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crazyunsexycool · 1 year ago

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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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delicatebarness · 6 months ago

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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

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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knightofmidnightsun · 4 months ago

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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.

#helmut zemo #helmut zemo x reader #helmut zemo x you #zemo x you #zemo x reader #marvel cinematic universe #mcu x you #mcu x reader #bucky barnes #sam wilson #mcu fanfiction #tfatws

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maple-the-awesome · 9 months ago

Text

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 ->

<- PREVIOUS CHAPTER

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@arunabrak

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vixentheplanet · 1 year ago

Text

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.

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