XCVII. Emris

Something's been off since they left.

I try not to let it consume me. Try to write it off as anxiety, paranoia, the aftershocks of everything we've just survived—but it's more than that. It hums low in my chest like a warning bell, subtle but relentless.

Still, I say nothing.

I wake most mornings with headaches—thudding and mean—but my leg's healed now. The sutures are gone, only a pale scar remains where I carved into myself, and it aches more from memory than pain. The nightmares haven't stopped, but they're less frequent. Bucky is always there when I wake, whispering until my shaking calms, grounding me in the now.

Wakanda is peaceful. And Bucky—he's everything. We've barely left the bed since they left. We eat here. Sleep here. Live here, wrapped in each other like we'll unravel if we don't hold tight enough.

Now, in the soft morning light, I lie tangled in sheets and Bucky Barnes.

We're both naked under the covers. His vibranium arm wrapped around my waist, flesh hand resting on my ribs, thumb stroking slow circles. My fingers weave through his long, dark hair, twisting lazy strands between them. He's warm and solid and everything safe in a world that still feels uncertain.

His nose brushes against my shoulder. Then he presses a kiss there, just under the bone, and I smile at the feel of it.

He shifts, propping himself up slightly. I feel the motion ripple through him.

"Where are you going?" I murmur, arms tightening around his shoulders as I bury my face in his neck.

"Nowhere now," he answers, voice still thick with sleep but laced with that quiet reverence he always gives me when we're like this.

I crawl into his lap before he can even blink. I straddle him, knees bracketing his hips, arms looped behind his neck. He sighs softly, like the world rights itself the second we're skin-to-skin. His hands move to my thighs, slow, reverent, and his eyes meet mine with a look that still makes my chest flutter—like he sees all of me and loves me anyway.

He leans in. Our lips meet.

It starts slow. His mouth moves against mine like a promise, soft but full of intent. His hands tighten on my hips, pulling me closer until there's no space between us. I sigh against his mouth, one of those quiet, involuntary sounds I can't hold back with him.

Then he shifts, his lips breaking from mine to press against my jaw, my throat, down to the hollow of my collarbone. My head tips back to give him room. The scrape of his beard against my skin makes me shiver.

"Mmm," I breathe, voice low. "I like the beard."

He chuckles. The vibration of it echoes through my chest.

"Yeah?" he murmurs, voice smug and teasing.

"Yeah," I whisper back, curling my fingers in his hair.

He presses another kiss to my chest, then deliberately drags his beard across the swell of it. I arch into him with a low moan and he groans softly in return.

"I'll keep it then," he says against my skin. "Just for you."

I kiss the top of his head, tangle both hands in his thick hair as he works his way lower. Every inch of me responds to him, heat blooming under my skin, heart pounding faster—but still that feeling lingers.

That sense that something's wrong.

It creeps up the back of my neck like a shadow. Not enough to break the moment, but enough to make me hesitate. Just for a second. Bucky feels it—of course he does. He stills, looks up at me.

"You okay?"

I nod too quickly. Lie too easily. "Yeah. Just tired."

He studies me for a beat longer, thumb brushing over my hipbone. His eyes are softer now, darker with concern than lust.

I lean down and kiss him again to distract us both. To drown in him. Because even though the storm hasn't arrived yet—I can feel it.

Something's coming.

And I don't know if we're ready.

His lips trail lower, mouth hot and open against my skin. I can feel the deliberate drag of his beard across my sternum—rough and addictive. Every scrape pulls a sound from me, soft and breathy, and Bucky eats up every one like they're the only proof he's still alive.

My fingers tighten in his hair.

"Fuck," I whisper, my breath catching as he flicks his tongue over my nipple, slow and maddening. My back arches into him, and he groans again—low and guttural, the sound vibrating through me like thunder in my ribs.

He licks again, then sucks—hard enough to make my toes curl—and I gasp, nails biting into the thick muscle of his shoulder.

"You like that, baby?" he mutters against my breast, voice hoarse.

I nod, too breathless to speak, and he gives me a look that makes my stomach twist. Like I'm everything. Like I'm sacred.

I grind my hips against him slowly and feel him harden underneath me, thick and ready, the friction unbearable in the best way. His hands slip up my back, one warm, the other cool metal, and it sends a jolt through my whole spine.

"Bucky," I whisper, grounding myself in the sound of his name.

He kisses back up my chest, across my throat, until his lips find mine again—urgent this time, a little messy, all tongue and heat. He holds my face like I might disappear if he lets go.

"I've got you," he murmurs against my mouth. "I've always got you."

His words undo me more than his touch.

I roll my hips again, slow but insistent, and he groans into my mouth. The air between us is thick now—charged. I'm so wet I can feel it smear against him as I move. The way he looks at me, like I'm a miracle, makes my heart ache.

"Tell me what you want, princess," he says, voice rough with need.

"You," I breathe, lips brushing his jaw. "Just you."

He flips us in one smooth movement, careful but fast, pinning me beneath him. His hips settle between my thighs, and I gasp as the full weight of him presses into me. Skin to skin, heat to heat. My body arches instinctively, begging for more.

Bucky dips his head, kissing me again—slower this time, deeper. His tongue moves against mine like he's savoring the taste, like he's trying to memorize it in case I vanish again. His hand slides between us, guiding himself to my entrance, and the second I feel the thick head of his cock pressing against me, I moan shamelessly.

"Please," I whisper, wrapping my legs around his waist.

He doesn't tease. He pushes in, slow and steady, and it's everything.

My mouth falls open as he fills me, stretching me in the way only he ever has, the ache and burn mixing with pleasure so sharp it steals my breath.

His forehead presses to mine, his eyes locked on mine as he sinks deeper, deeper, until he's fully inside me.

"Still with me?" he asks, voice raw.

"Always."

He begins to move—slow, deliberate thrusts, like he's trying to make time stop. Every roll of his hips sends sparks down my spine. My fingers dig into his back, clutching him closer, grounding myself in the rhythm of us.

"I missed you," he breathes. "So damn much."

Tears sting at the corners of my eyes, but I blink them away. "I'm here now," I say, wrapping my arms tighter around him.

He kisses me again—desperate, unrelenting—his hips moving faster now, deeper. I cry out against his mouth, each thrust pushing me closer to the edge. My body clenches around him, and he hisses through his teeth.

"Come for me, Em," he growls. "Let me feel you."

And I do. I come hard, biting his shoulder to muffle the scream as waves of pleasure rip through me. My entire body trembles, wrung out and shuddering beneath him.

Bucky follows moments later, groaning my name like a prayer as he spills into me, holding me so tightly I can't tell where I end and he begins.

We don't move for a long time.

We just breathe. Skin slick with sweat. Hearts pounding in sync.

He presses lazy kisses along my jaw, my shoulder, my chest—reverent, soft.

But even as I lie there, safe in his arms, the dread returns.

That voice in the back of my mind whispering something's wrong.

I close my eyes and ignore it—for now.

Because right now, I'm wrapped in Bucky Barnes.

And nothing else matters.

His breathing is still ragged, lips brushing my shoulder as he slowly comes down. I stay curled under him, our skin slick, our bodies tangled in sheets that smell like us. One of his hands—his warm one—is wrapped around my waist, fingers tracing mindless patterns against my ribs.

The other—the cool vibranium one—is cupped beneath my thigh, keeping it hooked around his hip like he's afraid I'll vanish if he lets go.

I don't say anything.

I can't. Not with how full I feel. Not with how my heart still won't slow down.

"Fuck," he murmurs, lips pressing into the side of my neck. "You feel like home."

I smile a little. "That's because I am."

He chuckles, low and lazy, but there's something darker beneath it. Like he's laughing to keep from breaking apart.

"I don't think I can stop touching you," he murmurs. "Even if I wanted to."

"You don't have to."

I turn toward him, leg still slung around his hip, and I kiss him. Soft at first, just our mouths brushing, but then his tongue slides against mine and something shifts. His fingers tighten on my waist, metal hand flexing against my thigh.

I feel him hardening again. Already.

"You're insatiable," I whisper, breathless.

Bucky huffs a laugh against my lips. "Only for you."

His mouth moves lower, kissing the corner of my jaw, then down my neck again. I feel the scrape of his beard and shudder.

I arch slightly into him. "Already?" I tease.

He pulls back just enough to meet my eyes, expression dark and full of heat. "I haven't touched you in seven months," he says, voice low, voice dangerous. "I'll take every second I can get."

I don't argue.

Because I feel the same. I ache for him still. Like even after everything, it'll never be enough. I want more. I always want more when it's him.

His lips move back to my collarbone, teeth grazing lightly.

"Tell me if it's too much," he murmurs, words hot against my skin.

"It's never too much," I breathe.

He shifts his weight, rolling us so I'm on my back again. I gasp as his hand moves between my thighs, fingers sliding through my slickness, already building heat in my core again. He watches me as he touches me—eyes half-lidded, lips parted.

"You're still so wet for me," he growls.

I moan, hips rolling up to meet his hand. "Then do something about it."

That's all it takes.

He lines himself up again and pushes in, slower this time, savoring it. My nails drag down his back as he stretches me all over again, and I bite my lip to keep from crying out.

Bucky doesn't let me. "Let me hear you, princess."

I do.

He moves slow at first, grinding deep, his hands locking around my wrists and pinning them above my head. I arch beneath him, gasping with every thrust, every roll of his hips. He kisses me between moans, like he can't stand the idea of being too far away.

"Look at me," he says, and I do.

His eyes burn into mine—full of everything he never says out loud. Guilt. Love. Desperation.

"I'm right here," he whispers, voice shaking. "Not letting you go again."

"Good," I breathe, tears springing to my eyes. "Don't."

His pace falters for a second, his jaw tight, like emotion threatens to overwhelm him—but then he surges forward again, mouth on my throat, body moving faster, rougher. It's not just sex anymore. It's claiming. Reclaiming. Stitching together everything that broke.

We both fall apart at the same time, clinging to each other like the rest of the world doesn't exist.

And for now—it doesn't.

Bucky

Emris has been off since the others went to find Wanda and Vision. I'm doing everything to keep her mind off of it.

I just got her back, and I plan on savoring every moment with her.

And, I haven't touched her in seven months. I intend on catching up while the others are gone.

We're both still wrecked—bodies flushed, skin damp, her thighs still trembling from the last time I made her fall apart on my cock. And yet I'm the one begging now.

Because no matter how many times I've had her, it's never enough. It's never fucking enough.

With how much precum is already leaking from my tip, we're in the same place—desperate, filthy, starved for each other like we'll never get another chance. Like we're back in the middle of a war and this is the only way we know how to feel alive.

"Let me taste you," I rasp.

She doesn't answer right away. Just takes my hand—my warm one—and wraps her fingers around mine. Then she presses her thumb to the slick crown of my cock, dragging the bead of wetness up.

My head snaps back. "Jesus. Fuck."

I twitch in her grip, my cock aching, throbbing beneath her teasing touch. Every nerve in me lights up.

She doesn't stop there.

"Then you better rub that sweet cunt all over my face while you suck me down," I growl, voice thick, fucked-out.

Emris lets out this low, sultry laugh—the kind that promises hell and heaven in one breath. "Whatever you want, baby."

The way she says it—like she knows exactly what it would do to me—makes my jaw clench. My cock jerks again, dangerously close to losing control.

"Don't fucking say shit like that unless you mean it," I warn, even though we both know I'd break every rule I've made for her. Already have.

She has no idea the power she holds in those green eyes and that wicked little mouth.

But instead, she slides over me, positioning herself on hands and knees above my face like she's presenting herself for worship. And fuck me, I'm ready to pray.

Her thighs cage around my head. I grab onto them—one cold hand, one warm—guiding her down to me. The scent of her is already making my mouth water. Her pussy's glistening, swollen, already dripping from how worked up she is.

Then her mouth wraps around my cock.

Fuck.

I choke on a groan, hands flexing on her hips as I feel her lips seal over me, warm and wet. Her tongue curls around the underside, teasing the tip with a flick every time she pulls back.

She makes these filthy little slurping sounds—so greedy, so eager—and it drives me fucking insane. Each noise vibrates through my cock like a live wire, and I swear my balls get heavier with every second she's got me in her throat.

I push my face up, nuzzling between her thighs, breathing her in. I kiss her through her panties first—firm and wet—sucking hard through the thin fabric until she's grinding against me.

She moans around me, and that sound—that desperate, strangled whimper—almost makes me blow right then and there.

But I'm not done. Not until I have her breaking.

I hook a finger into the side of her panties and tug them aside, revealing that soaked, needy little pussy of hers. She's slick, flushed, aching—and she's all mine.

I groan into her as I drag my tongue up the length of her, savoring every ridge and curve. I swirl it around her clit, teasing it before dipping lower, spearing into her with slow, steady strokes. She gasps and bucks her hips down against my mouth.

Her spit drips down my shaft as she sucks harder, sloppier. It's all teeth and tongue and messy, perfect heat. Her jaw relaxes to take more of me, and the second she gags just a little, I lose my goddamn mind.

"Fuck. You need to come all over my face," I groan, curling my tongue deep inside her.

She whines around me, hips stuttering.

I tighten my grip on her hips, guiding her into my mouth like I need her to grind against my face. She's dripping down my chin already, and it's still not enough. I need to feel her flood my mouth. I need to taste her unraveling.

One hand snakes around her back, shoving beneath her panties to swipe through the wetness gathered there, then trailing lower—past her entrance, past her clit—until my thumb finds the tight ring of her ass.

The moment I press down, just enough to make her gasp, she moans so hard she nearly chokes on me.

That sound does something to me. Primal. Possessive.

I want her ruined. I want her raw.

I stiffen my tongue and thrust it deep inside her again, swirling, tasting, savoring. At the same time, my thumb massages that tight little bud, and I feel her lock up—every muscle in her body seizing.

And then she detonates.

Her thighs squeeze around my face. Her pussy pulses around my tongue. Her entire body trembles as she gasps and cries out, too full, too sensitive, too wrecked. She pulls off my cock with a wet gasp, but I don't stop. I keep licking, keep tasting, kissing her through every aftershock.

"Bucky—fuck—" she pants, forehead dropping against my thigh.

I run my hands along her spine, still pressing open-mouthed kisses against her soaked core. She's shaking—completely blissed-out and twitching.

"Turn around for me, baby," I murmur against her. "Let me give you what you need."

"I need you," she whispers, voice broken and wrecked. "I need you so deep."

She starts moving—slow, languid, her hips rolling down into my mouth like she can't help herself. Her swollen clit drags across my beard and she moans, hips jerking.

"Keep doing that and I'm gonna paint your tits and chin with cum, baby," I growl.

She gasps, her body jolting. I can feel how sensitive she is—how close again.

"Holy shit," she breathes.

I grip her hips, still licking into her. "Decide what you want first," I warn. "You keep grinding on my face like that, and you're gonna get it because you're playing with fire, humping my face like that."

She whimpers again. "I want all of it. I want to be full. I want you."

She doesn't wait for permission. She climbs off my face and straddles my hips, hands braced on my chest, eyes locked with mine. Her hair's a mess, face flushed, lips kiss-bruised and swollen.

She's never looked more beautiful.

Actually, she has, every second of every day.

"Good fucking girl," I rasp, reaching between us. "Lift your hips."

She does, and I hook her panties aside again, lining myself up to that soaked, pulsing entrance.

"Let me pump this perfect little pussy until you're dripping," I whisper, voice shaking with how badly I need her. "Let me fuck you like I mean it."

She nods. That's all I need.

And then she sinks down on me, inch by inch.

We both moan—loud.

And I swear, I black out for a second from how good it feels to be inside her again.

She takes every inch of me—slow, steady, fucking perfect—and I feel her walls flutter around my cock as she settles into my lap.

Her hands dig into my chest like she needs something to hold on to. My own grip on her hips is bruising, but she doesn't complain. She just gasps, her forehead falling to mine.

"Holy shit," she whispers, trembling. "You feel—God, Bucky—"

"I know, baby," I breathe, my voice breaking. "You've got me. Fuck—you own me."

I slide my hand up her spine, cradling the back of her neck, holding her close as her pussy clenches around me. She's so hot, so tight, so soaked I can barely think. Her cunt grips me like she needs me—like her body was made to take me.

She starts to move, hips rolling slow, dragging her clit across my pelvis every time she rocks forward.

"Em..." I hiss, my head dropping to her shoulder. "You feel like heaven."

She moans in my ear and clenches again, and I nearly lose it. My hips buck up instinctively, meeting her halfway, driving deeper. The sound she makes—that fucking sound—is going to haunt me.

"Harder," she gasps. "Please, Bucky. Fuck me harder."

I snap.

My grip tightens and I start thrusting up into her—deep, hard, grinding strokes that make her gasp and arch, her tits bouncing with every movement. My vibranium hand fists in the back of her hair, tugging gently so I can look at her. Her eyes are half-lidded, mouth parted, her whole face wrecked.

"Look at you," I growl. "Riding me like you were born for this. You want me to come inside you, don't you?"

"Yes," she breathes, desperation bleeding into every syllable. "I want to feel you. All of it. All of you."

She slams down harder, grinding her clit against me with each bounce. Her nails rake down my chest, leaving marks, and I love it. Love the proof that I'm under her skin, too.

I meet her with rough, punishing thrusts, my cock driving into her soaked cunt with brutal precision. The slap of skin-on-skin echoes around the room, but all I can hear is her—her moans, her pleas, her breath stuttering every time I hit that spot deep inside her.

"You're mine," I snarl, burying my face in her neck. "Say it."

"I'm yours," she gasps, riding me harder. "I've always been yours."

I slide my hand between us, thumbing over her clit in tight, fast circles, and she shatters.

Her walls clamp down on my cock, hard, pulsing around me like she's trying to milk me dry. She cries out my name—no filter, no control—and I feel her come all over me. Her thighs shake, her whole body trembling like I've short-circuited her.

I'm barely holding on. My balls are drawn tight, my spine bowed. One more second and—

She looks down at me. Wrecked. Wild. And she whispers it like a prayer:

"I love you."

And I come.

My entire body goes rigid as I spill inside her, groaning through clenched teeth, thrusting as deep as I can go. It feels endless, like my soul is pouring out of me into her. Like I've never come this hard in my entire life. Like no one else has ever made me feel.

"I love you," I choke, pulling her against me. "God, Emris—I fucking love you."

She collapses on top of me, still trembling. I can feel the way I'm leaking out of her, warmth dripping down between us as she tries to catch her breath.

Neither of us moves.

I just hold her.

Arms around her back. Her breath ghosting against my neck. My heart racing like I've been shot and kissed at the same time.

I run my hand through her hair, soothing, grounding her. Grounding myself. Her skin is damp and hot, her heartbeat thudding in time with mine.

"I've never felt anything like this," she whispers, voice raw. "Not with anyone."

"You never will," I murmur. "Because no one else gets you like I do. No one else gets this."

She shifts a little, and I hiss at the oversensitivity, but I don't stop her. She kisses my neck. Then my jaw. Then my lips.

"I'm yours," she says again, softer this time. Like a promise.

And I pull her closer, chest tight, throat burning.

I don't tell her the truth then—that I would burn the world down if it meant keeping her safe. That I don't know who the fuck I am without her anymore.

But she'll know.

Because I'll show her. Every time I touch her. Every time I fight for her. Every time I look at her like she's the only goddamn thing I believe in anymore.

Because she is.

She's still on top of me, breath shallow, skin damp against mine. Her chest rises and falls in uneven rhythm, and I can feel her heart pounding through her ribs.

I cradle the back of her head and kiss her hair, keeping us locked together, trying to soothe her through the aftershocks. My cock is still buried inside her, softening now, but neither of us wants to move. There's something sacred about this—skin to skin, heart to heart, the kind of silence that only comes when every wall's been stripped away.

"Hey," I murmur against her temple. "You with me?"

She nods, slow. "Yeah," she breathes. "Just... don't let go yet."

"Not going anywhere," I whisper. "You're safe."

I run my fingers down her spine, slow and deliberate, feeling every notch of it. Her body's still trembling—little tremors in her thighs and shoulders—and I hate that I pushed her so far, even if she begged for it. Even if she needed it like I did.

"You okay?" I ask again, pulling her hair back so I can see her face.

Emris lifts her head, eyes glassy but clear. "Yeah. Just... that was a lot."

I smile softly, brushing my thumb across her cheek. "You're a lot," I tease gently. "And I fucking love it."

That earns me a ghost of a smile, and I could live in that—her looking at me like she doesn't know whether to hit me or kiss me.

She shifts and winces, and that's all it takes. My hands are on her instantly, lifting her off me with care. She lets me, letting herself be moved for once, pliant and tired and trusting in a way she rarely is. My come slips out of her as she settles into the sheets beside me, and I make a mental note to grab a warm cloth in a second.

But right now, she needs me.

I curl around her, pressing a kiss to her shoulder, then her jaw. "You were perfect," I murmur. "Every goddamn part of you."

"Stop," she says, trying to hide her face. "I look like a mess."

"You look like mine," I say, voice low. "And you're beautiful."

Her breath hitches. I feel it. Feel the way her body stiffens like she doesn't know how to receive softness without bracing for pain anymore.

So I ease her into it. I take my time.

I slide down the bed and disappear into the bathroom for a moment. Warm water. A soft cloth. I move quietly, quickly, because I hate being away from her even for a second when she's like this—open, pliable, worn down to her barest edges.

When I come back, she's watching me. Eyes heavy-lidded, but guarded again. That wall she always keeps up is halfway rebuilt.

I also take a mental note to kill Dragunov. For everything he did to Emris, for putting her walls up again. The walls I took so long to break down.

But that's for another day.

I kneel between her thighs and meet her gaze. "Can I?"

She nods.

I clean her gently. Carefully. Like I'm handling something precious. My eyes flick up to hers every time I pass the cloth between her legs, making sure she's not flinching, not shutting down.

She doesn't. She just watches me, eyes soft now, like she doesn't understand why I'd bother. Why I'd take the time.

When I'm done, I toss the cloth to the floor and lean over her again, pulling the blankets up around us. She lets me settle behind her, spooning her close, my arm tight around her middle.

"You always do that," she murmurs after a minute.

"Do what?"

"Take care of me after."

I rest my lips against the back of her neck. "Because you matter."

She doesn't say anything for a long time. I don't push.

I just hold her.

I drag my fingers over her stomach, trace circles over the scar near her hip—the one I made—then kiss the line of her shoulder. Her breathing slows.

"You don't have to love me," she whispers suddenly.

My whole body tenses around her. "What?"

"You don't have to love me," she repeats, voice quieter. "I wasn't built for it. Not for this."

"Don't say that," I murmur, voice shaking. "Don't ever say that."

She turns in my arms to face me, eyes searching mine like she's waiting for the catch. "I'm dangerous. Complicated. Fucked-up beyond repair."

"So am I," I say. "But you're not unlovable, Em. You're not a lost cause. You're... you're everything to me."

Her eyes flicker. I see the war behind them—the fight between wanting to believe me and knowing how many times she's been hurt by people who said the same things.

I reach up and tuck her hair behind her ear, fingers lingering. "You don't have to be anything but yourself with me. Scars, shadows, sharp edges—all of it. I love all of it. I love you."

Her eyes well up, but she blinks fast, shaking her head. "Don't make promises you can't keep, Barnes."

I lean forward and kiss her, slow and deep, like a vow.

"I'm not leaving you, baby."

She presses her forehead to mine, lips brushing against mine as she breathes out, "Then stay."

And I do.

All night.

Wrapped around her like armor, like a promise I intend to keep.

Everything in the world is right when I have her in my arms.