andidmarryyouharry28 - Tumblr blog

andidmarryyouharry28 · 3 years

Note

yehhh like, tomorrow's the deadline for the manuscript of my first article in my phd thesis and here I am, crying over soft tender moron loki??? he's a dumbass, I want to punch him, and I love him

FROM THE VOID, WITH LOVE | petal-mouthed

summary: you didn't know you were in a love story.

pairing: loki / f!reader, slight sylvie / f!reader

a/n: more good luck for anons! happy loki eve, i hope you set aside some time to drink some water and breathe! this long one is for you. once more, a gif by @starlightcastiel from this stunning set here.

[ MASTERPOST ]

Space is weird.

All of it. I mean — whole civilizations and technology you'd never even imagined. It's mind-bogglingly amazing when you think about it. But, just like back home, there are some things that run through the veins of life: work, family, and home security systems.

In this case, the home security system is simply a well-armed, older woman with a concussive cannon, but... y'know. Potatoes, potatoes.

As you watch Sylvie, then Loki, be blasted five meters off the aforementioned old woman's front porch, you can't help but think back to last Thursday. Or... the last Thursday you remember. Time has been so muddled on this little adventure. It sort of hurts your head to think about.

Anyways, the point is you never thought you'd be here — watching a God who tried to conquer New York and his blonde sort-of-sibling, sort-of-not fly through the air and skid in the dirt.

Though the sight of both of them being launched off the porch might have initially startled a terrified laugh out of you, you weren't really keen on learning what a concussive blast to the chest felt like. So there you stood, yammering on to this woman, apologizing profusely, and just trying to learn where everyone had disappeared to.

(To Sylvie's point, where people are, power is.)

It works, though.

Maybe she takes pity on you.

Your success earns you two unamused looks when you hop off the porch, wave once to the woman and thank her for her time. With an urgent look, you usher the two up, and as the three of your scurry away, you make a point to brush off dirt from Loki's shoulders as he stalks ahead of you.

"You alright?"

"Worrying over me now, bug?" he asks with a hidden smirk, "That's adorable."

"Yeah, well that didn't exactly look like the most fun thing in the world," you supply tossing a look over your shoulder to Sylvie as she rubs her ribs and exhale tightly, "But at the very least we know where we need to be headed."

Sylvie scoffs. "We'll be lucky if we get there in time."

You are lucky. The three of you do get there in time, but not by much.

Just like before, back at that abandoned bar, the hairs on your neck stand up.

The long line winding along the train platforms seems to not matter at all — after all, there are people in glittering dresses and starched suits wandering up to present tickets, climbing towards their first class compartments. The second fiddle has been passed off to the families, to the elderly, to then children; all of which wait with pleading looks as guards coral them into waiting, and waiting, and waiting.

You try to ignore the churn of bile that stings that back of your throat; but this is how it is. How it will be.

Something don't change.

Jeff Bezos would be proud, you suppose.

Loki seems to notice your discomfort.

"Well, this looks fun," he offers in attempt to dispel your anxiety.

You and Sylvie give him a look. The God, behind you raises his hands in surrender.

"We can't fight our way onto that train," he mutters quietly as the three of you stalk along.

"Who said anything about fighting?" you ask, leaning back and talking out of the corner of his mouth.

"Not you," he says, gesturing to Sylvie with a jut of his chin, "All her plans involve fighting."

"Not this one," Sylvie says as she wets her lips and swaggers along. Her eyes roam the line, and linger on the guards checking tickets on top of the boarding platform, "I'm going to enchant a guard, have him lead us through the crowd, and if anyone gives us any trouble..."

"What? Start shooting?" you ask incredulously.

Loki speaks up, then, too. "Kill every guard? Hijack the train?"

Sylvie rolls her eyes at the two of you.

"Whether or not there's a fight is entirely up to them."

You groan quietly. "Not sure if you two haven't noticed, but the whole fighting thing isn't really my forte. I'm advocating for a plan that doesn't involve me getting my ass kicked—"

They have noticed, actually.

Loki's hands grip your shoulders. "We're doing this my way."

You blink. He pops over your over shoulder.

Sylvie turns, then promptly sighs. She pinches the bridge of her nose.

You eye Loki up and down. He clears his throat. Giving his hands a waggle, a bit of a tada moment, his excitement quickly falters when neither of you seem onboard.

"So are we... your prisoners?"

"Yes."

"Why can't I be some fancy mining heiress?" you ask, pouting slightly, "You can do the magic thing. Make me a cool dress."

"No."

"Well, why not?"

Loki's face falls flat. "Why does it matter — oh, come on, both of you."

"This is a shit plan."

"I agree with Sylvie," you mutter as she makes a face and does a once over of the dark-haired God behind you.

"Just follow my lead."

You're not exactly thrilled up have Loki's hand wrapped around your arm, but as he leads both you and Sylvie up the platform, you can feel his grip loosen a tad — and even then, you rest close to his chest as he clears his throat in greeting to the other guards.

You nearly lose it then and there.

"Taking these two to Shuroo."

Why... Why is he doing that?

You do a double look back at him, only to met with a slightly panicked look from Sylvie.

"Okay...?" the guard looks just as perplexed as you, "And the tickets?"

"Orders come from the top to get these two on this train," he bellows, leaning back into this... character.

You can't help the pained sigh that slip out fo your mouth. The young guard notices.

"Sir, this—"

Oh, thank god for Sylvie. She reaches quick, in a blink she's swallowed up the young man's mind in her grip. Though the ensuing conversation is by no means smooth, it gets the three of you on the train and that's really all that matters.

...The train.

It's beautiful. Like someone had taken Gatsby and Star Trek and mashed the two together until they got something that looked a little like those all-silver diners back home, but with a little bit more class. It's colorful and sleek and bustling with quiet conversation — it's clear that the three of you have wandered into the first class cabin by the looks of the bar and patrons.

You slide into a booth against the far wall, startled when Loki suddenly stops dead in front of Sylvie and blinks.

"Uhm, uh, look, I can't go backwards on a train."

He points to her spot. You watch with a slight smile.

"Well, I never sit with my back to a door."

"What?" Loki's eyes find yours as his nose scrunches and he questions his counterpart, "There are doors on both sides?"

You shrug, rub away your smile, and settle in.

"Just sit down, will you?"

Loki does, albeit a tad upset. His knees knock yours beneath the table and he apologizes in a rushed breath; his long legs fold underneath him as he struggles to get comfortable.

You watch Sylvie pin him with a glare.

Here we go.

You drop your chin into your hand and watch the two from the center of the table.

"FYI, that wasn't even a plan."

"Oh, really?"

"Plans have multiple steps. Dressing as a guard and getting on a train is just doing a thing—"

"Are you two done?" you ask, head bobbing as you rest it still in your palm. Your eyes are heavy. You're, honestly, feeling exhausted once more.

You apparently aren't the only one.

You catch Sylvie smothering a yawn out of the corner of your eye.

"You should rest."

She frowns deeply.

"I can't sleep in a place like this."

It's your turn to frown.

Loki squints. "What? A train?"

"No," she bites back, leaning forward to toss an insult at Loki, "I can't sleep around untrustworthy people."

"Do you not trust me?" you ask suddenly.

Sylvie blinks. "No, love — that's not what I meant."

"Not your 'love'," Loki corrects haughtily as he waggles a finger, "But, no, Doctor, I'm assuming she means me."

"Oh, please, you feel free to take a nap, then, Variant—"

"Nice try."

Sylvie shuts her eyes and exhales tightly. "I'm not going to waste my time rooting around for the TemPad when someone taught you fairly decent magic."

"My mother," he calls back as a final word — and it's enough to stifle Sylvie's fire for a moment. Her scoff is one of resignation as Loki leans back, and you watch her eyes soften.

She's staring into space.

Then, they're on you.

"Do you dream of her?"

You lift your eyes from the table.

The question startles a different sort of silence out of you — one that's weighted with contemplation. How did she know?

When you nod, Sylvie almost laughs.

Loki's face is soft.

"What is she like?" she asks suddenly, and Loki's gaze drifts from your face to hers.

"She was, uhm..."

He wets his lips, he inhales, and for the first time you can remember, you see him for who he really is — you see a man, not a God. You see echoes of his childhood, of his life, of his mother. There's love in his eyes when he speaks and it's disarming. You feel like he's holding your heart in his hand, squeezing with every syllabic admission of reverence towards the woman.

A blink. His head drops.

"A Queen of Asgard," he breathes as he nods, "She was good. Purely decent."

His eyes are suddenly swallowed with sadness. Your chest aches. His eyes find you in the sea of feelings — and Sylvie watches the rare moment of connection spark between the two of you.

When Loki speaks, his voice is calm. His eyes don't leave your face.

"She would have liked our dear Doctor, I believe. Quite a lot."

"Purely decent," Sylvie echoes, stifling her bubble of emotions with a snort, "Sure she's your mother?"

"Oh, no, she's not actually," he says pointedly, "I was adopted. Is that a bit of a spoiler for you? Sorry about that."

Sylvie's lips a pressed into a tight line. She shakes her head. "No, I knew I was adopted."

Loki gawks.

Your brows knot.

"What?" he breathes out as he leans forward, "They told you?"

"Did they not tell you?" you ask incredulously, face screwed up in a muddled mess of confusion and shock.

"No," he says as he looks at you, shaking his head, "I mean, they did eventually."

Sylvie winces. You do the same.

"Hang on a second — so tell... I? Uh — tell me about your mother."

The blonde sighs. She shakes her head.

"I barely remember her," she explains, tilting her head, "Just blips of a dream at this point."

You rub your cheek.

The two of them fall into silence.

And, then, you watch Loki offer some sort of olive branch — a shred of his own memory, something to fill in the gaps between the blips for Sylvie. It feels pure, and you can see the pride in his eyes as he speaks about Lady Frigga.

"You know, when I was young, she'd do these little bits of magic for me."

You watch his face light up.

"...Turn a flower into a frog, or cast fireworks over the water."

Sylvie looks on beside you.

Loki continues. "It all seemed impossible. But, she told me one day I'd be able to do it, too, because..."

His eyes flit shut. He exhales. And almost like he's realizing a lost truth, finished his thought.

"Because I could do anything."

You can see something welling in Sylvie's eyes — and maybe Loki does, too. Maybe that's why he offers up his hand in your direction, keen on showing you something to pull from the sap.

"Want to see?"

You both nod.

And, when he opens his palm, it's beautiful.

Little crackles of light explode from his palm in tendrils of color and you find yourself completely and totally enamored with the sight. You — the scientist, the atheist, the methodical and logical. And yet, it's magic. It's magic and it's right there, bubbling alive as fireworks dance through the air between the three of you.

You can hardly help yourself when you reach out and prod a finger towards the projected illusion. Like a drop of water on a calm lake, the lights ebb and flow around your finger only before chasing their way up your hand.

Loki is smirking to himself as the illusion is now held in your palm. Like a child, brimming with wonder, you laugh out loud.

It tickles. Like a cool puff of air. Nearly the opposite to Sylvie's magic. Hers was itchy. Irritating. Hot. This is... beautiful.

Then, Loki reaches out — he scoops up the little trick and closes his palm and gone is the light. Your wonder remains.

Sylvie, to your right, chuckles to herself.

It's... it's endearing. You and him. This little love that's blossoming before her very eyes. And while it's not perfect, she can see echoes of her own love here. It tugs at her heartstrings to the tempo of the harp in the far corner. She settles back into her booth.

"I just... I don't understand."

"Magic, dear," Sylvie says as she smiles, "It's magic."

"Speaking of," Loki says as his knee presses against yours beneath the table, "How do you do that... y'know. The — the thing?"

He mimics her reach. Sylvie snorts.

"It'd be easier if I showed you."

"Why, so you can grab a hold of my mind, get the TemPad and leave us both here to die? I don't think so!"

"Then don't ask!"

The banter is childish and the two dissolve into smiles at the sibling-like interaction.

Suddenly, champagne.

"Ooh!"

Loki takes a glass, and when you and Sylvie wave it off, he happily scoops up the two other glasses with eyes bigger than his stomach. You snort quietly as he takes a gracious sip and wets his lips.

He offers his glass to you. You consider it, then take it gently by the stem.

As Loki speaks, he tries to ignore the way your lips pass along the same place his did moments ago.

What a childish bit of longing.

He swallows. "A pity the old woman chose to die, don't you think?"

"She was in love."

You scoff and hand the glass back to Loki. "She hated him, Sylvie."

"I agree with the Doctor on this one—"

"Well, maybe love is hate."

Her gaze flickers knowingly between the two of you — and you and Loki catch it easily. For a moment, it's like it's only you and him on that train. But, it's a brief moment, and it dissolves into sheepishness after your gaze breaks. The two of you squirm in your seats, ignoring the look with cleared throats; while you wave it off, Loki is more keen on making it quite the joke.

With a flick of his wrist, a quill and piece of parchment appear. He gently elbows you as he waggles his brows. "Should probably remember that, don't you think?"

"Be my guest," you laugh.

"What was that, again? 'Love is'..." he scrawls something, reveling in the sound of your muffled laughter, "Was it 'love is hate'?"

"Oh, piss off."

Another flick of the wrist. The show has dissolved in a wave of green.

He smiles at Sylvie.

"On the subject of love..." he begins, taking another long sip, "It seems we have something in common. Or, well, someone."

You can't help but ignore the roaring flame that suggestion stokes in your gut — all against your better judgement. After all, this is Loki. Reoccuring Variant Anomalies or not, this was a man you couldn't stand. He was cunning and wicked and manipulative and tall and handsome and rather funny when pressed. The cocktail of self-loathing this sudden rush of attraction brings is embarrassing at best.

"That we do."

"What's she like?" you ask, rushing to distract yourself, "The... other version of me?"

Sylvie seems to ponder that for a moment. She leans back, crosses her legs, and thinks.

When she speaks, her voice is tender.

"The smartest woman I've ever met," she says, "She knows me better than I know myself — and it drives me insane."

You can't help but smile. "Does she look like me?"

"Oh, yes, it's a bit scary, actually," she rushes out with a laugh. Then, she quiets down.

You and Loki share a worried look when her gaze drifts off.

"She was the only thing that kept me going."

It hurts. You can see the ache. The hurt. The tender bloom of longing. It pricks her cheeks and turns her mouth red with spite — and Sylvie is quick to allude her sudden vulnerability.

"But, you," Sylvie says, "The both of you...?"

You blink. "I... I'm not sure what you're asking."

Loki squints. "Though everyone is keen on assuming we've already been married, I assure you we're far from it."

"Ah," Sylvie says, almost smiling, "So that little lover's spat was... what? Nothing more?"

"Oh, please, he's insufferable, I stand by that," you explain.

Loki nods with a comically, forced face of acceptance. "She isn't exactly wrong."

"Right," she breathes, "But you can see it, can't you? You and I know. Up until now, we've never had something..."

"Real."

The two of them say it at once.

You lean back slowly. Loki swallows another mouthful of champagne, wets his lips and nods. He accepts that for what it is — and who is he to lie. Not about this. About you.

"Love is mischief, then."

There's a smirk there.

However, Loki's gaze has drifted off — and as he holds his glass a bit tighter, you see a flicker of something contemplative venture into his eyes.

"No..." he begins, eyes flicking to land on your face. They dance there, shifting between your eyes and your mouth and the gentle slope of your nose. He trails off, "Love is..."

You've never been looked at like this in your life — like you're as bright as the sun, as beautiful as the moon, as untouchable as the stars. You feel revered, like someone has hung a halo on your head and kissed your skin with uttered prayer. It nearly seizes up your entire heart.

And maybe it's worsened by the man he is — by the sheer fact that he's Loki. That he's a shadow of a villain you're not to trust, that he's a liar and devil. That he despises all that you are: human above all.

You hadn't realized you were holding your breath.

He seems to snap out of after what feels like forever, and reaches for his glass once more.

You exhale and your fingers tremble against your palm. You begin to worry it beneath the table.

"Uh... Love is something I might have to have another drink to think about."

He tries to play it off with a scoff and a tip of his drink.

He feels heavy.

But, Sylvie knows better. She narrows in on your wide-eyed look and pats your arm. Wordlessly, she comforts your dawning realization that... it's happening. That predestined thing was beginning.

Or had it already started and you've just now begun to piece it together?

You might need a drink. Or a nap.

Both. Both is good.

"You know the three of us are about to hijack the power source to civilization's last hope for survival," she says, "It's not going to be easy."

"Don't remind me," you breathe, "It's messed up."

"We should rest."

"Alright, then," he breathes as he leans back and nods, "You relax your way, and I relax mine."

Sylvie meets your gaze after a moment, then shakes her head. She decidedly makes a point of settling into the booth, and you decide to do the same.

All while the God of Mischief does what he does best.

You stir a half an hour or so later to the sound of singing — and when you raise your head and part the sea of hair hanging in your face, you see that Sylvie is still fast asleep beside you.

Confusion mingles with sleep; as you rub your eyes, you reach for the booth beside you, but Loki isn't there. That sends you bolting upright, and then you realize the singing is him.

Almost as if Sylvie had sensed you panic, she's roused now as well — all in time to see the God of Mischief, apparently drunk, begin his own crooning belt of some song in... Norse? Old Norse? Or, just Norwegian?

"What is he doing?" she whispers harshly.

"I have no idea," you whisper back.

You don't know enough of the language to have even the slightest idea of what's happening. He suddenly shushes the crowd and the rowdy tune slows down into something heavier. Something... filled with heartache.

It's that look again.

The one from before.

And he's singing, all while pinning you square in the booth as he does.

As he leans against the bar, you watch his posture change from confident to nearly bashful.

Your whole chest locks up just like before and your heart is in your throat.

The whole train car seems to hang on this interaction between the two of you, and people follow the tender gaze of the man — and you squirm in your seat.

I storm svarte fjell, jeg vandrer alene Over isbreer tar jeg meg frem I eplehagen står møyen den vene Og synger, når kommer du hjem?

He shifts on his feet, and his eyes are sad.

Then, he bounds back into the tempo from before with boyish enthusiasm.

"When she sings, she sings come home!"

The party begins once more, only ending when the God waves his hands and the harp stops and the room descends into laughter and applause.

Sylvie looks at you with wide-eyes.

"And you two aren't in love?"

You speak quickly as you follow her out of the booth. "I'm beginning to think I missed something."

And maybe you have, and maybe that thing is a dagger.

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andidmarryyouharry28 · 3 years

Text

wakanda

bucky barnes x reader. ⎢ masterlist.

Steve gives you Bucky's dog tags for a reason.

word count: 2.4k (lol, sorry)

warnings/tags: none. bucky being a cutie.

author notes: none of my stories contain reader’s body descriptions to be inclusive.

Join the tag list here.

“Welcome to Wakanda, agent (Y/N)”.

A second after you crossed their airspace, you were courteously greeted. The views from your ship were indescribable. Peace invaded you just at the sight of the open fields and the warm colors of autumn. You could get used to that place too. To live in calm, work hand-to-hand with Shuri, and have time to spend it with Bucky. The reason why you were flying there. Removing your right hand from the control and grabbing in a fist the dog tags hanging on your chest, you took a deep breath while closing your eyes before getting ready to land. T’Challa was waiting for you at the entry of his kingdom, accompanied by his excited little sister and some of his guards.

Pressing a sequence of buttons above your head, to pull the control back, the ship went down slowly folding its wings. As you landed and turned off the engineers, you freed yourself from the seatbelt and the huge headphones to step out. Shuri received you with a friendly hug, breaking protocol and being just Shuri. You built a strong relationship since you met a year ago, when you brought Bucky to that beautiful and magical place, to let him recover. To let him rest.

“Your highness”. You uttered to T’Challa crossing your forearms in the traditional salutation of Wakanda.

“Agent (Y/N)”. He corresponded walking closer. “The white wolf asked me to let you know he wouldn’t want to be… bothered with visits today”.

You couldn’t help but frown. The last time you saw him was around three months ago. You usually interchanged letters from week to week, being one of the fewer persons he trusted in. And it wasn’t just a question of trust. Steve told you about his feelings, his shyness, and insecurities, his fears. What Bucky didn’t know, again, it wasn’t a question of trust from you either. That’s why the Captain gave you the dog tags, after more than thirteen years under custody. You wanted to see him, to know if he was happy there as he wrote you in his letters one million times.

“He doesn’t wear his arm here”. Shuri clarified, taking a position close to his brother.

By the look on their faces, you were aware of two things. One, they noticed too that something was growing between Bucky and you, and that it wasn’t a simple friendship. Two, they weren’t going to stop you. Oh, quite the opposite. They’d bring you to him on a golden platter and a big red bow on your head. The king beckoned a hand to urge you to follow him to the inside of the building and use one of their ships to fly above the place to the white wolf’s location.

You were nervous. You didn’t sleep more than a couple of hours last night thinking about him and how he’d react to having back his tags since the forties. Your eyes were focused throughout the window on your left, watching different citizens taking care of animals and plantations, children running from one side to another, playing and having fun. Oblivious to the horror of New York, where you resided. One of the cities in the world with the highest rates of street violence. Serial killers or simply killers, rapists, kidnappers, drug dealers (...). It was a minefield and Wakanda seemed and felt like Heaven.

“Did you think about the offer?” Shuri nudged you to push you back to reality, turning your head towards her.

“Since you dropped it to me”.

“So?”

“I…” You needed to put away your gaze again, focusing on the blue opened sky in front of them. “I want… to consult him first if you don’t mind”.

“Of course, (Y/N)”.

“I don’t want to put his world upside down, now that he’s not the…” You couldn’t finish the sentence. You couldn’t pronounce that detestable nickname and the pain beneath it.

Shuri nodded in silence, not needing your explanations. She knew how you felt. She understood you. The talk didn’t continue, stretching your right hand on your lap to calm your nerves and make you comfortable with the situation. The flight didn’t last longer than five or ten minutes, losing the track of time deep in your thoughts. The pilot indicated to you through the headphones that you were about to land, glancing at a complex of small houses in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by trees and wilderness.

You were the last one jumping outside with your hand grabbing the tags on your chest, trying to find the encouragement there to follow T’Challa’s hand pointing at a man working with goats and collecting hay for them. Licking your lips and assenting with your chin, you guided your steps towards him. Slowly. As if you wanted to turn around at some point. But you knew it was too late when he was the one turning at the sound of your heavy boots cracking the grass under them.

Bucky didn’t look annoyed for your visit, nor the lack of attention to his petition. Although there was something in his pale blue orbs you weren’t able to decipher, until he bowed down his head unconsciously to his left shoulder covered by a dark fabric matching his eyes. You had to do your best to not roll yours, shortening the distance setting you apart. You had been dreaming about that encounter since the last time you were there before Shuri accessed the darkest place of his mind and cleaned it from any trail of HYDRA. Now, he was free. And he looked in good condition as the bags under his eyes had disappeared and his hair was almost tied with a bun. His cheeks seemed a little more chubby and you just wanted to pinch them. But it’d be weird and out of place. For the time being.

Bit by bit, a sweet smile widened in your lips, curving them as Bucky stared at you again when he was conscious that you didn’t care. With or without a metal arm, your feelings were exactly the same. You couldn’t admire him more than you were admiring him at this point. You couldn’t love him more than you loved him already. And God was a witness of how many times you practiced to confess to him and tell him that the only thing you wanted in life was to be by his side. Bring happiness to his days, bring him peace and harmony.

“I'm sorry…” “I brought you…”

You two spoke at the same time, breaking in a soft giggle that jumped your hearts in complete sync.

“You first”. He let you, waving his hand.

“I… brought you something”. You susurrated, loosening the grip around the metal hanging on your chest to take off the necklace.

You noticed the way his eyes widened in surprise and confusion. Why did you have them? Who gave them to you? Why now? Bucky gulped watching you stretching the dog tags between your fingers towards him. He didn’t know what to do, taking a second before he was able to react. He couldn’t remember when was the last time he saw them, and the amount of memories they gave him overwhelmed his whole brain.

In slow motion narrowing his eyes, Bucky held the chain with two fingers to hang the necklace from it. You thought he was about to wear them, but he destabilized you as he directed his hands to above your head, to place them where they were an instant before. You didn’t understand. Didn’t he want them back?

“I want you to keep it”.

“But…”

“I want you to have something mine”. Bucky recognized with a shy smile decorating his lips. “Those tags and my arm are the only things I have from my past. And… I won’t give you my arm…”

“Well, I bet it’d look good hanging from my neck”. You jocked tilting your head.

In his gift, you found the encouragement you needed to talk about T’Challa’s job offer. It wasn’t as if you were proposing to him, in the end, you were just friends even if it felt quite the opposite. You licked your upper lip, kissing your teeth after it, earning more than his attention.

“Shuri said, uh… I could come here, work with her. We’d do great things together, not only for Wakanda but for the world”.

Bucky’s gesture didn’t change a single inch, focused on the nervousness you were trying to hide from him and reading the reasons beneath.

“So T’Challa offered me to stay here”.

“Permanently?”

“Yeah… Permanently”. You assented pressing your lips, breathing through your nostrils.

“Did you accept?”

“Not yet. Not until talking to you about”.

He nodded then a couple of times, turning to the goats behind him coming closer. “Got to finish some stuff… Maybe we can talk later about it unless you have to leave”.

“No, no. I, uh… asked for the day off. Banner didn’t need me at the lab today”.

“Okay, good”.

While the king was showing you the new level for research and investigations, Bucky took the advantage to go and find Shuri without your knowledge. He found her in the surroundings of the main building, working on your ship as you said it made some kind of random noise that put you out of your nerve during the flight.

“I need my arm”.

The princess squatted close to the left wing, turned at him without standing up. Pulling her sunglasses to the top of his head, she raised an eyebrow.

“For what”.

“You know for what”. He clicked his tongue, placing his hand on his left shoulder.

“No, I don’t”. She lied while cleaning the grass and oil in her expert fingers.

“I need to have two arms”.

“You’ve been working the last months with one arm only. Why do you need it now?”

“C’mon… Argh…” Bucky rubbed his face with boredom. “I want to hug her, okay? Can you just… give me back my damn arm?”

“Not enough reasons, you can hug her using your right”.

“I want to have two hands when I kiss her”. He finally confessed in a hiss, provoking a triumphant smile growing on Shuri’s lips.

“If you lie to me, if you don’t kiss her, Sergeant Barnes… I’ll code it to punch your face”.

“Wait…” Bucky wrinkled his nose drawing a horrified gesture on his face, as he turned his blue eyes towards his left shoulder. “Can you… do that?”

“Try me”.

No, of course she couldn’t, but he didn’t know. Which were a good push for him to not go against her and her petition.

“C’mon. I’ll set it up and help you to put it on”.

Your eyes were traveling from one picture to another. He put some of them around his small house and it looked better now. More like a home. A place to stay. And for a second you felt a twinge straight in your heart when you noticed one photograph of the two of you, close to his bed. It was after your first mission together. Steve insisted on taking it, after noticing the sparkles between you. But you didn’t know he brought it to Wakanda with him, as your copy is on your nightstand too. And you used to fall asleep every night looking at it.

The curtain being moved and some steps in pulled you out from your thoughts, turning to find Bucky staring in silence at you. Your orbs landed on the metal arm. It was different too since the last time you saw it, with golden strips forming between the silver ones. You couldn’t help but sigh.

“You didn’t need to…”

“Yes, I did. I did need it”. He interrupted you, breathing through his parted lips and his heart about to fly off from his chest.

“Why?”

“Because, otherwise, I couldn’t do this”.

You were about to ask what he was referring to, watching him breaking the distance between the two of you in three fast strides. You closed your eyes at the moment his hands held your neck and Bucky slammed his lips on yours. The kiss, the contrast of cold and warmth on your skin, the everlasting longing for it to happen… All of this caused you to gasp, tangling the tunic at the height of his chest in your fists, not wanting him to take a step back. Your mouths fit perfectly without looking for it, made for each other, as he secured his fingers on the back of your neck. And you felt your knees weak when he pecked your lips one more time, before caressing your nose with his, not being able to open your eyes. Neither of you.

“I don’t have the right… to ask for anything”. He babbled. His insecurities coming afloat even if you hadn’t pushed him away. “But… I want you to stay here. With me. I… I don’t have much to offer you, but I promise to make you happy”.

At this point, your eyes were filled with tears, strongly closing your eyelids to not let them fall. You swallowed a sob, moving your hands from his chest to his middle back, embracing him tighter as you could.

“You’ve been making me happy since we met, Bucky”.

He chuckled breathless, intuiting he was too at the edge of his crying because of that affirmation.

“Every Tuesday, I wait at the stairs of my apartment for the mail, for your letters. I’ve… read them so many times I can recite them… by heart. Every word you've written to me”.

“I will continue writing them for you, even if you stay with me”.

Your voices were low, barely audible out of his place. Like secrets. Bucky kissed you again, bending enough to raise you by the back of your thighs and urge you to surround his waist with your legs. The dog tags on your chest clicked against the other, as you moved your arms to his shoulders and neck, and you were unable to stop kissing him. You two could die right now and not be bothered because you were finally together, and that was all you deserved in life.

“Tell me you will stay… please”. His beg brushed your lips, still pecking them between syllable and syllable.

“I will…” You replied without hesitating as you could, eager to correspond to every gesture from him. “I will stay with you”.

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