voice crackled through the comms: “Entering the atmosphere now. We’ll touch down in thirty seconds.” Below stretched a battered field of half-dead crops under a sky like stale ash. You and the others fanned out once the ramp lowered—Steve, Banner, Rhodes, Thor, Carol, Natasha, Rocket, and Nebula. Even with the thinning hope in your veins, you still felt a faint thrill of certainty that you’d see that monster face to face and force him to undo this nightmare.

Thanos appeared in your line of sight, sitting on a makeshift stoop in front of a tumbledown shack, his left arm twisted and scarred from the energy of the Gauntlet. He looked worn, as if using the Stones had left him a husk of what he’d been.

From this point on, it was an ambush—the most ruthless attack Steve had ever sanctioned for the team. You were surprised to see he had it in him. You wanted to strike Thanos yourself, but Natasha held you back, letting the superpowered members and those equipped with advanced suits handle the dirty work. Thor didn’t hesitate to hack off the Titan’s hand, and you actually smiled at Thanos’s screams as you, Natasha, and Steve closed in on the shack.

Rocket rolled over Thanos’s severed hand, the gauntlet still attached. What you all saw next pushed you further into madness:

Every single stone was missing.

Blood had rushed to your head, but you could still hear Steve very calmly inquire where the stones were, despite the ringing that had started in your ears.

“...after that, the stones served no purpose beyond temptation…” Thanos uttered.

“Where are the stones?” Natasha repeated, her patience slipping in a rare moment of unease in front of an enemy.

“Gone,” Thanos uttered. “Reduced to atoms.”

“You used them two days ago!” Banner yelled.

“I destroyed the stones… using the stones.”

Everything turned to static the moment you heard the word destroyed. You’d pinned your hope on the Stones—on using them to bring her back. Now there was nothing. It was like the ground gave out beneath you, your entire center of gravity tilting around one brutal truth: Thanos hadn’t just wiped out half the universe—he’d taken your only way of undoing it.

The blood pounding in your ears muffled the exchanges. You saw Nebula’s lips move. You heard Thanos’ bullshit about realizing too late how he mistreated his own daughter. But it was like you were trapped in an echo chamber, drowning out the present.

Gone. Reduced to atoms.

He’d destroyed the Stones. You would never see Wanda again.

It was over.

You were quick to draw your pistols and fire a shot straight into his eye, but Thor was quicker—his axe already swinging, aimed directly for the head.

There should have been relief, or maybe some triumph in exacting revenge on the monster who’d purged half the universe. But there wasn’t. Only emptiness. The final blow had landed, and it changed nothing. Wanda was still gone, along with the rest.

A sick sense of finality wrapped around you, the suffocating knowledge that the Snap was permanent.

A few seconds later, Natasha laid a hand on your shoulder. You didn’t bother looking at her. You could feel her gaze, searching your face for any sign of composure. She’d find none. Nebula stood at a distance, staring at the father who had never been a father.

Someone—Carol maybe—muttered, “Let’s go.” And so you did. You stumbled away, feet dragging as if the scorched earth itself was holding you back.

It wasn't a victory. Not by a long shot. It was just the end of one more impossible avenue, closing shut.

The crushing grief welled up inside you, too much to contain. Finally, a scream ripped free from your throat, raw and guttural. It didn’t make you feel any better. It didn’t make it hurt any less.

But for a fleeting moment, it was all you could do to keep from drowning.

256 notes · View notes

winterarmyy · 2 years ago

Text

Welcome Home... Soldat? | Part II

That time when Bucky accidentally relapsed into the Winter Soldier.

Navigation: Part I || Part II* || Part III (end) || Extra

Words: 4.2k++ (of fluff and filth)

Pairing: winter soldier!bucky x female!reader

Warnings: 18+ content, smut, no minors allowed, nsfw, dub con, fingering, pussyjob, thighjob, soldat being manipulative yet maintains to be so loving at the same time, another round of google translated russian, filthy praises, soldat just want to make you feel good, wet & messy everywhere, loud & whiny soldat, and at the end of the day, despite the manipulation, the soldat just want take care of you.

A/N: omfg 1k++ notes from the previous chapter?! i didn't think this would get so much attention that it had, tbh. Like wtf. What did I do to deserve this 😭 Thank you so much for your support! I can't even begin to tell you guys how much joy y'all bring me. So, I decided write more of our soft soldat for all of us cause let's be honest, we need him so bad. It's gonna be 3 part mini series. I hope you enjoy!

Read my other works here: Masterlist

The darkness in his sight seemed permenant, at least until it transitioned into a dim-litted scenery. He recognized softness of the bed, and the blank white color of the ceiling.

He was in his room.

But, when he realized the emptiness of his bed, it was as if a force jolted through his body, yanking his lying figure into a sitting position. The dead silent was broken by the sound of his gasping breaths, followed closely by the beats of his pounding heart.

"Родная (darling)?" His voice shivered in his shaky breath.

When the silent replied his call, cold sweat drenched the roots of his hair. He almost jumped into a defensive position when the door of the walk-in wardrobe seemingly opened on its own.

But to his relief, her voice broke the silence, "Soldat?" Y/N peeped out her head when she heard his voice but the moment she saw the panic in his blue eyes, she quickly made her way towards him.

As soon as she was standing near enough, the soldat pulled her into a crushing hug, rubbing his face into her stomach a relief washed over him. Y/N ran her hands through his hair as she coaxed, "I'm here, I'm here."

He hummed in reply, "You're here." He repeated as a sigh escaped his lips.

Y/N didn't know why she expected that Bucky would be back after their "sleepover" but it was a shock for her when she woke up that morning with several tender kisses on her face by the soldat, who was very much still present.

"So, you're saying he's is not the winter soldier?" Sam cocked his head to the side as he tried to wrap up the overwhelming information thrown by Shuri.

The woman rolled her eyes, "No, I didn't say that. I said, he is not fully relapsed into the winter soldier." She reclarified.

"How was this possible? I thought he was gone?" Y/N asked as her worried gaze glanced over Bucky's unmoving figure in the examination pod.

Shuri sighed as she approached her, they watched Bucky's peaceful features resting through the glass, "We only remove the trigger that were attached to a switch to activating the winter soldier from Bucky; the soldat was never gone."

Y/N's eyebrows creased as the wakandan continued to explain, "It's like removing the toggle from a light switch; you can't turn it on just like that. But if, let say we use a toothpick to poke through the hole and trigger the switch, then..."

Steve intercepted her words before she could finish, "...then it'll be turned on." The woman nodded, "Precisely."

"That does not explain why Bucky is partially... not himself." Tony quickly probed as he casually threw a red M&M's into his mouth.

Steve paced back and forth in the room as he tried to replay the day of the incident, "Maybe it has to do something in that Hydra base that we raided. Bucky did look troubled on the jet home, then when we arrived he suddenly went berserk, looking for something; well... someone". He stopped as he threw a knowing look to Y/N.

"Yeah, why he is suddenly acting lovey dovey with y/n if the soldier was triggered? I don't get it." Sam crossed his arms against his chest as he questioned.

A smile almost cracked on Shuri's lips when they mentioned that, "This is just a hypothesis; but I reckoned that Bucky knew that the soldier is slowly taking over his mind and he didn't want to let himself vulnerable, exposed for people to give him orders."

Shuri leaned her back towards the table as she continued, "So instead, he latched himself on something else, to act as his mission. Some kind of desire that's buried as deep as where his winter soldier persona was concealed."

"So, you're saying that grumpy old man's deepest, darkest desire is to suffocate y/n with kisses and cuddles?" Tony quirked his eyebrow as he chewed on the sweet chocolate snack; there was certainly sarcasm in his voice.

Y/N intictively took the nearest object within her reach, which turns out to be a thick manual book, and struck Tony on his arms. The man repulsed with a confused frown on his forehead, mouthing a soundless, "What?"

Y/N mouthed back, "Shut up!" while Sam chuckled amusingly at the silent banter between them.

Ignoring the back and forth between Y/N and Tony, Shuri answered, "Well, those urges are derived by a certain key emotion, which I'm sure put you that genius title of yours into a good use, then you should've known the answer already."

"Love." Steve's revelation cuts through before Tony could throw his banter at Shuri, "He loves y/n." He repeated his words as if all of this made absolute sense.

Which only made Y/N stop on her tracks, "He loves me?" she questioned herself but everyone in the lab can practically see the confusion on her face.

Shuri agreed to Steve's deduction, "Yes, perhaps. I supposed that is why he is protective over her and like he said, wanted to suffocate her with kisses and cuddles." Shuri pointed at Tony as she return his sarcasm.

"Wait wait wait." Y/N held her hands forward as she stepped in the middle of the conversation, "Why are we casually agreeing to that as if it's normal? I mean, I know I'm not a genius but that is absolutely ridiculous. Bucky doesn't love me, as a friend maybe, yeah, but not like that." She couldn't help but to blush as she recalled the way the soldat hands and lips mapped on her skin.

"Yes, you are absolutely not a genius, especially when you are one of the two idiots who's in love with each other." Tony casually laid out the fact as everybody in the lab nodded in agreement, including Steve who she thought would back her up.

Y/N shook her head in denial and revert the conversation back to its original destination, "So, how do we get Bucky back?"

Shuri opened the terminal screen as she watched the progress of her observation, "Well, we're still figuring that out." Y/N's shoulders slumped in defeat.

"But what I can say is, it is best to let him stick with y/n for now." Shuri concluded.

They took the whole day running tests on the soldat, which he obediently cooperate as long as Y/N was there to hold his hand.

Between resting for breakfast, lunch and snack break; the soldat spend his time to be forced to put to sleep and out of it through out the day.

Right after dinner, and the final test run, he was just left to sleep off the rest of the night and Y/N finally had time to prep herself to sleep, when she heard Bucky's voice from the bed.

"Just finished showering. Hope you don't mind me wearing your shirt, they kinda lock me in here." Y/N frowned when she thought back on how the team managed to bring most of her things over but then forgot to pack her signature iron man pyjamas.

A fond smile curved on the soldat's lips as his gaze raked over her small body wrapped in his baggy shirt, which fell right at the middle of her naked thighs.

Y/N swore that there saw a flash of Bucky in his gleaming eyes. Or maybe she was just being delusional at this point.

She let him pulled her by the hand as he slowly brought her towards him. In no time, he had them both on the comfy matteress with soldat's back propped up against the headboard, while his arms found their place around Y/N's waist, cocooning her in between his legs.

It amazes her to think how comfortable she was, being this intimately close to him; when Bucky would've been too cautious to even approach her platonically.

So she decided rather than being constantly hesitant around the soldat, she thought that she might as well just enjoy the moment as it presented itself.

Y/N's exploring eyes stopped to the side of the bed when she saw a book next to the night lamp. She reached her hand as she leaned closer.

"Prince Caspian." She whispered to herself as her fingertips grazed across the title, "The Chronicles of Narnia, huh?"

It makes sense that Bucky would be interested to read this series, knowing his quirky yet undying brag about having the experience of reading The Hobbit back when it first came out.

Y/N couldn't help but to smile to herself, especially when her train of thoughts stopped at those memories of him.

She lifted the book towards the soldat, "What do you think, Soldat? Want me to read it to you?" She asked as the soldat rested his chin on her shoulder, peering at the deep blue, hard covered book.

He briefly hummed before replying, "Yes, please." The soldat loved the idea of being able to hear more of his darling's beautiful voice. It was his favourite thing in the whole world. Well, one of the things but surely all them were involving her.

Y/N settled herself as she leaned back against his sturdy chest. One of her legs were bent up towards her chest while the other was lazily thrown over his, spreading them as far as they could go.

The soldat placed light kisses on the back of her head all the way to the side of her neck, relishing at how soft her skin was and how good she smelled. The quiet of the room only enhanced the presence of her calming voice, luring him to close his eyes as he drowned himself the melody of it.

Minutes gone by and it was passing the half hour mark.

It wasn't that the soldat find the story boring or her voice drowsying, but he was feeling rather needy, almost greedy, to have more of Y/N to the point that he got slightly distracted.

She had been such a darling to him ever since he came home; fed him, letting him touch her, kiss her, pamper her, held her hand during those long lab tests, having her in his arms through the night and against his nightmare, and making him feel all warm and fuzzy on the inside.

And yet, she didn't get anything in return.

His darling deserved to feel good and he wanted to give it to her so badly that he was getting distracted from the story that she was passionately reading for him.

Soldat's hands carefully explored her body, from the side of her waist then slowly down to her naked thighs. Too engrossed with the plot, she almost instinctively opened her legs wider for him. Though she never intended to do so, her actions surely were quite sinful.

He used the opportunity to glide his metal hand deeper into her inner thighs, lightly caressing up higher towards where her thighs meet, until the tip of it brushed over her core.

Now that's when she realized the situation, her head shoot up to face him. The book in her hand almost thrown to the side as she reached to grab his, gripping it tightly as she tried to pull him away.

Failing to stop him, she whispered "W-what are you doing?" She stuttered as she felt his fingers slide across her clothed pussy.

Soldat looked down at the smaller, "Wanna make you feel good, мое Родная (my darling)" he innocently whispered back as his dangerous fingers provoked her.

When her silence remained, the soldat lifted the corner of his eyebrow in curiosity. Was she hesitating? He sees it as an opportunity to coax her to his will.

He cooed softly when he explained, "You deserve it, darling. Deserve it so much. Please, let me?" He sounded so desperate when he begs like that.

It feels like her whole body was burning, his touch were igniting flames wherever he drags his fingers. She knew it was wrong to feel like this, but she couldn't help it.

Oh, how his fingers works wonders even with the thin fabric were blocking his access.

Y/N bit her lower lip as she looked down to her thighs. The way she was grabbing onto his hands as he moved around; it looked like she was guiding him to touch her more.

The soldat knew she was close to be tempted to submit, "I promise it'll feel good. So good." he almost growled in her ears as he saw patch of the dampness started to appear on the center her panties.

"Don't." she whispered quietly, but that only made the soldat to futher seduce her as he add more pressure on his middle finger.

She hesitated for a while before she slurred "D-don't stop." her head thrown back into his neck, finally giving in to his promise of pleasure.

Lust took over the soldat, "Gonna make you feel so good, Родная (darling). Promise gonna treat your pretty pussy right. Make her cum so hard." He whispered lovingly as his breath sends shivers down her spine.

The soldat groaned, dropping his head to her neck to press open mouthed kisses on her untainted skin as he slipped his hand into her panties.

"Already wet for me?" He chuckled, biting his lip before his long finger slid between her folds.

"Hmmm." she tried to suppressed her voice as his finger moved up and down so deliciously.

"Of course," He said with a smile. He went on to tease her sensitive clit with slow, torturous circles, which force her to close her eyes, biting down on her lip to suppress a shrill moan.

"Родная (darling)," the soldat cooed. "You can scream as loud as you want. Let me hear those pretty noises, yeah?"

Y/N thought to reply but her own breath hitches when that one finger that has been circling her hole finally dips in, proceeding to spread her open for more.

She moaned louder this time, "Soldat..." The movement was completely involuntary; when her hand latch on to hold his wrist as her thighs try to squeeze shut at the feeling of him pressing another finger into her wet stretching cunt.

But, of course he was quick to spread her legs back open, preventing her to shy away.

"p-please soldat, ahh." She mewled, scratching the metal of his arm.

The soldat nibbled on the shape of her ears as he hushed, "There, there darling. Open up for me." His two long, metal fingers thrusts and rubs the inside of her pulsating pussy, occasionally scissoring her cunt as he took her right hand into his fleshed one; intertwining her fingers with his.

Her other hand scrambled to dug into his thigh as she arched her back, grinding her hips down against his metal hand. The soldat smirked proudly at her reaction, moving his fingers a little faster, a little rougher. Just enough to make her whine and move against him in search of more stimulation.

She cried out as his thumb circled her clit, "Ahhh fuck" she moaned shamelessly, while his eyes followed each jerk of her body as if he was memorizing it all.

"Hmm, you're so wet, Родная (darling). So warm too." The soldat hissed as he felt his hand were soaking by the minute. The muffled sound of his thrusts against her wet heat filled the room.

He looked down to her hidden pussy; his hand covered by the panties she was wearing, "Look down baby, open your eyes and look down." he lured her with low groan.

Completely loss in bliss, she complied without asking any question. Both the soldat and Y/N was looking at the same sight, the same shape of his hand clinging tight to the fabric, barely hidden under the thin layer of her panties, moving up and down; in and out of her pussy.

Somehow, watching the way it moves made her closer to her orgasm.

In one swift move, the soldat lifted her slightly to pull the barrier off by the waistband. An animalistic groan rumbled from deep within his chest, when he was completely revealed to the sinful sight of her naked pussy.

So wet and full with his fingers.

The soldat teasingly entered a third finger into her, stretching her out so good that she felt tears prick her eyes. Y/N's head snapped forward along with a buck of her hips. "S-soldat,, ahhhh" Her whines grew louder than before and she felt the flame in her stomach growing yet it wasn’t enough.

"Look at you. Look how well you're taking me. My darling is such a good girl, isn't she?" The soldat sounds sickeningly sweet when he murmured in her ears.

He pressed his thumb harder against her swollen clit, rubbing hard and fast circles as he pumped his fingers knuckle deep in and out of her cunt, causing her to gasp from the sensation.

He twisted and curled his fingers around to find that delicious spot inside of her, giving that delicious friction as he fucked her open. The noises coming from her pussy were so lewd, so crude and it only spurred him on.

"Sounds so perfect, Родная (darling). These pretty noises from your lips up here." The soldat murmured as he kissed the corner of her lips, "and down here." his fingers pumped faster, curling over and over again, creating the lewd squelching sounds of her juices leaking out.

Almost seeing stars, Y/N moaned desperately, "Cummin',, so good, 'm cumming." Oh, how sweet does her moans sounded in the soldat's ears.

"Already, Родная (darling)?" he groaned as he felt her hole pulsated, "But you need more, little one." He persuaded her edge a little more; but with the way he was fucking into her weeping pussy, she certainly wasn't able handle it anymore.

She whined needily as she shook her head, "Wanna cum now, please soldat ohh god please please please." She begged deliriously.

The soldat hummed as he worked his fingers up her hole, "Oh darling, you don't need to beg for it. You're so precious, I'd give you anything." He mumbled against her cheek as he kisses her, "Now, cum for me. Let me see you wet my bed, Родная (darling). Go on, cum."

All words die in the back of her throat when a he cooed at her. She threw her head back as a squeak of whine dies in her mouth; eyes squeezing shut, her body tensing as the soldat makes sure that she rides out the high for as long as she should.

"That's it darling, cum for your soldat. give it to me,, aahhh" He motioned, forming an 'O' with his mouth as she clamp down on his fingers; with his wide eyes looking down at her exposed pussy. Her orgasm gushed and flowed out onto his hand, dripping on the sheet as she quietly cry out in pleasure.

"So pretty," he praised, as his fingers kept pumping slowly in and out of her pussy, "So gorgeous, cumming so hard for me," he grunts in her ears as her high begins to settle.

He pull out his fingers, leaving her feeling empty for the sudden lost of touch. But that didn't last long when he proposed something else.

"One more time Родная (darling), with me." He moaned he sunk his metal hand into his pants and pull out his aching cock. The soldat tugs himself in his palm, rubbing the wetness on his hand around his length before settling it between her throbbing cunt.

Y/N didn't manage to let our her protest when he intercepted her, "Won't put it in, darling. Just..." his words linger as he squeezed her plush thighs together, engulfing his warm cock between them, "...wanna snuggle in between your thighs, Куколка (little one)."

"So keep them pressed together, okay?" the brunnete coaxed as his hands took a hold on her, "Will you do that for me?" The soldat asked sweetly.

She gave a small nod of affirmation, looking down at where the soldat's hands squishing both side of her thighs. The feeling of his length throbbing, wet with her slick, had her squeezing her thighs together more.

"That's my sweet girl. Promise you, it'll feel so good, darling." He let out a pleasurable groan as his hips jerked all the way forward, his skin meeting the back of her thighs while the head of his cock was peeking out from the other side.

With a squeeze of her hips in his hands, that will definitely leave bruises afterwards, he started to grind her into him. Back and forth, for the few experimental thrusts. And the moment her pretty little moans started to spill, he knew she needed more.

"More?" he moaned lowly, rocking his hips mindlessly.

Y/N limped back against his chest, whimpering sweetly for him as her needy little cunt drools messily all over her thighs and his cock; effortlessly making the thrust of his length between her thighs even easier.

If she was already so sensitve from him fingers before, now it's just oversimulating for her, "Hmm,, s-soldat,, that feels s-so good," she slurred, eyes rolling back.

"Yeah?" he gloated as he grunts, "Are you gonna cum again, darling? Come on, sweet one, I want to feel it." The soldat almost whimpered as he felt the thudding beat of her cunt on the stroke of his cock.

Y/N simply nodded, mouth falling open. His cock works over her sweet little pussy, nudging the sensitive bundle of nerve as he urged her to orgasm alongside his own.

He watched the way she drag her nails into the flesh of his thighs, "There she is, come on. Let it out, darling. That's it. Hmmm." His chest rumbled a deep groan. It was such a turned on for the soldat, to see the sight of him humping her legs faster until her slick finally wetting her thighs and his cock, making a mess everywhere.

Even if she has reached her high, his thrusts didn't flatter as his own orgasm was still at the edge. "Ahh,, darling,, please-- c-can't stop,," The upperside of his cock harshly rubbed between her sloppy folds, the feeling of the creamy mess between her thighs, making him fucked her faster.

The soldat whined needily into her neck as he drag her tightness back and forth. "So good, don't wanna stop." he squirmed as his voice hitched into a needy whimper, letting his head fall back to the headboard, his disheveled hair hanging by his face, some of it sticking onto his sweaty skin.

The room echoed with the several sinful sounds; his whimpers, her mewls, their skins slapping, the bed creaking, the wetness squelching.

It was such a dream for the soldat, especially when her folds spread around his fat cock every time he rolled his hips forward. The sight was beyond compelling, addictive to a certain extend.

"S-soldat,, please i'm,,hmmm,, sensitive." She can feel how thighs burned from the friction, and her slit abused with pleasure.

The soldat leaned into her until his hot breath blew across her neck, "Just a little more, Родная (darling)? Please? Wanna cum around your soft thighs, between your pretty pussy. You'll let me, right sweet one? You'll let me make a mess all over you? Paint you with my cum. You'll look so gorgeous, Родная (darling)"

His filthy thoughts started to spill out uncontrollably, as his body trembled in pure pleasure. His heaving chest rested on her small back when he whimpered, almost forcing her on her knees, pushing her down the mattress.

He wanted that so bad.

Just fuck her thighs and folds while she's on all fours, abusing her body for his pleasure and maybe slot the tip of his cock inside that tight cunt just before he cum, give that greedy little cunt a taste of his load, but he rather than that the soldat hold back on his thought, because truthfully he very much wanted to make a mess all over her right now.

His mouth sucking on her neck, leaving another one of his mark on her skin; one of many between those shades of purples and reds.

"Cumming for you, darling." He moaned loudly, eyes locked between her thighs, as his leaking cockhead occasionally peeks out. "Have so much cum for you,, gonna cream all over these thighs" He groaned, clenching his teeth as his cock throbs.

She clenched tighter as a unexpected orgasm were coming fast, letting out a desperate squeal as she reach her high. He growled at the feeling of her gushing pussy, fucking their orgasm into a higher level ecstacy.

The rolls of his hips were flattering into a slower and and sensual tempo, as both of them watched his cock; the way it pulsed and throbbed wildly, before white spurts of his hot cum started gushing from the little slit.

The soldat trembled through his orgasm, mouth falling open as he moaned lewdly at the sight of her skin being painted by his seemingly endless amount of cum.

Y/N panted heavily as her lips hanged open; failed words just at the tips of her tongue, unable to be formed properly. It didn't take long for the drowsiness to cloud her eyes, caused by the aftershock of the pleasure.

"There, there." The soldat cooed breathlessly in her ear, "So pretty, darling." Pampering the mark on her skin with gentle kisses, "So good for me." He mumbled as he languidly thrusts his cock, stroking the sides of her thighs, memorizing the sight of their wet mess.

Her body felt so good and satisfied, and the lid of her eyes slowly flutter into a longer close. She didn't hear much of his praises as he as laid her down, especially when his voice going in and out of her ears, as she was fighting through the temptation of slumber.

But, her body absolutely remembered how soft his touches on her skin, and the warm of the wet cloth swiping on the burn of her inner thighs, carefully over her swollen cunt.

"Love you, my precious darling." She couldn't make up what he was whispering under his breath. But she remembered the soldat pulling her close to his chest as he laid her on top of him, and the sweet kiss on her forehead before complete darkness engulf her sight.

"Your soldat loves you so much."

<< Part I || Part III >>

Read my other works here: Masterlist

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Taglist: @ghostofwinter @ansaturn @avocadotoasts-world @specialsnowflake-gabbi @biblophilefox82 @sunset90 @hereforfun22-blog @littlemiss-yeehaw @utterlynuts @melsunshine @jasminocano @maddieislost @wandabillywrites @happinessinthebeing @thriving-n-jiving @observantplum-blog @rebeccapineapple

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#winterarmyyfics #welcome home soldat au #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #winter soldier x you #winter soldier × reader #winter soldier!bucky #bucky smut

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storiesforallfandoms · 7 months ago

Text

making amends ~ bucky barnes;marvel

word count: 2528

request?: no

description: in which she finds out that their three year relationship started by him trying to make amends for his brainwashed past

pairing: bucky barnes x female!reader

warnings: swearing, angsty angst, use of y/n, mentions of bucky’s winter soldier past, mentions of an incident that left the reader in critical condition

masterlist (one, two, three)

(Y/N) placed the basket of clothes on her and Bucky’s bed. Bucky was away, and she had the day off, so she decided to do a clean of the whole house. She had just finished a load of laundry that had been waiting to be washed for at least two weeks. That included Bucky’s laundry, which he usually did himself but he had also let it pile up the last few weeks.

After folding it, (Y/N) turned to Bucky’s dresser to put his clothes away. When she opened the top drawer, she noticed something tucked away. She pulled it out and found it was a small moleskin journal. She hadn’t seen it before. Before she could consider what it might be for, or why Bucky might be hiding it away, she opened it.

It was a list of names. (Y/N) didn’t recognize any of them, but they were undoubtably written in Bucky’s writing. There were pages of names, some of which were crossed out. (Y/N) knew about Bucky’s past - about being a man out of time who was once a brainwashed weapon for Hydra. She began to wonder if these names were people he once knew. Maybe family of his old friends from the 40s, or whoever was still alive from then.

That seemed like a reasonable explanation, until she saw her name was one of the ones crossed out.

She backed up until her legs collided with the bed. She fell back to a sit, staring long and hard at her own name.

Why am I included in Bucky’s journal? she thought. Was he looking for me? And if so, why?

She was so lost in her own thoughts that she didn’t hear Bucky coming home. Suddenly, he was stood in the doorway to the bedroom. (Y/N) looked up at him, still with a look of confusion on her face. Bucky had been smiling, but when his eyes fell onto the book, his smile faded. His reaction made her heart sink. She would feel guilty for looking through his stuff under different circumstances, but now all she could think of was what the journal was for.

Bucky broke their silence first, “Where’d you find that?”

“It was in your top drawer,” she replied. Quickly, she added, “I found it while putting the laundry away. I didn’t think...” She trailed off, looking back down at the book. “What is this?”

Bucky ran his hand through his hair and sighed. There was no use in lying about it. He had to come clean eventually. “You know how we’ve talked about my time as the Winter Soldier? All the bad I did while I was under their control?”

She nodded. Of course, how could she ever forget? He had opened up to her very early on in their relationship about what he had gone through under Hydra’s control. He told her because he said he didn’t want to keep secrets from her, and he wanted to give her the opportunity to leave before the relationship got too serious if what he did changed her opinion on him. It was a shock, especially since she was a former SHIELD agent who had heard plenty of stories about the infamous Winter Soldier, but she assured him that her opinion on him hadn’t changed. “You are not that person,” she ahd told him.

“When Shuri deprogrammed me,” he explained, “and when I started going to therapy, my therapist suggested finding a way to make amends for all the bad I did. That book is a list of people I hurt...or-or killed as the Winter Soldier. I’ve met with most of them, or their remaining families, and done whatever I could do to make amends.”

(Y/N) looked at all the names again. All people from Bucky’s past. People he hurt when he didn’t even have control over his own body and mind. The crossed out names were people he felt he had made amends with.

Her name was one of the ones crossed out.

“Why am I here?” she asked. Her voice was so soft he may not have heard it if he didn’t have enhanced hearing.

“Do you remember that mission you went on that resulted in you leaving SHIELD?”

(Y/N) tensed. She remembered, although very slightly. She had some gaps in her memory from that night, but she remembered the most important part: that she had almost died.

The details of the mission were one of the foggy things. All she could remember was being sent to a supposed Hydra base with other SHIELD agents. She had gone off by herself. She was moving down what she thought was an empty hallway. That’s where her memory stopped. Next thing she knew, she had woken up in a hospital bed days later. Fury didn’t tell her many details, just that she was attacked and nearly lost her life. Another agent had luckily found her before it was too late.

Fury had offered to let (Y/N) be off as long as she needed. He assured her that her job would be waiting for her when she was ready to come back. Instead, (Y/N) quit on the spot.

When she finally dared to look up at Bucky, she saw that he was crying. She had been holding back her own emotions, but seeing Bucky break was enough to make her finally break too.

“It was me,” Bucky admitted, his voice breaking. “I did that to you.”

(Y/N)’s hands clutched the journal. She was tempted to rip it to shred and leave the pieces scattered all over the bedroom floor. Their bedroom floor. The bedroom in the house that they had bought together nearly a year ago.

“Was any of it real?”

She didn’t mean to say it out loud. It was a thought that slipped through her filter before she could stop herself. But it was also a question she needed an answer on. She had already spent three years of her life with Bucky, and had planned to spend the rest of it with him, too. But if all of this was just a way for him to “make amends” with her...that would’ve hurt her worse than finding out that the man she loved was the reason she almost died.

Although, that wasn’t Bucky. That’s what she had been telling him since he first told her about the Winter Soldier. He wasn’t in control, he didn’t know what he was doing. He was made to think he was a weapon to be used against anyone Hydra viewed as an enemy, and at that point in time, (Y/N) was the enemy in question.

But it was Bucky who had lied to her for three years. Post-brainwashed Bucky, who knew this whole time that he had hurt her when he was under Hydra’s spell. Who had sought her out to “make amends”, and just so happened to end up in a relationship with her.

Bucky seemed hurt by the question. “Of course! Of course, all of it was real. All of this is real.”

“You say that like it’s an outrageous thing to ask, but how can I not think that maybe this is how you decided to ‘make amends’ with me?”

She was standing now. She didn’t even notice she had stood, but now she was looking Bucky in the eye.

“Three years, Buck,” she continued. “We’ve been together for three years. You had so much time to tell me this, and you never did. Were you ever going to? Or were you just going to let me believe that we met by chance in a grocery store and fell in love and it was all happily ever after?”

“I tried to tell you,” he said. “When I first told you about my past, I wanted to tell you then. That was the whole reason I told you. But then you were being so understanding and kind, and you were making me feel less like a monster, I just...I couldn’t. I thought if I told you then...that you wouldn’t have been as understanding.”

“Bucky, I’m not upset or mad or scared of you because of what happened. I know that wasn’t you. That’s what I’ve been saying for ages, that you’re not the Winter Soldier. What I am upset about is that you didn’t tell me about this amends thing. You didn’t even mention that it was something you did. I had to find out three years into our relationship, which now has me questioning whether or not this whole thing was just a way for you to make amends with me.”

“No! No, (Y/N), it’s not - ”

He reached out for her and she took a step back. They both paused as (Y/N) realized what she did. She had done it out of anger, but the look in Bucky’s eyes told her that he was afraid she was doing it out of fear, too. That one look was enough to make her anger turn to sympathy. She was still angry, and she was sure that anger wasn’t going anywhere, but she could understand Bucky’s hesitance in telling her about the attack. That just wasn’t the issue she was currently having.

“How did you plan to make amends with me?” she asked. “Because if taking me out on that first date was your plan, I’m going to be so upset and hurt - ”

“No, not at all,” he cut her off. “We met ages before I asked you on a date, remember? You said it yourself, it was at the grocery store.”

“Had you been looking for me, though? Was that actually a chance encounter, or did you look for me?”

He hesitated before responded, “I had looked for you. You were one of the few people who were already in New York, so I went looking to find out where you lived and figured out which places you were likely to visit in that area. I didn’t follow you or anything, but I did go to some of those places frequently to try and run into you.”

(Y/N) didn’t think about the slight creepy and stalker way that sounded. She had to remind herself he was saying he didn’t do that to try and start a relationship with her.

“We got to talking, and you told me about the issues you were having in your apartment,” he said. “You said your landlord was a piece of shit and didn’t offer any help whenever you needed it. So, I offered to help. Remember, I was there basically a whole day just fixing whatever issues you had?”

She remembered. She had been hesitant to accept the offer from a strange man she had only met moments before in a grocery store, but her old apartment was basically falling apart. She had done the best she could to fix whatever she knew how, but there were still so many issues, and her landlord kept blowing her off whenever she had talked to him about it. She was desperate. Not to mention she still had her SHIELD training if Bucky had ended up trying to pull anything while he was there.

“That was my amends,” he told her. “I knew it could never measure up to what I did to you, but it was something you needed done and I helped you. I crossed you off the list then and there, and I completely left you alone. I hadn’t thought about you for months after that, until...”

“Until we ran into each other on the street,” she remembered.

It was three or four months after Bucky had fixed up her apartment when she saw a familiar face walking the packed sidewalk of New York. She had been the one to initiate the conversation then. Bucky hadn’t even seemed to notice her until she waved him down and called out his name.

“And you basically begged for my number so we could keep in contact,” he reminded her. “I tried to stay away. I knew it was wrong, sick even, for me to get involved with you at all. But you had these big, pleading eyes, and you wouldn’t really take no for an answer. And then we got to talking, and one thing led to another and I found myself asking you on a date.”

When Bucky stepped towards her, reaching for her again, (Y/N) didn’t pull away. Instead, she let him take her into his arms. He was slow, giving her the option to pull away if she wanted to, and when she didn’t he pulled her all the way to him. She rested her head on his chest as he put his chin on the top of her head.

“I’m so sorry I never told you,” he said. “I know I should’ve. It’s eaten away at me for so long. But at time went on, I just fell more and more in love, and I was scared. I was selfish. You never should’ve had to find out this way.”

(Y/N) sighed. “No, I shouldn’t have. You should’ve told me when things really started to get serious. Especially about the amends stuff.”

“I know. I’m sorry, doll.” He kissed the top of her head, his lips lingering against her hair. “I understand if you need time to process everything. Like I said, I know it was wrong to pursue a relationship after what I did to you - ”

“How many times will I have to remind you that you are not the Winter Soldier?” she asked, pulling away so she could look at him. “Honestly, knowing that doesn’t affect our relationship. I fell in love with Bucky Barnes, the kind man who is carrying such a large burden on his shoulders because of other people who are actually evil. That part of the story isn’t what upsets me. It’s finding out that I was on an amendment list and not knowing how much of this relationship was actually real.”

Bucky cupped her face with his flesh hand, almost like he was afraid of her reaction to his metal arm now that she knew the truth. “All of it is real. I love you so, so much, (Y/N). I can’t imagine my life without you.”

She leaned into his touch. “I love you, too.”

He pulled her in for a kiss, but she pulled away. “You’ll have to add me back to that list.”

He looked at her, confused. “What?”

“After learning about all of this, you have to make a new amendment with me. Say, breakfast in bed? Oh, or maybe that puppy you keep conveniently forgetting we agreed to get?”

He smiled and pulled her to him again. When he kissed her, she didn’t pull away.

“I’ll do whatever you want. I’ll give you the whole world if it proves to you how much I love you.”

(Y/N) giggled. “Let’s start smaller with the puppy instead.”

Bucky chuckled. “Deal. We’ll go to the pound next week.”

“Tomorrow.”

He sighed, resting his forehead against hers. “Fine. Tomorrow.”

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #james buchanan barnes #sebastian stan #sebastian stan imagine #sebastian stan x reader #marvel #imagine #one shot #fanfiction #fanfic

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literaryavenger · 1 year ago

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Unleash Your Inner Avenger Masterlist

[On hold]

Summary: This is how I see the MCU going if Reader was in it.

Warnings: MCU spoilers. Language. Mentions of death, fighting and use of firearms. My poor attempts at being funny. Each chapter will have its own warnings.

Captain America: The Winter Soldier | Part 2 | Part 3

Avengers: Age of Ultron

Ant-man

Captain America: Civil War | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

Black Panther

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crowsofdarkness · 3 months ago

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Besplatno: One Shot

-gif not mine. credit to owner-

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Female Agent! Reader.

Content Warnings: language, 18 + implied smut, angst, fluff, violence, mentions of losing a pregnancy, thoughts of taking one's life, an attempt to take one's life. I will give another warning when that chapter is posted.

Summary: Bucky needed to make sure he was free from Soldat before continuing on his life with his dorogaya.

Authors Note: This takes place in the Soldat universe, in between Dorogaya and Vaz Prizrak!

Tags: @globetrotter28 @sakuracyberhex @chinggay85-blog @bookofriverr @misatxox @that-blonde-girl @cats-chaotic-mind @wintrsoldrluvr @sebastians-love @pumpkin-babydoll @ordelixx @starfly-nicole @j23r23 @baw1066 @capswife @winterassassin1804

Soldat Masterlist | Dorogaya Masterlist | Vaz Prizrak Masterlist

The soft sounds of the woods danced around us as we made our final descent to the one flat lining of the mountain. Bucky trailed behind so with a soft look over my shoulder towards him, I extended my hand to him.

“It’s going to be okay,” I reassured him.

He merely nodded and with his only hand, linked our fingers together. The feeling of fear and self doubt filled my veins when our skin grazed over each other. There were a lot of questions, whether this was a good idea or if we’re far away from the city square of Wakanda, in case this backfired.

Ayo reassured us that it would be fine; Shuri’s work had cleared the trigger words from Bucky’s mind now we had to test it.

“This will do,” Ayo said while looking around.

I nodded and motioned for Bucky to sit on the ground in front of a pile of wood. With a fast snap, fire spread from the tips of my fingers to the pile of wood, flames spreading with ease. The warmth of the fire circled around us as I sat down next to Bucky.

“What’s on your mind?” I questioned.

He kept quiet, only shrugging.

I let out a soft sigh and placed my hand on his knee, forcing him to look into my eyes. “Even though I can feel what you feel, Buck, it doesn’t mean that I don’t want to hear the words from your mouth.”

“I’m scared,” he admitted, finally.

Tears welled into the corners of his eyes, indicating that Bucky was seconds away from breaking down.

It had been a couple of days after he had awoken in Shuri’s lab and we had spent that time just the two of us in our hut, catching up on the last few weeks. The calm bubble that we had encased ourselves in had popped when Ayo came to visit.

“King T’challa wants to make sure the Winter Soldier is gone.”

Her words had rang a very large bell in my head, making me realize that we were so engrossed in our love for one another, that neither of us had stopped to think what if Shuri’s hard work hadn’t actually worked.

I knelt down in front of him and placed my hands on both sides of his face. Our gazes locked, hard, and I let out a deep breath hoping it would calm my nerves.

I didn’t want to let Bucky know that he wasn’t the only one scared; I was fucking terrified. Even though Soldat and I had so much history together, I wanted to never see him again.

There was that deep lingering fear that the other part of him truly wasn’t gone.

“Y/N?”

Ayo pulled me to the side, making sure that we were out of earshot of Bucky’s supersoldier hearing.

“If this doesn’t work, you need to make sure you can control him,” Ayo stated.

“I know,” I nodded. “But this will work. It has to.”

It was Ayo’s turn to nod, only hers was more strict and believable. She had been one of the only Dora Milaje that had been assigned to keep an extra eye on Bucky. She took extra care in making sure that we were settled comfortably and had everything we needed.

Ayo, in my eyes, was our guardian angel. I owed her so much for taking care of the both of us.

“It’s time,” she spoke.

I resumed my spot kneeling in front of Bucky. He had his eyes trained hard on the dirt below, a million things running through his mind. He didn’t have to utter a word for me to know what he was thinking of.

“I will not hate you if this doesn’t work, Bucky.”

His bottom lip trembled. “Please don’t leave me.”

My own tears rolled down my cheeks at his broken words and I felt my heart drop to the pit of my stomach.

“I will never leave you.” I vowed to him.

A broken sob fell from his lips while he buried his face into my neck. He breathed in my scent, calming himself immediately.

“You’re breaking my heart, Bucky.” I sobbed.

I felt his warm tears run down the exposed skin of my neck and chest before Bucky pulled back, locking our eyes together once more.

“I love you, dorogaya.”

I gave him my best smile and placed a firm kiss onto his lips. Both of our lips melded and moved so well together, his tongue danced with mine and I could feel the fire burning low in my core. Needing a breath of air, I sadly pulled away from Bucky and saw the light behind his eyes slowly fading. No matter what I said to him, my words couldn’t put him at ease.

“I love you too, Bucky. So much,” I gave him one last kiss.

“James, are you ready?”

Both of our gazes fell onto Ayo and he reluctantly nodded. I clasped his hand with my own and forced him to look at me the entire time Ayo spoke the ten trigger words.

“It’s not going to work,” Bucky cried.

“It will. You have to believe that it will.”

Longing.

Rusted.

Seventeen.

Ayo spoke the dreaded words in Russian and Bucky had broken down in front of me. The tears fell fast from his broken eyes as he clenched in Soldat tight, fighting within not to free him.

“It’s okay. I’m right here,” I cupped his face, keeping his eyes straight on me.

Daybreak.

Furnace.

Nine.

“Please don’t leave me, doll.” He begged.

I shook my head, my own tears pouring from my eyes. “You’re stuck with me, baby. I’m not going anywhere.”

Benign.

Homecoming.

There were two more words left and the fear I felt oozing off of Bucky had nearly knocked me to my ass. His shoulders shook with sobs while his body fell towards me.

“It’s okay,” I hushed his fears.

One.

“Just look at me,” I placed my finger under his chin. “Focus on my voice.”

Freightcar.

An eerie silence fell over us as we continued to stare at one another, wondering if Soldat would break his way through Bucky’s gates. His eyes were unreliable, an expression I had never read on his face before. The feeling, however, was something I recognized almost immediately.

Relief.

“Bucky?” I questioned.

With his only hand, Bucky cupped my cheek and gave me a quick nod.

Happy sobs erupted from my throat and I looked at Ayo, who also had a smile across her hard features.

“You are free,” she assured.

I wrapped my arms around Bucky’s neck, pulling his body into my own and as we melded together, I crashed my lips onto his. They moved in sync, like earlier, and when his hand gripped my hip tight, I knew in that silent cue that he said everything he couldn’t actually say.

He was free. No more fear of someone finding out what those words were and use them against him. Bucky was finally able to move on and heal from his past. We both were able to move on together and enjoy the calm of Wakanda.

“I love you so much, doll. Thank you.” Bucky muttered against my lips.

I smiled against his lips, molding them tougher once more.

“I love you too, Bucky. No matter what.”

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #sebastian stan #bucky barnes and reader #the winter soldier #marvel #the winter soldier x reader #the winter soldier smut #bucky barnes x agent!reader #james barnes smut #james barnes imagine #james bucky barnes #james barnes #james buchanan barnes #soldat bucky barnes #vaz prizrak bucky barnes #dorogaya bucky barnes

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incorrectmarvelquotesss · 1 year ago

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— his colours —

Warnings: angst, fluff, sad!bucky, liquor consumption

Summary: Bucky might be too late to tell you how he feels.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Word Count: ~5.2k

A/N: An idea that popped up in my head and finally broke through the struggle I've been having while writing. Enjoy and feast upon this! Also add yourself to the taglist(s) >here<

Steve narrowed his eyes at the brooding figure in front of the mirror, trying to figure out what exactly was itching in his brain.

Bucky had always been a charmer, and a damn good one at that. From when he first met Steve’s mother, Sarah, sporting a few bruises and a busted lip, to when he was getting drafted in the war.

Sarah was a kind woman, but that didn’t mean she trusted easily. With Steve’s father and a few relatives that turned away in their time of need, Sarah fell apart with her own friends and family. Her trust dwindled and started to dim until Steve showed up with Bucky in tow after school. She was weary at first, perhaps thinking that Bucky was no good news, but as the days progressed along with their friendship, she started viewing him as a son. He was around every few days for dinner, bringing a few things that he passed along as extra food the maid had conveniently accidentally brought with her.

It didn’t take too long for Sarah to put two and two together, but she never said anything to him. Never scolded him for bringing food to their dinner. She knew he did it out of love, not pity or sympathy. He loved Steve as a brother and looked up at Sarah with a boyish grin that made it impossible for her to be mad.

Steve watched Bucky now, remembering the days when Bucky would simply grab any shirt and pants to wear, grinning as he told Steve about this new dame that had moved into town. He was confident and struck with features that had any woman falling into his arms with just one lopsided smile. A few more grins and some dances later, the woman would offer to leave. Sometimes Bucky would agree with dimples, other times he would politely refuse and say he wanted to do things right.

Bucky lacked that confidence now, Steve realised, eyebrows rising slightly on his face. It wasn’t evident at first glance. Bucky was steady and graceful, not once faltering in his movements as he knotted his tie. Nor as he shrugged on his blazer. It was when his eyes would flicker over the mirror in front of him. It was obvious when his hand brushed over a spot on his shoulder a few times and fixed his tie to sit straight. Even more so when he fixed the collar of his shirt and then his blazer, only to find his hair sitting slightly off and fixing that instead.

“You’re nervous,” Steve breathed out, breaking the comfortable silence that they had been in for a few minutes. Bucky paused his actions for a second before seemingly deciding to ignore his comment. Steve watched him pull his shirt sleeves under his blazer, jaw ticking when he caught Steve’s eyes through the mirror.

“I’m not,” he said simply, as if that ended the conversation. Steve was curious though. Never in his life had he seen Bucky nervous for a social gathering, much less a party that Tony was throwing. After the whole debacle in DC, Bucky had recovered well and fast, thanks to T’Challa’s favour and Shuri’s brains. His memories were hazy at times and he had nightmares—sometimes he had to be restrained by Steve—but that was four years ago.

Over the past two years, Bucky was able to sleep throughout the night at least four nights in a week. Those night terrors had decreased to about five in the past year or so and his memories had been recovered. He remembered the diner that had been down the block from Steve’s house, the smell of his mother’s cinnamon buns, and the wretched taste of mud and blood in his mouth during the war. His social etiquette returned and Tony started inviting him to parties that Bucky had no problem attending. He was more than happy to indulge women and men in his charms once again.

“Yes, you are,” Steve deadpanned, sitting up straighter when Bucky shook his head and sighed. His hands came down from his tie that he was adjusting again. He looked at Steve through the mirror before turning around to face him and dropped the hand that had come up to check his hair.

“What makes you think that?” Bucky asked instead. Steve knew he was deflecting the question, but gave in and nodded at his form.

“That.” Steve nodded at him again. Bucky frowned and looked down at his clothes, arms going up at his sides. Just as Bucky was about to speak again, Steve cut in. “You’ve been looking at yourself over and over again.” Steve watched Bucky carefully before realization dawned on him.

“You’re nervous ‘cause she’s going to be there,” he voiced out in a breathless manner. Steve hadn’t even thought of that and he inwardly cursed at himself for not seeing it sooner. Of course, the reason Bucky was nervous was because of the one person who seemed to be able to throw Bucky off his charms.

Bucky opened his mouth to retaliate, but stopped short when Steve raised an eyebrow at him in challenge. He closed his mouth and averted his eyes as if his eyes would give away the feeling that was smothering him slowly. He licked his lips, turning his attention to a lint that had stuck onto his pants. His hands were sweaty, but he kept them steady as he picked at the lint and smoothed out the wrinkle at his chest. His nerves were acting up today, for this party, simply because you were coming back from Greece.

“She hasn’t been here in two years,” Bucky finally said, sighing as he brought his eyes back up to meet Steve’s gentle gaze. His shoulders fell with an exhale, trying to calm his thudding heart and roaring ears. “She hasn’t seen me since—since I was still recovering.” When Steve’s eyebrows furrowed, Bucky knew he didn’t understand what he meant.

“But you guys kept in contact the entire time,” Steve mumbled, grabbing his shoes to put them on and keeping his head down. It gave Bucky a chance to turn around without the annoying glare Steve would send his way for trying to cut the conversation off.

Bucky did keep in contact with you when he could. He had texted you everyday for the first three months and sent daily reminders to eat because he knew you would forget while working. The texts had abruptly stopped from his end when he was called away on a SHIELD stealth mission. That meant he had called you the second he was able to, throwing off his shoes and tossing his duffel bag away, he called you. You didn’t pick up. He called again and again, but then registered that you were probably asleep.

He went through your texts, ranging from the top ones of concern to the bottom ones of realization to the last few that varied from your daily tasks. His heart had never felt heavier. The suffocating feeling lingered on his shoulders as he forced himself to lay down. He just couldn’t let go of his phone or turn his head off. He kept his phone on his chest, hair dampening the pillow as he laid awake staring at the ceiling. He kept wishing you called back, but you didn’t. He texted you in the morning with heavy eyes, drooping shut every now and then.

You responded and he started texting like usual, only this time it was rare for you to reply in the same day. His social battery lowered and he usually found himself in the corner with a drink or leaving early with a quick excuse. He never asked why the texts had been reduced. He was too scared of getting an answer his heart couldn’t handle. His heart already ached with each passing day you two spent apart, not knowing how you were doing. He wouldn’t be able to text you if you told him that you had met someone and were busy with them.

He was a coward. A coward for not telling how he felt when you left.

You were the only one that didn’t tip-toe around him and treat him like he was made of porcelain. You were gentle, but that didn’t stop you from telling him exactly what you thought. You respected his boundaries that had been set quietly. You didn’t touch him before telling him and asking if it was okay, but you also told him that he should get used to people not asking before touching as well. You kept your distance from his left side if you two walked together, knowing very well he still wasn’t over the murder and torture it had executed.

It was easy to fall for you. You made it so easy for him to stumble, trip, and fall in.

“Buck?” Steve’s voice was tinged with concern and worry, a small crack seeping through the vowel. Bucky’s eyes flickered up, hands unconsciously sliding down his front to smoothen out his shirt again.

Bucky swallowed. “Yeah, we did.” His throat burned with the white lie. You two had stopped texting each other three weeks ago with a simple ‘goodnight’ from the both of you.

Steve stood up, his light blue blazer and pants with the white shirt made the green flecks in his eyes pop and the blue seem darker. Steve looked over at him once, eyebrows furrowing in deep thought as his eyes swiped over his outfit. From the black loafers to the midnight blue pants to the matching blazer and black shirt to the silver tie he had worn. In a few seconds, Bucky watched Steve’s confused face morph into one of amusement.

“You wore her colours,” he declared with an annoyingly smug grin. He fixed his cuffs as he stared at Bucky who cleared his throat at the accusation.

Bucky felt his cheeks warm with the obvious choice. It was unintentional at first, picking out the silver tie and blue blazer, but Bucky had realized soon enough that they were your signature colours. He was looking for your colours when he shopped. He had stopped and picked out a few blazers in different styles and some with patterns, but they had all been a dark blue colour. His ties at the last few events had some incoherent swirls of silver. His hair had been swept to the side since you had complimented it styles like that.

Bucky ignored Steve’s expression and gruffed out, “We should go.” Steve somehow agreed and started for the door, but stopped short with his hand on the knob.

“You should tell her how you feel tonight,” Steve said gently before twisting the knob and stepping into the hallway. Bucky could hear the loud metal music blasting through the Compound then, his door wide open as Steve made his way down the hall towards what Tony liked to call the party room. Bucky swallowed thickly, the burning feeling back in his throat, and followed Steve down the hall.

Steve stopped in front of the doors with a wicked grin. “Thor brought his Asgardian liquor,” he told him, emitting an easy grin from Bucky. That was a good thing, Bucky thought. If he had to face you tonight, talk to you maybe, he wouldn’t be able to do it sober.

Steve pushed open the doors and spread out his arms to announce his arrival. Bucky rolled his eyes and pushed past him, straight to the bar where Natasha was standing with Clint while Thor made drinks. With the heavy music now over, a pop song that he had heard once or twice before playing, he could hear the clinks of glasses and chatters humming in the air. The dance floor was bustling with SHIELD agents that had been invited as per Tony’s request. He didn’t know all of them, but he could recognise a few as he walked by.

“Ah, Bucky!” Clint greeted, patting him on the back and drawing him nearer. His hand was wrapped around a bottle of vodka that Bucky was sure was Natasha’s favourite. It was the strongest stuff in the bar—other than the Asgardian liquor, of course. “Settle a debate for us, will ya?” Bucky inwardly grimaced at the smell of vodka on his breath and slightly pulled back.

“What’s it?” Bucky asked, looking between the three of them with a grin. He leaned against the bar island just as Thor came over with Asgardian liquor. He dropped a small pail of ice near him and nodded at it. Bucky nodded back his thanks.

“How long that guy’ll last here,” Clint said with a loopy grin. He took a swing out of the bottle, looking over at Natasha with a wag of his eyebrows. “I say two weeks before he runs.” Bucky took a sip of his drink, eyebrows furrowing and eyes darting to Natasha for answers. Clint was clearly teetering on the brink of tipsy and drunk, slurring his words together. Natasha was perched on the stool with a sober expression on her face while her eyes were fixed on Bucky.

“Wait,” Bucky breathed out with a light chuckle, “who are we talkin’ about?” He pushed off the island and looked at Natasha expectantly. The pop music had turned into slow, smooth jazz-type of music that was almost sensual. Natasha leaned forward, towards Bucky as if she was going to share a secret. To his surprise and confusion, Natasha’s eyes softened with something close to pity.

“Y/N’s boyfriend, Sohan,” she whispered, her emerald eyes flickering towards the dance floor.

Bucky’s eyes followed her eyesight, painfully slowly, to the dance floor where you danced with Sohan. He was a dark-haired and dark-eyed man with lightly tanned skin. The blood rushed to his ears, heart thudding violently in his ears as he watched Sohan lean in towards you. He looked away before your lips made contact. He felt as if someone had dumped that pail of ice down his back. A shiver licked up his spine and he downed his drink, eyes and throat burning with the harsh liquor.

“So, what d’you think, Buckaroo?” Clint asked and leaned forward to lay on the island, oblivious to the feelings coursing through Bucky.

Bucky slammed his glass down loudly enough to grab Thor’s attention. “Get me the whole bottle, please,” he gritted out angrily. Thor looked uncomfortable with the glance Natasha sent him, but he gave over one of the few bottles he had brought with the scowl setting onto Bucky’s face.

Bucky swiped the bottle off the table and popped open the cork. He put it to his mouth and looked over his shoulder to see you speaking into Sohan’s ear. His eyes quickly drank you in. The black dress you wore had a corset that clung to your torso and accentuated your curves. The tulle flared out slightly and the fabric underneath it was decorated with delicate gold accents.

They were his colours.

He spun around and chugged faster, ignoring the look Thor was giving Natasha.

“Two hours,” Bucky muttered out and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. His throat felt like it was on fire. Somewhere, in the more logical side of his brain, he knew he shouldn’t drink so fast. Thor’s eyebrows pinched in concern when he saw the half empty bottle.

“Bucky, I think that—” Thor cut himself off at the withering glare Bucky sent his way. Before Bucky had a chance to feel guilty about his behaviour, Thor turned away with a small smile to attend to another attendee.

Bucky bitterly reminded himself that he had no reason to be angry at anyone, but himself. The slow songs changed into heavy rock again, Tony’s enthusiastic voice echoing amongst the drums and guitars. He brought up his hand to run it through his hair, shaking with emotions he couldn’t place. It wasn’t pure anger or jealousy. Heartbreak perhaps. He took another large gulp and felt a gentle hand touch his shoulder.

He looked over, a scowl on his face and intentions to tell the person to fuck off, but the words died on his lips when he saw your face.

Your lips were painted a deep red and stretched out into a gentle smile. Your hair tumbled down in soft curls that made him want to hide his face in it. A smither of glitter on your nose and peaks of your cheekbones highlight your face, contrasting it from the smokey eyeshadow and black eyeliner coating your eyes. He hadn’t noticed the sheer fabric that covered your stomach, showing off skin when the light hit it just right.The urge to spin you around, kiss your cheeks, lips, neck, was strong. He held back.

He could tell you put effort into your makeup so he grinned through his heartbreak and said, “Don’t you look like something outta a fairytale?” He wasn’t sure if you would fall into the category of pretty princesses or of attractive villains. His thoughts were muddled, even more so with the liquor starting to take effect. He would regret drinking so much in the morning. If he made it through the night, at least.

“Thank you, Buck,” you said with a grin. He couldn’t just call it a grin though, not when it set every fiber of his body on fire. His head spun when you let your eyes glide over his body through hooded lids. “You look handsome, too.”

Your fingers delicately pressed into his shoulder before sliding towards his neck to adjust his collar and then his ties. He could feel your hand burn through his shirt, branding his skin with your print, resting it just over his heart. He could have sworn he felt an electric shock course through his veins when you patted his chest. When you grinned, the teasing one that you sent him during boring meetings, he felt his shoulders relax from their tense state. He grinned back automatically, forgetting about his breaking heart and the man you were here with when you were looking at him just like you looked at him before.

“How are you?” You asked, pulling away and waving to Thor. You acted as if nothing was wrong. As if he was the only one who felt the heat of tension and urges of desire, laced with sweetness. He still tasted the bitter remnants of the Asgardian liquor on his tongue, hoping you wouldn’t be able to smell it.

“Good,” he replied simply. There was no need to tell you how much he had changed. You didn’t need to know that his sleep was nonexistent when you didn’t text back. His attitude, his recovery, his emotions that had grown, those were all hidden on the tip of his lying tongue. He was not okay, but you didn’t need to know that.

“I’m glad, Bucky.” Your hand landed on his forearm to squeeze it lightly. Thor placed two drinks in front of you with a wink, glasses clinking on the marble as he slid them towards you. You smiled at him, a little dimmer than the one you sent Bucky right after. “Wanna meet Sohan? He’s really sweet.”

He wanted to say no. “Sure, darlin’.” There was no way he could say no to you when you looked so endearingly adorable. Lips pulling wider a bit and eyes lighting up with relief, you looked around the crowd. You gestured to Sohan to come over when you saw him. He excused himself from Tony and sauntered over to you with a grin Bucky knew meant he was cocky.

Bucky’s gut dropped.

“Hey, princess,” Sohan started and patted your lower back in greeting. He nodded his head at Bucky with a slightly smaller smile, one that held a linger of smirk. “You must be the famous Bucky Barnes.” He extended a hand towards him.

Bucky refrained from cringing and gripped his hand. It was a little tighter than he usually would have held someone’s hand, but he was sure it wouldn’t hurt. He didn’t notice that it was his metal hand until Sohan’s eyes widened.

“Fuck!” Sohan whipped his hand back with a howl, holding it to his chest. You were by his side immediately, hands on his bicep and face, gently prying his hand away from his chest to inspect it. No marks or bruises appeared, no broken bones were heard cracked. Yet your eyebrows furrowed in concentration, seeking out any hurting places with the tips of your finger pressing in.

Bucky watched with a stoic face, knowing that he hadn’t pressed in too hard. It was for show. He could see the way Sohan’s eyes quickly darted over you in admiration, brown eyes twinkling. He could feel Natasha’s eyes on him and, out of the corner of his eye, saw her exchange a glance with Thor. Steve had appeared sometime before for a drink, now standing beside Bucky with his chest puffed out and ready to defend, no doubt. Once you were done checking his hand, you pulled away with a small smile on your lips, looking at Bucky.

“He’s all good,” you said simply, grabbing your drink and taking a sip. Bucky’s heart skipped a beat, tongue darting out to lick his dry lips. His hand gripped the neck of his bottle a little tighter when Sohan opened his mouth.

“Could be more careful with that death trap,” he muttered bitterly, sending a glance over Bucky’s shoulder and looking at Steve once. Bucky scowled at Sohan. Before Steve or Natasha could say anything to defend Bucky, you turned to Sohan with a glare.

“Say anything to him and you’re done interning for me,” you bit out through gritted teeth. Bucky’s eyes flickered to you in surprise.

Interning. He was a fucking intern. Not your goddamn boyfriend.

He slammed his bottle once on the counter and turned to Natasha with a newly found emotion of betrayal and anger, ignoring the other four pairs of eyes on him. Those glances she gave Thor when he heard her tell Bucky that Sohan was your boyfriend suddenly made sense. It clicked in his head that it was her plan. Natasha fucking Romanoff wanted him to feel his heart break. He didn’t know why just yet, but he was going to find out sooner or later. Whether it be a calm conversation on comfortable sofas or a quick spar on the mat to beat it out of her—she never took the easy way out anyway.

Your hand wrapped around his hand on the bottle, gently pulling his fingers off of its neck and intertwining your hands together. Your other hand came to cup his chin, tenderly pressing your palm into his cheek and forcing him to face you. When he didn’t budge, glowering at Natasha with a murderous fire in his eyes, he felt your body heat envelop him in its embrace. Your lips brushed over his earlobe, a shudder running through his body at the contact and a shaky exhale making its escape from his lips.

“Let’s go to our spot, yeah?” You whispered into his ear. Your breath was hot and cool at the same time. He absentmindedly nodded and let your hand guide him out of his chair and out of the room, leaving behind a gaping Sohan. He would beat the reasons out of Natasha tomorrow or the day after, depending on what happens with you.

You reached the doors to the balcony and pushed them open to be hit with the cool night air, the smell of summer in the air. You sighed lovingly and dragged him along to the edge of it, looking over the trees and the landscape of the city in the distance. The crescent moon and stars twinkled overhead, disappearing the closer they got to the city lighting. He watched you close your eyes and breath in the scent of leaves and plants before looking over at him with a raised eyebrow.

He shook his head and muttered out, “Nothing.” Your face pinched in pain at his response. You let go of his hand and gripped the railing, turning your face away from him. He felt a stab under his rib. “Y/N?” He placed his hand—his metal hand—over yours, inflicting a mild squeeze in hopes of providing some solace. He wasn’t ready for you to turn back to him with unshed tears in your eyes. Another stab-like feeling ensued in his chest.

“Who is she?” You raised a hand to wipe your tears away, carefully so you didn’t smudge eyeliner and mascara, before they fell. You averted your eyes once again, looking down below at the parking lot. His blazer crinkled and his loafers skid as he turned to lean his side on the railing. He tilted his head down, placing his warm hand under your chin and tipped your head back slightly so that he could meet your gaze.

Eyebrows furrowing, he asked, “What?” He had had half a bottle of Asgardian liquor in under five minutes and he was starting to feel it start to hit him, but he was sure it hadn’t muddled his mind that much. Not to the point where he forgot someone.

“The woman you’re in love with,” you mumbled out slowly. Bucky blinked once and then again, eyebrows now furrowing further in together. His lips curled down in a frown, hands coming down and seizing yours. You shifted to mimic his position, letting him lace your fingers together.

“Come again?” His voice was low and rough, more puzzle pieces joining together the more he racked his gears. He stepped closer to you, the skirt of your dress brushing his pants. His hands itched to touch your waist, your hips, and feel your skin through the opaque fabric covering you. He wanted to pull you close, wrap his arms around you, kiss your neck, but he could control those urges right now.

“Natasha said you were in love with someone,” you mumbled, eyes dropping to his tie. Of course, Natasha was involved somehow. “Steve said you had been for a while when I asked him.” Bucky wanted to groan in frustration. Steve probably told you that because he had been in love with you for years now. A long while. Bucky had loved you for a long time, but never had he had the courage to say it out loud.

You slid your hands out of his grasp and fixed his tie. He gave in to one of his urges and placed his hands on your hips, being respectful of where his hands were placed. He didn’t want to read this wrong. Your tears and the questions you asked, even the way you ghosted him three weeks ago, made sense. His senses were working well enough for him to know what you were feeling. He felt his lips tug into a smirk, a little mischief seeking through his demeanor and into the sober moment you two were having.

“I do love her,” he whispered and gripped your hips a bit tighter each time he spoke. “I’ve loved her for a while. A long time. Ever since I met her. She’s so incredible and kind and gentle, but she doesn’t take any shit from me.”

He thought back to the few times you broke the news of his past, affirming that those things weren't and were never going to be his fault. He took a step closer to you, loafers disappearing into your tulle skirt. Your heels bumped his shoes, breath hitching at the closing proximity. One of his hands slipped behind to your lower back, index finger drawing slow and deliberate swirls on you. Your hands shook as you raised them to his face, thumb caressing his cheekbones and fingers lightly tracing his jaw.

“She’ll tell me it exactly how it is and she knows exactly what I need. She’s funny and her laugh makes me want to keep making her laugh.”

His eyes darted down to your lips, remembering the giggles that had left your lips for every sarcastic comment he had passed during any boring meetings. How he had mourned the loss of your laughter when you had left for Greece. His tongue licked his lips as he watched your lips curl upwards. He raised his eyes to meet your teary gaze. This time he knew it was a good thing. His heart soared into his throat.

“She loves my friends like her family, she saves people with her talents, and she cares for me.” His hands cupped your face and he leaned down closer to you. “Her name is Y/N and I love her with every breath I take.”

“You do?” You choked out, an airy chuckle escaping your lips.

Bucky nodded and whispered, “Yeah, I love you, Y/N. I love you, darlin’, so much.” His lips landed on your forehead, mumbling promises and some more declarations of love against your skin.

You pulled away from him, eyes twinkling with tears and happiness. “I love you, too, Bucky.” Bucky’s shoulders fell with his next deep exhale, thumbs swiping over your cheeks and tucking a stray hair behind your ear. He saw your eyes flicker down to his lips twice and he absentmindedly ran his thumb along your bottom lip.

“You’re drunk,” you managed to whisper against the pad of his thumb. He pulled back a little, letting go of your face and placing his hands on your hips. He knew you weren’t rejecting him—just conscious of the fact that he had had a bottle in his hand, halfway empty. He spun you two around a bit to have your back against the railing.

“Doesn’t matter. ‘A drunk man's words are a sober man's thoughts’,” he mumbled, shrugging. He let go of your hips. He was giving you a way out of this if you wanted it, taking half a step back. You took a second to think about it.

He was about to tell you that it was okay if you wanted to go back in and talk about this tomorrow—after he beat Natasha in a spar—when you moved. Your hands brought his head down and your lips connected with his. He groaned at the contact, arms wrapping around your waist to pull you close and leave no inch of space between your bodies. He heard the little noises you let out, moaning and whimpering into the kiss. Those little sounds of his made his head spin and his body heat with desire. He picked you up, arms wrapped just under your ass. Tilting back and stepping backwards, his back hit the wall near the door.

Only then did you two pull away, chests heaving and breaths mingling together.

“You wore my colours,” you breathed out.

“You wore mine,” he said huskily, two fingers tracing the ribbons that tied your corset together.

———

Taglist: @pinkposttragedy @gen-genevieve

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