#the milaje series

[cjbolan]

Was watching Black Panther and thought...what if The Forgotten Island had an elite female warrior force like the Dora Milaje? It's clear that women in Forgotten Island hold a lot of authority (Terra Mater, Ella), it'd be an interesting parallel to King Neptune and his all male guards. It also emphasizes how in the human world women hold way more authority/influence and have more opportunities in life than mermaids do.

[pome-seed]

The Soldier's Keeper ★ 39

Pairing: Winter Soldier!Bucky x Doctor!Reader

Summary: Bucky finds himself sinking into dark place as he's forced to face his past.

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: Mention of blood and weapons. Mention of violence. The Winter Soldier. 18+ Minors Do Not Interact.

18+ blog, Minors Do Not Interact.

Authors Note: A little shorter since I've been a little too focused on my dbf Bucky filth ALSO, if you want to be apart of the taglist, let me know :)

Series Masterlist Next Chapter

The Winter Soldier had many victims. Not just dozens, but hundreds. 

There were targets, and there were loose ends. Witnesses. Collateral damage.

More people than a person could name. More faces than one could remember. More blood. More tears. More anguished, terrified screams than any person could bear.

But he did. He had to. He had no choice. 

The Winter Soldier wasn’t human. He was a tool. A savage. A machine built to obey and slaughter. 

The Winter Soldier didn’t remember all their names. He didn’t remember why they were dead. Or what they’d done. He felt their ghosts, their spirits, haunting him, their spectral fingers clawing into his psyche, scarring his memories. 

He felt them. He felt the weight of their grief. He felt the guilt. The plaguing feeling of all encompassing death.

Horror was the only real true word to describe the Winter Soldier. It was the only word that captured the depth. The pain.

Horrors of blood and gunpowder. Sharp steel and cracked bones.

He could still feel the slick heat of blood spilling over his fingers. A knife slicing through tender flesh, carving up tendons and muscle. He could feel the shudder of the gun in his palm. Smell the smoke. Hear the squelch as a bullet lodged in a man's throat. Their kidney. Their liver. 

The ghost of death followed him. 

Rightfully so, he believed.

Because why should he be free? Why should he be allowed to live, to thrive, to breathe happily and easily, while all those bodies rot because of him.

Because of his work. 

His refined skill.

He remembered them because he had to. Because someone had to carry their memory. The truth. Someone had to know how they left this world, and that the one doing it took no pleasure. 

The Winter Soldier was a tool, with no choice in its creation or use. A tool, tossed aside when it's done its job. A tool, left to rust and fracture when no one was watching.

No one would mourn the death of The Winter Soldier. 

No tears would be shed.

He would pass, alone, forgotten.

Until there was you. 

“Look at me.”

Bucky’s distant gaze snapped to yours, the ringing in his head fizzling out quietly. He hadn’t even realized he zoned out. 

“Buck,” you whispered, frowning softly at him. You glanced back at Shuri, who stood with T’Challa and Ayo, a member of the Dora Milaje. Steve stiffened from across the lab, where he stared at scans of Bucky’s brain. 

You’d all gathered in the lab, two days after news of the accords being thrown out, to discuss Bucky’s pardon. Or rather, how to get Bucky pardoned. 

After only an hour of droning on about the science behind the work done on Bucky’s brain, the topic of the test came up. 

Where the trigger words would be recited, and you would truly know if the Soldier was really gone.

Some time during that discussion, Bucky grew quiet. Distant. Like he’d fallen into his own world. You felt him stiffen beside you. Felt the air turn sour, like all the warmth and life had been sucked dry. 

“Can we have a minute?” You blurted to the others, your soft frown curling deeper. 

T’Challa glanced at Bucky, a thoughtful expression softening. He nodded slowly. “Of course,” he glanced at the girls, then at Steve. He was the first to leave the room. Steve followed with a pained look, his gaze lingering on Bucky.

Once the doors slid closed with a soft click, you turned back to Bucky.

“Hey,” you whispered, tilting your head up at him. “What’s going on up there?”

He refused to look at you, his eyes trained somewhere between you. He shook his head, a shallow breath rising with his shoulders. “I just…”

You listened quietly, but then he pressed his lips into a thin line, and you knew he wasn’t gonna continue. Your gaze flickered over his features, over the shadow cast by the furrow in his brow. The dark circles beneath his eyes. His sad eyes, weighted and ashamed. 

“You’re afraid.” Bucky flinched. His jaw clenched softly. You sighed, stepping closer. “Please look at me,” you quietly begged. 

Bucky raised his head, his blue eyes flicking between yours. His throat bobbed slowly, as if he were physically swallowing his shame. You ghosted your palm over his cheek, your thumb brushing along his cheekbone. He leaned into your touch, his brows twitching together.

“You’re scared of the certainty, right?” 

He nodded, black hair falling into his eyes. You pushed it back behind his ear. “If they can’t fix me, then no one can- and I’m stuck like this.” He whispered, his muscles twitching tight.

You nodded, your thumb stroking against his skin. “I get that,” you sighed. “I understand why you’re scared, but Bucky, you can do this-”

“I can’t-” He shook his head, his teeth sinking into his lip. “Y/n I don’t-” he sucked in a shaky breath. “I don’t think I can do this.” His voice wavered, cracking with unshed emotion. “If it doesn’t work-”

“Nothing will happen,” you insist, cupping his face fully in your hands. “Bucky, breathe,” you take a deep breath, waiting for him to mimic it. It takes him a moment, but he eventually copies your steadying breath. “Nothing will happen, okay? If it doesn’t work, and the words trigger you, you won’t hurt anyone. You can’t without a mission, right?”

He stared at you for a moment, his firm frown softening as he licked his lips. He thought over your words, trying to rationalize his fear. “Right,” he whispered. “She could just leave me there, have me wait it out…”

“Exactly,” you pet his cheeks, his stubble rough against your palms. “They won’t let you hurt anyone.”

“But it’d still be in me, Y/n,” he whispered, tilting into your touch. “I’d still be him- I could still lose myself if someone said those fucking words.” He wavered, his tongue swiping over his dry lips.

You stared up at him with sorrow, with pity and aching grief. You wished you could take the weight he carried. Wished you could ease the burden. But you couldn’t fix Bucky, no one could. You couldn’t erase what had been done. You could only be there for him.

“Bucky,” you whisper. Dark blue eyes met yours. “You are not what they did to you. What they put in you, that’s not you. No matter what happens today, or tomorrow, or next fucking week, we will figure it out. We will find a way to make you feel safe in your own body.” You urge, gently shaking him. “We’ll find a way.”

He stared at you in silence, the burning in his skull growing dull. Your words sank through him, like stones skipped across a lake, before succumbing to the water. He exhaled a shaky breath, his warmth fanning across your skin. 

He leaned into you, his forehead pressed against yours. His lashes fluttered as he blinked through tears, his eyes sliding closed. You stroked your thumb down his jaw, leaning in. You took another deep breath, Bucky mimicked it. His hands slid onto your waist, his fingers curling in your clothes. 

“We’ll find a way,” you whisper.

You both knew you couldn’t fix him. He knew that better than you, even. But he also believed you when you said you would help him. You would wait for him. You would stay with him. 

He believed you, because you never once lied to him.

You never once hurt him.

Your presence was the only solid innocently kind thing in his life. 

You steadied him, grounded him. You made him remember what it's like to be still. What it’s like to live.

“We’ll find a way,” he repeated, nuzzling his head against yours. The tip of his nose tickled yours. 

You nodded into him. “So you’re gonna go out there, to the middle of nowhere, and you’re going to be strong, okay?” He nodded along to your words. “You’re going to hear those words, and you’re going to be okay. And then when you come back, you can be weak. And I’ll be weak with you.” 

He huffed, emotion flaring in his chest. He begged himself to keep it down, to smother it. He needed to be strong. For you, for himself. “Okay…” he whispered, sighing shakily against your skin. He swallowed, pressing his palms into your hips, feeling the weight of your body against his. “Okay.”

Ayo stood strong above Bucky, who trembled on his knees. Flames flickered against the gentle breeze, heat brushing his cold skin. Crickets in the distance fell to silence under the crackling tension in the air.

“Longing,” Ayo stated in practiced russian.

Bucky’s body locked up, tension spreading through his body like a wildfire. The single word set him on edge. His distant gaze stuck to the bright flames. 

“Rusted.”

“It’s not gonna work-” He grit, emotion welling in his throat. 

He couldn’t do this. It wasn’t going to work. 

“Seventeen.”

His spine strung tight, pain, grief, and shame curling around his bones. He couldn’t do this. You were wrong. They all were.

“Daybreak.”

He was going to kill someone. He was going to hurt someone. Those people- they won. He knew they did. He always did. He could feel them. Their hands. The pain. The ghosts.

“Furnace.”

Gurgling sobs fell from his lips as he wound his jaw shut. So tight he just might crack his teeth. His fingers pressed into his thighs, bruises and torn skin already breaking beneath the pressure. 

“Nine.”

He kept his eyes open, through the tears and smoke, and the blinding need to pretend this wasn’t happening. He kept them open, because if he blinked, he feared he might see them. The dead. The tortured. The blood. Or maybe himself.

“Benign.”

Sobs fell from his lips as panic welled tight around his throat, smothering what little air he still clung to. What little control he still had. 

“Homecoming.”

He sucked in a sharp breath, tears blinding him, like a fog falling over him. It wasn’t going to work. 

“One.”

He could hear that whistle, far in the distance, in the back of his mind. He could feel their grueling touch. The seam of his shoulder burned and ached in a phantom pain, like the skin was being torn- like muscle was being sawed from bone, all over again.

“Freight car.”

A loaded silence fell over the hill, broken only by Bucky’s trembling breaths, and the crackle of the fire. 

He couldn’t breathe. 

He couldn’t do this. 

“It worked.” Ayo’s calming voice spoke, her chin lifting in sentimental pride. 

Bucky’s tear soaked face lifted to hers. His carefully astonished gaze met hers. Like a dam breaking, like lightning striking, like a cord snapping, relief soul shattering sorrow flooded Bucky’s system.

“You’re free, James.” She whispered. “You are free.”

You waited for Bucky just outside the city. 

You waited with bated breath, anxiety burrowing deep in your stomach. Steve paced beside you, nearly tearing his hair out as he waited. Shuri sat in the back of the car, waiting to take you all back to her lab. Her leg shook nervously as she poured over her data.

But you couldn’t see them. You couldn’t see anything past the fear sporing dark spots in your vision. 

This was what you’d been waiting for.

This is what it was all for. 

All the pain, all the fear, all the loss. It was to get to this moment. To free Bucky. To bring you home. 

And now, after all you’d been through, it meant more than just that. You didn’t just want this for yourself, or just for him to be free of the soldier. You wanted this because now you knew him.

You knew Bucky, probably better than anyone else alive. You knew him and his fear. You knew what this meant for him. 

You knew what it would do to him if it didn’t work. 

So even as the world was submerged in darkness, warm air still nipping your skin as stars began to glow in the sky, you waited. You waited for him.

Just like you always would.

You fell into your own rhythm of panic, pacing beside Steve as you hugged your arms around your torso. You squeezed your eyes shut, praying you wouldn’t hear his screams echo in the distance. 

And when you finally opened them, you came to a staggering halt. Your shoes rooted in place as you saw the subtle bob of his head as he trailed down the path beside Ayo, illuminated by a single lamp.

Your blood went cold as you waited with bated breath, watching him grow closer. 

And then he lifted his chin, his bloodshot eyes meeting yours. 

You knew in an instant what the look on his face meant. Your breath left you in a trembling gasp, your hands smacking over your mouth in shock. 

As Bucky grew closer, you could see the wavering smile on his lips. 

You stumbled forward, jogging towards him. “Did it-?”

Bucky caught your wrist and yanked you into his arms with a sob, his tears staining your skin as he curled himself around you. Your shoes barely grazed the grass as he pulled you into him. You threw your arms around him, your fingers curling in his hair as you blinked back tears. “I’m free,” he choked the words barely making it past his lips. Like his body wasn’t used to it. “I’m free.”

You pressed a forceful kiss to his hair, cradling him close as you sucked in greedy breaths. 

He’s free.

It worked.

He’s free.

A/N: Not a big fan of this one.... but I'll make it up next chapter for sure!!!!

@rafesgurl @pleasecallmeunhinged @jason-todd-fangirl-14 @frog-fans-unite @lonelyghosts-stuff @cherryandsugar @a-world-with-pure-imagination @unicornqueen05 @cupids-mf-arrow @sharkylalala @littlesuniee @meineguete @hawkinsavclub1983 @theconsultingdoctor10 @dollface-xoxo @bloodmocha @natalia42069 @nicolebarnes @fallen-w1ngs @justachillgirllui @avaout @local-crazy @nynxtea @cherryheairt @soupiemeowmeow @akkklys @escapismurmom @sleepysongbirdsings @bumblebeebutter @lalaren @valyriantarg @hosshihusshi @mysoulbelongstobuckybarnes @sebastians-love

[shegatsby]

Silent Obsession

Summary; After he became a civilian Bucky's mind, body and soul was trying to adapt to his new life. He swore to himself that he was going to live the rest of his life alone, until he saw her. His distroted mind and broken soul ached to be with her, to be around her all the time. Could he manage it or ruin it for both of them?

A/N: Ever since I've heard that song by Massive Attack all I can imagine is stalker bucky! Enjoy. TAG LIST IS OPEN!

This is tha playlist I made for the series;

Warnings: Dark Romance. Stalking.

Words: 3013K

Chapter One

‘’You’re alone.’’ His therapist said in a calm manner but Bucky knew she was frustrated with him. ‘’You’re 100 years old, you have no history, no family-‘’ he had to cut her off, ‘’Are you lashing out on me Doc? Because that’s really unprofessional.’’ It wasn’t a nice session to say the least. He was a civilian now and he had to get therapy once a month, at first it was every week and it was horrible. He never believed in shrinks, maybe that was his old fashioned side talking  but in Wakanda, he was making progress. Sometimes he would just sit in his small flat and imagine that he was in Wakanda again, in his small hut, surrounded by divine nature and animals… how he missed that place. Bucky observed his Doc, she was in her middle ages, married and had two children, one could see the photos on her glass desk, she always had a plain shirt and plazzo pants, her hair tied back. Thanks to his training she could deduce human behavior so meticulously perfect that he didn’t even need to talk to them to get to know them. He would just know. ‘’Your homework,’’ she began, obviously fed up with him not being so cooperative, ‘’Stop ignoring Sam Wilson’s calls and start making new friends. I know you’re not gonna but-‘’ she sighed, looking at his stoic expression, ‘’go on a small date.’’ With her last sentence he scuffed and rolled his blue eyes, that was out of the question for him. How could someone trust him and how could he trust someone?!

‘’At least call Sam back.’’ She pleaded.  The session was over, he got up from his seat, ‘’Will do.’’ He gave her a soldier salute and then waltzed out of her office, as he was about to close the door with his high senses he could hear the woman sigh and write on her notes. The soft sound of pen making contact with paper filled his already buzzing mind. He marched the halls of the building, he noticed the way people who work here avoiding making eye contact, moving out of his way. He knew the effect he had on people, they were afraid of him, as they should be because he didn’t even trust himself, he was healed in Wakanda, thanks to the community there especially Wakanda’s highly trained Dora Milaje but he was in fear that one day he was going to snap and become the Winter Soldier again. Of course his therapist didn’t know this fear of his, he wasn’t good at opening up, giving details.

Today he was off, didn’t have anything to do so his plan was to go the pub near his home and drink, maybe see Mr. Nakajima, Bucky was living in an apartment complex with his neighbors but he was only talking to Mr. Nakajima and Mrs. Rodriguez.

The reason why he was helping Mr. Nakajima was that when he was the Winter Soldier he had killed his son, he was trying to make amends and this was his way of saying sorry. He was helping him and keeping him company. Mrs. Rodriguez on the other hand was just a sweet old lady who would bake for him and Bucky would take out her trash and help her carry the groceries. As he was marching to his Harley he thought about Doc’s words, ‘’You are alone…’’ no, he wasn’t. Even though his friends were old he still had some people around him… maybe he should return Sam’s calls.

On his bike he had an idea, he was stopping at the red light, Mrs. Rodriguez once mentioned that her husband, until his last day he would get her a bouquet of red roses every week. Bucky wanted to surprise the old lady who was like a mom to him at this point, (even though he was actually older than her) it would be a nice surprise. The city was crowded as usual, he loved to watch people, most of them were in hurry. Hurrying to pick up their kids from school, getting groceries, trying to run to their appointments… life was normal for them but for James Buchanan Barnes Jr. life had never been normal. Even back in the 40s he was protecting his ma from his dad, he was hustling jobs before he became a soldier. It was never easy for him and it wasn’t going to be, he had made peace with that but sometimes, especially late at night as he laid on the floor of his small living room his mind dared to dream. A nice home, lights are on, soft music playing at the background and a woman greeting him as he enters their home… In those split seconds he would stop himself as soon as he realizes that he was dreaming something that could never happen. He didn’t see himself worthy of that kind of life.

He parked his bike on the empty ally and looked around, there was a flower shop across the street so he walked up to the shop. His boots heavy on the pavement, he had his black hoodie and his black leather jacket on top with black jeans and boots, he never forgot his leather gloves, he didn’t like people seeing his metal arm. He didn’t want to be recognized as the Winter Soldier, he was just Bucky.

The tall glass showed the inside, it looked like a cozy place, the door of the place was dark green, there was a writing on the tall glass it said ‘’Floral Fantasia’’  as he opened the door he could hear the golden bell that was attached to the door, the floors were dark wood, one could see the various types of flowers in large vases. The strong scent of freshness filled his nostrils, he had never smelt that many flowers in one place before, there was a young girl behind one of the counters and she was busy with decorating a vase, ‘’Hello Sir.’’ She smiled, Bucky didn’t return the smile, he was still standing, the door behind him. ‘’Y/N!’’ the young girl called, apparently she was busy to take his order. She smiled apologetically again, her blue eyes ran up and down on him, as she turned to go to the back of the flower shop she gave him a quick look again, Bucky could tell that this blue eyed blonde woman found him attractive, which made him feel nothing. Absolutely nothing.

Soon the blue eyed girl returned with another girl, now Bucky was close to the counter that had the cashier, waiting impatiently, he was about to leave when he saw her.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=66A_3uwuZ_I (this is the song that plays when Bucky sees her for the first time)

‘’My friend will take your order Sir, sorry to keep you waiting.’’ The previous girl said but Bucky almost didn’t hear her. His deep blue eyes focused on the new girl and as soon as he saw her something in him shifted. She looked up with those pretty eyes, eyes that could destroy empires, there was a height difference between them so she had to look up at him. She smiled kindly at him, she didn’t have any make up on, she was wearing a simple white long sleeve shirt, why was she wearing that in this heat? Bucky was covering his arm so he had to,  her blue jeans fit her hips perfectly, her long hair tied carefully, Bucky could feel his heart picking up the pace, his flesh palm getting sweatier with a certain kind of feeling he couldn’t quite place. ‘’What would you like to have Sir?’’ she simply asked, Bucky had to clear his dry throat before he could speak, ‘’A bouquet of red roses.’’ He replied with a cold tone but deep down he could feel the strange attraction towards her. He watched her skillful hands work on the bouquet, she must have been doing this for a long time, ‘’Here you are.’’ She finished her work of art and extended the bouquet and he specifically got the roses with his non metal hand, just to feel her fingers brush the leather and maybe feel a fraction if he was lucky. ‘’That’ll be 40 dollars Sir.’’ He got the money from his leather wallet and used the same hand to give the money, their fingers brushed again, he wished he didn’t have the gloves but he had to. ‘’Thank you so much, have a great day.’’ She said smiling as she placed the money, he only nodded and left the place in a hurry. His mind was going to dark places such as waiting outside till her shift ends… he forced himself to walk to his bike, he placed the roses carefully on the small trunk that was at the back, got on the bike and started the engine and waited. His thoughts occupied by the girl’s sweet smile and beautiful face. He exhaled, ‘’She is just attractive, that’s all.’’  He thought, ‘’If it was the 40s I would’ve asked her out on a movie night, maybe we would go to the beach and drink coke..’’

After waiting on his bike for few minutes he left the empty ally.

‘’Gosh! He was dreamy!’’ Y/N’s work bestie Melanie pointed out as soon as the man left. They had to finish up the vases for a wedding. The bride had chosen white tulips with slight green here and there, Y/N’s focus was on the glass vase she had just finished decorating, she sighed, deep in thoughts. Was she going to have a wedding one day? ‘’I’m sorry, what did you say?’’ she asked, Melanie was sitting on one of the tables, swaying her legs like a child, her blue eyes looking at Y/N, ‘’The man who bought the roses, he was so hot!’’ she tried to remember but all she remembered was a stern look and a tall muscular frame, ‘’Oh, you think so?’’ Y/N had started a new vase, her hands quick. ‘’Girl, didn’t you even look at him. I wish he would come back! You know what, if he comes again I’ll let you know so that you’ll see how hot he is.’’ Melanie was persistent, ‘’Alright alright, get back to work.’’ Y/N said, she was few years older than Melanie and also their boss made it clear that when he wasn’t around Y/N was in charge because she was responsible and always got the job done no matter what. ‘’How are thing with your boyfriend?’’ Melanie was a chatty one, Y/N’s hands started to shake when she heard the question maybe because she didn’t eat lunch yet, ‘’He just moved in with me.’’ Y/N replied, forcing a smile. They had a huge fight this morning, that’s why she was wearing a long sleeved shirt, ‘’Oh after 5 years, finally!’’ Melanie said, it was true, Y/N and Leo were together for five years, she didn’t remember the time they were so in love, maybe the first year of their relationship… Leo was so nice and kind.. she often wondered what happened to that sweet boy who was replaced with a gambling monster. Leo had to move in with Y/N because he was in a lot of debt, she was helping him for maybe two years, giving him money and food and now he was in her small apartment, he had to be under the radar for a while so her place was the perfect solution. Y/N’s weary head felt more heavier than usual, she rested her hands on the counter for a split second, eyes closed, ‘’You okay?’’ Melanie immediately noticed her friend being dizzy, ‘’Yeah, just, I need water.’’ She managed to say, Melanie rushed to the back, they had a small kitchen at the back and a lounge area, she brought a tall glass of water for her friend, ‘’Here. You can sit for a while.’’

Y/N only nodded, her arms feeling weak.

Bucky never used the elevator, he was climbing up the stairs holding the bouquet in one hand, the other free. The government had placed him in that apartment complex to make him adjust to the new world, he had to be among people all the time and he detested it most of the time. The apartment’s flats were occupied by various people, old, young, single, married, so many different lives that made him feel stuck in a time capsule, he wasn’t that young boy who got drafted to war, he wasn’t a killing machine either, what was he now? He had no idea. He walked up to Mrs. Rodriguez’s door, knocked on it thrice, waiting patiently, soon the door opened and the old lady’s brown eyes smiled at him. He noticed that every time she saw him there was a light in her eyes, it made his heart get a warm feeling. ‘’Hi, Mrs. Rodriguez, these are for you.’’ He extended the roses, his mind flashing him with the image of that girl who had made the bouquet, so sweet, so innocent looking..

‘’Aw, James!’’ she was one of the rare people he revealed his first name, she was now smiling ear to ear, there was dust of flour on her chubby fingers, she must have been baking again, per usual. Her pink apron was old and stitched so many times it reminded him the old times where one had to stitch their clothes, no one could afford a new one. ‘’These are beautiful. Thank you so much, you’re such a gentleman, girls must be all over you.’’ It made him scoff but he gave her a smirk, whenever he was around old people or people he was comfortable with his old self would come out with smirks, eye rolling and smug attitude. ‘’Wait!’’ she said as she walked back inside and brought back cookies, ‘’They are still warm.’’ She was so generous ‘’Thank you so much Mrs. Rodriguez, I’ll bring back the plate.’’ He gave her a smile and said goodbye, his flat was upstairs so he climbed the stairs again.

He reached to his dark brown door, immediately he could hear Alpine’s soft meows. He opened the door and was greeted by her, she was meowing as if complaining, ‘’Yeah yeah, I know I’m late. You’re just like my Ma.’’ He locked the door as he entered, his curtains were closed, there was a grey sofa in his living room, no rug, a small TV, it was a small place, connecting the kitchen and living room. At the back there was a bedroom and bathroom. He placed the plate of cookies on the white counter, noticing Alpine’s food bowl empty, ‘’Oh that’s why you were complaining.’’ He filled the white bowl, and made sure she had water as well and then he hit the shower, he stood there under the cold water, he hated the cold but it woke him up. The cold made him remember Siberia’s freezing cells, a memory he would kill to forget. After the shower, he removed the blanket over the mirror to see if he had to shave or not but he could wait for a few days, he covered the mirror again, he didn’t like seeing his reflection because it made him feel distorted to see a man who is 100 something years old still alive with a Vibranium arm, he walked back to turn on the TV, he had a towel wrapped around his waist, his dog tags hanging and sticking to his broad chest, there was a game tonight and he didn’t want to miss it.  He sat on the sofa as he zapped and found the channel, once he had found the channel he went to his fridge which only had frozen pizza and beer packs. He threw one pizza into the microwave and  got few beers, as the pizza was getting warmer he walked to his bedroom door, he opened it and hit he lights. He was actually using his bedroom as a dressing room, he had a wardrobe and a bed that has never been slept on. He wore shorts and threw the towel on the bed, and walked back to get the pizza. He liked game nights, it reminded him the old times where Bucky and Steve would listen through radio with friends. There was a dominant knock on his door, he huffed, Bucky took the pizza out of the microwave and walked to the door with cautious steps, other than the government only few people knew his location. When he checked the peephole he saw Sam’s face, he lifted one of his hand to show that he brought a six pack. ‘’Drop the weapons Bucky.’’ He rolled his eyes, Bucky huffed again and answered the door, ‘’Be quick.’’ He assured Sam inside because he didn’t want anyone of his neighbors to see his vibranium arm. ‘’It’s game night! Oh great you have pizza!’’ Sam placed the beers on the counter, got himself one and then dropped to Bucky’s sofa. Without a word Bucky popped another slice into the microwave for Sam.

‘’So, you’ve been ignoring me because….’’ Sam pointed it out as they were watching the game, it had been 20 minutes. ‘’I was busy.’’ Bucky cut short with a raspy voice, ‘’Busy with what? Hanging out with old people?’’

Bucky snapped, was Sam spying on him? Or someone else getting information on him? His distorted mind started to went into a whole spiral, was Sam trustworthy? Was he also following Mr. Nakajima and Mrs. Rodriguez?

‘’Relax blue steel!’’ Sam raised his hands in defense, ‘’I don’t got nobody on your tail! I saw your neighbor on the way to you, sweet old man asked me if I was heading to your place.’’ Bucky’s eyes travelled on Sam’s smug face to detect if he was lying, he couldn’t find any proof so he dropped it, for now.

‘’They might be old but they’re still people so I’m doing what Doc says.’’ He defended himself with an annoyed voice, finished his beer and got up, ‘’I’m assuming that your future girlfriend is going to be what-‘’ Sam pretended like he was calculating, ‘’around 80 years.’’ And laughed out loud, he couldn’t realize the change on Bucky’s face, his mind went to the girl he saw today, at the flower shop.  ‘’Yeah, right.’’ He didn’t have the energy to protest to Sam.

Something in Bucky kept whispering, a soft voice calling him, he knew from the very first start that he wouldn’t be able to stay away from her.

Thank you for reading. :)

Chapter Two

[shortnspidey]

CHAPTER SEVEN: ONE LAST STAND

Bucky Barnes X Fem!Stark!reader || WC: 6.6K

SUMMARY: Bucky Barnes, caught in a political storm and haunted by his past as the Winter Soldier, battles internal guilt and fragmented memories while finding solace in someone who sees beyond his trauma, intensifying his struggle between seeking connection and fearing the harm he might cause.

WARNINGS: Typical Marvel level violence, cursing, angst, slight fluff if you squint, lots of time skips, major character death(s) and a cliffhanger (sorry)!

A/N: This chapter hurt to write! 😭 But I just know the next one will hurt me even more! Stay tuned! Thank you for all the love on this series! <3

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As you fiddled with your dusty revolvers, your fingers trembled. Each click of the chamber echoed louder than it should have, reverberating through the small, dimly lit lab where the air was thick and suffocating with an unnamed tension. Your anxiety was through the roof, heartbeat pounding, breath shallow and uneven even as you busied yourself trying, and ultimately failing to push the horrid emotions down.

From the corner of your eye, Shuri leaned against the door, her sharp gaze sweeping over your stiff shoulders and clenched jaw. "What's got you all shaky?" She asked, her eyes narrowed with concern. You gave a half-hearted shrug, refusing to meet her gaze, hoping, praying, she’d just let it go. You focused harder on the revolver, wiping down an already clean barrel. Maybe if you looked busy enough, she'd take the hint.

You should have known better.

“Is it because you’re going to see your father again?” Her words landed like a gut punch, and your hands faltered. The revolver nearly slipped from your grasp, saved only by your iron grip, a grip that was now visibly white-knuckled. After a beat you finally spoke. "We haven't exactly talked since, you know—" You sighed, shoulders slumping as you finally allowed yourself to exhale. You gestured vaguely toward Bucky, who stood in the distance cleaning his own weapon.

Shuri followed your gaze, her expression softening in realization. “Ah, got it.” She murmured, almost to herself. No words were needed now, she understood. “He’s stubborn, I’m stubborn. It’s going to be quite the reunion.” You let out a dry scoff, the sound more bitter than amused. Reunion. That was one word for it. What would you even say to him? The thoughts swirled in your mind, a chaotic tumble of guilt, fear, sarcasm, and pure dread.

Hey Dad, sorry for betraying you back in Germany and Sokovia. Ever since you and Steve had a falling out, I’ve been helping him and the rest of the people who helped him slip through your fingers, defying international law, and hiding out in Wakanda like a coward.

Your fingers tightened around the revolver again, knuckles straining under the weight of memory.

Oh, and by the way, I fell in love. With Bucky Barnes. You know, the man you tried to kill more than once for supposedly murdering your parents and for believing he killed the king of Wakanda which started this whole civil war in the first place. Romantic, right? So... how have you been?

You could already picture the look on your father’s face, stern, unreadable, maybe even disappointed. That look always cut deeper than any shouted words ever could. What could possibly go wrong? Your inner turmoil was abruptly interrupted by a deep, resonant hum in the air. You watched as the Quinjet roared through, engines whining as it sliced through the barrier and descended toward the landing platform at the edge of the city.

“Backup has arrived.” Shuri called out. Without waiting, your feet moved on instinct. You broke into a brisk jog, cutting through the ranks of Wakandan soldiers who parted just enough to let you pass. You spotted King T’Challa and the Dora Milaje first. Their spears gleamed in the sunlight, armor pristine, eyes alert. Okoye gave you a small nod as you passed. T’Challa’s gaze followed the descending jet with the intensity of a king, a soldier, and a protector all at once.

Then you saw them, figures stepping down the Quinjet’s ramp. Your breath caught for just a second. Steve stood there, embracing Bucky in a silent reunion. A flicker of something warm curled in your chest, a small smile tugging at your lips despite everything. But it didn’t last. Steve’s eyes lifted mid-embrace, catching you in his line of sight. His entire demeanor shifted. A silent question passed between you, one you weren’t quite ready to answer.

You barely had time to brace for the words you knew were coming when Shuri swooped in from behind you. “Yell at her later,” She snapped at Steve, almost as if reading his mind. “I need her brain.” You barely had time to react before a flash of movement caught your eye and arms wrapped around you in a firm, grounding embrace. “It’s good to see you, дорогая.” Natasha’s familiar voice whispered in your ear as you subconsciously leaned into her, eyes fluttering shut for the briefest second, letting yourself feel safe.

You hugged her tighter, unwilling to let go for a moment longer than necessary. Her grip didn’t waver, didn’t rush you. It had been far too long. When you finally pulled back, she gave you a look, an unspoken scan, head tilting slightly as she studied your face for signs of exhaustion, fear, or secrets. She always had a way of seeing through you. “You okay?” She asked quietly. You gave a small, hesitant nod. “I will be.” She didn’t press. Just squeezed your shoulder once and stepped aside. As she moved, more faces came into view, familiar ones.

“Uncle Bruce? Uncle Rhodey?” You muttered, surprised. Your brows knit together, but you couldn’t help the tiny smile that tugged at your lips as you walked toward them, heart swelling at the sight. “Y/N…” He breathed, his voice tinged with genuine awe. “Wow, you’re all grown up.” Before you could reply, he pulled you into a careful, almost shy hug. Typical Bruce. Rhodey chuckled and reached out, giving your shoulder a firm squeeze. “It’s good to see you, kid.” You smiled, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes.

Bruce stepped back, still smiling. “Tony must be so proud of you.” The words hit like a punch to the gut. Your smile vanished. Yeah, right, you thought bitterly. That was when the silence struck you. You looked around, beyond Bruce, beyond Rhodey. You scanned the crowd again, eyes flicking from Steve to Wanda, to Sam, to Vision, but the one face you needed to see wasn’t there. He should’ve been there. “Wait— my dad, h-he’s not with you?” You asked, your voice low, shaky despite your best effort to keep it even.

Steve shook his head slowly. You took a step back, your thoughts spiraling. You pulled your phone out of your pocket, hands trembling slightly. A pit had opened in your stomach. You didn’t even know what you were hoping for. Before you could do anything else, your phone vibrated. The call connected before you even realized your finger had pressed the screen.“Mom?” You breathed out, voice shallow. “Oh thank God.” Her voice on the other end was breathless, panicked. “Y/N, honey—please tell me you’re not on that spaceship too.”

You froze. “What? What spaceship? Mom, what are you talking about?” There was a pause, and then she began to explain. Her voice cracked as she spoke. New York. The fight. Doctor Strange taken. The ship. Tony going after him. Into space. Into his hands. “Thanos.” That name carried an unnatural weight. Like saying it too loud might summon him. Your legs almost gave out. “He didn’t tell me,” Pepper continued. “I begged him not to go but you know how he is when he thinks it’s his responsibility to fix everything. He’s out there. I don’t even know if he’s still—”

“Stop,” You whispered, trying to focus. “Please. I… I’m okay. I’m here. In Wakanda. With everyone. With Nat and Steve.” You could hear her exhale, a shaky breath you knew she’d been holding for far too long. “I’ll be careful,” You promised her. “I swear. I’ll stay safe.” Another pause. “Just come home,” She pleaded. “You both have to come home.” With one final reassurance, the call ended. But the silence afterward felt louder than anything. You turned back to the group.

The looks on their faces told you they already knew. “So what now?” You asked, your voice low. Your eyes met Bucky’s, wanting nothing more than run over to his embrace but you held yourself back. For now. King T’Challa stepped forward, gaze firm as he looked toward the horizon, where, in the far distance, dark shapes were gathering behind the tree line. “Now, we prepare for what is coming.” You followed his gaze. The sky was darker now. The wind had shifted. The drums had started to beat.

And the war for everything was about to begin.

Back in the lab, the atmosphere was tense. Vision laid on the surgical table at the center of it all, still, pale, and eerily silent. Shuri stood at his side, focused and unfazed, her hands moving with swift precision as she guided her Kimoyo beads over the contours of the stone and surrounding neural tissue. Streams of information appeared in the air; brainwave charts and layers of synaptic networks. Her brows were furrowed in deep concentration, her brain clearly moving faster than she could keep up.

You stood nearby, but your attention kept shifting back to Wanda. Her hand was cold in yours, fingers trembling slightly despite her best efforts to hide it. You could feel the way her body tensed with every breath, her eyes locked on Vision, every part of her silently screaming to hold him close and run far away from it all. “He’s in good hands.” You whispered, giving her hand a squeeze. She didn’t look at you, but her grip tightened. Across the table, Shuri broke the silence.

“The structure is polymorphic,” She muttered, eyes scanning the readout. “Right,” Bruce chimed in, stepping up beside her. “We had to attach each neuron non-sequentially.” Shuri arched a brow, fingers flying across her interface. “Why didn’t you just reprogram the synaptic pathways to work collectively instead of one by one?” There was a beat of silence. Bruce blinked, looked down at the projection and then sighed. “Because we didn’t think of it.” He admitted, shoulders slumping slightly in defeat. You couldn’t help the small grin that tugged at your lips.

“I’m sure you did your best.” You offered, your tone gentle but teasing. Shuri didn’t look up, but she shrugged with that same casual superiority she always had, like she didn’t need to say obviously. “Can you do it?” Wanda’s voice broke the silence, trembling slightly as she looked between you and Shuri. Her fingers curled tighter around yours, a quiet desperation hidden just beneath the surface. “Yes,” Shuri replied without hesitation, though her expression remained serious. She didn’t look up from the rapidly shifting projections hovering in front of her.

“But there are more than two trillion neurons here. One misalignment could cause a cascade of circuit failures. It'll take time, brother,” She added, turning toward T’Challa, who stood watch at the edge of the lab. “How long?” Steve asked, his voice low and urgent from across the table. Shuri finally looked up. “As long as you can give me,” She stated plainly. “With Y/N’s help, it should be quicker, but we still have to be careful. No shortcuts.” You nodded, already moving to pull up a secondary diagnostic on your screen, heart racing but hands steady.

You could feel Bruce hovering behind you, checking readings of his own, lending quiet support. But the calm didn’t last. A sudden, sharp wail tore through the lab, an alarm, shrill and urgent. The lights overhead dimmed slightly as red warning indicators flashed in every direction, bathing the room in pulses of emergency light. The holographic projections flickered momentarily. Okoye, who had been standing watch near the entrance, checked the alert on her Kimoyo bead interface. Her expression tightened.

“Something’s entered the atmosphere.” She confirmed grimly. A heartbeat later, the building rumbled, faint at first, then again, stronger. You ran to the edge of the lab’s wide observation panel just in time to see it: fiery streaks tearing across the sky, breaking through the clouds like falling stars. Except these weren’t stars. They were pods, hundreds of them, slamming into the red earth beyond the dome, each impact sending up violent bursts of smoke and debris.

You could see the perimeter being surrounded in real time. Your breath caught in your throat. The war was here. “It’s too late, we need to destroy the stone.” Vision’s voice cracked through the tension, low but resolute. “Vision, get your ass back on that table.” Natasha scolded sharply, immediately rushing to the table and grabbing him by the arm before he could even try to rise. You moved with her, helping him sit back, placing your hand on his shoulder to steady him.

“We will hold them off.” T’Challa said firmly, stepping forward with royal authority, and when his eyes met Steve’s, something silent passed between them. Steve gave a subtle nod. “Wanda,” He called across the lab, tone serious but calm. “As soon as that stone’s out of his head, you blow it to hell.” Her eyes met Visions. “I will.” She whispered. T’Challa turned to his guard. “Evacuate the city. Engage all defenses,” He commanded. Then his gaze returned to Steve, and he gestured with one firm point. “And get this man a shield.”

Everything around you erupted into motion, soldiers running, systems activating, the ground vibrating with the thunder of the coming storm. You scrambled to gather your equipment and sliding your firearm into its holster. Your heart thundered with adrenaline, but your hands still didn’t shake. Not yet. “Y/N,” Steve’s voice reached you as you turned to leave. His hand caught your forearm for a brief second. “Stay here. We’ve got it handled.” You nodded, offering him a tight smile. “I know. There’s just something I have to do first.”

No one asked what it was. You moved fast, weaving through corridors now filled with armed soldiers and flashing emergency lights. The cool air of the lab gave way to the heavier, drier wind near the outer landing pads, where Wakandan ships were rising and forming attack formations overhead. You spotted them immediately, Sam adjusting his wings, Rhodey double-checking the War Machine cannon, and Bucky racking a fresh magazine into his rifle. The tension in the air was suffocating. The moment your boots hit the ground, all three men turned at the sound.

“Doll, what are you—” Bucky started, concern furrowing his brow. But he didn’t get the chance to finish. You were already there. You crossed the space between you in seconds, threw your arms around his neck, and kissed him, chaste, but meaningful. His metal hand froze mid-motion, and for a breathless second, time seemed to pause around you both. You pulled away, forehead against his. “Be careful out there,” You whispered. “You better come back to me. You understand?”

Bucky stared at you, stunned, a thousand words stuck in his throat. Finally, all he could manage was a dazed nod, his breath catching. You didn’t wait for a reply. There wasn’t time. You gave his hand one last squeeze, planted a second, shorter kiss on the corner of his mouth, and then turned to run, back to the lab. Bucky watched you go, his jaw tightening, knuckles white on the grip of his rifle. When he turned back to face Steve, Sam, and Natasha, he found himself met with three very amused expressions.

Steve's smirk was practically gleaming. “Looks like you’ve got some explaining to do, Buck.” He teased, a knowing look in his eyes. Now it made sense as to why you were in Wakanda. Bucky scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Shut up, punk.”Sam laughed. “Man, she really went for it. I mean damn.” Natasha just raised a brow, smirking. “Good for her.” The moment faded quickly, replaced once more by the weight of what was coming. But as Bucky locked and loaded his weapon, his stance just a little steadier than before, there was something different in his eyes.

He had someone to fight for now.

As soon as you re-entered the lab, the sound of distant explosions followed you like an unwelcome echo. The floor trembled faintly beneath your boots with each distant impact, deep, thunderous rumbles that seemed to reverberate through your bones. But you didn’t let yourself look. You couldn’t. You strode quickly back to the platform where Vision lay, eyes shut but brow faintly furrowed, the glow of the Mind Stone now pulsing faster, brighter.

Wanda remained by his side, her fingers brushing against his shoulder as if she could tether him to this world with touch alone. Shuri glanced up at your return, her brow slick with sweat, her fingers moving rapidly across a multi-layered projection of Vision’s neural network, thousands of points of light branching out like glowing roots. You pulled up the sequence you’d been working on earlier, syncing it with her feed, then slipped your glasses back on and dove back in. You focused every ounce of your concentration on the work.

The intricacies of Vision’s mind, organic and synthetic was like navigating a labyrinth made of fire and silk. Every strand you touched lit up with potential consequences. One misstep, one uncalibrated nudge, could trigger a chain reaction. You forced yourself to breathe slowly, methodically. This was your battlefield. And you had to win here. Outside, the tremors were getting stronger. Louder. The battle was no longer a distant hum. It was knocking at the walls.

“How much longer, Shuri?” T’Challa’s voice cut through the tension, sharp and urgent. Shuri didn’t pause in her work. “We’ve barely begun, brother.” She replied, frustration creeping into her tone. T’Challa’s silence lingered for a beat longer than you liked. “You might want to pick up the pace.” He suggested and for the first time, his voice didn’t carry its usual confidence. There was strain in it. Defeat, maybe. And that did nothing to help your anxiety.

You dared a glance toward the window, just for a moment. Flashes of blue and red lit up the horizon. You could see silhouettes, hundreds, no, thousands of Thanos’s monstrous Outriders clawing at the outer edges of the dome, their movements chaotic and frenzied like a swarm of insects. Every few seconds, a portion of the force field would flare, reacting violently to the contact. But it wouldn’t hold forever. You looked away, forcing your focus back to the neural map.

Just as your focus locked back in, fingers threading through data streams, your mind synchronizing with Vision’s neural matrix, you successfully shut down another volatile sequence, isolating it and watching it dissolve into harmless code. A surge of relief flushed through you, fleeting but energizing. Then, boom. A deep, primal rumble roared up from the battlefield. The entire lab shuddered violently. You looked up just in time to see Wanda slowly stepping toward the wide, reinforced window at the edge of the room.

You saw her freeze at the sight. Her jaw clenched, her breath catching in her throat. You didn’t need to read her mind, you could feel her emotions like an oncoming wave: conflict, guilt, desperation. Her power crackled faintly around her fingertips. Her eyes flicked back to Vision, then forward to the chaos just beyond the dome. “Wanda,” You called out softly, coaxing her back from her internal war. “Go.” Her eyes snapped to yours, wide and uncertain. You offered a faint, reassuring nod, and tilted your hip slightly, motioning to the dual pistols strapped at your thighs.

“You’re more use out there right now,” You added, gently but firmly. “He has me. We’ve got him.” For a second, she didn’t move. Then her lips parted with a shaky breath, and she gave a single nod. Determination overtook the fear. She leaned down, pressed a fleeting kiss to Vision’s forehead, and then turned, red light already building at her palms as she sprinted for the door. The second it slid shut behind her, you refocused on the interface, but your gut twisted. The air shifted.

The hairs on the back of your neck prickled. Something was wrong. You didn’t even have time to turn before the first guard by the lab doors was launched across the room like a ragdoll, crashing into the far wall with a sickening crunch. The other guard drew his vibranium spear, but he barely had time to react before he was locked in brutal hand-to-hand with one of Thanos’ warriors. Tall, gaunt, with gleaming black armor and cruel golden eyes, he moved like a shadow, striking with his curved glaive in deadly arcs.

“Shuri, keep going!” You barked, already tearing your pistols from your holsters. “I’ll hold him back.” Shuri didn’t argue. Her jaw was clenched in concentration, her hands a blur as she continued the extraction process. But her eyes flicked toward you briefly filled with unspoken fear. As he broke through the last line of defense and stepped fully into the lab, his gaze locked onto Vision like a predator marking its prey. But he hadn’t counted on you. The moment his foot crossed the lab’s inner threshold, you struck.

Your first shot hit his shoulder, the vibranium-tipped bullet slicing through armor with a spark. He snarled and lunged, glaive flashing with deadly light. You dodged left, dropped into a slide, came up behind him, and unloaded another round, this one grazing his side. He was faster than you anticipated. He spun, swinging the glaive in a wide arc, you ducked, the blade slicing through a console with a shower of sparks. You countered, slamming the butt of your pistol into his jaw before backflipping away, drawing him from the table.

“I don’t think so,” You spat, breath ragged. “You’re not getting anywhere near him.” He sneered, black ichor trickling down his lip. “You should’ve stayed hidden, little girl.” You scoffed leveling your gun. You darted to intercept him, grabbing a spear from the floor, its tip glowing with vibranium energy. He barely spared you a glance before you lunged, low and fast, aiming to catch him off-balance. The spear struck his thigh, and he hissed, reeling back just slightly. But he recovered too quickly. He swiped the glaive with precision, knocking your weapon away with a clang.

Before you could blink, he had you on the defensive, each strike designed to push you back, away from Vision. You ducked under one brutal swing, rolled toward the table, and launched yourself at him with a desperate right hook that landed across his jaw. He stumbled, but then his eyes narrowed. "You’re wasting my time," He snarled. He surged forward, slamming you against the wall with the flat of his glaive. The wind left your lungs, your back thudding against cold metal.

Before you could retaliate, he grabbed your wrist and spun you hard, forcing you off-balance. You hit the floor with a sharp thud, disarmed but conscious. Your vision wavered, but you were still aware, still fighting. You reached for the pistol holstered at your thigh, but his foot pinned your arm down before your fingers made contact. "You're fast," He leaned in, putting more pressure on your wrist you swore you heard a crack. Not again. "But not fast enough." And just like that, he stepped over you and made for the table. "Vision!" You called, trying to rise.

You watched as with terrifying strength, he grabbed Vision by the shoulder and ripped him from the slab. Vision cried out in protest, and tried to shove him back. The scuffle brought them too close to the edge. The already damaged glass wall behind the table creaked and groaned under their combined weight. Your eyes widened. And then it happened. Vision’s foot slipped on shattered glass. His grip faltered as Vision twisted in his grasp, trying to break free. They collided, off-balance and entangled in the struggle, and then the cracked glass behind them gave way.

The entire section shattered outward with a deafening crash. You scrambled to your feet despite the pain, and rushed to the edge, heart hammering in your chest. Wind roared through the broken wall, carrying the sounds of battle up from the field below. You spotted them, both of them tumbling down the embankment outside the lab, rolling violently through the remains of broken scaffolding before disappearing behind a grassy outcrop below. "No, no, no!" You breathed, palms bracing on the jagged edge of the opening.

Shuri rushed up beside you, breath catching in her throat. “I’m going after him.” You declared, already turning toward the exit. "You'll never make it in time," Shuri warned, glancing at her readouts. "The field's breaking. They're breaching the lower levels—" You shrugged her off, catching your breath, the pain was subsided by the adrenaline. Without looking back, you sprinted into the storm. You weaved through the chaos, dodging blaster bolts, ducking behind broken branches, feet skidding down the slope slick with blood and ash.

"We have a Vision situation!" Sam's voice crackled through the comms, tight with urgency, the sound of combat raging behind him. “I’m on it!” You panted, rounding the base of the hill. You weren't about to break your promise to Wanda. Your boots slammed into the dirt as you reached the base of the embankment. And there, through the swaying grass, you saw it. Vision lay sprawled across a fallen log, body limp. A few feet away, Steve was down, one knee pressed into the dirt, shield dropped, arm trembling under the crushing weight of Thanos' minion pressing down on him.

Steve gritted his teeth, every muscle straining, blood trickling from a cut above his brow. He leaned in, sneering. “This ends here, Captain.” Not if you could help it. Your eyes locked on the glaive, discarded just feet away, half-buried in rubble and grass. Your heart roared in your ears as you moved. You didn’t think. You ran. In one swift, practiced motion, you dove for the weapon, gripping the cold, obsidian shaft in both hands. You pivoted mid-sprint, feet digging into the ground as you launched yourself at him with every ounce of strength you had left.

With a cry of rage and fear and desperation, you drove the glaive forward, impaling him straight through the back. He froze, his body rigid. His hands loosened. His head turned just enough to see you behind him, eyes wide with shock. Then he dropped. Collapsed in a lifeless heap beside Steve. For a heartbeat, the field was silent around you. Your lungs stuttered, catching in your chest as you let go of the glaive and stumbled back, suddenly aware of your racing heart, the sweat pouring down your face.

You hadn’t even realized you were holding your breath until it came out in a shaky exhale. You stepped forward, uninjured hand extended. Steve looked up, grimy, bloodied, but alive. He accepted your help, gripping your forearm tightly as you pulled him to his feet. "I thought I told you to stay put.” He rasped, coughing slightly, leaning on you for balance. You gave a breathless laugh, eyes still scanning the field. “You should’ve known better.” He smiled, small and weary, but grateful. “You good?” You nodded once, then turned your focus to Vision dropping to your knees beside him.

He blinked up at you, barely there. “Y/N… is it done?” You reluctantly shook your head. “Not yet,” You whispered. “But at least you’re safe." Not even a second later, Wanda dropped to her knees beside you, her breath catching as she took in the sight of him. “Are you okay?” She asked softly, voice cracking at the edges. Vision groaned in pain, the flickering Mind Stone casting a dull, sickly yellow glow across his temple. The golden light pulsed erratically, sending tremors through his body. “What? What is it?” Wanda asked, her fingers cradling his face.

“He’s here.” Vision rasped, just barely audible over the wind that had suddenly gone still. Your entire body tensed. The air shifted. It was like the earth itself had taken a breath and held it. The battle noise, screams, gunfire, the thunder of feet dulled into something distant. You instinctively reached down, fingers curling around the spare gun in your boot holster. The cold metal grounded you, but only just. "Stay sharp," Steve warned, his voice low and grim. And then it happened.

You froze as Thanos stepped into view a few feet away. Emerging from space, purpose etched onto his face. The Mad Titan moved like a force of nature, massive, unstoppable, each step deliberate. The gauntlet on his left hand gleamed with cosmic light, several Infinity Stones pulsing like cursed stars across its surface. Steve charged first, shield raised high, battle cry hoarse in his throat. Natasha came from the left, batons crackling with electricity. Bruce, in the Hulkbuster, swung with the weight of a battering ram.

Sam dove from the sky, wings slicing through the air as he fired round after round. And Thanos, barely flinched. One flick of the gauntlet sent Bruce crashing into a cliffside, concrete cratering beneath the armor. Another wave of purple energy stopped Steve mid-strike, freezing him in place like a statue before slamming him backward into the ground with bone-shaking force. Sam’s wings shattered mid-air with a single gesture, sending him tumbling. Natasha was the last to reach him, and for a second, it looked like she might land a blow.

Yet Thanos caught her mid-swing and hurled her like a ragdoll into a heap of wreckage. Your vision swam. You had to do something. Your pulse thundered in your ears as you stepped forward, boots crunching over scorched rubble. He hadn’t seen you yet. You moved, ducking behind the brush, breath tight in your lungs. Every instinct screamed to run. But then you saw them, Steve’s shield lying in the dust, Sam’s shredded wing pinned beneath a chunk of debris, Natasha’s motionless body draped across the wreckage.

You swallowed the panic, steadied your hands, and stepped out. "Hey asshole!" You shouted, voice hoarse. Thanos turned toward you slowly, his eyes narrowed slightly, studying you. No armor. No super serum. No godlike strength. Just you. Still, you charged. Your feet pounded against the ground, every step feeling like it might be your last. You drew your weapon the last gun you had left and went for the gauntlet. Maybe, just maybe, if you could distract him long enough.

You ducked a backhand that would’ve turned your skull to powder and slid beneath his arm, striking at the glowing circuitry of the gauntlet. Sparks flew. Thanos grunted, more surprised than hurt and swatted you away. You hit the ground hard, ribs and injured wrist shrieking in protest, vision spotting with pain. But you got up. You stumbled forward again, this time reaching for a piece of broken debris, swinging it with everything you had. He caught it mid-arc and crushed it in his fist like a twig.

Then, with a lazy shove, he sent you skidding backward, scraping through dirt and stone until you hit a jagged slab that stole the breath from your lungs. You tried to rise again, but your limbs screamed in protest. As you tried and failed to catch your breath, your eyes found Wanda as she knelt beside Vision, hands glowing red, her face a portrait of grief and fury. Vision held her hand weakly, speaking words only she could hear. You knew what he was saying. He knew it was over. The only way to stop Thanos now was to destroy the stone. To destroy him.

Tears streamed down Wanda’s cheeks, but she nodded. Slowly. Unwillingly. And then she began. Her power pulsed outward in vibrant, scarlet waves, surrounding Vision in a cocoon of energy. He cried out, not in fear, but in pain and acceptance. You watched, heart breaking, as Wanda rose to her feet, still focusing her power. Her expression hardened, grief sharpened into purpose. All around you, reinforcements arrived, Okoye, slicing through remaining Outriders, T’Challa, leaping into the fight, and—

“Bucky.” You breathed. You hadn’t even seen him fall into the chaos, but there he was, fighting like hell. His eyes locked onto you, and the moment he saw you, he dropped his weapon and rushed forward, barely dodging a blast of kinetic force. He dropped to his knees at your side, his voice thick with panic. “Y/N! Fuck doll, talk to me,” He rambled urgently, brushing dirt and blood-streaked hair from your forehead. “Are you hit anywhere?” He asked checking for noticeable injuries with shaking hands.

“I’m okay,” You breathed out, pain laced in every syllable but true enough. “I’m okay… now that you’re here.” Bucky’s jaw clenched. He took your hand, his thumb brushing across your knuckles helping you sit upright against his chest. “I got you. I’ve got you.” But before either of you could speak again—it happened. A sound like shattering glass echoed through the air, followed by a concussive boom. Wanda screamed, the red energy erupting in a blinding flash. Vision’s body went still. The Mind Stone, cracked, fractured, and finally burst.

Golden light erupted across the battlefield, washing over the broken earth. And for a single breath… there was silence. But then, Thanos emerged, stepping over the remains of broken stone, hand outstretched, eyes locked on Wanda, who was now sobbing. The Mind Stone was gone. And yet, he was still moving. Wanda had done it. But Thanos wasn’t finished. Your breath caught in your throat as Thanos paused, tilting his head slightly, almost pityingly. Then, the Time Stone on his gauntlet flared to life, spinning backward through the very fabric of existence.

And before your eyes, reality twisted. The shattered stone reassembled. Vision’s broken form re-knitted itself, his lifeless eyes blinking open, confusion etched across his synthetic features. But he had no time to speak. Thanos reached out, and with a brutal, mechanical motion, tore the Mind Stone from Vision’s head. The android’s body spasmed, his cry choked and short-lived, before going limp in Thanos’s grasp. Now, with the sixth stone set into the crown of the Infinity Gauntlet, the universe seemed to shudder.

The air grew denser, humming with a terrible, unnatural resonance. Power radiated from Thanos in waves. He was complete now. All-powerful. Suddenly, the air crackled. A deafening rumble of thunder tore through the heavens with a blinding surge of lightning. Your eyes barely had a chance to register the shift before he arrived. Thor. He descended like a vengeful storm, cloaked in searing electricity, his eyes glowing with the fury of gods. In a single, fluid motion, he hurled his new axe through the smoke-choked air. It spun like a comet, trailing arcs of blue lightning behind it, and slammed into Thanos’s chest with a sound that seemed to split the sky.

The Mad Titan staggered backward, his eyes wide with shock and pain. The axe sank deep, driving through muscle and bone, burying itself up to the hilt in his chest. Lightning danced across his body, sparks flashing against the gleam of the Infinity Gauntlet. He cried out, a guttural, roaring sound that echoed across the ruined plains of Wakanda. Thor landed hard, the earth beneath him cracking from the force. He didn’t hesitate. With a shout that was equal parts rage and anguish, he surged forward, gripping the haft of the axe and shoving it deeper into Thanos’s flesh. The blade crackled with god-forged energy, and Thanos’s knees buckled under the force.

Thor’s face was a storm itself. This wasn’t justice. It was vengeance. For a moment, just one terrible, hopeful moment it looked like it was over. Thanos trembled, his grip on the gauntlet weakening. The titan’s massive frame swayed, impaled, faltering. You could feel your heartbeat in your throat. But then, Thanos lifted his head. His face twisted in pain, but his gaze was fixed on Thor. “You… should… have… gone for the head. Before anyone could move, Thanos raised his gauntlet, trembling but deliberate.

The six stones blazed in unison casting fractured rainbows across his bloodied face. Then came the snap. A quiet sound. So small. So simple. But the world exploded. A blinding white flash tore through your vision, consuming everything. The noise died. Wind stilled. The battlefield vanished in light. You felt weightless, disconnected from time, from space, from your own body. You and Bucky both squeezed your eyes shut, instinctively bracing against a force neither of you could comprehend. You felt his shoulder tense beside you, and you reached out, whether for comfort or to hold him back, you couldn’t say.

The light faded. But the horror had only just begun. You opened your eyes slowly, blinking against the afterglow of the blinding light. Everything was strangely still, too still. The battlefield, once alive with chaos and war, had gone eerily quiet. Your brows furrowed in confusion. Thor’s axe lay embedded in the dirt just feet away, but Thanos… was gone. Vanished into thin air. "Where'd he go?" Steve’s voice broke through the silence. He limped forward, battered and bloodied, clutching his side as he scanned the ruins.

His eyes flicked to Thor, who remained motionless, shoulders heaving, face slack with disbelief. The wind shifted, whispering across the scorched earth. It curled around you unnaturally, chilling your skin despite the lingering heat of battle. You felt a strange pressure in your chest, like something immense had just passed through you and left a hollow in its place. You couldn’t explain it. You didn’t want to. Beside you, Bucky stirred. He rose slowly, wincing, then extended a hand to help you up, gripping your uninjured shoulder gently, his other hand steady on the rifle slung across his chest.

His expression was grim, but steady, until it wasn’t. "Steve," He called out across the clearing, his voice calm but uncertain, like he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing. His arm tightened around you. And then it happened. Dust. Fine, weightless particles lifted into the air around you, glittering like ash caught in sunlight. At first, you thought it was debris, but then Bucky’s fingers slipped from your shoulder. You turned, heart plunging, only to find the space behind you empty, where just a breath ago he had stood. “Doll—” He reached for you, the word barely formed, his eyes wide with fear.

Yet he was already unraveling, his body flaking into nothing, blown away like sand in a desert wind. And then he was gone. You stumbled forward, arms grasping at the air, at the space he had filled. A scream clawed its way up your throat, but your voice had abandoned you, lost somewhere in the vacuum of the moment. You were falling, knees buckling beneath you, but strong arms caught you. Natasha was there in an instant, her face streaked with sweat and ash, eyes wide with unspoken horror. She held you upright, grounding you while the world around you came apart. Her grip was firm, but trembling.

Then came the screams. They rang out across the field, raw, broken cries of confusion and despair. You turned your head and saw it happening everywhere. Wanda, knees tucked beneath her, face contorted with sorrow, disappeared in a rush of dust and wind. Sam, mid-step, calling out something you couldn’t hear, flickered and faded before he could even finish. They were vanishing. All of them. No final words. Just a soft, sickening disintegration. No chance to say any sort of goodbye.

You clutched at Natasha’s arm, your vision swimming, lungs refusing to fill properly. Around you, people dropped to their knees, screaming for loved ones who would never answer again. The air was thick with grief, with disbelief, with a silence that settled over everything. You watched as Steve sank to the ground, his shield forgotten at his side, his expression hollow, empty. After a pregnant pause he finally found the courage to speak. “What did we do?” But no one had an answer. It was blatantly obvious. The war was over, and you all had lost.

Thanks for reading! likes, reblogs, and comments are always appreciated! Feeling generous? Leave a tip!

[xianjaneway]

This is weird, but after reading so many Marvel fics, I'm surprised that most of them show Tony (& less often, Wanda) being the ones who worked to remove Bucky's trigger words.

Friends, in canon, that was Wakanda.

As white creators, why do we shy away from this in our fics?

I can at least make a couple of guesses. We don't want to appropriate black culture. We don't want to *get it wrong*, or do something that would dishonor the original creators.

We don't want to colonize it.

We don't want to fuck it up.

The thing is, I've read over 1200 Marvel fics since June of 2024. (Yay for hyperlexia, an audio reader, & a lot of boring repetitive work that compels me to find new fics to listen to every day!). I select them by kudos, completion status, & date. My primary ships are Stucky, Stony, Stuckony, & I would read almost anything interesting involving Bucky Barnes.

Guess how many have explored Bucky's time in Wakanda, beyond a passing reference, or a longing for his huts & his goats?

Zero.

Seriously.

Folks, I understand not-wanting to fuck it up. However, as white creators, there ARE a few things we can do that don't involve any appropriation, & drastically reduce our chances of fucking it up.

For starters? We could talk to black creators. Invite them for a collaboration. Ask them questions.

We could re-watch the Panther movies, & the Falcon/Winter Soldier series, with an eye towards, "If I were Bucky Barnes, how would I react to this environment?"

The gender questions ALONE are fascinating AF! A WWII vet being healed in part by a Dora Milaje? How would he respond? How would he interact with an elite group of female warriors, who are in every way better fighters than he is? What would he have to overcome to exist alongside them?

And remember, in Wakanda, Bucky is NOT the main character.

We could argue that he never wanted to be, but if we know men from this era, we know that they lived & moved in a world that *expected* them to be. There's muscle memory & manners & a lifetime of reflexes involved here.

How would Ayo or Xoliswa react to Bucky opening doors, or pulling out their chairs? That ALONE is worth a few one-shots.

And fellow white people, we aren't even asking that question.

I genuinely think we're missing out.

I KNOW, fics are supposed to be for joy & escapism.

However, all of us know that fics can be a form of education, & a form of therapy. If we're serious about decolonizing our minds, our habits, & our viewpoints, this is a REALLY GOOD sandbox for us to practice in.

Just imagine how your version of Bucky Barnes would react here, & give this idea some thought:

[mellosdrawings]

Mello Mello I have a question—

So, I'm trying to design a future appearance for an OC I ship with Leona, and I'd really like to know where you got inspiration for Kinga and Imani's clothing 🤔

Like, if you have any reference recommendations

More so for Imani's clothes than Kinga's, since I'm going for 'regal' more than 'warrior'

Oh, I have SO MANY different inspirations and references.

First, when I thought up Imani, I wanted a mix between Mel from the Arcane series, Cleopatra, and the Kandake queens.

Something regal, a bit form fitting to emphasise her lean and tall silhouette. (Sadly there aren't many depictions of the few Kandake we know about.)

Then I used Maasai/Kenyan traditional and/or inspired dresses to put something up for her.

The point was not to be completely accurate though, it's still a modern fantasy world.

One thing about (most) African clothes is that they might seem very simple in making (like the Dera Swahili dresses), and that is because the fabrics used are often very colorful and intricate. Keeping the clothes simple allow the artwork of the fabric to shine. You can find several maps of fabrics online with their names.

For Kinga, the main inspirations were Kandake and Black Panther's Dora Milaje.

Those are good fighting gears that allow movement while holding everything in place. The costume department did a very good job for those.

I think that is all? Good luck on your OC's making o/ I'm interested to see her if you feel like posting her online!

[gilbirda]

Ghost Princess!Jazz design

So, since I'm posting chapter 24 of Friendly Neighborhood Vigilante, finally these will see the light of day!!!

Designs and drawing by the amazing @herbatahleb!!! I commissioned him these drawings so I could visualize the suit in my head better; and also so peeps could see what I'm talking about!

Thank you so much Hleb!

Alt version that was scrapped during the design process and me rambling about design ideas under the cut

So the Idea was that in this AU Jazz was trained by Pandora and the dead Amazon warriors in the greek afterlife.

Jazz doesn't use guns, not because of morality or anything, but because she sucks ass at shooting and is like the moment she hits the trigger it doesn't matter where she was aiming, she will cause an accident/hurt someone. (Weapons she doesn't have to actually aim are kinda okay, but you have to be ready for her blowing up something)

So she compensates and uses a lot of long range weapons, with her mom's staff being the one she uses the most. The staff has 2 settings: spear, which she uses for a more aggressive approach (think Okoye and the Dora Milaje from Black Panther)

and War Mode, with the War Mode is the one that is in the final design. I sent Hleb a bunch of reference pictures and the lance is based on Ares' lance in Destripando la Historia (a spanish youtube series)

My general idea is that Jazz is inspired by the war god because she herself had to become one for Danny. She's one of their best strategist but she is also vicious in battle and the best at hand to hand combat and most versatile weapons-wise.

Her suit is also red because it stands out in the Infinite Realms. She makes herself a target so she can attract her enemies to her, since she can't fly or doesn't have a means of quick transportation during battle.

Armor is made for speed and agility, and it's charmed so it enhances her natural ghostly abilities and physique. Her arm pieces can project an ecto shield for defense.

For the crown I had a few references, but mainly Wanda's headpiece in MCU

But also I wanted to include some kind of high fantasy crowns for her, because that's her crown as a princess. While Danny has the black metal one that's constantly on fire, Jazz would have this armor headpiece and only the "tips" would be on fire and then the actual crown appears out of thin air as a fire circle over her head.

For me this detail was important because it showed: first, how for Jazz her crown IS part of her armor and how deeply entwined being a princess is with being a warrior while Danny can be the king without the warrior; and second, to represent how "fake" as a ghost princess she is, since she's not actually dead-dead, because only 2 singular points are actually metal but the rest comes and goes and doesn't anchor to anything.

We also used a bunch of references of Kassandra from Assasins Creed Odyssey

For the boots and other details I really just sent Hleb a bunch of pictures from the Wonder Woman movie Amazonian armor design

Anyway that's all my rant. I'm very happy with the final design and Hleb was very kind to sit with me and let me be specific about what I wanted. Love you, darling!

[delicatebarness]

bring him home | chapter five

Summary: After almost two years, you find yourself back in Wakanda.

Warning: MCU Spoilers. Captain America: The Winter Soldier. Mentions of Grief and Loss. Violence. Mental Health Themes. Emotional Distress.

Word Count: 1700

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A/N: My heart breaks itself. I swear. - Please feel free to leave feedback or let me know where and how you want the story to continue, this is just as much yours as mine. - B

Bring Him Home: @vampirethingz | @whiminiferous | @armystay89 | @bucky-just-needs-love | @esposadomd | @motylekrozi | @erica2024 | @wintrsoldrluvr | @mega-kittyglitter-1 | @mostlymarvelgirl | @ordelixx |

Everything: @hallecarey1 | @pattiemac1 | @uhmellamoanna | @scraftsku35 | @ozwriterchick | @sapphirebarnes | @rach2602 | @thetorturedbuckydepartment

Six months had passed since the support groups had been established and continued to flourish, they provided solace and strength to make who had been lost in their grief. Every meeting you attended, and every story shared was a step toward healing. Not just for them, but for you as well.

The more you share with the other victims, the more you feel a pull– a need to return to the place where so much had changed. Wakanda. With trepidation and determination, you boarded a Quinjet, the familiar hum of its engines filled the air as it took off. For the first time since the Snap, you flew back to find peace for yourself.

Arriving in Wakand, you were greeted with warmth by the Dora Milaje and the people who remembered you and Bucky, as well as the Avengers’ sacrifices. Okoyoe herself welcomed you, her presence a comforting reminder of the strength and resilience of the Wakandan people. 

“It’s good to see you again,” Okoyoe said, her voice calm and reassuring. “Wakanda has missed you.” 

You nodded, feeling a lump form in your throat. “Thank you, Okoyoe. It’s good to be back.” 

Walking through the vibrant streets of Wakanda, memories of your time on the run flooded your mind. The scars of Thanos’ attack were still visible, yet the landscape had recovered. Your destination, however, was a secluded hut on the outskirts of the city, the place where Bucky found solace and freedom before he disappeared. 

Standing untouched, the hut was a silent testament to Bucky’s time there. Creaking softly, you pushed the door open, stepping inside. Dust motes danced in the beams of sunlight as the air stayed still. After almost two years, you could almost feel his presence again– as if he had just stepped out and would return any moment. 

You took in every detail as you moved carefully through the small space. His belongings were still there– a few worn journals, a simple wooden carving of a wolf, and Polaroid photos. You ran your fingers over the carving, tears welling in the corner of your eyes as a sense of connection and longing overwhelmed you. 

As night fell, you sat by a window, glancing out at the Wakandan landscape. Looking up, the stars above you were bright, a reminder of the vastness of the universe and the small place you held within it. 

You reached for one of Bucky’s leather-bound journals, feeling a pull toward its familiar texture. As you read his raw emotions and thoughts, the events he recounted stirred a deep sense of recognition within you. 

Washington D.C. 2014

-

A buzzing on your nightstand jolted you from your restless sleep. Groggily, you reached for it, squinting at the unknown number flashing on the screen. Rolling your eyes, you answered with a tired voice. “Hello?” 

“It’s me,” Natasha’s familiar voice, came through low and urgent. 

“Nat?” you sat up, immediately more alert. “Why are you using an unknown number?” 

“No time to explain,” she said, her tone clipped. “I need you in Washington, like yesterday.” 

Sighing, you rubbed your temples. “I can’t, Nat. I–” 

“This isn’t optional,” she interrupted, her voice hardening. “This is serious.” 

“What’s going on?” you asked, trying to gauge the gravity of the situation. 

“It’s him,” she said, her words heavy with implication. 

Your heart skipped a beat. The mere thought of The Winter Soldier brought back a flood of memories– painful, complicated memories. Pushing aside your initial reluctance, you took a deep breath. 

“Alright,” you said, your voice steady as you rose from your bed. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.” 

The feeling of unease couldn’t be shaken as you flew to Washington, anxiety and anticipation blurred your mind. The Winter Soldier was a lingering shadow that shaped your life, he was more than a ghost from your past. 

Natasha’s eyes scanned the surroundings with practiced vigilance as she waited in a small cafe. Before ushering you to a secluded corner, she pulled you into a brief, tight hug. 

“Glad you made it,” she said.

“You didn’t give me much of a choice,” you replied, your eyes scanning the small cafe. “Where is he?” Natasha proceeded, giving you a brief rundown of the situation and what they were dealing with. 

~

Within a couple of hours, Steve and Natasha introduced you to Sam Wilson. They assured you that he could be trusted, but you couldn’t help but feel skeptical. The plan was to abduct Jasper Sitwell, with Sam handling the talking and you on standby ready to fire if necessary. 

“And why would I do that?” Jasper Sitwell’s voice crackled through your comms. As if on cue, you readied your gun, aiming its red laser at the man.

“Because that tie looks really expensive, and I’d hate to mess it up.” Sam retorted, Sitwell glanced down, spotting the small red dot on his tie. 

~

From a vantage point, you watched in disbelief in the car behind. It was true; he was here. Soldat landed on the roof of the car carrying Natasha, Steve, Sam, and Sitwell. He yanked Sitwell out through the window with brutal efficiency, hurling him into oncoming traffic. 

You tried to shoot while driving, struggling to maintain control as you watched him open fire on your sister and friends. Suddenly, someone slammed the brakes, causing Soldat to drop onto the road.

Chaos ensured. Colliding with their car, another vehicle pushed them dangerously closer to the assassin. Soldat leaped back on top, smashing through the windshield and ripping out the steering wheel before jumping onto the following vehicle. 

As the car door broke off, you saw Steve clinging to Natasha and Sam as they began to slide across the highway. Soldat and the HYDRA agents unleashed a hail of bullets at them.

You stopped your car along with the rest of the panicked traffic, getting out and ducking for cover. When you were clear, you scattered along with the trio, running off in different directions. At first, he was shooting at Natasha but she managed to shoot him in his eye goggle mask and run off. 

And that was when he noticed you. 

For a moment, the two of you locked eyes, and the chaos around you seemed to fade. His piercing gaze held you, and you could have sworn there was a flicker of recognition in his eyes. A brief, split second where the ruthless assassin appeared to hesitate. In that heartbeat, you saw the man he used to be, the one buried deep.

Suddenly, he fired his weapon. You closed your eyes for a moment, it seemed like the shot was aimed at you, but it whizzed past, striking Natasha in the shoulder just as she was making her way toward you. She cried out and fell to the ground. 

“Nat!” you shouted, rushing to her side. Soldat closed in behind you, ready to fire again. Anger boiled within you as you sprang to your feet, delivering a swift powerful kick that sent him staggering back. 

“Remember me!” you yelled, trying to break through the haze of his conditioning. “It’s me, remember!” 

He didn’t respond, lunging at you with a cold and unyielding expression. Swinging his metal arm in a powerful arc. You ducked and the force of the blow whistled past your ear. Countering with a quick jab to his ribs, he barely flinched and retaliated with a series of rapid punches that you struggled to deflect.

“You know me,” you pleased between strikes, desperation edging into your voice. “You taught me, all of this.” 

He hesitated for the briefest moment, confusion flickering in his eyes. Yet, it disappeared as quickly as it appeared. Driving his knee into your stomach, he knocked the wind out of you and sent you sprawling to the ground. Gasping for breath, you rolled aside, avoid his follow-up stomp. 

Scrambling to your feet, you launched yourself at him with determination. He roared in frustration, grabbing you by the throat. The cold metal grip tightened, cutting off your air and lifting you off the ground. Your hands clawed at his arm in a desperate attempt to free yourself, your legs trying to kick out. 

“Soldat, please!” you gasped, your voice barely a whisper.

Before he could react, Steve burst onto the scene. With a powerful kick, he knocked Soldat away from you and sent him sprawling to the ground. As they fought, Steve managed to catch Soldat’s metal arm mid-swing and twisted, using his own momentum to throw him across the debris-strewn street. Soldat crashed to the ground, his mask dislodging in the process, revealing the face Steve less expected to see. 

Freezing, he lowered his shield. He started at the man who had once been his closest friend. Recognition dawned in Steve’s eyes, shock, sadness, and determination mixed. 

“Bucky…?” Steve asked in confusion, his voice both filled with disbelief and hope. 

-

Tears welled in your eyes as you relived a pivotal moment through Bucky’s perspective. As you read through the pages, you traced the lines. His words painted a picture of internal struggle, grappling with memories and emotions buried deep within his fractured mind. It was then you realized that Bucky had indeed recognized you that day. Guilt and anguish coursing through him from his actions. 

Outside, the Wakandan night settled. Closing the journal, you held it close to your chest. You allied yourself to grieve for the lost time, but also cherish the gratitude that even in the worst of times, he was still, always in there.

With a steady breath, you set the journal aside and took in the stillness of the hut. A mixture of leather, wood, and a hint of something indefinable that was distinctly him– the air was imbued with a faint scent that was uniquely Bucky. It enveloped you like a comforting embrace, soothing the rough edges of your heartache. 

Untouched since that morning, the bed still held his essence. You lay down, allowing yourself to sink into the familiar scent, bringing you peace and belonging. It was the first time that sleep came easily. The weight of grief and relentless striving for closure seemed to lift as you closed your eyes. 

---

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[x-press-it]

Welcome Home, Birthday Boy

The best surprises are the ones that wait for you. 🎞️🖤🌹✅

TFATWS!Bucky x Greek!fem!OC x TFATWS!Sam

Summary: After a long trip, Bucky comes home to warmth, laughter, and a surprise waiting for him—one that reminds him exactly where he belongs

Content Warnings: Established relationship, Vee Polycule into Delta - Pet Names (Méli mou: My Honey, Gliké mou: My Sweet) - A very thin dash of Angst. Fluff. Domestic vibe - Timeline is a year or so after The Falcon and The Winter Woldier.

English and greek aren't my first language so there might be typos/weird sentences...

Notes: This is the first of a series of domestic ficlets I want to write about Bucky x Angeliki x Sam's polycule and I thought it would be the perfect subject to introduce them and their dynamic.

Posted a Bucky's smut fic yesterday and wanted to do something sweeter today for Bucky's birthday.

Fun fact my husband birthday was yesterday, only realized this year their birthdays are back to back XD

Need some music? I’ve got you. And just in case you need a second one. (Those are the songs playing in the background.)

Word Count: 1.2K

The flight home had been long. Too damn long.

Even for someone like Bucky, who had lived through every kind of discomfort known to man, jet lag still hit like a punch to the gut. His bones ached—not from the training with the Dora Milaje, not from the recalibration Shuri had run on his arm, but from sheer exhaustion. His body felt like lead, his head foggy, and all he wanted was to crash face-first into his bed and sleep for a month.

At least, that had been the plan.

But when he stepped off the plane, no familiar faces had been waiting for him. No Angeliki with her knowing smirk, teasing him for being an old man. No Sam, cracking some dumb joke about how Wakanda hadn’t managed to make him less grumpy. Just an impersonal text:

"Busy. Come straight home. See you soon."

It sat heavy in his chest.

He told himself it wasn’t a big deal. They had lives, plans, responsibilities. He was being stupid for expecting anything different. Still, after a week away, after being wrapped in memories he didn’t want, surrounded by people who respected him but didn’t know him, their absence in the airport’s constant hum and buzz had stung more than he wanted to admit.

Maybe that was why, as he came out of the elevator onto their floor, his steps were heavier than usual. Why his breath came out slow and quiet, like he was bracing for something.

And then—

Melodious laughter.

Muffled, soft. Warmth carried through the door.

Angeliki’s laugh, bright and unrestrained, followed by Sam’s deep, rolling voice, too low to make out the words.

Bucky stopped in his tracks.

His fingers curled around the strap of his duffel bag, his throat tight.

That sound—God, that sound—it wrapped around him, loosened something in his chest even as it ached.

He was home.

And yet…

If they were here, if they had time to sit and talk and laugh, they could have picked him up. They could have spared him an hour, a few minutes, something.

His jaw clenched.

But before that feeling could settle, before it could fester into something uglier, another sound filtered through the door—the unmistakable clatter of pots, the scrape of metal against glass.

Cooking.

And the smell—rich, deep, layered—

Bucky frowned.

That wasn’t takeout. That was home-cooked. And not just any home-cooked meal, but something Greek. He recognized it now, the familiar scent of cinnamon, eggplant, something roasting in the oven.

Something Angeliki had spent hours making.

Her grandma’s recipe.

Bucky exhaled sharply, his grip on his bag loosening.

Maybe he was an idiot.

Maybe they had been busy.

And maybe—just maybe—they had been waiting for him all along.

He sighed, ran a hand through his short hair, and finally turned his key in the lock.

The moment he stepped inside, the scent hit him full force—rich, savory, mouthwatering. His stomach clenched in protest, a sharp reminder of just how long it had been since he’d had a proper meal.

He shut the door behind him with a quiet click, nudging his boots off with his toes, his duffel bag landing in the usual spot by the entrance—forgotten the second it left his grip.

From the kitchen, a faint rhythm drifted through the apartment. Slow beats, a languid melody—exactly the kind of music Angeliki liked. She always had something playing when she cooked or handled chores. And if she didn’t, she’d hum, sometimes sing under her breath, like music was stitched into her very being.

But right now, she was laughing.

The sound was clear, chiming like a bell, warm and sweet in a way that curled around him, pressing against the parts of himself still wound tight from the trip. It pulled at something deep in his chest—memories of evenings spent just like this, of meals shared, of Sam’s teasing and Angeliki’s exasperated fondness.

Some of the tension bled from his shoulders as he rolled his neck, following the scent and the soft hum of conversation that grew clearer with each step.

Bucky smirked as he leaned against the doorway, arms crossed over his chest.

The sight that greeted him was one he never would have imagined for himself a few years ago—Sam Wilson, Captain America himself, sleeves rolled up, hands dusted with flour, a toothy grin on his face, looking far too pleased with himself. Next to him, Angeliki stood with her dark hair tied up in a messy bun, hands on her hips, exasperated but fond. A streak of flour ran across her cheek, and Bucky had the sudden urge to brush it off with his thumb.

The kitchen was a mess. Fine white powder dusted the counter, a measuring cup teetered on the edge of the sink, a bowl full of slices of caramelized plums, and an open bag of flour sat dangerously close to disaster. The moussaka was in the oven, its rich scent filling the air, but right now, they were focused on the pancake batter.

“—Not that much sugar, Méli mou!” Angeliki’s voice rang out, firm but amused. “We’re making pancakes, not trying to put him in a food coma.”

“Hey, I know what I’m doin’.” Sam sounded defensive, but Bucky could already see the smug grin tugging at his lips. “Besides, these are birthday pancakes. Gotta put some love in it.”

“Love, yes. A whole bucket of sugar? No.”

Bucky let out a low chuckle, drawing their attention. “You let him near the sugar again? Rookie mistake.”

Angeliki’s head snapped toward him, and for a split second, surprise and flecks of gold flickered in her storm-gray eyes before warmth took over, making them dance. “Bucky.”

His name came out soft, like a sigh of relief, like maybe she’d been waiting for this exact moment.

Then she was moving, wiping her hands on her apron before crossing the space between them in two swift strides. She didn’t hesitate before wrapping her arms around him, pressing her face into his chest. The scent of perfume from her hair—roses and argan oil, sweet and spicy—and something distinctly her curled around him.

A breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding left his lungs.

“You’re home,” she exhaled in a sigh.

Sam, ever the instigator, grinned at them over Angeliki’s head. “Damn, Buck. Took you long enough.”

Bucky huffed but didn’t pull away. “Would’ve been here sooner if someone picked me up from the airport.”

Angeliki pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, and her lips curling into a knowing smirk. “If we did, you wouldn’t have had a surprise waiting, gliké mou.”

Bucky narrowed his eyes, pretending to consider it. “Still sounds like an excuse.”

Sam scoffed. “You’re complainin’, but I see you eatin’ those pancakes the second they’re done.”

Bucky smirked. “Damn right I will.”

Angeliki rolled her eyes but tugged him by the wrist toward the kitchen. “C’mon, birthday boy. If you’re gonna complain, you might as well help.”

Bucky sighed dramatically, but there was no real frustration behind it. Instead, he let himself be pulled in. He stepped up behind her, looping an arm around her waist and pressing his lips to her temple, feeling the last of his travel-worn exhaustion melt away.

Angeliki leaned into him, instinctively, chuckling and Sam watched the exchange, his brown eyes filled with an unmistakable fondness.

This warmth, this laughter, this love.

Yeah.

This was home.

And it might be his birthday, but this was the best gift he could ask for.

Notes: If you enjoyed it, don’t forget to comment and spread the love 😊 More on the way!

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[crazyunsexycool]

My Little Love

Chapter 31

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

word count: 6k

Warnings: Some angst, mentions of blood, mentions of gun, SO MANY TEARS, Charlotte being the little rebel she is, Henry being a supportive big brother lol, The kids are just so fucking sweet, knives, implied thought of committing suicide (hydra command), If I forgot something please let me know.

A/N: OMG it's happening!!!! Please let me know what you think.

Series Masterlist

He drops the ironclad hold he had on your neck and releases the cuffs you had on. He leans into your ear and murmurs something. 

Your murderous gaze snaps up to Bucky’s.

You take slow measured steps in his direction. There is only one thing in your mind. Your only mission.

Hurt him.

He’s the enemy and he’ll hurt you. That’s what the man had said and you had no choice but to trust him. But the man in front of you seems familiar. You don’t fear him. Although your feelings in this don’t matter. 

“Sugar.” He says as he looks at you with anguish. He puts down the gun and holds his hands up to show he isn’t a threat. “It’s me, it’s Bucky. You’re safe now.” 

Your expression remains blank and you continue to move towards him.

“Charlotte and Henry can’t wait to see you.

You tilt your head in confusion. Those names are unknown to you. 

“I found her.” Bucky says. “I need bac-“ 

You don’t let him finish his sentence. Instead you connect your fist with his jaw. You advance on him and no matter how many blows you land he won’t hit you. He covers his face, he deflects but not once has he raised his hand against you. 

“Y/N, please listen to me. I know you’re in there. Sugar you can stop. It’s ok you’re safe now.” He pleads.

You don’t talk back, you can’t. The order was to hurt him not to talk. This time when you throw another punch he catches your fist with his left hand. You study it and then you flick your wrist so that you're holding his wrist instead. Then you squeeze. The metal crunch fills the otherwise empty hall. Bucky grunts as he falls to his knees. You’ve completely destroyed his left arm from wrist to shoulder and he seems to be in some kind of pain but you don’t care. You lift your fist again and you feel a small sting on the side of your neck before you lose consciousness.

****

“Are you ok?” Nat asks as she lays you on the floor. 

“What happened?” Steve asks as he rounds the corner, jogging up to Bucky and Nat. “Oh fuck.” 

Bucky’s arm was basically turned to scrap metal. His face was full of blood and bruises and there was no doubt that there would be more injuries.

“They programmed her.” Bucky said in between pants and tears. 

Steve first helped Bucky and then scooped you up from the floor. 

“The guy that was taking her out of here disappeared.” 

“I stopped him down the hallway, he isn’t going anywhere.” Nat says before she steps in front of Steve and starts leading them out of the building. Gun up and ready to shoot if necessary. “We should get her to Bruce so that he can keep her sedated until we get back to the tower.” 

Bucky just nods but his mind is a million miles away. What had they done to you? He was torn between needing to know and not wanting to find out. You were his best girl and he had let you down. 

“Buck, take my shield.” Steve says as the group approaches the exit. 

While the building was quiet there was a battle going on outside. The rest of the team, the CIA and the Dora Milaje were still fighting against hydra. 

“Wanda, Sam we’re going to need some help here. We have Y/N but she’s unconscious.” 

“On our way.” Sam says. A few seconds later he’s at the doors. His wings spread out and shielding the doors so that Nat can open them and let Steve walk out with you. 

There’s a ball of red magic that flies past them and hits someone and then Wanda lands beside them. Her eyes immediately go to you and her heart aches when she sees the state you’re in. 

“Let’s go.” She says with a nod. 

The five of them move in sync. Steve in the middle of the other four as they keep you safe. Okoye sees them and sends some of her fighters to help clear the way. In no time you’re on a jet and Bruce is setting up a drip before taking your vitals. 

“Stay with her Buck.” Steve takes the shield from him and pats his back before heading back. 

“She’s stable. Was she unconscious when you found her?” 

“No, Nat had to sedate her. She did this.” Bucky motions to himself and Bruce grimaced. 

“I’ll clean you up in a second.”

“Take your time. I’d rather you focus on her.” Bucky mutters as he sits beside you with a groan.

He takes your hand in his right and brings it up to his lips, placing a kiss on your knuckles. 

“We’ve got you, Sugar. You’re safe again.” 

Bucky didn’t leave your side. Even when Bruce wanted to check for other injuries he just shrugged him off and said he could wait to be checked out at the tower. Bucky did ask Bruce to help him remove his left arm since it was no longer useful. 

You were still unconscious when you were moved from the jet to the hospital floor of the tower. Just outside the doors of the waiting room Ed was waiting for Bucky. 

“You did it, son. You brought back our girl.”

He pulled Bucky in for a hug. One Bucky desperately needed. He let silent tears fall as the relief of having you home finally washed over him. Out of personal experience he knew that the coming days or weeks or months were going to be difficult but he’d do anything he could to support you. 

Charlotte’s excited babbling made Bucky pull away. Her rushed steps were heard echoing off the walls and suddenly she’s turning the corner. 

“Dada! Mama’s home.” She exclaimed with absolute glee as she ran to hug Bucky. 

“Is she really here daddy?” 

“She is bub. Now c,mere.” Bucky hugged him too. The tension left Henry’s body the longer Bucky held him. “I need to tell you both something though.” 

“Mama sick. Is kay dada, mama get bettuh. I see it.” 

“That’s right, mama is a bit sick right now so you can’t see her just yet. But at least she’s home and we can help her get better soon.” 

Henry nodded although concern and sadness clouded his eyes. His attention moves to Bucky’s left side and the lack of an arm. “What happened daddy?” 

“It got ruined during the mission.” 

“But it is ok because I brought a newer version to replace it anyways.” Shuri’s voice fills the hallway.

 The doors to the waiting room are open and four guards, part of the Dora Milaje, stand behind her. Two of them holding a large black box in between them.

“Shuri.” Henry runs to her and they do their secret handshake. 

“Hey there little man. How have you been?” 

“I’m ok. Have you made anything new?” 

“Loads of things. I even brought some prototypes for you to try. But that will be after I help your baba.” 

“Ok.” 

“Hi Shuwi, mama’s home.” Lottie announces excitedly. 

“I’ve heard. I am going to help your mama get better, little one. How does that sound?” 

“Is good, tank you.”

“You are very welcome.” Shuri chuckles. 

“Everyone, I’d like you to meet  Shuri, Princess of Wakanda. She removed hydra’s programming for me, Henry and Lottie and also gave me my left arm. Shuri, this is Y/N’s family.” Bucky says as he introduces everyone.

“You’re really going to help her?”

“Absolutely. Whatever hydra tried to do we can undo it.”

“Thank you so much. We appreciate everything you’re doing not only for Y/N but for Bucky and the kids as well.” 

“It is my pleasure to be able to help. Now if you come with me Sergeant.” 

Bucky turns to talk to Ed but he just waves Bucky away.

“Y/N’s still asleep. For safety precautions we have guards outside of her room and she is cuffed to the bed.” Bruce says as he stands in front of everyone in the waiting room. 

“We will have to wait until she wakes up to run some tests to see what hydra did exactly.” Shuri adds. “Sergeant Barnes is also recovering. We had to take him into surgery to fix some of the inner workings of his shoulder implant before we could replace his arm.”

“How long will that take?” Ed asks.

“Just a few hours. He will definitely be awake before Y/N is. Although I should add that he shouldn’t be the first person she sees when she wakes up.” 

“Why not?” 

“Because the last command she was given was to hurt him. Until we know how the programming works we need to be careful.” 

Everyone agrees and then Shuri and Bruce are gone again to work on who knows what.

****

“Steve, Y/N’s awake. Why don’t you go in first?” 

“Why not Ed?” Steve asks as he gets up. Handing a sleeping Lottie to Nat. 

“Well like we said,” Bruce explains. “We don’t know how she’ll react. You can at least fight back.” 

Steve follows Bruce to your room. The guards at the door don’t move as Steve opens the door and steps in. The lights of the city kept the room bright as they came in through the large windows. You laid on your side, eyes trained on some point outside of the window but there was no spark. Steve sat down on a chair next to your bed but you didn’t look at him. 

“Hey Y/N. It’s me Steve.” He says softly but it feels as if he yelled by the way you flinch. “I’m sorry magnet. I didn’t mean to be so loud.” 

Your eyes shift toward him for a moment but you don’t respond. 

“At least you still don’t like the nickname.” He mutters before sighing. “I missed you. So did the kids. They’re very excited that you’re finally home. I mean we all are of course. But they’re in the waiting room and they refuse to leave.” 

“I don’t know you.”

“We are best friends, maybe you just don’t remember.” Steve said. “Your family’s here too.”

You whimpered at the mention of them and you tried to make yourself look smaller. The panicked look in your eyes when you finally looked back at him concerned Steve.

“Hey, it’s ok. You don’t have to see anyone until you’re ready.” 

His reassurance didn’t ease your mind though and the heart monitor started to beep faster. Bruce walked in a minute later as Steve tried to calm and comfort you. You were crying and shaking violently in the bed and nothing Steve said helped.

“I’ll have to sedate her.” Bruce says sadly.

Steve nods and steps away. He sighs with one last look in your direction before stepping out of the door. 

“How is she?” Eddie’s hopeful voice reaches Steve. Tear filled eyes look up at the older man.

“She didn’t recognize me and she wouldn’t really talk.” 

“Maybe she just needs some time. I mean she went through a lot right? We can’t just give up on her.” 

“And we won’t. It just pains me to see her like that.” Steve admits. “She’s the strong one in this friendship.” 

Eddie nods. “That’s my girl. But now it’s time for us to be strong for her.” 

Steve nods as Eddie pats him on the shoulder. 

“Now let’s get out there. Lottie won’t listen to anyone other than you or Bucky and we need to take her up to bed.” 

“Bubba?” Lottie calls out for Henry with a whisper. 

The room they’ve been sharing for the past few weeks is quiet and dark with only a nightlight casting a small glow. Henry is laying on the top bunk bed while Lottie is on the bottom. 

“Yeah, baby?” 

“Wanna see mama.” 

Henry shifts so that he can look over the railing and down at Lottie. 

“Daddy and grandpa said mama was sleeping, baby.”

“But mama home. Wanna habe seepover.” Lottie protests as she hugs her pink bear tighter. 

“I know baby, but mama is sick, remember?” 

“Can gibe Pinky.” Lottie holds up her teddy bear. “Make mama bettuh.” 

Henry looks back at his own bear and grabs it. In the kids’ mind it was logical. When they first got to the compound they each got a teddy bear and it always made them feel better.

“Maybe she’ll get better with two teddys.” Henry climbs down the small ladder while Lottie hops off her bed. “We have to be really quiet and you have to do what I say ok?” 

“Kay.” 

“Ok, don’t let go of my hand.” Henry takes Lottie’s hand and he turns them both invisible. 

As quickly and quietly as they can, the kids walk out of their shared room, through the living room where Eddie had fallen asleep on the couch and out of the front door. Henry keeps them invisible in the elevator and during their walk through the waiting room until he finds the room you’re in. 

The kids see Tony walk out of your room with a sad and concerned expression on his face. He leaves the door slightly open as the guards change shifts. Henry pulls Lottie against the wall in order to avoid having Tony run into them. Once he’s around the corner Henry walks towards the door to your room and peaks in. 

You’re asleep on the bed so Henry opens the door more and lets Lottie walk in. After they’re both behind the door he closes it he watches Lottie walk up to the bed and stare up at you. Her pink bear pressed against her chest as her bottom lips wobbled. 

“It’s ok baby. Mama is going to get better.” Henry whispers as he throws his arm around her shoulder. He pulls her in and kisses her temple.

“Can gibe Pinky?” 

“Yeah we can.” 

Henry pulls the chair closer to the bed so that Lottie can get up easier. She climbs the chair and then moves on to the bed and tucks the teddy under your arm and then does the same with Henry’s orange teddy. 

“You ah my sunshine, my onwy sunshine.” Lottie starts to sing. 

“You make me happy when skies are gray.” Henry joins in as they both sing the lullaby you often sang to them after a nightmare. “You’ll never know dear how much I love you, please don’t take my sunshine away.” 

Lottie climbs onto your lap and lays down on top of you, resting her head on your chest. Henry takes a seat at the edge of the bed. He takes your hand in his and sniffles while running his free hand up and down Lottie’s back in a soothing manner. 

****

Against Shuri and Bruce’s advice to rest after having to have some plates replaced in his shoulder, Bucky went to your room. It was late at night so he was sure you were asleep. Bucky just wanted to see you and remind himself that you were back. The guards are standing by your door and he’s sure he recognizes one of them.

“Agent Richards?” He asks quietly.

“Good evening Sergeant Barnes.”

“Aren’t you on desk duty?” 

“I requested this assignment. Agent Y/L/N, saved my life out in the field once. It would have been a really close call for me. She took care of me and kept me safe until help arrived. I want to repay the favor.” She says.

“I’m sure she’d appreciate it.”

Agent Richards nods. “Oh, it’s really sweet that you had the kids record that lullaby for her.” 

“Lullaby?” 

“Yeah, you are my sunshine. I heard the end of it as we got to our post. I’m sure they can’t wait to see their mom again.” 

“Yeah, that’s for sure.” Bucky nodded. “Thank you for standing guard. I’m just gonna sit with her for a little bit.”

“Of course sir.” 

Bucky opens the door slowly. Once he’s inside he spots the pink and orange teddy bears and knows the kids are in here. His eyes dart around the room but of course he doesn’t see anything. 

“Henry, are you in here?” Bucky asked softly. Of course there was no answer. “Lottie did you come to see mama even though you should be sleeping?” 

“No.” 

Bucky had to cover his mouth to stop himself from laughing. 

“Alright let me see you.”

Henry turns Lottie and himself visible again. Lottie was still cuddled up to you and Henry was on the edge of the bed. Bucky opens his arms and both kids move from the bed to his lap. He places a kiss on both their heads and gives them a hug.

“What are you doing here? I said you couldn’t see mama yet because she’s sick.” Bucky asks in a hushed tone. 

“But Pinky make mama bettuh.”

“Doll, I know you want mama to be better but you have to do as I say. It’s really important that you follow the rules.” 

“I no wike the wules.” Lottie replies with an angry pout and her arms crossed over her chest. 

“I know you little troublemaker but you have to do it anyway. It’s important if you want to help mama get better.” 

Lottie’s response was a little gasp. 

“Mama.” Henry was the one to speak up, making Bucky’s eyes snap up to you in bed. 

You were looking at the three of them. Eyes were distant as if you were trying to remember who these people were. If they had a connection to you, you didn’t remember. 

“Mama it’s me, it’s Henry.” He noticed your hesitation. 

“An Wottie.” 

“It’s Lottie. She has a hard time saying her Ls, remember?” Henry says.

The interaction breaks Bucky’s heart. He knows you don’t remember which is why he wanted the kids to stay away until Shuri and Bruce could run their tests.

In response all the kids get is a blank stare before you look up at him. Fortunately you don’t have a murderous look in your eyes anymore. The bad thing is that the lack of response on your part upsets the kids and Lottie begins to cry.

“Mama no wemembuh?” 

Bucky grabs both kids and walks out of the room. He takes a moment in the corner of the waiting room to comfort them. He knows it’s a very confusing situation for them and he does the best he can. By the time the kids have calmed down Josh and Sofia have shown up after Bucky asked Friday to call them to take the kids back upstairs. Once they’re gone Bucky walks back into your room where he finds you staring down at both bears. 

“May I?” Bucky gestures to the chair but you only stare at him. 

Bucky nods to himself realizing that for the past three months your choices have been taken away from you. He proceeds to sit.

“What is the last thing you remember?”

You look up at him, startled at the gentleness of his voice. All you’ve been around have been harsh, cruel screaming and mocking tones. 

“I-uh.” You had trouble answering his question. 

Immediately you cower as you wait for the blow or whatever punishment the man in front of you sees fit. When it doesn’t come you look back up at the man in front of you to find him with tears in his eyes. Slowly he reaches for your hand and takes it in his.

“We are not going to hurt you here. We want to help you, you don’t have to be scared. It’s ok if you don’t remember anything right now.” 

“I had to hurt you.” You whisper after a few minutes of silence. “It’s what he said I had to do.”

While you might not remember him, he felt safe. You felt at peace with him by your side so you let your guard down a bit. He just nodded. 

“Do you know where you are?”

You shook your head no. 

“You’re home.”

“I live in a hospital?” You questioned. The thought made you uneasy. 

“No,” he chuckles. “You live in the Avengers’ tower.”

That only distressed you more. The heart rate monitor started beeping rapidly and you struggled to get out of the restraints. 

“Please, I'm sorry. I’ll do whatever they want but don’t let the Avengers take me. They’ll hurt me, please.” 

Bucky didn’t have time to react because Bruce is walking into the room to see what’s going on. Suddenly Bucky is being pushed out of the room while Bruce, Helen and Shuri work to calm you down. With nothing else to do Bucky heads up to find someone to talk to. 

You woke up hours later in a groggy state. The restraints have been removed so you stretch your limbs. With a small groan you sit up and you take a better look around. Blinking owlishly to take in the room better and you remember what your mission was. 

From the other room you could hear voices. They were familiar to you but you couldn’t place them. This whole ordeal felt like being stuck in a zoo exhibit. You could feel there were people out there looking at you but you didn’t know who it was. Although it felt like you should know them. It was upsetting that you didn’t know who you were with and if you could trust them.

At the door you peek out and notice two guards at the door. Closing your eyes you concentrate on finding anything metal that you could use as a distraction. Once you find what you need and you crash metal against the floor the guards leave to double check what is going on. With them gone you slip out of the room and search the floor for a stairway. You remember the doctor talking to someone or something named Friday so you ask it where the kids are. The voice directs you to the right floor and in no time you’re walking into the apartment. 

There is no noise other than ambient sounds. You make your way to the kitchen and grab a knife before moving around the apartment until you find the bedrooms. The first one is obviously the kids room. There are toys and kids' clothing thrown about and a bunk bed that sits empty. You move on to the next room and there they are. The two kids that called you mama earlier were cuddled up together and fast asleep in the middle of the huge bed. 

Your last mission is simple. Kill the children and get out. If escaping is impossible don’t let the Avengers catch you alive. 

You take one step at a time. Slowly you make it to the edge of the bed and stare down at your true target. It’s now or never but as you look at their innocent and angelic faces you can’t seem to follow through. The need to protect and keep them safe overpowers the need to follow orders. It’s a war between your head and whatever hydra did to you and what you feel is the right thing to do. The hand that holds the knife trembles as you fight against the command your handler gave you. 

“Mama? Why are you crying?” The boy, Henry if you recall, is looking up at you. He looks a bit concerned.

“I-I don’t know.” 

“Mama habe seepover.” Lottie says, her eyes are brighter as she looks up at you. There’s so much trust in her eyes that something breaks in you as she holds her hand out for you. 

But the knife is in your hand and you have a mission to complete. 

Bucky, Steve, Nat, Tony, Yelena, Shuri and Eddie all raced to Bucky’s apartment. It didn’t take long for Bruce to realize you were gone and for Friday to inform him of your location. The obvious answer as to why you were looking for the kids sat heavy in Bucky’s heart and mind. Had hydra really stooped so low as to have a mother murder her own children? The answer unfortunately was yes. He hoped they could get there in time to stop it. If you went through with it even if it was against your will, Bucky knew you would never forgive yourself. It would crush you and who knows how you would handle it.

They all rush in as they hear Lottie asking if you’re having a sleepover. The best plan of action is for only one or two of them to go in so as to not scare the kids. Bucky opens the door and Steve is right there behind him. The image in front of them lightens the weight on Bucky’s shoulder. You sat in the middle of the bed, Henry tucked into your side and Charlotte on your lap with her head resting on your shoulder. A knife lay on the floor by the bed. He breathed a sigh of relief when you looked up at him. The look of utter confusion on your face as you continued to struggle between what you were doing and what you should be doing. 

“Dada, habe seepover.” Lottie pats the space next to you.

Bucky looks over his shoulder to find Steve fighting back tears. He wished it were that easy but he knows it’s not. 

“I will in a minute. Can I talk to you out here? Please.” He looks at you. 

You look down at the kids, upset that they’ll be upset if you leave them. It was still so strange to you that they provoked such strong emotions and you barely knew them. 

“I’ll be back.” 

“Don’t go mama. You just came back.” Henry pleads as he holds on to you tighter.

“She’ll be back bubs. We just have to have a grown up talk.” 

“I will.” 

“Ok.” 

You sat Charlotte down on the bed and walked out. The minute the door is closed behind you and you are far enough away from the bedroom there’s a red cloud in your face. As you inhale the substance you feel like you can see for the first time. 

Blinking away the fog your head had been in  you finally recognized your friends and family. Immediately your legs give out. Bucky is right there holding you and lowering himself to sit on the floor. Tears start flowing freely as you begin to hyperventilate. 

“It’s ok Sugar. I’ve got you, you’re safe.” Bucky murmurs but it doesn’t ease your cries. “Just breathe for me. Match my breathing.”

You do as he asks and then turn around to wrap your arms around him. The hug is bone crushing but Bucky doesn’t care. As long as you’re in his arms he’d let you squeeze the life out of him. The others stand around watching as you and Bucky finally reunite after three long and agonizing months. He kisses your temple and reassures you that you’re safe.

“The kids. Oh my god, they want-they wanted m-me t-to hurt them. I almost did. I al-almost hurt my babies.” You cry out. 

“Mama?” 

You look over Bucky’s shoulder to find Lottie looking at you wide eyed. Henry stood behind her, his hands on her shoulder to keep her close. You moved out of Bucky’s hold to get a better look at them.

“Hi sweet Angel.” 

“Mama!” Lottie shrieked as she ran into your open arms. It was really you again. “I missed you mama.” Lottie cried.

“I missed you too, baby.”

You opened your arm for Henry who walked towards you cautiously. His eyes darted from you to Bucky and back.

“Hi my sweet boy.” 

It was enough to hear you call him that for Henry’s walls to come tumbling down. His arms loop around your neck and he hides his face in the crook of your neck as he cries. You feel Bucky behind you holding the three of you. 

After a while the kids reluctantly get up and so do you. You move to hug your father who had been watching everything unfold.

“Daddy.” 

“Hey kitten, I’m so happy you’re home. I knew they’d find you again. You were so strong, you always have been.” He murmurs. 

You go down the line hugging and thanking everyone, even meeting Nat’s younger sister who apparently had the serum that helped you out of the hold hydra had in you. Steve is last and you can see his red puffy eyes and tear stained cheeks. It always surprises you how delicately he can hug you considering how strong he is. 

“I missed you.” He whispers. 

“I missed you too. Thank you for not giving up and for being there for everyone.” 

“We only found you because of my best girl.” Steve says as he pulls away. “She gave us the lead we needed.” 

You turned to look for Lottie only to find her next to you. Smiling down at her you pick her up and kiss her cheek.

“Did you find me?” 

“Mmhmm, mama I see you. An habe a beefing.”

“My hero.” 

“Am A-venguh wike Steebie.” 

“You are an Avenger, sweet Angel.” You chuckle.

“I hate to interrupt but we should talk.” Shuri says with an apologetic look. 

You just nod but you hate what could possibly happen now. 

“I’ll take the kiddos.” Eddie says and opens his arms to Lottie.

She pouts but goes with him. 

“I’ll be back sweet Angel.” You turn to see Henry standing by Bucky. “I’ll come back, ok?” 

“Ok.” 

You give him a smile as tears gather in your lash line. 

From the elevator to the hallway and even when you stopped in front of a conference room Bucky kept you tucked into his side. You appreciated the action, everything felt too exposed and unsafe. There was this nerve racking feeling in the pit of your stomach that hydra would be back. That they found drag you back into the hell they’d kept you in and this time they’d get their hands on the kids too. 

“You’re safe.” Bucky murmured in your ear.

You hadn’t noticed that you were trembling in fear at the thought. He stops outside of a conference room and pulls you in for a hug. 

“I’m sorry.” 

“You don’t have to apologize. I can’t begin to imagine what they did.” 

“No, I’m sorry about your arm.” You look up at him through wet lashes. “I promised I’d never use my ability against you.” 

“Hey, don’t do that. You know it’s not your fault. Besides, Shuri upgraded it.” 

“Still…” 

“No. Trust me, if you start going down this path you’ll lose yourself down a rabbit hole of what ifs.” 

You nod but it wouldn’t be that easy. Now you really understood what Bucky had been through even though he suffered more than you had. 

“We are ready for you.”  Shuri’s head popped out of a door. 

“Let’s go see what they found.” 

You nod and let Bucky lead you.

****

In the conference room was the whole team who welcomed you back with open arms. Shuri’s team was also in attendance as well as some Dora Milaje. It made you uncomfortable. There were too many unknown people and you couldn’t focus on what Shuri, Bruce and Helen were trying to explain to you. You kept looking over your shoulder waiting for a blow to come. A taser to find its way to your ribs or even a knife to slice your skin. 

“Y/N, did you hear what I said?” Shuri’s concerned voice pulls you back to the present. Everyone was staring at you. 

You shrunk back in your seat at all of the attention. Your breathing became shallow and all you could hear was a  muffled chorus of voices around you. Rocking back and forth in the chair you were sitting in you began to cry again. Your hands flew up to your ears when everything suddenly became too loud.

Bright blue eyes find yours. Soft pink lips move but you can’t hear the words. One warm and one cold hand cup your face. 

“I’ve got you, Sugar.” You finally hear Bucky say. He murmurs reassuring words until you finally calm down. 

When you look around almost everyone is gone. Steve, Bruce, Helen, and Shuri remain. 

“I’m sorry.” 

“You don’t have to apologize, Y/N. You’ve gone through something very difficult. I think this was too much.” Bruce said. “Why don’t we end this here and we can meet tomorrow morning and make a decision then.” 

“Decision?” 

“Hydra placed some kind of tech in your head.” Shuri says cautiously. “Something like a computer chip.” 

“So they can control me?”

“Well we aren’t sure which is why we need to remove them as soon as possible. Take tonight to think about it and we’ll meet tomorrow.” 

You nod slowly. Bucky thanks them and helps you up. With his arm around you he escorts you back to the elevator with only Steve by your side. In search of more comfort and grounding yourself you take Steve’s hand. The look in your eyes however is distant and fearful. 

Steve and Bucky exchange a worried glance. The reports have been coming in nonstop and Steve has read some of them. It’s made him sick to his stomach the snippets he’s read of how you had been treated. 

The three of you made it back to the apartment to the sound of the kids playing with Eddie. It made you smile as you walked into the living room to see both Lottie and Henry on top of Eddie. 

“Mama.” Henry got up and ran to you first followed closely by Lottie. They both hug and smile up at you. “You came back.” 

“I said I would.” 

“Let’s let mama get comfy ok.” Eddie says from the living room. “Do you wanna change first? We can have a movie night if you’d like.” 

“I’d really like a shower.” 

“Yeah, I’ll get it started for you. We have some pajamas for you and everything.” Bucky kisses your temple and disappears into the master room.

“Go on. We’ll be here when you get out.” 

You nod but look at the four of them again and a heaviness sits on your chest. It couldn’t be this easy to be free of hydra. They have to have something else planned. 

Steve nudges you in the direction of the room and you head in for a shower. Bucky gives you privacy, something you haven’t had in weeks. Once you’re out and dressed you feel refreshed and you’re starting to feel like yourself. In the bedroom Bucky is waiting for you. He gives you a tired smile, one you return.  

You step between his legs and rest your hands on his shoulders. His hands instinctively find your hips and he pulls you closer. Bucky’s hands move from your hips to your lower back as he wraps you in a hug. The both of you stay there for a moment just being wrapped up in each other before going out to the living room.

****

In the living room everyone had found their spots on the couch. Henry and Charlotte sat either beside you or on your lap. Bucky sat on your other side. It had been a long few days for everyone it seems. 

As the movie the kids had chosen played on everyone but you fell asleep on the couch. The situation had been stressful and nerve wrecking for everyone and it took a toll. Steve and Eddie who had been sitting side by side were leaning on each other for support as they slept. Bucky’s head was on your shoulder as he snored softly, Lottie was resting against your chest and Henry was leaning into you. 

They’re  why you had done what you did. The reason you gave yourself up to hydra to keep your family safe. It was a difficult price to pay but you would do it again. 

You found it hard to sleep though. Anytime you close your eyes all you see is the hell you’d been in for the last few weeks. It didn’t matter though, you were back with your family and that was like a balm to your aching soul. And for now that was enough.

Ch. 32

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[knightofmidnightsun]

The both of us are no good [epilogue] | HELMUT ZEMO

Summary: As you and Helmut confront the events that had shaped your journey together, it's time to face what awaits for you.

Warnings: Angst. a lot of angst again, as always so be ready. and, well, no more I think? Maybe reference to mental illness if you squint your eyes? Consider it the chapter more chill when talking about warnings.

Word count: 18K

Skeletons, skeletons series: [1], [2], [3], [epilogue]

Notes: Well, that's it!!!! So sorry for getting so long to write it, I just got into a internship!!! (SCREAMS) and have been really busy with my scientific research, so yes, my life has been a hurricane. BUTTT, im finally had time to finish reader and Helmut's journey, or the first part of it. I hope you enjoy it!! We will met again!!

The steady hum of the aircraft blades droned on in the night, blending with the quiet breathing of Sam and Bucky as they slept nearby. The dark sky outside was only occasionally broken by distant, flickering lights below.

You sat in your corner, a book in your hands, but the words blurred as your mind wandered elsewhere. Sleep had been impossible ever since the morning’s events.

Every time you closed your eyes and dared to go to sleep, you could hear his voice. Faintly, but you did.

You moved away from your seat with Helmut soon after risking sleeping off your plans, claiming one of the empty seats near the window—hoping the view of the night sky might distract you, keeping your thoughts at bay.

But even as you tried to focus on the passing darkness outside, the steady churn of your thoughts returned. The weight of it all—the missions, the memories—struggled around you like a vice.

Not only because of what had happened today, but for what would happen in the next morning, in less than eight hours.

Five years by Helmut’s side, through every mission, every battle, and now, tomorrow, you were supposed to hand him over to Wakanda. A final goodbye after all that time.

The thought had been tormenting you ever since Joaquín arrived to rescue you all and announced that the Dora Milajes had demanded your presence in Wakanda. All of you were aware of what it meant, you didn’t need to say a word or ask for clarification.

Since then, you tried not to look at Helmut as he sat in the shadows, sleeping so peacefully. He hadn’t said much since Joaquín announced the news, and part of you wished he had.

Helmut could have changed along the last five years—but he still was Baron Helmut Zemo.

God forbid he tells you what he's thinking, how he’s feeling, knowing now that after five years, he'll be back in his cell.

You tsked, also angered at yourself for not gathering the courage to question him.

You had courage enough to trap your demon-father in your mind but not to face Helmut’s departure.

Sometimes, you wished you could slap yourself.

You turned your gaze back to the book in your lap, forcing your eyes to scan the page, but the words might as well have been in another language. None of it made sense, none of it stuck.

Your mind kept returning to the past, thinking about the first time you had seen him, when you watched T’Challa imprison him—the baron’s words forever stuck into your consciousness. There was also the moment Bucky decided to break him out of prison, all the time you spent together in the serum’s mission and, then the aftermath: Helmut being escorted to Wakanda’s prison.

Then, there was the night after the cookout in Sam’s community—the same night that Bucky had suggested breaking Helmut out again. It had been so surreal, for sure, the idea sounded too delusional at first.

If someone had told you a few years ago that Bucky Barnes would be the one to advocate for working with Zemo, you’d have laughed. And there you were, in a world where the impossible seemed to happen every day.

Back then, you and Sam had exchanged disbelieving looks, waiting for Bucky to backtrack or admit it was some kind of joke. You didn’t believe that Bucky was the one to come up with the idea, specifically him of all people, and Sam didn’t believe in what their friends were suggesting.

But he wasn't joking. He’d been dead serious, and after the initial shock wore off, neither of you had argued against it.

Because deep down, you knew he was right. Helmut Zemo had become more than just a means to an end to the three of you. He had proven himself to be… More than you had thought about him at first, time and time again, even when none of you had expected him to.

After the fight with the Dora Milajes, as soon as Helmut disappeared, he came back. At the time, you didn’t understand why. At the time, he reasoned by saying it was to finish what you all had started. But, after some years, all of you knew that wasn’t true.

He had grown as attached to you as you had grown attached to him. And neither of you could admit it five years ago.

Still, you couldn’t help but wonder what would happen tomorrow when you reached Wakanda. Would this be the end? Would Helmut go back to his cell and fade into the background of your lives, just another chapter closed?

You refused to believe that this would be it and that was it.

The sound of footsteps caught your attention, and you looked up to see Joaquín approaching. He wasn’t as good at sleeping on missions as Sam and Bucky were. A habit he hadn’t quite grown into yet.

“You’re still awake?” he asked, his voice hushed, though there was no need to whisper in the quiet of the cabin.

By the sound of their snores, you doubted that Sam and Bucky would even awake if the aircraft fell.

You gave Joaquín a small smile, even though your chest felt heavy.

“Sleep isn’t coming easy today, but why are you awake?” you asked him back, “Shouldn’t you be asleep like the others?”

It was way easier to deflect from further questions than elaborate your answers.

Joaquín shrugged, “I’ll sleep when we land,” his eyes drifting to the sleeping figures of Sam and Bucky. “I noticed you were awake, though. Seems like you’ve got a lot on your mind.”

That, for sure, was an understatement.

You felt his gaze upon you, but you looked down at the book in your hands, fingers tracing its worn edges. It was better to ignore what he meant by his words than to consider them.

“I guess I do,” you admitted, your voice quieter than usual, “A lot happened today.”

You weren’t about to tell him everything—the things that had been plaguing you since you left the temple, the many scenarios that ran through your mind. How your own thoughts corrupted your conscious and subconscious after every second, the more you dandred about tomorrow.

When you closed your eyes, trying to find some peace, you could swear to hear Chthon’s voice, a faint whisper. But never far enough away.

I’m still here, you can’t ignore me forever. However, you could try and you would.

Joaquín raised an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued.

“Yeah, I’ve been wondering,” he crossed his arms, moving closer to you, “They didn’t tell me much when I came to get you. Just that... It was big. And that...” He hesitated, then lowered his voice even further. “Is it true? The whole thing about you being a... Witch?”

You bit your lip, even now, you were incapable of processing it yourself. Wonder about tomorrow? Yes, that was painful but easier than thinking further about the fact of who you truly were, with the words altogether.

After everything that had happened, it felt strange to hear it out loud from someone else’s mouth.

It didn’t sound real.

“Yeah,” you sighed, closing the book and placing it on your lap. “It’s true. I guess I’ve always been more witch than mutant. I just didn’t know about it until recently.”

Recently slash hours ago.

Your whole life, you had grown believing you were a mutant, and now… You had discovered you were a witch. Maybe, you could have some mutant genes from your ancestors, but it had no effect compared to the bloodline of your biological parents.

Joaquín’s eyes widened, his curiosity barely contained as he sat by your side.

“So... You have magic?” You could truly see how the young man was doing his best to hold back his enthusiasm. “Real magic?” 

A soft chuckle escaped you at his amazement.

You couldn't blame him, your references to magic were full of big names: Magik, Nico Minoru, Dr. Strange, Wanda… In short, it was a long list. It would take you a while to get used to the idea of ​​you being one of them, not on the same level, but part of the same world.

The daughter of a witch and some demoniac god known for his use of chaos magic. What a reputation to have.

“Yeah, magic. Chaos magic.” You agreed, merely nodding as you shrugged. “Whatever you want to call it.”

Joaquín leaned back slightly, taking in the revelation. You almost laughed at the light that lit up in his eyes, like a child who had gotten the train set he had been looking for for years.

“And all this time, we thought you were the other big one from the Big Four,” he muttered, his mind somewhere else.

And you had no idea where it was or what he was talking about.

“Big Four?” You asked, “Isn’t it the Big Three? Androids, aliens, and wizards.”

Unfortunately, spending day after day with the boys meant you knew weird and useless things like that. No one referred to the threats you usually faced by that term, but Bucky, Sam, and Joaquin had a strange list of inside jokes and that term was included in it.

Bunch of weirdos.

“No, Big Four,” Joaquín corrected you, as if it was the most obvious fact in the whole world, “Androids, aliens, wizards and superhumans.”

You raised a brow, the term catching you off guard. Superhumans. It made sense since there weren’t only supersoldiers now, but mutants.

You didn’t know what was weirder about it: knowing that behind your back, the boys referred to you as a superhuman or that you would have to grow used to being referred to as a wizard now. As if you were one of the majestic magic users that you all knew.

You didn't even believe you could be labeled as such, you didn't have the same level of knowledge, control over your magic and, well, nothing at all.

The best term for you was: a time bomb that needed experience to not explode. Not 'wizard' nor ‘magic user'.

Joaquín seemed to sense your hesitation, glancing away as if giving you a moment to digest it, “I mean, it’s not every day you meet someone who can do what you do. Chaos magic and…”

You offered a small smile but said nothing. Joaquín’s reaction was almost refreshing—his curiosity a welcome distraction from the heavier thoughts weighing you down, whether you liked it or not. Relieving the stress that plagued your mind, the thousands of thoughts that kept you from closing your eyes… Your heart felt a little lighter.

Joaquín had that effect sometimes. You liked to believe that it was because he was still a kid in this world of heroes in villains in comparison with the rest of you.

He had some of that big shining light you all arrived with when you stepped into that world.

“And Helmut?” Joaquín’s question caught you off guard, the shift in topic unexpected. But unavoidable.

And quickly, that peace was gone.

“What about him?” you asked, though you knew what Joaquín was getting at.

At least, now calmer, you didn't feel the ties in your heart every time you tried to put into words what you were thinking. What you were thinking about that subject.

You had more courage to talk about it with Joaquín than with the subject himself.

You looked over at Helmut again, still seated in the shadows, his figure barely moving, as if he were part of the night itself. In deep sleep, you almost smiled at him, he looked so serene.

Joaquín tilted his head, his gaze following yours as you glanced back toward Helmut, "You don’t just spend five years with someone and walk away like it never happened, right?"

The air seemed to thicken at his words, and for a moment, all you could do was stare at Helmut’s still form. Soon, he would be behind bars one more time, and you doubted you would see him again after that.

Today and the next morning would be the last time you would have to see him, talk to him.

“No,” finally, you said, your voice barely a whisper. “You don’t.”

Five years was a long time, you’d seen sides of Helmut no one else had—vulnerabilities he would never admit to others, not even to himself. But you had seen them since day one, or suspected what they were.

The Baron was a man who hid who he was, layers beneath the cold, calculating mask. Never showing the cards he had under his sleeves, never opening his chest and showing if he had a heart. Always too far away, in his own thoughts, back to his past.

You had never thought that man would disappear. That mission after mission, conversation after conversation and glance after glance, he would start to tear away the pieces that made him the Baron. And after all this time, his mask was nothing more than cracked wood and that there would be Helmut behind it, showing who he was to you and only you.

By you, you meant you and the boys, of course.

Joaquín nodded slightly. He shifted on his feet, "Doesn’t seem like you’re ready to say goodbye."

You let out a bitter laugh, though it lacked humor, "I guess no one ever is."

Joaquín gave you a look, sympathy and understanding behind his gaze, and you could almost hear the words stuck in his mind but unable to be said: But it’s harder for you, isn’t it?

You didn’t need to answer it. The silence that followed was enough.

The aircraft's hum filled the space again, giving you both a moment to let the conversation breathe. Joaquín shifted again, his hand absently tracing the edge of his seat, clearly unsure of what to say next.

He tilted his head, glancing at you with a softness that almost made you feel exposed.

"You don’t have to explain it to me, you know. Whatever’s going on with you and Helmut—it’s yours. I just... I just wanted to know if you’re okay with all this.”

Were you okay with it? Could you ever really be okay with letting Helmut go? Be okay about closing this chapter of your life? The thought made your chest tighten.

You didn’t need to ask any of these questions to yourself. Since the moment Joaquín had told you what was coming, you already had their answers.

After a long pause, you exhaled.

"I’m not sure,” the words slipped out before you could fully process them. “I don’t think I ever will be.”

As soon as the words left your lips, you felt a strange sense of relief. You didn’t need to pretend with Joaquín—not here, not now. He wouldn’t push for answers you didn’t have or felt uncomfortable sharing.

Joaquín offered you a gentle nudge with his shoulder, "Well, you’ve got some time to figure it out. Just... Don’t beat yourself up too much, okay?"

That was a hard thing to ask.

“I know,” you just didn’t know if you would be able to.

Still, you smiled at him, trying to reassure him. He didn’t need to say anything else, his presence alone was enough to help you, to remind you that it was okay to not be okay about it.Joaquín stood up slowly, stretching before giving you one last, knowing glance.

“I’ll leave you to your book,” he said lightly, before making his way back to the cockpit, the conversation fading into the soft murmur of the aircraft blades once more.

You watched him go, your thoughts still following you wherever you went, but they were less noisy now. You were left alone with the book in your hands, the words blurring on the page as your mind stubbornly wandered to the man sleeping in the shadows.

There was no peaceful way to resolve what lay ahead.

Would this be the last time you saw him like this? The thought haunted you, gnawing at the edges of your resolve, you already knew it would be, but it didn’t hurt less.

How could you just let him go back to a prison cell? How could you pretend it wouldn’t change everything?

Your fingers traced the edge of the book in your lap, the worn leather cover a poor distraction from the churning thoughts that refused to settle. You tried to focus on anything else, the dark expanse of sky outside the window, the steady rhythm of your breathing—but it was futile. Your mind always circled back to the same question.

Did Helmut still want to go back there? Five years ago, it was his only wish.

He hadn’t said much since Joaquín had mentioned the Wakandan's request. He had stayed silent, as he always did, keeping his cards close to his chest. Part of you wanted to ask him, trying to figure out what he was thinking. But the other part—the part that had always been cautious—feared what his answer might be.

“You’ll wear yourself out thinking like that.”

You blinked, startled, your gaze snapping to Helmut, who was now very much awake and sitting beside you, his expression unreadable in the dim light. His voice was quiet, soft.

But there was an edge to it. The kind of edge that came with knowing.

He knew exactly what you were thinking.

"Helmut..." Suddenly, all the questions you had been avoiding felt impossible to ignore, “You… Are awake.”

It was the least stupid thing you could have said among the others begging to be gotten out of your mind.

He tilted his head slightly, his eyes sharp, even in the darkness.

"So are you,” he said, his gaze fixed on you in that way he had—like he could see through every wall you put up, “and quiet, that’s not like you."

"I could say the same about you," you replied instantly.

He let out a small, humorless chuckle, leaning back in his seat.

"I’ve learned to be quiet when it matters."

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the silence between you thick with unspoken things.

"I just..." you began, hesitating, unsure how to put the thoughts swirling in your head into words. "I keep thinking about tomorrow. About what will happen next."

His gaze didn’t waver, but you saw something flicker in his eyes—something he tried to hide.

"You mean my return to Wakanda?" he asked bluntly, his voice steady, though there was a hint of something beneath it, “I always knew this day would come. That I would have to go back.”

"But do you want to?" 

You felt raw, exposed, but you needed to know.

After everything you had been through together, did he still want to return to that cell?

His silence stretched between you, the only sound the steady hum of the aircraft. When he finally spoke, his eyes set upon you.

"What I want..." he began, his voice low, "isn’t what matters. There are things we cannot change and there are debts we must pay."

You glanced at him back, not taking his answer as true. Why did he have to be like this? So enigmatic.

It was a yes or no question, why did he always have to make it difficult?

"You’ve always believed that," you murmured, more to yourself than to him. "How people should pay for their sins."

"And they should," he replied, his gaze locking with yours. "Do you disagree?"

You hesitated, remembering everything that had happened over the last five years—every battle, every sacrifice.

Sam and Bucky flashed in your mind, the moments where each of you had faced impossible choices, where the lines between right and wrong blurred. You had seen foes who were more than villains, people trapped in cycles of pain, anger, and grief—reminders of the complexity of it all.

"I don’t disagree," you said slowly, "but I don’t think it’s that simple either. People aren’t always driven by bad intentions, Helmut. There is anger, injustice, loneliness, guilt…" 

His expression didn’t change, but you could sense the shift in him, "You still see hope where others see ruin."

His fingers briefly brushed against his temple, a small, almost imperceptible gesture, and for a moment, you saw something flicker in his expression—a hint of a smile that never fully formed. The tension between you felt heavy, like a palpable force, but there was also something softer there now.

You held his gaze, refusing to let him retreat into himself like he so often did.

“And what makes you think you’re beyond saving?” you asked quietly, the challenge in your words unmistakable.

He blinked, his brow furrowing slightly, and for the first time, you saw the uncertainty in his eyes. It was subtle, just a brief hesitation, but it was there.

Helmut, always so sure of himself, was suddenly unsure.

“But for the last five years, you’ve been helping us—choosing to stay when you didn’t have to. And why? Why did you stay?” You continued, nonetheless, your voice steady. “None of that makes you seem like a man who’s given up.”

He sighed, his fingers brushing lightly over his knuckles, a gesture you’d come to recognize as a sign of his restlessness.

"Perhaps I stayed for selfish reasons," he said, his tone more contemplative. "Perhaps I needed to believe that I could still have a purpose. That all of this—everything I’ve done—wasn’t for nothing."

You leaned forward slightly, refusing to let him retreat into the walls he always built around himself.

"You stayed because you cared,” You brought your hand closer to his, letting it rest on his knuckles. He frowned at you and would say something before you interrupted him, “Don’t tell me I’m lying, you know I’m not. You care, don’t pretend it doesn’t matter, it does."

Helmut’s gaze dropped to where your hand rested on his, the touch gentle but grounding. His fingers twitched beneath yours, but he didn’t pull away. His expression softened, a vulnerability he rarely allowed to surface.

But with you, lately, it was becoming a habit.

"I don’t know if it matters," he said quietly, almost as if he were testing the words.

You squeezed his hand lightly, urging him to continue. "It does, Helmut. You didn’t stay because you had no choice. You stayed because you wanted to. I know you, you don’t do anything you don’t want to."

His eyes met yours again, and for a brief moment, you saw a crack in the armor he wore so carefully. He took a deep breath, as though he was trying to find the right words, trying to find a way to explain what he himself hadn’t fully processed.

"I don’t know what I want anymore," he admitted, "For so long, I’ve been driven by a single purpose. Revenge, justice and now…"

He trailed off, his voice dipping, and you could see the conflict in his expression, as if standing at a crossroads and not knowing which path to follow into.

"You’re not the same man you were," you said, tightening your hand in his. "And you don’t have to be. You’ve proven that you’re capable of more than just revenge."

Helmut let out another brief, humorless chuckle, "You make it sound so simple."

"It’s not simple," you corrected yourself, gently. "But it’s a choice. And I need to know if you want to stay, or if you want to go back." You paused. "I need to hear it from you."

His breath hitched slightly, and he shifted, clearly grappling with the question.

For a long moment, he said nothing, his eyes scanning your face back. You were looking for an answer while he… You weren’t sure, relief? Courage? Whatever he was searching as he gazed at you, it looked like he had found it.

"You ask me what I want," he began slowly. "But wanting something doesn’t mean it’s possible. I want to believe I can move past what I’ve done, I want to believe I can help you, Sam and Bucky without my past dragging me down."

You pressed your lips into a tight line, you could see the internal battle raging behind his eyes—everything he had done and his desire to find peace. True peace, not the temporary one.

It wasn’t easy for him to say these things, to let his walls down. But you knew that admitting it was his first step. He took a deep breath, and when he spoke again, his voice sounded rougher than before.

"I lost everything when I lost my family," he said quietly, as if the words were for him more than for you, "My wife, my son, my father, my home... It wasn’t just Sokovia that was destroyed—it was my whole life. I didn’t see a reason to keep going, I didn’t think I could live in this world anymore."

His voice cracked slightly, and you could feel the depth of the wounds that loss and grief had carved in him, "They were my purpose, and when they were gone, I thought there was nothing left for me."

"You’ve spent so long believing that there’s nothing else left," you whispered, the sincerity of your words cutting through the lingering silence. "But there is, Helmut. It may be hard to see it, it takes us time, but I hope you find it someday."

You waited, watching him closely as your words got into the machines working inside his head. His brows furrowed and you almost could see smoke escaping from his ears, as if he was resisting the idea.

But you could see the cracks forming in his resolve. For so long, he had those weights binding his feet and holding him back, it was difficult to imagine anything different. Or to confess any of the ideas that he entertained in his imagination.

“And who said I hadn’t?” he asked, holding your hand back, “I just don’t know if I deserve it.”

He had built walls, brick by brick. And now, here you were, trying to crumble it down and suggesting there could be more for him.

“I’m not asking if you think yourself worth it, Helmut. I’m asking if you want to stay."

There was a long pause, his gaze locking with yours as he processed your real question. You could see the gears turning and squeaking in his head, the past pulling him in one direction, while another thing pulled him in another. Hope? Yearning?

For a long time, he had clung to the idea that there was nothing left for him, that his path had been set in stone the moment he lost his family. The notion of moving forward was foreign to him. But you could sense his hesitation, the slight crack in the armor he had kept around himself all these years.

And then, you saw it. There was the man behind the armor with all his bruises and scars.

It wasn’t a brief vision, he was in flesh and bones behind those brown eyes.

"I don’t want to go back," he admitted, his voice resolute. You saw the walls around him falling, piece by piece. "But we both know that I can’t stay."

It panged your heart, that was true. The world had been too cruel to him, had taken too much, and even though he had found a place with you, with Sam and Bucky, the burden of his past was a heavy one.

There was nothing that he or you could do about it, no matter how much you could try. His actions had brought him consequences that would follow him even if he no longer was the same man who had orchestrated them.

"You can’t, but I don’t want you to go either," you whispered, your heart racing as the distance between you seemed to close. "I wished that you had changed your mind and wanted to stay, even if it meant you would wish for something you can’t."

That was the least you could do: to not leave his side until it was time.

Helmut’s gaze softened, his hand moving to gently cradle your cheek, his thumb brushing along your skin. There was a tenderness there, something you had come to recognize in him, but only when the world around you had quieted. It was in these rare, quiet moments that he allowed himself to show the sad happiness that harbored in his heart.

Once, you had thought his tender side was something that he only revealed to you after the airship, inside the hut. However, the more you pushed your mind back through the past five years, the more you realized he always had shown you.

Since the beginning. You were just too blind to see it, or believe it.

"I stayed because I wanted to believe I could be more than what I was," he murmured, his voice barely audible. "Even if it meant that once I had achieved it, I would be sent back to my cell. I just do not know if I achieved that."

"You had, Helmut," you replied, your voice steady despite the pounding in your chest. "You always had the potential to be more than a man with thick skin."

The silence between you thickened with what you had stuck in your throats, the tension palpable in the air. His eyes flickered down to your lips, then back up to meet your gaze, as if caught between saying it or not, all the words tangling in his chest.

For the briefest moment, a flicker of something crossed his face—you were still unsure if it was hope or yearning. A quiet feeling he had long thought lost.

But it was fleeting behind his eyes, as a flame resists the wind. And then, you saw it, he traveled back to his past and a sob escaped from his throat.

"I… I do not know if I will ever stop missing them," he confessed, his voice fragile, like the words themselves might break him. "But I am starting to understand… You were right. They wouldn’t want my life to be consumed by their loss. They would want me to be more than that—way more."

You smiled softly, your thumb gently stroking the back of his hand, “They must be proud then, because you already are, Helmut. Believe me.”

He closed his eyes for a moment, his thumb continuing to brush your skin, a gesture that felt as though he was grounding himself in your presence, making sure you were real and still there. When his eyes opened again, the guardedness that usually defined him had completely faded, leaving something softer, something freer in his gaze.

You leaned into his touch, the warmth of his hand against your cheek comforting, and you felt the tight knot of tension in your chest slowly begin to loosen as well. Helmut had become a presence you never anticipated—steady, constant, and grounding.

From the beginning, there had been something between you. A strange sense of familiarity, like you’d known him far longer than the years you had spent together. Usually, you were someone who kept your walls high, when someone asked what had happened, you were incapable of putting into words—so you lied. But with Helmut… It was different.

With him, everything was always different.

Since the mission in Madripoor, then Riga, those walls had started to crumble, day by day, piece by piece. For some reason, with him, you had no fear of admitting fractions of what was rushing inside your mind. You had let him in more than you realized at the time.

And now, after all you had been through, here he was, letting you see the vulnerabilities he had kept so tightly guarded, exposing parts of himself that even he might not have understood.

In the quiet between you, a thought settled into your mind, clear and undeniable: you had trusted him long before you ever admitted it to yourself. Long before that night in the hut, long before Wakanda, before Riga. It had always been there.

Helmut broke the silence first, his voice so quiet you almost had to strain to hear it.

"I need to say it," he began, the vulnerability in his tone startling, "I didn’t think I could ever care about anything again." He paused, his hand trembling slightly against your cheek. "But being here, with you, with them... For the first time, I believe there’s more out there for me to explore."

"There’s always more, Helmut. And you deserve to discover it all." You whispered, the intensity of your emotions swelling inside you, “I just wish I could discover it all with you, if you had me.”

The man who had once believed in nothing but vengeance felt so distant now. The man in front of you was miles away from the bitter, angry figure you had first met. But even as he opened up to you, that core part of him remained—the part that believed people were corruptible, that power could expose the darkest parts of someone's soul.

Helmut still clung to that philosophy: justice was blind, and sometimes, someone had to guide it.

Yet, it wasn’t as absolute as it had once been. His encounters with you, Sam, and Bucky had cracked that certainty. You could see it in his eyes, a subtle wariness.

He had once believed that his way was the only way—that destroying those who wielded power would bring balance. But now? Now, there was something softer, something that questioned the starkness of his past views. He didn’t regret all of that, just small acts that he could have prevented.

The thing was, for the first time, he was starting to believe that there were people who could change for the better. Including himself.

"I do, I would," he whispered back to you, his voice barely holding together.

A weak smile tugged at your lips as you whispered, "Maybe one day."

His eyes locked onto yours, searching, as if testing the truth of your words. Slowly, you saw the tension in his frame begin to melt away, like a weight he’d carried for too long finally easing. The guarded man you had come to know was letting himself be vulnerable in a way he hadn’t before, finding a kind of peace that hadn’t existed in him for years.

You could almost hear the sound of an armor falling against the ground, the metal banging against the floor in a prolonged ring.

"For as long as you have me, mein schatz," Helmut breathed, his voice barely reaching your ears.

The question lingered in the air, even if it was not made as a question, for sure sounded like one.

"And for as long as you have me," you whispered back.

His gaze was unwavering, holding yours in that silent exchange you both had come to understand. For so long, words had gone unsaid, and yet, in this moment, everything felt crystal clear.

Helmut’s hand moved to rest over yours again, his touch hesitant, as if testing the boundaries of what this moment could mean. You felt a surge of warmth bloom in your chest, your heartbeat syncing with the tension that crackled between you both.

You could also hear your own armor falling against the ground beneath your feet, echoing between your ears.

Helmut’s breath caught, his thumb brushing across your knuckles, the tiniest gesture, but it sent a ripple through you. You had never been good at letting yourself feel this way—vulnerable, exposed. But with him, everything was different.

You leaned in slightly, your forehead pressing gently against his, your lips hovering just a breath away. Neither of you had to say it out loud, but the silence spoke volumes itself.

This was the culmination of five years, of quiet, unspoken truths lingering between every step you took, every decision you made.

"Six hours..." he murmured, the corners of his mouth lifting into a small, bittersweet smile.

"Then let’s not waste another second," you smiled, the tension between you two finally snapping.

And then, as naturally as breathing, you closed the distance, your lips meeting his in a soft, tentative kiss. It wasn’t hurried, nor was it desperate, just an honest expression of everything you’d held back for so long.

For once, on that night, you didn’t worry about what you would see or hear once you closed your eyes, you just did—you closed your eyes and let yourself finally feel.

Helmut’s hand cradled your cheek tightly as the kiss deepened, the years of restraint melting away in the warmth of the moment. There was a softness to the way he held you, as though afraid you might disappear when he opened his eyes again.

You could taste the ghost of his past in that kiss, feel the heaviness of everything he had carried for so long, but there was something else too—yearning, a desire to seize the life he had once believed he would never be able to appreciate. 

When you finally pulled back, just a fraction, your forehead rested against his once more, your breaths mingling in the space between you.

"Whatever time we have," you whispered, your voice shaky, "it’s enough."

Helmut exhaled softly, his thumb still gently caressing your cheek as if reassuring himself that you were still there. His brown eyes, once so wary, now softened with an emotion he had spent years hiding away. You could see it all now—the regret, the hope, the silent promise that he would stay, even if the world was pulling him in another direction.

It wasn’t one emotion, but a collection of them ready to be shown, all of them in their due time.

In the quiet, as the aircraft hummed around you, the future felt uncertain, but for now, in this moment, you had each other. And that was enough.

Until six hours passed by the clock and the air inside the interrogation room felt stifling, even though you sat calmly at the long table, flanked by Sam and Bucky. Across from you, Ayo and the others Dora Milajes stood firm, their expressions unreadable, but the tension was there. An inch away from all of you.

Helmut sat at the far end of the table, his posture composed as always, though you could see the subtle stress in his frame. His eyes flickered toward you for a moment, but the pressure of the situation pinned down any silent communication you might’ve shared. This was it—the moment when he’d be back to his cell while you, Sam and Bucky would continue with your lives.

You clenched your fists under the table, biting back the sense of helplessness. It didn’t matter what any of you felt; this had been inevitable from the start. You had known this when you’d second broken him out. Still, that didn’t make it easier.

Joaquín was right, you didn’t just spend five years with someone and walk away like it never happened. You would continue with your lives but you would forever be followed by the millions of memories that you had created together. Something that the elders never tell you was how a friendship forged from hate to companionship was the one who hurt the more once parted away.

You were hurt, but Sam and Bucky? They could have told you little about the subject, but you knew all too well how they were wounded. More than you, neither of them thought they would grow attached to the ex-criminal, and there you were, incapable of dropping his hand.

And there you were.

Ayo’s voice cut through the silence, sharp and direct. “Baron Zemo will be returned to Wakanda to serve the remainder of his sentence, as per our agreement. Are there any objections?”

The words were final, like a judge laying down a sentence. You glanced at Helmut, waiting for his response. But he stayed quiet, staring down at his hands, his composure unbroken.

But then, he spoke.

“If there were a way…” Helmut began, his voice measured, calm, yet filled with reasoned fear. “If there were a way to continue with them—Sam, Bucky, and... Her—would you consider an alternative?”

Ayo’s expression hardened at his words, her lips pressing into a thin line as she weighed the situation. Her eyes flicked to Sam and Bucky, then back to Helmut. The straining in the room rose another notch, a silent warning.

She was seconds away from shutting him down, reminding him of the agreement, the promise they had made to return him to Wakanda. But Helmut didn’t back down.

His voice remained calm, respectful but firm.

“I understand the weight of the agreement, Ayo. I know what I owe.” He paused, his gaze unwavering as he met hers. “But if I may, I ask for just a moment to speak.”

You frowned, this wasn’t just another calculated move. There was something rough beneath it. Ayo, despite her stoic demeanor, seemed to catch on to that as well. She didn’t respond immediately, her eyes narrowing further as she considered his request.

“Speak,” she finally said, her voice cold, but she gave him permission. “But make it quick.”

Helmut exhaled softly, and you could see a hint of relief cross his features before he masked it behind that familiar calm exterior. He straightened in his seat, his posture shifting ever so slightly as he began.

“I know what I did. The sins of my past cannot be undone. I once believed that what I was doing was the right thing, avenging my family, tearing apart the Avengers, seeking balance where there was none.” His voice was low, measured, but you could feel the weight of every word. “But time... Time has a way of showing you things you didn’t expect to see.”

He glanced at you for just a heartbeat, the moment fleeting, before his gaze returned to Ayo.

“When I first worked with them, it was out of necessity. I had nothing left. I was a man driven only by the need to end what I believed was a threat. But over the past five years, I have learned there is more to this world than pain.”

Ayo’s expression remained steely, but she didn’t interrupt. She was listening.

“I regret many things,” Helmut continued, his voice softening. “None of them related to the avenge of my family, but little actions that I could have prevented or went in another direction. Including the death of your king.”

The name of the Wakandan king—T’Chaka—hung like a blade among everyone in the room, heavy with the reminder of his loss upon the reign. You could feel the palpable shift in the atmosphere, the ripple of emotions passing through Ayo and the Dora Milaje at the mention of their king.

T’Chaka’s death was a delicate wound, one that had never fully healed for Wakanda. There was a reason for Helmut's obligation to return to his prison.

“I was blinded by my grief,” Helmut continued, his voice steady but lined with regret. “I wanted to destroy those responsible for my family and home’s death, and in doing so, I became the very thing I hate most. The pain I caused… It’s something I carry with me every day. And I am truly sorry for the part I played in your king’s death.”

Ayo’s eyes flickered, a small crack in her stoic exterior. Her grip on the table tightened, “You were the whole part, Baron.”

“I know,” Helmut sighed, his torment never leaving his voice nor eyes, “I am not asking for forgiveness. I know what I’ve done, and I have paid, and will continue to pay for it.”

The silence that followed his admission was thick, fuming over the table like a storm about to break. Ayo’s gaze remained fixed on Helmut, her expression a stone mask of discipline.

She was listening, but there was no forgiveness in her eyes—only duty. If Helmut gave her an excuse, she would kill him in his very seat.

“In the past, I believed that I was serving justice,” Helmut continued, each word deliberate, as if measured against the inevitable consequences. “I see now that I was blinded by my own pain. The death of your king, of T’Chaka, is something I will carry with me until my last breath. And I know that I can never undo that, it was a means to an end that I can only wish I had never opted.”

He paused, glancing at Sam and Bucky, who had remained silent throughout the exchange. You noticed how Sam’s expression was unreadable, while Bucky’s jaw clenched ever so slightly. The room was brimming with tension, with all eyes locked on Helmut.

Every one of you was waiting for what he would say next.

“I believed I was correcting a wrong,” Helmut continued, furrowing his brows. “But all I did was create another. And for that, I am deeply regretful. But... If there is one thing I’ve learned in these past years, it’s that sometimes redemption isn’t found in isolation. It’s found in what we do next, in how we face the challenges ahead.”

He shifted his gaze to Ayo, his expression unyielding but sincere.

“That is why I ask—if you will allow me—to remain with them,” Helmut’s voice was low, silently pleading. “There are still threats in this world, dangers that we have only begun to confront. I can still be of use to them, and in doing so, perhaps find some semblance of redemption.”

Ayo’s eyes narrowed, her hands gripping the edge of the table. She stood silent for a long moment, her fingers curling tighter around the table’s edge, her posture rigid.

Her gaze flickered briefly toward you, Sam, and Bucky, then back to Helmut. The decision she faced wasn’t just about law or justice—it was about the future, the bigger picture, and whether or not to gamble on the possibility of redemption for a man who had taken so much from her people.

You had shared your time with Helmut, you had seen his true self. Wakanda hadn’t. And, honestly, even if they had, would it still be right for them to erase the loss of their king only to free a man who wounded their reign?

“No matter how sorrowful you are now, Zemo,” Ayo said, her voice cold but steady. Her jaw clenched, her eyes locking onto Helmut with a fierce intensity, “You have committed a crime against Wakanda, and you must pay for it. I allowed you to assist them, not because of mercy, but because I understand the depth of your expertise against forces that threaten us all. But know this—your debt is far from paid. The selfish forces you’ve helped defeat don’t absolve you of what you did to us.”

Her words echoed through the room, cold and final, and you felt the sharpness of them settle in your chest. Helmut remained silent, though you could see the hope leaving his eyes, replaced by something quieter—acceptance. His expression didn’t falter, but there was a resignation in the way his shoulders subtly dropped. He knew this wouldn’t be easy. He had known all along that he couldn’t escape his past.

He had always known this moment would come, that the weight of his past sins wouldn’t be easily cast aside. The loss of King T’Chaka, the devastation he’d wrought—not even him would be able to let him go, the pain all too familiar.

In the silence, you caught the faintest tremor of doubt in Helmut’s eyes, the kind that comes when a man realizes he might never outrun the ghosts of his past.

It was inevitable, but you had wished that it wasn’t. The pain in your chest carving you apart despite your will to hold yourself upright.

“Wait,” Sam’s voice cut through as a dagger would cut flesh. The suddenness of it jolted everyone, pulling the air from the room. His tone was calm, but there was an undeniable intensity behind it. “Ayo, with all due respect, the deal was that Zemo would stay with us until we dealt with the threats. But the threats aren’t over. We’ve still got a lot of work to do, and we need all the help we can get.”

Sam’s words weren’t just a defense of Helmut—they were a reminder of the larger picture, you still had to go back to Strange and tell him more about what had happened in the last days. You had already sent him a message summarizing everything but you were sure that soon he would require your presence for a better conversation about everything that had happened.

Far from what you all knew about the world of wizards and magic and everything related to it, there was always more.

So, there was no denying the truth in Sam’s statement—the world wasn’t safe yet, not by a long shot.

Ayo’s jaw clenched as she narrowed her gaze at Sam’s interruption. The room was buzzing with tension, everyone waiting to see which way she would lean. Finally, she spoke, her voice steady but laced with ice.

“The deal was made to serve justice, not prolong his freedom,” she said. “The threats you speak of have been defeated. Zemo served his purpose. His place is in a cell.”

For a moment, it felt like the verdict had been decided, that nothing Sam, Bucky, or even you could say would change her mind. But something clicked in your head—a realization.

You took a breath, stepping forward and gathering your courage, “We never specified what those threats were.”

Ayo’s eyes snapped to you, her brow furrowing as if you’d just insulted her, “Come again?”

And you went. How, until today, you don’t know.

“When we made the deal, we didn’t list the exact threats we wanted to eliminate. We left it open. Chtolon was only a part of a much bigger problem. We still don’t know if there are more threats out there, and if we send Helmut back now, we will lose a valuable asset in that fight.” you clarified, already fearing that your words had been the sentence for the Dora Milajes to behead you and your friends.

Her face tightened, the hard lines of her expression deepening as she processed your words. For sure, she was pondering to behead you indeed.

“The threats we face aren’t just the ones we’ve already fought,” you pressed. “There are more out there. And Helmut has the knowledge we need to stay ahead. If we send him back now, we’re weakening our chances.”

Ayo remained silent, but her eyes were burning with an intensity that made it clear she was not easily swayed. She glanced at Sam and Bucky, then back at you, and finally, her gaze rested on Helmut.

“You speak of unspecified threats,” Ayo said, harshly. “But that does not absolve him of his crimes.”

“I’m not asking for absolution,” Helmut added, his voice quieter now, but no less sincere. “I know what I’ve done. But if I can use my knowledge to stop what’s coming, then perhaps... I can start to make up for it.”

Ayo’s gaze remained sharp, but there was hesitation in her eyes. She took a breath, and when she spoke again, you felt like a blade was near your neck.

“The deal may have been unclear,” she said slowly. “But understand this—Zemo’s freedom will not be indefinite. The moment these threats are dealt with, he returns to Wakanda. No exceptions. And if he steps out of line even once, we will take him ourselves.”

Ayo’s final words settled heavily over the room, but there was a shared sense of relief, a small victory—Zemo’s fate wasn’t sealed, not completely. The tension that had been straining the room seemed to ease slightly, but the pressure of the responsibility loomed larger than ever. You couldn’t ignore the tight knot of uncertainty in your chest, knowing this was only a temporary solution.

Helmut, for the first time, allowed a breath of relief to escape his lips. His eyes flicked toward you, then to Sam and Bucky. Though he didn’t speak, there was a silent acknowledgment, a gratitude that passed between you all. And yet, you felt the stiffness beneath his calm exterior.

“I think we’re done here,” Ayo said firmly, stepping back from the table. The Dora Milajes remained poised, ever watchful, but it was clear that—for now—there would be no further argument. “But remember, this is not a pardon. This is a postponement.”

Sam nodded in agreement, though his expression was hard to read.

“We appreciate the consideration,” he replied, but you knew Sam too well. He was just as aware as you were that this wasn’t truly the end of the conflict.

The larger battle was still up, not just with external enemies but within yourselves—especially for Baron Zemo.

As Ayo’s gaze lingered on Helmut, you couldn’t help the sharp pang in your chest. You had spent so much time alongside him, seeing past the man who had once only been driven by vengeance. But now, in this moment, you realized how fragile his freedom truly was.

You didn’t know how long you had before Wakanda’s patience would run out. That knowledge settled over you like a heavy weight that you didn’t know you would ever be able to lift.

The Wakandans left the room in silence, the door shutting with a soft thud. Only the four of you remained. The tension, while less intense, didn’t fully dissipate.

Helmut exhaled slowly, his hand resting on the edge of the table, his fingers tracing the grain of the wood absently.

“I wasn’t sure if I’d ever breathe free air again,” he said in a whisper, almost to himself.

You glanced at him, a mix of relief and concern swirling inside you despite the pain in your chest. You had fought for this moment, but even now, you weren’t sure what came next. You wanted to believe that Helmut could find his way, that he could become more than what he once was.

But part of you feared that the world wouldn’t let him.

Sam’s lips quirked into a small smile, “Well, you’re not out of the woods yet.”

All of you were well aware of that, you weren’t the only one with those thoughts eating you alive.

“No,” Helmut agreed, his voice low. “But I suppose I have you all to thank for delaying the inevitable.”

Bucky, who had been silent for most of the conversation, piped up.

“Don’t thank us yet.” His voice was gruff, but you could hear the softness beneath the rough exterior, “We’ve still got work to do.”

A lot of work you had indeed.

The towering bookshelves of Strange Academy stretched up to the ceiling, each one filled with ancient tomes of magic, knowledge, and power. You’d been here before, but this time, the air felt different. There was an unmistakable thickness, a reminder of the power that lay within the walls.

Raw magic all over the place. And, for the first time, you could feel all of it in its true form.

Joaquín’s face had been lit up in excitement when you first returned after the conversation with the Dora Milaje. He suggested celebrating, but that idea quickly faded as Strange called you to meet him here, in this very room.

It was difficult for any of you to have a single moment of peace for too long.

Beside you, Wong was explaining something about the Darkhold. Strange, always poised, was going through a series of magical texts, muttering under his breath as he examined their contents. Wanda stood nearby, quietly observing, her presence a reminder of just how far you had come from the battle in Sokovia, a young adult still trying to understand what was your place in this world to the woman who had fight and trapped the eldritch demon-god slash father and discovered the truth about your powers.

Yet, what lingered from the young girl was the uncertainty of what you should do next in your life.

“Wait, let’s see if I’m understanding this correctly,” Bucky interrupted Wong, his brows furrowed in confusion. His expression mirrored your own—Wong might as well have been speaking an entirely foreign language. “There are other pages from the Darkhold scattered around the world? I thought you destroyed the whole book.”

He turned to Wanda, who was stoically reading from what looked like a very old journal. Bucky’s tone wasn’t accusatory, and Wanda, knowing him well by now, didn’t take it as such. She glanced up briefly, her expression unchanged.

“I did,” she confirmed, her Sokovian accent adding a distinct weight to her words. “But after everything you told Stephen, we started looking into records—anything with even the smallest connection to the Darkhold’s history, trying to understand what could have happened.”

“It seems,” Dr. Strange chimed in, his voice thoughtful as his eyes briefly met Wanda’s before turning to the group, “Some of the pages acted as a sort of... Exhaust valve. Only the ones used in imprisoning the Elder Gods were affected.” He paused, his gaze sharpening as he continued. “Though ‘imprison’ isn’t the right word—those pages were more like gateways. They allowed humans to contact these beings and try to forge pacts with them, no matter where these gods resided.”

Helmut crossed his arms, his brow furrowing as he shot Strange a skeptical glance. “What do you mean by trying? Sounds like a dangerous game to me.”

Wong took a step forward, elaborating,

“Take Chthon as an example. He isn’t someone you can control. These gods... They're dangerous, unpredictable. Anyone trying to make deals with them is playing with their life. They won't just get hurt; they'll lose everything."

As Wong spoke, you remembered the feeling of Chthon almost consuming you. Facing that, you’d seen how close you were to losing control, to losing yourself. Knowing others like him could still be out there—that someone could try to summon them—it sent a shiver down your spine.

Wanda moved closer, flipping through the pages of the old journal before holding it up for you to see. Her fingers traced the images of twisted figures, their monstrous forms etched into the parchment.

“There are others like him,” she began. “Others who see humanity as tools, as playthings. And through the enchantments in these pages, they can be bound. Their power is available to anyone reckless enough to seek them out.”

Sam stepped forward, brows furrowed, “So what? These pages are like some messed-up genie lamp?”

“In a way,” she said, handing you the journal. “But this is worse. These beings can’t be controlled—only bound temporarily.”

“This I think all of us were capable of catching,” Helmut muttered, walking up close to Sam, taking a glance at the pages the man was reading as well.

A chill ran down your spine as you processed what was being said. The gods you had encountered, the darkness that had nearly consumed you—this was no mere game of wishes. It was something much more sinister, more insidious.

Helmut’s eyes narrowed, clearly deep in thought.

“And these pages are still out there?” he asked quietly, his gaze drifting from the pages to Strange, Wong and Wanda.

Strange nodded, “Unfortunately, yes. We believe the pages are scattered, lost across dimensions and realms. They’ve been hidden for a reason, but with the right tools—or enough desperation—someone could still find them.”

You exchanged a glance with Helmut, then Sam and Bucky. The room was silent, save for the faint rustle of pages as Sam flipped through the book in his hands. The reality of what lay ahead was starting to sink in.

“Well, who wrote these enchantments?” you asked, turning to Wong, “I assume it was not Chthon, he would never write something that put himself at risk of being caught in a pact that would not be beneficial for him. If we find the person, perhaps we could discover how these valves work and how to locate them.”

Wong’s silence was loud. His eyes flickered briefly to Strange and Wanda, as if he was weighing if it was a good idea or not to say what he was about to say.

“Chthon didn’t write these specific enchantments,” he agreed, clearly reluctant, “They were added later, by someone else.”

Your heart stilled. The ominous in his words encouraged you into trying to decipher the insinuation that lingered there.

Wanda stepped closer, her gaze softening as if she was preparing you for the blow, “These pages... They were written by your mother.”

That was a punch to the gut, leaving you momentarily breathless. The room seemed to blur around you, your world narrowing down to those words.

Your mother.

When Wanda said your mother’s name next, it was like listening to the beginning of a ghost story. Because, that was always how you had pictured your real mother in your life: as a ghost. An unknown face and person.

And, now? Now, her name carried an even heavier haunted aura than before.

“My mother?” The words slipped out, half-question, half-disbelief. How could the woman you barely remembered—the mother you'd never really known—be even more tied to all of this? “She wrote the enchantments?”

Wanda nodded slowly, "She didn’t mean for this to happen. Chthon tore at her mind, twisted her intentions, but her goal was to protect us. To protect you."

The silence that followed felt too loud in your head. When you were young, sometimes you would play pretend and imagine how your mother was.

She was a figure in your life you’d held at a distance, a ghost from a past you’d long decided to forget. But now? Now you had her magic inside you. Her choices had shaped the very chaos you fought against, even if it wasn’t intentional.

There was nothing that you or her could have done, it just happened.

Wong interjected, sensing the initial distress in your face,“She didn’t write the entire book, but the parts about the escape valves that govern the Elder Gods. She was one of the most powerful witches of her time—one of the last white witches beside your late aunt—but toward the end of her life, her mind... Broke.”

White… What? It was a really good question but, now, you were too sunk in your own thoughts to consider it.

The more you thought about it all, the more you felt the air leave your lungs completely. You were incapable of facing any of your friends, you only maintained your eyes to the Scarlet Witch and Supreme Sorcerer.

It made you feel less judged. Even if a great part of the judgment you felt over your shoulder came from yourself and no one else.

All that mess, all the problems you had been facing and would face in the future, it was your family’s fault. You couldn't stop yourself to wonder what your friends were thinking about you. Your mother hadn’t just disappeared from your life—she had left behind a legacy of destruction, one you and your friends were now tasked with unraveling.

Helmut, who had been standing quietly next to you, reached out. His hand settled gently on your shoulder.

“She was caught in something beyond her control,” he said, his voice quiet but steady. "Don’t let this consume you."

Yet, it was easier than done. Helmut’s hand remained steady on your shoulder, but your thoughts felt anything but.

The revelations about your mother—that woman you had never met until today—was unraveling everything you thought you understood about your past. It was almost impossible to wrap your mind around the idea that her actions, intentional or not, had led all of you to this tangled web of chaos.

Every time you figured that a fraction of your past was a lie, the world around you became smaller and smaller.

"I don’t know if I can..." you finally answered Helmut, gathering the courage to say something to him, anything really.

"You can." His hand tightened just slightly, offering a reassurance that was hard to ignore, "This is not a legacy, nor a burden. But, it's your choice what you do with it now."

But how could it not be any of that? Not a legacy? Not a burden either?

Your mother had written those pages, had created the very spells you now had to hunt down. Everything page you thought you had turned was suddenly crashing back into your life, and the ink of each one was tainting your hands.

The journal you held was heavier than before, not just because of its age, but because of what it symbolized—a link to the past you never fully understood, and now had to confront. Your thumb traced the worn edges as you tried to absorb everything Wong, Strange and Wanda had said.

The truth was undeniable.

"Your mother didn’t want this," Wong reminded you, sensing your turmoil. "She did everything she could to stop Chthon. But now, her attempts to protect the world are also what could also doom us if they fall into the wrong hands."

You swallowed hard, your chest tightening with dread. Every second felt like a countdown, the ticking of an unseen clock reminding you that every moment spent debating was a moment wasted. But the fear of rushing into something so dangerous, so unknown, kept you tethered to the spot.

It was very clear that they would ask you to hunt those pages. All of them had their own troubles, in the same level of danger as this one. The obvious thing was to task you with this mission.

Yet, there was something unsaid hanging among you. Wanda, Strange and Wong were acting as if they were circling around a specific topic. But, you could already assume what it would be.

The original caster of these enchantments was gone, you were the only one left of her family. The conclusion after that was kind of obvious.

But it didn't ease your thoughts.

What were they actually expecting you to do exactly?

You were her daughter from what they had said, okay. And, that also made you a ‘white witch’, even if you had no idea of the meaning of it. Okay… What did all of that mean exactly?

Strange’s sharp voice cut through your thoughts before you could go further, "The longer we wait, the more vulnerable we become. These pages won’t stay hidden for long."

"So we’re running out of time," Sam spoke up, his tone laced with concern, more aware now of the gravity of the matter you were discussing. Honestly, in the beginning, you also had assumed that Wong’s monologue about the Darkhold was a bunch of weird and complex concepts for your mind to grapple in. "When should we go?"

Wanda, who had remained quiet up until now, stepped forward. Her gaze stayed fixed on yours, steady and strangely gentle at the same time, as though she understood what you were grappling with.

"Well, that's what makes the task complicated," she said quietly, her voice steady but tinged with sorrow. "It's not only about finding the pages... It’s about making sure you’re ready to face what comes with them, ."

Her words echoed in your mind, pulling you back to the core of your fear. You knew exactly what she was leading too, but you thought that ignoring it would make it untrue.

"So, you're saying..." Helmut began, his voice quiet as he glanced at you. Just like you, he was well aware of what Wanda would say next.

The Scarlet Witch slowly nodded, turning in your direction, “You are a white witch as her mother and her aunt were, and all the witches before them, these enchantments were written with white magic, order magic. Only a white witch can find the pages and undo their enchantments.”

Which meant: you.

You blinked, trying to absorb the enormity of what she was saying by this little implication. The heritage you had never fully known was now over your head, pouding as a drum, urging you to take responsibility for something that had been decided long before you were even aware of it.

How could you, a day or two after you discovered exactly who you were, take the reins and steer that runaway carriage back onto the road? Easy, you couldn’t.

"I don’t know if I can," you admitted out loud, "I’m not ready."

It was a subject that Wanda, Strange and Wong were avoiding, and you weren't stupid, it was pretty obvious why. They had barely mentioned what it was, only mentioning how it was complicated to discuss when you should go.

"None of us ever are," Wanda replied instantly, stepping closer. "But you have more strength in you than you realize."

That didn’t answer the question, how were you supposed to go there immediately ready for what would come next? There wasn’t, not if you wanted to prevent the problem before it could bite you in the ass.

"I don’t want to waste time," you said, your voice quiet but more certain.

"Then we won’t," Sam reassured you, his voice calm. "We’re ready when you are."

But you didn’t mean that you were ready. Quite the contrary. You just didn’t want to lose any time, who would guarantee that while you were training in a safe space, the world would stop and wait for you?

“I still can find them, I will figure out a way,” you reassured them, closing the book and clutching it close to your chest. Honestly, you were more reassuring yourself than them. “You said I’m a white witch, whatever this is, so that means I can figure out a way, nonetheless.”

Wanda nodded, but her face didn't seem to agree so much, “And a red witch, yes.”

There was no hesitation in her words, but a layer of caution. The same caution was present in Strange and Wong’s eyes as the three of them exchanged glances.

“Your mother’s magic was a force of protection, very powerful, but yours has become…” Wanda hesitated, trying to look for the words again, “Different. You carry both the light and the darkness within you now, order and chaos. It’s a rare, dangerous combination in a witch.”

The Scarlet Witch sighed, taking a final look at Strange’s direction. Wong shook his head up and down, as to motivate her to say what she should say.

“It’s difficult to say how your magic will manifest. Before, you only showed glimpses of your mother’s powers. Now, you have access to all of it—and the chaos magic.” Her eyes locked onto yours one more time, “It will be hard to tell them apart, especially when you need it most.”

“But it is possible,” you interjected, your voice firm, holding onto a sliver of desperation.

You needed assurance that despite everything—this was a battle you could fight and win without waiting for the inevitable. Without being stuck in a school for a couple of months, as if the danger would wait for you to learn what was the power inside you.

Wanda paused, before nodding quietly, leaving you to face Strange’s strong will.

“Yes, it’s possible.” He agreed, shaking his head. You already could hear the disapproval. “But only if you learn how to control both forces without letting either consume you. That’s why If you choose to stay here, in the Academy, we can help you. Wanda can teach you what she learned about chaos magic to get to where she is today, while Wong and I help you understand more about the history of your ancestors, everything that may be necessary for the mission.”

His words echoed in your mind, but it was hard to focus on them. Your thoughts kept drifting back to the journal in your hands. It felt heavy in a way that had nothing to do with the physical weight of its pages.

“And when will I finish my lessons?” you asked, looking at the three of them.

No one of them seemed excited to get the short end of the stick about giving you the answer.

“Hm,” Wong gulped, driving his eyes away from you, “If we are lucky, two months.”

Two? And that if you were optimistic?

The urgency inside you churned, making you feel restless. Every second seemed to be slipping away from you, and the idea of staying behind to practice, to learn, understand… All of that felt absurd.

“I don’t have time for this,” you said, “I can’t stay here while something can go wrong as we speak right now.”

Unlike you, Wanda, Strange and Wong remained calm, as if they’d expected that reaction. It made you hate the situation even more.

“We understand,” Wanda said, sympathetically, or trying. Did they, though? “But you also need to be prepared. You’re not just dealing with the chaos around you; you’re dealing with what’s inside you.”

The reminder made you chill, as if something was crawling off your pores. There was the faint voice again, far away from you since the last time you saw him.

But, there wasn’t a moment that you didn’t feel him or hear him. He wanted to make sure you wouldn’t forget him.

Wong stepped forward, looking at your friends.

“This isn’t just a mission to retrieve some lost artifact. You’re going to be facing forces more ancient and powerful than anything you’ve encountered.” He glanced at the journal in your hands. “If you go out there without knowing how to control what’s inside you... It could destroy you.”

Strange joined in, his voice pragmatic and weighted with experience. They were truly teaming up against you.

“And let’s not forget the threat already within you—Chthon,” When did they? That was… What? The third time? You’ve lost count,” He’s not just waiting for you to find those pages. He’s waiting for you to slip up. Every moment of hesitation, every decision you make, he’ll be there, trying to influence your magic, your choices.”

Your jaw clenched, trying with all your might to understand their point of view, to believe that what they were saying was true. And it was, it was true, but the problem was that at no point did they deny the likelihood that danger would arrive and it would be too late for you to fight it.

And then what? What would have been your training for? Nothing.

It would never have mattered.

“I’ve faced chaos before,” you stated, taking a step closer to the three members of the Academy, “I’ll be able to handle this.”

But the doubt had already dipped in, curling around your words before they left your lips.

Could you handle this? The uncertainty that clawed at your chest made you wonder if you were trying to convince yourself more than anyone else. You had fought against your father, but you didn’t win. If you had, he would be out of your mind and never to be heard again.

That was not the case. And after that, your mind was in tunnel vision as you used your magic to do exactly what you wanted. You were still running on adrenaline, too distracted to think about what had happened. Summing up, you have gotten lucky.

If you tried to do the same thing now, would you be able to do it again on the first try? You doubted it, really.

You weren’t quite sure, but what better choices did you have left? Either way, danger would be following you in every corner.

Wanda’s expression softened again, her gaze never leaving yours, “Surviving isn’t the same as controlling.”

You knew where she was coming from.

After Sokovia… Things had been hard for Wanda, you felt bad even thinking about talking about it whether she was in the room or not. For so long, she had a sad history, and now that she was finally enjoying a peaceful life, you felt like talking about the past would ruin it.

“Your magic is different now.” Wanda muttered, leaning her head as she spoke, “Stronger, yes, but also more dangerous. Chthon’s influence is like a shadow—always there, always lurking. You’re not just fighting what’s out there, you’re fighting yourself, Strange is not wrong.”

The truth of her words struck hard. But before you could respond, Sam stepped forward.

He seemed more frustrated than you, his brows drawn as he frowned.

“She’s right,” He met your gaze, and for the first time, you allowed yourself to look back at him, truly see him.

You closed your eyes, your face turning to a random corner rather than his figure. You were brave, but not enough to face a friend about to shove in your face that the grown-ups were right and you shouldn't disagree.

“You’re not invincible,” Sam continued, “And you don’t have to be. Whatever you choose, we will go with you either way.”

Quickly, your eyes opened as they snapped back at him, you glanced at Bucky and Helmut’s direction as well, as if to believe he and the others were serious. They all shared the same passion in their eyes, a sense of trust that had always been there, but only now were you aware of it.

The mere thought of it made your heart melt.

The words were at the tip of your tongue, but something held you back. A nagging thought that had been building in the back of your mind.

“I thought... I thought maybe you wouldn’t want to go,” you admitted in the silence, hoping no one would listen.

But of course they did. You wished they wouldn’t, saying it out loud made you sound so stupid.

Bucky’s blunt tone cut through the room like a knife, “After everything?” He raised an eyebrow, his gaze steady.

His voice made you feel stupid for thinking such a silly thing.

“You really think we’d follow you this far just to walk away when things get tough?” His arms crossed, and there was a hint of exasperation in his voice. “Whatever you decide, we’re here. We’ll go when you’re ready. Not a second before or after.”

Helmut, who had been silent until now, stepped closer. His hand never left your shoulder, not once, a silent anchor in the storm brewing inside you.

“This isn’t about rushing into danger,” he said quietly, caughting your attention. “Whether you stay or leave... We’ll follow you, wherever you go.”

You swallowed hard, the weight of the decision pressing down on you. It has always been your instinct to bear the responsibility alone, to carry the burden of your duties on your own. But here they were, offering something you hadn’t realized you already had, for a long time.

Their belief in you.

It just took you a long time to realize it fully.

“I don’t want to waste time,” you said again, your voice quieter than ever but still filled with the urgency you couldn’t quite shake.

Sam smiled softly, his hand joining Helmut’s on your other shoulder, “Then we won’t waste time,” he reassured you. “Wherever you go, we’re right behind you.”

Wherever we go, you whispered back in your mind. For a moment, you would allow yourself to do what was right for you, choosing to forget the fear of making a mistake pounding in your head.

Darkhold was written by your father, your mother had written the enchantments that chained him and the other Elder Gods into some of the pages. Now, it was up to you now to stop it once and for all. Well, you and Sam, Bucky and Helmut. And, a little of Joaquín as well.

You could know almost nothing about being a witch or controlling magic, but you were smart, you could still figure out a way before losing yourself.

At least, you should try. You would never say it out loud, because you knew how immediately the boys would change their mind, but you rathered danger, cornering you and you only than the whole world.

If the scattered pages were the future ruin that would befall you, they would have to first face you and your lack of control before they could find anyone else. You would ensure that they reached no one else, even if it doomed you.

Strange, sensing that the decision was made, rubbed his temples, already preparing for the inevitable consequences. You were well aware of them too.

“Fine,” he muttered, resigned, “If this is what you’ve decided, we won’t stop you.”

Wong, still unsettled, stepped forward. Sighing, he shook his head, he had also given up from changing your mind.

Even if any of them tried to convince you otherwise, they knew how stubborn you were. The most impossible thing in the world was to stop you from doing something once it stuck in your head.

“At least,” the Sorcerer Supreme said, his shoulders slacking, “Let us offer you a place to rest. You’ve been in the air for days—you must be exhausted.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift. Then Wong added, “You can stay in the Academy until you’re ready to leave. So rest, regroup… And about your Falcon friend,” he glanced at Sam, “he can land here, rather than continuing in the aircraft. It’s safer.”

You hadn’t realized how much the fatigue had settled into your bones until he mentioned rest. You had been running on sheer determination, your parents’ legacy pressing down on you like a vice. Now, in the quiet aftermath of the conversation, that weight felt even more suffocating.

Helmut’s hand remained on your shoulder, grounding, though the silence that followed Wong’s words made it harder to keep your own thoughts at bay. Rest, you repeated in your mind, the concept almost foreign. You’d been on edge for so long, fighting battles—both internal and external—that stopping, even for a moment, felt unnatural.

But perhaps it wasn’t just rest you needed. Perhaps, what you needed was time to process everything, to sift through the chaos that had become your life.

The room began to clear, Sam gave you a reassuring nod before he quietly followed Bucky out the door, along with Strange and Wong. Leaving you and Wanda in a silence that felt both heavy and comforting.

You held the grimoire in your hands, its weight somehow tormenting what was left of your thought, but even as the room emptied, you were still aware of Helmut standing by your side. He hadn’t said anything since Wong’s offer to stay and rest for the night, but you could feel him—his presence, solid and unyielding. His hand, which had remained on your shoulder for what felt like forever, suddenly tightened, just slightly.

There was a warmth in his touch, a quiet reassurance that you weren’t in this alone, no matter how much the world demanded of you.

You turned to meet his gaze, his eyes softer than you’d ever seen them, a mixture of concern and something else you couldn’t quite place. There was always a guardedness about Helmut, but now? It felt like the walls between you were thinner, as if something had shifted in the space between you both.

And had, hadn’t it?

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the silence stretching out. Then, with a tenderness that caught you off guard, Helmut leaned down, pressing a kiss to your cheek. It wasn’t hurried or rushed, but soft, lingering, as though he was savoring the moment.

When he pulled back, his voice was low, almost a whisper, “I’ll be waiting for you outside.”

The words, simple as they were, carried a weight that settled in your chest, mingling with the exhaustion and the uncertainty of everything still ahead. But somehow making the storm inside you a little less overwhelming.

Helmut’s fingers slid away from your shoulder, and as he stepped toward the door, he cast one last glance over his shoulder, his eyes lingering on you for a moment longer before he turned and left the room. The quiet sound of the door closing behind him was soft, but it echoed in the space he left behind.

You stood there for a moment, your cheek still warm from the brief touch of his lips, the weight of the grimoire in your hands grounding you once again. But now, you felt a little steadier, knowing that when you left this room, when you stepped out into whatever came next, you wouldn’t be facing it alone.

Your fingers tightened even more around the edges of the journal Wanda had handed you. The cool, worn leather felt solid in your hands, but the reality of what it represented was anything but… Only to remind you that you weren’t alone.

"I understand you, more than you know,” Wanda said softly, breaking the silence as she approached, her gaze soft but focused. “When I first came to understand my place in this world—my powers—it felt like everything that happened, everything I had to face, was my responsibility to fix."

You turned to face her, your grip tightening on the book. There was an odd comfort in hearing her say those words. She had lived through chaos, walked through fire, and here she stood, offering understanding that no one else could.

“At least you’ve realized something I hadn’t,” Wanda continued, a small, almost wistful smile tugging at her lips. “You know you’re not alone in this. It took me much longer to figure that out.”

Her words settled over you, heavy with truth. She was right. You did have support, even if the weight of the responsibility still felt unbearable. The boys were with you—Helmut, Sam, Bucky. They had followed you this far, and they weren’t turning back now. But still, the burden of your lineage felt like something only you could truly carry.

“You’ve come far, too,” you said quietly, looking back at her. “You’ve learned how to balance the power inside you.”

Wanda’s expression shifted slightly, the smile fading as she nodded.

“It took time... More time than I wanted to admit. But I got there eventually. And you will too.” She stepped closer, her eyes filled with that same sadness she often wore—a sadness of someone who had lost much and gained little in return. “But you have to be careful. Chaos magic... It doesn’t play by the rules. And mix with order magic? It’s difficult to predict what will happen.”

You swallowed hard, feeling the truth of her words settle in your bones. Chaos magic wasn’t something you could tame easily. It was wild, unpredictable, and you weren’t entirely sure how to navigate it yet. The thought of staying behind to learn more gnawed at you, but the idea of what could happen with those pages in someone else’s hands… It haunted you even more.

“Do you think I made the wrong choice?” you asked, your voice low as the question finally slipped out. You needed to hear her say it, even if part of you already feared the answer.

Wanda sighed, stopping by your side, taking a look at the journal that you held before responding, “I guess there isn’t a wrong decision, if that’s what you are truly asking me.”

Relief flowed through your body momentarily, your limbs relaxed at the same second the answer arrived to your ears.

“It’s just that…” You hesitated, cracking your fingers one by one, “I don’t see the point in training when, meanwhile, someone can already take their hands in one of the pages. There is no guarantee of safety while I’m training, are you sure there aren't any more white witches out there?”

The witch offered you a sad smile, “No, there aren’t, I fear. They were already few back then, your family is the only one that remains. By what we had consulted with America before you arrived here, you might as well be our only option in the whole multiverse.”

How ironic that was? Were you truly the only variant alive that was a white witch?

You scoffed at the idea of it, how unlucky you were? The last days had proved to you that you were a lot, in fact.

“In the end, what does it mean exactly?” you lifted a brow in curiosity, “Being a white witch?’

Wanda walked away toward the towering shelves, her fingers lightly brushing against the spines of the ancient books.

"Being a white witch isn’t about just using your power for good or for protection,” Wanda explained, pausing to pull a dusty volume from the shelf. She turned back to you, "It’s about maintaining balance—within yourself and the world around you. Your family was one of the last to truly understand what balance is.”

“You said something about order as well,” you mentioned, seeing the witch taking some of the books from the shelves and piling them over one of her arms.

“I did,” Wanda agreed, glancing at the books she had gathered. She placed them on the table by your side, the weight of each one making the surface creak slightly. “Being a white witch means understanding the balance between order and chaos. There must not be too much or less, just enough. Your family knew that without balance, magic can consume you.”

She paused, her eyes scanning the ancient texts in front of her.

“Your mother, your aunt—they were both remarkable in their own ways. They strived to protect the world from forces they knew they couldn’t fully control. But that’s what being a white witch is—recognizing the danger and facing it anyway, trying to keep the scales even.”

You furrowed your brow, still trying to wrap your mind around everything Wanda was saying. It felt like every answer brought more questions, every revelation only deepened your uncertainty.

“And what happened with my mother?” you asked, “Why did she try to cage the gods? Was she under Chthon’s influence before?”

Wanda’s expression darkened for a moment as she considered your question, “Your mother’s intentions were pure, but... Chthon had sickened her mind, he corrupted every thought of hers. She didn’t realize that by trying to stop him and the other Elder Gods, she was upsetting the balance herself. She thought she was preventing chaos, but in doing so, she brought it closer.”

You felt a chill run through you, the realization settling in.

“So, all of this… The chaos, the Elder Gods, everything—are because of her.” It wasn’t a question anymore, you were only looking for confirmation, no more excuses. No more ‘no intentions’. That was it, she had done it.

Wanda nodded slowly.

“She didn’t mean for it to happen.” she told you, her lips pulling in a half sad smile, “She was trying to protect you, to protect the world. But the problem with magic is that even the best intentions can have unintended consequences.”

You stared down at the journal in your hands, its pages filled with knowledge you hadn’t even begun to grasp. There were other Gods in your world worse than Chthon in many ways.

You had faced your father less than three days ago and you were already facing the fact that he wouldn’t be the first, there were more, just waiting for a selfish or disparate soul to get their hands in one of the pages and have their mind corrupted.

Did you have to be the last white witch? You asked yourself, staring at one of your hands as you slowly summoned a little of your magic only to see the white, black and now red energy flowing through your fingers.

"Why white, though?" you asked, eager to change the subject before your thoughts spiraled too far. "There’s black in the way I manifest magic. So, why call it 'white'?"

Wanda chuckled softly, a sound that seemed to echo through the quiet library. She opened one of the books she'd laid on the table, her fingers tracing the old, weathered pages.

"Originally, their name in Latin was 'veneficae concordiae in tenebris'—witches of harmony in the dark," she explained, her voice gentle but precise. "It referred to their understanding of both the light and dark forces within magic. But over time, people started calling them 'White Witches' to avoid the fear or suspicion that often comes with darkness. It wasn’t about purity—it was about balance. Your family, the witches of harmony, knew that true magic requires both light and shadow. They held the order in our world long before books were written."

You blinked, processing what she was telling you. "So, it’s about bringing harmony in darkness, in the literal sense?"

Wanda nodded, a faint smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

"Exactly. Your family’s magic was never purely light or dark. It was about ensuring one didn’t overwhelm the other. That’s why their magic is both black and white. It’s a reflection of the order they maintained—within themselves and in the world around them."

A silence settled between the two of you as you absorbed this new information. It was strange, hearing that your family, that you, were part of something much larger than you had ever realized. All this talk about balance, light and dark, made your role feel bigger than just fighting Elder Gods or stopping dark magic.

And yet, that same sense of responsibility weighed heavily on your chest.

"Your mother was part of this balance too, I know I had said that many times now, but I must be sure that you understand that" Wanda continued, her tone softening. "But when your mother tried to stop Chthon… She didn’t realize how deeply his influence had rooted in her mind."

The mention of your mother again brought you back to the reality of the situation. You bit your lip, eyes flickering down to the journal in your hands.

"Do you think I’ll make the same mistakes?" you asked, not looking up. The question lingered in the air, and you hated how vulnerable you sounded.

Wanda paused, considering your words carefully.

"I don’t know," she admitted, a sad and strange smile adorning her face again. "But what I do know is that you’re different. You’ve seen what unchecked power can do. You understand the stakes now. And you have us."

Us. What a strange word to use, you thought.

In part, you knew she was telling you the truth, because it would be the same thing that Helmut would tell if you had asked him the same question. Everytime you would ask why his morals didn’t apply to you, he would say that you were different.

That despite the power you held, then and now, you would never be the type of person to let it consume you. Even if you wished in a twisted future, you were incapable to, in your soul. And, deep down, you suspected that he was right.

There was a reason why you had resisted Chthon.

“You’re not alone in this.” Wanda’s voice pulled you from your thoughts, grounding you once more. “You have us. You have Helmut, Sam, Bucky, and me. And... You have this.” She made a gesture and, by a twist of her hand, a red energy entangled her fingers and a book was summoned in her hands.

“Go on,” she handed it to you, her eyes gleaming with excitement as she tried to hide it, “Take it.”

You left the journal about the Elder Gods over the table so you could pick up the new book Wanda had given you. The weight of it was different—not heavy, but dense, like it carried centuries of knowledge within its pages. Its cover was a deep, muted red, worn and cracked along the edges, as if it had been passed through many hands before reaching you.

The intricate, faded designs on the cover seemed to shimmer faintly under the dim light, the patterns twisting in on themselves like spells hidden in plain sight. A subtle pulse of energy emanated from the book, almost like a heartbeat.

As you held it, you felt a warmth spread through your fingers, not unlike the sensation you experienced when your magic first awakened. It was... Welcoming. A strange comfort in a world that had been anything but.

“This is no ordinary book,” Wanda said, watching your reaction carefully. “It contains notes from your aunt, but also from me when I first started to understand my own powers. It’s not just a record of spells—it’s a guide, a roadmap to understanding yourself. There’s even space for your own thoughts and creations, for you to make it yours.”

You turned the book over in your hands, feeling the texture of the leather, the way the edges of the pages seemed to hum with untapped potential. You traced your finger along the spine, feeling the faint pulse of magic running through it, as if the book was alive in some way.

“So,” you hesitated, looking up to the woman, “Is it a grimoire?”

My grimoire? It was what you wished you had asked, but you were too shy to dare to do so. The question sounded too silly to get out of your thoughts.

“Don’t know, maybe,” Wanda gestured toward the last section of the grimoire. "Go ahead. Open it."

You hesitated, the grimoire heavy in your hands.

It wasn’t just a book. It was a symbol—a connection to your family’s legacy, to Wanda’s journey, and now, to your own. If someone had told you years ago that this would happen, you for sure would have admitted the person to the mental hospital. The whole idea was crazy even now, as you opened the book.

The pages crackled softly as they turned.

The first few pages were filled with your aunt’s careful, precise handwriting—notations, diagrams, sketches of magical symbols you didn’t yet recognize. Some pages were devoted to protection spells, others to the delicate balance between chaos and order, her ideas and theories. But as you flipped further, you found notes written in a more familiar hand—Wanda’s.

The ink was darker, bolder, but the messages were clear. There were all her enchantments, spells she had created herself or learned on her own.

You could see her struggles, her fears, her questions, written in the margins. It was as if she had left pieces of herself in the book, to guide you, to warn you, to reassure you that even she had once felt the weight of this responsibility. She and your aunt as well, all of them there to help you in your own journey.

And then, as Wanda had said, the pages became blank.

Your pages.

You paused, staring down at the empty space, the crisp paper waiting for your words, your thoughts, your own runes, spells and enchantments.

“This grimoire,” Wanda said, her smile widening, “is yours now. It carries the past, but it’s yours to shape. Whatever path you choose, it will guide you to your own person.”

A map to your place, to where you will fit in this new world that has opened its doors for you. Your heart jumped with the thought, comforted by the gift as if Wanda had just hugged you. Without you noticing, a smile creeped out of your own lips.

You looked up at her again, "Thank you," your voice barely audible.

She shrugged, the smile never leaving her face.

"It’s not about what’s written," she said, placing her hands over your shoulders, "It’s about what you’ll write next."

You glanced down at the blank pages again, your heart beating steadily, though your thoughts were a storm of uncertainty. In a way, the empty pages felt like a mirror of your life—unwritten, waiting for you to fill them with your next choices.

There weren’t wrong decisions, only attempts to do the right thing. And, while it was an attempt, it was enough. In a way or another, you would find the right path.

“Take it one step at a time.” she reminded you, “You’re not alone in this.”

Her words echoed in your mind as she slowly turned away, leaving you alone with the grimoire in your hands. The grimoire and your thoughts. And that voice.

Whether you liked it or not, it would always be there from now on.

You made your way to the upper floors of the Strange Academy, feeling the ancient energy pulse in the very walls around you. After winding through several quiet corridors, you finally found Helmut standing by a large, arched window that overlooked the academy’s training grounds.

The scene outside was almost serene—students practicing their spells under the watchful eye of a professor, their magical auras creating bright flashes of light against the twilight sky. The view was mesmerizing, but Helmut seemed lost in thought, his focus elsewhere.

He himself looking like this, his thoughts straying away and eyes working their way around his mind, was quite the view as well.

You approached quietly, noting how his posture was tensely calm. His hand rested lightly on the window’s frame, his eyes followed the students below.

"Do you regret it?" you asked in a whisper, breaking the silence.

Helmut glanced at you but remained silent for a moment longer, his gaze drifting back to the grounds.

"Regret?" he echoed, his voice thoughtful as he gazed at you, “Regret what?”

“Never going back?” you looked away, focusing on the little kids trying to levitate light and heavy objects, “Not in Madripoor, not in Riga, or in the last five years?”

Helmut turned his gaze back to the students, watching their movements with an intensity that contrasted with the serene scene. For a while, he didn’t answer, letting the weight of your question settle between you both.

The light from the window cast a soft glow on his face, highlighting the lines of experience and reflection etched in his features. Not that you were looking at him, of course, you were not.

“I thought about it,” he finally admitted, “In Riga, Madripoor, there were moments where it would’ve been easier to go back and just… End everything. To let things play out the way they should have. But…”

He trailed off, his fingers drumming lightly against the window’s ledge. You could sense the conflict within him—how deeply he wrestled with the choices he had made. You waited, not pushing, knowing he would continue when he was ready.

“But I didn’t want to return,” Helmut continued, turning his gaze toward the horizon. “Not after everything I had seen. Not after you.” His voice softened, losing the edge of calculated detachment you had grown used to, “Somehow, leaving felt like a betrayal of everything I had begun to understand. Of who I was becoming.”

You felt your breath catch slightly, his words weaving between the delicate threads of your emotions. He had always been a man of precise decisions, but hearing him speak so openly now about a choice that felt deeply personal—about staying with you—shifted something inside you.

“And after Wakanda?” you pressed on, stepping closer. “After all that happened?”

Helmut’s gaze flickered for a moment as though recalling the events—the battles, the loss, the redemption that never seemed fully within reach.

“That was different,” he said, quieter now, “There, I thought for a moment that perhaps I had finally paid the price. That I could put everything to rest.”

“But you didn’t,” you concluded. “... You can’t.”

He nodded slowly, his expression solemn, “No. Because even after everything, I realized that there’s still more left to do. More for me to understand.” He paused, then looked at you, his eyes searching. “And more to protect. That’s why I stayed.”

A comfortable silence lingered between you, the need for words fading. Helmut stood beside you, his presence steady, and for once, the air wasn’t filled with tension or questions. It was just the two of you.

You glanced out the window at the students, their laughter and lightheartedness contrasting with the heaviness of your conversation.

“We’ve been through a lot, haven’t we?” you mused.

Helmut smiled faintly, “We have,” he agreed. “But we are still here.”

Turning to him, you asked the question you’d been avoiding for a while, “So, what now? What's next?”

Helmut didn’t hesitate this time.

“I thought our promise was still valid,” he lifted his brows at you, a small smile taking hold of his face, “I will be by your side as long as you will have me.”

As the golden light of the setting sun filtered through the window, you couldn't help but notice how it bathed Helmut’s face in a soft glow, highlighting the sharp planes of his features. The warmth of the light softened the intensity of his gaze, casting an almost ethereal glow around him.

Somehow, it made his brown eyes shimmer, reflecting the warmth and depth that had always drawn you in. The sunlight danced in them, as if the very essence of the sun resided there.

Without thinking, your hand reached up, gently cradling his face. Your thumb brushed lightly over his cheek, the warmth of his skin bringing you some life.

The small smile he wore widened just a little, seeing him like that was no longer a rare sight.

“As long as you’ll have me, my dear,” you whispered as you gazed deeply into his eyes, drawn into the light that seemed to radiate from them.

In that instant, everything fell away—the worries, the chaos, the uncertainty. It was just the two of you, standing together, connected by something unspoken yet profoundly real.

With a slow, deliberate motion, you closed the distance between you. Your lips met his in a kiss that was tender, soft, and full of quiet promise. It wasn’t rushed or desperate, it never was, but rather a gentle affirmation of everything unspoken between you. His hand moved to the small of your back, pulling you just a bit closer, as if anchoring you to him.

For a moment, the world outside the window seemed to blur, the sounds of the academy and the distant echoes of training disappearing. It was just the two of you in that warm, golden light, sharing a moment that felt like the beginning of something more.

As you pulled away, your foreheads rested together, and for the first time in days, you felt a moment of stillness wash over you. It was a fragile peace, one that you knew could shatter at any second, but you clung to it, savored it, for just a little while longer.

“I guess we have a lot ahead of us,” you whispered, still close enough to feel the soft warmth of his breath against your skin. “More than we know.”

Helmut’s grip on you tightened ever so slightly, his voice low and full of quiet understanding, “We’ll face it together then.”

You wanted to believe him. At that moment, you really did. But as the golden light began to fade and the shadows stretched across the room, you felt it—just the faintest hint of something cold creeping at the edges of your mind.

Him.

The voice was barely a whisper, but it slithered through your consciousness like a serpent, wrapping itself around your thoughts, tight and unyielding.

You haven’t forgotten me, have you?

Chthon’s voice.

The dark presence that had been lying dormant, waiting in the corners of your mind, was stirring again. You felt it, like a distant echo, just enough to remind you that no matter how much peace you found in this moment, the chaos was never far behind.

Helmut pulled back slightly, his brow furrowing as if sensing the sudden change in you.

“Are you alright?”

You forced a smile, nodding quickly, though the lingering whisper of Chthon’s voice made your heart race.

“I’m fine,” you lied, pushing the dark presence deeper into the recesses of your mind, locking it away. At least for now.

But as you leaned into Helmut’s embrace again, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against yours, you couldn’t help but wonder how long you could keep it there.

How much time would you have until the bomb detonated?

You can’t hide forever, the voice whispered, almost too quiet to hear.

He will be waiting.

[sjsmith56]

The Duality of Nature, Chapter 20 - Existence

Summary: A series of seemingly unrelated events leads to Winter contemplating his existence. He comes to a decision of what he must do when Barnes is returned.

Length: 5.2 K

Characters: Winter, Peter, Sam, Winnie.

Warnings: Anger about pet abuse, questioning one’s existence.

Author notes: Part of Winter’s growth as a person is balancing his increasing wants with the reality of his situation.

<<Chapter 19

It had been 10 days since Winter went to the bar with Carol, then joined the running group and bird watchers.  He and Winnie had a wonderful time with the latter, learning to distinguish the different birdsongs.  Both were adept at locating where a bird was after hearing their calls, then observing them through the binoculars.  Jason, who had invited Winter, was impressed at how quickly the super soldier and Winnie were able to approach an area so quietly without startling a bird into flight.  She even found a bird that shouldn't have still been there as others of its kind had migrated weeks before.  One of their photographers snapped a picture of it, for proof when they informed the Audubon Society of its presence.  He printed it out several days later and presented it to Winnie, along with a copy of the report they sent to the Society, that named her as the person making the first sighting, pleasing the little girl immensely. 

Winter also received a thank you from the nurse, Amanda, via Noelle, that she and Adam hit it off when they went out that same evening.  Her exact words were "I owe you one."  It was gratifying to know that he read the situation well, in making the introduction possible.  In the days after that weekend, he continued to seek out new life experiences, even small ones, reasoning that the cumulative effect would help him understand personal interactions better. 

There was word from Shuri in Wakanda that the Dora Milaje recruit who was to undergo her ritual in the living vibranium cave had successfully managed to convey the message that the living vibranium universe had been contacted and the Avengers wished to send a communications probe into that universe.  Somehow, even though actual words were not exchanged the consciousness of the cave vibranium had managed to express to her that when they were part of the One, that the original entity operated at a temperature Shuri estimated was 1 degree K but could still function at up to 20 K before the warmth began to affect them.  On inquiring how they managed to survive in this universe, she learned that on their first awareness of their existence here, after a calamity ripped a hole between the two places and tore them away, they were many.  The majority of The One that were here perished before they evolved enough to exist in this universe.  It took at least a million years for them to adapt fully, and only because they found the solid vibranium nearby and consumed it to strengthen themselves before burrowing into the mountain where they now lived.  As much as they still longed for home, they also knew that a return was impossible for them.  They were too warm to even venture into that universe.

The news was still welcome as it now increased the parameters for the probe.  Even those few degrees could mean the difference between failure and success.  The members of the probe team worked on some redesigns, although the power situation was still an issue.

Several members of the Avengers were called out to a mission on Halloween morning, for a rescue of some teenagers who were setting up a fright zone in an abandoned building that partially collapsed.  Deemed too dangerous for traditional rescue teams, and fearing the use of magic portals in the debris would also interfere with the precarious structure that was barely holding everything together, the stronger individuals, Thor, Carol, and Winter were assigned to get in then out of the damaged building with the kids in tow.  Scott and Hope came as well, shrinking themselves down to insect size to pinpoint exactly where the kids were, using scanning devices, and determining what condition they were in.  Peter was there, with a holographic computer that he entered data in, so that they could plot the structure of the building and the locations of the kids within the space from the scans.  Working out a rescue plan, they started at the top, where Wong levitated the debris according to Peter's directions then sent it through a portal in the air, that emptied to a spot outside the building.  Slowly, they removed enough debris to reach the first one, a teenage girl.  Carol levitated into it, then came out holding the girl and went through another portal that landed beside a fleet of ambulances, leaving the girl there.  More pieces were moved, then Winter slid down the hole, finding a boy in an air pocket. 

"You're sure the debris is stable enough to climb out?" he asked over his comms, looking up at the jagged edges of the building above him.  "It doesn't look it from this end."

"Just keep him close but not too close so your combined weights are distributed," said Peter.  "It should be okay."

The super soldier looked at the boy then took off the extra climbing harness he brought with him, fitting it to the scared teenager, followed by a protective helmet.  Linking them together he tested all the connections then looked in the boy's eyes. 

"We're going to get you out, I promise." 

"He sure sounded like Bucky then," said Peter idly.

"I heard that," replied Winter, taking the first step up the wall of debris.

The teen followed him, copying his movements.  There was a moment when they heard something fall inside the debris pile and they both paused, then continued cautiously.  At the top, Carol was waiting as she levitated, and Winter disconnected the boy, allowing her to carry him out.  Another section was partially cleared until Peter stopped it, worrying that they risked upsetting the delicate balance inside.  Thor shimmied inside a narrow space, wedging his massive size through it without disturbing the structure.  After fitting that boy with protective headgear, he sent him out ahead of him, staying close in case he had to hold the debris up on his own shoulders.  The final three retrievals were the trickiest as they were under what Peter called a house of cards; remove one piece too many and the whole structure could come down.  He ran simulations of various scenarios, but all ended up with the pile collapsing on itself.  Then Winter looked at Scott.

"You can go larger, right?  Barnes has memories of that happening in Leipzig."

"Yes, but only for so long," replied Scott.

"What if you go there in your reduced size, then suddenly expand, and throw the debris pile off.  Carol, Thor and I could run in, retrieve a person each and run out, then you can walk out to safety before resuming your normal size.  The others will have to get out of harm's way first, but we're fast enough to get the kids to a safe spot."

"Peter, can you run that through the simulation?" asked Carol

He inputted the data, then they ran it and watch the holographic giant Ant Man explode the debris pile in all directions while three people ran in, grabbed a person each and ran out, successfully dodging the debris that landed.  One big piece was predicted to land on the spot they were on, so he had to dismantle the computer and put it back in the quinjet.  It took them a while to get everything relocated and even to push back the emergency vehicles to reduce the chances of them being damaged, but they finally were ready to implement the plan.  Hope flew Scott into the centre of the pile where the remaining three trapped kids were.  After she left, he expanded to normal size and warned the kids he was going to go big.  He outlined how three amazingly fast people were going to come in, grab them and go, so to be ready for that.  With that he pressed his comms.

"You ready out there?"

"Ready," came the responses.

"On my mark, three – two – one, mark."

He expanded and threw off the debris pile in all directions.  Below him, he was aware of Thor, Carol and Winter running in, each grabbing a kid, and running out.  The debris started falling and he stepped away, but his suit started warning him of a critical overload, so he reduced himself to normal size.  A large piece of debris hit him, and he fell, then felt someone grab him, place him over his shoulder and run, not stopping even though they were both being hit by smaller debris.  It wasn't until they were both beyond the range of the debris field that he saw it was Winter, with several cuts on his back and shoulders.  He had kept a helmet on, protecting his head.  It was only when Scott touched his face, and his hand came away with blood on it that he realized he lost his own helmet.  Then he passed out.

When Scott came to, he was in a bed in the medical centre, his head pounding, and Hope was hovering over him.  She smiled when he opened his eyes.

"Hey beautiful," said Scott, when he saw her.  "I must be in heaven because you're an angel."

"No, I'm still here on Earth with you," she replied.  "Why did you shrink down to normal size so quickly?  The debris was still up in the air."

"The suit warned of a critical overload, so I shut it down.  What happened?"

"A big piece of debris hit you and you fell.  Winter went right back for you, then carried you out on his shoulders.  He got some cuts, but he'll be okay, except he feels guilty for putting you in harm's way."

"I'm an Avenger, harm's way is part of the job," he smiled, then looked out towards the door.  "Is he out there?"

She nodded.  "Send him in."  He laid back, then heard them both approach.  "Guess I owe you."

"Are you alright, Scott Lang?"

"Yeah, nothing a few painkillers won't fix," he replied.  "Thank you."

"You're welcome."

He turned away, leaving Scott and Hope alone.  Seeing the man get hit by debris in the aftermath of the event that he suggested had affected him, leaving a frightened feeling that he had let everyone down.  The others, at the time, told him it wasn't his fault, as sometimes these things happened.  It was easy to input numbers in a computer, but real life was chaotic and chose that moment to prove it.  Still, none of the trapped children were seriously injured, Scott was safely evacuated back to the medical centre and his own cuts would heal quickly.  Noelle waved to him, and he walked over to where she was at her workstation.

"You missed the kid's Halloween party because of the mission," she said.  "I tried to explain to Winnie that you were called out, but she was disappointed."

"I am sorry I missed it," he replied.  "Perhaps, she and I can have some time together this weekend.  She enjoys the indoor playground place in town, doesn't she?  The one with the trampolines, children's obstacle course and slides?"

"She does but it's awfully busy," answered Noelle.  "It could be overwhelming for you."

"Perhaps, if Sam Wilson comes with Paul, he can watch her if I have to step outside."

It was agreed and on the Saturday morning Sam and Paul met Winter and Winnie for their visit to the indoor playground centre.  Before they left the car, Sam reached inside his pocket, pulling out a pair of ear plugs, offering them to Winter.

"Trust me, you'll need them," he said.  "It's loud in there."

Fitting them in their ears, the two men went inside, where Sam signed the waiver for both children.  Leaving their shoes and boots at the front, they all changed into the grip socks that were recommended then entered into what could only be described as pandemonium.  Even with the ear plugs, the noise was considerable but the looks on the children's faces was enough to prove they were having a lot of fun.  Winter did go out once to allow his ears and brain to have a respite.  When both kids began getting a little emotional it was clear they had reached their limits of stimulation, and the decision to return home was easily made.  On the drive back both children fell asleep in their car seats. 

"Well, that was ... fun," said Sam. "You managed alright?"

"It was interesting," replied Winter.  "There are memories of Barnes playing in the streets of Brooklyn for hours on end, with no adults observing.  It is not like that anymore."

"No, even I remember playing outside without adult supervision.  It was a different time, then there were some notable cases of children kidnapped by sexual predators or serial killers and within a few years you hardly saw kids outside on their own, even in their own yards.  People still took their kids to the park or playground, but even there, some high-profile missing kids cases made even that an issue.  With parents willing to pay to use these indoor parks for some peace of mind, it became an industry of its own."

"A small unit of operatives could take control of the facility and hold all those people hostage," remarked Winter.  "It would be easy to implement."  Sam looked at him, appraisingly.  "Not that I would be involved, but I would hope the owners would have contemplated the security implications of that many children in an enclosed space, in an industrial area.  I could make some recommendations and send them to the owner of the facility.  The use of teenagers as employees tasked with supervising that many children at one time concerns me the most.  I would think that they would wish people with combat experience to guard their children."

"You could," agreed Sam. "Sometimes, people don't think of those things until they actually happen.  As for combat veterans, I'm not sure most would be capable of being in that loud of a facility without the possibility of their PTSD flaring up."

Winter nodded sagely.  "You are correct about that.  It is something that requires a lot of thought."

On their return, the children woke up, frowning at being awakened.  It seemed that neither child knew exactly what they wanted.  They vacillated between going to the onsite playground or to the cafeteria for lunch to demanding a certain toy.  When Winnie began to cry over not being able to do what she wanted, Winter tried to comfort her, with repeated inquiries as to what she wanted to do.  The answer, "I don't know" confused him and he looked to Sam for enlightenment. 

"I don't have a quick answer for you," he said, as he dealt with his own son's tears.  "Children their age are still developing emotionally as well as physically.  Winnie likely doesn't know exactly what is bothering her but knows that she is unhappy.  All I can suggest is that you speak to her calmly, acknowledge that she's upset and ask her questions to pinpoint her distress."

Sitting on a bench, with Winnie on his lap, Winter used his sleeve to wipe her tears away.  He hugged her then looked at her with concern.

"Are you sad?" She nodded, while stifling a sob.  "Is it because we're not at the indoor playground anymore?"  She shook her head.  "Are you hurt?" She shook her head again.  "Hungry?" 

"Yes.  I'm still sad."  He kept his eyes focused on her, allowing her the time to speak.  "I watched a movie in my head about baby animals and one gots lost."

A dream.  She was upset about a dream.  "Do you want to tell me about it?"

"It was sad, 'cuz the baby fox cried and cried for its mom, and she went to look for her.  When the mom came with food for it, she couldn't find it and she became sad.  I 'membered the movie in my head but then I woke up and I don't know if the mom and baby found each other."

He looked up at Sam who raised his eyebrows and slightly shrugged, implying that this sort of reasoning was not out of the ordinary for a small child. 

"That must have been hard for you," said Winter.  "You wanted to help the baby and the mother fox, didn't you?"

She nodded, then took a deep breath.  "Sometimes, they don't find each other."

"No, sometimes, they don't."

"They'll find Papa, won't they?  He's in the cold place and they're tryin' to find him to bring him home."

"They are trying," he confirmed. 

"I'm scared that Papa won't come home."  She looked up at him, her blue eyes glassy.  "I miss my Papa."

"I know.  I miss him, too."  He took a deep breath.  "They're going to keep trying for a long time to bring your Papa home.  They won't give up and neither should you.  Do you still see him in your dreams?"

"Sometimes," she admitted.  "He's waiting but he's sad, like when he would wake up in the night.  I want to hold his hand, but I can't."

"I'm glad you told me but it's alright to tell your mother about this," he said gently.

"She cries sometimes, in the nighttime."  Winnie frowned.  "She's scared, too."

"Yes, she is, but I think if you come to her, like you did for your Papa when he had bad dreams, that she would like that.  You could make each other feel better."  He ran his hand through her hair, brushing it behind her ear.  "You feel better now?"  She nodded.  "Why don't we get something to eat.  What's your favourite?"

"Hot dogs."

Lowering her to the ground, Winter stood up and offered Winnie his hand.  Sam smiled at him.

"You have Buck's touch as a father."

A slight smile was his response.  Once Barnes was returned to his rightful place, Winter would be relegated to the background again, sometimes aware, most of the times waiting for when he was needed.  He felt a pang of emotion in his heart again and tried to ignore it.  Although it lessened as they ordered hot dogs for Winnie and himself, and French fries for Paul and Sam, it was there throughout the meal.  Sam studied him a few times but didn't voice his concerns around the children. 

After dropping Winnie off, and politely refusing the usual offer for dinner, Winter returned to his quarters where Peter was on a video call with MJ and Ned.  They all acknowledged him, but he didn't answer as he went into his room and closed the door.  He was looking out the window when Peter knocked on the door and called to him.

"Do you have a moment?" he asked.  "May I come in?"

"Yes."  He turned towards the door as the youthful Avenger entered.  "What is it?"

"Are you alright?"  Concern was evident on Peter's face.  "You didn't answer when we said hi to you."

"I am distracted," admitted the older man.  "I am sorry for ignoring you.  I wasn't deliberately being rude."

"I didn't think you were.  It's just that you seemed troubled.  Perhaps, if you talk about it, I can help."

Gesturing to Peter to sit, Winter sat on his bed and looked at his hands.  He opened his mouth to speak then shook his head, seeming to change his mind before he let it out in a torrent. 

"Is it wrong for me to want more out of this life?" he asked.  "When Barnes returns, he will want control of his body back, to resume his life with Noelle and Winnie, as well as his professional life with the Avengers.  I will have to revert to the background again, as it is not my body.  Except it is as I was formed out of Barnes' personality, because of the torture he underwent.  But I have changed greatly since I fully awakened in the operating room.  I have my own friendships with people, my own interests, and feelings; all of it done on the recommendations and support of others.  How am I to return to the background again?  I'm not who I once was."

"No, you're not," replied Peter.  "No one is.  You have grown so much as a person.  We all see that, but when we look at you, we also see Bucky.  He had this body first and if you can't accept that then when we do get him back, it's going to cause problems for you, for him, for Noelle and Winnie, for all of us.  That's not to say that you can't come to an agreement with him but until he's back in there, you just don't know for sure."  A thought occurred to him, and he cleared his throat.  "You're not thinking of sabotaging the rescue efforts, are you?"

"NO."  Winter was emphatic in his response to that question.  "I wouldn't do that to anyone.  Noelle and Winnie need Barnes and I accept that.  It's just that I was formed for one purpose and when that purpose ended, the next choice to continue existing was to be there for Barnes whenever I was needed.  It was an acceptable existence."

"But now, it's not enough, is it?" asked Peter.

The other man shook his head, appearing to be ashamed to admit it.  "No, but it is my burden to consider.  I appreciate your advice, Peter Parker.  You are a good friend."

"Thank you.  I'm sure that you and Bucky can come to some sort of arrangement, especially once he realizes how helpful you've been with everyone."

Peter left and Winter resumed his stance looking out the window for a time.  He changed into running gear since he missed the group run earlier to take Winnie to the indoor playground.  As he stepped outside, he noticed the wind had come up a bit, but it was still sunny, and he soon got into a good pace.  For a change, he ran towards the edge of the compound's property line, occasionally finding himself running parallel to the public road beside it, while still inside the tall chain link fence that kept trespassers out.  A truck passed him at one point, following the curve of the road until it was out of sight.  As he came around the curve, he noticed it stopped beside a bridge.  Someone in the passenger seat reached into the back of the large cab, grabbing a garbage bag and tossing it into the small creek beneath the bridge.  Then it sped away.  Curious, he hopped over the fence and ran on the road towards the bridge.  Looking over the concrete barrier, he saw the garbage bag was half in and half out of the water.  Noticing movement in the bag, he ran down the steep incline towards the creek, picking it up.  Tearing it open he was shocked to find three small kittens.  Who would do that to such innocent creatures?  Cradling the bag as close to his body as he could, Winter scrambled back up the incline and walked onto the roadway.  Once there, he transferred the kittens to inside his jacket, then he phoned Sam.

"Could you come pick me up?" he asked.  "I was running around the edge of the compound property and saw someone throw a garbage bag into Forest Creek.  There were kittens in it.  Why would someone do that?"

"I don't know why, except they don't care," replied Sam. "I'll be there as soon as I can."

He stood, waiting, stroking the kittens, who looked up at him with their inquisitive eyes.  It brought back memories of times when he was waiting on targets to arrive, and feral cats would approach him.  His stillness as he waited made it easy for them to trust him and they would often curl up near him, taking advantage of the heat his body radiated.  These little ones were just as trusting.  Ten minutes later Sam pulled up and Winter got into the front seat.  He put the seatbelt on, careful to position it so the kittens weren't constrained by it.  Sam leaned over to look closely at them, reaching out with his fingers.

"Some people really are heartless," he commented.  "Look at them.  They are adorable.  What do you want to do with them?"  Winter looked at him, not quite sure what he meant.  "We can take them back to the compound and see if anyone wants one or we can take them to a shelter who will adopt them out.  They'll need to see a vet.  I'm guessing whoever did this likely didn't get them vaccinated or anything.  They could have fleas or worms."

Winter picked each of them up in turn and placed his nose close to their mouths.  Then he inspected their fur. 

"No fleas that I can see, and their breath smells healthy."

"You can tell that by smelling their breath?" 

Sam wasn't convinced.  He picked one up and smelled it, but it just smelled like a cat.

"Remember my sense of smell is better than yours," said Winter.  "Many species can use smell to determine the health of others.  Some animals have been known to smell cancer on a human before they're diagnosed.  I read it in a medical book."  He stroked the three kittens.  "If we take them to a shelter how likely are they to be adopted?"

"Honestly? I don't know," answered Sam.  "They're cute so their chances could be good, but it also depends how many other kittens are in the shelter."

"I could give one to Noelle," said Winter.

"Nope," replied Sam. "She's pregnant and shouldn't be around cats due to the risk of toxoplasmosis.  It's a parasite that can harm the baby and I don't think you can tell if a cat has it without some expensive testing.  Some cats have it their entire lives without symptoms."

The silence from Winter after that information was shared was ominous, then he breathed out heavily. 

"Let's take them to a shelter," he said, resigned to giving them up. "At least they will examine them and treat them if they aren't well, won't they?"

"Yeah, they will."  Sam pulled his cell phone out and looked up the nearest animal shelter, twenty minutes away.  "It really is the best thing since we don't know how well they were taken care of by the people who abandoned them."

The staff at the animal shelter were quite thankful for Winter's rescue of the three kittens.  They assured him that they would receive a full examination by a veterinarian.  With their colouring they were sure the kittens would be adopted quickly.  He stroked each one gently before leaving the building then got into the car with Sam.  They didn't speak at first until Sam looked at the man who had become his friend.

"Are you alright?  I sensed earlier that you were bothered by something."

"Yes," he said.  "I had some things on my mind, but I've resolved them."

"Anything you want to share?"

The dark-haired super soldier was quiet for some time before he answered.

"It will be difficult to return to what I was before Barnes was removed from this body.  Before, I was content to allow Barnes to control everything, coming out only when I was needed.  I don't know if he will be willing to accept me as I am now.  I intend to ask Princess Shuri to find a way to either restore me to what I was or to find a way for us to coexist peacefully and in harmony.  If she cannot then I will ask her to remove me from this body."

Sam applied the brakes and pulled onto the shoulder, putting the car into park, then turning to face Winter. 

"What do you mean by removing you?"

"When she removed HYDRA's programming from Barnes' brain, she thought she had removed me at the same time.  I wonder if she can actually do it so that he doesn't have to share his body with me.  He deserves to live his life without my presence in his body.  If she can find a way to return me to my previous state or to transfer me into an artificial intelligence, then that would be acceptable."  He looked steadily at Sam.  "Winnie needs her father.  Noelle needs her husband.  I'm like the genie that can't be put back into the bottle.  I can't live in the background anymore in my current state, so I must find another way to exist.  If that's not possible, then there must be some way we can coexist without causing psychological damage to Barnes, otherwise I must accept that my existence will have to end."

"Winter, you're willing to die so Barnes can have his body back?"

He was quiet again.  The only sound was that of the vehicles on the road that passed by them. 

"I don't want to die, Sam.  I like this life.  But I don't think Barnes will be happy sharing this body with me, even though I'm not the Soldier anymore.  So, I either find another form to live in or I let this life go."

It felt like Sam couldn't breathe.  Although a part of him understood Winter's reasoning it was still a devastating concept to consider.  But the former assassin was right about one thing.  Bucky's fear and hatred of the Winter Soldier persona might make any coexistence for the two personalities in one body impossible.  If there was only a way to create another body so that both men could live separate lives.  Tony had done it when he and Bruce created Vision.  We all know how that turned out.  He looked at Winter again, at how accepting he seemed at the prospect of giving his life up so that Bucky could have his body back.  Then the dark-haired man turned to him.

"I've told you this in confidence, Samuel Wilson.  Do not share it with anyone else, especially Noelle.  I'll speak to Shuri myself.  If nothing can be done, then I accept the inevitable.  Do you promise to keep this between us?"

Damn.  Sam sighed, then looked back at the man who had shown him how a person could grow if given some autonomy and trust.  He was serious about this.  Reluctantly, he nodded.  Right from the start, it had been Noelle's wish that Winter be treated like anyone else and allowed to have the dignity of choosing his own path.  Just because that path was taking a turn that he hadn't seen before didn't mean he had the right to stop Winter from travelling it.

"I promise." 

At the time, he meant it.

Chapter 21>>

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[maple-the-awesome]

We'll Meet Again...I Know When || Chapter 33

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x GN Reader

Words: 3,712

Overview: Given your old-fashioned personality and obsession with all things 1940s to 1980s, it’s no wonder that most people refer to you as an ‘old soul’ who would’ve rather lived back then than in the modern era. Little do they know, you already did, but with your previous life as Hollie Stark cut short, you’ve been left with some…unfinished business, to say the least. Top of your list? Finally getting to marry your thought-to-be-lost fiancé.

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CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE: SILENT TREATMENT

"You could at least try to be civil, you know."

Rolling his eyes is the only attention Bucky spares Sam, not that it helps his own case any. His lack of response and attempt at still pushing past the other man actually has the opposite effect, only adding fuel to the latter's annoyance which has been building ever since Madripoor.

Sam forces Bucky to stop against his outreached hand, "Are you really that upset over the whole Hollie thing to be acting like this?"

It's no surprise that he eventually found out about your 'little' argument back in Madripoor; it was pretty damn easy to put the pieces together after your sudden disinterest in confronting Nagel and Bucky's beyond sour mood. Clearly, he said something to piss you off during Sharon's party - likely even hurt you judging on the redness of your eyes Sam spotted this morning.

Bucky's shameless avoidance of you has already been picking at his nerves, although he can no longer stand turning a blind-eye to it. It's unwarranted, out of character, and above all childish - at least that's what he feels like saying right now, but he realizes anger won't solve anything, especially if coming from his mouth.

Maybe if Steve were here, expressing disappointment would cut deep enough to reach common sense, however Sam isn't Steve. He lacks any meaningful, nostalgic history to fall back on with Bucky or you, therefore any accusations on his part are more than likely to just be met with defensive responses. Instead, he needs to try the friendly approach.

Inhaling away his exasperation, he looks to Bucky with genuine concern, "...Alright,look: I don't understand what it's like to be in your guys' situation and I'm not going to pretend that I do, but obviously this game of giving the silent treatment is hurting both of you - you're hurting them...You can see that, right?"

Bucky dodges Sam's stare, hating the reminder his words serve as. Of course he knows your previous argument hurt you! He isn't stupid! ...Okay, maybe just a bit, but it's not like he meant to make you feel shitty back there! He just didn't want you in harm's way - not over something like the super soldier serum and not while in Madripoor.

Yes, there were better ways he could've asked you to stay behind. He fumbled the bag, and he wishes he could apologize for it - to clear things up so that you can, at the very least, be spared from taking any blame regarding this entire hole he's now dug under you both - however what's he exactly supposed to say? Is there even a nice way to cushion what he's truly thinking inside? What good would an apology be if it's promptly followed by telling the receiver he still doesn't want to be around them anymore?

"I know it's going to sound cliché and probably like some bullshit your counselor has already tried throwing at you, but I think if you could just sit down and talk to each other about how your feeling - be honest and get everything off your chest - it might -"

"- This doesn't involve you," Despite Sam's careful efforts, his interference only adds fuel to Bucky's internal fire exactly as he had tried to avoid. The super soldier easily shoves past his hand and stubbornly ascends the stairs, "The Dora Milaje want Zemo. I managed to buy us some time, but they're not going to wait forever."

"You're changing the subject -"

"- To something that matters. The fate of the world is at hand, Sam. Don't you think you should be more concerned with that than with me?" Bucky responds condescendingly, not allowing for any more objections before they're inside the safe house.

Not much has apparently happened in their absences. It didn't take Zemo long to get comfortable, having treated himself to a nice shower in the time that it took for Bucky and Sam to make their entrance. While the former goes to plop down on the couch alone, the latter joins you in the kitchen where, having been left unsupervised, you've taken the liberty of raiding each cupboard in search of the most expensive alcohol present.

"Wanna glass? Mendis Coconut Brandy~ Made from the nectar of a borassus flower then matured for ten years in wood casks," You make a show out of pouring yourself a generous amount, however your 'tempting' offer goes denied by Sam who takes a seat at the bar counter with a lack of amusement written all over his face.

"We need to figure out another plan of action. Not just sit here lounging around while getting drunk."

"This is how I get my neurons firing," You assert before shamelessly taking a long swig of your loot.

Aware of how difficult it would be to take alcohol away from a Stark, Sam elects to ignore your behavior in favor of getting on with business anyway, "Nagel was our best lead before someone killed him."

"Must we litigate what may or may not have happened?"

"It's not up for debate. You straight shot the man!"

"Might want to come up with that plan faster," You interrupt. With your brandy glass balanced in one hand and your phone in the other, you scroll through the latest relevant newsfeed, "Our little superhuman buddies just bombed a GRC supply depot."

"What?" Sam whips his attention back to you immediately, then asks more solemnly, "...What's the damage?"

"Three dead. Eleven injured; doesn't list conditions, but judging on these pictures, I wouldn't be too optimistic...They made some demands, plus a promise for more attacks if they aren't met."

"She's getting worse," Zemo points out rather nonchalantly while sauntering over, "Now I, for one, am still willing to see our efforts through. Are you?"

"She's just a kid..." Sam sighs with a shake of his head, yet this information falls short of presenting a proper argument.

"You're looking for something in her that isn't there and you're allowing it cloud your judgment. Karli Morgenthau is a supremacist," Zemo's quick to chastise, "You see, the very concept of a super soldier will always lead to trouble. It's that warped aspiration towards one's goals that led to the Nazis, to Ultron, to the Avengers -"

"- Hey, you're talking about our friends."

"The Avengers, not the Nazis."

You roll your eyes after Bucky's needless correction. At least he's finally found the balls to leave his social isolation long enough to partake in the discussion at hand, however he still does so while maintaining his physical distance, collapsed on the couch with a deadpan expression that lacks any meaningful engagement.

"Yeah, Karli might be radicalized, but that doesn't mean there can't be a peaceful way to stop her," Sam counters, although Zemo once again lets these words roll off his shoulders, remaining stubborn to his own stance.

"The desire to become a superhuman cannot be separated from supremacist ideals. Anyone with that serum is inherently on that path. She will stop at nothing and, worse yet, she'll continue to escalate until you eventually kill her...Assuming, of course, that she doesn't kill you first, God forbid."

"Yourview of things is too black and white," This rebuttal is made to sound as if you're pointing out the blatantly obvious which is enforced by your lack of eye contact as you swirl your alcohol in a jaded fashion, "It's like I said on the flight to Madripoor: corruption is always a risk where power makes someone feel that they're invincible to typical consequences which is why you have to be careful who you grant that power to. Steve was chosen to become the original super soldier. Those abilities - They didn't change his heart. He wanted to protect innocent people from a war spiraling out of control and he did just that while staying true to his nature."

"In other words, the serum never corrupted Steve," Bucky concludes proudly, almost amused to see how Zemo's unknowingly poked the hornet's nest through his accusations.

Fortunately for him, you're being civil right now, all things considered. Bucky hasn't forgotten your true temper and the passion you hold towards your work. One wrong step on Zemo's part - one ill-worded insult regarding Project Rebirth or the achievements it set out to make - and there's no doubt in his mind that you'll have your hands on that Sokovian bastard faster than Sam can stop you. Is it bad that he wants to see that happen? At least watching Zemo get his well-earned broken nose might make him feel a little better after such a bitter past few days.

"Touché," Zemo admits, before selecting a cookie from the bowl in front of him and looking back to you with his next opposition, "But there has never quite been another Steve Rogers, has there?"

"Not with that attitude, there won't be," You scoff, finishing your brandy then giving him a pointed glare, "What I'm trying to get at is: to assume corruption will always be the case with superhumans will only ever shoot down the possibility of there being a variation. Karli might not listen to reason, or maybe she will - we can't be sure until we try - but treating her like a lost cause from the gates will only promise her to become the very enemy you're concerned with."

"Perhaps you have a point, however what happens if she already is a lost cause, hmm? Are you willing to take that chance in the time that it takes for you to confirm her intentions - even at the possible risk of your own life and those of the innocent?"

You cross your arms with your weight leaning to one side, "For one, I'm not saying that we just rush in to make friendship bracelets with them. We can attempt a conversation while still being cautious. Second, aren't you the guy who got a bunch of innocent people killed just so that he could get back at the Avengers? Are you really going to stand here acting like you live on some moral high ground?"

"Maybe we should just give him to the Wakandans now," Bucky suggests, suddenly acting exhausted with his spectator role in all of this. This leads you to redirect your glare his way, addressing him directly for the first time since Sharon's party.

"Excellent idea. Why don't you escort him there and stay awhile? Wakanda is where you were happiest, after all."

Bucky doesn't risk eye contact for long, swiftly looking away to avoid the sting felt by your response and that mocked smile you wear which drips sarcasm. This would be an amazing opportunity for him to be less of a jerk and deny your accusation. All he has to say is that he didn't actually like Wakanda that much, he doesn't even have to add that he didn't like it because it kept you two apart...yet he keeps his mouth shut instead of saying a single word. 

Sam, tired of all this clashing, promptly rounds the conversation back to more pressing matters, "Alright, let's just assume we have a consensus here and agree to talking with Karli. It sounds like Donya Madani was a pillar of the community here, right? ...You know, when I was a kid, my TT passed away -"

"- Your TT?"

"...Yeah, my TT."

"You're 'TT'?"

"His aunt," You sigh at the back-and-forth.

"Thank you! When I was a kid, my aunt passed away and the entire community got together for this ceremony to celebrate her life - I swear, it lasted like a full week. Maybe they're doing something similar for Donya."

"We can use it as an opportunity to get more information on the Flag Smashers. Maybe even get an audience with Karli herself," You finish his trail of thought, "She likely wouldn't want to make a scene in front of anyone connected to her, so it might be our best shot at a civil conversation without her trying to bash in our skulls."

"Exactly!" Sam smiles, looking back to Bucky who shrugs in response.

"...It's worth a shot."

"Your TT would be proud of you," Zemo, having used your distraction to sort through the cupboards, turns to Sam and tosses a wrapped candy his way before dumping the rest of the container on the counter in front of you, "Turkish Delights. Irresistible." 

Perhaps you've simply become biased after spending so many years in Europe, but you really must say, you admire the grand beauty behind European architecture even when worn down after many years of resident traffic. The buildings here in Latvia are no different in their ability to catch your eye, being much more deserving of your attention than the flashy neon lights that lined Madripoor.

Sadly, it seems your appreciation isn't universal. While you remain silent in your observations, Zemo is quick to voice his annoyance the moment your quartet steps foot in the courtyard of the refugee enclave, "Shame what's become of this place. When I was young, my family would come here for fabulous dinner parties. Although I knew nothing of politics back then, I recall it being beautiful. Now it is this..."

"I'm gonna take a look upstairs. See what you can find out down here - and keep an eye on him," Sam excuses himself almost immediately, not waiting for a reply before he's gone from sight. It's possible that he just wants a break from dealing with Zemo's nonsense, although he could also be trying to escape the tension between Bucky and you, too.

The first thing Sam did this morning was try questioning you on what happened at Sharon's party to which you simply replied that he should be asking Bucky instead. You weren't - and still aren't - in the mood to recap anyone else on your argument. You received basically zero sleep last night thinking about it, Bucky's words constantly playing on repeat in your mind:

"I think you should stay here while we go talk to Nagel ourselves."

"It wasn't a suggestion."

"...You're a liability if you go..."

Who does he think he is?! He's been making it perfectly clear since your confession that he wants absolutely nothing to do with you, but now he wants to play nanny - to act like he's oh-so concerned about your wellbeing? Pick a side, damnit! He either cares for you or he doesn't!

Just thinking about it gets you all riled up again, especially since you have yet to receive any kind of apology even after Sam confronted him, too - You know Sam must have because why else would he have waited outside for Bucky after reaching the safe house? Your theory could further be supported by their sulking that followed. Sam finally said something to Bucky himself, however even that had no success in making him grow the fuck up.

It seems your plan of giving Bucky space to process his feelings isn't working. Despite trying to keep your head low, you still manage to cause him grief while he insists on treating you like an asshole by playing this stupid back-and-forth game of 'do I, don't I'...Well, he's an adult, isn't he? You suppose he can make his own decisions on how to behave, but that doesn't mean you have to keep putting up with it yourself. Two can play at this game and you're done taking the nice route.

"I'll stay out of your way," Zemo promises, holding his hands up and taking a few steps away from you both. Whether he senses the tension as well or is simply being smart, you don't care.

You only bother to spare Bucky a glance - which is more of a less-than-amused glare that he mirrors - then turn your focus to the courtyard. There's lots of people going about their days here, none who show any of you much attention. If anything, it seems like they're trying to ignore your group between cautious glimpses; behavior that Bucky apparently fails to read as he walks right up to an older trio doing laundry. He attempts to awkwardly ask about Donya, yet as anyone could've predicted, they wordlessly turn their backs to him before gathering their belongings and walking off.

"Maybe if you actually smiled, you'd look more approachable," You make a point of noting smugly, all too satisfied to earn a frustrated grumble.

"Let's see you try then since you're such a people-person."

"I'm not a people-person. I just know how to work people," You hit back before eyeing the rest of the courtyard. There's more adults busying themselves with different projects, but chances are they're aware of the dangers outsiders might bring to their beliefs here, so it'll be harder to pry information out of them. Kids, however, have much smaller filters, and it just so happens that there's a young pair sitting alone at a fold-up table nearby. Perfect.

"Hey. May I see what you guys are drawing?" You ask kindly, inviting yourself to slowly take an open seat at the table with them. The little boy hesitates and looks to his sister who is equally wary of your presence, but he ultimately pushes his drawing towards you anyway. You gasp, gently turning it to get a good look, "Oh, this is beautiful! ...You drew this? ...You did? No way!"

The boy nods, his sheepish smile turning into a quiet giggle after your mocked disbelief.

"This is incredibly well detailed! It's a dog, right? ...Wow...You're waaay better at drawing than I am. I couldn't draw a dog to save my life. Whenever I try to, my nephew says it ends up looking more like a cow instead."

"Now that's someone who knows what they're doing," Zemo whispers to Bucky as they observe your efforts from afar. He isn't wrong. It doesn't take you many more compliments before the siblings are eagerly showing off each of their art pieces, even taking you up on your request for them to show you how to draw yourself.

To anyone else, it may seem like you're simply playing the long game, but Bucky can tell when your smile is genuine and when it isn't. Right now, it's definitely genuine. Just listen to the way you laugh at the siblings' jokes, and watch how your eyes sparkle in delight when triggered by their childish excitement. He imagines that this is what you were like when Tony was little...and what you would've been like had you had any children of your own. Maybe it isn't too late for you in that regard, yet that's quite the bittersweet pill to swallow.

Bucky finds himself inching closer to the table, his steps awkward and slow as if his feet are stuck in a giant glue trap. His presence immediately makes the siblings fall silent as they keep a fearful eye on him, however you're quick to reassure them with a careless shrug of your shoulders, "Oh, don't worry. That's just my friend, Bucky. I know he looks real scary, but he's harmless...Do you see his cool arm?"

"No?"

"Well, he'll have to come over here and show it to you then," You wave him over, smirking at his reluctance.

"I don't -!"

Not accepting that answer, you stand and take his wrist in hand before leading him the extra few steps over to the table. There, you pull him down to kneel between you and the curious children who watch in awe after you slide his glove off to reveal the bright shine underneath.

"- Isn't that awesome? I mean, how many people do you know who have a metal arm like this, huh?"

Bucky keeps as steady as humanly possible, practically suffocating himself out of concern that one wrong move on his part will send these children off screaming. Pressing his lips together nervously, he watches like a hawk as they gather closer and brush their little fingers against the cold metal of his forearm with bouts of excited giggles. You, meanwhile, keep his hand in yours while eventually locking eyes, your smirk remaining as if to say 'this isn't so bad, now is it?'.

"Hisarm makes him really strong. He can lift a whole lot of cool stuff with it...Just like our friend Karli. Do you know her, too?" The siblings nod, too distracted by Bucky's arm to face you, "That's actually why we're here. We came to town for Miss. Donya's funeral, but we've gotten a little lost...Maybe you two could help us? Do you know where it's going to be?"

They consider your question while glancing between both Bucky and you timidly. After a second, the sister finally motions for you to lean in which you do, allowing her to whisper in your ear.

"...Thankyou. We really appreciate it - and thanks for your drawing lessons, too. Maybe now I can finally draw my nephew a proper dog," The siblings match your smile before happily returning to their doodles.

"For your occupation, you are pretty good with kids," Zemo compliments and it's only then that you realize he had technically been left unattended for a few minutes there. Thank goodness he didn't take the opportunity to slip away, having instead spent that brief time passing out candies to children playing around the courtyard. That must be why he stuffed his pockets with those Turkish delights earlier. It seems you had similar plans of befriending them in exchange for information.

"What can I say? I got a soft spot for 'em," You shrug casually while keeping a close eye on him as he gifts the two siblings with the remainder of his candy stash since they missed out earlier.

"So did she tell you where the funeral is?" Bucky asks rather impatiently in your opinion.

"Yeah, because I actually smiled to look friendly," You chide, barely looking over your shoulder to face him, "She gave me an address, but we still have some time before it starts, so might as well go back to the safe house and wait. I, personally, could use some lunch in the meantime."

"Might I recommend: there is a wonderful restaurant down the street that makes exquisite cold borscht and sorrel soup," Zemo pipes in, following you as you slip right past Bucky. Neither of you spare him any more attention than his pouting deserves, which may be petty, but as far as you're concerned, he can feel the burn of being ignored for once himself.

"Sounds great. Now let's find Sam and be on our way. Our work here won't finish itself."

NEXT CHAPTER ->

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Taglist:

@arunabrak

[vixentheplanet]

endless (love)

“I know, I've found in you my endless love.”

shuri x black!reader | 18+

Summary: Nine years after a drunken love confession.

heiress series: 1. heartbeat | 2. afterglow

word count: 5k

themes: heiress reader, marriage, babies, reader is a nervous mommy which is okay, therapy, trauma healing, fluff, and smut.

warnings: mentions of drugs, panic attack, fear of abandonment, and sex.

dedicated to @shurislover because you’re so sweet omg 🥲🩷

hi ✨- i think that’s all of them…. illicit nights part two never going back up btw lmao i have to find the energy to rework that

The limo driver barely comes to a complete stop in front of the starry Esmé sign before you rush the door open, nearly knocking down the valet who had anticipated to be the one to open it for you. "I'm sorry!" you exclaim hurriedly without turning back. You had one thing on your mind, and you were almost there. You enter the rotating door without having to identify yourself to the police and Dora Milaje stationed outside.

Even with the heart-shaped herb's advantages, Shuri couldn't keep up with you as you strutted across the lobby. You're sure people were gazing at you with wide eyes as they recognized who you were—Hotel Heiress, Queen of Wakanda (one of them), and a new title that had you trending online all the time. Yet you were a woman on a mission, and nothing could deter you except the elevator wait time.

A frustrated grumble escapes your lips as you tap your feet impatiently on the carpet. "Fucking asshole," you mutter, continually hitting the button as if it will make the doors open faster.

—

You were so lost in contemplation that you failed to notice your wife's efforts to keep up with you. Shuri looks worriedly at you and says, "Y/N. My love, you must relax."

"I'm fine—can this elevator move any faster? I'm going to sue whoever built this elevator. Oh my-“ The elevator chimes, interrupting your tirade, and you rush into the gold cart, scanning the key card before pressing the button to move it.

A hand massages calming patterns on your bare shoulder while you're dazedly viewing the numbers on display above. "Look at me," your wife urges softly. "You have to breathe, Y/N," she says, making you aware of how tight your chest is, but you can ignore it.

The strain of the evening starts to break free with a deep sigh as you stretch your shoulders. You were back in New York on official business, which meant that you weren't interested in anything that didn't need your direct participation as Queen of Wakanda. Amaya and her boyfriend, on the other hand, had asked you and Shuri to dinner tonight.

Amaya wanted to introduce you to her new partner, but you refused. "If they're still together the next time we visit New York, we'll know it's serious and worth leaving our children." You argue, putting emphasis on the last word. Shuri was having none of it.

Your therapist and wife noted how often you needed to be reminded to maintain the equilibrium between motherhood and your identity—the importance of embracing this new aspect of your life while still having fun.

"No, this is their first time here. It's unfamiliar territory, and we've been gone for some time. God alone knows what's going through their heads. They’re probably so confused.”

First, you said no, but after a long stare-down and Shuri's insistence, you eventually agreed—though not without a few safety precautions. The infants had grown used to the safety and security of the Wakandan Palace. So, did you ask that police officers identify everyone entering and exiting the building? Yes. Did you call Marco from the bar and urge him to come to babysit the twins? Yes. Were the Dora Milaje stationed inside the penthouse, outside the elevator, and at the hotel's front door? Yes, as well. Everyone understood that it was best to take the extra step of caution, and they wouldn't dare argue with you.

Maybe you were being overprotective, but you were not taking risks with the hotel's penthouse housing the children of the Èsme Heiress and Black Panther, Queen of Wakanda. 

You remember the ultrasound during your first trimester. The doctor made the happy announcement that you were carrying twins. In your state of astonishment, you recall telling the doctor, "Two? We only asked for one.” Alternating your gaze between the screen and Shuri, whose eyes were as wide as yours.

The twins may have come as a shock, but they are the best present the universe could provide to you and your wife. The feelings of love, affection, and protectiveness were intense, to the point of being nearly overpowering. You became their mother the second you touched your babies. 

Vatusia and Vian Esmé-Udaku.

Their hazel-brown eyes looked directly at you, and as unmistakable as anything you've ever encountered in your life, they declared, ‘I'm entirely vulnerable. I need you.’ You'd never felt more important. The sheer sense of urgency caught you off guard. Yet only for a brief moment—a billionth of a second at most. You returned their gaze and signaled in every manner conceivable, ‘I've got you. I'm not going anywhere.’

"They're protected," Shuri reassured you on the way to the restaurant after everything was in place, but your body refused to ease. Even on the ride back when you knew you'd soon be holding your children again. It needed to be more. You have to see them. For them to see you and know you were still there. You hadn’t left.

You step out of the elevator, ready to sprint through the corridor to the entrance, but Shuri's unexpected grasp on your wrist stops you. For a split second, you feel betrayed, not understanding why Shuri wanted to keep you away from the twins for yet another moment or two. She opens her mouth to speak, but you immediately cut her off. "Can we talk about whatever it is inside?"

The queen shakes her head. "The twins are safe, Angel. There would have been communication if that were not the case. We're standing right outside the front entrance. However, you remain anxious. You're not being completely honest with me about how you feel."

The words of Shuri cut deep, rendering you silent. Shuri was correct. You were afraid to say it aloud, but you understood why you felt the way you did. It was ridiculous to believe you could hide anything from the woman you'd been with for ten years. You could tell each other's feelings and nonverbal signs without saying anything. When you surrender to her embrace, you take a deep breath and look up into her eyes. Those who meet yours are looking for you to say what's on your mind, and they won't stop staring until you do.

Dr. Faraji often stressed the importance of vocalizing your thoughts to your wife. The importance of when you're feeling low, lean on your partner for a bit of support. She was right. Shuri always helps bring you back in touch with reality and energizes you with words of encouragement. 

"They've never been in the penthouse before, and I'm not there. I don't want them to think I abandoned them," you whisper in the last sentence, your anxieties forcing you to bite your lower lip.

The pained expression on Shuri’s face at your confession makes your heartbreak. She’s in your space, consuming the entire area between you as a palm caresses your weary features, relaxing instantly. "Y/N," she replies firmly. "You are not your mother," she explains.

You look down, breaking eye contact. "I know. And still, I can't stop thinking about my childhood and experiences. I don't want them to feel that way even for a second." They wouldn't recall these times today since they were only a few months old, but they still had emotions and consciousness. Your memories of your younger self are vivid—a child who failed to receive constant loving or caring attention. You were unable to build close relationships when your mother abandoned you, leaving you with continuous tension and worry.

Gentle fingertips on your lower back entice you to avoid the traumatic past. "Y/N, such an assumption will only bring you down. You should be present. In current time with our beautiful family." Tender lips gently press on your cheek. "You and our children are a blessing to me. "You're an amazing mother," Shuri adds, and the sediment warms your body.

The tightness in your chest dissipates as your attention is drawn to the love of your life. "You are, too," you assure her, although you always tell each other this. Shuri adjusted to parenting faster than you did. It could be because she's constantly evolving and adapting to new conditions. Motherhood was no different; it was simply more permanent.

Above all, she was crucial for the kids and you. You felt a lot of stress and emotional drain as a mother. It's one thing to be a first-time mom, but it's quite another to be a first-time mom of two. The fear that you would forget something or make a mistake had become stronger. Your thoughts were so chaotic with all the worst things that may happen that Shuri had to make you stop and think about the good things.

Shuri was a calming presence in what can be a tumultuous and perplexing world—increasing your inner strength and being the rock on which your kids can depend.

When you were working through your abandonment issues with your therapist, Dr. Faraji questioned, "Would you ever want to experience motherhood?"

The question takes you by surprise. You pause for a moment to consider your response before speaking again. “I wouldn’t want to fuck up. One misstep and your child is wearing a dress that is just fabric. Snorting cocaine in Ibiza," the phrases are so raw and honest that you can't help but chuckle uncomfortably. The prospect of your child being anything like you is horrifying.

Regardless of how painful your statements are,  Dr. Faraji smiles. “You didn’t say no,” she notes, and you blink. You didn't say no since you hadn't considered having children, but now that she's brought it up, your primary concern is whether you'd be a decent mother. "I sense a lot of anxiety surrounding the matter, which leads to confusion, but I have to ask.  Is your marriage to your wife similar to your parents?"

The notion of comparing your parents to what you and Shuri have caused your brows to wrinkle. "God no," Your father was never able to be present during his marriage to your mother. Marriage requires effort. You were aware of this, so when the subject came up, you explained to Shuri that you wanted time to think things through first. Even though you were certain that Shuri would be at your side for the rest of your life, you still worried that some of your past trauma might seep into your relationship and cause problems down the road. Shuri encouraged you to see a therapist, and through her networks, you were able to see Dr. Faraji, a leading clinical psychologist in Wakanda. Once you came to terms with your history, you recognized you couldn't let the old you keep you from progressing.

"We're not like them at all." Shuri makes you feel intelligent, charming, gorgeous, creative, and like your best self. She helps you to flourish by highlighting and enhancing your best qualities. There are aspects of you that she understands that you simply can't put into words.

The atmosphere surrounding Shuri is warm and inviting, just as it should be with the person you hope to marry or spend the rest of your life with. You have discovered a level of safety in each other and the future. Following the wedding, you realize that the two of you are more evenly matched than ever before, and you wonder why you ever questioned otherwise.

It's not uncommon for Shuri to find you looking absentmindedly at your ring, at which point you proudly inform her of your good fortune in being adored by her.

Dr. Faraji directs your attention away from pleasant recollections and onto the current subject matter. "Yes, you can't let your upbringing's fear keep you from pursuing the things you desire in the future.  Imagine your life if your heart had not subconsciously yearned for love?”

Given all of the drugs, drinking, and partying. "I'd most likely be dead," you confess. Your lifestyle was unsustainable, and Shuri should not have fit in, yet she did. She literally and metaphorically saved you that night. Life is love. A human being cannot exist without love. Shuri brought new life into you by loving you.

“But you’re here. You've evolved into a brilliant woman, a prominent design and political figure, and an excellent wife."

When your therapist recited your many successes over the last seven years, you choked back the question, "Are you trying to make me cry?" I don't have time to redo my makeup after this since I have a very hectic schedule." Dr. Faraji is not offended by your forthright demeanor. I was aware of your aversion to showing your feelings.

She chuckles as she adjusts her eyeglasses. “No, I am not trying to make you cry, Y/N. My point is that you shouldn't allow your history to prevent you from attaining what you want. And, if it's any consolation, I believe you and Shuri would make wonderful parents."

Perhaps Faraji had psychic abilities since she was spot on. You and Shuri are both excellent mothers. Two years later, you gave birth to your children after much preparation and consideration. Two lovely representations of the love you and Shuri have created. Building something in which elements of the two of you can exist in your children.

There you are, where it all began holding onto each other. You're standing in the center of the hall, embracing each other tightly as Shuri gives you time to catch your breath. Shuri sighs contentedly, a little chuckle escaping her lips. "What is it?" you inquire.

“I remember getting your drunk voicemail, and the only thing running through my mind was, ‘Go get her.’ This ache in my chest, that if I didn’t get to you as soon as possible, I would lose my chance.” You grimaced at the thought of that night, but you were always thankful for the courage of your intoxicated self all those years ago. “Stop bringing that up,” you groan. 

Shuri shakes her head, still fond of the memory, “It was the start of our love story. Now, I’m walking down this hallway with my wife and two children waiting for us. Life is a funny thing.” 

You smile when she mentions 'my wife' and the world you've created together. A future you never expected to have, but you're so thrilled it's yours. Shuri is all yours. "You saved my life," you say quietly.

"You are my life," Shuri responds, kissing your forehead. “You’re the greatest gift Bast could ever bestow upon me.” And just when you thought it was impossible, you fell even more in love.

You press your lips together and give each other a brief kiss. "Come on, let's go put the babies to bed," you say, and Shuri agrees, relieved that your panic has eased. As you walk down the corridor, you pull apart yet keep your hands entwined. You are greeted as soon as you go through the entrance and into the living room. Vian is the first to notice his parents dropping the block he was holding and crawling from the playmat.

You crouch down instinctively, allowing Vian to crawl into your arms with wobbly movements before lifting the soon-to-be one-year-old in a solid grasp. You missed your children. "Hello, my little bear," you coo, tickling the delicate skin beneath his chin. Vian reacts instantaneously, soft joyous cries from his tiny lips.

You feel overwhelmingly happy whenever you hear your baby boy laughing. “Silly boy. Were you good for Marco?” You ask in a sing-song tone.

The man in question gets off the sofa. “Perfect angels,” Marco insists, cradling Vatusia in his arms. The young child was content until she discovered you and Shuri had returned. Your little girl reached out for Shuri with grabby motions, her eyes pleading for comfort from her mother.

Shuri sprang into action without hesitating, moving at lightspeed to take Vatusia. "Did you miss me and Mommy, Tutu?" Shuri coos, lovingly brushing her nose on Vatusia's button nose. Vatusia's loud and cheerful giggles echo through the room while Vian lays his head on your shoulder after his bout of laughs. On the other hand, his sister was a very active baby who constantly sought stimulation and enjoyed exploring. Vian was calm and easygoing. He could doze off anyplace and be content to play by himself. He watches everything around him but rarely demands attention, though, of course, you shower him with unending love and affection.

"Thank you very much, Marco."

“Yes, thank you.” Shuri agrees, having grown comfortable with the older man. Marco's wedding speech was a crowd favorite. "We would not be here today if I hadn't found the pen successfully." The guest went wild with amusement at his story. Marco was the only person you could entrust your children to outside of the Dora’s, though you soon discussed hiring a nanny whenever you returned to work.

"Anytime," the man says, beaming as he observes your miraculous transformation.

You're rocking Vian slowly while massaging small circular patterns on his back. "You have to operate a hotel. Get back to work,” you joke. Recognizing the promotion you gave the former bartender.

Marco humors you with a salute. “You got it, boss.” At Marco’s dismissal from the penthouse, the Dora’s stationed inside nod and leave, leaving you and Shuri alone with your children.  

You take slow steps to your wife, ensuring not to disturb the baby boy in your arms, and smile at your joyful daughter. You lean in for a kiss on the forehead and tell her, "We missed you too, baby." The brown-eyed girl cackles at the reception of your love, and it’s the most precious sound you’ve ever heard.

Later after you’ve changed, having let Shuri go first, you return to find her lying in bed. Vian peacefully rests on her chest, his little mouth creating a slight pout. Vatusia lies cradled on her side, not quite sleeping, but a small yawn escapes her lips as her eyelids droop. The babies are dressed in pale blue Christian Dior onesies that your brother purchased. Your heart melts at the view. "Do I need to put them in their crib?" You ask. The twins had separate beds in their nursery in Wakanda, but for this short visit, you chose a single crib to hold them both. They're still relatively small.

“In a little. I want to make sure they sleep well before moving them.” Shuri’s tone is hushed so as not to disturb the peaceful atmosphere.

Always so attentive. “Okay.” You climb into bed, cuddling on your side to watch the scene until Shuri needs your help getting the restful babies to their bed. You can't help but reach out to lightly stroke Vatusia's silky hair so as not to startle her.

Shuri's words about the significance of being present come to mind. That was a journey, and you had to be patient with yourself. Mindfulness is a technique that trains you to look for happiness in the present rather than dwelling on the past.

You block off any outside influences that can distract you and give your full attention to the now. Vatusia twitches slightly and breathes shallowly. A deep sleep should come quickly to her soon. Apart from the rise and fall of his chest, Vian is fast asleep, calm, and motionless. It's so easy to become absorbed in the tranquility of these two beautiful beings that are a part of both of you, literally made of you.

You raise your gaze to Shuri, who is already looking back at you. The expression on your face is sufficient to convey your emotions. You still have to say it. But Shuri beats you to it: "I love you," she exhales.

And you don't hesitate to return the sentiment. "I love you."

The day you had started routinely. You and Shuri woke up beside each other. Griot alerted you the moment the twins woke up, opening the door connected to your bedroom. 

As you look down at the sleepy baby girl stirring awake, you notice an irregular pattern with her breathing. Nerves rise. “Do you think Vatusia’s breathing is weird?” you ask your wife, who was busying herself with gathering Vian. 

Shuri frowns, pausing to listen to her child’s breathing before calling out, “Griot, what’s Tutu’s oxygen levels.”

The AI responds immediately, constantly tracking the twin's vitals. “Princess Vatusia Esmé-Udaku’s oxygen levels are sustaining between 95-100%.” 

“And her respiratory rate,” Shuri inquires, bending down to retrieve Vian from the Vibranium crib. 

“20-40 beats per. The normal range for infants.” Griot answers. 

Even though you weren’t a doctor, you knew enough to understand the message; Vitusia was okay. “Please inform me immediately of any desaturation or if her rates decrease or increase outside the normal range.”

“Of course, Panther.”

Shuri turns to face you, holding a half-awakened Vian in her toned arms. Her clothing is securely clasped in her tiny fingers. It's adorable. Your wife assures you, "She's perfectly all right," You sigh in response. You were doing it again. Carefully picking up the young Princess, you say, "I'm sorry."

“You’re trying to give Mommy a heart attack first thing in the morning. Aren’t you?” You tease, using your customary high-pitched voice when speaking to the twins. Vatusia is wide awake now, chuckling as you press lips into her neck.

While taking in the scene before her, Shuri finds herself unable to suppress the grin that has formed on her face. "Please do not apologize. Never regret your concern for the well-being of your angels, sweetheart." How did you get so blessed to have someone in your life who is so supportive and understanding? "Come on, you have a big day today," Shuri said quietly, kissing your lips.

Understanding how busy today would be for you and Shuri, the new nanny collected the twins after breakfast. You had to put your thoughts back into work gear once the babies were out of sight. You had a few virtual sessions with the North American Chief Brand & Communications Officer and the Executive Committees.

Your job was Esmé's Head of Interior Design, but you'd recommended to your father that some of the most popular hotels and resorts include an on-site kids club and babysitters. The new granddad was overjoyed at the prospect. You expected to be needed as Esmé's Head of Interior Design throughout the construction stage, but your father urged you to take the initiative on the project. It took some persuasion from your wife and Dr. Faraji because it meant spending less time with Vatusia and Vian after sitting down and carefully adjusting your schedule. A great team supported you and handled everything well during pregnancy and maternity leave. Unless it was for critical choices or meetings, you felt comfortable relying on them.

The first task you'd assigned to the global Esmé teams was to collect statistical data to determine which resorts had the highest number of guest check-ins with children. You held a few meetings and came to the conclusion that you and your team would analyze the data before picking which hotels to upgrade first. Establishing on-site kid's clubs or hiring babysitters can provide parents with much-needed respite any time of day or night. Activities for children of various ages are planned at these supervised daycares. While you walked down the corridor to the playroom to check on Vatusia and Vian, you were filled with excitement about all the possibilities. Your wife appears almost unexpectedly. "Where are you going?" Shuri interjected.

"To see how the babies are."

"I went to the playroom, and they're great."

She didn't even wait for you to answer, instead using her enhanced strength to lift you with minimal effort. She's hauling you back in the direction of your bedroom over her shoulders. Shuri, perhaps due to your long marriage, intuitively understands the needs of her wife's body. There were moments when you needed it delicately and slowly as she showered you with compliments. Sometimes, like now, she'll change things by fucking you so hard that you can't even think straight. Hitting it from behind, you like you were a side chick.

It didn't matter how the monarch dealt with you. Sex with Shuri was always blissful; you were grateful to have it for the rest of your life. Call it cliché, but sex is a great stress relief for your hectic lifestyle. The rapid motions and powerful sexual satisfaction lead to an altered state of consciousness in which you can cognitively filter out all other inputs and concentrate your full attention on the sensations and emotional connection with each other.

“Keep your ass up for me,” your wife instructs, and you do as she says. "You want it so bad, huh?" Shuri teases, moving the tip back and forth across your entrance. You nodded, yes, yes, yes, because you needed it at this point—heat growing in the pit of your abdomen, yearning to be eased. Shuri smugly chuckles at your distress.

As she slips back in, keep your ass up in the air. Shuri pushes deep, her fingers digging into the flesh of your backside, and your breath hitches in your throat. Shuri leans back, seeing the length vanish inside your pussy. “Shit, baby,” she groans, and you sigh in relief at a stretch.

Shuri is standing upright while you are kneeling at the edge of the bed, legs spread apart, back arched artfully. The sheets' plush texture brushed across your sensitive nipples, and tits pressed into the mattress.

Covers shifted, eyes rolled in the back of your head;  Shuri began with a combination of slow, hard trust. As though you were floating, your head was light, and every caress was exhilarating. Your spine was tingling with chills. It's a fantastic sensation as Shuri drives into you, clearing away all thoughts and emotions that don't serve your satisfaction.

You rest your head on your arms, refusing to press your face against the covers and conceal the moans that fall from your parted lips. Let the woman behind you know how good she was giving it to you. "You sound incredible. I love how you beg for me."

Your tone is low and somewhat distorted as you're overcome with ecstasy. You gasp, "You feel so fucking amazing, fuck me so well." The words have the desired impact on Shuri, who accelerates her hips and works harder to extract more exquisite noises from your lovely honey voice.

"You deserve it," Shuri adds, unable to contain her admiration for you.

The vibrations of Shuri's hips hitting your ass, the hard impact of skin-on-skin contact, and sticky squelches filled the room with each slam. “Pl…please. So close. Baby, keep going," you whimper, your core throbbing with white-hot pleasure.

Shuri, who is no longer interested in slowing down, takes complete authority, pounding into you with such intensity that your body shakes. You arch into the contact, crying out loud, grateful for the sound protection, even though anyone with common sense could tell what was going on when the two of you vanished. Shuri fucks you with enthusiasm, pushing you up the bed before she needs to grasp you and hold you in place.

When Shuri speeds up the pace, your mind is in paradise. Praising you for how well you take it. You can bet Shuri was thrilled to see how your ass jiggled when her hips touched it. One of her hands slides over your ass and kneads the smooth flesh, guiding you back against her. "Damn," she breathes. Her tone was hypnotic.

The hand freezes when you let out a long, loud scream deep inside your gut. “R-right there,” you manage to stutter out. Now, you press your face into the fabric and scream Shuri’s name. As soon as you alerted her, she was positioned to strike the nerve deep within you precisely. Shuri shifted slightly and then pounded extra vigorously.

The deeper the penetration, the more your muscles relax. Shuri understood exactly how to curve her strokes to leave you gasping, panting, and sweaty beneath her. Shuri knew you were about to orgasm because she had the profound awareness that only comes from long-term relationships, from lovers who are very attuned to each other's rhythms. Becoming conscious of your breathing patterns, response levels, small motions, and reflexes.

Shuri leans over, sweaty skin sticking together, whispering in your ear, "Cum for me, pretty girl. Let me feel it," her voice is alluring, and all you can do is obey her. Shuri's quick speed never slows, and she brings a hand to your clit to intensify your pleasure. "Don't stop, baby. I'm going to cum for you," you warn, pushing back on her. Knowing the sight was enough to drive her wild.

The rhythmic pressure provides a unified experience of ecstasy throughout your body. Your walls spasmed, tingles pricked your spine, and your toes curled. Your body shakes as a wave of convulsive feelings washes over you.

"Oh my goodness, fuck baby, yes," you babble. Your orgasm hits you, causing your entire body to tense up. Your lips form Shuri's name as you cum around the strap, sending a jolt of pleasure all the way down your pussy. "Yes, take all you need, my love," Shuri exclaims as her hard thrust extends your orgasm.

She won't stop until the room is filled with your cries and the slick sound of her stroking the cum back into you.

It's pure ecstasy.

[uzumaki-rebellion]

"King Killmonger: The Golden Jaguar" Chapter 1

Author's Note: You must have read the "Black Boys Bloom Thorns First" series before trying to dip into this new book!

"I will be one of the greatest That is a vow, yeah, that is a promise Always wanted to be famous Just being real, yeah, just being honest

My haters gon' always be nameless Give them no cloud, I give them no power

Creators built different, they ancient Sooner than later, all will be ours…"

Iniko—"The King's Affirmation"

King N'Jadaka Udaku of the Panther Tribe from the kingdom of Wakanda sat at the head table for the Congressional Black Caucus's newly minted Pan-African symposium/dinner. Housed inside of the National Museum of African American History and Culture, the event brought together Black leaders from all over the world that wanted to shape their future with the influence of Black American politicians after the great disaster of the Infinity War.

The king sipped from a glass of lemon water with his young Executive Assistant Mpilo by his side, very much aware of the eyes dragging across his intimidating figure in the midst of seventy-five world politicians of African descent with their various entourages. Women and men allowed to participate in the momentous occasion chanced glancing his way to assess what kind of man he was on this rare occasion that N'Jadaka visited Washington, D.C.

He grew accustomed to the staring. King N'Jadaka became the legend made flesh among them, the rare Black man of real power surrounded by other Black leaders that tried to balance governing in the face of American neo-imperialism. The people in that room would've given up their firstborn child just to be in his presence, especially the representatives from Sudan and Ethiopia. Thanos's ridiculous plan to snap problems away only created more dire ones on earth and Africa suffered as a result. The rise of new warloads and the loss of faith in democracy sprouted far and wide. Slavery, coups, and genocide had ramped up. Troubled nations in the motherland looked to Wakanda and not the U.S. for leadership, and that made N'Jadaka's stay in his former homeland dangerous. The C.I.A. had a bench warrant of death on his head. Western powers wanted the king of Wakanda eliminated.

The Golden Jaguar sighed and pressed his hands on his thighs and flexed his fingers to offset the ribbons of tension coursing through him. Despite it being an all Black affair, there were enemy ops in the conference hall among them. The Dora Milaje and his Onyx Squad remained visible and dispersed throughout the perimeter, their smart-looking uniforms marking them as superior protection among the American security hired to keep unwelcome outsiders from trying to sneak an audience with the Wakandan king.

This attempt at a heavily-publicized gathering of Black international elites became a way for powerless Black politicians in the U.S. to rival and possibly supplant N'Jadaka's influential UDC creation that made waves in under a year. No matter what power-to-the-people slogans were used to get them in office, Black American politicians were still…politicians. No different than their white counterparts that only worried about getting re-elected and stuffing their pockets with money, connections, and a fat board member assignment or consultation position on some corporations dime after retirement. No matter the pithy declarations about supporting the Black community he heard all evening, there were wolves in the room seeking access to more power. The white American power structure lit a fire under the CBC's ass to put together something that would convince diaspora Africans to join with them instead of the Wakandans. N'Jadaka knew what it was and decided to participate anyway. Just to let the CBC know he was watching them closely and feigning diplomacy. America was a weak and decaying order. The bored king found solace knowing he would be its demise.

N'Jadaka tapped his hand on the fancy table cloth. Mpilo took note of his mood and quickly checked his comm tab for the expected time of arrival for Yani and the children. The trip abroad had lasted over two weeks, most of it spent at the United Nations in Geneva, and meetings in New York, London, and South Africa. N'Jadaka cancelled a trip to Saudi Arabia when one of the crown princes of an oil billionaire insulted him on a viral vid. He made an example of them by snubbing a much-anticipated visit there. Any form of anti-Blackness anywhere was swiftly aired out. Mexico, Argentina, Spain, France, Italy, and the Dominican Republic were already smarting from his public call-out of their treatment of Black people due to an increase of racialized violence targeting poor Black citizens in their nations. With Yani's urging and Ramonda's powerful voice as an ambassador, there was a rallying call against global femcide in the wake of the disappearance of so many people.

The U.S. didn't let the great loss of citizens stop their continuing encroachment of resources and they took advantage of pumping predatory capitalism along. What could've been a moment of self-reflection, a shift in priorities, and a new way of being for the country as a whole was simply an opportunity to prey on weaker nations even harder. Their only hindrance in achieving more power was the rise of Wakanda under N'Jadaka's leadership. He instilled fear in every nation that wanted life to go on the same way, and he also gave hope to those parts that saw a chance at progressive changes aligning with Wakanda. The western powers still gasped at his U.N. speech criticizing colonial apartheid in Palestine and Gaza. The gasp turned into full-fledged choking when he charged genocide co-signed and funded by the Americans. Once he pontificated on the historical similarities between Gaza, South Africa, and the Black American segregation of his own people, his War Dogs got wind of Mossad operations trying to penetrate Wakandan intelligence through the C.I.A.

Back home, the continent was split.

African nations that had long been ignored and left to suffer on their own benefitted from supporting Wakanda. N'Jadaka flooded their lands with tech support, agricultural advances, doctors, and a quick rebuilding of infrastructures with his Wakandan Humanitarian Corps that embarrassed the U.S.. At N'Jadaka's urging, Azania and Caanan had stopped selling uranium, colbalt, and platinum to anyone outside of Africa in exchange for advanced agricultural expansion. Mining had ruined and polluted their lands with run-off depleting usable soil and water. Rapid climate change didn't help them either and the neighboring nations were on the verge of famine. Wakanda helped clean their water, soil, and air for free, allowing farmers to produce a bumper crop that saved millions from starvation and prevented them from becoming refugees in other nations. Those who had been malnourished received the best medical treatment, and once snatched from the brink of disaster, Azania and Caanan were staunch allies for good.

Niganda and Mohannda were a different story, currying favor from the CBC leaders and complaining to the U.S. president that Wakanda was a global threat to sovereignty. The other African nations galvanized by the freely given help, threw all of their allegiance to the Wakandans, thus leading other unaligned African nations to fear him creating a United States of Wakanda to rule them all.

It wasn't a bad idea.

He never acknowledged those types of concerns and just let the rumors grow to keep his enemies on their toes. His own father N'Jobu had flirted with visions of a united continent under Wakandan rule in his journals. Currently, N'Jadaka scrambled to replace War Dogs lost to the blip in order to keep his finger on the pulse of other nations.

"Princess Yani will arrive within the next two hours. They have crossed onto the Atlantic," Mpilo said.

N'Jadaka nodded. He gave Mpilo a full-time job as his personal assistant since the loss of his father in the snap. The king had no idea the young man suffered that loss until months after the memorial honoring the lost ones. Mpilo continued to do his work professionally until Yani brought the news to the king's attention. She recognized Mpilo's family name from one of the palace attendants sending personal condolences to their staff on her behalf. When N'Jadaka questioned him, Mpilo broke down in tears in the king's office. His father and two oldest brothers had vanished leaving behind his mother and baby sister. Barely an adult, Mpilo now had the responsibility of looking out for his immediate family. N'Jadaka terminated his fellowship and gave him a permanent job title as his executive assistant.

The king let out a sigh of relief.

He needed to be with his family again. Normally Yani would be with him, but she was on her own global tour promoting her book, "The Wakandan Way of Birth". Their children traveled with her and he caught interview segments of her in three countries. The world was enamored with the exotic princess. It was her first appearance outside of Wakanda representing the nation. N'Jadaka grinned thinking about the reaction of the Caribbean. The entire region went nuts finding out officially that an island girl had snagged the most powerful man in the world.

She promoted the book in St. Thomas first, and he hated not being there with her. She traveled to Jamaica next to visit the land of her father and paid her respects to their relatives there. In the midst of the new global normal, Yani's book became a smashing success. All proceeds went to funding her midwifery scholarships to further the number of Black and Native midwives and doulas learning at the Wakandan birthing centers. The money allowed women to focus fulltime on their craft without monetary constraints. She planned to give more once she became queen because the palace allotted a salary for Queen Consorts that she planned to use for more income-based scholarships. Wherever there were Black and Indigenous women in need, Yani made sure they took priority over anyone else.

Everyone wanted their hands on the book. A Wakandan publishing company mass marketed the coffee-table sized manauscript, and they looked exquisite. The cover was created by a Birnin S'Yan artisan who made a vibranium-tinged dye that was threaded into a gorgeous royal purple and silver cloth overlay. The book had fifty full-page color photos that Yani spent months agonizing over from a total of 200. The cover photo itself deserved to hang in a museum. It showed a young woman holding her newborn daughter and they were both dressed in the vibrant colors of the River Tribe.

When the pre-release online sales skyrocketed, Yani made the decision to only provide non-online sales out of Wakanada through global Black bookstores. The international brick and mortar stores made bank with the flood of non-Black customers wanting their hands on something from Wakanda. Even people who weren't even interested in childbirth or culture clamored to snatch up a copy just to get a glimpse of what Wakanda looked like from the inside. The first print sold out in one week.

The talks finally ended and the affair moved into a spacious outdoor dining area where a small jazz trio played music in a corner. The balmy weather made it comfortable to be outside and he took in a deep inhale of D.C. air.

Okoye and Ayo kept the pre-dinner rush to talk to the king at a distance, giving N'Jadaka time to snag a moment of peace. After ten minutes he shook hands and greeted caucus leaders, trying not to look annoyed at their requests for selfies with him. He obliged to be polite and to give an air of camaraderie. Everyone wanted everyone else to think they had connections to him by how loud they talked or laughed with him. He knew the drill.

The hosts ushered his entourage to their dining seats near the front of another podium. No one pretended to be sly about sneaking candids of him with their smartphones.

"King N'Jadaka, your son is here to see you right away," Ayo whispered in his ear.

N'Jadaka looked around and spotted Riki walking out from the museum with his personal Dora, Quamba. All the diners stopped to watch the prince of Wakanda walk through with his hands behind his back and his eyes searching for his Baba. Some people tried to snap photos of Riki, but all of N'Jadaka's children wore necklaces that thwarted any cameras from getting clear pictures of them by jamming up electronics and flash photography cameras.

Riki looked too clean.

Yani braided his hair in the spiral style of his Wakandan ancestors, threaded with shells and beads that bounced around his shoulders. This week, Riki wore jade and black fingernail polish decorated with mini panther claws in bright gold which was the rage of young children in Birnin Zana who loved their local team that played a popular sport called ukudlala ngomlenze…leg play. It was a game that required balance, and intense leg flexibility as two teams battled each other on a low swinging wooden bridge that moved across a deep body of water. One member of each team took turns standing in the center of the swinging bridge as the other team members of the challenging team split up on either side to rock the opponent off their feet, without any of their own teammates falling over too. The narrow bridge swung higher and higher, pushing athletes to go against gravity, their exhausted limbs put to the test for long durations. N'Jadaka had promised Riki a trip to the national competition in the River Tribe territory once they returned home.

Riki's black royal sash rested snug across his chest with the family crest emblazoned on it. The boy was seven-years old and sprouting a bit of height. He was almost as tall as Sydette and would probably surpass her by the time he was eight. The freckles on his red-brown skin were more pronounced, covering his nose and cheeks. Riki's eyes lit up when he spotted N'Jadaka.

"Baba!"

The boy ran past chuckling adults who admired the tailored royal suit and polished shoes. N'Jadaka held his arms out and his son jumped onto his lap and kissed his cheek. The happy king wrapped his child up in love.

"I've missed your busy behind," N'Jadaka said. "Where's your Mama and the girls?"

"Changing clothes. I couldn't wait to see you," Riki said, squeezing his arms around N'Jadaka's neck.

"Good trip, Dumplin?"

"Yes. People went crazy for Mama and her book. I'm ready to go home though. I don't like this country…the people here are so fake. They only like you if you're rich or famous."

"Hungry?"

Riki nodded and scanned the tables for the evening's selection. He scrunched up his nose at the servers placing rolls and butter on the tables.

"Can we eat this food, Baba?" Riki asked.

"We have people watching the chef in the kitchen."

The Udaku children had been taught to reject outside food unless their parents permitted them to partake. N'Jadaka had become cautious with poisoning and normally had his own personal chef make all of their food, but he opted to watch the American cooks this time around instead of turning down a plate. The head chef for the evening was a famous Black American from New Orleans who read that N'Jadaka liked food from that region and wanted to create a menu to impress the powerful king.

"Sit next to me," N'Jadaka said, pulling out a chair for Riki.

Mpilo took a seat across from them at the circular table that seated twelve. Members of the CBC organizing committee greeted him then took their seats at other tables. The jazz music grew softer as guests took their seats all throughout the guarded space. A congresswoman from Philly took to the podium near N'Jadaka's area and announced the arrival of Yani and Ramonda. Eager applause broke out and N'Jadaka stood up from his seat. He helped Riki stand in his chair so he could see his mother and aunt enter.

N'Jadaka's Uncle Bakari escorted Yani and Ramonda together as Sydette and Joba walked in front of them wearing matching purple dresses with their hair twisted and pulled back with amethyst panther-shaped hair clips. Yani mesmerized the crowd in a shimmery emerald green dress that revealed all her rounded curves. She styled her hair with extensions in an upswept fancy roll that denoted her status as queen-to-be. Ramonda had the crowd transfixed with her tall purple isicholo and deep purple gown. Uncle Bakari appeared dapper in his black tux. N'Jadaka's grandfather Dante escorted Bakari's wife Shavonne and they all made their way toward the front where their Dora Milaje escorts brought them to the king's table.

Sydette and Joba dashed to him first and he picked up both girls and smothered their faces with kisses amidst their squeals of delight for being with him again. He put them down the moment Yani reached him and he couldn't hide from the world his love for her.

He wrapped eager arms around her tight and pressed his forehead against her brow. The tense energy in his body drained down into the floor and he exhaled a long breath. Yani rested her arms around his massive shoulders, her perfume drowning him in memories of their shared bed and the last time they had been alone without the world watching their every move.

"Baby, I missed you so much."

"I know. I couldn't wait to get here and hold you."

"You know these niggas is starin' so we better play it cool for Ramonda's sake."

Yani giggled and pulled away from him. He kissed her hand and turned to Ramonda, giving his auntie double kisses on both cheeks. He hugged his grandpop next and finally showed love to his American aunt and uncle who raised him after his parents died. They all took their seats at the dining table. Yani sat at his right, and Riki, Joba, and Sydette took over his left side.

As the first courses of salads, soups, and finger foods were brought out, announcements were made. The head chef was brought out and recognized. N'Jadaka allowed the nervous man to take a picture with him holding up a plate of sausage gumbo with rice. There was special recognition given to Yani, along with a surprise plaque presented to Ramonda for her role as an ambassador fostering goodwill between America and Wakanda.

N'Jadaka caught up with his aunt and uncle and the family chatter reminded him of being home except they were being watched like fish in a fishbowl. When dessert and coffee were brought out at the end of the meal, Ramonda switched seats with Riki and leaned in toward the king.

"President Mubiri would like to have a nightcap with you during the mixer inside the museum," Ramonda said.

"Why?"

Ramonda's sharp eyes observed the guests.

"He believes D.C. is neutral ground and he would like to discuss rumors of you inciting a coup in his nation."

"Sounds like C.I.A. bullshit."

"Even so, it wouldn't hurt to appear cordial. Get some photos taken that shows two rival nations talking together. Yani is your icebreaker. Madame Mubiri is here, too. A nice photo-op of beautiful African women mingling will make the CBC very happy."

N'Jadaka glanced at Yani's fingers. She had on her deadly finger armor. Hopefully she wouldn't threaten the man again.

He signaled for Quamba and several Onyx Squad security to take his children and grandfather back to their penthouse suite at the hotel they were lodged in for the weekend. He hugged and kissed the children promising to read a bedtime story to them later. People moved out of the way and stared at his heirs. All three children walked like royalty, heads held high, backs kept straight.

The after dinner mixer started inside the lobby of the museum where a giant abstract art installation above their heads looked like the unfurling of giant bronze ribbons. N'Jadka read the description of the sculpture that was supposed to represent the swinging motions like a band of angels coming down to carry Black Americans back home like the old spiritual "Swing Low, Sweet Chariot". The artist, Richard Hunt, used suspended cables to anchor the work, and the swooping arcs of the bronze bands reminded N'Jadaka of his mother's arms around his body when he was small.

Several servers traipsed the lobby carrying drinks and savory finger foods. A D.J. played contemporary R&B and the guests relaxed into full-blown partying mode. Bakari and Shavonne headed toward a display of Harriet Tubman's shawl further inside the museum and Mpilo escorted Ramonda to meet some caucus members who were dying to be seen with her.

N'Jadaka held out his arm and Yani rested her hand on it. She walked with a majestic stride that matched his and they mingled for a bit. Yani's charm was her greatest weapon and they spent a considerable amount of time discussing her book and tour. Her radiance overwhelmed a few people who couldn't stop admiring her even as they moved on to other guests. The allure of power was a true aphrodisiac, and Yani wielded it well. All of her Wakandan training and years of experience dealing with all sorts of people paid off in spades as she delighted American dignitaries. He couldn't stop staring at her himself. Her voice lit up his face and he smiled at everything she said. Yani's youth also surprised people. She would be entering her late twenties soon enough, but carried a greater maturity and self-awareness in the last year representing Wakanda internationally.

They worked the first three corners of the lobby before the mixer branched out to the rest of the museum, and they headed toward President Mubiri and Madame Mubiri who lingered near a replica of a slave quarter. The Mohanndan president stood with a glass of liquor in his hand entertaining cronies as his wife watched her husband's dour animated face with his uppercase gums spilling over his lowercase teeth. Her eyes sparked up when Yani approached holding out her hands toward the woman.

"Madame Habiba Mubiri, I finally get to see you again in a less formal setting," Yani enthused.

Yani ignored Mubiri and immediately pulled Habiba away from her husband, touching her hand in informal friendship.

"Mubiri," N'Jadaka said, offering his hand. Mubiri shook it.

"King N'Jadaka."

Yani reached for a glass of wine from a server that had been freshly poured from the bar. She presented it to N'Jadaka using the ancient submissive stance of queens in Wakanda, holding the glass up to him with her right hand, while her other hand cradled the elbow of the serving arm. N'Jadaka caught the lust in Mubiri's eyes again for his fiancé. He took the glass from Yani and kissed her cheek.

"Thank you, baby," he said.

"May I please borrow Madame Mubiri? I would love to introduce her to the head organizer," Yani asked Mubiri.

It was clear that Mubiri didn't want his wife to do anything, but Yani's seductive voice couldn't be denied. She played on the man's need to control women by asking his permission. Her earlier exaggerated submissive act toward N'Jadaka fed into the man's cultural ego. Yani upped the ante by touching his arm and squeezing it. Her touch ignited something in the president and he lifted his wife's arm and practically threw her at Yani.

"I'm sure you two have some important things to discuss without us present," she added.

"Enjoy yourselves," Mubiri said, his gaze plastered all over Yani's figure as the two women strolled further into the heart of the museum.

N'Jadka pretended to drink his wine while being focused on something else until Yani was gone.

"I thank you for the personal invitation to your wedding King N'Jadaka. I didn't think you would extend us any welcome to your country again."

"It's a time of celebration, not political intrigue. Yani wanted your wife there. They have been corresponding for a time getting to know each other. You don't have to come if you don't want to."

"And miss the nuptials of that delightful woman you parade around like a trophy? Never. We will attend and enjoy the splendor."

They both drank in silence.

"Did you like the tour of the museum earlier?" N'Jadaka asked.

"An intriguing history lesson. You must be proud of your heritage here."

"I am."

"Rebels at heart. I see why the Americans want to control you."

"I know you don't want to stand here and shoot the shit about my lineage. You want to know if I'm plotting to throw you out of office."

Mubiri choked on his drink as N'Jadaka stared at his face. The Mohanndan's cronies flicked their eyes away in embarrassment, not expecting the king to be that blunt.

"What would I gain from having you taken out, Mubiri? There would only be another leader who thinks the same as you, so nothing would change. Pinning your hopes on the Americans holding me in check has not paid off in a year. I offer nothing but hope and a chance at directing Africa's vast internal wealth and ancient wisdom back to where it belongs…on all of our people."

"Our people? You Wakandans are stand-offish and think only of yourselves. These little excursions into other African nations giving them little trinkets of your resources reeks of a ploy to rule over us all. At least your uncle acted like a benevolent father-figure in the west."

"My uncle was not the man you all think he was. I am telling you now, to your face Barasa Mubiri…I have no plans for a coup, an assassination, nor war with your country. Did you not read my fiancé's book? Wakandans value peaceful living, enhancements to prolong life, and self-actualization that benefits the whole and not just the individual. We kept to ourselves for centuries even when we had the means to colonize the world and bend it to our will. But we didn't."

"I still think that is an option in your arsenal, King N'Jadaka."

"I am from the school of 'don't start none, won't be none'. My goal is transformative liberation for whomever wants it."

"So-called liberators often transform into something sinister, if given the chance."

The king moved closer to the east African president, closing the small gap between them.

"I only plan to bring hell to those who mean us harm. Do you plan to cause problems for us with this U.S. administration?" N'Jadaka asked.

Mubiri shook his head and smiled.

"I want peace and prosperity for our people too."

"Good. You have heard directly from my mouth what I want. Let's spend the rest of the evening showing the world that Africans can co-exist on the continent without people confirming their biases about us being warlords and despots. We can be civil with our disagreements. Everything doesn't have to be bloodshed, or rumors of hostile take-overs."

N'Jadaka excused himself with Okoye by his side.

"You were very civil, kumkani," Okoye said.

"I promised Umama that I would control my hostile tendencies here."

"She would be very pleased. Princess Yani is speaking to a delegation from the Sudan. Ambassador Udaku is with the Press Secretary for the American President."

N'Jadaka peeked at his kimoyos. He wanted to leave as soon as possible without making it glaringly obvious that he was ready to dip. His declining of the White House meeting with the President didn't sit well among the ruling Republican party.

"Kumkani!"

Mpilo rushed to him breathing heavily.

"You must come immediately," Mpilo said.

N'Jadaka quickened his steps with Okoye at his side. Mpilo led them through a throng of people and Yani rushed forward, clasping his hand in hers.

"What is it?" he said.

He squeezed a protective hand around hers and she pulled him toward another room. His family stood with other guests admiring a wall display. Ramonda stood with Dante and his uncle Bakari had taken off his glasses. Shavonne held an arm over Bakari's shoulder and they made room for N'Jadaka to move in front of them. Yani linked her arm with his.

"We didn't know this was here," Yani said.

N'Jadaka looked at a series of life-sized color photos of his mother Califia leading a Berkley BSU meeting. Her young face looked on fire like her hair as she held up a fist, her brows knitted together, and her mouth open spitting fire. A second photo connected to the first in a collage-styled presentation showed her carrying N'Jadaka on her hip. He was four years old wearing intricate cornrows and they both looked directly at whoever took the picture for a public event in Oakland. A deep inhale filled his lungs. The third image brought the handsome beauty of his father N'Jobu to life. He wore the dark ceremonial royal robes of Wakanda looking noble and fly as fuck. A fourth photo made N'Jadaka blink trying to figure out where it came from. He sported an MIT sweatshirt and his grin looked so innocent long ago. It came back to him. Chocolate City. A school paper had done an article about him and his dorm mates The final photo was a formal publicity photo of himself as the king of Wakanda. The entire collage mural threaded his Black American roots to his Wakandan roots, forming a romanticized link of the diaspora back to the motherland.

He appreciated his family becoming a historical footnote in the museum. Dante wiped his eyes and Yani wrapped an arm around him, helping the older man to reconcile the pain they felt in not having Califia and N'Jobu there with them.

The museum director approached N'Jadaka with a timid smile, her pale brown eyes dazzled by how close she stood next to him and his entourage. She down casted her gaze quickly when he stared directly at her.

"We hope you like this new installation King N'Jadaka. Unfortunately, the artist has been ill, or else he would've been here," the director said.

"Very impressive," he said.

His eyes lingered on his mother's image holding him while Ramonda gazed at N'Jobu's image. He wondered what thoughts went through her mind. Was there regret? Any remains of sadness that he had chosen someone else over her?

"Every time I see your parents, I see our children," Yani said. "You look so much like Riki in this one."

Yani reached out and let her fingers hover under the chin of his childhood image. He wanted to go home. Back to Wakanda. He whispered in Ramonda's ear and she slid next to the director to heap praises on the installation. Clasping Yani's hand, he guided his relatives toward the nearest exit. The Dora snapped to attention flanking them while the Onyx squad scanned for any problems.

Five dark SUVs pulled up to the side of the museum with Kingsguard drivers. Their entire party was whisked away to a luxury hotel in the heart of the capital and they disembarked in an underground parking garage to avoid paparazzi.

N'Jadaka entered his suite with Yani, and their children tackled him onto the floor wearing their pajamas. Dante watched them from a couch for a few minutes before standing up.

"I'm heading to bed, JaJa. What time do you need me to be ready for Joba's grandma?" Dante asked.

"She's arriving with the rest of Disa's family in the half cruiser around noon. We'll pick up some family in St. Thomas and Jamaica too before we travel back to Wakanda. The wedding rehearsal happens on Wednesday instead of Thursday."

"Yani's still doing the Today show interview?"

"Yes," Yani said, pulling Sydette from on top of N'Jadaka's head, "It's the only place I'm promoting the book."

Dante looked surprised.

N'Jadka gave Yani a look to take the children to their shared junior suite. Dante watched the family leave and he moved closer to his grandson.

"What's going on?" Dante asked.

"I don't want Yani in this country any longer than she has to be. We have some credible threats here in the states, and we're doing some culling of problems."

"Culling? You mean killing right?"

N'Jadaka glanced over his shoulder. Yani's voice gently scolded the children from being so hyper and loud before bed.

"Grandpop, things are escalating. Neutralizing threats will become more common for me."

"I don't have any issues with that."

N'Jadaka nodded.

"I'm turning in. See ya in the morning."

"I'm sleeping in."

"That doesn't surprise me."

He squeezed his grandfather's shoulder and watched the older man shuffle off to the adjoining door that led to another private suite. A Dora on night duty greeted Dante and closed the suite door behind him.

N'Jadaka stepped into the bedroom with his children frolicking across two queen beds. Sydette bounced on hers and played with her kimoyo beads while Riki and Joba tried to sidestep Yani's attempts to get them under the covers. N'Jadaka clapped his hands and all three children stopped goofing around and centered their attention on him. Yani placed hands on her hips, her long extensions fallen over one shoulder.

"Hey, what's going on in here? Mama said it's time for bed. Stop playing around."

"You promised us a story," Joba said.

He sighed and tread softly to the younger children's bed and plopped down on it. Pulling Joba onto his lap, he nuzzled his chin on top of her head. She touched his cheek.

"Are you too tired Baba? We can wait for another time," Joba said.

Her soft voice and soft hands brought forth all the mental exhaustion of the day.

"Thank you, Sunshine," he said.

He kissed Joba's cheek and she scrambled under the covers next to her brother. Riki patted his hand and he stroked the boy's braids.

"Night, Baba," Sydette said.

His oldest climbed under thick blankets and blew him a kiss. He pretended to catch it and place it lovingly on his cheek.

"Tomorrow you will go with Grandpop to have breakfast with Uncle Bakari and Aunt Shavonne, then Grandma Theresa will arrive and we'll all meet up for lunch," Yani said.

"When are we leaving this place?" Riki asked.

"Soon," N'Jadaka said. "Get some sleep."

All the children looked relieved. He slipped his hand over Yani's and pulled her out of the room, turning off the lights and closing the bedroom door. Yani threw her arms around his waist and they hugged each other, allowing their mutual warmth and affection to flow through one another. He had his family back.

N'Jadaka's sleep was interrupted not by a sound, but by the missing softness removed from his side. Opening his eyes, he spread his hand out feeling for Yani. A toilet flushed from the bathroom outside of the hotel bedroom and she padded in quietly, closing the door before re-joining him. Glancing at the clock on the nightstand he was surprised to see it was only three in the morning. His body felt like it had slept later than that. He spooned back around Yani's lush form and they threaded the fingers of their right hands together, tucking them under her breasts.

The TV they watched before nodding off played a twenty-four hour news channel. Broadcasts of his visit stayed on loop most of the night, but the current images flashing onscreen highlighted the weather and celebrity gossip.

"At the end of this week we will be married," he whispered into Yani's ear.

She giggled and pushed her rump against his crotch.

"Queen Yani and King N'Jadaka," he said. "Nervous?"

"A little. Our counseling sessions with Elder Efetebo gave me a lot to think about. Umama and Ramonda have helped me too. Feels like I'm a part of something bigger than anything I have ever known in Wakanda…and yet…"

N'Jadaka reached over and turned on a lamp. He turned her face toward him.

"What is it?"

Yani's eyes watered and she blinked quickly. Two small tears trekked a lonely trail down her round cheeks. He kissed them away and cuddled her in his body heat and strength. She continued speaking in a low voice.

"At times…I know many still see us as outsiders on the noble court. They don't come for mi like they used to in the beginning, but I see it in their eyes. I know they want you take a Wakandan concubine. As modern and visionary as our country is, they hold on to these old timey ways to discredit our reign. I can see if they don't want Sweet Pea to have claim to the throne, but Riki and Joba have the bloodline in them. That should be enough. They want you to have a legally sanctioned child with a second wife to make the new line more legitimate…more Wakandan than diaspora. Everyone is scared to say this to your face, so that is the only thing that keeps them in line."

"Zola and Ilana tell you this?"

"They tell me everything. They love us."

"I've been on the elders' asses about that shit."

"There's only so much they can do. They can't stop other people from talking what they feel to be true in their hearts. A segment of the population will always see us diluting the bloodline."

"I will have Zola and Ilana tell me who the gossipmongers are and I will cast them out on their asses."

Yani sighed and burrowed into his arms.

"That will only make them feel justified and maybe cause more trouble for me in the palace. I will deal with it in mi own way."

"You sure?"

"I'm sure. Right now I'm a weak piece on the chess board. But once that royal isicholo is on my head, I will have more power to play a different position. I won't need to run to you all the time complaining."

"You don't run to me."

She rubbed his bicep and kissed the skin there on his arm.

"I can stand on my own. I have to in order to survive the politics as queen. The more time I spend in the throne room with you, I see why you wanted me there so much."

"Does it overwhelm you?"

"Sometimes. The Council of Elders are so particular…so strict. Like I said, we have the most modern country and I can't get over how backwards they can be with a willful adherence to tradition without even considering the impact of our population being made up of so many young citizens. Nearly half of our citizens are under the age of twenty. Even before the Infinity War. These young people are hungry for change. They want to create new traditions. Look at Zola and Ilana, my staunchest supporters…their desire for new things spills over into every conversation we have together. So much goes on back home and yet, we both have to deal with the rest of the world's problems too. I tell myself I'm up to the challenge, that I can multitask and handle every little fire that breaks out in the Court of Nobles, but it can look daunting at times."

"We have each other. We have our family. There's nothing we can't get through together. I put us all in hell and we climbed back out… you and me. I plan on protecting you Yani, and providing you with anything you need for yourself or our children. The nation will know your power and influence for generations to come. I mean…look at your book tour. The world knows who you are…"

Yani's eyes drifted away from N'Jadaka's face. She reached for the tv remote on the nightstand and turned up the volume on a previously broadcasted segment. Onscreen a male news anchor out of D.C. spoke over a background image of N'Jadaka back in his Killmonger days. Mercenary fatigues covered his body and his short locs had barely curled over his forehead.

"They outed you," Yani said.

N'Jadaka listened to the anchor list his accomplishments at MIT and the Navy before cutting to alleged covert missions for various off-the-grid companies and ghost units. He sat up on the bed as a female political analyst sat in front of an image of the Pentagon. She shared a clip of N'Jadaka's speech to the U.N. and inferred that the Wakandan king's connection to the C.I.A. and mercenary past would prove to be a detriment to African nations seeking true democracy. The overall segment painted N'Jadaka in an unsavory light.

"…King N'Jadaka has stated publicly at the latest U.N. gathering in Geneva that he will continue to interfere with African nations that are in turmoil. Our government can't afford to have Wakanda becoming the world police if the U.N. can't rally around the support of ending genocide in the Congo or demanding that Rwanda and Uganda stop their pillaging of coltan in that region. His calling out of multinationals is dangerous to the progress America is making to help the DRC put an end to the loss of life there. We've sat on the sidelines long enough waiting to see what direction Wakanda will move in since the mysterious ousting of King T'Challa, and now that we know the full background of the rebel king…this by the way is what he is known as in Mohannda and Niganda. Those two nations also have large deposits of colbalt, coltan, and uranium, and their leaders have hinted King N'Jadaka may wage war to secure those resources just like he hoards vibranium from the rest of the world."

"Janice, are you suggesting that King N'Jadaka's background as a C.I.A. operative may provoke a World War Three scenario in the future? He is in our country right now, in this city exactly with other African leaders and Black politicians from around the world. You really believe he will bring us to the brink of another global disaster after we've gone through so much?"

"He is a threat to our national security and the security of other African countries who desire peace and free-trade without violence. It is our duty to protect those people, and to protect the leadership who want to sell resources that benefit all. We are all witnessing the emergence of a secretive superpower under the leadership of a man we trained in black ops and who has no allegiance to anyone. I find this disconcerting and frankly, Bill, I'm shocked at how casual the leadership in this country is taking this troubling revelation."

"Excluding his recent U.N. speech, King N'Jadaka has only spoken out publicly against the on-going genocidal war in the DRC. As far as we know, he hasn't done anything outright on the continent of Africa that should warrant the type of forceful caution you are suggesting. Why are you so adamant about this discourse in the capital?"

"Wakanda is an unknown factor in global conflicts to date. U.S. officials and the Pentagon would like to see it stay that way, but King N'Jadaka appears to be rattling his saber. His training and access to the most powerful weaponry on earth scares me. It should scare everyone, especially with his negative views toward the United States…the land of his birth."

"Genius…decorated solder…Navy SEAL…C.I.A. operative…mercenary…king…you've given us a lot to think about with your upcoming book about Wakanda's place in geopolitics."

"Here's something else to think about. King N'Jadaka —Erik Stevens when he was an American—used to have Tony Stark as a mentor."

"Iron Man?"

"Yes."

"Are you implicating the billionaire superhero in anything to do with King N'Jadaka's spectacular political trajectory?"

"I'm only pointing out how entrenched the Wakandan king is within bleeding edge technology in the military arms race and his close proximity to someone many found problematic years ago as an industrialist. Who knows if these two men are still in contact with one another? Tony Stark should be called to Washington to answer pertinent questions about his past with this king."

N'Jadaka flicked the off button for the tv. Yani placed it back on the nightstand.

"They've been sitting on this shit for a year. Been wondering when the C.I.A. would drop it in the court of public opinion. Of course that bitch pushes her upcoming book during the last leg of your international book tour. I bet all of your book sales that Everett Ross had a hand in being a ghostwriter for it."

"Will they connect me with your mercenary past? Klaue?"

"No. Klaue used aliases on St. Thomas."

"What if they ask you about how we met?"

N'Jadaka lifted a long braid from Yani's face and tucked it behind her ear.

"I was on vacation in paradise and met you…a beautiful island girl. We fell in love and that's all there is to it."

Yani kissed his lips gently and rolled back on her side. He curled around her and they snuggled for a bit. He whispered in her ear.

"I don't want you to worry about anything that woman said. They've been looking to smear me every chance they get. It doesn't take away from those who support and believe in us."

She nodded into his arm and he kissed her temple.

"These people can only speculate from afar. We'll always be ahead of them. The only thing I want you thinking about is how you'll look in that wedding dress when I see you walking down the aisle," he said.

"That woman on tv tried to make you look like a monster, but all of your achievements only made you look like a man they should praise."

"I came up out the mud and took my talents to the last place they expected. They're starting to see what Africa could become once I get these wars abolished. Africa has always been the center of the world. Once we get the rest of these colonial shackles off her feet, I'll make her flex."

"You sound like you want to be king of the motherland."

"Don't tempt me."

Yani glanced back at him.

"Would you do something like that?"

"No more talk about the world. The sun hasn't come up yet and the children are still asleep."

N'Jadaka smashed his lips against hers and hurriedly slipped his tongue in her mouth to hush more inquiries. Her watery mouth tasted of 7-Up that she must've snuck a sip of from the suite's mini-fridge. His mind slowed down the way it always did when he kissed her. The heartbeat thumps in his chest matched the speed of hers. His long locs fanned out around her face and his Golden Jaguar necklace claws grazed her throat. Yani hummed into his mouth while sucking his tongue and he gasped at the initial thickening of his dick.

Pulling away, he stared down at her face, taking in the wide round eyes with curling lashes that fluttered whispery kisses against his neck as he kissed her forehead.

"I hate when we're apart," he said.

"I know."

"I love being with you like this when the children are in the next room asleep and safe…when no one from the outside bothers us. I can have you all to myself…oohhh…."

Yani slid her hands down his chest and squeezed the growing bulge in his pajama bottoms. He leaked a growing spot of precum and she toyed with it through the silk barrier. Her fingers became sticky and slick. He groaned and murmured her name into her hair, lifting his body higher so he could watch her hand do wonders teasing his erection.

Resting against her, he slid his fingers across her chest, fondling her breasts through her gauzy nightgown top. He pulled down on it until her titties spilled out, the plump nipples feeling like fat grapes on his fingertips. Pinching and plucking at them gently, he played with her breasts until he was ready for more. He climbed above her and pushed his groin into her mound, the friction swelling his dick until it poked out of the waist band on its own. He tugged his pajama pants down and gripped the thick erection in his eager hand. Yani lifted off her gown and he pushed the covers back so he could see the blessed globes jiggle.

"Oh shit," he groaned.

He pressed the tip of his dick against her pierced clit and a glistening long thread of precum shined up her labia. Swiping the bulbous head back and forth, he smeared the clear fluid on her fat vulva like icing on a chocolate cake. Yani shifted her big thighs and her ass cheeks jiggled. He smacked the underside hard and the recoil from that position forced a heavy moan from his lips. She had gained weight. He knew her trip back to St. Thomas and Jamaica meant eating good childhood food, and his woman didn't miss nary a meal. It was a gift to him no doubt.

Kicking off his pajama bottoms all the way, N'Jadaka played with Yani's breasts and labia until he was ready to penetrate the pretty pink opening flashing at him. Yani turned on her side and he parted her labia with one fluid motion of his dick sinking deep into her. She whimpered at the stretching of her walls after a long absence.

"I won't go crazy, baby…I promise. Too many people close around," he huffed.

Her pussy accommodated his girth with a tight wetness he was accustomed to having mold like a second skin around his dick. All he could think of was President Mubiri ogling Yani's body, especially her ass. It looked so round and ripe in her dress. He thrust forward knowing that man would never know pussy as sweet and juicy as the one sheathing his exceptional length. Only kings deserved the clenching his dick received at that moment.

"Yani….dassit…baby…damn…"

He grit his teeth trying to keep from shouting. Lowering his head, he dropped his face into the back of her neck and muffled his vocal straining. In and out…her perfect gushy cavern squelched and he dug in deeper, wanting to hear the sounds of his balls smacking her ass.

"Fuck…girl…"

She arched her back and he smothered his body over hers, preventing her from taking control and making him nut too quick. His dick needed to marinate in her pussy. He held Yani's back against his chest and reveled in the snug pussy cradling his dick. Keeping still, he played with her clit without thrusting, making her indulge in the pressure off all that meat stuffed inside of her. She huffed into her pillow and wiggled her hips, but he kept her anchored against him without mercy.

"You miss Daddy's dick?" he asked.

"Yes."

She whimpered pitiful sounds and clawed the sheets, eventually wilting in his arms. His dick could stay hard for hours, the gift from the heart-shaped herb's power flowing through his blood. He rested in her walls for an hour, teasing her clit and whispering nasty things in her ear. She started crying from the delicate teasing of his fingers all over her jewel-pierced vulva for such a long time without release.

"You betta not cum until I tell you…okay?"

"Okay…okay…I can't take much more…"

She bit into his arm and the heat from her mouth made him chuckle. Yani sat on the edge of her orgasm. Her legs shook from the anticipation. He needed the slow revving from her to keep himself in check.

They shared a sex routine they always adhered to on their reunions since their year of living together in the palace. It was a way to protect her pussy from his veracity. He was never allowed to cum in her pussy first when they joined. It took too much out of her to handle him regularly, so he learned to control his first release and saved it for her submission to him on her knees. The king's affirmation was always a facial for his beautiful queen.

If Yani orgasmed too quickly first, he would head straight to pound town, spurting too much semen that always released the beast in him. Uniting their bodies in slow methodical build ups kept him manageable for her. As he resumed stroking her walls after the long delay of cockwarming, he kept tabs on his arousal levels. When it was time to shift the pace before he wore her down, he pulled his dick from her precious pink sanctuary. Yani scrambled off the bed to submit to his need for dominance.

He moved his legs over the bed and spread his thighs wider, giving Yani room to position her knees on the floor properly in front of him. She offered him her tits, smacking them together playfully, and he fondled a nipple, fisting his dick, and watching her big beautiful brown eyes stare up at him.

"I love you like this…looking up at me…yeah baby…open that mouth…stick out your tongue…yeah, just like that. You gon' let me fuck that pussy some more after this?"

She nodded, looking innocent and expectant.

"Sexy ass…" he hissed.

He bent down and kissed her and she sucked on his lower lip, tugging on the skin with her teeth. Pulling back he shoved his dick down her throat, the girth hallowing out her cheeks on both sides as she sucked and worked her neck. She smacked her lips against his tip, releasing it with a loud pop and a sliding of her tongue across her top lip.

"Suck dick so good…suck it some more…right there…let me stretch that mouth. Stop playing with it Yani, take that shit the right way…"

He reached out and softly slapped the side of her mouth and she gave him a sly grin and licked the underside of his thick ridge. He grabbed her hair then, yanking on the braids to remind her of her place. She hit that itchy sensitive part of his dick with the friction of her scandalous tongue. The thinnest part of the dermis seemed to rest there in that spot that gave her tongue-tip the secret combination to start making his dick leak with clear fluid again. His erection was like a rigid pole vault in her mouth and he was so ready to dismount with a fat nut. Yani hummed, and slowly licked along the sides of his dick. His breathing quickened to a pace that alarmed him. She was beginning to control him, making him react like a desperate man under her spell, and that was being disobedient. Her bratty behavior couldn't be corrected in the heat of her deep throating him. That would require major spanking and loud cursing. The last thing he wanted was for their children and security team to hear him curse a blue streak while spanking Yani's ass. She wanted him to hurry up and ejaculate so she could ride his dick and cum.

A surge of semen rose up through his balls. He slapped Yani again for putting a super charged gwak-gwak 3000 on him too soon. She became obedient again and squeezed his fat sack, staving off his release. He thought about letting her milk him and cumming in her mouth, but the decadent and demanding king wanted to paint her face with hot semen when he was ready. It was his way…he craved the ritual of it between them, and also because he knew a little secret about her.

He grinned slyly thinking about it.

Yani had been sneakily watching old videos of him with past lovers. Months earlier he had scanned old computers that he planned on destroying until his spyware cam detected unusual activity in secret files. The spycam revealed Yani's viewrship and he chuckled at the thought of her using him for her personal porn collection. He said nothing, and left the old computers where they stayed in their home, pretending to ignore them as old artifacts from his past life. The most viewed images were his cum shots on women's faces, and he clocked the intense looks of pleasure on her face when he did it to her. She loved submitting to him that way and it was a great help to their energetic sex life. Lovemaking wasn't as frequent as it used to be because their lives were so busy, but the intensity increased because of it.

Yani continued the arousing slow sucking. He watched her glossy plump lips slide back and forth across the top half of his dick. Her fawning eyes stayed locked on his, riling up his body because she made the act of dick sucking look so illicit. So pornographic.

Every now and then she would stop sucking and rubbed her lips back and forth across the mushroom cap creating a delicious tickling. His balls throbbed. She twisted her fingers around the head to give him new sensations, never once breaking eye contact. Yani knew how to chip away his defenses by giving off innocent vibes. She'd stay on her knees looking up at him with her big titties all out, nipples perky and offered to him like delectable appetizers. That look took him back to St. Thomas and the first time he ever touched her. His dick felt heavy between his legs. Thoughts of her back then being a little spitfire towards him ratcheted up his emotions for her in the present. In six days he would wed the most beautiful, cunning, and loving woman he had ever had to call his own. She latched onto him like a ride or die and he never wanted her to be that way ever again. She deserved better…she deserved more from him. His best. No, he would be a ride or die for her. Always.

He palmed her breasts and squeezed them. Lifted them up and down. Thumbing her nipples with wide circles, he listened to her breathy pants of pleasure. She stroked his dick. Yani would soon be the composed queen of a mighty nation in public, but at night, she would always be his nasty little slut…on her knees begging for Daddy dick to be stuffed in all of her orifices. That turned him on as he pushed her tits together. Her eyes were glassy. Lips pouted. She reached down and peeled back the wings of her inner labia giving him peek-a-boo glimpses of her wet pink. She needed his dick and slapped her pussy lips to ignite a wild fire in him.

"Taste mi," she purred.

Yani held up her wet fingers scented with her love and he licked them, opening his mouth wider so she could stuff three digits inside to paint his tongue with the dew. He swallowed her offering and she traced the shape of his lips with her own until the swollen skin on his lips itched for more.

"Killmonger."

Her moist lips pushed out the air to say that name. It ended him. He jumped to his feet and leveled the deep slit of his dick toward her cheek.

"Yani! Fuck! Fuck!"

Hollering out more expletives, a rush of thick hot cum splashed all over the side of her face. It dripped down to her neck in a sticky white deluge. He gulped for air and groaned to the ceiling.

Cumming on her face soothed the raging libido in N'Jadaka long enough for him to gather Yani in his arms and put her back on the bed. She leaned on her side again. Curling around her ass, he lifted her heavy thigh and pushed back inside her pussy.

"…fucking this pussy…."

He groaned and pumped, letting his lust take over, grateful he ejaculated on her face first because he would've broke her back if he hadn't. She took the pounding like a graceful queen, fully aware that he was lost in the pussy, her pleasure forgotten because her loving blotted out all of his senses. He took advantage of his selfishness because once she became queen, their sex life would switch over to ancient protocols that dictated that the queen had to cum first with her pussy being eaten before the king could even put his dick inside of her. Yani looked forward to that, and he plowed into her knowing that he had a week left to be a bedroom bully.

He smacked her ass cheek harder, talked his shit in her ear and knew his dick tugged on her labia long enough. The king pushed her onto her back and mounted her with one purpose: to hear her scream his name in his ear.

"Cum all over this big dick. Show me how much you love me."

Rocking into her, he held onto her bouncing tits and they both watched him pump long strokes into quivering walls. Her mouth fell open and he crushed her with his full weight. Her lips brushed against his ear and he waited to her that old name of his called out.

It didn't take long.

"Killmonger…Killmonger…fuck me…fuck me Killmonger…."

The silky muscular walls of her pussy squeezed around his dick in a constant flow of contractions that only added to his pleasure listening to her cry out for more. The ecstasy of her voice spiraled him out of his soul.

Hunched over her, N'Jadaka pressed his face into her pillow and roared into the cotton. His dick swelled inside of her and the intense throbbing rippled all the way to his anus and down the back of his ankles. He gasped like he was dying, mashing Yani's breasts into his sweaty chest and enjoying the rooted sensation of his balls throbbing and pushing out semen.

"Goddammit," he sputtered into her hair.

His eyes rolled back into watery sockets that blurred his vision. He rolled over and she climbed on top of him, breasts swinging in his face. Yani bounced on his dick and he thrust up to meet her passionate energy. He settled into sucking on her nipples and areola, letting her rock the bed with her own efforts. She gave him nurturing with the fucking, cooing to him and rubbing his locs.

"My man works so hard…you like your queen taking care of the royal dick, Daddy?"

He nodded, groaning at her soft accent and the way her pussy yanked on his dick with perfect timing. She went at his stiffness at the speed and depth that was comfortable for her and he submitted to whatever she wanted to give him. He watched the up and down movements and admired how shiny she made his dick. Her sticky wetness overflowed and made his lap slippery. The sounds of a fat ass smacking on his balls pleased his ears.

Yani leaned forward and her breasts covered his face entirely, smothering him in buttery softness like a fleshy curtain hiding him from the world. Grateful to be hidden inside her warmth, he relaxed into letting go of all of stresses, all of his problems, all of his worries. He let his queen carry him away to physical delights that poured life back into him. That's what she had always been for him. A life giver. A true goddess the way Tahir had called her.

He started hollering and Yani slammed her hand over his mouth. His heels pressed down into the mattress and his toes curled. Yani panted above him, her voice going up an octave as her second release ascended its peak.

"I'm cumming! I'm cumming on your dick, Killmonger!"

She whipped her head back and forth. Arching her back, her nails clawed his chest.

"Oh, God….oh god! Killmonger…!"

He grabbed her arms and pressed her against his chest. Thrusting his hips upward, he forced Yani to take all the dick as her pussy contracted and milked every drop of cum he shot into her. Their cries of lust co-mingled into an ancient primordial release.

N'Jadaka's voice became hoarse and Yani cradled his face and kissed him, uniting all of their parts together. Her slow languid kisses centered him once more. He hugged her tight, his face mashed into her breasts, and she rubbed his head. They both could feel his stiff dick still throbbing inside of her.

"Can you take more?" he asked.

She nodded.

"Go to the restroom and come on back," he said.

He smacked her ass cheek and she climbed off of him.

Waiting for her to urinate and put special lubricants on her vulva and inside her vagina, N'Jadaka stretched his body. His dick fell back onto his stomach, the head pulsing and dribbling semen above his belly button.

"Fuck, I miss this shit," he said to himself.

Yani returned and they kissed. He licked a trail down to her pussy and pampered her with plenty of earned licks and kisses. The sweet odor of the lubricant she used to protect her womanly parts excited him. He blew a soft breath on her clit and the lubricant warmed up on her vulva adding more pleasure to their adult play time. The pale lighting of the sky heralded the new morning. Yani came in his mouth with her thighs covering his head.

Before the children arose to greet them, Yani rode his dick reverse cowgirl so he could watch the new weight of her backside gleam from the sunlight. Each time she rose up, he watched how tight her pussy gripped his dick. He kept quiet, swallowing his groans, nearly crying himself looking at how big her ass had gotten. N'Jadaka knew the weight gain wasn't from pregnancy. They had been apart since her last period, but he imagined how she would look with pregnancy weight. He liked her chunky and round like a butterball. Her weight had fluctuated over the last year, but it had settled down in the last two months until she did her book tour.

He watched the massive orbs of jiggly ass cheeks bounce on him. It was insane to have a body like that. But it was all his. Her voluptuous gifts belonged to him.

A new thought floated in his mind.

Part of the royal protocols meant that Yani wouldn't be permitted to take birth control during their wedding and honeymoon. Any child conceived during the first month of marriage to a royal couple was a sign of a prosperous future. The world was missing billions of people. Wakanda needed to repopulate. That meant she couldn't be on the contraceptive shots Wakandans used. She would already be weaned off of it to match the timing of their wedding.

He could get her pregnant right then and there.

Yani arched her back and wiggled her backside. She studied his face over her shoulder as she made love to him in the best way for him to admire her body. His dick seemed to get harder thinking about impregnating her before the wedding.

"Do that shit, Ma. Shake that ass."

Yani giggled and tossed her braids over her one side of her head and continued watching him watch her move.

"Look at all this ass…."

She reached back and lifted her ass cheeks for him, her light pink manicured nails looking lovely splayed out to tease him by digging into the ripeness of that bubble. He smacked her butt hard. They'd been fucking for three hours after the troubling news broadcast. He gripped the sheets admiring the dimpling in her backside. If she grew bigger back there during a new pregnancy, she would probably get stretch marks. Titties would get bigger too. He remembered what they looked like filled with milk and he rubbed his large hands all across both ass cheeks, sinking his fingers into the weight.

Sweat dripped down her body and pooled around the indentations on her lower back. She wound her waist teasing the tip of his dick before sliding back down, clapping her own cheeks for him. The woman knew how to keep him satisfied. He gripped her waist and kept her bounce steady. His balls ached to release. He already knew she was fatigued but kept going because she missed him so much and wanted to show off for him longer.

"Such a good girl, Yani. You took good care of this dick. I can't wait to put some more babies in this pussy."

His loose talk brought a glance back at him. Her pussy squeezed his dick with his baby talk. He laughed.

"You heard me girl. Might get you pregnant right now if you keep playing with me like this…shit. Get down for me…just like that. Arch that back. Yeah baby, givin' me that right triangle action…yeah, there it go…head all the way down…big ass up…"

N'Jadaka wistfully stared at Yani in the doggy position, her head to the side so he could watch her face while he smashed. He held onto her waist and pushed in. They had to hurry or else there'd be a pounding on the door with three sets of feet jumping up and down to get their attention.

CLAP. CLAP. CLAP.

Loud. So loud.

Perspiration dropped down from his face onto her spine. His kimoyo beads lit up bright yellow. Okoye was notifying him of incoming reports from Wakanda. He had an hour before the general came to him.

He groaned once Yani hit that spot on his dick with her pussy that felt like lips and tongue suction. The queen had skills that were mindblowing. She started cumming before he did so he rode her wave of pleasure, encouraging her to squirt all over him and fuck up the covers even more with all their fluids on the blanket. He pulled out and palmed her ass, holding the tip of his dick close to her entrance where he shot ribbons of heat all over her labia. Sitting back on his haunches, he admired the way her tight pink opening throbbed and glistened with his cum covering it. She moaned softly at his gentle fingering of the pretty mess he made.

He rubbed her booty and then helped her get under the covers. Kissing her forehead he wasn't surprised to see her drift away quickly from exhaustion. She knew more than anyone it would be some time before they could be like that again until their wedding night. Once back in Wakanda there would be a whirlwind of duties and ceremonial events for their betrothal march.

His dick finally went limp.

He showered and changed into a saffron yellow lounging tunic and slacks. Kora arrived on time to get the children up and ready for breakfast with the rest of the family. He kissed them goodbye and welcomed Okoye and Ayo into the suite.

"Sit," he said.

He poured himself fresh orange juice and nibbled at some breakfast pastries his personal chef sent down from the half cruiser floating invisibly above the hotel roof. Getting comfortable in a side chair, he watched the two Doras on the couch.

Okoye tapped her beads and ten pictures of African men floated above her wrist. She flicked the images above the hotel coffee table and N'Jadaka peered at each one with stern eyes. Each man came from various nations on the continent in service of genocide and predatory exploitation. Okoye tapped each image as she spoke.

"Angola, Congo, Rwanda, Uganda, Sudan, Nigeria, Central African Republic, South Sudan, Somalia, and Ethiopia. Each man neutralized as requested," Okoye said.

She gave him time to inspect the stats on each man's file report before swiping them away and bringing up targets in Eastern and Western Europe.

"Ukraine. Russia. England. France. Germany. Spain. Turkey. Italy. Norway. Sweden," Okoye said.

She went through all twelve countries in South America and ended with combined targets in the U.S. and Canada.

"Any blowback yet? Suspicions?"

Ayo spoke up.

"None kumkani. Each target was studied for months before our War Dogs acted. If there were pre-existing medical conditions, we exacerbated the problem. Others were set up with accidents or placed in precarious positions through threats of exposure. Several committed self-harm when faced with public humiliation," Ayo said.

The women led him through detailed intelligence. Yani eventually woke up and padded past a narrow hall in a long ivory robe to shower and dress. Okoye and Ayo didn't notice her.

"Kumkani, there is one more target," Okoye said.

She tapped her beads and Agent Everett Ross's image popped up along with his ex-wife, C.I.A. Director Valentina Fontaine.

N'Jadaka tapped his fingers on the arms of the chair.

"Since Nick Fury has been gone, Ross is our only reliable plant. I can't take any chances trying to turn anyone around from the inside. None of them can be trusted. Not even the Black ones," he said.

"We are on standby to neutralize them as soon as you give us word," Okoye said.

"I want Ross dead, but not until I've used him up. As long as he thinks he's cool with us, I'll string him along. We can use him to get intel on Fontaine. She's making waves in the intelligence community and they're still somewhat close from what we've gathered so far."

"He wants to meet with you before you leave," Okoye said.

"Nah. I have no desire to talk with him. Just tell him I'm busy with my nuptials and will be unavailable for a month. I'm honeymooning with Yani in Umbono Cove on the houseboat. I don't want to be bothered with anything. Ramonda will oversee everything in my absence. Understood?"

They nodded.

A knock at the entrance door brought them all into guarded attention. Ayo answered. N'Jadaka spotted an Onyx Squad captain standing next to Mpilo.

"Kumkani, sorry to disturb your meeting. I have a private message from the President of the United States," Mpilo said.

N'Jadaka waved the young man over to him. Mpilo handed him a thick beige envelope with the Presidential seal on it. He read the short message inside.

"The President would like a private meeting with me too before we leave," N'Jadaka said.

"Your schedule is under tight security. We would need adequate time to set up additional protective measures inside the White House," Okoye said.

"They don't want to meet at the White House."

"Where then?"

"Camp David."

"The American Department of Defense already has additional surveillance on us since our arrival in this country. Nothing we can't handle if they try something there," Ayo said.

N'Jadaka thrummed his fingers again on the armchair.

"They've set the meeting a day after Yani's television interview."

"Will you go?" Yani interjected from behind them.

Everyone lowered their heads to Yani. She stepped into the living room area dressed in a long cozy pocket dress with vivid colors that reminded him of Black Creek in Wakanda, the place where his parents were entombed. Her hair was elaborately wrapped in a matching headwrap. She took a seat at the small dinette table by the window where their morning meal was set up. Pouring herself fruit juice, she sipped and stared at him. N'Jadaka tossed the invitation on the coffee table.

"I don't want to be bothered," he said.

"I think you should go. At least see what he wants. You won't come here again for awhile and it's time that he gets to see you in an informal place. Maybe you'll catch him off guard without all the eyes here in D.C.," Yani said.

He considered it.

"Leave us," he said.

Mpilo, the Doras , and the Onyx Squad guard removed themselves from the suite. He joined Yani at the table and they fixed themselves plates of food and ate together.

"You really want me to go?" he asked.

Yani stuffed a small Wakandan red berry pastry in her mouth.

"I think President Matthew Ellis needs to see the man that frightens him so much. Think of it as a flex if you want," Yani said.

N'Jadaka grinned.

"And people out here think you're just some sweet faced beauty on my arm," he said. "That means I won't be able to travel back home with you and the kids."

She shrugged and sipped on more juice brought from their new homeland.

"It just means I get to miss you again and we can have another reunion in our bedroom back in Birnin Zana."

He widened his legs and patted his thigh. Yani left her seat and sat on his lap. He rubbed on her booty again and rested his head on her breasts.

"I want to be on a houseboat with you…naked. Making long slow love under the moon and stars."

"We will do that soon enough."

"A whole month, you and me…partially alone."

"Don't remind me. Riki has already complained that they don't get to join us until two weeks into our honeymoon."

"Man, two weeks off with just you and me. Yeah, you definitely getting pregnant Yani."

She slapped his arm.

"Stop putting that out in the universe. We said we'd wait two more years before trying…and trying is the operative word, sir. I'm not taking the man-made contraceptive shots as tradition dictates, but I am taking precautions."

She held up the bluish drink she sipped on.

"This was given to me by Umama. Two glasses a day and it inhibits any eggs from fertilizing. You can shoot up the club and I won't be penalized for forsaking tradition…technically."

"Alright then…practice getting pregnant is good enough for me."

"Aren't three children enough for you already for the time being?"

"Nah. I'm making a whole new tribe with you."

"Easy for you to say, I'm the one who has to carry your big babies."

"I'll be right by your side spoiling you every step of the way. You make pretty babies, Yani, and my family's genes are strong. They all gonna look like me."

He kissed her neck and let his full lips linger there.

"Tell me you love me, Yani."

She cupped his chin and raised it.

"I love you."

"Say it again."

He nuzzled against her breasts and she stroked his lengthy locs.

"I love you. I love you. I love you," she said above his head.

Closing his eyes, N'Jadaka listened to Yani's heartbeat and rested in her bosom of peace.

Chapter 2 HERE.

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[buckydeservesthebest]

Hey 👋

Favourite falcon and winter soldier scenes??

Hi dear! Tksm for asking my opinion! 💙

Well, as you can see, I'm a Bucky simp and I drool every time he appears on screen. And even though I usually make quite a lot of criticisms to the series because of the unfair, insensitive and often offensive approach the production had of Bucky, there were also many scenes that I found very beautiful and touching... so it's really hard to choose from all of them, but this is my attempt, in no particular order..

• "You are free"

God... this scene is so powerful, overwhelming, touching and sad at the same time that I have no words... I can't watch this scene without crying... i'm crying right now

• Bucky saving the hostages and being thanked by one of them

The look of surprise is his face is so touching, like he never expected anyone to ever thank him for anything, this scene brings tears to my eyes...

• Bucky bringing Zemo to the Dora Milaje

Bucky let him talk all he wanted and his only response was to pull the trigger of an empty gun and drop the bullets from his other hand. The Winter Soldier is no more, his name is James Bucky Barnes...

• You can't dethrone the King

I love so much how this fight scene is actually "You can't dethrone the King." And the fact that Bucky always used the back unsharp side of the knife when fighting is just so *chef kiss*

• Bucky just relaxing

Seeing him carefree and smiling fills my heart like nothing else 😭💓