#wakandan technology

[teatotally]

Chapter: 9/10 Fandom: Captain America (Movies), Black Panther (2018), Marvel Cinematic Universe Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers & Shuri Characters: Steve Rogers, Shuri (Marvel), James "Bucky" Barnes, Sam Wilson, Natasha Romanov, T'Challa (Marvel), Ramonda (Marvel), Ayo (Marvel), Nakia (Black Panther), Okoye (Marvel) Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Virtual Reality, Dreamscapes, Dreamsharing, of sorts if you squint hard, Wakandan Technology, Wakanda (Marvel), Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Post-Black Panther (2018), Friendship, Family, Bucky Barnes Recovering Summary:

“Exitus!” Steve shouted, slamming his hand against the door where the mandala should have been, and suddenly he was on the chair in his room, gasping. In this world.

Steve lowered the glass to his lap and looked up at Shuri. His heart was beating way too hard and fast. “You were right,” he said, sitting up. “He’s glitching. I don’t know if I can get him out.”

[tllgrrl]

Happy Birthday Captain America!

The Favor by @tllgrrl aka Nefertiri Jones

Sam Wilson , (Bucky Barnes quoted) | SFW

* * * * * * * * * *

Sam touched the biometric pad on the case, and heard three soft clicks. He also heard…

[“I called in a favor from...”]

The last time he was in Wakanda, he was on a battlefield just outside of Birnin Zana. The Golden City.

He and his friends were fighting to save…everybody…everywhere…but before the battle he’d gotten a glimpse of the Blackest nation he’d ever seen.

A nation that had never been touched by colonization.

Sam also saw technology he’d thought only existed in Sci-fi movies and books…or maybe in Tokyo, but even far more advanced than that.

T’Challa, the king, introduced him to General Okoye, leader of the elite Royal Guard known as the Dora Milaje.

Sam was also briefly reunited with Steve’s friend Bucky Barnes, who Steve had taken there to Wakanda hoping they had the technological wherewithal to remove HYDRA’s super-assassin programming from his brain.

Apparently they did. They were successful, and two years later, there he was. With what looked to be a brand new arm, Bucky was joining the Wakandans and the Avengers in the fight against Thanos and his forces.

And Sam met T’Challa’s younger sister, Princess Shuri. A Black, teenage, African Princess tech genius who, with her team of scientists, doctors and engineers, freed the brain of mildly annoying, staring, grumpy supersoldier Barnes, who is now his “co-worker”.

(…and who is also now trying to aim those blue eyes of his at my baby sister! )

Shuri was also responsible for, among other things, developing the newest versions of T’Challa’s Vibranium-infused, nanotech, fighting suit.

[“I called in a favor…”]

Sam thought about that battle. How it ended with half the universe, including him and Bucky, turning to ashes one minute, then waking up the next minute…

5 years later.

Like a film clip, images started speeding through his mind: Things he’d experienced, people he’d met, places he’d been from the moment he met Steve Rogers—as they both were doing their morning run around the reflecting pool at the Washington Monument in DC—to now.

All of that…ending up here, back in the house he grew up in, staring at this fancy, high-tech case.

[“I called in a favor from the Wakandans.” ]

(I’m actually gonna do…this.)

He opened the case and took a breath to steady himself.

There was a schematic on the inside of the case’s lid, and what almost looked like some kind of hieroglyphs. Sam couldn’t decipher it, but he immediately knew where it was from.

He lifted the piece of handwoven fabric that seemed to serve two purposes: beauty and function, and he could see metallic threads woven throughout the rich, surprisingly dense protective cloth.

The fabric had Vibranium woven into it, and under it there were three items:

A wing pack like his broken StarkTech one, but lighter in weight. By feel he immediately knew that these wings, like his shield, were made of virtually unbreakable Vibranium.

A neckpiece that was similar to the one he saw T’Challa wear, but not nearly as large, also far less traditional and ceremonial in design.

And a pouch made of the same fabric as the protective cloth. Inside of it was a beautifully carved wooden box holding a bead bracelet like the kind worn by nearly everyone in Wakanda.

He also found a large envelope containing some official-looking paperwork, and a manual for the items in the case.

On the front of the envelope were Wakandan glyphs, and underneath them, it read:

Samuel Wilson - Captain America

He read the opening paragraph of the manual, slipped the bead bracelet (called “kimoyo”) onto his left wrist as instructed, and shortly felt the beads lightly vibrate as his cellphone rang…

* * * * * * * * *

I wrote this a little ficlet a couple of years ago when someone onhere wondered if Sam’s new Cap suit was nanotech, and this was my reply. (Well, this is the slightly longer version of my reply, which was: “Of course it’s nanotech.”)

Thanks for indulging me and reading. (Or rereading.)

[sunarryn]

DP X Marvel #13

Danny Fenton never asked to be king. High King, actually. Supreme Sovereign Overlord of the Infinite Realms, Master of Time, Space, and Everything Between. Whatever. Clockwork said the job came with responsibilities, like cosmic balance and interdimensional peace and setting a good example for the lesser ghosts, but Danny’s idea of diplomacy was giving Skulker a wedgie and sending him flying into a hellmouth. Which, according to Clockwork, was “not sustainable inter-realm policy.” So now here he was, eighteen years old, king of all things weird and glowy, and being told he needed to “forge political relations” with Earth governments.

“Pick one realm,” Clockwork had said with his usual serene smugness, swirling his time staff like he was a magical baton twirler at the Ghost Macy’s Parade. “Start with a sovereign nation. Establish diplomatic rapport. You are a king now. Act like it.”

Danny considered going to Canada, because he heard they had maple syrup and weren’t really into starting fights, but then Frostbite suggested Wakanda. “A hidden, technologically advanced kingdom,” Frostbite boomed with a fang-filled smile. “They are isolated yet powerful. A worthy first partner.”

And that’s how Danny Phantom, ghost king of the afterlife, showed up in Wakanda in his full royal regalia—ripped jeans, a NASA hoodie, and glowing white hair that he had half-heartedly tried to tame with ectoplasm gel. His crown—which he insisted was optional—hovered behind his head like a haunted hula hoop. The Wakandan guards were not impressed. One of them tried to spear him on sight.

“HI!” Danny shouted, floating three feet off the ground to avoid being stabbed. “I come in peace! And also kind of by accident! I may have ripped a hole in your sky barrier. Sorry!”

They dragged him to Shuri.

Princess Shuri was not having a good week. Some idiot on the Council of Elders tried to propose to her again, a hyena broke into her lab and stole a vibranium gauntlet, and now there was a glowing white boy hovering upside down in her throne room claiming to be the King of Ghosts.

“You,” she said, pointing a very sharp finger at him, “are either the most powerful being in the multiverse or the dumbest man I’ve ever met.”

Danny, still upside down, squinted at her. “I can be both. It’s called multitasking.”

Shuri blinked. Then laughed. Then immediately regretted laughing because Danny took it as a sign they were friends.

He followed her around like a lost ectoplasmic puppy for three days, asking questions like, “Do you believe in ghosts?” and “If your vibranium works on sound frequencies, does that mean you could weaponize my ghost wail and make, like, a portable banshee cannon?” and “Do you wanna ride my haunted dinosaur?”

Shuri didn’t know what to do with him. He was infuriating. He phased through walls. He reorganized her lab equipment by vibe. He called her nanobot swarm “glowy spiders.” He kept summoning ghost animals to show her like a toddler bringing frogs into the kitchen. At one point he tried to court her with a bouquet of screaming flowers from the Nightmare Zone. They bit her. She threw them in the incinerator. He pouted for an hour and sulked on the ceiling.

Somehow, this only made him more endearing.

Because sure, he was a pain in the ass, but he was also… genuine. And weirdly charming. He made her laugh when she wanted to scream. He made her guards nervous, which was hilarious. He helped her reboot a broken AI system by whispering ghost gibberish into its processor. It worked. Nobody knew why. Not even Danny.

And then there was the incident at the United Nations.

Danny, trying to prove he could be a good king and a solid diplomatic partner, insisted on attending a meeting with Shuri in New York. He wore a suit. The suit burst into flames five minutes in because he forgot he couldn’t suppress his ecto-core for more than an hour without leaking nuclear-level ghost juice. He tried to cover it up by summoning a clone to sit in his chair while he phased under the table to cool off in spectral form. Unfortunately, his clone started ranting about how France smelled like bread ghosts and threatened to annex Canada “in the name of spooky justice.”

Shuri had to drag him out of the UN by the collar of his glowing cape.

Back in Wakanda, after the global scandal of the “Ghost King’s Toasted Clone Uprising,” Danny was sulking on a floating chair, eating ice cream straight from the tub and accidentally freezing the spoon with his aura.

“I’m never doing politics again,” he declared, face half-smeared with mint chocolate chip.

“You are literally a king,” Shuri reminded him, arms crossed. “You have to do politics.”

“Then I abdicate. I leave the Ghost Realms to my dog, Cujo. He’ll make treaties with slobbery kisses and head pats.”

“You’re such a drama queen,” Shuri sighed, snatching his spoon and dipping it into the tub. “A glowing, interdimensional, mint-breathed drama queen.”

Danny perked up. “Did you just share my ice cream? Is this a bonding moment?”

“No.”

“It feels like a bonding moment.”

“It’s not.”

“I’m just saying, if I died again right now, I’d die happy.”

“You’re already dead.”

“Exactly. That’s how good this moment is.”

And then came the courtship.

Apparently, in ghost culture, any monarch who shares food with another royal is engaging in “pre-mating ceremonial bonding.” Danny found this out after the ice cream moment and immediately declared that he was now courting Shuri, Princess of Wakanda, Heir of the Panther, Queen of His Afterlife.

Shuri threw a shoe at him.

Danny dodged, declared it a “warrior’s blessing,” and carried the shoe around for two days as a sacred relic.

T’Challa returned from a diplomatic mission to find a literal ghost king holding his sister’s sandal in one hand and trying to explain to Okoye why his haunted llamas needed Wakandan citizenship. The Black Panther stared. Blinked. Then turned around and left without saying a word.

It only got worse when the ghosts started showing up.

You see, Danny forgot to mention that his realm was connected to every plane of existence, including all other universesand timelines. So, one by one, people started noticing strange, glowing portals opening in their showers, under their beds, and once—tragically—during a live interview with Tony Stark, who got slimed with ectoplasm and spent an hour screaming about “interdimensional snot monsters.”

Wanda Maximoff accidentally astral-projected into Danny’s throne room during a meditative nap and got stuck in a four-hour tea ceremony with Princess Dorathea the Dragon Ghost, who tried to set her up with Wulf, the yeti-looking ghost of justice. Doctor Strange kept getting prank-called by Technus, who hacked the Sanctum’s Wi-Fi and kept sending memes with captions like “Ur magical protections are mid. Sincerely, King Danny.”

Eventually, the Avengers invited Danny to a meeting.

He showed up fifteen minutes late, riding a skeleton horse, wearing sunglasses indoors, and drinking bubble tea through a glowing straw. Thor challenged him to a duel for “honor and clarity.” Danny beat him by turning intangible and pantsing him in front of everyone.

Shuri watched from the sidelines, sipping her own bubble tea, absolutely smitten and refusing to admit it.

“Just marry him already,” Okoye muttered, half-exasperated, half-amused.

“I don’t even like him,” Shuri snapped. “He’s a reckless, chaotic disaster. He tried to eat vibranium popcorn and exploded.”

“You saved his ectoplasmic signature in your lab.”

“For scientific research!”

“You painted your gauntlet with his core color.”

“It’s a good aesthetic!”

“You wrote a five-page protocol for ‘dealing with ghost boyfriends.’”

“PREEMPTIVE PLANNING.”

Danny, overhearing all of this from the ceiling, grinned like a haunted gremlin. “So you do like me.”

“Get out of my lab,” Shuri said.

He floated closer. “Make me.”

She did. By launching him into orbit with a vibranium railgun.

He came back the next day with a moon rock and a bouquet of cosmic roses made of stardust and regret. She didn’t smile. Not really. Just a little.

And thus began the weirdest, most politically unstable, gloriously cursed romance in the history of both the Ghost Zone and the multiverse. International relations were a mess, ghost cats roamed Wakandan streets, Thor and Cujo became best friends, and Danny made a habit of whispering “I’m Shuri’s spooky consort” at every formal event while phasing through walls.

Nobody knew if it was true love or mutually assured chaos.

But one thing was certain: Ghost diplomacy would never be the same.

[deadtired-highkeyenergetic]

Free

Summary: Bucky is freed from his Hydra programming but your demons still hold you captive. This leaves you unsure of whether you have a place in the future of the man you love, but he reassures you nothing has changed.

A fire crackles between the two figures in the dead of night somewhere in the forests of Wakanda, far away from the prying eyes of everyone. You watch them from the shadows, leaning against a nearby tree, arms crossed over your chest. As much as you appreciated the Wakandans for their help in trying to remove Bucky's Hydra brainwashing, you weren't sure about what would happen when Ayo said the words so here you were, waiting in hiding just in case you needed to step in.

"You sure about this?" His voice wavers slightly. You twirl the knife in your hand, a nervous habit you've developed over the years which Bucky has been trying to make you break because "you'll scare people off doll, especially with that scowl of yours". Your gaze flicks to Ayo, and for the briefest of moments her eyes meet yours.

"I won't let you hurt anyone." Her voice is reassuring, but you remain on edge. You know the consequences of letting your guard down, and you won't let that happen again. You look at Bucky, who's staring at the fire, fingers twitching and curl your fingers around the hilt of your knife a little tighter. You know how to use unlethal means to bring the Winter Soldier down, but you'd rather avoid the situation altogether. It hurt you to hurt him, even more so if it was intentional, and you swallow at the thought. To think a few years ago you wouldn't have batted an eye at the notion of driving a dagger into his heart, you've changed a lot since being free of Hydra.

Rusted.

You watch the pair, the night air filled with the quiet chirping of insects and the crackling of the fire. Bucky doesn't move, the Winter Soldier still lying dormant within him.

Seventeen.

Ayo walks closer to him and you shift, standing upright now.

"It's not going to work." Bucky exhales, shaking his head. You frown, it's been working so far, and you are hoping for his sake that the Wakandans with their advanced technology have managed to give him his freedom.

Daybreak.

You have to admit, Ayo's Russian is rather impressive. You've barely taught her anything, spending more time sparring with her during your sessions together than actually teaching her how to speak Russian and yet here she is, confidently saying each trigger word.

Furnace.

Bucky's chest is heaving now and you take a small step towards the duo, eyes narrowed.

Nine.

You can't imagine what's going through his mind right now, perhaps it's flashbacks of his time as the Winter Soldier, perhaps it's flashbacks of all the times these words were read to him, perhaps it's a combination of both. You want nothing more than to run over and hug him tightly, whisper that everything is going to be alright, that you're right there with him, but you can't. He doesn't know you're here, and you'd rather keep it that way. This is his moment, his turn to regain the freedom he rightly deserved, and it's not your place to barge in.

Benign.

He grits his teeth and your heart aches for him but you force yourself to remain where you are. You're here just in case the Winter Soldier goes on a rampage, nothing more. You're here as the Reaper, not as Y/N L/N, significant other of James Buchanan Barnes. This is his trial to go through, all you can do is be there for when things get physical.

Homecoming.

His breaths are becoming heavier, the fire glinting in his eyes. His bottom lip trembles, but there's no sign of aggression, no emptiness, none of the usual indicators that the Winter Soldier is resurfacing. You raise an eyebrow, had Shuri done it? Only one way to find out.

One.

Tears have started to form in the corners of his eyes, reflecting the flicking orange glow in front of him. You relax, but your knife remains in your hand. One more word, and all three of you will know if he's truly free or not.

Freight Car.

Nothing happens. Silent tears stream down his cheeks and his body shakes with quiet sobs. He's free, finally. You're happy for him, really. He deserves all of this and more, and you wish him all the best. The door to a normal life is open for him now, and you want him to live it, to catch up on all the years he's lost as the Winter Soldier, to live a life you can't provide for him.

You turn, unsure of where you'll go now that you and Bucky have separate paths to tread. There is nothing left in Wakanda for you anymore, maybe you could go to Madripoor and find a place to put your skills to good use, there would be plenty of work for you there. Or maybe —

"And where do you think you're going?" Okoye.

"Somewhere." You shrug.

"You're going the wrong way."

"Pretty sure this is the exit towards the capital city. I'm not that bad at directions." Okoye moves to block your way, eyebrows furrowed. You growl and try to shoulder past her but she refuses to budge, a firm look in her eyes.

"Move it." You feel the anger rising within you, fingers curling.

"I will not. Not until you talk to him." Okoye fixes you with a hard glare. The two of you have sparred countless times, and while you know you can take her on with your powers, fighting will only spoil the mood of the night. Also Bucky will know you were here, and it would be better to avoid that.

"He doesn't need me anymore. I'll only drag him down," you mutter. "He can finally live a normal life and I have no place in that."

"And who decides that? You?" Okoye gives you a shove towards where Bucky is still sitting in front of the fire. "He's finally free of other people forcefully dictating his life and now you want to do that too?"

"I—"

"You keep running, Reaper. When are you going to fight?"

You exhale sharply, hands balled into fists. "Fighting is —"

"Fighting is what you're good at. Start doing it." Okoye places a hand on your shoulder. "I know you are stronger than this."

"Right." You run a hand through your hair. "Thanks."

Taking a deep breath, you turn to look at the man you love with every inch of your soul, rivers of tears flowing down his cheeks. A pit forms in your stomach, gnawing away at you with each step you take towards him and your breath catches when his ice blue gaze meets yours.

"Hey." You barely squeak out. Your heart thumps in trepidation, fingers playing with the loose fabric of your shirt.

"Doll." His body relaxes. "Hey."

He gives you the soft smile you can't resist and you nearly crumble in front of him. How are you going to tell him that you're leaving, that there's no place for you in the normal life waiting for him at the end of his path?

"I assume you already saw everything?" He reaches out, beckoning you closer when you don't move. You bite the bottom of your lip, resisting the urge to kiss away his tears and step forward.

"Yeah. I did." Your heart thunders in your chest and you wonder if he can hear it with that super soldier hearing of his. "Congrats."

"Thanks, doll." He pulls you into a tight hug, nuzzling into your hair. "Now I don't have to worry about accidentally killing you. I don't have to be afraid of myself anymore, we can live a normal life together, well as normal as we can get."

"You can't kill me anyways, intentionally or not." You huff while he chuckles, the sound clogged by the saliva in his throat. Your arms hang limply by your side, unsure of whether to hug him or pull away, your heart torn from your dilemma. "James, I—"

"We'll free you too, I promise. No matter what it takes, I'll find a way." He looks into your eyes earnestly, cupping your cheeks with his palms. "I promise."

His whisper is all it takes for you to shatter. You bite the inside of your cheek hard but the tears still escape anyways, your shoulders shaking with each silent sob and Bucky curls around you, one arm wrapped around your waist and the other pressing on your back. His metal hand rests on the back of your head, holding you close, metal fingers threading through your hair without fear of hurting you.

"You — you still want me?" You choke. "I can't give you a normal life, you deserve someone who can, not someone whose past keeps chasing them. I —"

"I don't care what I deserve. I only care about what I want, and that's you, no one else. Only you understand me, only you know me, every part of me. There's no one better for me than you, and there's no one else I'd rather spend the rest of my life with." Bucky presses his forehead against yours, letting out a soft sigh. "I only want you."

"But a normal life —"

"I don't want a normal life if I can't have it with you." He closes the distance between your lips, kissing you fervently. You hesitate, fingers lightly touching his hands and he pulls away.

"Doll? If you don't want me I —"

"I do!" You grip his hands tightly. "I want you, all of you, but I can't drag you down. I can't take your future away from you, not when you finally have it back."

"You are my future, doll. You can never drag me down, you aren't heavy or strong enough." His lips curve upwards into an amused smile. "So you don't have to worry about that."

You sniff, lightly hitting him in the chest. "Is that a challenge?"

He laughs, peppering kisses all over your face. "Take it how you will, doll. I just need to know that you want me."

"You're all I ever want." Your thumb caresses his cheek as you look lovingly into in his eyes.

"And you're all I ever want."

[pome-seed]

The Soldier's Keeper ★ 36

Pairing: Winter Soldier!Bucky x Doctor!Reader

Summary: Wakandan technology makes recovery a breeze. With Bucky's new opportunity at life, and the quiet peace of Wakanda, he takes time to appreciate you.

Word Count: 4.8k

Warnings: Traumatic Flashbacks. Mention of Torture and Blood. Bucky has trauma with surgery. Mention of Surgery, Incisions, Wounds. Hand Touching. Longing. Emotions. The Outdoors (spooky)

Authors Note: The billy goat part is a fact. I think its funny. ALSO, if you want to be apart of the taglist, let me know :)

Series Masterlist Next Chapter

Bucky couldn’t remember hitting the ground. He couldn’t remember the feeling of the soft snow speckling his skin as it fell from the sky. He couldn’t remember as frost gathered in his lashes. He couldn’t remember the soft clouds that puffed with each thin breath.

What he did remember, was the faint stench of blood. 

The sight of red staining the stark white snow.

He didn’t remember his eyes opening or closing. He just remembered being there. And then with each forgotten blink, he was somewhere new, like old film flicking across a projector. 

He remembered the sound of the bone saw mutilating his arm. He remembered the sound of his own screams, and the pain that seemed to stretch on forever.

And back then, when the sawing stopped, and the crackling of electricity fusing metal to bone ceased, he thought everything would be okay. Maybe this was a dream. Maybe it wasn’t, and the doctors were helping him. Maybe the doctors had to do what they were doing, and they felt just as awful as Bucky.

But he continued to blink in and out of time. He continued to roll his eyes open and see something he didn’t understand. He continued to feel that chill down his spine, as his naked skin was nipped by the cold.

And once, he remembered his lashes fluttering open to see a spectral cloud of light blinding him. He remembered trying to turn his head away from the suppressing light, only to realize he couldn’t move. He was strapped down- more like locked down, with metal cuffs. He remembered the choked whine that garbled from his throat. 

He remembered the itchy feeling of the thin threaded gown that clothed his waist. He remembered the numb tingle that spread down his body, his flesh washed with frigid air. 

He remembered the sounds of unintelligible voices repeating words to each other, like they were reading from a thesaurus in a foreign language. 

And then that traveling, rippling ache gripped him from the back of his neck. Followed by a stinging, burning sensation. He groaned quietly, his eyes twitching shut again. It only got worse once he felt it. 

“Please-” He gasped, his voice sounding dry and weak to his own ears. But far away. So far away. 

One of the shapes that hovered over him leaned close and pried his eyelids open. That forceful glow blinded him once more as they flicked it close and far. 

The ache shifted to something scorching, spreading up the back of his skull. “It hurts…-” He whimpered, trying to turn his head, but something hard locked him in place.

The voices around him continued to discuss, as if they hadn’t heard him at all. And maybe they didn’t. He could barely understand himself. So he said it again. 

“My…my head..” His tongue felt heavy, glued to the roof of his mouth. “‘Hurts…”

The form above him pulled back, turning to a boxy monitor beside him. Clicking echoed in the frigid room. Electricity charged. Someone began speaking again, words from a language he didn’t understand. 

Bucky didn’t realize he was crying until he felt the burn of salt against a scrape on his temple. Sobs tumbled from his chapped lips as he begged for mercy. 

“Please…-” He whined, his lashes fluttering closed. 

Click.

Click.

Switch.

The nausea hit Bucky first, as an electric current rippled through his body. The tendons in his neck pulled taught as an agonizing tearing sensation ripped through his skull. He screamed, so loud he felt the reverberation in his teeth. Or maybe that was the shock. 

He didn’t know. He couldn’t differentiate. 

The muscles in his body quivered and seized as he sobbed. The Burning grew and traveled. Blood dripped from the fresh incisions along the back of his head. He didn’t understand it.

A pain like that was almost unfathomable. 

So he just sobbed and wept, tears and unintelligible pleas for help spilling from his lips.

When Bucky’s eyes finally rolled open, the first thing he saw was a soft blue glow. He blinked, and the glow shifted and formed into solid geometric patterns across the far wall. A pattern, he realized. 

He’d seen the pattern before, carved into pots and painted across many walls in Wakanda.

He then remembered just where he was. He swallowed around his dry tongue, releasing a slow breath. 

When he tried to move his body, he felt heavy, groggy. A familiar panic spiked in his stomach as he flinched, but that small force tugged his blankets free and he realized he wasn’t restrained. He was just tucked in. His heavy gaze trailed down his own body, where he found you.

You sat in a chair at his bedside, your head resting on your arms against his blankets. You must have dozed off. Bucky wondered absently how long he’d been out, and how long you’d been there.

A few stray locks of hair fanned over your face, fluttering with each sleepy breath. 

Bucky’s lips twitched into a soft smile, fondness spreading in his chest as he watched you. Carefully, he brushed his fingertips along your cheek, slowly tucking the hair behind your ear. He easily could have dropped his hand then, but he didn’t.

He couldn’t help it. 

In that moment, where it was just the two of you, he tried to remember the last time he saw you sleeping. Back in Romania, there were more than a few sleepless nights he spent staring at his own two hands in shame. But then you’d have a nightmare, and his attention was indefinitely on you. 

There were more than a few early mornings where he stopped to look at you, curled up on the stale mattress, your cheek smooshed. He’d marvel at how you could sleep so soundly after everything. Maybe it was odd to watch you, but sometimes he couldn’t help it. 

So now, as he hesitantly stroked his thumb along your cheek, he thought of how thankful he was to see you sleeping again. Beside him, close and safe. 

Frosted glass doors slid open as Steve entered, his phone balanced between fingers. He paused when he realized Bucky was awake. His big blue eyes shot open. “I’ll get the doctor-”

“Don’t,” Bucky stiffened, his cloudy gaze finding his friend. Steve paused, half way into the hall already. “Just…” Bucky swallowed. “Gimme a minute…” He whispered, his throat dry.

Steve quietly shifted back into the room, leaning beside the door. He tilted his head kindly, his gaze shifting to where Bucky’s hand rested against your jaw. 

Bucky, to his credit, wasn’t one to squirm or get embarrassed. Not usually. And especially not now, hopped up on drugs and barely awake. So without acknowledging his actions, he went back to looking at you, where your lashes fluttered against his blanket. 

“I just need a minute.” He whispered again, his knuckles tracing along your sensitive jaw.

Steve watched in silence, a furrow knit between his brows. He watched the gentle way Bucky handled you. Tender and careful. Like he knew he’d break you if he moved too quickly.

“You should have seen her back in Berlin,” Steve muttered quietly, his arms crossed over his chest. Bucky glanced up at him, something vulnerable in the blue of his eyes. “I’ve never seen someone so scared.”

Bucky’s lips twitched into a fond smile as his thumb traced the corner of your mouth. “Yeah, sounds like her.”

Steve watched his old friend with warmth and curiosity. It’s how he looked at him most, these days. He couldn’t help it. The short time they’d spent in Wakanda so far was spent learning each other again. As hard as it was. 

But something Bucky learned quickly, was Steve didn’t care what had changed. He didn’t care who Bucky might have been, or become. He just wanted to know his friend again, and who he was now.

“She barely spoke when we first found her.” Steve offered to the silence as Bucky watched you, memorizing your features. “But one of the first things she did was tell us about you.”

Bucky chewed his lip, his stomach sinking as he thought of you alone. “Yeah…” he whispered, his palm grazing your cheek again. 

“She wanted to protect you.” Steve said, tilting his head at his friend. He didn’t know what had happened between you and Bucky. He didn’t know what you both suffered. But he could see the care you shared for one another.

Bucky swallowed, a shaky breath rising in his chest. “I know,” he whispered. In the back of his mind, that quiet voice wished you never had to worry about him. Wished you never felt the need to protect him, or put yourself in danger for him. “She’s good like that.”

Steve smiled to himself. 

“Where did you go?” Bucky glanced up at the blonde, then to the phone in his hand.

“Tony,” he sighed, gesturing with his phone. “Things are moving pretty fast with the accords. We’re thinking it’s looking good. I might even head out there soon, say my piece.”

Bucky nodded slowly, his gaze drifting back to you. You sighed softly in your sleep, turning your head up into his touch. “How soon?”

“I don’t know, it’s-” The sharp chime of Steve’s ringtone cut through his sentence. You flinched awake, your tired eyes squinting into the blanket. Bucky’s hand fell away quickly. 

Steve grimaced. “It’s him- I’ll be back. I’ll get the doctor.” He slipped out of the room.

You lifted your head in time to see Steve exit the room. Then your gaze snapped to the side and found blue eyes watching you. You shot out of your seat, ignoring the sore ache in your back from your posture. “You’re awake-”

Bucky smiled lazily. “So are you.”

You wiped a hand down your face, waking yourself up. “I dozed off…” you pinched yourself. “How are you feeling?” You dropped your hands to rest on his forearm comfortingly.

Bucky tore his distracted gaze from the red imprint on your cheek from your arm. “Got a headache.” He muttered, unmoving under your touch. “‘M thirsty.” 

You nodded and pulled away, limping to the corner to pour him a glass of water. “Headaches are normal.” You brought the glass to him, slipping it into his hands. “Any other side effects? Slurring of speech, trouble seeing?” 

He tried not to smile as you fretted over him. “‘M fine.” He whispered, downing the water in a few gulps. You took the glass from him and set it aside. 

Before you could press any further, the frosted glass doors slid open, and then Shuri stepped inside. 

You’d been on the delivering end of these conversations before. Informing patients of test results, holding scans up to the light to gesture what had been found. 

But you’d never been on the receiving end. Even though this wasn’t your body, you felt the fear like it was. So as Shuri delved into the progress of the surgery, you leaned in, listening earnestly.

Most of the conversation went over Bucky’s head after the words “we were able to remove the implants,” were said. Nothing else mattered to him. A trembling breath shook from his chest, one he hadn’t realized he was holding. He watched Shuri’s lips move, a pleased grin flashing her teeth. But he couldn’t hear it.

They removed the plates.

The only metal now still left behind in his body was his arm. Not his brain. His mind. 

He was free.

You slipped your hand into his, steadying him as his fingers shook with tremors. His glassy eyes flicked to you, where you were eagerly nodding along to Shuri, hanging on every word. He squeezed your fingers, swallowing the emotion he wished he could bury. 

You turned to him, grinning brightly as you returned the force of his hold. Words edged on the tip of your tongue, but nothing came out as you looked at him. 

You’d spent months thinking of nothing but how to remove those implants. How to help him. How to save him. And now you finally made it. The small plates fitted into the corners of his skull, at the base of his neck, were gone.

Hopefully thrown into a blender and destroyed.

Shuri’s voice pierced through the moment you shared as she informed Bucky of how to best recover. She mentioned that she was sure he would be fine within a few days, with his rapid recovery rate, and their technology, but she wanted to be safe. Bucky’s case was different from most.

The bandage along the nape of Bucky’s neck, that stretched an inch or two above his hairline, would need to be changed regularly. He would have to wait on washing his hair for a day or two, and only then use a special medicated shampoo. He also needed to be careful about water exposure to the healing incisions.

But besides that, he was expected to heal just fine. 

He would be just fine.

There was still work to be done with intensive psychotherapy, and remapping the connections in his brain to his trigger words; but that didn’t take away from this victory. 

Bucky had made it farther than he ever dreamed. 

When Bucky finally dozed off that night, you and Steve never left his side. After returning from his strenuous phone call with Tony, Steve was glued to his seat beside Bucky. He visibly deflated when he realized that Bucky was falling asleep, but he was still happy to let the man get rest. 

You tried not to laugh at the crinkle in the blonde's forehead as he sank into his seat. He chuckled at himself and wiped a hand down his face. “What’d Shuri say?”

“He’s gonna be fine,” you smiled, brushing your thumb over his knuckles, where your hands were still tangled. “She thinks he’ll be finished with recovery by the end of the week, with how your guy’s body’s work.”

Steve nodded thoughtfully, his bunny teeth peeking through his smile. “That’s a relief…” He pinched his bridge. “I’m not good with surgery-”

“Well, they were still doing lobotomies in your time, so that makes sense.” You snickered at the grimace Steve sent you.

“I can’t disagree with that…” he huffed, glancing back at Bucky. His expression melted to something softer, the longer he looked. Something guilty flashed in his eyes. “He never used to be the one in the hospital, you know.” He muttered, almost to himself.

He seemed to get lost in thought when he stared at Bucky. He did that pretty often, when you thought about it. There was always this passing haze that washed over him when he was near Bucky.

“Yeah?” You offered, giving him the opportunity to speak about something so tender.

“Yeah,” he smiled bitterly. “He was always nursing me to health, back then. He had the immune system of a horse- he never was the one gettin’ sick.”

“I can see it now.” You snickered. “Cooking you soup, running to the pharmacy.”

“He-” Steve swallowed, wiping his palms down his thighs. “He never did anything halfway.”

“He still doesn’t,” You absently squeezed Bucky’s hand, where your fingers tangled together. Steve glanced up at you, listening. “He’s an intense guy,” you laughed. “He still does everything to the fullest. When I got shot…” you glanced at your thigh, “he took care of me. He always took care of me.”

Steve smiled knowingly, looking at the way you cradled his scarred hand in yours. “Sounds like him.” 

As Steve spoke, telling you stories of his childhood with his best friend, your imagination drifted. It painted pictures of a time before yours, full of childhood joy and mischief. 

You could picture the two boys causing problems for everyone on their block. Maybe stealing from the local bakery, when money got tight. Then getting their hands smacked red when they were caught. 

You could almost hear the sound of their laughter, mixing in with the pop of an engine, and the chime of music. 

And as Steve pulled out his notepad, inspired by the memory of his home, you tried to imagine the two huddled over a frayed textbook; scribbling notes and bumping shoulders. 

A childhood. A life before this. A home burned in time.

You finally tugged your hand free from Bucky’s grip a few hours later, late into the night. Not because you wanted to, but because you desperately needed to pee.

The bathroom was only a few feet down the hallway, so it was a quick trip. You took the extra few minutes to stop by the little kitchenette area in the lab on the way back to the room.

The frosted glass doors slid close behind you with a click. Steve glanced up at you, pencil in hand from where he was drawing. You held out a paper cup towards him. “Got you a coffee.”

He dropped his pencil and took the warm cup into his hand. “Ah, thank you.”

You glanced down at Steve's notebook over his shoulder, where a messy sketch of Bucky’s profile marked the page. “Looks just like him.”

Steve blew gently on his coffee. “He looks so young when he’s asleep.” He muttered, wiping a hand down his face.

“He doesn’t have that frown, it helps.” You snickered, sinking into your chair on the other side of the bed.

Steve sipped on his cup, glancing at you over the lip. “You should get some sleep, kid. I’ll tell you if he wakes up.” 

You shrugged, suppressing a yawn. “I don’t know if I can,” you huffed. 

“Try, I’ll keep watch.” He joked.

You glanced at Bucky, staring at the soft rise and fall of his breath. It was late, and you hadn’t slept since Bucky went into surgery the day before. You should sleep. You knew that. But it just felt so hard. 

But even as you tried to keep your eyes open and listen to Steve talk, you felt the looming call of sleep. It was warm and all consuming when it finally took you.

“Watch your step, sweetheart.” Bucky’s fingers tapped your waist gently as he helped you towards your hut. You pinched his shoulder gently. 

“Bucky, I’m fine,” You chuckled. “I’m completely fine.” 

Yesterday Shuri took you into her lab and helped fix that pesky limp that’s been plaguing you for months. To your absolute wonder, the wound healed completely overnight. You’d never seen technology or medicine so advanced. The same worked for every step of Bucky’s recovery journey.

Brain surgery, in the outside world, would be one of the most tedious and complicated things to heal from. But it only took days for Bucky to be back and functioning at 100%.

The muscles and nerves in your thigh had fused and healed in all the wrong ways, after your original injury. And for a long time, you thought you would never walk comfortably again. 

But here you were, standing on your own two feet after surgery. 

Bucky was having a harder time wrapping his head around things. Of course he would, he was stubborn and had never experienced anything so incredible. 

And with you, he was worlds more careful than he was with himself. 

So he wrapped his arm around your waist and carried most of your weight against him, cringing any time you fully took a step with your left leg.

“Bucky,” you snickered, leaning into the man. “I feel fine- better than I have in a year. I can walk.” 

He frowned at you, his fingers pressing gently into your waist. “I know,” he said stubbornly. 

You slowly pulled out of his grip and took a few steps away, missing the dramatic hitch in Bucky’s breath. “I can’t believe it,” you muttered to yourself, shaking out your leg. You snickered, dropping into the plush grass outside your hut.

After Bucky was deemed recovered enough to leave his room in the med bay, he, Steve, and you were moved to a more permanent residence. 

Still technically temporary, but an area of your own to find peace. Two little huts on the edge of a pond outside the city borders. 

Originally, Steve and Bucky were sharing their small space. Until a few days ago, when Steve decided to return to the outside world. It was hard - mostly on Steve, since the idea of leaving Bucky almost killed him - but he had to do it. The day came sooner than you thought, but it had to happen. There was great progress happening with the accords, and now the last cherry on top for their campaign, would be Captain America. 

The goodbye was heavy. 

The silent conversation shared between him and Bucky screamed loud, echoing through the breeze. Steve almost couldn’t let him go. But he had to. 

So they parted ways, and Steve boarded that plane.

Updates came almost daily from Natasha and Steve, filling you both in on the progress of the fight.

So far, each of the Avengers locked up after the battle in Germany were released. They were set on house arrest until the matter was properly solved. Uncomfortable, but much better than the underwater crate they were previously locked in.

But you didn’t think it would be long before the accords were completely tossed to the sidelines. 

And after that, the only battle left to fight would be Bucky’s pardon.

It would be hard. Really hard. But he put in the work. 

Shuri dropped by the hut often to retrieve Bucky for treatments. You weren’t given much on what those exactly entailed, but you assumed it was just intensive therapy; with a little Wakandan tech magic thrown in.

Whatever it was, you just hoped it worked. 

Some days were harder than others, when Bucky returned to the huts. You could see the change in him. When the burden of his past became too much. When the memories came back too vividly. 

Often, on those days, Bucky would just find you by the pond and sit beside you, skipping rocks and watching the sunset. 

You couldn’t help but think of the inn back in the countryside of Romania. The scent of grass and pollen, the taste of heat in the air, the sight of the sky bleeding orange and pink as the sun dipped below the horizon.

It felt familiar and safe.

Though that might have just been because you had Bucky at your side.

You flopped back into the grass, spreading your limbs out. Bucky slowly sat beside you. “This place is beautiful, isn’t it?”

Bucky, bathed in the golden glow of the sky, smiled softly to himself. “Yeah,” he whispered. 

You liked the look of him here. He seemed free, in a way he never was before. You thought it might be because of the surgery, and the treatments. But maybe it also helped that you were in the most secure place on the planet, with no threat of Hydra affiliates getting near. 

You thought that might lift his spirits. Help carry the weight. 

Bucky lowered himself to lay back in the grass beside you, his head leveled with yours. You stared up at the melting pigments that painted the sky, purples and pinks and fiery oranges. You never saw sunsets like that in the city. Over mountains and highrises. 

You were still thankful you got to see the beauty of the city, though. Without noticing it, you’d traveled the world. Romania, Germany, Wakanda. You’d never even left your home state before you were taken. But here you were, having experienced the world. 

“Do you ever think we have stockholm?” Your question tore a surprised laugh from Bucky’s chest. 

He huffed, curling his metal fingers in the grass. “Probably.”

You snickered quietly at the absurdity of it. “Maybe more like a trauma bond.” You muttered, counting the stars that slowly speckled the sky. For a moment you wondered what your relationship with Bucky would look like if you’d never met the way you did.

How would you see each other? What would be different?

You let your body relax into the grass, the soft blades cushioning your limbs. Your pinky brushed Buckys when you stretched, his rough skin contrasting with yours. You watched the bright colors fog around clouds as the sun rippled along the horizon. You nudged your hand closer to his.

He didn’t pull away. 

A trio of birds soared over head, their feathers fluttering with each flap of their wings. They chirped rhythmically, their song echoing over the valley. 

“Hey Buck?” You whispered.

“Mm?” He made a soft humming sound, watching as the birds flew past the tall trees edging the pond. 

You slid your palm in his, your fingers twining together. At first Bucky didn’t move, just laid there motionless. You didn’t expect any different. You let him take his time. 

“I’m glad I met you.” You confessed. 

Bucky’s fingers twitched closed around yours, his chest moving in slow, shallow breaths. He rolled his head to the side to look at you, and when you returned his glance, you saw pink and gold reflecting in the white of his eyes. “Me too.”

You’ve said it before, but this felt different. 

You wanted him to know it, really hear it. But you never expected him to say it back. A part of you wanted to hide your face and let bittersweet tears fall into the soil. The stronger part, however, just wanted to hold his stare. 

You wanted to watch the sharp curve of his cheekbone, the gentle wrinkle of his crows feet, the speckled shadow of his stubble. The long dark threads of hair that caught in his eyelashes. Bucky held your gaze earnestly, his grip slowly tightening on your hand.

That familiar crinkle in his brow returned as he mapped your features, like he wanted to burn your image into his mind. Mark your picture into his mind, so deeply, he would see you with every blink.

A shy smile tugged at your lips under the intensity of his stare. You rolled your head back to stare at the sky, purples and magentas joining the flurry of colors. 

“You know, it’s kind of like you got that dream of yours.” You muttered, your voice quiet beneath the sounds of nature. 

“Mm?” He hummed, still watching you quietly. “What dream?”

“Farmer,” you thought of the kitchen in Romania, conversations shared over supper. “House in a valley, tending to animals, pulling weeds.” You listed, your fingers twitching against his hand. 

Since Bucky’s surgery, between treatments, he started helping the local farmers by tending to the land and helping with the animals that shared your space. There weren’t pens like on a farm in America. Here they roamed free. Once you even woke to a goat in your hut.

Bucky chuckled softly, rolling his neck to stare back at the stars. “Yeah, I guess so.”

“Maybe that’s what you should do after all of this. Get you some animals.” 

“Gonna need money for that, doll.” He cracked a cheeky smile.

“We’ll have to work on that. And your credit score.” You hummed. “I doubt you have a social security card either…” Bucky choked on a soft laugh. “But if you could, what animals would you have?”

Bucky’s thumb traced your knuckles absently as he hummed in thought. Goosebumps trailed up the length of your arm. “Cows.”

“Mhm, what else?”

“Chickens, pigs.” His mouth made a soft noise as he released his cheek from between his teeth. “Maybe a goat.”

“A billy goat?” You bit back your grin. “A male goat is actually often called a buck, did you know that?” You counted the stars as their lights burned brighter. “Ones that haven’t been castrated, that is.”

Bucky’s thumb tapped the back of your hand as he chuckled, rolling his eyes. “You’re so weird.”

You ignored him, bathing your soul in the sound of his laugh. Quiet, tender, like he was still getting used to the feeling. “Chickens, pigs, a goat,” you repeated. “I like that. Get you a plot of land, build you a house.” 

Bucky released a soft sigh as he turned his cheek to the grass to look at you again. “Would you visit?”

Your breath stuck in your lungs as you turned to look at him. The pale green the grass made the blue of his eyes stand out. “Yeah,” You whispered. “Yeah, I would.”

Bucky’s tender smile melted as he squeezed your hand. “I’d like that.”

You didn’t respond. You didn’t need to. There was nothing left to say beyond what that look screamed. 

I’ll always be there.

I’ll always find you.

No matter where you are, or what you do.

A/N: You will never escape Bucky's traumatic flashbacks- especially those connected to his trauma with surgery.

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

[angelremnants]

Heat Waves l J. B. Barnes

PART THREE.⠀FADING IN THE HEAT OF YOU

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

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

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

word count : 21.4k

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

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

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

(ao3 version)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

⠀

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

⠀

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh go milk a goat, princess.”

⠀

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

⠀

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

⠀

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

PART ONE. l PREVIOUS PART.

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[uzumaki-rebellion]

"Ice Princess"

Ice Princess by Uzumaki Rebellion

Pairing: Erik "Killmonger" Stevens x Black Female OC

Warning(s): 18+, Explicit Sex, Murder, Mayhem, Blood, Violence, Action/Adventure, Thriller, All Dat Good Shit. Grown Folks Only.

Summary:

Portia Keith has it all. A rich boyfriend. An impressive sugar baby allowance. Shopping trips around the world on private jets and more. Every day is spent living in the lap of luxury. For a special holiday trip, her boyfriend gifts her with a private yacht cruise on the Aegean Sea to ring in the New Year with friends.

In order to keep the wealthy party-goers safe, private security is hired to protect the good times, and the spoiled diva encounters the gruff ex-Special Ops soldier, Erik Killmonger, who has no time to coddle a spoiled, coolheaded socialite. Chaos erupts when the yacht is hijacked by ruthless modern-day pirates, and Portia has to learn to leave her Ice Princess ways behind in order for Killmonger to get her back on land... alive.

Word count: 22.5K

"I'm so cold I'm dripping icicles

I go and take your man that nigga might miss you

Spent his whole commission on my neck and ear

To stand around me need to have ya winter gear

Pay me coats and benz's and that berg-ice

That's why I do not feel these bitches, frostbite

Grown money, ever since a youngin' made my own money

You broke honey, and they call me

Banks, cause I can loan money

Colder than December, my diamonds on

Anna WintourSo that's fly ice in my life"

Azealia Banks – "Ice Princess"

Erik Killmonger nearly turned down the job.

Floating around some Greek islands in and around the Aegean Sea for a week babysitting some rich bitches was not his dream gig. Some guns for hire might enjoy the laid-back assignment full of sunshine and sparkling azure waters, but he learned enough over the years that working for wealthy pampered civilians was a pain in the ass. They treated security like servant extensions, and he was not interested in an environment like that. He was accustomed to covert jobs that kept his blood pumping and his mind sharp. There were long-term goals that required him to be with a different mix around the Middle East and real action.

But his homeboy Clark wanted to keep the contract with James Quinton, the multi-millionaire from Silicon Valley who pioneered new bleeding-edge technology in computer processing. For about seven years, he had been a celebrated tech wiz, one of the few Black men successfully cashing out of the grind hustle culture. Killmonger kept up with the man's accomplishments and compared them with his own. As a graduate of M.I.T. and a certified genius with MENSA, the secret Wakandan prince would've probably become another James Quinton himself if his life hadn't been disrupted by trauma and loss. The chips fell where they did, and Killmonger bided his time searching for Ulysses Klaue and working as expensive hired security. Clark nagged at him.

"Man, I'm stretched thin. They want discretion and the best. That's you. I know you were supposed to start leave for a week to recuperate from that Lagos job, but there's some sketchy action happening around the Mediterranean, and your Navy SEAL experience is needed… just in case," Clark said on a satellite call.

Killmonger sat in his closet-sized studio that acted as a storage locker for his gear instead of a home. Constantly on the go, and on the grind, he listened to Clark reclining in his Lazy-Boy chair with a glass tumbler of prime whiskey in his hand.

"You'll ring the New Year in a beautiful atmosphere. Relaxed and peaceful. The bonus holiday pay is great. Please, I need this contract fulfilled. This man knows a lot of billionaires and I could use the referrals… new contacts. Plus, you're good-looking," Clark continued.

"What does that have to do with anything?" Killmonger said, sipping on his drink.

"Look over the file I sent you online. It gives details about the yacht you'll be protecting, and also the rest of the clientele."

"That still ain't got nothing to do with my looks," Killmonger grumbled.

"Pretty girls like good-looking men. That's all I'm saying. You might get lucky compared to the other goons I got," Clark said.

Killmonger closed his eyes and gave an exasperated sigh. The studio apartment felt cramped and joyless.

"I'll throw in another bonus for the short notice," Clark insisted.

"How many people onboard?"

"It's a private New Year's party, eight guests, and the yacht staff of four. You'll have your own cabin. You'll lead everything with Sherman and Banks working under you. Giving you the best—"

"Just three men?"

Killmonger lifted his laptop from a small table next to his chair. He logged onto his dark web email account and scrolled images of the yacht. Looking at the dimensions and pictures, Killmonger put down his glass.

"I need at least three more men."

"I can pull at least one more for you—"

"Gotta have five total under me to make this work, especially with us going to a new hot spot."

"The Greek government and the Turkish government have been doing extra sea patrols. James Quinton hasn't mentioned going anywhere for the holidays and I urged him to place his social media engagement on pause for the week until they end their holiday. It'll be a vacation for you. In fact, you could just supervise and chill."

Killmonger knocked back the rest of his liquor.

"Okay, I'll do it. Get me five men."

He hung up and checked the files of James Quinton on his own cryptic software. Quinton liked to stunt his wealth. The man posted photos and corny quotes at least ten times a day on all of his social media platforms. It was the ones with his girlfriend that worried Killmonger.

Portia Keith.

Online, she was known as the Ice Princess. Her beauty and personality were so cold that she had a reputation for being a femme fatale with a rich man's wallet. She had been linked to a few celebrities in the past but had moved her pampered ways to men with deeper and consistent pockets. She rarely spoke in public and showed up to haute couture fashion shows all across the globe. Killmonger couldn't figure out exactly what she did to make men clamor for her and pop culture gossip blogs to want to follow her daily jaunts as a sugar baby with James Quinton.

He stared at a few pictures.

Ma definitely had a face card that would never decline. Medium height, a medium copper brown complexion that turned a pretty darker hue in the sun. Body looked all natural and not the cringy build-a-bitch looks women paid top dollar for. Portia had tits and a nice ass that matched her thighs. She liked provocative looks and expensive things. Quinton gave her everything and baby girl wasn't denied anything according to the photos he peeped on her platforms. There was a crew of girlfriends she jaunted around with, and in every picture, Portia was the center of attention. The face of a model on par with Naomi Campbell, and the body of a vixen bent on destroying hearts and dicks. She stayed dripped in diamonds every day from head to toe. Most men couldn't afford her and several tried to keep her until Quinton snatched her up with the bank account that kept her flaunting her beauty and body.

That face, though? Killmonger couldn't stop staring at it. Her eyes were cool dark windows that gave away nothing. The kind of eyes that cut niggas down if they weren't on point. Her round nose was slightly upturned in a natural haughtiness, but her lips were the deadliest weapons in her arsenal. Killmonger's lips parted as he licked his canine slugs that matched the bottom ones made of pure gold. Portia's lips looked like they could make a dick cry if she sucked on it. Her nickname fit the vibe she gave off, and he wondered what Quinton had besides money to keep that sophisticated sugar baby close.

Killmonger checked the gossip sites and scrolled pages and pages of rumors that Portia and Quinton were having issues and possibly on the outs. He guessed the private New Year's trip was Quinton's way of keeping her, especially with the gossipmongers bubbling with sightings of her having lunch with an Italian billionaire.

Killmonger poured himself a fresh drink, then checked flight schedules on Delta Airlines.

Portia Keith pouted all the way to Greece on her boyfriend's private Gulfstream jet. Scrolling her social media feeds while holding her apricot-colored Pomeranian Mimi, she fumed at the gossip page listing her and Quinton on a site that criticized the super-rich for ruining the climate with their wasteful private flights and hoarding of resources. Her bestie Jodie patted her thigh and told her to ignore the haters.

One thing Portia always did was cultivate a scandal-free reputation. She prided herself on being a carefree Black woman leading a luxury movement for other Black women that had them raising their standards against unqualified men. Accused of only promoting hypergamy and a sugar baby lifestyle, she let people talk their shit because it only brought luxury brands her way courting her favors to use and promote their goods for free. Her exquisite face launched products like no other, and the quiet mystique she crafted with razor precision could not tolerate slander with her image. It wasn't her jet. It was Quinton's. Rich people had to protect themselves and taking commercial airlines with the poors was so… gauche. Especially for bad bitches like herself. The income brackets she played in were fifty million and above, and the low bar of fifty million was just being polite. Not bad for a country girl with tidewater roots and access to an excellent finishing school that prepped her for the lifestyle she led.

Portia left Charleston, South Carolina, with a finance degree from Clemson University and never looked back. Landing a job working under the Director of Finance and Operations for Conde Nast, she labored around the folks who ran Vogue Magazine. A chance encounter during New York Fashion Week launched her new career as a pampered princess. The paparazzi snapped a candid shot of her walking near Anna Wintour wearing a layered sable Balenciaga romper. They both wore the same dark Chanel sunglasses, and a fashion mag begged the question, "Who wore it better?" Before his passing, André Leon Talley exalted her style sense and overnight, Portia became the new "It" girl, the mysterious fashionista who was too short to be a model, but too glamorous to be a simple finance department worker.

She jumped on the parasocial relationship with the New York fashion scene and made sure she appeared at big events. Using a lame-ass rapper who liked to rock oversized ice, she taught him how to dress better, and spent his money on a better investment… her. She put him on to better fashion, better food, and better jewelry. It helped broaden his brand and snag a movie role. She bounced from him to a Hollywood Executive who flaunted her at Oscar parties and she kept her mouth shut and her eyes wide open for new marks. Stacking other people's paper and collecting custom diamond jewelry that became her signature trademark was a lofty career in her early twenties. Portia was nearing the end of her roaring twenties and she had to upgrade her prospects to older men with healthy long-term portfolios. Hollywood and celebrity wealth were fleeting, often feast and famine. New prospects were needed and her finance education led her to San Francisco and tech Daddies. The trade-offs were dull, less attractive men, but fatter pockets.

Then Quinton appeared on a Forbes magazine cover.

Dollar signs flashed in her eyes. She called in favors to get invited to a tech gala and projected her icy exterior onto a man who was rich and above average. New money cleaned him up, but her looks, nimble fingers, and optimum sex magic snagged her a baller on the rise. If she drank enough liquor and squinted her eyes just so, he could almost pass as a poor man's skinny Trevante Rhodes. But that squint had to be hard and the liquor extra strong.

She glanced over at Quinton.

He bored her now.

Quinton was thirty, only four years older than her, but he acted like he was fifty, worrying about his declining fortune all the time. He got caught up in some bad cryptocurrency deals and took a hit on some poor stock market advice. The man pretended that everything was okay financially, but Portia could smell the oncoming of poverty one hundred miles away. Yet she still ran his pockets one last time with the trip she wanted for herself and her girls. She had a couple of boyfriend replacements already on deck and planned to jump ship after the New Year. Broke didn't look good on her and she wasn't built for struggle love or struggle pockets. A baddie always had a graceful contingency exit plan. She sighed loud enough for Quinton to notice her restlessness. Her gaze glossed over his hairline, which was beating a hasty retreat to the back of his neck. What had once been a full head of cropped waves had turned into phantom follicles that gave up on him faster than she did. He had aged so quickly in the two years she'd been with him that she could mistake him for his own father nowadays. Pity. Portia thought she'd stay with him for at least a few more years to see if he could stack his paper higher past the eighty million he was worth when she met him. Alas, that was not to be.

Quinton put down the computer tablet he had his nose buried in and clasped her hand. His eyes were already bloodshot from drinking and anxiousness. Things were probably going downhill faster.

"We're about to land, baby. Have patience," he said.

Her girlfriends giggled and drank martinis behind them. Portia ran a diamond-studded finger up his arm. Mimi whined on her lap.

"Will you give me anything special for New Year's Day?" she purred.

Quinton grinned.

"I have a lot planned for you," he winked.

At least he was going out with a bang, she thought. He was spoiling her one last time, unbeknownst to him. A part of her wondered if she should feel pity for milking him dry until he went belly up. It was the nature of the game, and he knew fully that to keep a woman like her, he had to keep his coins up. She kissed his cheek and her stomach dropped. They were descending.

Their landing was swift, and they were all transported to a launch dock where Quinton's brand-new custom yacht waited for them on tranquil turquoise waters. Seeing the ship, Portia couldn't help but get excited and jump about like a kid with her friends as she held Mimi in her personalized pink Fendi doggy purse. Quinton's three male friends ogled the women through their sheer beach cover-ups. Their teeny-weeny bikinis left little to the lascivious imagination. Portia patted her designer cornrows studded with pink diamond hair jewelry that matched Mimi's pink diamond collar. The ends of her jeweled braids extended past her back, and she flung her natural hair around and waited to board the yacht.

A staff member waited on the main deck of the ship with a tray of mixed drinks in a crisp eggshell white maritime uniform of a starched shirt and knee-length shorts. Portia grabbed the first glass and her gaze drifted over to the tall Black man wearing a hot as hell black military uniform holding a colt commando automatic weapon. His glossy locs framed a gruff, bearded face with a scowl on his thick lips.

"Ohmigod, Quinton. Is this really necessary? Mood killer," Portia complained.

She released Mimi to run around and handed her purse to another crew member. Quinton shook the security's hand. Scoping the yacht, Portia saw five more similar men spread behind the first one.

"Killmonger, correct?" Quinton said.

"Correct," Killmonger said.

"Just Killmonger?" Portia asked.

"Just Killmonger," he answered in a rough tone.

Quinton turned to all of his guests as they mingled and admired the surrounding luxury. The five other security team members dispersed to their stations. Only Killmonger remained. Quinton held out his hands to show off his big, shiny toy.

"As I told all of you, we'll be completely protected. I know there have been rumblings of issues in this region, but I hired some serious security. Enjoy yourselves! Wander around for a bit and they will place your luggage in your cabins. Lunch in an hour!" Quinton said.

"Hold up," Killmonger said.

Everyone stopped chatting and froze with their refreshing drinks.

"We need to go over a safety drill," Killmonger said.

Quinton glanced at his watch.

"Now? Can it wait until after lunch?"

"No," Killmonger said.

"Where would you like us to be?" Quinton asked.

"Head to the stern, please," Killmonger said, pointing to the back of the yacht.

The others headed in that direction. Portia sauntered past him in the opposite direction.

"I'm going to settle in," she said, rolling her eyes.

Killmonger snatched up her arm so quickly that it knocked the breath out of her. She didn't know a human could move that fast. He held her close to his chest as his other hand gripped his weapon.

"See, you're the type of woman who makes the job difficult by being a brat," he snapped.

"You can't talk to me like that!" she hissed, trying to jerk her arm away. It was like fighting an immobile mountain.

"I'm here to protect your good time. We practice drills for a reason."

She exhaled hard when she noticed his teeth. Sharp gold canine slugs on his top and bottom teeth.

"I could have my man sue you for assault," she bitched.

"Do it," he said.

Portia blinked fast several times.

"Do you know who James Quinton is? He could ruin you!" she bellowed, squirming in his grip.

"I'm here to make sure you rich people don't get bothered. I'm the best at that and I'd appreciate your cooperation with the safety drill. It'll only take twenty minutes of your precious spoiled time," he barked.

"Portia?"

Her friend Chelsea called for her.

Killmonger released her arm, and Portia looked up into his face. Narrow, heated eyes peered down at her.

"Let's go, princess," he said, swaggering past her and slinging his weapon over his shoulder.

Portia stared at his wide back and clenched her teeth. She threw her martini glass over the side of the yacht in anger and balled up her fists. Prepared to raise hell with Quinton over the manhandling, she huffed under her breath in anger and stomped her Gucci slides when Killmonger glanced back at her and… smiled, flashing those gold slugs.

Portia halted her steps. The fuck was he smiling at?

And why was she getting aroused by it?

She was a piece of work.

Killmonger knew from jump that Portia would be a problem needing an attitude adjustment. He checked her real quick the moment she mouthed off about not following safety rules that had to be enforced in case of an emergency. She gave him a glacial stare during his short introductory speech on how the trip would run among the security team, and he took them down the stairs that led to a sunbathing deck. There was an emergency escape door that led to an eleven meters long military rigid hull inflatable boat under the yacht that could hold three crew and eight passengers. It had an M60 7.62mm machine gun, an MK19 40mm, and an M2 .50 cal. machine gun armament attached to it. The boat could do forty knots with six in-line cylinder diesel engines. It was an extreme weather craft and Killmonger made them all jump inside of it to get a feel of how they would ride it in case of an emergency exit. He pointed out life vests and showed them the scuba gear his men had available to check for underwater threats.

Once Portia realized they were the real deal, she fixed her face to look less bitchy and bothered. Killmonger was concise and professional and he impressed all the guests with his background and training. He spoke to his team to go over work shifts, breaks, and overnight watch duty. Taking the first shift watch on the main deck, he kept his guard up while the yacht started its adventure away from the Greek port and out into the open sea. The captain of the ship introduced himself and his staff after lunch and their first port of call was Athens, and then they would head to Crete. They would spend the rest of their time tooling around on the open sea and shooting off fireworks on New Year's Eve.

The women wasted no time throwing off their bikini covers and rushing over to sunbathe topless on cushy recliners. An annoying little dog ran around barking and finally jumped on Portia's thighs to sleep until it got too hot and it hid under her chair. He didn't mind watching the sea with binoculars and occasionally looking down at tits. They weren't shy about showing them, so he would not pretend he didn't notice. Quinton and his male buddies grabbed a bottle of top-shelf bourbon and headed to the other side of the yacht to smoke cigars on padded deck chairs. They were torn up by dinner, and by then, he was done with his work shift and free to relax and eat a meal in his cabin. A private chef brought him moussaka and white wine for dinner and galaktoboureko for dessert. It filled him up, and he took a quick shower afterward, then rested on his bed.

The party crowd became raucous and rowdy the later it became, and he changed into light linen pants and a cotton shirt to join them and check in with the night shift team. Music blared from speakers on the starboard side and he eased around to observe and also check out the night waters. The yacht had spotlights that surrounded the bottom of the boat, so there was a beautiful glow to the calm aquamarine water. The rest of the ship was lit up too, which concerned Killmonger. Nothing like advertising a luxury yacht filled with rich people. He was correct in requesting five men to work with him. They had various firearms, rocket-propelled grenades, and enough ammo to start a war at sea if needed. He relaxed after talking to the two men on shift. All was well.

He went for a stroll around the upper decks while the civilians headed down to the lower deck to spread out for cocktails on the main deck. A cool breeze blew past and ruffled his locs. He closed his eyes and faced it fully, luxuriating in the sensation.

"Oh… so you can look normal."

Killmonger opened his eyes and found Portia and one of her friends sitting on white barrel chairs with their legs kicked up on an olive green ottoman. She wore a short pumpkin-colored shift dress and her skin looked amazing from being in the sun all day. Playing with the hem of her extra short dress, he admired the elaborate diamond chips that decorated her long fingernails. She stayed adorned, and he appreciated the effort she took to look feminine and soft. Portia's friend looked cute in a short polka-dotted sun dress. Her hair was lifted in a high ponytail of cascading auburn curls that fell down over her slender shoulder.

He took the open seat next to the friend with a short table between them. There was a half-empty glass of red wine and a fresh unopened bottle next to it with a cork opener conveniently placed on top of it if she needed more.

"I can dress down when I'm not working," he said.

She smiled. The wine had relaxed her and she appeared less uptight. Crossing a seductive leg, he glimpsed her sexy thighs. She didn't have any panties on, and her mound was clean-shaven. He glanced away to pretend he saw nothing, but the smirk on her face told him she meant for him to see her pussy.

"Why aren't you two down with the others?" he asked.

"Needed a break. When you're always the life of the party like me, you need a little time off. Plus, they're talking about work and stocks. Tiana and I are not interested."

"That's so snoozefest," Tiana said, her light skin splotchy with sunburn marks.

"Your other friends seem intrigued by it."

"Those heffas?" Portia snorted. "They just want to appear interested to get attention. Carlos is worth half a billion. Ben two billion. Oh, and that loud mouth you hear right now? That's Stieg. He's a Scandinavian trust fund baby worth five billion. My girls are here to party with me, but make no mistake, they're fishing for a big fish of their own to catch up with me. They're bored out of their minds, but…."

Portia rubbed her fingers together to indicate cash. She stood up and walked down the stairs, leaving Killmonger with Tiana. He sat in silence for a moment before standing up to leave.

"You sure you'll be okay up here by yourself?" he asked, glancing over at the balcony.

Tiana looked heavily inebriated.

"I can hold my liquor," Tiana said.

"Alright then, I'll leave you to your bottle and privacy—"

He glanced over the railing and watched Portia saunter to the front of the yacht. For someone who stayed rude to him while he was on shift, her lax behavior at night intrigued him. Showing off her pussy had to be an amusing game to her. Killmonger liked what he saw and slid his wet tongue across a gold fang.

The rest of his rounds were completed, and he gave one of his men a twenty-minute smoke break starboard side once the guests had turned in to sleep. He took over the watch temporarily and cast his glances out toward the tranquility of the sea. Heavy breathing brought forth curiosity, and he strolled down to a lower deck to investigate.

Portia was on her back naked, legs spread wide as Quinton exerted desperate dick strokes inside of her.

"You're so good, baby. Yes, that's it," Portia said with lukewarm enthusiasm.

Her eyes faced the sea, and she offered no effort to reciprocate affections or even movement as her man pounded her. The detachment on her expressionless face bothered Killmonger. Quinton gave her the world and she couldn't be bothered to give some passion? Even if it was a fake? A true pillow princess, Portia laid there with minimal effort to even wiggle her hips. She managed to push her breasts together and jiggle them, but she refused to look at Quinton's face. The man stared at the fat titties and pumped his way to a sad orgasm. When he collapsed on top of Portia, she took her expensive nails and raked them on the back of his neck and cooed phony words of praise. A smug look painted her face.

Killmonger gripped the railing, and a surge of anger sparked inside of him. He wanted to wipe that petty smirk off Portia's face. He knew fully well that her relationship with Quinton was a transactional one based on the rules of patriarchy. Men bought women as commodities and arm candy all the time. Killmonger knew what the game was, and Ma played it like the pro she appeared to be. However, it irked him that Quinton didn't fuck the shit out of her and make Portia earn all of her riches from him.

Quinton rolled off of her on the wide sectional couch and pulled off the condom that sheathed his average-sized dick. He balled it up and tossed it onto the table next to them. Within seconds, he was fast asleep, and Portia rested her head on a throw pillow. Her eyes squinted in surprise when she noticed Killmonger looking down at them. She slid a finger to her pussy lips, teasing Killmonger by opening her legs wider so he could see all the wet pink of her succulent entrance. His lips twisted up and there was a tightening in his pants. She traced a finger in a wide circle around her folds, then licked her fingers, dropping them onto her nipples to tweak the tips. He gripped the front of his pants to adjust his dick, thinking of all the ways he would fold her body if he had the chance to teach her a lesson about teasing a nigga like him. Her writhing body was doing all the things she should've been doing for Quinton if she hadn't been a lazy fuck. Portia dipped her fingers inside of her pussy and pursed her lush lips as she watched his face grow more aroused watching her display of ridiculous seduction right next to her snoring boyfriend. But he couldn't look away. Her fingers spun magic as they played in her slick folds. She flicked her clit and widened her legs for him until she raised her arm up and flipped him off with a moist finger. Portia cackled and clutched at her stomach, delighted at her teasing. She grabbed the shift dress she had on earlier and put it on, leaving Quinton behind by himself on the sectional. Tossing the used condom in the sea with the flick of a diamond nail, her laughter floated up to Killmonger as she headed to her cabin.

"Bitch," he grumbled.

She had him going, toying with him by using her physical blessings against him long enough to tell him to fuck off. Portia wanted to play cat and mouse, thinking he was the silly little mouse. Little did she know she had a vicious panther on her hands.

They docked in Crete at the crack of dawn.

Killmonger had two of his team stay behind to watch the yacht, and the others dressed in civilian clothing to blend in and trail the women who went shopping and out for lunch with the billionaires and Quinton. The blistering heat didn't let up. He wiped the back of his neck and under his chin several times while tracking Quinton. Portia stayed on the yacht to sleep in late. Her man seemed to find his balls again when he wasn't around her. The passive energy disappeared, and he took on a personality with bravado, impressing Tiana, who laughed at his corny jokes. Their lunch break was long and Killmonger took time to smoke a cigar near an open market. He played tourist watching the surrounding activity, checking the time on his watch constantly, and checking in with the yacht.

In his peripheral he caught Quinton slinking out of the high-end restaurant and entering the luxury hotel next to it. Killmonger stayed put hidden behind a marble statue of Athena, keeping his steady gaze on his client. Quinton checked his surroundings before dashing into the hotel. Killmonger entered the hotel and discreetly shielded his body from the other tourists. Moments later, Tiana walked into the lobby and headed toward Quinton. The tech wiz grabbed Tiana's hand and they entered an elevator together. Killmonger grinned and left the hotel.

The pillow princess's man was getting better pussy elsewhere with her bestie. Killmonger shook his head and checked on the people milling around the hotel lobby. He stayed put until the illicit couple came back down the elevator twenty-five minutes later, fixing their rumpled clothes to look presentable again.

"Quick ass," Killmonger mumbled, sticking a piece of gum in his mouth to chase away the taste of cigar on his tongue.

The trip back to the yacht was uneventful an hour later, and Portia's girlfriends carried plenty of gift bags to commemorate their visit. Portia stood on the top deck with a martini glass in her hand wearing an alabaster knit bikini. A giant floppy sun hat shaded her face. She pranced around on her chunky platforms, waiting for her friends to share their bounty with her.

"Fuck," Killmonger uttered, staring up at her.

Her body was insane. The bikini top only covered her nipples, and the bottoms barely shielded her vulva. He licked his lips again, staring at how fat her pussy looked up there. Tiana was nothing compared to Portia, but Killmonger knew that a lot of beautiful women had trash box and men fucked with women who made them feel good. Looks had nothing to do with keeping a man in the long run. Plenty of mid-looking and ugly women had snatched away prizes from bombshells. Perhaps Portia needed a man with good dick to turn her out correctly. There was no way all that body was going to waste because some rich dude couldn't handle her spunk.

Portia caught him checking her out, and she leaned over the railing to eye him back. Killmonger sauntered to his cabin to change back into his serious work clothes. He checked in with the mercs left behind on duty and all reports were good. The ship's captain updated him with a weather report and soon they were back out at sea for the rest of the trip.

Quinton and Portia threw a costume-themed dinner party and everyone wore Mardi Gras masks and sipped champagne before devouring salty caviar, Kobe steak, and lobsters. The yacht staff hustled to please, but Portia became a bitch when things didn't go as smoothly as she wanted. She reamed one female server so badly for stepping on her dog Mimi by accident that the woman slunk away in tears. Quinton said nothing about the bullying and everyone else was too drunk to comment on anything. Portia snapped at two mercs while moving into their next party area for charades and Killmonger had enough of the poor attitude. When Portia went for a restroom break in her cabin, he followed her. She caught him waiting for her in the narrow hall.

"What are you doing here?" she asked.

Her icy tone and polar stare made him want to flip her around and spank her ass like an insolent child being reprimanded by a fed-up parent.

"You need to check your tone with the staff and my men. These people are working hard—"

"Shut the fuck up, you simpin' bitch," she said.

Portia lifted the Mardi Gras mask onto her forehead and glared at him. Her little cat woman bikini costume showed off every curve, and he became distracted for a second by the veracity of her tone and demeanor. No woman had ever tried to come for him like that, especially one who didn't know him from Adam. Her breath smelled like the expensive French wine she had drank all night, and he considered her drunken state before speaking. He leaned in, and Portia leaned back until she was jammed against her cabin door. Killmonger bared his teeth at her and she acted as if he had snarled like a beast. Her eyes darted toward the stairs that led to the top deck, expecting someone to rescue her.

"Treat people who cater to you with respect. They don't get paid enough to take your verbal abuse," he demanded.

She looked away from his heated glare and gold canines. He caught the subtle tremble in her body, but then she turned her face back to him and smirked.

"Those people are paid well and competed to get this job—"

"You ain't paying 'em," he said.

"My man is. His money is my money—"

"You sure about him being your man?"

Her eyes narrowed and her lips curled into a tight grimace. Killmonger decided to blow up her spot and teach the brat a lesson. Every bully needed to be humbled in their life. There was no better time than the present for her.

Portia put a hand on her hip and waited for him to run his mouth some more.

"He had a little quickie with your homegirl Tiana at a hotel while everyone was having lunch."

He cocked his head and waited for the explosion and waterworks to begin. Portia stared at him hard, then started cackling.

"Think I'm joking? I followed them there," he said.

Portia snorted and grabbed her stomach to control her laughter. He waited for her to notice that he was serious. She patted his chest with her right hand and he rolled his eyes with impatience.

"The look on your face right now… as if you got me with something!" she heckled.

Portia wiped her almond eyes and touched her chest. Her diamond nails glittered and that cool exterior returned in full effect.

"I sent that bitch there myself," Portia said.

Killmonger's brow wrinkled, and Portia gave him a little twisted lip pout. Then she grinned.

"Aw, I'm sorry boo boo. You really thought this was a gotcha moment. Ever hear of keeping your friends close, but your enemies closer? Tiana is a free-loading cunt… yeah, I said cunt like the white girls do. She's not my homegirl, just competition who has been trying to be me from day one. I let that heffa into my inner circle to keep her on a leash. Quinton is going broke and all of this…?"

She waved her hand above her head.

"All of this shit is about to disappear soon, so to teach her a lesson about coming for what I got, I'm letting her have that limp dick brokie. She thinks she's on the come-up sneaking around with him, but I fed her fake bread crumbs to that nigga. Lied, and told her we were having relationship problems, and that I was worried that he wanted someone else. That little worker hoe really thinks she's better than the queen bee. I stayed on the yacht on purpose so she could make her move on him. Now she knows shiny things aren't always diamonds with that weak peen. In her mind, she thinks she has him and his money. The reality is, she's with a broke faker. Checkmate, bitch."

Portia guffawed and pointed to Killmonger's face.

"I respect you for trying to break my heart to humble me, but you can't play a player," she said.

She shoved him out of her way and strutted up the stairs, tooting her ass out so he could see it jiggle as she walked. Stopping halfway, she looked back at him.

"I'll act nicer with the staff just to make you feel better," she said.

Killmonger chuckled and shook his head. Baby girl was cold-blooded. Respect. He eased his big body up the steps and did quick surveillance all around the ship. Portia acted better with the servers, but she was still icy with the other mercs.

The next few days were dull and humid.

Boredom set in with the women, as the men only drank, ate, and slept for hours on end. Killmonger observed how Portia maneuvered around Tiana. Deadly sweet. It was like watching a scorpion slowly poison a frog as it rode the weaker creature's back. The shine of being with Quinton wore off Tiana, and he caught her brushing off the advances of her secret lover when they thought no one else saw them around the yacht. Portia knew everything that went on between them, orchestrating their dismal affair right under the noses of everyone present.

New Year's Eve rolled around and the trip was nearly over. He had to admit that the assignment wasn't as troublesome as he thought it would be. Quinton hired a fireworks crew to meet them on a separate boat at a rendezvous point in the middle of the ocean. Killmonger sent his mercs over to check out the other smaller ship with metal detectors, heat sensor devices, and a thorough inspection of the crew while he scuba-dived under the boat to sweep for explosives and hidden weapons. They inspected the fireworks being used, too. When one of his team helped him out of the water, he pulled off his scuba gear, and Portia watched him undress. Her eyes grew enormous when his scars came into view. The shiny lumpy brown flesh decorated him with a deadly artistic beauty, displaying every life he had taken in his line of work. He walked across the deck, dripping in seawater and muscles. A hunger grew in her aroused eyes to see more under the wetsuit.

"All safe," he said, whisking past her, carrying his air tanks to a rack.

He took his time pulling off the rest of his wetsuit, shaking his thighs, and grabbing his dick through his tight trunks to adjust the weight there.

Quinton walked over, clapping his hands together.

"All good?" Quinton asked.

"You can have your show tonight," Killmonger said.

Portia flounced away, shaking those ass cheeks, and his dick jumped in his trunks. The last few days she'd been a lot more suggestive with her behavior toward him, teasing him with flirty glances, and tugging on her swimwear suggestively in front of him that had Killmonger undressing her in his mind at night. He jerked off on his bed after taking a shower from scuba diving, imagining himself bending her over a railing and spanking her ass, rubbing his dick tip against her while she glanced back at him with those spoiled eyes and luscious, pouty lips. She needed to be punished. Needed to be on her knees and sucking his dick. If she complained about his length choking her, he would slap her and train her to show some respect for the gift of having his length stretch her mouth.

His erection was harder than steel and he kept playing an image of her begging forgiveness for being such a bitch. Killmonger wanted to cum all over her face and mess up that illusion of perfection she had about herself. Knowing what he did about her for nearly a week, he already understood that she would try to break his resolve and manhood down to control him. She needed a strong Daddy to put her right, and the thought of her sucking his balls while she stared at him with insolent eyes sent him over the edge, and ribbons of hot cum shot all over his hand and midsection. His dick was still hard as he beat it again, thinking of her pussy contracting all over his erection. She just had a way about her that made him want to tame her. Break her down. Force her to submit and sit that plump ass on his face.

He rolled over, groaning into his pillow, angry that she had reduced him to playing with himself when he was supposed to be overseeing his men. Cleaning up quickly, he went topside to check on the action above. Quinton and his guests had all retired for late afternoon naps to prepare for the evening's festivities. A fancy seven-course Mediterranean meal was planned for the New Year's celebration and they invited all the mercs to join in the fun with their shifts.

Portia wore her alabaster bikini again with a coral beach wrap skirt. Diamond earrings decorated her ears and a huge blue diamond necklace sat on her neck worth more than Killmonger made in a year legally. She toned down her make-up, going for a natural look, and the switch-up was extraordinary. It softened her face more, and she became even more beautiful.

Killmonger ate his fill of the gourmet food and allowed himself one glass of champagne before changing shifts with another merc. He kept his dark clothes on and strolled alone along the uppermost deck. The ship captain ate from a plate and Erik glanced over at the fireworks ship. He lifted the work binoculars from his chest and stepped back outside to observe the water and sky. No moon. Just stars stretched across the heavens, sparkling the jewels all over Portia.

The fireworks show started at eleven-thirty for a slow countdown to midnight. Killmonger positioned himself on the deck overlooking the stern. Below him, the rich guests gathered with more champagne and small desserts to watch the show. It was spectacular. Fireworks had never impressed him before, but he found himself looking at the sophisticated light show over the sea. Dazzling shapes and styles of explosives brought a magical ambiance all around them. Portia squealed and clapped her hands like a child, often pushing her face against Quinton's shoulder whenever an explosive boomed too loud and scared her. She looked cute while enjoying herself and Killmonger wondered why she couldn't be like that all the time. A certain type of sweetness exuded from her, as if she had put away that mask of cool she always wore, just to be a regular woman having a good time.

A server approached Killmonger with a tray of champagne.

"Why not?" Killmonger said, lifting a glass.

He drank it down and kept his eye on Portia, enjoying the fireworks.

Portia gulped down another glass of champagne and watched a firework turn into a rose in the sky. She clapped and oohed and ahhed to her heart's content. It was a beautiful way to end a relationship. A part of her actually felt a little bad about dumping Quinton after the trip. He would find someone new with a lower income bracket, hopefully, someone who loved him for who he was and not his wallet. The poor schlep was the type of dude who used money to buy his way into the quality of woman he wanted, which was not who he needed. Perhaps if Portia had remained a small-town girl working finance at a bank or small business in her old hometown, Quinton would've been deemed, in her mind, the catch of a lifetime. Alas, that was not the ocean current she rolled in. His ego was big, and he felt entitled to beautiful women simply because he had a dick and some money. Cultivating a personality, hobbies, or real solid friendships was not in his wheelhouse. Trophy girlfriends would never bring him happiness.

The champagne bubbles in her flute tickled her nose. She glanced over at Tiana who looked seasick from too much liquor in her system. Maybe there was some hope for Quinton being with her enemy. Everyone deserved love.

Portia was about to go check on Mimi in her cabin before it hit midnight. She gave the Pomeranian a doggy sedative to keep her from anxiety with all the fireworks noise, and she worried her fur baby would be frightened without checking in with her. The crackle of a spectacularly loud firework drew her attention to the sky again. A chain of enormous fiery lights popped off, and she glanced at her dainty Patek Philippe watch. It wasn't midnight yet for any kind of grand finale. Unless something bigger was about to erupt in the sky after that volley of bright multi-colored lights. She clapped and heard a loud popping sound.

"Did a firework not go off?" she asked.

Her girlfriends shrugged before a gigantic explosion rocked the bow of the ship that was not part of the show. The yacht lurched, and Portia fell to her knees off-balance with her platform heels. Smoke and flames filled her shocked eyes. Everyone nervously headed toward the front to see what the hell happened and more popping sounds commenced from behind them. Tiana fell on top of her with Carlos. Portia's two other friends shrieked and ran, cut down by a hail of bullets through their backs. Portia pushed the limp and bloody woman off of her legs and shoved Carlos away too. The man's eyes looked up at her with a lifeless stare, and Portia screamed. She stayed on her hands and knees to keep low while looking up toward the higher decks. Killmonger had a modified M249 up and shot toward the sea targets. The fireworks ship exploded into a reddish-orange fireball, blazing the night sky with more flames and thick smoke. Parts of that ship flew over onto the deck of the yacht. One of Killmonger's men shot a grenade launcher from his weapon, aiming for some enemy Portia couldn't see on the dark water.

"Portia! Stay down!" Killmonger called out to her.

She did what he said and hid under Carlos and Tiana again, trying not to lose it as their warm blood dripped all down her legs and pooled at her feet. She swiped some of the cooling blood from her limbs and wiped it all over her throat to make herself look injured and played dead on the deck. Quinton ran toward the side of the yacht, and Portia wanted to follow, but the volley of intense bullets whizzed over her head. She covered her face, hearing loud splashes of water and yelling. The mercs around her scuffled with people who had climbed aboard. A powerful arm lifted her up by her waist.

"You been hit?" Killmonger asked.

"No!"

A merc near Killmonger took a shot between the eyes and dropped in front of her.

"Let's go!" Killmonger yelled, helping a server go with them.

The attackers cut the server down in mid-step and Portia realized with horror that all the guests except for her and Quinton were in a dead bloody heap all across the deck. She only lucked out because two bodies fell on her, shielding her from becoming human Swiss cheese. Another of Killmonger's team ran past them to fight, giving cover. Killmonger led her to the secret emergency door that held the military boat.

"Wait! I have to get Mimi!" she yelped.

"Fuck that dog!" Killmonger yelled.

Portia pushed back on the tears that welled up in her eyes. Her poor baby was locked inside her little travel kennel. She'd die all alone in her crate without her Mommy. The yacht tipped to the side, knocked by another explosive. Killmonger helped her into the emergency boat and made her put on a life vest.

"Wait here," he said.

"Don't leave me!" she shrieked, clutching his free hand with desperate fingers.

"I have to check for other survivors on the yacht's crew."

Her heart thudded in her chest so fast it made her gasp for air. She sat inside the boat and grabbed one of the gray emergency blankets and pulled it around her, hiding down low in the boat in case an armed pirate burst in. Portia was small enough to look like a lumpy seat. The odor of smoke crept down to where she was, and after some time, she worried Killmonger was dead. She wanted to wait another ten minutes for him, and then figure out a way to get the boat out onto the water by herself before the entire yacht sank into the sea.

It became hard to breathe under the blanket. She made a little breathing space for herself where she could still be covered up, but the smoke from the fires above seeped down to where she was. The sounds of shooting had stopped. Silence took over, and she debated about going out to see if the pirates had left. Time kept ticking, and the boat listed. Adrenaline had kept her going. But now the tears flowed.

The emergency door burst open, and Portia held her breath and stayed perfectly still. Mimi's woozy and weak bark yapped for her. She threw off the blanket and Killmonger was there, carrying Mimi's travel kennel and a backpack. He handed Portia the dog and tossed the backpack on the boat. Pressing a few buttons on a side wall of the yacht, a release ramp opened and slid down toward the water. He pushed the boat more, and it slid easily with a quiet splash. The yacht leaned further over and they would have to hurry to avoid being sucked down with it.

Killmonger untied ropes that secured the boat to the off-ramp. His face was full of concentration and determination to get them out of there. He put the safety on his weapon and leaned over to drop it in the boat when a masked man wearing dark clothing similar to Killmonger's uniform charged him, jamming his AK-47 under his throat and choking him.

Killmonger flipped the man over onto his back, punched him once and whipped out a Glock from his waist, and blasted the man's forehead. Blood and brain matter splattered, and Portia was too shocked to scream. Killmonger leaped into the boat and started the quiet motor, guiding them away from the yacht. She watched the burning luxury boat slowly sink as they bounced across the water. The pirate boat that attacked them sat on the other side and she thanked God there was no moon because the flames from both ships burning distracted their attackers from seeing them. Portia closed her eyes and let the cool sea breeze dry the sweat of fear all over her. The further away they were, the safer she felt. Her breathing returned to normal once the yacht and the surrounding madness became a tiny shiny speck on the horizon.

Killmonger checked some guidance apps on his military watch computer and took them toward some uninhabited Greek island chains. After about forty minutes, they hid their getaway boat on a small rocky isle inside an island littoral cave that made Killmonger feel secure staying there until he could contact help. Waves had eroded away an opening in the limestone, creating a sea cave that hid and protected them from the elements. He stuck a small headlamp on his head, giving them the only light source to look around. Killmonger handed her one too, and she placed it around her forehead. He dragged the boat once they hit soft sand. The cavern was dark and warm, like a womb. There were flares and a bulky charged satellite phone on the boat.

"I'll use the phone tomorrow and shoot off a flare for rescue when it's safe. We may have to stay out here a few days," he said.

"A few days? Why that long?" she said.

"That was a coordinated attack. They'll be looking for survivors all night and tomorrow. They knew exactly how many people were on that yacht, and you and I are no longer there. It was a hit… on everyone," he said. "There's also a storm moving in and that will hinder rescue efforts."

"Maybe they'll think we drowned and just go," she reasoned.

"They will sweep for floating bodies. Trust me."

He stopped and looked at her hard. She had opened Mimi's crate and held her frightened dog on her lap.

"Portia… Quinton set this whole thing up. I saw and heard him talking with the hit squad when I grabbed Mimi. He left with them on the attack boat."

Portia shook her head.

"No… that's not true… Quinton's a tech guy. He doesn't know pirates and shit…"

"He's going to disappear like he's dead, too. Collect on all the insurance he had on everyone there and that yacht. You told me he was going broke. He fixed his financial problem by getting money for you, your friends, and his billionaire buddies. The men he hired are going to make sure you and I are dead, so we don't snitch on what really happened."

Portia looked down at Mimi and felt the blood rush to her head like she was going to pass out.

"I can't believe this. He killed all those people to save his ass financially."

Killmonger pulled out a cold bottle of water from the backpack he brought and handed it to her.

"Can we last for three days out here?" she asked.

He nodded and showed her a wide variety of goods stored on the boat.

"There's enough food on her for several days that could last a week if needed. Since there are only two of us, we can eat as much as we want and stretch it out if we have to. We have fresh water… blankets. Toilet paper, sunblock, bug spray. We're good. Just have to keep hidden from the clean-up crew."

Killmonger sounded confident, and Portia inhaled deeply. He saved her life and would protect her on their…

New home. She looked around the boat again. There was plenty of room on one end for them both to stretch out and rest. The weapons attached to the hull could thwart a small army. Portia sipped a little water, gave some to Mimi with a cupped hand, then placed the dog back in her kennel. She prayed her fur baby didn't bark after the sedative wore off completely.

Killmonger made soft pallets of extra blankets for them to sleep on while she turned off her light and stepped out of the boat. She walked back to the water. After rinsing the blood off of her body and shoes, she returned to him, and they both stretched out in opposite directions. She felt him move around on his end. Lifting to see what he was doing, she caught him taking off his uniform. He stripped down to his black boxer briefs and huddled back up under his covers. Portia changed positions and crawled to his end when her body spasmed. She rested against his back, spooning him to capture some of his warmth, hoping the shaking in her limbs would stop. Her body moved with uncontrollable, jerky movements and she felt cold. Killmonger faced her quickly and put his arms around her.

"What's happening to me? My arms and legs keep shaking," she whispered.

"You're going through adrenaline withdrawal. Shit was crazy that you went through, and your body was all keyed up for action. It's trying to get back to equilibrium."

"How do you seem so calm? Shouldn't you be shaking too?"

"I'm used to it. Don't worry. It won't last long."

He opened up his blanket to her, and she eased her face against his wide chest. The keloid scars were smooth and slippery-feeling against her skin. His heartbeat was a steady drumming to her ears. Her shallow breathing eventually evened out to match his, and she could rest calmly next to him. The scent of his skin had a soothing musk odor, some cologne mixed with his own sweat, giving off an intoxicating smell. He adjusted his body to give her more room, and she closed her eyes to sleep.

Waking up hours later, she opened her eyes to see him looking down at her with the softest brown eyes. For the entire yacht trip, he always wore a scowl on his face with narrow cruel eyes that held disdain for her. Now… she looked at another man completely. A roar of water drew her attention back toward the opening of the cave. The light pastel colors of dawn greeted them with shades of turquoise and honey yellow bleeding into a blood-orange tapestry. The rising tide rolled in, gently pushing their boat against the sand, rocking their bodies like a mother's hand tending to a cradle. Killmonger had the boat fastened to a stake that he pounded into the sand to keep them from floating out into the sea while they slept.

Sitting up, she admired the view. The clear, tranquil water sparkled as the sun rose higher and the colors in the sky changed into new brighter hues. It took Portia's breath away, bringing tears to her eyes. The rust color of the cave's roof seemed to glow. In the distance, she noticed other island chain formations that probably never had a human walk on them. She wondered if the awe she felt was the same awe that God had when the heavens and the earth were made complete. The scene before her looked like a painting. She spent most of her life drinking, partying all night, burning through rich men's money, and sleeping hungover until noon. When had she ever witnessed a sunrise like the one spread before her sober eyes? What a way to enter a new year.

Porta laid her head back down and noticed that her bikini top had fallen off in her sleep. She was topless in front of him. Throwing an arm over her chest, she glanced around for her knitted top.

"Don't trip," he said with a grin.

He reached above his head and handed her a small container of grape juice. She took it and drank down the sweetness.

"Hungry?" he asked.

She shook her head no, the fruit juice helping revive her blood sugar. Pushing the blanket away from her lower body, she luxuriated in the balmy comfort of the air. Tilting her head back, she noticed an opening at the top of the cave that dropped a beam of early morning light on her face. She squeezed her eyes shut, letting the inside of her lids turn red from the sun bathing her more. A calloused finger stroked down the side of her cheek. Portia's eyes popped back open as Killmonger dragged his index finger against her skin. She lifted a finger and traced one of his keloid scars across his right pec. He was her hero. During the shootout and explosions, he had his eyes on her, making sure she was safe.

Killmonger dropped his head down and kissed her. She could taste toothpaste and fruit juice on his tongue. A static sound interrupted their joining, and he pulled away from her to pick up the satellite phone. He spoke in a rushed tone, giving coordinates and relaying a warning about the attack and Quinton's hand in it. There was a personal locator beacon with a strong GPS tracker he was going to keep on so they could find them. She closed her eyes and rested her head on her hands, letting Killmonger deal with everything. Soon after, he shut the phone off to save the battery. Turning to her, he stretched his arms and sighed.

"It's going to take time to reach us. The storm is sitting over Crete and moving slowly. Rough waves."

"But they are coming?" she asked.

"Yes."

Portia fell onto her back and stared up at the cave roof with relief. People knew where they were and would find them.

"I want to eat now," she said.

Killmonger pulled out MRE packages and small disposable plates. She dumped out a packet of southwest beef with black beans and tortillas. There was a chocolate banana nut muffin and apple slices mixed in a spice sauce, a cheese spread, and peanut butter. Portia made herself a burrito, and the food gave her the calories and energy she needed. Killmonger made them coffee over a small propane stove he put together and joined her with his own meal.

"Not bad," she said, stuffing the muffin in her mouth.

"We can have a white meat chicken salad with crackers and pasta for lunch," he said.

She wolfed down her burrito and wiped her lips. Finishing quickly, she let Mimi out of her cage and fed her from the packs of fancy dog food stored inside the kennel with her. She let the dog run around in the cave's interior to relieve herself. Mimi stayed away from the water and occupied her attention quietly by digging holes all in the back of the cave. Looking around, Portia was happy to see there was nothing inside the small cave with them except sand and the tiny beach made by the water lapping inside gently. Killmonger pulled out a large tan camouflage netting.

"Step out. Grab your top," he said.

Portia stunned herself by noticing she had stayed topless the entire time eating. She tied her titties up and draped her wrap skirt around her neck into a dress. She slipped on her platforms and picked up Mimi. Killmonger covered the boat up with the netting, blending it into the background of tan sand.

"Put the dog in its kennel so we can look around and I can plant this tracker up high," he said.

"She'll bark," she said.

Killmonger rolled his eyes.

"Then carry her," he said.

He pulled on his pants, and she eyed the bulge at his crotch. His flaccid state was bigger than Quinton's erect state. Portia checked herself for thinking sexy thoughts in their dire situation.

Dire?

It wasn't, really. They had all they needed and good people were coming for them. He placed several water bottles, a Glock, the satellite phone, and the beacon locator, inside a small pack and slung it around his shoulders. She followed him out of the cave, stepping on vast rock formations on the side to keep from getting her platforms wet. Climbing up the side of a hill, they made their way through brush and mostly barren land. There weren't very many trees and the ones that existed were small, or dead, and had fallen over. She kicked a few on the ground and they crumbled from contact, drier than the heat cooking their skin. Killmonger was already a shade darker, and it looked good on him. His biceps were beefy and darker brown. Her own dark skin took on a red tinge with her rich color. At a glance, they looked like tourists ambling about looking for t-shirts to buy for back home, not shipwrecked targets for death.

"Ow!"

Portia tripped on some sand and eroding rocks, bumping into Killmonger and almost knocking him over.

"Watch it," he barked.

"Sorry! I wasn't trying to bump into you—"

"Take those ridiculous shoes off so you can walk better—"

"It's too hot."

"No, it's not—"

"Yes, it is—"

They fussed like an old married couple all the way to the highest point of the island. He stuck the tracker in the ground and checked to make sure it was working properly. Gazing out at the sea around them, Killmonger lifted binoculars from his chest and peered out further.

"See anything?"

"No."

"That's a good sign, right?" she asked.

Portia put Mimi down so the dog could sniff around and urinate. Mimi happily sniffed and marked territory. When she padded over too close to a drop, Porta scooped her back up. There didn't seem to be any wildlife at all.

"Do you think there are a lot of snakes on this island?"

"Maybe. I haven't seen much scat or midden left behind," he said, searching the sea with the binoculars.

"What's that?"

"Scat is animal shit, and midden is their refuse… the food they've nibbled on and left behind. I only spotted some anthills and one bird so far. Not much to sustain a lot of snakes."

He glanced over at her.

"Just walk hard. Your vibration will scare them off. Keep that rat dog in sight, though."

"She's a Pomeranian."

"Looks like a rat dressed in a hot ass fur coat."

Portia looked at her baby. Mimi did pant. She grabbed a water bottle from Killmonger's pack and poured some on the dog.

"Whatchu doin'?! That's for drinking," Killmonger scolded.

"She's hot. I don't want her to get sunstroke."

He held his hand outstretched.

"We're surrounded by cool seawater. Dunk her rat ass in that. Stop wasting what we need to survive!"

Portia pouted.

"I wasn't thinking about that. I just wanted to help her."

"Let me do all the thinking then…" he grumbled.

They explored more, trekking around the entire island in under an hour. She dunked Mimi in a pool of water that came up from a natural aquifer of fresh water near the cave entrance. Killmonger grumbled again, so she walked her dog into the seawater and cooled them both off. He shut his mouth when she removed her beach wrap and frolicked with Mimi until a small wave knocked her poor pooch over. She walked out of the water dripping with her diamonds glittering, making her look like a Black Venus rising to the mortal world. He licked his thick lips, and she shuddered at the thought of that mouth on her body. Killmonger was bossy and so easily annoyed by her. However, he was also attracted to her and Portia played into that whenever he gave a tired sigh with her antics spoiling her fur baby. She made a little condo property for Mimi with her dog kennel. Moving it far back in the cave, she gave the dog a bowl of water and dried dog food with space to call her own to keep away from Killmonger. She decorated the front of the crate with pretty rocks and shells she collected and doted on her little one until Mimi fell asleep, farting from all the snack treats Portia gave her to help with the stress of a new environment.

He checked in with the rescue team on the phone and made them lunch. She sensed he felt more relaxed after finding fresh water on the island that they could use if they needed to. They ate in silence together, sitting on the sand and staring at the water. To be stranded on an island with a trained killer wasn't such an awful experience. Underneath the rough exterior was a man who held her hand to help her move around the island, and who also made sure she was hydrated. He pointed out natural formations of some of the island's geography around them and double-checked for snakes as they stepped over fallen trees. She gripped his arm when they moved into questionable areas, and at one point, she slipped her hand into his as he guided her back down toward the cave.

She took a nap on the sand and woke up to a crackling fire. Killmonger had gathered wood and dried brush, making a cozy glow that couldn't be seen from the narrow opening of the cave from the outside. They watched a new sliver of moon rise and a blanket of blue-black sky rest over the island for the night. She grinned and nibbled on chocolate chip cookies, humming and rocking on her backside as she ate. He laughed at her.

"What?" she said

"You look like a little kid on a girl scout campfire trip," he teased.

"Funny, because I used to be a girl scout."

"A girl scout… and you didn't know what scat and midden were?"

"I must've missed that part. I just looked good in the uniform," she said.

He smiled, and the bright, genuine light it brought to his face made him even more handsome. Killmonger was fine, no doubt, but there was something else deep within him that made him even more attractive. She thought of the way he lifted her up with one arm, shooting with the other as he rushed her to safety. His eyes always slid over to hers, even before the attack, when they were floating in tranquility. Portia had teased him sexually, doing things to get a rise out of him. It had started as a dismissive act, letting him see what he would never have in life, and it changed into active taunting, daring him to step up to the challenge so she could smack him down and belittle his audacity to think he was ever on her level.

Sitting in a cave with a peaceful campfire, her gaze on him brought clarity. She had been attracted to him the moment he put her in check on their first meeting. People always did what she wanted, and he had been the first man to push back on her attitude. She picked at him every time he showed up in her face.

"Penny for your thoughts," he said.

"You couldn't afford my thoughts," she said in a playful tone.

He smirked, then added more wood to the fire. Her eyes drifted up to watch the smoke go through the hole in the high roof.

"You think they're done looking for us? Should we even have a fire with the smoke floating… they could see it."

"By now, they should think we're dead. They never saw us leave on the boat and the yacht is at the bottom of the ocean by now, so they can't even check to see about the emergency escape, even if Quinton mentioned it. I won't have this going for long," he said.

"I like it," she said, holding her hands and feet up, warming her fingers and toes.

They didn't need the extra warmth. The cave was already cozy, but it brought comfort to their predicament.

"I'll sleep out here tonight and keep watch," he said. "I'll have to hike around a bit too, to check in other directions from the top."

She looked around for a blanket or pallet on the sand. There was nothing to lie on. Perhaps his soldier ways let him sleep cross-legged and upright. Her eyes became drowsy. Standing and stretching, she stared out at sea, admiring the sizeable chunk of island rock that faced across from their private paradise.

"I thought a storm was coming," she said.

"It is. Can't you feel the temperature drop? The sky is changing too. Won't hit until later tonight, and it won't be as bad out here. The sheer rock of that island over there is shielding us, and the tide doesn't get very high in here. We're good," he said.

She nodded.

"Night," she called.

"Night," he said.

She checked on Mimi, then snuggled inside the boat with the blankets. Killmonger went and grabbed the solar lights that he sat out in the sun all day and brought into the cave, jamming them down in the sand near the boat. He even posted two by Mimi's kennel because Portia told him the dog was nervous about being in the dark. Her mind tried to stay positive. She wondered how bad the storm could be if the hole at the top of the roof flooded with rainwater. Killmonger didn't appear concerned, so she let the thought drop.

After an hour, a soft splash of water forced her to lift and see what the noise was. Mimi hated water, so there were no worries there. Portia spotted Killmonger on the far side of the cave, splashing his naked feet into the liquid heaven.

"Lord," she whispered into her own mouth, watching him.

He was totally nude and moved his body with an assured grace that made him look like Poseidon returning to the sea. She could not stop staring at his taut glutes and powerful thighs. His keloid scars were all over his back, too. Killmonger walked in waist-deep before dunking his head underwater and wetting his locs. He ran a hand over his hair and shook them, stretching his arms out wide, traveling deeper into the sea until she could only see his head. Going under a few times, he moved closer to shore, and she noticed the small bottle of liquid soap in his hand. He washed all over, rubbing his muscles, and cleaning between his toes and elsewhere. Rinsing off, he dropped the bottle of soap on the sand for later and put on his pants without his boxer briefs. He padded back over to the dying fire and stopped when he saw Mimi sitting near his previous seat.

"Getcho ass back in that kennel," he ordered.

Mimi only sat and stared at him.

He sat down next to the pampered pooch and placed Mimi on his lap. Portia giggled and hid under the blankets.

Smoke and flashes of a blazing fire blinded her eyes. The shouts of fear and the odor of fresh blood grounded her back on the yacht. She had moved so slowly. Champagne and the thrill of fireworks put her in a loopy mood and the horror of the attack froze her and probably saved her life. Tiana and Carlos ran and Portia stood there like a statue, her mind trying to fathom what was wrong with the scenario before she was tackled by the running dead and free-falling onto her back.

"No!"

Portia shot up inside the boat, her heart jackhammering in her chest. Her throat clogged with a scream as she relived the attack. Staring at her shaking hands in front of her face, she expected to see blood and brain matter again as another scream ripped from her lips.

"Hey, it's okay… shhh… it's only a nightmare…"

Killmonger jumped into the boat with her and the fading dream had her beating his chest thinking he was an attacker. The lucidity made her claw at his face and he pulled her into his chest, rocking her, cooing soft words into her ear to bring her back to reality and the safety of the cave. Mimi whined behind her and the sound of the dog snapped her to the present. She fell apart then, wailing into Killmonger's chest, her mouth wide open and unable to close as if the terror she endured would crawl out of her throat. Quinton tried to kill her. Her body could've been at the bottom of the sea becoming fish food and no one would know the truth of what he did to her or all of their so-called friends. Portia moaned and jammed a hand against her mouth.

"You're good, Portia. I'm here and we're okay. Just a bad dream…"

She looked up at his face, then wrapped her arms around his neck. He leaned back in the boat, letting her rest on top of him. He stroked her spine and his rough hands on her bare skin brought her back from the brink of totally losing all control of her emotions. She wiped her eyes and covered her face, weeping quietly against him.

"I was waiting for this. Some people take longer to process what happened to them. You tried your best to act like you were okay all day," he whispered.

Her breath shuddered as his soothing voice and hands brought her into a calm state.

"I was so scared," she said.

"I know."

"It was so fast and… I couldn't move…"

"You did well considering all that was happening at one time… even wiped blood on yourself to fool them. That's thinking on your toes, Ma. Most people just scream and holler, then get caught up in the shock. You ran and did what you had to do."

"Thank you for saving me," she whispered.

"That was my job."

His fingers dragged up and down her spine, making her skin feel tingly and warm. She crawled off of him and snuggled into his side, hiding her face in his chest. Portia enjoyed being there. It felt comfortable and safe. He stroked her arms and tried to leave her side to return to his post, but she gripped his arm and pulled him back next to her.

"Don't go," she said.

A soft sprinkle of rain fell on the water. The storm had arrived. The pleasant patter of droplets striking the sea eased her mind and body. Her nightmare faded, easily forgotten, while cozied up against him.

"Try to sleep," he said.

Killmonger rested his head on the makeshift pillow his work jacket made and she stared into his eyes. The solar lights gave her a soft ambiance to look at him with.

"By tomorrow evening, they should be near enough where I can shoot a flare so they can pick us up. Hang on to that thought," he said.

She nodded into his shoulder and released a final shudder that loosened all the tension in her body. Absent-mindedly, she rubbed her fingers across the top of his naked chest, feeling the slick contours of his keloids against the pads of her fingertips. Tracing her fingers under his neck, she took a bold step and ran her finger across his full lips. Raising herself higher, Portia kissed him, enjoying the sensation of warm plush fullness outlining her own plump softness. His lips smothered hers as he took over the kissing. She expected a feral roughness with him, but he was buttery soft and so gentle with her mouth. Even his large tongue surprised her with how seductively slow it was exploring the inside of her mouth. Their kisses were languid and so unrushed that she could almost fool herself into thinking that they had been lovers in some other past life together. There was no clumsy fumbling newness as their tongues sought an understanding of their changed physical relationship.

She tugged on his bottom lip with her teeth, and he smiled. He kissed his own trail down her face and onto her neck where he buried those sharp gold teeth and nibbled on her throat, shooting sparks of pleasure down to her toes and back. Groaning out loud, she delighted in his fingers pinching her nipples through her bikini top. She untied it and freed her breasts. His hand palmed their fullness, and she glanced down at his crotch. His dick tented his pants. She helped unfasten them, releasing his erection. It was a hot, rigid thing in her hand and his head fell back, allowing a deep groan to release from his mouth.

"Stroke that shit," he huffed into her neck while untying the bottom of her bikini himself.

She moved over as he wiggled out of his pants and gasped when she saw his dick and balls together. Her pussy throbbed while looking at the heft and length. Pre-cum pearled at his tip and ran down the sides and she helped slicken that big dick in a hurry, eliciting more guttural moans from him. She liked the pleasurable sounds falling from his lips and squeezed her fingers around the bulbous tip. The hole there opened wider and clear fluid drizzled onto the gap of her thumb and index finger.

"Fuck, baby," he gasped when she twisted and tugged under the ridge.

His fingers found her clit and her pussy wasted no time becoming slick and wet, her folds opening up for him like a blooming rose. He stared between her legs, licked his lips, and flashed those gold slugs. She lost control of the tremors making her body weak for him. Slick sounds met his fingers, and he played with her pussy lips until she was begging for him to do more.

"Play with your pussy. Lemme see you do what you did on the boat when you were teasing me," he huffed.

Her diamond-crusted fingernails made her pussy so pretty for him. She could see his arousal grow in his glassy eyes. She rubbed her clit, then held her folds open. He licked his fingers and stuck them in her mouth. She sucked on them, showing him everything she could do for his dick. He closed his eyes and his lips parted. Panting, he played in her mouth. His big dick twitched and jumped against her thigh, spewing more pre-cum.

"Lemme play in this pussy," he begged.

She opened her legs, and he inserted two fingers inside of her opening, gently testing the limits of what she could take. Portia whimpered when he started tapping on the sides of her walls, flicking his fingers back and forth like a butterfly fluttering away. He knew how to stimulate pussy. Killmonger wasn't rough or jerky with his movements either. He watched her face to read what she could handle from him and kissed her often, slow and steady, binding Portia to him like he was kissing a magic spell into her mouth, conjuring more pleasure from the nerves that woke up all over her writhing body. He fingered her pussy and sucked on her nipples, turning her body into mush that the sea could wash away with the tide.

"Listen to that pussy… fuck… I knew this shit was good… fuck…" he moaned.

"Killmonger," she cried out as his fingers hit spots in her that hadn't been touched in so long.

"You loved showing this pussy to me. So fat in this bikini. Letting me see these pussy lips all the time… teasing me…"

He pulled his fingers out against the clenching she began doing around them. He sucked her juices from his fingers and admired the frothy wetness that glistened all over her puffy folds. Slapping her vulva, he stood up and forced her to her knees.

"Suck this dick," he commanded.

Portia obeyed, jumping to her knees and swallowing his dick head like it was her last meal in life. He pushed his dick in further and her mouth stretched around it. She pressed her hand on his stomach to control the depth, but he slapped her face. The shock of the sting aroused her, and she stared up at him with heated eyes and a throbbing pussy.

"You gon' take this dick how I feed it to you… spoiled bitch. Now suck on it… put those fucking hands away. I want all mouth, Portia."

Portia opened her mouth wider, and he went in deeper. She gagged while trying to suck and slurp, and her eyes watered, but Killmonger slapped the other side of her face, disappointed with her performance.

"I thought you were better than this. You can't handle this dick?"

Her forehead creased with anger. She always gave world-class head. No man had ever complained about her oral skills. She gripped the root of his dick and he slapped her hands away.

"I said all mouth, and I meant all mouth!"

He pushed her back, and the anger that sat on his face excited her. Killmonger wasn't pleased at all. She licked his balls and kissed her way back to his dick again to try better. Taking her time, she licked around the slit and under the head, coating her tongue with all the pre-cum that dripped from him. He dragged his tip across her lips, making them glossy, and nudged the seam of her lips back open.

"Let's see if you can do better," he said.

She adjusted her knees with the blankets and sucked on that dick tip, using her full concentration. Her suction with her lips improved, and she even grazed her teeth gently around him to switch up her performance. He treated her like a little puppet that needed her strings pulled when she didn't suck to his satisfaction. She worked her ass off to get a groan, a moan, or a "Good girl," to drip from his sexy lips. He patted her head and sometimes pulled her braids to force her lips to do better.

"How are you gonna pull that nut outta Daddy when you stay playin' like that? Huh? Is this your best?" he asked.

She popped his dick out of her mouth with a torrent of saliva falling onto her breasts and pouted.

"Not as good as you thought you were. Do better," he said, shoving his dick back in.

Portia wanted to cry. She gave him grade A head, and it still wasn't up to par. All the tricks she had used over the years to get men off failed her. There were moments when she thought she had made a breakthrough, but he grumbled and told her she was not even close to getting him off.

"Look up at me when you suck that dick," he said.

Frustrated, she gazed up at him as he deep-throated her neck. That gorgeous face and big ass lips had her pussy clenching on nothing but air. Her walls felt so swollen and ached for his dick to lay her out. A few tears streaked down her face as her frustration grew.

"That's a good girl. Now take some more of Daddy's dick. Show me you can follow directions," he said.

She wanted to please him so badly. He played with her nipples and breasts as she worked her neck, throating him down as best she could. Her loud gawking echoed throughout the cave.

"Jaws getting tired?" he teased in a mean tone.

He pulled his dick out and glared at her.

"Tell Daddy you're sorry for letting him down with that mouth," he demanded.

The gruff tone ignited the ache in her clit. He threaded the braids in the back of her head with the fingers of his left hand and tilted her head while fisting his dick. He gently yanked on her hair.

"What I say? Tell Daddy you're sorry for that trash sucking," he barked.

"I can do better," she pleaded.

"You had a long time to show me, and it didn't happen."

He grunted and stared at her ripe lips, his right hand working that length like he was ready to burst. Gripping her head with his hand, he bared his slugs.

"Sorry, Daddy—"

"For what?" he gasped, narrowing his eyes as he brought his tip closer to her whimpering mouth.

"—for not sucking your dick right. Please, I can suck your dick so good!"

Portia fondled her left breast and groped between her legs to flick her clit. Begging him for a chance to prove herself was the only goal she had in life. She needed him to cum… couldn't take her next breath until he was satisfied. Killmonger had scorn written all over his expression.

"Daddy, I'm sorry…" she whined.

"Oh fuck, dassit, dassit!" he shouted.

Hot cum shot out in thick ropes all over her cheeks and lips, accompanied by a roar from his throat that enhanced his release. She opened her mouth to catch the last drops of his orgasm and she came all over her own fingers while enjoying the pure ecstasy on his straining face.

"Damn, Portia… oh… baby… shit!"

Another streak of cum shot out, and he aimed it for the other side of her face. His ejaculate dripped down, and she rubbed it onto her chest, showing him how much it meant to have him all over her breasts. He gave a low laugh and stumbled back.

"Whew… damn, girl. I was tryna hold back for so long. Your head game is fucking superb."

She licked her fingers and then stared at him.

"You were playing with me?" she asked.

"Not at first. You're used to simps being satisfied with the bare minimum. I'm a grown-ass man who needs you to show and prove with this dick. It's not for the weak, and you showed the fuck out."

He lifted her up, and she didn't want him to do anything else until she had wiped her face and chest off with a wet wipe. Killmonger hugged and kissed her afterward. They stood in the boat, necking until she couldn't take any more. She climbed him like Santa Claus was bearing gifts and wrapped her legs around him.

"I want you sitting on my mouth," he said between desperate kisses from her lips.

She slid down his body and he situated himself comfortably on the blankets. Portia squatted over his face and planted her pussy on his lips. He let it rest there, feeling the wetness all over before humming and moaning into her flesh.

"Ooh," she moaned, scissoring her clit.

He slapped her fingers away, and she looked down at him. The glow from the lamps made his eyes a liquid brown dream, and he slathered that wide tongue up and down her folds, circling her clit with the tip. He held onto her ass cheeks and she mewled and bit her bottom lip to keep from hollering out his name. Killmonger slapped both of her ass cheeks before sliding his hands under and over her thighs to lock her down on his tongue. He made it stiff, and she lifted herself to let him insert it nice and snug inside of her. Cradling her breasts, Portia went up and down and he fucked her with tongue, lips, and groans that vibrated her folds.

"Killmonger!" she yelled, not caring if pirates, snakes, Mimi, the Coast Guard, or God heard her cries of pleasure.

His tongue was delectable on her pussy and inside of it. The strength of his hands supporting her, his burning gaze rooting her to his lips… everything about him gave her chills. The effort to cum was minimal. Her orgasm shattered her ability to think clearly anymore. She babbled something or other like she was talking in tongues at her old church back in South Carolina. Bucking and yelping made no difference. That man was going to turn her pussy out. She whimpered and fell forward, unable to move any limbs. His laughter at pleasing her bounced all over the cave and she joined him, reveling in the joy that their bodies could share with one another.

Killmonger held Portia carefully in his arms as they kissed.

The taste of the deepest part of her stayed on his tongue and he shared the gift of that with her. She clung to him as if she feared him disappearing into the wet, rainy night. He had to do a patrol and fished around for night vision goggles he found stashed in a sideboard on the boat. Putting on his pants and combat boots, he didn't bother to wear a t-shirt and just tossed on his black jacket. He stuffed the satellite phone into an inside pocket and strapped his Glock around his thigh.

Portia watched him under the blankets, staring up at him with so much lust that it tempted him to forego an island sweep to stay with her. Grabbing an unfinished water bottle, he knelt down next to her and pressed his warm lips against her forehead.

"Keep it hot for me," he said, winking at her.

He wasn't finished with her by a long shot. They only experienced oral sex, each taking turns to taste and learn the other's private parts intimately.

Killmonger trudged out of the cave with Portia's scent on his beard. He placed the night vision goggles on once he was out of her sight. He hiked around, searching the sea even as a light rain came down on him. Without Portia being with him, he could get around fast. He turned on the phone and checked for any missed calls from the Greek Coast Guard. They were operating under extreme weather conditions on their end, despite the mild display on their side. Killmonger was glad that they found a place to hide that shielded them. He hoped the bad weather stayed outside of Crete and didn't follow their rescue unit.

Nothing unusual appeared on the horizon. Confident that they were in the clear, he took a moment to let the soft rain bathe his face. He hiked back to Portia and rinsed himself off before getting back into their boat bed with her naked again. She threw her arms around him like she was his woman, greeting her man after a hard day's work.

Oh, how the tables had turned!

Hiding away turned her into a bubbly, humorous woman who sought beauty all around her. It mesmerized him, watching the glow on her face as the sunrise brought her to tears that morning. She was thankful for the plain food they had to eat, and she didn't complain too much about their situation or bug him about checking the phone more than he did. His leadership and take-charge attitude allowed her to fall back into a space of just living in the present. He liked that version of her and wondered if the ice princess persona would return once they were rescued. Killmonger hoped not.

He sank his tongue back in her eager mouth and they kissed for an hour, stopping to catch their breath and caress each other. Her eyes became dewy for him and she couldn't stop touching him or being hugged up next to him. He made her lay back and played with her clit, dipping his finger inside her pussy just to watch it contract around his fingers, trying to keep them inside.

His dick became a turgid beast and hung heavy between his thighs. There were no condoms available. He had some on the yacht where he thought he might need them if he found a babe to his liking, but the only woman who turned him on was Portia. On the ship, he knew there was no way they would ever hook up. He wanted to fuck the boldness out of her back then, just to wipe that bitch queen attitude off her face. It baffled him at how quickly she wanted to submit to his domination of her body with his. He had suspected she wanted to be dominated, but not that fast.

Killmonger could've busted a nut all over her from the first ten minutes of sucking she did, but he pushed her to the limit to see if she would fight his heckling of her throat game. How he was able to keep control over his release was a miracle. He was ready to blow his load when she spit on his dickhole and cradled his balls in her hand, staring up at him with those formerly insolent cat eyes. Killmonger kept pushing her until she broke and gave him what he wanted. Her apology made him cum so hard. All he could think about was her telling him to shut the fuck up when he told her about herself. That woman got on her knees and sucked the glory out of his dick. Begged to please him. That shit amped him up.

Portia held his dick in her capable hands. They both wanted to fuck.

God!

Nice tits. A dangerous ass. Mouth game beyond ridiculous. How was Quinton not in that woman twenty-four-seven the entire time on that yacht? Portia walked around with that prize pussy, advertised it to the world all week with skimpy swimsuits, and Killmonger regretted not throwing caution to the wind and just stepping to her. Game peeped game. They could fuck and fight afterward. She was most definitely throwing hints he could get it on the yacht, but he stayed professional.

He leaned down and sucked on her neck. She panted, squirming against him, and he fingered her pussy slowly until she squeezed her eyes shut and her mouth fell open in agony.

"Fuck… I wish I could give you what you need, girl," he groaned into her ear.

She touched his scars like they were precious to her.

"You can," she said in a hushed voice.

"Without a condom?" he said.

Her gaze didn't flinch, and she pouted those succulent lips.

"I almost got killed. I'm stranded on an island with a mercenary. A hurricane could blow through here and end us both tonight. I have nothing to lose," she said.

Shit.

Killmonger regarded her face to make sure she was serious.

"I'm checked for STIs every three months," he said.

"Six months for me. I've been with Quinton for a couple of years. We normally use condoms and have unprotected for special occasions only. He's a germaphobe and I'm pretty sure Tiana was his first outside fuck. I'm on the pill, and… well… like I said, tomorrow isn't promised. This entire trip taught me that."

"Are you sure?" he asked.

"You don't have to if you don't want to."

"Trust. I want to. Been wanting to."

She grinned and ran her hand over his locs, rolling the end of one between her fingers.

"I have, too. All that teasing was to get your attention."

"You had it the moment you walked on board that yacht. I didn't like you… but I liked your confidence," he said.

He played with the end of one of her braids and fondled a diamond hair jewel.

"Are you like this in private, when you aren't being theatrical with all the spotlights?" he asked.

"Like what?"

"Unguarded. Open. Friendly."

"Sometimes. I run with a crowd that I have to have a protective shell with all the time."

"Sad life."

"What about you? You also put on an act. You're not mean all the time," she said.

"I'm direct. There's a difference. My job is life or death in precarious places with dangerous people."

"Have you ever lost an entire team before?"

"No. This was a major hit. Practically overkill. There were about ten men compared to my five, and they were using high-grade explosives. Most pirates want hostages or the ship itself. Those people came there for one thing. Do a wet job and bounce. You and I aren't supposed to be alive, Portia."

He cradled her in his arms. The scent of her hair was sugary sweet, like some exotic fruit and nutmeg. Their ardor cooled with their private thoughts and Killmonger listened to the rush of water lapping onto the cave shore. The wind picked up and howled down from the four-foot hole in the ceiling. He stayed awake and Portia slept deeply, the rise and fall of her chest soothing to him. If she had another nightmare, she'd wake up with him holding her. At two in the morning, he snuck away to patrol again. Heavier storm clouds accumulated in the distance and he expected stronger weather soon. A boom of thunder and spidery streaks of lightning zig-zagged across the sky. He popped the collar on his jacket and used his night vision goggles. A vast emptiness stretched out before him. For all he knew, they were the only people in the entire world. The cell phone had poor reception and the battery life was low. Hell, if no one showed up, they'd have to chance it back on the water. There were paddles and he'd get them to Crete one way or another with his own arm power once all the gas was used. He flipped on the locator beam's distress signal light. Survival was second nature to him. They would make it out.

Killmonger took his time going back to the cave. The darkness, the wind, and the rain comforted his mood.

No more civilian gigs.

He took the job as a favor to Clark, but he missed the offensive action of being in foreign countries. He'd give Clark a piece of his mind when he got back. The men he put together for Killmonger should not have allowed those killers to get that close. He had four men on water detail in all directions, and they allowed a boat to hit them swiftly and deadly. They were all executed, so he doubted they were in on the take. He would've caught on right away that it was a set-up when he first arrived. The attack crew had to have used a submersible to plant the explosives against the hull. It was something he would've done.

A heavier thunderstorm arrived, and he jogged back to the cave.

Portia was still asleep. Mimi was up, digging holes in the back of the cave, too distracted to bark or whine at him for attention. He took off his jacket and boots, climbing back beside Portia for warmth. She had curled into the fetal position under a blanket and looked so vulnerable. The cooler air and rain on his body made him shiver a bit, and he went to make another fire.

By early morning, the storm kicked up and the tide level in the cave increased. It wasn't enough to make them leave because the giant boulders and jagged smaller island formations surrounding the cave kept the larger waves from crashing to shore on them. The gigantic grayish-black clouds made the interior darker, adding to the dreary atmosphere as large raindrops showered their private beach.

Portia ate a cold-weather MRE of scrambled eggs, fruit bars, oatmeal, and a bland trail mix. He made them coffee again and ate his own meal before catching some sleep. With no phone reception and the bad weather making visibility terrible, he could afford to rest for an hour or two. He listened to Portia bathe on the other side of the cave. She hummed with a pleasant voice and spent some time by the fire alone with her dog.

The storm kept them quiet, and they became occupied with other things rather than each other until she found a kit of tiny board games inside a sealed bag. There were checkers, chess, Tic Tac Toe, and a deck of cards. They played speed with the cards and hunkered down to play checkers before lunch. Hunger and lunch skipped them as they got into a serious chess match. Later, they both played with Mimi, letting the dog chase them around the cave until Erik shouted bloody murder and flailed his arms around.

"What is it? What is it?" Porta shrieked, scared out of her wits.

"A spider dropped down on me!"

Portia blinked a few times, then burst out laughing. He swiped at his locs and a quarter-sized furry brown arachnid fell out of his hair and scurried on the sand. Mimi chased after it and they both beat pieces of wood on the ground trying to smash it. The dog gobbled it up and Portia grabbed her stomach from laughing so hard.

"Your big butt was scared of that little thing? I thought a tarantula fell on you!" she cackled.

"It's all the legs that creep me out, and they move real sneaky," he grumbled, embarrassed that he showed a weakness in front of her.

"Poor baby," Portia said, patting his back, "Mimi saved you."

He chased after Portia and lifted her over his shoulder, spanking her backside for teasing him. Another bigger spider dropped from the roof and landed on Portia. She damn near came out of her own skin trying to swipe it out of her hair. Killmonger let her run around like a chicken with its head cut off to teach her a lesson about making fun of him. She walked around with the heebie-jeebies afterward, terrified more spiders would come raining down on them like a horror movie. Rain, thunder, and spiders were forgotten when they crawled back into the boat together for a nap. She traced the shape of his scars with her fingers again, and he rested his chin on her head.

"I know this sounds crazy, but I really like it here with you," she whispered.

"Yeah?"

She nodded against his chest.

"I thought I would go stir crazy, but I'm actually grateful to sit still. Weird, huh? No TV. Internet. People. Just peace. No distractions. No one to impress or look good for. It feels like we're Adam and Eve here."

"No apples or snakes, though," he joked.

"What do you do when you don't work?"

"I sit still. Like this."

"Where?"

"That's classified information."

"Really."

"The less you know about me, the better."

"Is Killmonger even your real name?"

"No."

She never asked for his name. He was glad. She took the hint.

"We'll never see each other again after this," she said.

"No, we won't," he said with finality.

"You make me laugh, and you're a skilled chess player."

"You're not too bad yourself."

Portia sat up and took off her bikini again. Her eyes were loving and drank in his face. She helped him undress, then kissed him all over his face, touching his chin, and giving her lips to him before kissing down his chest, following the trail of hairs below his belly button until she had his dick in her mouth. She bobbed her head, and he said her name softly, praising her for how good she made him feel. Pushing him back, she held his dick upright and aligned it with her opening. He held his breath as she sank down on him. She grunted when she reached the bottom. His dick had her folds stretched all around him tight, creating a snug suction as she went up and down, taking her time. They locked eyes, and the arousal overwhelmed him. He gazed at their connection like he was in a daze and her pussy made his thickness shiny and slick. Portia rode him so well that his back arched and he lifted to press her against his chest as he thrust into her. Up and down she went, caressing her nipples, those expensive, icy-looking fingernails highlighting the hidden treasure that she was beneath all the posturing.

He had looked down on Portia before meeting her, his disdain at her Sugar Baby ways clouding his judgment on who she really was as an individual sans the glitz. Fucking him like that in a hollow cave on a lone island proved to him she was worth pampering and spoiling. If he had the money, he'd spend it on her himself. The pussy taking care of his dick was priceless.

"Turn around," he gasped.

Portia lifted and swung her legs the other way, leaning forward as she wiggled her backside for him. He palmed a fat cheek and her pussy swallowed his dick. She rocked back on him and he was blessed to watch her ass jiggle and his dick stretch her out at the same time. He whimpered in his throat with his entire face scrunched up at the intense pleasure. She rode the tip of his dick, and then placed those diamond nails on her ass cheeks, spreading them wide so he could see her pussy work. He slipped his thumb in her ass, and Portia moaned. She drenched his dick and the gushy sounds harmonized with his groans.

She showed out.

Circling her waist, she twisted her pussy on his dick and he couldn't take it anymore. He slapped her ass and forced her onto her hands and knees. Clapping her cheeks was the goal, and he made Portia call out his name as he gave her what she needed. Her pussy became disrespectful, and he tamed her depths, gripping her waist and deep dicking her nice and slow.

"Killmonger… Killmonger… Killmonger…" she panted.

The need to dominate surged in his loins. Flipping her over, he forced her to take the dick she so richly deserved. The pillow princess vanished and in her place was an erotically in-tune woman with full-body engagement. He threw her legs over his shoulders and cursed at how satisfying her pussy felt all around him. She had to have diamonds on her walls because whatever amount of money rich men spent on her wasn't enough. Her grip on his dick had him moaning and choking up his curse words in his throat. She took him deeper and his glutes clenched tight, helping him pump death strokes into her. The cave was full of squelching and grunts, and he watched their shadows moving on the cave walls from the fire. Her hips wiggled seductively, and he hunched down low to kiss her lips and feel her breasts smashed against his chest. They were beyond fucking at that point, moving into the primal state like they were the first man and woman to ever make love.

Scooting to her side, he held her legs up and stroked her walls from a new angle that knocked the sense out of her. Those pouty lips stayed open and her eyes took on a glazed look as if she couldn't believe what was happening to her. Her breasts bounced with each thrust and she glanced down to watch his dick ruin her. She chewed on her lip when she saw what was happening to her pussy. He snaked his hips and hit another angle within her and she called out to God. He stayed working that spot, stroking it until his body became a stiff plank focused on only one task: making her cum hard on his dick.

She rubbed on her clit, and those pretty nails had his balls moving.

"Baby… I feel it… 'bout to cum…" he gasped.

"You wanna cum in my pretty pussy?"

The wantonness in her voice urged him on.

"Pussy so good… fucking me so good… dick so hard…" he chuffed with abandon

"You want to make a big mess in my pussy?"

Her voice electrified him. It pushed him to give her his best and yet it challenged him like she was internally comparing him to others and he was coming up short. It was arousing, but it irked him too.

"Take it… take Daddy's dick," he grunted.

Her eyes changed, became coquettish, and it threw him off. His skin was on fire and dripped with sweat, and the sound of her voice encouraged him to tame that pussy. She dared him to. Portia's face transformed into a woman who wanted some Daddy dick to control her. Her right hand fondled the nape of his neck and those long nails scraped there with seductive pressure.

"I don't know if I can take all this dick the way you want," she taunted. "So big…"

He groaned, and she latched on to that sign of weakness.

"You're taking it… all this dick," he grunted.

"Are you sure? I'm trying to make it all fit for you," she said, all breathy.

"Oh, fuck!"

What was she doing? Playing coy? She acted like some virgin who had never had dick before. Her tone was ultra-feminine. She tucked the nail of her index finger between her teeth and looked down at his dick stretching those sweet walls. Her eyes were wide with wonder at the sight, and that coquettish energy fed him what he needed. Dominance.

"Nobody fuck you like this?" he grunted.

She shook her head and kept her eyes on his dick, with that finger still in her mouth.

"Fuck my pussy," she said.

She looked at him with sweet, innocent eyes.

"Goddammit!" he cried out. "Spread those pussy lips!"

Portia widened those sticky folds and the sides of her fingers glided along his dick as he gave her all that he had left. She kept her finger in her mouth with her other hand and her beauty pushed him to the brink. He mounted her again in missionary and his sweat fell on her like the rain falling on the water. She kept her legs up, that pussy open, and that damn lone finger between her lips. Her reckless eyes gazed at him and his dick swelled.

"I'm cumming! Oh shiiitttttt, I'm cumminggggg," he yelled.

He shoved his hips forward and Portia pursed her lips. She squirmed and lost the battle to hold on.

"Ohmigod… Killmonger!" she shouted.

Her head fell back and her pussy contracted with strong clenches all along his erection. Their shouts of pleasure intertwined and became one with the back and forth of their bodies squeezing and throbbing together. He caught himself before collapsing on her, pulling out his dick and fisting the last of his cum all over her clit. She was a pool of sweat and satisfaction, and they gasped for air, staring at the cave ceiling. The rain continued to fall.

Portia curled against his chest.

Sleep came fast.

He woke up, and she was gone. So was Mimi.

Killmonger called to them before putting on his clothes and grabbing his pack. It was only early evening, and the rain had stopped. Fat gray clouds still squatted over their island, but the storm's driving power had moved on. He found Portia and Mimi at the peak near the beacon.

"Went for a walk," she said.

He sat down next to them and pet the dog on the head. Mimi licked his hand. Pulling out the binoculars, he checked the sea. A cool breeze ruffled his locs. The wind was still strong, and the water had a few whitecaps.

Wait…

There!

A ship.

Killmonger honed in for the telltale signs of Coast Guard markings. There was a Greek flag waving from the gray and white ship. Greek lettering in big white caps spelled out Hellenic Coast Guard. He watched it approach to make sure it was the real deal before pulling out the flare gun and shooting it. Dark orange smoke shot up high in the sky.

"It's them?" Portia squealed.

"Yep."

She hugged Mimi, and he turned on the emergency cell. The power went out, but he didn't care. He held Portia's hand, and they walked down to the cave. There was nothing to do but push their emergency boat into the water. It had just enough gas left to power them out into the open sea. Killmonger didn't want to wait for them to send a smaller boat. He needed Portia in a safe place fast with Greek government protection.

They sped out on the water, bouncing on the choppy waves. Porta kept looking behind her like she wanted to keep the image of their island in her mind. He gave her his outer shirt to wear on top of her bikini. She curled her legs under her wrap dress.

Killmonger aligned their boat against the large Coast Guard ship and the crew helped Portia up on a side ladder. He tied their boat to the larger one and knotted a rope around Mimi's dog crate so a crew member could help the dog get on board. Finally, he climbed up himself. The captain of the ship greeted them and gave them both blankets and hot coffee. Portia was damn near teary-eyed and she pressed herself against Killmonger, afraid to leave his side.

"Come inside," the captain said when the weather picked up outside.

They followed the man into a busy interior and sat down on cushioned seats that felt good after sitting on the sand and a hard boat bottom. A crew member handed them mugs filled with a thick Greek soup. They ate and Portia asked to use the head. She was led away further into the interior. The weathered-face captain asked him some questions and Killmonger's sixth sense kicked in.

Something was wrong.

There were too many men on the ship not dressed appropriately. Only the captain and a lieutenant had on a proper Greek Coast Guard uniform with their ranks on them. The others had dark clothing without rankings or insignias. The captain gave a weak smile and the perspiration on his forehead didn't go with the cool interior. Killmonger kept his tone normal.

"How soon can we make it back to the mainland?" he asked, thrusting his empty mug out for more hot coffee.

"It will take time. The weather has been tricky. We almost lost your signal," he said.

Killmonger nodded and moved over to a window. He counted the other men outside to get an accurate assessment of what he was up against and thanked his lucky stars that he opted to keep his Glock under his jacket. When he contacted the coast guard for help originally, he kept his identity vague, pretending to be a guest of Quinton. The attack team must've intercepted the Greek Coast Guard for their own nefarious use as a getaway ship. It had become a death trap for him and Portia.

Portia returned, all chipper. Her ice princess personality snapped back like a rubber band. She glanced at him and he pretended things were all good.

"Hey, baby, put Mimi back in her cage. We don't want her running around," Killmonger said.

The forced affection in front of the others surprised her. She walked over to the dog kennel near him and bent down to place Mimi inside it. After she locked the crate, Killmonger slipped an arm around Portia's waist and gently had her sit next to him.

"More soup?" The captain asked.

"No, thank you. When will we get back to Crete? Or is Athens where we're headed?" she asked.

Portia looked at Killmonger, and he sipped on his coffee to keep from answering right away.

"Would you like to rest, Miss Keith?"

The nervous lieutenant sensed the tension that had risen in the galley.

"There's an empty bunk you can sleep in until we reach port," the man said.

His name badge said Makris.

"You should go lay down. I'll check on you later. Take Mimi with you," Killmonger said.

Portia caught on that something was off. He leaned over and kissed her cheek.

"If there's a door, lock yourself in there," he whispered in her ear.

She kissed his lips and picked up Mimi. Portia showed no fear as she followed Makris. She played it cool and calm, like an iceberg. Good girl, he thought.

Killmonger had fourteen rounds in his Glock. He counted seven false crew members and only two regular ones. The rest of the original crew were dead somewhere on the ship or tossed overboard. He assumed Quinton had escaped on some other watercraft to separate himself from the killers. They wouldn't rush to kill them all until nightfall, with darkness as a cover. Something must've happened to their ship in order for them to risk hijacking a Coast Guard operation.

"She has heart medicine she needs. I forgot to bring it up from the boat we used," Killmonger said. The lie rang true to the men.

"We can have someone go down and get it for you," the captain said.

Vlachos. The captain's name badge gave Killmonger a second to look away from a bulky merc who sized him up.

"It's in a side slot in the back," Killmonger said, following the man out onto the deck again.

The bulky man climbed down the side of the ship and rooted around.

"The back," Killmonger called down.

The man held up his hands.

"Hold on," Killmonger said.

A few more killers came out to watch him as he climbed down. One in the boat. Six up top. Perfect.

"That boat has a lot of tricky compartments," Killmonger said.

A wave buoyed the boat, and they both lost their balance for a second. Killmonger pretended to dig into a slot near the side of the ship and unlatched the boat, letting it float away. He dropped low, pulled out his Glock, and shot the bulky man dead. The man fell over the side with a soft splash. Shots from above popped over his head, but he turned on the motor and glided around the other side. Once he reached the gap he needed, he slammed his hands around the front M60 7.62mm machine gun and blasted at the men. He ripped through four right away. One caught him slipping and clipped Killmonger in his shoulder. It wasn't enough to stop him, but the distraction gave Vlachos and Makris the opportunity to jump the last two killers and wrestle them. Killmonger zipped back toward the ladder again. He hooked the boat and hustled back to the top. Vlachos took a shot in the chest but apprehended one assailant. Makris knocked the gun out of another merc's hand and bashed his head against the deck floor, knocking him out.

Blood pooled and cooled all over the deck with the other dead men.

Portia ran out of seclusion and grabbed him so hard that it knocked the wind out of him.

"Your arm," she said, touching his bleeding wound.

Killmonger shrugged it off.

"We gotta help him," Killmonger said, nodding over to Vlachos.

Vlachos waved them away.

"Bullet passed right through," Vlachos said.

Makris helped the captain back into the galley and tended to both injured men with a first aid kit. They revealed to him the sordid story of how they ran into the armed men on their way to find them, coming across their distressed vessel that had stopped working because an engine fire left them stranded. The hijackers shot their initial crew of eight down to only two when they tried to fight back.

Killmonger was exhausted by the time he tried to rest on a bunk bed. Blood loss tired him out and so did Portia, who fussed over him with tears streaming down her face, thinking she had heard him being killed. She crawled on top of him despite his pain, too frightened to leave his side. He fell asleep to her soft humming and stroking of his locs.

Portia, Makris, and Vlachos arrived in Crete the next morning.

Killmonger had disappeared.

The military boat they escaped with was gone. She relayed the deadly adventure to the press and her photos were blasted worldwide. First came the press tours, then the exclusive paid interviews. A book deal followed along with a movie deal and three-part docuseries. She milked every opportunity to tell her story as the only survivor and was paid handsomely for it.

Returning to New York, she hid out in a penthouse for months, searching all over the internet for any trace of Killmonger. If it had not been for Makris and Vlachos corroborating that the man did indeed exist, she may have convinced herself that he was a figment of her overactive imagination. Two of the killers that survived the Coast Guard ship confessed to being hired by Quinton. A global manhunt seemed never-ending. When billionaires were murdered in cold blood, people cared. She attended memorials to all the victims, making sure she looked fabulous in Thom Browne and Prada fashion with her signature Chanel shades. Portia wasn't close to any of the people she partied with on the yacht, aside from Quinton. However, leaked photos from her private social media account showed merry faces prior to them leaving Athens on the first day of the New Year's trip. It brought comfort to the families, and they invited her to spend weeks in various billionaire enclaves where she spun stories about their rich sons being brave and attempting to save the women. All lies. But it gave the loved ones a sense of closure and peace.

After a year, her life returned to jet-setting and fashion weeks all over again. Her misadventure bolstered her popularity because of the glamorous photos of her being escorted from the Greek Coast Guard ship in her knitted alabaster bikini. For someone experiencing a traumatic event, Portia looked fashionable as fuck.

Media ate up the haunting tale of Quinton living a double life somewhere. Media blasted his life history around the world as the biggest true crime story to come along in years. Many speculated that he had drowned or killed himself because he couldn't be found anywhere. Portia guessed he lived in a country where he couldn't be extradited. The hoopla died down until her book came out. Then there was a buzz about the casting for the movie. Depression set in then.

Portia visited a few therapists, but none could help her cure the anger that sat in her spirit like venom that she couldn't spew out. She wanted Quinton's head on a plate. He needed to pay for what he had done. It didn't matter to her that the people he killed weren't her genuine friends. He ended human lives because of greed. She couldn't get over that he took the bitch route to jumpstart his fortunes. As smart as he was, he couldn't develop or create something new and amazing that made him rich in the first place. An existential dread lived in her gut. Portia couldn't free herself from the lack of justice. Jetting around the world with Mimi in tow didn't heal the pain. New diamonds, furs, and fancy cars lost their luster. Revenge burned in her soul.

She turned toward the dark web to search for Killmonger. Using some of her movie money, she hired the best ex-CIA and former Black Ops agents to help her find her mercenary lover. One former field agent told her the best that could happen was Killmonger would catch wind of her search, but no one could actually contact him. That was good enough.

The Swiss Alps looked like he imagined.

Cold, white, and jagged.

The job called for a remote location and this was as remote as it got. Killmonger rolled the late-model SUV into a long, isolated driveway that hadn't been plowed for a while. He parked when he couldn't drive any further, and dragged a large black duffel bag out of the trunk, along with an arsenal of small weapons in a backpack. The thick powdery snow cushioned and muffled his steps. All the lights were on in the mountain luxury chalet he came to. His target was inside. The cloudless night sky made the snow glittery with the moonlight and security lights surrounding the property.

Cold air made puffy clouds of his breath. His lungs burned from the exertion and altitude. He tapped his wrist computer and all the security cameras shut down within the chalet. The woman inside had a wineglass in her hand and talked on a cell phone, clueless that he was outside approaching with stealth. The lights in the interior winked out, then came back on suddenly. She turned her head and stared out through the large glass windows. Her eyes glossed over the valley below that was filled with snow that would have more dumped by midnight. Flakes had already fallen down on his way up a winding road.

He waited.

The front door opened, and the beauty stepped out in a long white fur coat reminding him of Goldie from the old Black flick, "The Mack". She still rocked expensive diamonds, and Ma carried herself like the ice princess she would always be.

Portia.

He stepped into the light and she grinned, relief creasing her brow and her lush lips spreading into the biggest smile. His heart dropped for a moment. She almost looked like she did back on their island.

"Killmonger," she said.

Her voice made him move toward her. She helped him with the small backpack and he hauled the duffel up the steps and into a cozy, warm interior. A fire burned in the fireplace and Mimi jumped around his legs.

"Hey rat dog," he teased.

He dropped the duffel near the door and lifted the dog. Portia took off her coat, revealing the slinky silver dress with the low-cut front he admired before he came in.

"Bring yourself over here," he said, dropping Mimi to the floor.

She sauntered to him, walking like a runway model, exaggerating her hips as she moved and draped her arms around his neck. He inhaled her lovely scent and memories rushed back of him and her alone… making love. Killmonger kissed her first, and she opened her mouth to envelop all the warmth of his tongue.

Two years.

They hadn't been in contact with each other in two years since he disappeared from her life. He went back to work for Clark and dropped off the radar soon after. The fame of their adventure dazzled his eyes when he went to a movie theater in Morocco and watched a film that was almost true. The actress that played Portia was gorgeous, but she lacked aloofness and sublime sensuality. Their sex scenes were amplified and gratuitous. There were long scenes of them fucking in water that never happened, and also one of them screwing on the Coast Guard ship. Also, untrue. The actor that was supposed to be him wasn't even a close approximation of Killmonger, but women loved him at the box office and the film became a blockbuster. The docuseries blew up, too. Portia became a media star and super-rich by doing nothing except being beautiful and caught up in some greedy foolishness. Some girls had all the luck with pretty privilege. The anomaly was her being a beautiful Black woman with an intriguing action-adventure-romance story. It did not shock him when Hollywood tried to white-wash the film by recasting Portia as a white blonde. That idea dropped, but they did cast a Black biracial British actress to play her. Think pieces blew up around that.

He got word of her searching for him.

It was only a matter of time. He thought of her often as he worked throughout the Middle East and West Africa. His notifications blew up during fashion weeks and he scrolled timelines to see what she had on and found out how her life was going. She dated often, but nothing serious. Her mystique intensified and everyone wanted her at their major events and parties.

He sensed her unhappiness.

Quinton, getting away with murder, rubbed too many white, rich people the wrong way. A Black man double-crossing billionaires and profiting from it... alive somewhere? Unheard of. Portia survived with the sting of betrayal hovering around her.

Killmonger smacked her ass, and she gave him the glass of wine in her hand. He drank it down, and she took it away, resting it on a side table.

The duffle moved.

Mimi growled and barked at the large black canvas bag and Killmonger knelt down, unzipping it. Stuffed inside was Quinton, tied and gagged. Portia picked up the smaller backpack she carried into the chalet for Killmonger. She opened it and he moved his hand around in it.

"Your choice of weapon, Ma," Killmonger said.

Portia lifted a modified Maxim 9 with a built-in silencer.

"What a way to ring in the New Year," she said, kissing him.

She dropped to one knee and peered at her prey.

"Hello, Quinton. Long time no see, baby," she said.

The iciness of her voice chilled Killmonger. Quinton's desperate eyes pleaded for mercy. She would give him none.

Portia zipped the bag up and stuffed the Maxim 9 back into the pack. She grabbed Killmonger's hand and pulled him toward some stairs.

"I'll save him for midnight when the fireworks go off. Right now, I want you," she purred.

Killmonger followed his ice princess. They had some reacquainting to do in the privacy of a luxury bedroom with fresh snow falling outside.

"Happy New Year," he whispered before kissing her all over.

A.N.:

Brought an oldie but goodie back! I first published this on here back on October 11, 2022, a month before "Wakanda Forever" came out. I thought I would expand this into a longer piece and indie publish it with some other stuff I took down from here, but I decided to put it up again because we need fun things to read in these daunting times with Cheeto dust back in office. Enjoy and please reblog!

[simpforbbarnes]

Dust and Destiny pt. 3

Pairing : Bucky Barnes x Stark!Reader

Summary : Bucky Barnes and you used to be lovers , madly in love . But you lost him in the blip and lost him again after the blip because he need to “find himself”.

Warning : no , maybe a little cursing

Words : 2.8k

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

Again ,i am really sorry . English is not my first language, so there will be many grammatical and spelling errors :(

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The ghost of the past

You did leave, for your own good.

That’s what you told yourself. That’s what your dad told you when he stood in front of you two years ago, arms crossed like he was trying to be firm, like this was just another logical decision, another equation to solve. But you had seen the crack in his voice, the way his fingers twitched like he wanted to hold on but knew he had to let go.

“You need to go,” he had said. “You’re not okay, and I can’t watch you self-destruct.”

You had wanted to argue. To tell him that leaving wouldn’t fix anything. That nothing would. But you had been too exhausted, too broken to fight anymore. So you left. You packed a bag, walked out of the compound, and kept walking.

And now, after two years of pretending you were fine, you were back.The compound doors slide open, the familiar hum of FRIDAY greeting you like a ghost from your past.

“Welcome home, Miss Stark.”

Home.

You step inside, and for a second, everything feels the same. The glass walls, the sleek furniture, the faint hum of technology in the background. But there’s something different. The air feels heavier, like time has stretched in ways you don’t quite understand.

Your boots echo against the floor as you make your way inside, taking it all in—the things that have changed, the things that have stayed exactly the same. A noise pulls your attention to the side.

Sam is standing near the kitchen, a cup of coffee halfway to his mouth. His eyes widen, and for a second, he just stares.

“Well, damn,” he finally says, setting the mug down. “Look who decided to grace us with her presence.”

You huff out a breath, shaking your head. “Didn’t know I needed an invitation.”

Footsteps echo from the hallway.

“Holy shit,” Clint mutters, arms crossed, a smirk tugging at his lips. “She lives.” Asshole.

And then..

“About time,” your dad says. Tony’s voice is the same as always, teasing, dry, but there’s something else underneath it. Something softer. Relief, maybe. Guilt, definitely.

You meet his gaze, and for a second, the world narrows to just that. You don’t know what to say, don’t know if you should be angry at him or grateful.

Before you can figure it out, something shifts.

A presence.

A weight in the air so familiar it makes your breath catch.

You feel him before you see him.

And when you finally turn…

Bucky Barnes.

You don’t even register the others anymore. The sound of Sam’s mug clicking against the counter. The sharp inhale Clint takes as he watches the way you freeze. Even Tony seems to tense slightly, like he knew this part was coming but didn’t know how it would play out.

Your vision tunnels. Your heartbeat pounds in your ears. Because the last time you saw him, his hair was longer, his metal arm was silver, and he was telling you he needed time.

Now, his hair is short. His metal arm is black, sleek, unmistakably Wakandan.

You can’t breathe. You are not wrong now.

Bucky is an Avenger.

Two years ago, he walked away, telling you he had to figure things out. That he wasn’t ready. Now he’s here. With them. With your team. With your family.

Your heart pound like hell, but you force yourself to keep your face unreadable. You won’t let him see it. Won’t let him see the way it guts you from the inside out.

Your lips part, but no words come out.Neither of you move. Neither of you speak.

The silence is unbearable, stretching between you like an open wound, raw and festering.

Then-

“Stark. You’re back.”

Stark? No doll , no sweetheart , no love , no princess. They are all gone. Just a formal last name.

His voice is quiet, rough, like it physically pains him to say it. You inhale slowly. Steady. Controlled. “Yeah. I guess I am.”

His fists clench at his sides. He looks like he wants to say something else, like there are a thousand words stuck behind his teeth, burning to be let out.

But he doesn’t say anything. And that makes you furious.

Because of course he’s the same. Of course he still just stands there, making you bear the weight of it all alone. Making you carry the silence, you carry the pain, you pretend like it doesn’t fucking hurt.

You let out a sharp breath, shaking your head, turning away. “Nope. Not doing this right now.”

But as soon as you take a step, his voice stops you in your tracks.

“Wait.”

It’s barely a whisper, but it cuts through you like a blade.

Your hands curl into fists. You don’t turn around. You can’t. Because if you look at him, if you really look at him, you’re afraid of what might happen. Afraid of the anger. The heartbreak. The way it’ll all come crashing down at once.

So instead, you swallow everything and keep walking and behind you, Bucky just watches you go.

…

Your old room looks almost the same.

Almost.

The bed is still there, the same black comforter draped over it, the same soft pillows, like some part of the past was waiting for you to come back. Your desk is still against the far wall, but there’s new dust on the surface, untouched for years. The window is cracked open, letting in the faintest breeze, carrying with it the ghost of a life you left behind.

But there are things that don’t belong.

The extra shelves stacked with some of Tony’s junk,random bits of tech, a few unfinished projects, things that look hastily shoved there, like he thought he had all the time in the world to clean up before you returned.

Except he didn’t expect you to return at all, did he?

You drop your bag onto the floor, exhaling sharply, rubbing your temples. Your mind is a mess. A storm that won’t settle.

Bucky. Bucky is an Avenger now.

He’s here. He’s been here. For who knows how long.

And no one thought to tell you.

Your stomach twists. The longer you stand in the room, the more it feels like the walls are closing in, like the air is getting thinner, like you might actually fucking scream.

Then…

A knock at the door.

Not a polite one. A cautious one. Like the person on the other side already knows what’s coming.It swings open before you can tell them to fuck off.

Tony.

Of course. He leans against the doorframe, hands in his pockets, expression unreadable.

You don’t hesitate.

“Why the hell didn’t you tell me anything?!”

Your voice cuts through the air, raw, sharp, years of frustration packed into every syllable.

Tony doesn’t flinch. But his jaw tightens. “You just got here. You wanna try again without the screaming?”

“Oh, I’m so sorry, Dad,” you snap, throwing your arms up. “Should I lower my voice while I ask why the fuck you didn’t think to mention that Bucky Barnes is living in this goddamn compound?”

Tony sighs, stepping fully into the room, rubbing his temple. “Language, kid”

“Im not Steve , for fuck sake !” , unbelievable.

“And No. No. Dont you dare to ‘kid’ me now to get your way out of this.” Your heart is pounding. “I was gone for two years. I left because you said I needed to heal. Because you said I needed to move on.” You let out a harsh laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “And the second I come back? The second I step foot in this place again? The first person I see is him? As an Avengers? AND NO ONE IN THIS COMPOUND CARE TO TEXT ME OR CALL ME?!”

Tony exhales through his nose, lips pressed into a thin line. “It’s complicated.”

“Bullshit.”

“Alright, fine. Maybe not that complicated.” He crosses his arms. “It happened gradually. He started coming around more, helping out, training with the others. And then one day he worked here now.”

Your head is spinning. “And you never thought—oh, I don’t know, maybe I should mention this to my daughter at some point?”

Tony tilts his head. “And when exactly was I supposed to do that, sweetheart? During one of your ‘I need to be alone’ radio silences? Maybe when you ignored my calls for months?”

Your throat tightens. You hate that he has a point.

But that doesn’t make this hurt any less.

“I deserved to know,” you say, quieter this time.

Tony sighs again, softer now. “Yeah. You did.”

The weight in your chest grows heavier. “I thought I was coming back to my team,” you murmur. “To my family. But it’s not the same, is it?”

Tony watches you for a long moment, then steps forward, resting a hand on your shoulder.

“Things change,” he says gently. “People change. Even the ones we thought never would.”

You swallow hard.

You hate how much it hurts.

Two years ago, Bucky told you he needed time. He told you he had to figure himself out.

And now, standing here, hearing that he’s been here this whole time. that he didn’t just figure himself out, but found a home here? Found a team?

Found a place where he belonged?It feels like a knife to the gut.

Because he used to belong with you.

You inhale sharply, gripping your arms tighter. “I used to be his home,” you whisper, barely able to get the words out. Your throat feels tight, your chest unbearably heavy. “And he used to be mine.”

Tony doesn’t say anything at first. Just watches you with that sharp, knowing look that you’ve never been able to hide from.

Then, finally, he exhales, nodding toward the door.

“You think it was easy for him? You think he just waltzed in here and everything was peachy? Nah. He fought it. He fought us. Didn’t think he deserved to be here. Didn’t think he belonged. Sound familiar?”

Your breath catches.Because it does.It sounds exactly like you.

His voice softens. “he did need a home. And whether you like it or not… this became his.”

A lump forms in your throat.

Because it’s not just that he found a home here.

It’s that he doesn’t need you to be his home anymore.

You blink rapidly, pushing down the emotions clawing at your throat.

Tony nods, as if he understands, then steps back toward the door. “Take the night. Sleep. Scream into a pillow. Whatever helps. We’ll figure the rest out tomorrow.”

He turns to leave—

Then pauses.

Looks back.

And with a knowing smirk, he adds, “Oh, and kid? You’re gonna have to talk to him eventually.”

Then he’s gone, leaving you alone with the ghosts of the past.

….

The meeting room hums with quiet conversation, the usual pre-meetingchatter filling the space. Steve is flipping through a folder, Wanda and Pietro are murmuring to each other, and Nat is leaned back in her chair, boot propped on the table, twirling a knife between her fingers.

It’s routine. Normal. Until you step through the door.Silence falls like a hammer.

Steve’s head snaps up first. His eyes widen, mouth slightly parting, like he’s questioning if you’re actually real.

Then Bruce, who literally freezes mid-sentence, his brows furrowing in disbelief.

Pietro, leaning against the wall, lets out a low whistle. “Well, shit. Holy shit”

Wanda’s eyes flicker with something between relief and shock. “You’re back,” she murmurs, like she’s afraid saying it too loud will make you disappear.

Nat, ever composed, is the last to react. But even she can’t hide the glint of surprise in her sharp gaze. She sets the knife down with a soft clink, tilting her head. “Did hell freeze over, or did Stark finally drag your ass back?”

You smirk, but there’s no real bite to it. “Tony didn’t drag me anywhere.”

Steve finally finds his voice. “We” He stops himself, exhales sharply, then tries again. “We didn’t think we’d see you again.”

Bruce nods, still looking at you like you’re some kind of mirage. “Yeah, I mean… two years is a long time.”

Two years.

Two years away from them. From the life you thought you’d left behind.

From the memories of him.

You force yourself to stay neutral, shrugging like it doesn’t matter. “Yeah, well. Turns out, I’m not great at the whole finding inner peace thing. And pretty sure god make me back here because you guys really hide something realllll big from me huh?”

Silence . They know what you meant.

‘Bucky-kinda-be-an-avengers-now’ matter.

Wanda breaks the silent, her expression softening. “It’s really good to see you.”

You feel something in your chest loosen, just a little.

Nat eyes you for a long moment before nodding approvingly. “Well, whatever brought you back, I hope you’re staying this time.”

You don’t answer.

Not because you don’t want to. But because the door opens again—

And he walks in.

The moment Bucky walks in, the air shifts. It’s subtle, just a flicker of tension, a slight pause in movement. but you feel it.

You feel him. And yet, you don’t look. You don’t let yourself.

Instead, you straighten in your chair, keeping your expression effortlessly neutral. Unbothered. Like this is just another day, just another meeting, and the man who once held your entire world in his hands hasn’t just walked in like he owns the damn place.

Bucky stops for half a second. It’s brief, barely noticeable, but you catch it,how his steps falter, how his shoulders tense. Then he moves again, slipping into a seat across from you.

You keep your gaze on the screen in front of you, casually flipping through the mission briefing. Like nothing happened. Like nothing ever happened.

Steve, ever the peacemaker, clears his throat. “Alright, now that we’re all here…” He glances at you, then at Bucky, and oh, you can tell he’s debating whether to say something.

You don’t give him the chance.

“So what’s the situation?” you ask, flipping another page on the screen. “Tony said it was urgent.”

Bucky exhales quietly, just a breath, just a fraction of hesitation,before shifting in his seat. You can feel his stare, feel the weight of it pressing against you, but you refuse to meet it.

Nat notices. Of course she does. Her sharp eyes flick between you and Bucky before she smirks slightly, like she’s already seeing straight through your act.

You ignore her.

Wanda is watching, too, less smug, more concerned. but she doesn’t say anything. Neither does Steve, though the way he keeps glancing between you and Bucky makes it very clear he has a lot of thoughts.

But no one pushes it. So you keep up the act. Keep pretending.

Keep pretending you don’t feel Bucky’s eyes on you. Keep pretending you’re not aware of every breath he takes. Keep pretending your heart isn’t shattering all over again.

Bucky’s staring. You can feel it.

Even though your eyes are fixed on the mission briefing, even though you’re forcing yourself to stay neutral, your body betrays you. Your heartbeat stumbles in your chest, your fingers tighten around the tablet, your breathing slows,because your body remembers.

Remembers him.

Remembers what it felt like to be held by him, to belong to him. Remembers the way he used to look at you like you were the only thing keeping him tethered to this world.

But that was before.

Before he left. Before two years turned you both into strangers again.

So you pretend.Pretend nothing happened. Pretend that he’s just another teammate. Pretend you don’t care that he’s here.

“Alright,” Steve says, clearing his throat, trying to break the tension. “We’ve got intel that a weapons deal is going down in Madripoor. Stark’s sources say it could be connected to some remnants of HYDRA.”

Steve explained all the details of the mission without missing anything. The rooms is silent , just Steve’s charismatic and leadership voices filled the room.

“Alright,” Steve says. “Pair up. Nat, you’re with me. Wanda, Pietro, you’re together. Bruce, you’re running comms. Sam , as usual”

Then he turns to you. “You’re with Bucky.”

Silence. Your body locks up.

Across the table, Bucky’s jaw tightens slightly,but his face stays neutral. He doesn’t react.

I swear if murdering people is not a crime , i already killed this Captain America with bare hands.

You force yourself to breathe. Keep your posture loose, your face unreadable. “Fine by me.” Bucky doesn’t say anything. Just gives a short, clipped nod.

And that’s it.

No argument. No tension-filled stare-down. No acknowledgment of anything. You pretend that sitting next to him doesn’t feel like sitting beside a ghost. You pretend you don’t notice the way his hands flex against the table, like he’s holding something back. You pretend everything is fine.

Because if the past doesn’t exist….

It can’t hurt you.

Taglist : (lmk if you wanna be apart of my taglist ♡) @sebbymybaby21 @learisa

[cece693]

hii, are you ever planning on making a part 2 of the I Forgive You (reader x bucky), I adore it so much!!

Thanks so much for the comment! I was debating on how to end it, but I couldn't let Bucky suffer...So the second part is filled with angst, fluff and everything in between :) Because this was already getting long, there are soo many time skips, but I think this is a good ending for this fic. I hope you enjoy it!

I Forgive You Pt. 2

pairing: bucky barnes x gender neutral reader tags: you die, bucky is depressed, endgame occurs, changes in the timeline, I won't spoil it, but I think you can guess what's going to happen, hint hint bucky goes back in time :), kinda au since some things had to be changed to fit the narrative better

The day you passed away was the day Bucky Barnes’s world collapsed. They rushed you into Wakanda’s medical wing, Shuri and her teams working feverishly, but there was no stopping the internal damage. Despite vibranium-infused treatments, advanced technology, and the dogged determination of the Wakandans, you quietly slipped away in the early hours after the battle. No cosmic power or high-tech intervention could resurrect what Thanos had destroyed.

When the moment came, Bucky was by your bedside, holding your hand in his. Your final breaths were shaky, pain etched across your features. Bucky spoke in frantic whispers, clinging to hope that you would hear him.

“Don’t go,” he pleaded, tears clinging to his lashes. “I—I need you here. I’m…I’m not strong enough alone.” Your eyes fluttered open one last time, just enough to focus on him. You squeezed his hand—a gesture that felt heartbreakingly weak. And then you were gone. Your chest fell still; your fingertips slipped from his grasp.

Bucky’s anguished cry echoed through the pristine Wakandan lab as medical monitors went silent. Shuri’s shoulders slumped, her gaze dropping. She quietly dismissed her assistants, understanding there was nothing more they could do for you. In that instant, any progress Bucky had made in escaping the Winter Soldier’s shadow shattered. He wasn’t just lost—he was broken.

As if your passing wasn’t catastrophic enough, the unthinkable happened: Thanos succeeded. The battle outside ended in an instant of cosmic horror. Half the universe dissolved into floating specks of ash.

No one could forget the way Okoye fell to her knees, watching T’Challa fade from sight; or how Wanda’s breath caught as she vanished with tears still in her eyes. Even rocket ships grounded when Rocket lost some of the Guardians. For Bucky, still cradling your lifeless form, the destruction outside was just another layer of nightmare. But the cruelest twist? Bucky remained.

He had hoped, on some desperate level, that if there was some cosmic design, it would also take him. He’d have welcomed oblivion, a chance to follow you into whatever lay beyond. But the universe, in its cruel indifference, forced him to remain—tethered to life when the one person he’d dared to love was gone.

In the days that followed, Bucky was nearly catatonic. He barely ate or slept. He didn’t respond when Steve tried to reach him, only staring at the vacant spot on the med-lab floor where your blood had pooled. Gone was the peace he’d found in Wakanda, the fragile sense of self that Shuri’s deprogramming and your unwavering love had helped him reclaim.

All that remained was the echo of your final breath, the memory of his own hands betraying him—the Winter Soldier reawakened, by Thanos’s design, to deliver the fatal blow. No matter how many times anyone insisted it wasn’t your fault, he couldn’t accept it. Because he had held the knife. He had heard you gasp in pain.

That knowledge devoured him from within.

Upstate New York, The Avengers Compound (Two Years After the Snap)

Eventually, Bucky found himself at the Avengers Compound, a shell of what it once was. Natasha spent her days clinging to the last threads of her sense of duty, coordinating scattered reports from various corners of the globe. Steve tried to hold group therapy sessions in a local community center, urging people to find hope. Bruce and Tony—before Tony retreated to a private life in the woods—clashed over how to move forward. Thor was gone, wandering somewhere, presumably wracked with guilt.

Bucky offered no solutions. He spent most of his time quietly cleaning weapons or aimlessly flipping through old mission files. Sam had vanished in the snap, which meant there was no one left who could truly break through Bucky’s solitude—except Steve. Occasionally, Steve tried to coax him into conversation.

“What are you thinking?” he asked one day, watching Bucky methodically oil a handgun he barely used anymore.

Bucky glanced up. Shadows clung beneath his eyes, evidence of sleepless nights. “Nothing worth saying,” he murmured. His voice was cold, guarded, but Steve recognized the heartbreak beneath it.

Steve laid a hand gently on his friend’s shoulder. “He wouldn’t want you to give up.”

Bucky’s grip tightened on the gun. “He’s not here to tell me that, is he?”

Steve’s hand lingered on the metal shoulder a moment longer than usual, and Bucky felt the gentle weight of that gesture like a brand. He swallowed, refusing to meet Steve’s gaze. “Maybe not,” Steve answered quietly, “but I’m here. And I remember exactly how he looked at you—like you were worth saving every day.”

Bucky’s jaw clenched. The words burrowed under his skin, scraping nerves already raw. He set the handgun aside with slow, deliberate care, as though it might shatter if he moved too fast.

“Don’t,” he said, voice hoarse. “Don’t put his faith in me like it’s a shield. I dropped that shield the second I—” He cut himself off, throat tight. The second I stabbed him. Even two years later, the memory struck like a knife to the gut.

Steve pulled over a folding chair and sat across from him. The armory lights hummed overhead, dust motes drifting through the beams. Outside, spring rain pattered against the broken skylight. It sounded like a heartbeat that refused to stop. “You blame yourself because you still see the Winter Soldier when you look in the mirror,” Steve said. “I get that. But he saw James Buchanan Barnes. So do I.”

Bucky barked a laugh—sharp, joyless. “He saw who he wanted to see. Everyone does that with me. It’s easier than facing the truth.”

“What truth?”

“That there’s no redemption arc big enough to erase what I’ve done.” Bucky’s eyes were like storm clouds—dark, volatile. “Not just to him. To all of them. I can’t fix this.”

Steve folded his hands. “Maybe you can’t fix everything. But you can still do something. Every day we’re alive is another chance to try.”

Bucky shook his head, rising abruptly. “I’m done with pep talks.” He shoved the chair back and strode toward the exit.

Steve’s voice followed him, quiet but firm. “Running from the pain won’t make it fade, Buck. You taught me that, remember?”

Bucky hesitated at the doorway, fingers tightening on the frame. Rain drummed harder on the roof, like impatient fingers. He turned just enough for Steve to see the grief etched in his profile. “I’m not running,” he muttered. “I’m just…waiting for the part where it stops hurting.”

Steve’s expression softened. “Maybe it never stops. Maybe we carry it, like we carried each other through the war. But carrying it together makes it lighter.”

For a heartbeat Bucky said nothing. Then, almost inaudibly, he whispered, "Save the sermon, Steve. Some weights don’t get lighter—no matter how many hands you put on the bar.”

Five Years After the Snap

When Scott Lang—Ant-Man—reappeared from the Quantum Realm with a desperate, impossible plan to time-travel and reclaim the Infinity Stones, the Avengers reassembled for the first time in years. Tony was coaxed out of his lakeside retirement, Bruce had undergone a curious evolution into a “Professor Hulk,” and Thor stumbled into the compound carrying the weight of his failures.

Bucky kept to the back of the room as they discussed quantum physics and potential paradoxes. The idea of going back in time to retrieve the stones before Thanos could destroy them sounded insane. But there was an ember of something in Bucky’s chest—hope, maybe? If they could undo the snap, perhaps…he'd be here, Bucky thought, half-listening to the frantic conversation. He’d be the first to volunteer for this. He never hesitated to save the world. Bucky’s jaw clenched, eyes drifting over the faces of the other Avengers. Steve caught his gaze and nodded. There was a shared understanding: Bucky was in, no matter how impossible it seemed.

The plan was laid out with careful precision: split into teams, jump through the Quantum Realm, gather the Infinity Stones, and bring them safely back to their time. From Tony and Bruce’s intricate equations to Steve’s measured resolve, everyone moved with one desperate thought in mind: undo what Thanos had done.

For Bucky, however, that glimmer of hope took a wildly different shape. Deep down, he knew the Snap itself hadn’t taken your life, but part of him clung to the impossible dream that maybe, just maybe, if they could harness the Stones or alter the timeline, he could undo his greatest regret. Bucky shoved that hope down where it couldn’t distract him, but it remained a stubborn ember in his chest.

When the Avengers regrouped in the present with the Stones in hand, Bucky felt that ember burn a bit brighter. If these Stones can bring back half the universe, who’s to say they can’t—No. He cut off the thought, jaw clenched. Focus on the mission. Don’t be selfish.

Yet the longing was there, pulsing beneath every breath.

When retrieving the stones, they never expected for Thanos to follow. But the Mad Titan—this time, a past version even more relentless—arrived in a fury, bringing a warship and legions of vicious outriders. In an instant, the Avengers Compound turned to a smoking crater. Flame and twisted steel surrounded them, the air thick with dust and debris.

Bucky was among the first to spring into action, rifle in hand. His mind snapped into combat mode, adrenaline surging. Distantly, he noted Tony’s frantic calls for backup, Thor’s roar, and the clash of vibranium on alien weaponry. He had no illusions about the odds.

“He’s here!” Steve shouted, shield up, voice tight with urgency. “Everyone—scatter and engage!”

Bucky nodded sharply, storming through the rubble, eyes scanning for any sign of Thanos or the outriders. The sizzling hum of energy blasts whined past his ears. Chunks of concrete rained down from collapsed walls. It felt like war—just another battlefield, except the stakes were greater than ever. Bucky was ready to die; he owed you at least that much after what he'd done to you, but it was Tony who made the ultimate sacrifice. Wearing the gauntlet with all the stones, Bucky could only cover his eyes before a bright flash surrounded the battlefield. And then, silence—save for the faint crackle of dissipating cosmic energy.

Bucky’s ears rang. When he lowered his arm, the field was eerily still. The sky, once bruised with smoke and fire, now glowed soft pink in the newborn dawn. Thanos and his armies were gone—reduced to drifting motes of dust that shimmered for a heartbeat before the wind carried them away.

Victory. But it didn’t feel like triumph.

Across the rubble‑strewn expanse, Bucky spotted Stark slumped against a jagged slab of concrete, the makeshift Infinity Gauntlet fused to his scorched armor. Rhodey was already there, hands trembling as he tried to stabilize a reactor that would never beat again. Peter stumbled forward, sobbing apologies. Pepper knelt, voice breaking as she coaxed Tony’s fading gaze to hers.

Bucky stood rooted, rifle limp at his side. He should move—help, comfort, do something—yet his legs refused. The scene blurred through tears he hadn’t realized were falling. Another good man dying in front of me, and I can’t save him. Just like…

Your face flashed behind his eyes: smiling under Wakandan sunlight, then contorted in pain beneath the Winter Soldier’s blade. His stomach twisted. A hand landed on his shoulder. Steve—bloodied, exhausted—looked at him with the same hollow grief. “He saved us all,” Steve whispered, voice hoarse.

Bucky swallowed hard. “And I couldn’t even save one person.”

Days later, after the dust settled and the funeral for Tony concluded, the Avengers made preparations to return the Infinity Stones to their proper places in the timeline. Steve volunteered to be the one to do it—he insisted he should be the one to make it right.

On a quiet morning at the rebuilt Quantum Platform, Steve approached the pad, the case of stones clutched in one hand. Bucky hovered a few steps away, posture tense, arms crossed. Sam and Bruce were there as well, operating the controls. “We’ll see you back in five seconds,” Bruce said, giving Steve a shaky smile. Steve nodded, stepping onto the platform. He glanced at Bucky, eyes filled with a mixture of resolve and something else that Bucky couldn’t decipher. Then Steve was gone in a flash of quantum energy. Five seconds ticked by. Bruce fiddled with the controls, waiting for a signal.

Another second passed.

Then another.

Bucky’s heart sank. Fear twisted in his gut. Why wasn’t Steve coming back?

Suddenly, Sam pointed across the clearing. Near the shoreline by the compound, an older man sat on a bench, gazing out over the water. He and Sam exchanged confused looks before sprinting over. As they drew closer, they recognized him—Steve, aged and wearing a contented smile.

“I’m sorry,” the older Steve said softly, looking to both Sam and Bucky with fondness in his eyes. “I took a detour.”

“You went back to the 40s, didn’t you?” Sam breathed, understanding dawning. “Peggy?”

Steve’s lips curved gently, but he shook his head. “I saw Peggy, yes. But she…she’d moved on. She lived her life. She was happy.” He let out a breath that seemed to carry decades of contentment. “I couldn’t take that away from her, not after everything. Not just because I wanted one last dance.”

Bucky stood there, uncertain how to react. Part of him had always expected Steve to choose Peggy in the end. “So, you just stayed anyway? On your own?”

Steve carefully opened the case on his lap, revealing an Infinity Stone—one that hadn’t been there before. Bucky frowned, and Sam’s eyes widened, confusion etched on his features.

“This,” Steve explained, tapping the stone, “isn’t from the same stash we used. It’s a spare from a slightly different reality. I got advice from someone who owes us a big favor—someone who knows the Stones in ways we can’t imagine. They told me there was a special timeline where certain tragedies happened that could be undone.”

A look of dawning realization flickered across Bucky’s face. “You…you mean…?”

Steve nodded, placing a wrinkled hand on Bucky’s vibranium arm. “I can send you back. Not to the 1940s—” he smiled kindly, “—but to just before all this started. Before Thanos. Before they…” Steve’s voice faltered. “You, out of everyone, deserves that life, Buck. Both of you do.”

Bucky’s chest tightened, eyes burning with unshed tears. “Steve, I…I don’t understand.”

The older man smiled, sadness and pride mingling in his gaze. “I had my dance. It wasn’t with Peggy—she belonged to her own time. But I found something else worth living for.” He patted a small ring on his finger that Bucky hadn’t noticed before. “In a timeline out there, I found a second chance…not the one everyone expected, but the one I needed. We all deserve that, Buck.”

Sam cleared his throat, clearly reeling from the news. “So, you’re sending Bucky back in time to stop everything from happening?”

“Not everything,” Steve corrected. “The Infinity Stones need to remain hidden until Thanos makes his play. But Bucky can change his own path—and theirs.” He looked at Bucky meaningfully. “You can prevent their death, Buck, and maybe help ensure we’re more prepared for Thanos than we ever were.”

Emotions warred inside Bucky: disbelief, guilt, longing. Could he really go back to you, change things so you’d never meet that fate on the battlefield? Could he warn the Avengers without altering reality in catastrophic ways?

“It’s risky,” Steve admitted, reading the turmoil in his friend’s eyes. “Time travel always is. But something tells me you’ll find a way to make it right. You two always did have each other’s backs. And remember—this is your choice, Bucky. You don’t have to—”

But Bucky already knew his answer. He didn’t need a second invitation. He let out a shaky breath, turning to Sam. “You’ll be okay?”

Sam’s eyes held sadness at the idea of losing another close friend, but he forced a reassuring smile. “I’ll manage. You do what you need to do. And if you succeed, I’ll see you on the other side, right?”

Bucky gave a slight nod. Then he turned back to Steve—his oldest friend. Words failed him, so he placed a hand over Steve’s heart. “Thank you,” he whispered, voice rough. “For everything.”

Steve’s eyes glistened. “No, Buck. Thank you. Now go find them.”

Later that day, at the Quantum Platform

Professor Hulk adjusted the settings, hooking up the new Infinity Stone in a protective container that crackled with cosmic energy. “We’ll send you to a specific date,” he explained, tapping on the console. “Right before everything started going downhill. Remember, you can’t just reveal everything outright. That could break the timeline. But you can steer things—nudge them, warn them—to avoid the worst.”

Bucky gripped the handle of the small time-travel device. Part of him still couldn’t believe this was real. When he closed his eyes, he could almost see you, smiling with that bright, fearless grin, calling him to you. Telling him that he wasn’t alone. As the mechanism powered up, Sam and Steve stood nearby, offering silent support. With one final glance, Bucky nodded. Bruce activated the quantum jump. A surge of light enveloped Bucky. The world around him distorted, twisting into a kaleidoscope of color. A second later, he vanished.

Present-Day (Pre-Infinity War Timeline), Avengers Compound

Bucky materialized in an empty room in the compound—one reserved for weapons storage. He immediately recognized the layout, the hum of the building’s air conditioning. He glanced down at himself. He was wearing a familiar combat outfit, minus the dust and grime of the final battle. His heart pounded. This is real. This is real.

Cautiously, he slipped out of the storage room into the corridor. It was bustling with people—agents, recruits, staff—while monitors on the walls displayed mission briefs from around the globe. A part of Bucky wanted to weep at every sight that was normal. No looming threat from Thanos yet, no sign of half the world turned to dust. Bucky’s stomach churned with anticipation. He needed to find you. But how? He paused, remembering the timeline constraints. He couldn’t just announce he’d come from the future; it could unravel everything.

A sudden voice from behind him nearly made him jump. “Barnes? You back from Wakanda already?” The figure approached, wearing standard-issue tactical gear. It was just a random S.H.I.E.L.D. liaison, but it confirmed that you and the others believed him to have been in Wakanda. Perfect cover.

“Yeah,” Bucky managed, forcing a tight smile that felt alien on his face. “Something came up.”

He slipped past the agent, heading towards the living quarters. He remembered exactly where your room was. When he arrived at your door, his hand hovered over the handle. His heart hammered so hard he feared the entire compound could hear it.

Taking a breath, he knocked softly. From within, he heard shuffling, a muffled “Coming!” Then the door hissed open. And there you stood—every bit as vibrant as Bucky remembered. There was that spark in your eyes, that quick smile of curiosity. The same presence that had made him feel safe even in the darkest times.

Your brow furrowed slightly in surprise. “Bucky? I thought you were still in Wakanda."

The sight of you alive, breathing, unharmed, was overwhelming. Bucky’s breath hitched; tears pricked the corners of his eyes. You were about to say something else when he surged forward, wrapping you in a desperate embrace. His metal arm and flesh hand both pressed against your back, holding on as if you might vanish at any moment.

You froze in shock. “Hey…?” you managed softly, unsure what had shaken him so badly.

When Bucky finally pulled back, he didn’t give you a chance to question him further. He looked into your eyes, tears sliding down his cheeks, and before he could second-guess himself, he kissed you—fierce, trembling, full of pent-up grief and longing. The moment his lips found yours, time seemed to stop. A swirl of emotion poured out of him—sorrow, relief, love, desperation. The kiss was messy and unplanned, but he didn’t care. He needed you to feel how much you meant to him—how much he had lost and found again in that single instant.

At first, you tensed, wholly unprepared for such intensity. Then, sensing the genuine anguish behind it, you softened against him, letting your arms slide up to his shoulders. It was as though some fundamental piece of your bond, across timelines and tragedies, recognized his need.

When you finally broke apart, your breathing was unsteady. A thousand questions hovered in your eyes. “Bucky,” you murmured, voice shaky. “What…what happened? Why are you—”

He swallowed hard, thumb brushing your cheek, memorizing every line of your face. You’re alive. “It’s a long story,” he whispered, voice raw with unshed tears. “I-I can’t explain everything right now. But I—please, I just…need to hold you. Need to know this isn't some kind of dream.”

Your gaze searched his, seeing the pain etched into his features. Tenderly, you wiped away the moisture clinging to his lashes. “Well,” you said softly, “I’m here and I’m not going anywhere.” Bucky closed his eyes, silently thanking whatever higher power had granted him this second chance. I will save him, he vowed. I will save us.

[naomis-daydream]

on the throne // shuri udaku

summary: just read tbh….ok fine i’ll explain😒. being queen comes with a load of royal responsibilities; from border patrol, to technological advancements, and everything in between. though wakanda’s ruler realizes there’s a special someone she’s been neglecting. shuri’s come up short, and her wife’s coming to collect what’s hers.

warnings: pregnant!wife!reader. descriptions of pregnancy (obvs), teeny weeny bit of oral (shuri receiving). barely proofread.

a/n: this is the product of baby fever and ovulation😜 also this is a draft from forever ago, it kinda sucks so im dropping it under the cloak of night🥷🏽.

there were many things shuri loved about your body.

your hands, for instance. they always offered her a soothing rub or relaxing touch whenever she became stressed or overwhelmed with the weight of the crown. or something soft to hold as you spent evenings watching the wakandan sunset from the palace garden.

then there were your arms. shuri found that she only slept peacefully when yours were wrapped tightly around her middle. and if the royal ever woke to realize you rolled away, she’d assure she wiggled her way back into your grasp.

and bast your thighs. if the queen could spend the rest of her days between them, the soft, plush cushions, there’d be absolutely no resistance from the panther.

now it was worse, and it was all your fault. it was one of the many nights the queen spent inside you. somewhere between when she slowly pushed into you and when she brought you nearing your third high of the night, you had joked about her getting you pregnant. something about her having the genius and the looks to make a great gene pool. “fill me up, my queen,” you uttered, “give it to me. i want all of you.” you we’re fucking tantalizing.

it didn’t help that she had the science to make what originated as a lustful thought a reality.

now, seven months later, everything she loved about you only grew as your body changed. your natural curves only hypnotized her more as your hips widened and breasts swelled.

shuri also couldn’t help but smile when you wobbled cutely around your shared home due to the swell of your ankles, and while you refused to be helped with an act as simple as walking, you would feign resistance to shuri’s pleads to ease your pain before caving to let her massage your aching joints.

but the absolute worst part was the hormones. the cravings that made shuri tip-toe into the kitchen for you well after midnight, the hot flashes that would cause you to walk practically bare around the palace, and your sex drive, yours nearly matched that of her’s when she took the herb. though, only two of those things seemed to be prevailing today, where the only thing separating you from her was the thinnest dresses. it wasn’t unusual for you to forgo a bra this late into your pregnancy, but it seemed you’d forgotten any undergarments at all today as you sat on the lap of the queen, grinding helplessly into her thigh.

“yiza, mntwana,” you purred. come on, baby. “let me touch you.”

your wife squirmed from her place on the throne, hands on your hips as she guided you. you trailed your lips down her jaw to land on her pulse point before sucking intently.

while you were preoccupied, the woman took the chance to glance at the clock in the room, hissing slightly when noticing the time and when you sunk your teeth into her flesh. you were going to ruin her, she knew that much. the sad part is, she was gonna let you.

“the elders,” she whined, finding words rather hard when you moaned against her. “our meeting, they’ll be here in minutes!”

you pause your movements to lean up to her ear, whispering, “fuck the meeting.”

shuri threw her head back, sinking further into the the chair and further into the trap you set in motion the minute you walked into the room.

you always started by entering with a sweet smile, followed by asking her how her day was or what project she was working on. then you’d begin rubbing her shoulders, kissing her neck while muttering sweet nothings and telling her she worked too hard. “let me take care of you,” you’d say, “you deserve to feel good, don’t you wanna feel good?” and soon shuri would end up on her back, eyes wide shut as her legs were thrown over your shoulders and your fingers snug between her walls.

this time was different though. it had to be. the council meeting was nearing by the minute, and you showed no signs of waving the white flag.

“entle,” she began, licking her lips as she spoke. “i-i really think we should wait.” you continued to kiss her, attaching your lips to whatever skin you could reach as shuri continues. “once it’s over we can do whatever you want, my love.” her hands run over the curve of your ass, squeezing gently.

you pulled away from her, hands still cupping her cheeks. “i wanna do whatever i want now.”

“i know. i promise i-i’ll make it up to you.” she says, tilting her head up to look at you before placing a soft kiss to your lips. it’s sweet, the taste of her, and as much as you wanted more, she pulls away. “you better,” you scolded, “you’re the one who did this to me anyway.” you nod your head down to your stomach, stretching against the fabric of your maxi dress. the hormones had been driving you insane. and it didn’t help that shuri spent so much time away with all her new duties. this left you to take care of your own needs more often than you’d like to admit. you needed her. to feel her. while it might seem like you were caving, her majesty should’ve known better than too assume her wife would back down so easily.

your words bring a smile to shuri’s lips, a laugh escaping her as you sigh while you rise off of her, giving her a full view of your bump as you do so.

“whatever you want, mama.”

you hum a lazy response as your queen visibly relaxes, no longer antsy with your aroused antics. though she wasn’t in the clear just yet, you came here for a reason, and wouldn’t leave unfulfilled.

a simple idea sprouts in your head, and soon, a mischievous smile dances across your features as you reach back to unclasp your necklace. shuri raises a brow in question, but remains silent as you both watch the dainty jewelry slide down your chest and onto the floor, right between her feet.

“oops.”

the royal shakes her head, already having a clue of where this was headed. but you’re already sinking to your knees, eyes never leaving hers.

you rub your palms along the fabric of her black dress, reaching just below her knees. you play with the hem, eyeing the fickle fabric before tracing your fingertips higher. and higher. and high-

“thandiwe.” she warned.

beloved. how wholesome a name in contrast to your actions upon her. you peered up at her, batting your lashes at her. “yes, my queen?”

“we have ten minutes before our meeting-”

“i’ve made you come in less,” you continue, hooking your fingers around her underwear.

shuri wanted to protest, she really did, and she tried to. she mutters tiny objections at first, and you almost believe them, but the way she lifted her hips to help you remove her underwear, the way she whined when you tugged her to the throne’s edge, and the way she threw her head back with the first stripe you licked up her center told you all you needed to know. let’s face it, she knew she was done for the minute you walked in the room.

you begin to place gentle kisses to her clit, giving her a little stimulation, but not quite enough for her liking. shuri shudders above you, legs shaking gently. she began to realize just how long it’d been since the two of you had sex.

“still want me to stop?” you asked, tongue twirling around her entrance, to which she moaned in response. a light chuckle escapes your lips. “i’ll take that as a no.”

[mrsbuckybarnes1917]

Pairing: Bucky x f!reader, White Wolf x f!reader Word Count: 4k Summary: You meet Bucky while you're in Wakanda and you just can't resist his wolfish charms! Warnings: explicit sexual content, unprotected vaginal sex, dirty talk, role-play, oral sex, fingering, biting (mild) Author's note: This is a gift for @samodivaa, HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!!

You had seen him long before you ever spoke with him. He worked the Alkama Fields on the borders of Wakanda, long strands of brown hair strewn across his face, a small sash tied across his muscular chest. The children called him White Wolf, at least that is what you had overheard. Initially, the adults didn’t speak much about him, preferring to hush you with dismissive gestures.

Your multiple doctorates in anthropology and linguistics had made you one of the top choices to visit the advanced society that had been kept so carefully hidden for so long. King T’Challa had allowed you to visit his kingdom where you would spend a year learning about their culture, languages and history. As soon as you had settled into the guest living quarters you’d been offered, you had gone shopping, wanting to fully immerse yourself into the Wakandan lifestyle and fashion.

It hadn’t taken too long before you had been fully accepted into their society, your cheery demeanor and your willingness to be of assistance to anyone you saw granted you access to places where others may have been shunned as an outsider.

The Dora Milaje had immediately fascinated you, the all-female special forces for Wakanda. They had kindly allowed you to observe their training and you had befriended a few members of the elite squad, including Ayo, Yama and Nomble. It was through them that you learned more about Bucky Barnes. It was only after you heard his name that the memories of the Winter Soldier swam to the forefront of your mind. 

The only reason you had met him was because Ayo had suggested you learn one of the native languages by attending one of the rural schools. You had entered sheepishly and been introduced to the class, who had responded with smiles and waves. It was only when you were directed to a seat in the back that you noticed the supersoldier hunched over and squeezed into a desk in the corner.

He watched your hips swish slightly as you weaved your way between the little bodies dispersed throughout the room. You were wearing your favorite red dress and soon enough it became Bucky's.

*

"I don't normally do this, you know," you smiled shyly, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

Bucky held down the button which opened the door to your humble living space, letting you enter before following.

"Do what?" he teased. "Never take strange men home?"

You rolled your eyes and let out a dramatic sigh, nudging him slightly with your elbow as you spoke. "I never let stray dogs into my home. Maybe I ought to put you back outside."

"Out in the cold?" he pouted.

"It doesn't get cold here," you scoffed.

"Well you never know," Bucky shrugged, then flashed you a mischievous grin. "And even if you did, you'd spend all night listening to me scratch and whine at the door. You wouldn't get much sleep."

In Bucky’s mind, the most beautiful sound burst from your lips as you laughed at his words.

"Maybe my puppy dog eyes will work better on you? But be warned, they are pretty powerful," he tilted his head down so his gaze was looking up at yours, lips pouted a little.

"Oh I'm done for now," you feigned a swoon. "Reign it in there buddy, the White Wolf should be using his powers for the greater good."

"I couldn't think of a better cause than being here with you."

You turned around to slip off your shoes while Bucky gazed around at your studio apartment, furnished with some classic Wakandan sofas and woven tapestries adorned the walls. It was beautiful how well the traditional and technological aspects of the culture meshed together.  

"That dress looks pretty special on you, Red."

"Red? You think I'm Little Red Riding Hood?" you asked incredulously.

Bucky shrugged.

"And I suppose that makes you the Big Bad Wolf?"

That made Bucky laugh, a deep unrestrained guffaw. It wasn't a sound you'd heard from him and you wanted to hear it again.

"You think I'm bad?" There was a twinkle in his eye when he voiced the question but there was a touch of hesitation in his voice.

You walked right up to him, until your face was inches away from his, your eyes gazed directly at his lips for a moment or two before you looked up at him and batted your eyelids in a coquettish manner. “I think you can be,” you purred seductively. “You can be big,” you pushed your hand lightly over his crotch, “and bad.” You bit your lip waiting for his response. Every fiber of your being told you that the White Wolf had a wild side, but it was one he kept restrained out of fear of his past. You hope he would trust you to explore it with him.

Slowly but surely, a smile spread across his lips. Bucky tilted his head down to look at you through his eyebrows, a mask of menace painted across his face. “And what brings you to my forest, Red?” he growled.

“I’m sorry for intruding. I was on a little field trip and I think I might be a little lost.” You turned a little to glance around the room in a mock survey of your surroundings. “Do you think you can help me, Mister Wolf?”

Bucky took a step to the side, silent and graceful, creeping around you in a circle, like a predator stalking its prey, sizing you up like his next meal - the curve of your ass, the swell of your breast, the way your throat was highlighted by the neckline of that blood red dress you wore. He was vigilant of your vulnerability, your exposure, his own hunger and desire - the urge to reach out, to touch you, to hold you, to fuck you, was overwhelming.

“You’ll have to pay the price for trespassing in my neck of the woods.”

“But I have nothing to give you, Mister Wolf,” you puffed out your lips into an exaggerated pout.

“How about that pretty red dress you’re wearing? I think that will do very nicely.” Bucky licked his lips, the salacious intent audible in his tone.

“But this is my favorite dress,” you whined.

“Give me the dress, Red. Or I’ll eat you up.”

Bucky took a step forward, towering over you. Even with one arm missing he had a presence, a presence which made your heart flutter uncontrollably. Your breath hitched as you caught a whiff of his scent, his own earthy musk mingled with a hit of sweat from having worked on the fields all day. You could feel your body responding to his proximity as beads of sweat erupted from your skin and the space between your legs throbbed with a desire to be filled. It was as though you craved his touch. He took another step closing the remaining distance between you.

You were so distracted by his closeness that you almost missed him repeating his question. “The dress, Red. Or would you prefer I eat you?”

“What’s to stop you from eating me even after I’ve given you my dress?”

“I guess you’ll just have to trust me.”

You spun around slowly, allowing Bucky the time to admire your curves. You bit back the moan that tried to escape as his fingers brushed your hips as you turned. He slid them across your waist, trailing them up your back until they landed on the zipper on the back. He pinched the tiny pull between his fingers and tugged it downwards but it barely moved. He tried again with little success. His nose was so pressed so close to your ear that you could hear the quiet growl of frustration in his throat.

“You need help back there, Mister Wolf?”

“No!” he barked, taking the zipper pull between his teeth, while his hand supported the lacy material.

The top of your dress fell from your shoulders in an instant exposing your back and bra. The rest followed with ease, pooling to the floor in a shimmering heap. Bucky smiled, the way your muscles flexed in response to your exposure. He couldn’t help but noticed a dark patch on the front of your panties and how you pushed back into him as he came up behind you.

“You have my dress now, Mister Wolf. Can I go now?” you whimpered.

Bucky wrapped his hand around his waist. “I want more, Red. I want your body.”

It was almost involuntary, how your body responded to his words. You pushed back into him, grinding onto the swell in his pants. Bucky ached, for you to kiss him, for you to let him devour you. He held you closer.

You hummed, “what big arms you have.”

“The better to hold you with.” He covered your breast with his giant palm, kneading your flesh with a longing that had you clenching involuntarily. 

He nibbled your ear and you couldn’t hold your moans in any longer. “Ohh Mister Wolf, what big teeth you have!”

“The better to eat you with.”

You squealed loudly as Bucky’s arm enveloped your waist and lifted you clean off the ground. He practically threw you onto the large round beanbag armchair, your landing softened by the multitude of cushions which cradled your fall.

“No more teasing, Red. You’re going to have to pay with more than that sexy dress.”

He straddled your hips, hovering over you, trapping you. Your body’s instinct was to struggle but it was in vain. His weight had you pinned helplessly to the couch, his throbbing cock pushed against your core. Soaked panties, wet lips, grinding hips. His fist was in your hair as he held you up to his chest. He kissed you, hard - long and deep. It felt like he was sucking the air right out of your lungs. 

“Please, Mister Wolf.” You had no idea what you were begging for at this point, words strewn with lust. “What are you going to do to me?”

The way you looked under him had Bucky seriously testing his control, his cock now painfully hard and straining against the tight material of his pants. He wanted nothing more than to bury himself in you, to stretch you out, to hear you scream his name. That animal instinct that he had buried deep inside was clawing its way to the surface, you’d woken the beast and it was hungry after all its years of slumber. You had freed the wolf and now you would feed it.

Bucky grinned at you devilishly. “I’m going to eat you. As stunning as your lips taste, I have my eyes on something sweeter.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck as he trailed his tongue down your neck, stopping around your breast to suck and nibble at your nipple. Your whole body tingled under his ministrations.

You moaned loudly, no restraint in conveying your pleasure. "More."

"What was that, Red?"

"I want more, Mister Wolf. I've been a bad girl."

He breathed in your perfume, it permeated his nostrils, but he had caught another scent which had attracted his attention, the scent of your arousal. Suddenly he was on his knees on the floor with a grip on your waist, firm but not painful. And the way his fingers curved under your pelvis and pulled you down with ease had you writhing desperately. You lifted your hips expectantly and he ripped off your skimpy panties, exposing you to his salivating mouth. His teeth grazed his lower lip, tongue coating them with the product of his ravenous appetite.

“Please?” you whispered. A hint of uncertainty in your voice as he hovered over you with the stillness of a dangerous predator waiting to pounce.

He smiled, the lecherous glint in his eyes replaced with one of kindness, almost affectionate. He took your left ankle in his hand, lifting your leg, guiding it up and out until he had room to hook his shoulder under your knee. He glanced up at you and nodded his head at your other leg indicating that he wanted you to do the same. You didn’t need to be told twice and matched his actions, linking your feet together on his back.

Immediately his mouth was on your lips with a yearning of a man starved of passion. He licked the full length of them with his broad tongue before pushing his nose between them, nuzzling your pussy with the growing stubble on his chin. He blew against your clit.

“Fuck Bucky, what was that?” you cried, breaking from your character. Impatience and frustration dripped off your words. “Eat me, damn it!”

“What’s the matter, Red? You sound desperate.”

“Please,” you whispered. It was a thinly veiled plea and for once, Bucky was happy to comply.

One last look into your lustblown eyes and he lowered his head, attention focused on you. You tasted of salt and honey with a hint of lemon. He pushed a finger between your folds, tantalizingly rubbing it along the length of your slit before pushing it deep into you. With each thrust he added another digit, testing your stretch.

“Tongue,” you mumbled.

“Mmmm?” Bucky hummed.

“Use your mouth,” you enunciated.

“Your wish is my command,” he grinned.

“Talk less, lick more.”

Bucky pried you apart and planted his lips firmly over your clit, sucking your sweet nectar into his mouth. His tongue lapped you as he slid his fingers in and out.

“Yes, yes, just like that,” you closed your eyes and moaned, tilting your hips to let his fingers push deeper inside you. 

He pressed his face closer, wanting a taste of every part of you. Finally withdrawing his fingers when he couldn’t quite fit both. You barely had time to whine about feeling empty as he grabbed your hips and pulled you right into his face, licking and sucking as though his life depended on drinking every drop of your precious elixir.

You moaned - it was so long and sensual that Bucky felt it inside him. He felt the wolf inside him rising to the surface. He had spent years watching; relentless, trying to find his way inside. You had let him in and now he finally felt alive. He growled, a deep guttural sound which filled you as he devored you. His head undulated as he tried to encompass you with his mouth, upper lip covering your clit as his jaw stretched and tongue pushed inside you. He ravaged you until he had no air left in his lungs.

Bucky’s cock throbbed as he felt the way you clenched against him. He slid his fingers back inside you, his other hand pulling apart your lips and exposing your clit to a fresh assault from his tongue. He could feel your clit pulse, your walls close in around him as he curled his fingers upwards to match the beat you had set with your heart. He was playing you like an instrument and the whimpers and groans that left your lips was music to his ears.

You pushed yourself on him and he ate you like a ravenous creature until-

“Oh Buck, I’m gonna come. I’m gonna - Buck, Buck!” Your voice rose in a crescendo. Legs shaking as you tightened and clenched around his thick fingers. “I’m coming, Bucky, I’m coming! Now!”

Bucky watched you as every single one of your muscles contracted and relaxed as waves of pleasure crashed through you, eyes rolled back and mouth open in a silent cry of ecstasy.

As you finally came down from your high, you opened your eyes, locking your gaze on his. You lay on your back, limp and naked and tingling all over. Sighing, as the aftermath of your climax finally ebbed away. You lifted your legs off Bucky’s shoulders and patted the space beside you. There was no hesitation as he crawled up beside you.

"That was kinda intense," you smiled at him.

"I wouldn't mind seconds," he smirked, eyes wandering over your face.

You sat up and for a brief frightening moment, Bucky thought you had had enough. But you stretched your arms and arched your back slightly before turning to face him. “So, you think I can take the Wolf for a ride?”

You placed your hand over his still covered cock, rubbing your hand over the tent in his pants making him gasp at your touch. Reflexively, his hips bucked into your hand. “Maybe I should get my pants off first?”

“Sounds like a good plan,” you answered, not taking your hands off him.

Bucky sat up so that his face was inches from yours. “Just need a moment, Red.”

He was up in an instant, lamenting the loss of contact of your hand on his crotch. He unbuttoned and dropped his pants with ease, before turning to face you. The sharp breath you took as you came face to face with his fully freed cock did a lot to stroke his ego. He reveled in the brightness of anticipation in your eyes.

“You really like your Wolf, huh?”

For the first time a blush crossed your cheeks and you couldn’t quite meet his eyes. Bucky took a step closer so that there was nowhere for you to avert your gaze. 

"May I?" You looked up at him for permission. 

He nodded, heart pounding from the thought of your touch.

You wrapped your hand around his shaft, feeling him jump with excitement. "That feel good, Mister Wolf?" A sudden surge of confidence had you feeling aroused again.

"Need more, Red."

You didn't need to be told twice. His already leaking tip looked too tantalizing and you were eager to taste your Wolf. With the same enthusiasm, you took him into your mouth, starting with a few soft licks, before sucking hard. Bucky thought he was going to come right at that moment.

“Red, w-wait!” he stuttered as the waves of pleasure encompassed him.

There was a faint popping sound as you released him from your mouth, looking up at him with an all knowing smile. He sat down beside you, spending the next few moments in an intimate silence with light touches. As his breathing became less ragged, you placed your palms on his chest, pushing him down onto his back. You climbed over and straddled his lap so that your entrance brushed over the base of his cock.

You leaned down and whispered in his ear. "So is my White Wolf going to let me ride him?"

Bucky's pupils dilated so fast that the image of you blurred slightly. It was only when you came back into focus that he was able to growl out the words. "I want you."

He held himself up as you lined your entrance up to his leaking member, slowly sinking down and basking in the stretch you felt. So much more than what his fingers had given you, you wondered if he would tear you in half. After a few careful thrusts, you picked up the pace, riding him with vigor.

"Fuck, Red, you feel so good!" Bucky looked up at you.

You were a sight to behold, flushed with strands of sweat coated hair strewn across your face. But it was your eyes that had him mesmerized, the way you looked back at him with voracity laced with a tenderness he hadn't seen in years.

"Harder!"

You complied with his request, matching your bounces with a thrust of his hips. Bucky admired the way your breasts followed your movements, unable to resist the urge, he reached up to squeeze your left nipple. 

After several minutes of energetic thrusting, Bucky caught you slowing down. He slipped his hand down to your waist in an attempt to stay your movements. 

"Can we try something different?” you asked, breathing heavily as you leaned forwards to pull air into your burning lungs and ease the pain in your aching thighs.

“Just gimme a few more. ‘M close.”

“Trust me, Mister Wolf? I wanna give something else a try.”

He removed his grip from your waist, watching as you climbed off his lap and crawled over to the arm rest and planted your hands firmly on it. You looked over your shoulder and wiggled your ass at him.

"Mount me, Mister Wolf."

Bucky didn't need to be told twice. He splayed his fingers across one cheek of your beautifully round ass and kneaded the muscle as you pushed back towards him, waiting with anticipation for him to enter you. But Bucky’s inner wolf had been freed and he let its spirit guide him. He leant forwards and sank his teeth into your other cheek, deep enough for you to yelp with pain but not enough to break your skin. He proceeded to cover the area with his lips in an attempt to kiss it better.

"You want to mark me?"

"You're mine, Red. All mine. Got that?" He rubbed his cock against your leaking lips.

“Yo-”

Before you had the chance to finish giving him an answer, he was inside you. One swift thrust. The cry that left your lips was much more pained and Bucky worried for a moment that his strength had been too much for you.

"It's fine, keep going. Fuck me, please."

Bucky was a little more careful on the second try, but each trust made him more confident, aided and abetted by your lusty moans and encouraging words.

“Bucky-”

“You sound so pretty like that,” he pushed into you repeatedly. “Whining and moaning my name.”

“Bucky!”

“What happened to your Wolf?”

"Please… Bucky… please, I need you,, you know I'm aching for you to take me, to pull me apart, whatever pleases you, just… please just don't deny me!”

It felt so fucking good, having Bucky’s cock inside you. Your brain was nothing but mush, focused solely on just how good he felt inside you. You shuddered, your hips pushing backwards as Bucky presses against your clit. His fingers smooth out around your folds, pressing into them slightly, as if holding them open so he can push into you better. You felt your arms going weak at the stimulation, it was getting harder to support yourself as Bucky pushed deeper and deeper inside you.

“Faster!” you cried, but you could barely hear your own words over the sound of skin slapping together, the wet sounds of Bucky’s cock thrusting in and out of you.

“Fuck, Red, I’m getting close…”

"…Ohhh fuck, please," you gasped out, instinctively. "Buck… I need you. But… I'm yours, all yours…"

Your legs trembled as Bucky’s words had you teetering on the edge of your orgasm, your juices covering his cock, his thrusts were passionate, wild, frenzied.

“That’s right. Mine! I’m going to fill you up. That’s it, Red. Come on my cock. I want to hear you come.”

Raucous moans caught in your throat, your eyes closed as you took in all of Bucky. Your vision clouded and your body felt limp as he pushed you over the edge once again. It felt as though the world had ceased to exist except for the two of you, together, as one being. Bucky held you close as you squeezed his cock triggering his climax. With a howl, ropes of white hot cum shot from him, filling you until it was dripping out of you and down your leg. He fell into you and you both collapsed onto the sofa, heavy breathing was the only sound to be heard in the room for several minutes.

Finally you caught your breath, recovered some semblance of feeling in your limbs. Bucky’s arm was still wrapped around your waist in a powerful embrace and he hadn't made any moves to extract himself from inside you.

"I should probably be getting back," Bucky mumbled regrettably after a long silence.

But neither of you made a move to free yourselves from the other's arms.

[adrinktostopyourthirst]

dear sweet m if you end up writing about bucky with a vibrating arm can i pretty please be tagged?? (i don’t know if you do taglists, i couldn’t find anything that indicated either way, totally fine if not!)

Ah yes, Bucky and his vibrating arm. I’ve been hinting at it for ages. And you’d be surprised to find out…

There is no reason for the Wakandans to give the arm some extra functions. So any other vibrations than the mild ones from the inside mechanics were unnecessary. But as we’ve seen from Bucky ever since the 1940’s, he’s quite fascinated by technology himself. Also quite skilled with that brain of his. And as mentioned a while ago, this man has the sexual curiosity of a teenage boy – especially after everything that has happened to him.

So it took him some time to perfect using tools with just one hand, but he has managed to add in some extra functions to his arm. Peeling away at the vibranium carefully and programming some new things into the limb. Some things functioning as an element of surprise in battle, yes, but some functioning as an element of surprise in bed.

The first time he tried it on himself, he had taken a few deep breaths before activating it, squeezing his cock in his metal fist and supressing a low grunt. He had already been so close and had been edging himself for a while. He’d been throbbing and the artificial nerves in his metal arm could feel the steady thump of his heartbeat pulsing through his cock. How had he gotten so nervous doing this all of a sudden? It was a lot, but God, he’d needed to come! It had been unbearable, the need for release. Almost as unbearable as the thought of finishing it the way he normally would.

So he had turned on the added function, the vibrations rising carefully to a steady buzz the way he had programmed it, and the noise that sprang from his mouth had been borderline pornographic.

And he couldn’t stop. Moaning and whimpering as his palm vibrated against the hilt of his cock, he had barely managed to squeeze and pull his hand up to the aching tip of himself. Definitely hadn’t managed more than two pulls before he had spilled months of pent up frustration onto his toned chest with a helpless cry as the vibrations dimmed and he pulled himself through his vision-blackening orgasm.

And as much as he loved using the hidden feature, he hadn’t yet used it on a bed partner. It felt too intimate, too controlling for some reason. Until you, of course.

Because yes, Bucky has a kink for corruption and even though he knows there’s little left of you to corrupt, the small nudges out of your comfort zone felt like drugs to him. The man loves to be on his knees for you, worship the ground you walk on, but there are few things better than getting you to submit to him. Even fewer than ruining the sheets below you while he is still dressed.

And tonight, you looked beautiful. Sinful in the classiest way. He’d suffered through wearing a tuxedo to the party, as long as you felt confident next to him. And in turn, he felt powerful next to you. It was one of those moments where Bucky’s heart swelled three sizes because he realised that you both make each other want to be better. In the big things, but also the small things like tonight. Looking good, charming people, bragging about each other and hyping up one another. He was in cloud nine and it was about time he paid you back for it.

You are already breathing heavily, draped on your shared bed with your dress discarded and your heels still on. Your hair messy and makeup smudged slightly. Your skin is throbbing and flushed and the ache between your legs is nearly numbing. You stare up at the ceiling lazily, coming down from another Bucky-induced high as he prowls around the bed and watches you – jacket discarded and the sleeves of his white shirt rolled up to his elbows.

“I’ll never get enough of making you come, you know,” he says before he once again climbs over you. Kisses are pressed to your belly, your breasts, your neck. You almost purr at the feeling. “And I will always look for new ways to get it done. New ways to make you feel better.”

You want to tell him you already feel great, fight him on it, tell him there is nothing he needs to compensate for. But you’re so dazed and selfishly, you love it when he talks to you like this. It makes goosebumps prickle over your skin. And Bucky laughs softly at the sight, teasingly trailing fingers up your damp inner thighs. You shudder at the touch.

He continues, “But tonight… Shit. You looked so beautiful. So tempting. I want to use all of my ways on you. I want to make you come and moan and scream until you are nothing but a puddle of sweat and tears and come.” You whine softly at his words and drape your hands over his neck, urging him closer. He breathes onto your lips, “I want it all from you. Forever. Give me everything, baby. I know you can–”

The surge of vibrations against you cunt is so much, you gasp for air and freeze all the same. You try to snap your legs shut, but Bucky’s body is keeping you from it. You open your mouth to say something, but everything has left you. Thoughts, words, willpower – it’s all gone. Your body tightens and loosens, pleasure unfurling throughout it like light in a glowstick.

Involuntarily, your hips buck and grind against his hand and the sounds that escape you are torturous. You feel Bucky’s smirk burning over your skin and you only barely manage to look down.

You’ve used toys before, but these vibrations… It feels like the toy is made for you, rolling over every single nerve of your clit so precisely it feels out of this world.

And as you look down, Bucky’s gaze follows, and you see three of his metal fingers rolling over your clit. You let out a moan at the sight – a sound Bucky answers with a deep groan of his own. Nothing will boost his confidence more than your responses to him. Especially when he knows there is no room left in your brain to overthink the responses. These are purely natural. Needy and appreciative.

The two of you look at his hand in trance, breaths and moans fanning over Bucky’s cheek. And then he slips two fingers into your soaked core, curling them up against your swollen walls and the both of you let out a carnal groan, your hands clutching him tighter.

Oh shit, oh shit…

“B-Bucky,” you gasp and he presses a kiss to your temple in answer. You sigh and close your eyes, sinking into the sheets as he pushes and pushes against the growing bubble in your belly. Rolling a vibrating thumb over your clit and pushing vibrating fingers against your deepest spot.

“Give it to me,” he murmurs, but he sounds rushed. Impatient. Like there is nothing in the world he wants more than to have you fall apart for him. Nothing more than feeling you squeeze around him again. He watches it build. Something big, something neither of you can come back from. He watches you nearly vibrate yourself with pleasure as the pleasure builds, and builds, and builds–

And when you burst, Bucky watches you lose yourself entirely to him. More importantly, only three fingers from him. And he wonders how you would look and sound if you lost yourself to him entirely. In love, in pleasure, in need, in life–  

Aaaand he wonders if he could do this in public.

[havenscribes]

ONLY WARRIORS - Bucky Barnes x Wakandan!Regent!Reader

"Bucky Barnes has no concept of personal space."

Lady!Y/N will not slow down. She's a pioneer at the forefront of technological advancements, living in the most intelligently designed country in the world. At the top of her game, she's raised over 55 million dollars with just a few speeches. After the deaths of two royal icons, a new era of protection has begun under the first female Black Panther, and a new fight is needed for the future of Wakandan people: public diplomacy. She follows in the footsteps set by Nakia and T’Challa, striving to make the world a better place, or at least, help them catch up.

Bucky Barnes is not done making amends. He’s still going to therapy, and knowing that Steve’s legacy is in good hands helps his guilt, but he wants to take a more proactive approach to helping. Rubbing elbows with elites isn't really his cup of tea, but he’s only here at this Louvre gala thing to congratulate Queen Shuri and to offer his condolences. After the life he's had, he's ready to slow down and avoid action at all costs.

In the midst of the millionth inspirational speech by Y/n, the museum is attacked by Namor, who vows to enact his revenge on the surface world. Y/N narrowly escapes, but the near miss rattles Shuri, who now refuses to let her out of her sight without any kind of protection. Luckily, Shuri knows just the guy who still owes her a favor.

⋆ Warnings: Reader is kinda cocky, fluff, some angst, MCU level violence, a teensy bit of Namor x reader, Shuri is our cousin, Bucky is annoying, Sam is an angel, happily ever after ⋆ Playlist

Chapters: ⋆ Chapter One ⋆ Chapter Two ⋆ Chapter Three ⋆ Chapter Four

⋆ Chapter Five

[wandamaximoffsbadgirl]

Let's Talk About That

Our love's misaligned 'cause you're on my mind every night (9)

Psychiatrist!Avenger!fem!Reader x Wanda Maximoff

Summary: What is to be the fate of the one with the power stone?

Word Count: 1.9K

Warning: Angst, violence, gore, medical procedures, medical talk, emotional distress

A/N: Thank you for being patient with me and now it's time for the final chapter

Before our descent into Wakanda, about half an hour out, Wanda roused you from your slumber, causing you to jolt awake with your purple magic instinctively surging in defense. "Y/N, it's just me. You're safe," she reassured you as you struggled to catch your breath, your magic fading away as quickly as it had emerged.

"Sorry, Wands..." you muttered, rubbing your temples. "Ughhhhh... Never let me do that again... My head's all fuzzy, and my dreams felt too real." Wanda's touch on your cheek brought you back to the present, her expression softening with concern.

"Okay. I won't. Time to get you ready. Suit up," she instructed before standing up and leaving the room. You sighed, looking down at your costume, feeling the weight of our impending mission settling upon you as you reluctantly donned it.

A knock at the door interrupted your thoughts, and Tasha's voice followed. "Hey, it's me. Can I come in?" she asked. You welcomed her inside with a nod, using your magic to open the door as she entered, a smile lighting up her face.

"Have I ever told you how hot you look in your outfit?" Tasha teased, walking over to sit on your lap.

"Yeah, but you could stand to mention it more," You smirked, leaning in to meet her kiss with passion and love, allowing yourself to lose yourself in her embrace as if it were your last moment together.

==================

Vision and you walked flanking Wanda, each on one side of her. Her arm rested on Vision's lower back, her hand on your side holding your hand. You tried to keep your grip gentle as the three of you made your way to the Wakandan medical center. The advanced technology on display was unlike anything you had seen before, a testament to the hidden marvels within Wakanda.

In the medical center, Vision and you were laid on separate beds, subjected to examinations utilizing technology beyond even your comprehension. Shuri, T'Challa's brilliant younger sister, took the lead in explaining our unique situations.

"Their structures are polymorphic," Shuri observed. "For Vision, we had to attach each neuron non-sequentially. For Y/N, the power stone seemed to do that on its own, attaching itself in such a way to sustain itself, since the stone appeared to seek her out specifically."

Shuri directed a question towards Bruce, "Why didn't you just reprogram the synapses to work collectively?"

Bruce, admitting the oversight, replied sheepishly, "Because we didn't think of it."

Your chuckle was abruptly cut off by a sharp look and a whack from Wanda. The room shifted to serious discussion as Shuri addressed the matter at hand.

"Can you do it?" Wanda asked about Vision's procedure.

"Yes, but there are more than two trillion neurons here. One misalignment could cause a cascade of circuit failures. It will take time, brother," Shuri responded.

"How long?" Cap inquired.

"As long as you can give me," she stated.

Concerned about your own fate, you tentatively asked, "What about me?"

Shuri explained, "For you, one of our top cardiac surgeons will be overseeing your procedure."

Feeling a wave of numbness, you sat up, biting your lip, leaning against Natasha for support. This stone has been a part of you for years now. You feel like you’re going to loose a huge part of who you are. Wanda's hand squeezed your thigh, her voice in your head reassuring you. She had read your thoughts.

"That's not true," she insisted. "Even without the super strength or some of the abilities, you can still see auras and emotions. You can give and take those things, still help people. Your voice can soothe or shatter eardrums at will. You are so much more than this." Her hand touched the stone, and you placed yours over hers.

"Thank you, Wanda," You whispered, offering her a small but appreciative smile for her comforting words.

Lying on the operating table during open-heart surgery was an experience you wouldn't wish upon anyone. The knowledge that you needed to be conscious in case of emergency was little comfort as the procedure unfolded. The sterile surroundings and the hushed voices of the medical team did little to ease your nerves.

As the surgeons began to cut you open, you couldn't feel the incision, but the sound of the instruments slicing through flesh sent shivers down your spine. It was a surreal sensation, knowing that your body was being operated on while you remained awake and alert.

The worst part came when they began to remove the tendrils of the stone that had wrapped themselves around your heart and lungs. The sickening sound of sinews being torn away made your stomach churn, and you felt every jolt and tug as they detached from your organs. Each movement seemed to reverberate through your body, leaving you feeling nauseous and disoriented.

Despite the discomfort, you forced yourself to remain still, knowing that any sudden movement could jeopardize the delicate procedure. So you lay there, trying to focus on your breathing and block out the unpleasant sounds and sensations, praying that it would all be over soon.

As the doctor informed you that we were nearing the end of the surgery, your attention shifted to Wanda, who was making her way towards the windows. The distant sounds of battle outside served as a stark reminder of the chaos unfolding beyond the confines of the medical facility.

Wanda rushed over to Vision first, her actions filled with urgency and determination. She clasped his hand and pressed a tender kiss to it before turning her attention to you. Confusion filled your mind as you watched her approach, uncertain of her intentions.

"What are you doing?" You asked, your voice betraying the worry that gnawed at your insides.

"I have to go help them," she replied, her gaze flickering with determination.

"No, Wanda, you can't," You pleaded, desperation lacing your words. You couldn't bear the thought of her leaving you alone, especially in your vulnerable state.

But Wanda's resolve remained unwavering as she leaned down to kiss your forehead, her touch soothing yet filled with determination.

"I'm going to keep you safe," she whispered softly before hastily leaving the room.

Left behind in the sterile silence of the medical facility, you couldn't shake the feeling of unease that settled over you. Wanda's absence left a gaping void, and the weight of uncertainty pressed down on you as you awaited the outcome of the battle raging outside.

No sooner had Wanda left one of the aliens you had fought earlier reappeared, its presence sending a surge of adrenaline coursing through you. Without hesitation, you slapped your hand back over the stone, returning it to its rightful place, despite the agony that shot through your body. The wound slowly began to heal, the tendrils once again enveloping your heart and lungs.

"Ready for round two, big boy?" you snarled at the alien, your voice laced with defiance and determination. A flicker of fear passed through its eyes as you rose to your feet, your fists clenched and ready for battle.

"Shuri, keep working on Vision. I can handle this," you called back over your shoulder, your focus solely on the adversary before you. With a powerful push off the ground, you lunged forward, your fist connecting with its face with a resounding impact, sending it hurtling through the air once again.

As the alien staggered, you wasted no time in following up, launching yourself into the air and delivering a double hammer fist that sent us crashing down to the ground below. The force of the impact reverberated through your bones, but you gritted your teeth and pushed through the pain, knowing that you had to protect your friends and allies at all costs.

As the two of you spun and grappled amidst the trees, the alien managed to get hold of your stone, sending a jolt of agony through you that momentarily stunned your senses. Before you could react, it kicked me back with tremendous force, sending you sprawling to the ground.

You scrambled to regain your footing, but before you could fully recover, a colossal alien loomed over you, wielding a giant axe with deadly intent. With lightning speed, it brought the weapon down, and you barely had time to react before the blade struck you with brutal force.

Agony exploded through your side as the axe punctured your flesh, sending searing pain radiating through every nerve in your body. With a sharp gasp, you clutched at the wound, desperately trying to keep your insides from spilling out as darkness threatened to engulf your vision.

Wanda came flying down as your body began to heal itself. “Are you okay?” She asked concern evident in her voice and on her features as she reached you. Her hand flying to meet yours that covered your wound while the other held your cheek.

Searing pain ripped through you as your body tried to cinch itself back together. Your stone glowing bright purple in its efforts of putting it’s host back together. Then another wave of pain hits as your chest tightens up. The alien sinews of the power stone clenching up around your heart and lungs. Breathing feeling impossible.

“What? What is it love?” The fear for your safety evident in her voice. You looked around frantic until your eyes met hers.

“He’s here.” You managed out through labored short breaths. Everything felt still for a moment.

Wanda stood up, readying her powers, a red scarlet orb in between her hands. As your body healed enough that you no longer needed to hold it you stood up. Gripping her arm as she looked back at you.

“Together.” You asked, searching those sea glass eyes you’d fallen in love with the moment you looked into them.

“Together. Always.” She responded. Vision flew down beside you two. The mind stone no longer on his forehead.

“Is it destroyed?” You ask.

“Yes. Shuri took care of it.” A sigh of relief comes from both you and Wanda as Thanos appears before the three of you.

As your other teammates fought along side of you none of them were a match until he got to you and Wanda. You had him on his tails until he used the time stone to move backwards just enough to grab the mind stone from Shuri before it could be destroyed and then your stone. Picking you up by your neck and tearing it out of your chest.

Nothing could have prepared you for that. Your body unprepared as the tendrils pull and snap away. A crater left in your chest as you struggle to breath and stay conscious. Wanda holding you and begging as tears fell from her eyes and onto you.

“Please Y/N...please don’t leave me. I’m so sorry for everything that happened. I’m sorry I left you. I’m sorry I never let you explain it. Please don’t leave me like this. Please stay with me. I’ll make everything right I swear, I promise you.” Her voice is cracking and you can faintly see Natasha behind her. You can feel the smile come up on your lips though you don’t feel your hand reach up and touch her cheek. Brushing away a stray tear from her cheek.

“I’ll love you till the day that I die.”

The words sound like you’re underwater and the world around you starts to shrink as white invades your vision and your hearing starts to go.

[katsfixationcorner]

In Every Universe

Marvel Rivals!Steve Rogers x Marvel Rivals!Bucky Barnes

Summary: In the midst of the Timestream Entanglement, Steve Rogers searches for allies among the now linked universes. What he finds is an old friend -who, in his universe, was long dead- being held captive by Hydra. He manages to rescue both Bucky Barnes  and Clint Barton, taking them to the safehaven that is the Intergalactic Empire of Wakanda. Now out of harm’s way, Steve and Bucky reconnect and find healing in each other. 

Warnings: Mentions of death, Grief, Fluff/Angst, Men in Love (they’re gay your honor)

Word Count: 3.1k

A/N: This fic is my interpretation of the events of Marvel Rivals lore. Years (and lore) will not be correct. I did the best research I could but there will always be discrepancies. All you need to know is the year is 2099 and Steve was unfrozen in 2088 (couldn’t find a legit year so I chose one).

I couldn't get this out of my head, so I took a break from other works to write this~ Enjoy~

I do NOT consent to have my work copied, translated, or run through AI.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Too much had happened within the last seventy-two hours. 

Between being transported to the advanced-beyond-words city that was the Intergalactic Empire of Wakanda, gaining use of their technology (then having to learn how to use it), finding his old partner Bucky Barnes in the throes of Hydra, then having to save himself and his new allies from said partner after his brain was hijacked by an eldritch horror… Let’s just say Steve Rogers was going through a lot.  

None of that mattered though. The only thing on Steve’s mind was Bucky. Bucky -who was his closest friend for years- needed his help. And Steve needed him too, for more than just saving the universe from Victor von Doom. 

But this Bucky, however similar he was, wasn’t his. His Bucky, the one Steve grew up with, died over one-hundred and fifty years ago. Though for Steve, it had been merely eleven years since he lost his friend. While eleven years is quite some time, Steve still struggled with the loss of the man he held close to his heart. Now face to face with him once more, Steve felt he was being torn in two. On one hand, he was elated to see his friend again after so long. On another, he knew this Bucky wasn’t the same one he knew. He didn’t have the same memories that Steve shared with his Bucky; he didn’t share the same feelings he had. That was enough to shatter his heart into a million pieces, and it would if he dwelled on it too long. 

So he threw himself into work. A lot needed to be done if he was to organize enough heroes to help restore the timelines. Together with King T’Challa, he was able to put together an outline of a plan while Shuri helped Bucky restore his sanity and control of his new arm. 

But it wasn’t enough. 

No matter how hard he tried, Steve couldn’t tear himself away from Bucky. He needed to see him, to make sure he was okay. He couldn’t lose another one, not after just getting him back. There was so much he had to say, so much he wanted to do. He couldn’t waste any more time. 

Once he had a moment to himself, Steve made his way down to the medical laboratory. There was a chance Bucky wouldn’t be available, but he couldn’t stand not seeing him any longer.

When Steve entered the lab, he scanned the room for the person who had been plaguing his mind. He swept the room once before he found him. Bucky was laid out on a sterile bed in the middle of the room hooked up to a machine three times his size. By the grimace on his face, he wasn’t too thrilled about it.

Wakandan doctors roamed with purpose, checking monitors and talking amongst themselves. The one tending to Bucky gave Steve a nod when he approached. Steve, however, wasn’t paying attention. His gaze was fixed on his best friend’s face. 

“How’re you holding up?” Steve asked once he was close enough to Bucky, stopping to stand next to the lab bed. 

Bucky turned his head towards Steve, giving him a tired smirk that managed to take Steve’s breath away. “Better now that I’m not being puppeted by Cthulhu. Still feel like a building fell on me though, which I guess is on par with everything lately.” 

Relief spread through Steve’s body. “I’m glad, Buck. That’s good to hear.” He expressed, suppressing the urge to pull Bucky off the machine he was hooked to. Instead, he turned towards the doctor overseeing his friend’s recovery. “How’s the treatment faring? Will he be released soon?” 

The doctor glanced at Bucky briefly then returned their attention to their monitor. “His neural functions have returned to normal levels. We’ve been able to contain the corruption, for now. Princess Shuri will have to analyze these new results before he can be fully released,” the doctor paused, their gaze traveled back up to Bucky who had shifted uncomfortably, “however, he is stable enough to move. Should you feel the need to stretch, Mister Barnes, don’t stray too far.” 

Bucky chuckled then gave the doctor his best two-fingered salute. “Wouldn’t dream of it, doc.” 

While the doctor undid the wires attached to his vibranium arm, Bucky turned his attention back to Steve. “They gave me a room, but they’ve kept me here in case I lose it again.” Bucky paused. He chewed his lip as his mind whirred. “It’d be nice to shower.” He settled on, meeting Steve’s gaze after a moment of thought. “Was lucky if those Hydra bastards bothered to hose me down.” 

The thought of the pain and torment Hydra put Bucky through filled Steve with a rage that boiled his blood and turned the entire room red. But Bucky wasn’t with Hydra; he was here. Safe. And Steve would do anything to keep them from taking him ever again. 

The anger must have surfaced for by the time Steve’s gaze had wandered down to Bucky’s arm then back to his face, concern had flooded Bucky’s face. His eyes roamed Steve’s features, making note of the scowl tugging his lips into a frown and the crease in his forehead. He wouldn’t bring attention to it, not here. Instead, once he was freed from the wires and cables, Bucky lifted his flesh arm towards Steve. “Give me a hand, pal?” 

Steve let a chuckle out under his breath then took hold of Bucky’s hand, pulling him up into a sitting position. The movement made Bucky groan in pain. When he felt ready, Bucky pushed himself off the bed, and -with Steve’s help- managed to get onto his feet. 

Steve hooked one arm around Bucky’s waist and held his arm around his shoulders with the other. Once Bucky was steady and secure in Steve’s hold, the pair made their way out of the lab. Their pace was slow, but Steve wasn’t in any rush. Once they reached the hall, Bucky tugged on Steve’s arm to steer him towards the right. 

“That way,” he instructed. 

Steve nodded then guided them further down the hallway. It wasn’t long before Bucky stopped in front of a simple metal door. He retracted his arm from around Steve’s shoulders then pressed his hand against the door’s scanner. Once it flashed green, the door slid open and allowed the two men inside. 

When Bucky noticed Steve’s perplexed expression, he shrugged his shoulders. “It’s to keep everyone safe.” He explained, gesturing for Steve to sit him on the edge of the bed. “You know, in case whatever Hydra woke up sinks it’s claws into me again and makes me go on a rampage.” 

Steve didn’t like that explanation, but he wasn’t about to dispute it. Instead, he set Bucky down carefully then straightened up to take in the room. It was scarcely decorated, though not without care. The only furniture in the room was the bed, a nightstand, and a wardrobe - all of which were beautifully crafted out of a type of dark wood. The windows were covered with deep purple curtains with gold trim. The plush bedspread was a matching purple, and the silken sheets were gold. As Steve turned to glance out a window, he noticed an open doorway with a pulled back curtain leading into a private bathroom. 

Though Steve’s room was much more extravagant (much to his displeasure), Bucky’s was no less comfortable. He was glad that his friend was being treated well regardless of what had happened earlier that week. It gave him hope that he had chosen his allies properly. 

Once Steve had gotten a lay of the room, he returned to Bucky who still sat in the same place Steve had put him. Bucky’s gaze was fixated on a spot on the floor. For some reason, he wouldn’t look up at him. Concerned, Steve immediately rushed to Bucky’s side. “Are you alright?” He asked intently, preparing to haul his friend back to the medical lab. 

Bucky only nodded, but this didn’t make Steve confident that he was feeling well. He watched Bucky carefully in an attempt to discern what could be the matter. Bucky’s jaw kept clenching and unclenching as if he was struggling with words. It seemed as though there was something weighing on his mind. If he needed to say something, Steve decided, he would give him the time he needed to put his words together. 

So he waited in silence, giving Bucky the space he needed. After a few minutes, a vulnerability that wasn’t present in the Hydra lab when they met the first time appeared on Bucky’s face. Another moment passed before he gained the courage needed to meet Steve’s eyes. 

“I lost you,” he murmured softly. Now in the privacy of his room, the neutral mask Bucky kept on shattered. Unshed tears moistened his eyes; his bottom lip quivered despite the control he had over his voice.

Steve’s posture stiffened. He had to proceed carefully or else he would end up breaking down and melting into a puddle on the floor. “The Steve you lost, he wasn’t me.” He explained gently, though his tone remained distant. “I’m sorry that-“ Steve stopped himself. Everything he wanted to say sounded wrong, so he settled for something else. “I never intended for my presence to bring you pain. I don’t want to hurt you.” 

“I know.” Bucky sighs. He took a deep breath and tore his gaze from Steve’s face. “I just-” The words got stuck in Bucky’s throat. When he managed to force them out, his voice cracked from the strain.  “I never got to say good-bye.”

Those words hit Steve harder than he could have ever anticipated. The weight of them dragged him down until he dropped onto the bed, sitting him on the edge next to Bucky who still wouldn’t look at him. “He meant a lot to you?” Steve probed. He sensed -no, hoped- the feelings he shared with his Bucky were somewhere in him, but he had to be sure. 

“He was everything.” Bucky admitted softly. Then, as if he realized he said something he shouldn’t have, Bucky clears his throat. “He meant a lot to everyone.”

“But he meant more to you?” Steve pushed. 

Bucky hesitated then nodded. “Even after everything Hydra did -after everything I did- he never stopped trying to help me. Never gave up on me. And when things went to shit, because they always do, we had each other. That was enough.” 

Steve knew exactly how Bucky felt. Losing his friend so tragically and unexpectedly made him realize how much he kept to himself. He wasn’t about to make the same mistake again. “Bucky -my Bucky- always had my back.” He began carefully, thinking each thought through before speaking. “Even when I did something stupid or reckless. He was always there. I never thanked him for that…or anything. I suppose I figured I’d have the time to.”  

Though he clung to Steve’s words, Bucky was afraid to look at him too long -he was nearly identical to the Steve he’d known. Looking at him felt like being stabbed in the chest. But hearing him say the same things about himself (well, his Bucky) that he’d heard from his own Steve… It gave Bucky pause. He knew this Steve and his were different people, but they were also so similar. At times it was like the man he loved was still with him. 

The thought made him ache. He didn’t want to let him go. He couldn’t. Not yet. 

But maybe… Maybe, in some twisted way, he hadn’t completely lost him after all. Steve, this Steve, was here. He cared enough to search for him through all the entangled universes. Him.

Bucky could feel Steve’s eyes on him. He had finished speaking but Bucky was lost in his thoughts. Bucky let Steve’s words sink in a bit more before he responded. Something Steve had said stuck with him. It was the way he spoke in the past tense like… 

Bucky finally lifted his eyes back to Steve’s face. Where he expected to find a hint of nostalgia or a thread of sympathy, Bucky, instead, found pain.

“Your Bucky…” Bucky hesitated. “Did he… Did you lose him?” 

The hurt on Steve’s face gave Bucky the answer before he even responded. Steve took a long, deep breath before saying anything. “It was a long time ago, during the war. He, uh, he was killed during a skirmish in Austria.” 

Bucky’s chest tightened when he heard how his counterpart had died. He would have met the same fate if Hydra hadn’t found him. 

And now, for the first time in weeks, the pain of Bucky’s loss had dulled. Through his loss of his Bucky, Steve held the same grief Bucky did. Their pain was shared. It felt as though, even if just for a moment, half of the weight of Bucky’s loss had lifted from his shoulders, like Steve was holding the other half for him. 

The silence that had grown between them was now filled with a sense of understanding. Bucky let his gaze roam Steve’s face, now taking him every detail that he had been too afraid to see. His features were warped by a hurt that Bucky needed to lessen. In an attempt to lighten his mind, Bucky resorted to the only thing he knew would have any effect: his tormented sense of humor.  “Are you sure he died? You know, we have a habit of coming back when you really don’t want us to.” 

Though a bit morbid, Bucky’s teasing brought a small smile to Steve’s face. “I’m afraid so.”

That smile was enough. Though brief, the energy it provided was contagious. Bucky couldn’t help but let out a breathy laugh, one that Steve accepted with his own. If anyone had been looking for Bucky, they would have been perplexed having seen Bucky and Steve sitting in an empty room laughing over the memories of their dead partners. But Bucky didn’t care. Steve’s laughter was infectious, his smile brighter than any star in the entire galaxy. He’d do anything, anything, to bask in his light, even if it only lasted for a moment. 

Steve found himself shifting closer to Bucky. He was near enough that their thighs touched. Bucky didn’t seem to mind, he was still watching Steve even as his smile faded. No matter how hard he tried, Steve couldn’t tear himself away from Bucky’s face. He looked exactly like him save for the scar that decorated his left eye. 

Steve had to tell him -he had to. “He meant a lot to me too.” He murmured softly. “More than anything. And I-” Steve had to take a breath to compose himself or else tears would start flowing down his cheeks. “I lost him before I could tell him. He never knew that I-” 

“He knew.” Bucky interrupts just as quietly. “Trust me… He knew.”

A surge of emotion overtook Steve. With only the briefest of hesitation, he lifted a hand to Bucky’s face, stopping only when the tips of his fingers brushed against Bucky’s jaw. When Bucky leaned into his touch, Steve lost all the control he thought he had. He cradled Bucky’s face like he was made of glass, using his other hand to trace the sharp edges of his features with his fingers. 

Bucky’s gaze never wavered. He looked at Steve like he had been drowning and Steve was his savior. He leaned into Steve’s caress, pressing his cheek into his hand like he couldn’t get enough. Bucky ached for his touch, and Steve was more than happy to oblige. 

Steve leaned forward slightly, using their closeness to map all the little details on Bucky’s face. When they grew increasingly close, Bucky’s breath hitched. The sound drew Steve’s attention from the line of Bucky’s scar downwards until he stopped, taking in the curve of his lips. 

Steve couldn’t help himself. It had been too long. He craved the man before him so much it pained him. With a brief glance upwards to Bucky’s eyes, Steve murmured, “Can I?”

“Please…” 

Bucky’s plea was enough. Steve quickly closed the distance between them then brushed his lips tentatively against Bucky’s. A sigh escaped his mouth as he leaned into Steve, nearly melting from the gentleness of the kiss. Their lips moved together unhurriedly, savoring the taste of each other. 

Steve pulled away first, though he hadn’t wished to, to gauge Bucky’s reaction. Bucky’s pupils were dilated and his cheeks were flushed. His breath was uneven, and Steve could hear his heart hammering in his chest. Steve was faring no better. Neither of them moved, though. They were transfixed by each other, yet still wary of what they felt. Both men remained still, gazing at each other like the other could disappear any second.

Then, all of a sudden, the tether that kept them apart broke. Both of them surged forward at the same time, grasping onto each other desperately. This time there was no hesitation. Their lips slammed together as if pulled by magnets. Steve raked a hand through Bucky’s hair, tangling his fingers in the coarse strands and pulling him flush against him. Bucky’s vibranium arm found its way around Steve’s waist, his hand clutching at the back of Steve’s shirt like he was afraid Steve would pull away again. 

Unlike their first, this kiss was hungry and passionate, fueled by a desperate need to keep the other close. The two men barely parted for breath. Steve breathed in Bucky’s soft groans like they provided all the air he needed. They poured everything they had into the kiss. All the pain they shared, the love they had for each other, everything. Even when they finally parted, both disheveled and flushed, they never detangled themselves. The hand Steve kept in Bucky’s hair dropped to the base of his neck, rubbing circles into his skin with his thumb. 

Steve had a thought to say something -to tell Bucky that his feelings for him would never change no matter which universe they were from- but as Bucky smiled at him, a soft, shy smile that made Steve forget to breathe, he decided against it. Words could wait.  

It was Bucky who leaned forward next, stealing a much more chaste kiss before pressing his forehead against Steve’s. They sat pressed together for what felt like hours, bathing in the warmth and comfort of each other’s bodies. They both knew the holes in their hearts would never fully close; the empty space left by those they loved and lost would never fill. But over time, the wounds of loss would scar, the pain would fade, and -no matter what-  they would always have each other. 

Steve made a decision then, that not even the threat of universal annihilation would ever part them. He would do whatever was needed to keep from losing Bucky again. And whatever the future had in store, they would weather it together.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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[just-dreaming-marvel]

A Terrible Accident ~ Part 3

A TERRIBLE ACCIDENT MASTERLIST

< previous part

Summary: The Team works on a plan to help you and Bucky.

Word Count: 1,875ish

Warnings: talk of rape, abuse, trauma

Notes: Been awhile for this update... sorry about that... read with caution...

Bucky wouldn’t allow any of the Wakandans inside his cell, including Shuri. Luckily, Shuri had the technology to be able to still run the needed tests. It took her a few hours to finish running what she needed to before gathering the team into one of the conference rooms. Shuri didn’t put any of the information she gathered on the screens yet. Not wanting any of the team members to read ahead.

“What have you found, Shuri?” Steve asked, unable to wait any longer. He was worried for his best friend.

“As I feared, something has happened to the rewiring that we had done to Barnes and the Winter Soldier was able to return,” she admitted. Steve’s face dropped while the other team members tried to keep their composure. “My team and I are coming up with a plan. We think that we can do the same protocol—“

“The protocol that didn’t work?” Tony questioned with a scoff.

“There are tweaks that can be made. I was hoping to have your help, Stark, as well as Dr. Banner’s.”

“How will you do the protocol when Barnes won’t allow anyone in the cell with him?” Asked Sam.

“With the previous protocol, we put him in cryo until I could—“

“No. No,” Steve interrupted. “Bucky cannot go under again.”

“Let Shuri finish, Steve,” Nat said.

“As I was saying,” Shuri continued, “we put Barnes in cryo and then woke him up to do the protocol. With his resistance to even having people in the same room as him, I believe we need to have him under the whole time and wake him only to test it.”

“He won’t agree to this,” said Sam. “Not at all.”

“He’ll do it for Y/N,” Steve defended. “He’ll do anything for Y/N.”

“He believes that shutting himself away is for Y/N’s sake,” Wanda said. “I don’t know if he will believe that this will actually work after this.”

“Y/N can convince him.”

“Y/N’s not allowed to go anywhere near Barnes,” Tony said. “As per his orders and mine. It’s for the best.”

“She may be the only one able to help Bucky.”

“She’s also seriously injured in the med bay thanks to your friend.”

“He wasn’t—“

“It’s Barnes’ prints and sperm that were found all over her! It was him! I don’t care that you believe him to have two separate personalities, it was still him! He is not going near her and vice versa. End of discussion.”

~~~

You knew that the Team had been pulled into a meeting. This was your chance to sneak away and see Bucky. You knew that Tony would be incredibly pissed at you, but you needed to see Bucky. It was harder to get down to the detention cells than you had originally thought, all due to your injuries. 

Walking as quickly as you could, which wasn’t very fast at all, you searched for the cell that Bucky was in. It broke your heart when you found him in the farthest cell away from the elevator and stairwell. Holding your breathe, you took the final step needed to stand in front of the one-way glass. 

Bucky looked awful. He was in the corner on the floor. His hair was hanging over his face, but failing to hide the dark circles under his sad eyes. Clearly, he hadn’t changed and your blood was still splattered over him. The only thing missing was his metal arm. You ran your eyes over the room to see that his arm had been tossed across the room. It broke your heart to see him like this, yet… there was a tiny voice inside your head telling you to run away. You hate that the Winter Soldier had made you scared of the man you loved. You knew that they were different, but ran now your head was beginning to trick you into thinking otherwise.

With a shaky hand, you went to press the button that would allow you to speak to him. Before you could press the button, you were stopped.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Tony’s harsh voice made your head snap in his direction. He was bounding down the hall, with Steve, Natasha, and Sam behind him.

“I need to speak with him,” you responded, getting emotional. You backed up against the console, unknowingly pressing the button that would allow Bucky to hear what was going on. “He has to know that it’s not his fault. I have to tell him that it’s not his fault… I have to…” Tears were streaming down your face and you had begun trembling. “I have to make this right… I have to help him… I—“

“Shhh, it’s okay,” Natasha cooed, stepping past Tony to get to you. 

“No! It’s not okay!” You tried to lean away from Natasha’s caring hands. “It’s never going to be okay! I—I have to tell him that it’s not his fault! I have to convince him of that to help me believe it!”

Stunned silence echoed through the hall. The realization of what you had said—what you had admitted—hit you like a freight train.

“Oh my…” You suddenly broke down in tears and collapsed on the floor. “I didn’t mean that!” You cried. “I didn’t mean that!” Natasha followed you and pulled you into her. “I love him! I do!”

“We know, sweetie,” Natasha said as she tried her best to calm you.

“I know it was the Soldier,” you sobbed. “I know it wasn’t Bucky… He would never hurt me like this. But… But…”

Natasha glanced up at the men who were staring at the scene with sad, desperate looks. She turned her focus back to you. “Let’s go back to bed, Y/N. You need more rest.”

You didn’t have the energy to argue with Natasha. You let her help you to your feet and guide you out of there. Tony, Steve, and Sam were frozen in their spots for a moment trying to process what you had said. 

“Shit,” Sam muttered. He quickly went over and pressed the button that turned off the sound for Bucky.

Steve’s eyes widened and he rushed over to the window to check on his friend. Bucky was standing in the center of the room, head down. The men could see the tears trailing down his face and falling onto the floor.

“How do we fix this?” Steve whispered, eyes never leaving his friend.

“I don’t know if there’s a way, Cap,” Sam admitted. 

~~~

Staring at the ceiling became your new thing to do. Members of the Team kept coming up to talk to you, but everything they were saying was fuzzy. You kept replaying the last few days in your head. Every action. Every word. The shift between Bucky and The Winter Soldier. The fact that you had admitted that you were scared. 

“She needs help,” Sam whispered, watching you from outside your room. “Professional help.”

“They both do,” Natasha replied. “Hell, all of us do.”

“Shuri’s planning on forcing Bucky into cryo. I absolutely hate it, but there’s no other way.”

“We have to trust that she knows what she’s doing. She’s the only one who has a chance of ridding him of the Winter Soldier programing permanently.”

“Maybe we take them both to Wakanda. They have technology there that could help both of them in a way none of us are able. Shuri’s probably alright thinking about taking Bucky there anyway.”

“It’s not a terrible idea, though I don’t know how Tony would feel about taking Y/N away from here. You know she’s basically his sister.”

“He needs help, too. He hasn’t fully healed from the fact that The Winter Soldier killed his parents and then this happens… Tony may never let Bucky in the compound again, let alone near Y/N.”

“This is an impossible situation.”

~~~

The team had been called by Shuri into a meeting. Everyone was sitting around the room, the tension thick.

“I’ve placed Sargent Barnes in cryo,” Shuri informed. “I will be moving him to Wakanda for further treatment.”

Steve stood next to Shuri. “I’m going with them and will be supervising everything,” he explained. “I will still be on duty and will do what is necessary from Wakanda, but I need to be there for Bucky.”

“Natasha and I were talking,” Sam spoke up, “and we think that maybe Y/N should go to Wakanda as well.”

“Absolutely not!” Tony immediately argued. “She will never go near Barnes again. Understood? You heard her, she openly admitted to being scared of him.”

“They wouldn’t need to talk. Wakanda just has better resources—“

“That we can bring here if needs be! I’ve already contacted the best therapists that money can buy and are moving them to the compound for the time being. She needs to be home to heal and away from that monster.”

“It’s not a monster, Tony!” Steve shouted. “He’s my friend! He is all of ours friend!”

“Not anymore he’s not. Who ever wants to go with them can go, but Y/N will remain at the compound. End of discussion.”

~~~

Steve sighed as sat on your bed. You were still awake, but staring at the ceiling like you had been since you came back into this room. It was dark outside and the only light coming into the room was from the hallway.

“Bucky and I are leaving in the morning,” Steve whispered, unsure if you could even comprehend his words. “Sam’s going to join us in a few days. He wants to make sure you’re alright. Wanda and Vision said they’ll come, too. We might be able to use their powers to help Bucky finally be free of the programing, so that’s hopeful.” He stared at you for a silent moment. “I’m so sorry about everything, Y/N/N…” Tears collected in his eyes. “I wish that I could fix this more… I know that the two of you love each other. And I have to hope everything will work out. It will.” He stood up and leaned over you. He pressed a tender kiss to your forehead. “I’ll keep you in the loop, no matter what Tony does, I promise.”

Steve turned away and almost missed your quiet, “don’t.”

He spun back around and hurried back to your side. “What?”

“Don’t keep me updated… please,” you rasped, growing emotional. Steve thought his heart couldn’t break any further. “I… I need time… and I… I don’t want the pressure… I’m sorry, Steve.”

“No, no, no, no,” he shook his head. “Please don’t apologize to me. If that’s what you want, then I will respect that.”

“I’m so sorry.” Tears slipped down your cheeks.

“Don’t be. I will be calling to check on you though, okay? Can’t let you think I forgot about you.”

“Okay.”

“You’ll get through this, Y/N, no matter what. And don’t let Tony force you into doing anything you don’t agree with. Alright?”

“Okay.”

“Please let the know if you need anything.”

“Okay.”

Steve gave your forehead a kiss before he got up and left. You went back to staring at the ceiling, letting yourself drown in the weight of it all.

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