havenscribes

[havenscribes]

I love him sm

[havenscribes]

s/o to @sapphirebarnes for betareading!!

Only Warriors - Bodyguard!Bucky Barnes x Wakandan!Regent!Reader - Chapter 6

Word Count: 1500+ words

Warnings: none really, shorter chapter if this sucks ik I'm sorry

Let it be known, I am not a morning person. I much prefer calm, cool nights to early mornings because I get my best work done in the dark. The only downside to Wakanda for me is its seemingly eternal mornings that blaze like fire. That being said, the only thing that can get me out of bed early if I’m not expected at the airport or a conference is breakfast. Crispy, golden plantains, cornmeal porridge, and juicy mango could wake me up from a casket. I could have these little pleasures imported when I’m not home, but it just doesn’t taste the same when I make it myself. Honestly, nothing will put me back into those jelly sandals, swinging my feet watching my mother cook from the countertop, sneaking scalding plantain whenever she turned her back, so I’ve just stopped trying.

This morning, I woke up at around eleven A.M. to all of the windows in my room open. The sudden light was jarring, but like being baptised as I wiped the sleep from my eyes and almost trip out of my blankets. The wet season was kind enough to give me a little breeze to recalibrate my nervous system after sleeping so hard. Jetlag usually wasn’t so bad for me, as long as I got ahead of it by sleeping early, but last night, that was absolutely not an option. Bucky seemed nice enough, and I’m sure he’ll be professional, but something in me felt too uneasy to sleep.

 Yes, he wasn’t my choice and I can’t get away from him, but I can’t help but feel a little unfaithful to King T’Chaka. I shook Bucky’s hand. Why did I smile back at him? Where do I draw the line between acting cordial and being a renegade? And why am I smelling bacon?

“Good morning, Griot. What’s the weather like?”

Griot replies instantly, rattling on about the UV index and the sixty percent chance of rain as I throw pillows on the bed. He brightens the bathroom as soon as I step a slipper in, and as much as I try to get ready as slowly as I usually do, the idea that something… new, something different was waiting for me did put a little pep in my step. Flowing down the hallway in a dress that was simple, but certainly not plain, and a lighter matching robe, I can hear the sizzles of meat and the microwave turning. Bucky’s back is turned to me, and he hums a sweet song like he slept like a baby. In a thin blue henley, his shoulders and broad back shift as he flips whatever he’s got in a pan, and the pale skin of his nape is spotted with freckles.

“Good morning, Ms. Y/n.” He greets me without turning around, which might be for the best because I don’t need to be confronted with whatever muscles are showing through that shirt.

I hum in reply, turning a mango in my left hand, and then sniffing it closely. Almost ripe.

“Are you cooking an American breakfast?” Even after I move around the wide island, he still looks massive up close. “If so, I really like bacon. But no runny eggs, unless I’m having eggs benedict. And I prefer goat cheese in an omelet.” I can see from his left side, the corners of his mouth lift before he snaps them back down to keep up some front. Is it too forward to be teasing him so soon?

  “Ah, sort of American. There are no eggs, especially no runny ones, and pancakes.” He gestures to the plate of misshapen rounds of gold. Some are a little darker than others, with a deep brown crust at the border. “Bacon’s in the oven.” A towel dangles from one shoulder as he tries to flip a pancake in the pan. So far, it just slides across the surface.

“Sounds delicious. I don’t think I’ve had a real, home cooked breakfast since before the Outreach program was handed over from T’Challa.”

Bucky twists the corners of his mouth in a non committal way. “Well, don’t get too excited yet, I don’t even know if this will do it justice.” He finally flips the pancake and shuffles through the cabinets, on a search for something. “Plates?”

“In the corner cabinet at the bottom.” I reply pointing somewhere in the room. He gets the gist and pulls out two plates. “So, what are the plans for tomorrow, seeing as you’ll probably be… Sparring while I’m gone?”

He chuckles lowly like I said something else funny. I don’t really appreciate the sentiment of my comedy, or the thought of a random man in my house without me there. 

“To Belgium?” He asks with a smirk.

“Yes, where else? I have a high profile ambassador’s conference to attend there, and I don’t mind you sleeping at my house if you have to, but you will absolutely not be dicking around without me here.”

All of a sudden, he swallows his smiles and the glee shines through his eyes, almost taunting me. With a Cheshire-like smile, it takes him a while to look away. “Y’know, you’re a funny lady.”

“What’s funny about you eating up all of my plums?”

“I won’t be able to, with you and Griot watching like hawks. But, I’m also coming with you to Belgium.”

I know. Damn it. He confirms the hard truth for me, and I can’t do anything but sigh at my halfhearted attempt at a peaceful trip. “I’m working as your bodyguard, sweetheart. I’m not just some loafer.”

I stare at him, still holding the spatula, giving me an incredulous look like he didn’t just call me sweetheart, which I’m sure is not a part of being a bodyguard. And is he wearing color contacts? How is such a sharp shade of blue so easy to be swallowed up in? The oven roars, snapping me out of the strange, uncharacteristic stupor.

 “And I’m not just your sweetheart, Barnes. You need to be packed in two hours.” I answer to his turned back, retrieving the bacon.

“Got it, doll.” Bast, help this man. His insolence knows no bounds. 

I quickly grab a plate, the lone pancake he’s made, and about 5 pieces of bacon as soon as he drops it on the plate. It looks a little shrimpy, so I make sure to notify him. 

“Sorry, your highness. When I can, I’ll import the good, thick Canadian kind you like. How’s that?”

“Better.” He nods at me with mock seriousness, pleased that his efforts are to my liking. These pancakes aren’t terrible either. “Thank you.”

“Anytime.” He looks into me, and we share a sort of lingering look moment that makes me scared. I don’t want to share any lingering looks, I don’t want to share anything, so I turn on my heel, abruptly cutting it off.

“Wait,” Bucky calls after me, and I stop on a dime. Disgusting, how that works. “I wanted to ask you, were the plums, uhh..” He chuckles awkwardly like he knows he’s about to ask something stupid. “Were they infused with vibranium, or anything?”

“Why?”

“I think I’m allergic.”

“You have a vibranium arm. And, didn’t the super-soldier serum cure you of all illnesses and things like that?”

“I don’t know, maybe it’s just the plums, but they make me itch.”

“It’s probably just the acid in them.”

“Well, I've had those kinds of plums before, and there wasn’t as much of a tingle.”

“Okay, Barnes, as soon as possible, we’ll get you back to your bland, American plums.”

He sighs dramatically and looks away. “Oh, god, our plums are just fine. You just have everything against American food.”

“Not necessarily against American food, but the produce grown here in Wakanda is purified. If you can’t handle it, it's not the plums that need to change, Bucky.”

“I guess we’ll have to agree to disagree.”

“We absolutely will.” 

He puts his hands on his hips, twisting his mouth in concentration. We just look at each other for a while, and then he starts to smile. Real big and stupid, like I’m the butt of a joke he just got. “Don’t laugh at me.” I know I’m frowning like a child, but the receiving end of ridicule is not where I like to be. 

“I’m not. Honest. I just– You’re just nothing like I thought.” He’s still got that stupid fucking smirk on his face, and it’s making my cheeks warm up. I thought I was stronger than this. 

Before he can say anything else vaguely insulting I sneer at him, hard and heavy. “Don’t think about me. Just do your job and protect me.”

He sobers off of his smug joy quickly, and readjusts his arms, now crossed over his chest.

“Understood.” I still stare hard, returning that piercing gaze he just loves to attack me with until he nods.  

“Good.” I whip back around, making my robe swish for dramatic effect. “Some Dora will be here to get us in a few hours. Ayo hates to be kept waiting.”

“Don’t I know it.” He quips back.

[havenscribes]

Only Warriors - Bodyguard!Bucky Barnes x Wakandan!Regent!Reader - Chapter 6

Word Count: 1500+ words

Warnings: none really, shorter chapter if this sucks ik I'm sorry

Let it be known, I am not a morning person. I much prefer calm, cool nights to early mornings because I get my best work done in the dark. The only downside to Wakanda for me is its seemingly eternal mornings that blaze like fire. That being said, the only thing that can get me out of bed early if I’m not expected at the airport or a conference is breakfast. Crispy, golden plantains, cornmeal porridge, and juicy mango could wake me up from a casket. I could have these little pleasures imported when I’m not home, but it just doesn’t taste the same when I make it myself. Honestly, nothing will put me back into those jelly sandals, swinging my feet watching my mother cook from the countertop, sneaking scalding plantain whenever she turned her back, so I’ve just stopped trying.

This morning, I woke up at around eleven A.M. to all of the windows in my room open. The sudden light was jarring, but like being baptised as I wiped the sleep from my eyes and almost trip out of my blankets. The wet season was kind enough to give me a little breeze to recalibrate my nervous system after sleeping so hard. Jetlag usually wasn’t so bad for me, as long as I got ahead of it by sleeping early, but last night, that was absolutely not an option. Bucky seemed nice enough, and I’m sure he’ll be professional, but something in me felt too uneasy to sleep.

 Yes, he wasn’t my choice and I can’t get away from him, but I can’t help but feel a little unfaithful to King T’Chaka. I shook Bucky’s hand. Why did I smile back at him? Where do I draw the line between acting cordial and being a renegade? And why am I smelling bacon?

“Good morning, Griot. What’s the weather like?”

Griot replies instantly, rattling on about the UV index and the sixty percent chance of rain as I throw pillows on the bed. He brightens the bathroom as soon as I step a slipper in, and as much as I try to get ready as slowly as I usually do, the idea that something… new, something different was waiting for me did put a little pep in my step. Flowing down the hallway in a dress that was simple, but certainly not plain, and a lighter matching robe, I can hear the sizzles of meat and the microwave turning. Bucky’s back is turned to me, and he hums a sweet song like he slept like a baby. In a thin blue henley, his shoulders and broad back shift as he flips whatever he’s got in a pan, and the pale skin of his nape is spotted with freckles.

“Good morning, Ms. Y/n.” He greets me without turning around, which might be for the best because I don’t need to be confronted with whatever muscles are showing through that shirt.

I hum in reply, turning a mango in my left hand, and then sniffing it closely. Almost ripe.

“Are you cooking an American breakfast?” Even after I move around the wide island, he still looks massive up close. “If so, I really like bacon. But no runny eggs, unless I’m having eggs benedict. And I prefer goat cheese in an omelet.” I can see from his left side, the corners of his mouth lift before he snaps them back down to keep up some front. Is it too forward to be teasing him so soon?

  “Ah, sort of American. There are no eggs, especially no runny ones, and pancakes.” He gestures to the plate of misshapen rounds of gold. Some are a little darker than others, with a deep brown crust at the border. “Bacon’s in the oven.” A towel dangles from one shoulder as he tries to flip a pancake in the pan. So far, it just slides across the surface.

“Sounds delicious. I don’t think I’ve had a real, home cooked breakfast since before the Outreach program was handed over from T’Challa.”

Bucky twists the corners of his mouth in a non committal way. “Well, don’t get too excited yet, I don’t even know if this will do it justice.” He finally flips the pancake and shuffles through the cabinets, on a search for something. “Plates?”

“In the corner cabinet at the bottom.” I reply pointing somewhere in the room. He gets the gist and pulls out two plates. “So, what are the plans for tomorrow, seeing as you’ll probably be… Sparring while I’m gone?”

He chuckles lowly like I said something else funny. I don’t really appreciate the sentiment of my comedy, or the thought of a random man in my house without me there. 

“To Belgium?” He asks with a smirk.

“Yes, where else? I have a high profile ambassador’s conference to attend there, and I don’t mind you sleeping at my house if you have to, but you will absolutely not be dicking around without me here.”

All of a sudden, he swallows his smiles and the glee shines through his eyes, almost taunting me. With a Cheshire-like smile, it takes him a while to look away. “Y’know, you’re a funny lady.”

“What’s funny about you eating up all of my plums?”

“I won’t be able to, with you and Griot watching like hawks. But, I’m also coming with you to Belgium.”

I know. Damn it. He confirms the hard truth for me, and I can’t do anything but sigh at my halfhearted attempt at a peaceful trip. “I’m working as your bodyguard, sweetheart. I’m not just some loafer.”

I stare at him, still holding the spatula, giving me an incredulous look like he didn’t just call me sweetheart, which I’m sure is not a part of being a bodyguard. And is he wearing color contacts? How is such a sharp shade of blue so easy to be swallowed up in? The oven roars, snapping me out of the strange, uncharacteristic stupor.

 “And I’m not just your sweetheart, Barnes. You need to be packed in two hours.” I answer to his turned back, retrieving the bacon.

“Got it, doll.” Bast, help this man. His insolence knows no bounds. 

I quickly grab a plate, the lone pancake he’s made, and about 5 pieces of bacon as soon as he drops it on the plate. It looks a little shrimpy, so I make sure to notify him. 

“Sorry, your highness. When I can, I’ll import the good, thick Canadian kind you like. How’s that?”

“Better.” He nods at me with mock seriousness, pleased that his efforts are to my liking. These pancakes aren’t terrible either. “Thank you.”

“Anytime.” He looks into me, and we share a sort of lingering look moment that makes me scared. I don’t want to share any lingering looks, I don’t want to share anything, so I turn on my heel, abruptly cutting it off.

“Wait,” Bucky calls after me, and I stop on a dime. Disgusting, how that works. “I wanted to ask you, were the plums, uhh..” He chuckles awkwardly like he knows he’s about to ask something stupid. “Were they infused with vibranium, or anything?”

“Why?”

“I think I’m allergic.”

“You have a vibranium arm. And, didn’t the super-soldier serum cure you of all illnesses and things like that?”

“I don’t know, maybe it’s just the plums, but they make me itch.”

“It’s probably just the acid in them.”

“Well, I've had those kinds of plums before, and there wasn’t as much of a tingle.”

“Okay, Barnes, as soon as possible, we’ll get you back to your bland, American plums.”

He sighs dramatically and looks away. “Oh, god, our plums are just fine. You just have everything against American food.”

“Not necessarily against American food, but the produce grown here in Wakanda is purified. If you can’t handle it, it's not the plums that need to change, Bucky.”

“I guess we’ll have to agree to disagree.”

“We absolutely will.” 

He puts his hands on his hips, twisting his mouth in concentration. We just look at each other for a while, and then he starts to smile. Real big and stupid, like I’m the butt of a joke he just got. “Don’t laugh at me.” I know I’m frowning like a child, but the receiving end of ridicule is not where I like to be. 

“I’m not. Honest. I just– You’re just nothing like I thought.” He’s still got that stupid fucking smirk on his face, and it’s making my cheeks warm up. I thought I was stronger than this. 

Before he can say anything else vaguely insulting I sneer at him, hard and heavy. “Don’t think about me. Just do your job and protect me.”

He sobers off of his smug joy quickly, and readjusts his arms, now crossed over his chest.

“Understood.” I still stare hard, returning that piercing gaze he just loves to attack me with until he nods.  

“Good.” I whip back around, making my robe swish for dramatic effect. “Some Dora will be here to get us in a few hours. Ayo hates to be kept waiting.”

“Don’t I know it.” He quips back.

[havenscribes]

the loml 😭😭😭

4 years ago

the falcon and the winter soldier. march 19 2021.

[havenscribes]

BAMMM

[havenscribes]

Only Warriors - Bodyguard!Bucky Barnes x Wakandan!Regent!Reader - Chapter Five

Word Count: 2040 ish words

Warnings: nothing crazy, cuss words

I stand outside of the door to my suite, and the sun warms my back as I dread turning the knob to my untimely demise. A black cat, slinks close and winds between my legs. She purrs affectionately as I reach down to scratch behind her ears, and flops onto her back for a belly rub. Big green eyes glare up at me when I stop, and she meows impatiently as if to say I know you’re stalling, so you might as well pet me.

“I’d stay out here forever if I could, love, but I have to face the music.” I whisper to her, afraid he’ll hear me through the door and shoot me through a third of a meter of reinforced vibranium. The cat just blinks before jumping up on her paws and trotting away. 

“I’ll see you later.” I call after her, but she doesn’t look back, as cats do. I sigh, wishing I had the same amount of unbotheredness. Trying not to waste anymore time, I take another deep breath in and remind myself that this is for the best. Shuri would never put my safety in the hands of anyone she wasn’t absolutely sure would protect me with their life. I wave my Kimoyo beads in front of the scanner until it turns purple and beeps twice, and the door swings open on its own. Home sweet home.

Immediately, I scan the room for any traces of him. The parlor looks normal at first glance: the clean bright surfaces are still the way I left them, there’s no clothing or weapons strewn all over, the paintings still hang neatly on the wall. The only object that told me he had been present is a flurry of white and baby blue flowers sitting cheerfully on the coffee table. I approach them like a bomb, gently crinkling the plastic wrapping as I cut the flowers free and place them in a vase. When finished, I notice the small notecard on them: blank. Disappointing. The rest of the suite is absolutely silent, so I assume he must be out for now. Perfect time for a shower.

I tiptoe a little on the way to my room, and then scold myself. I refuse to feel even the slightest bit uncomfortable in my own home just because some man is also here. That’s a level of misery I refuse to touch. I still lock the door, though. What if he accidentally walks in on me changing? What if I see him changing? That would be terrible. I would hate that.

The water is warm, and the shower makes me relax a little more from the disastrous few days I’ve had. My hair is put up in braids, but a part of me feels like taking them out to clean every inch of my body. I wash off the performance anxiety, the shock, and the grief, one at a time. Before I can help it, my eyes sting, accompanied by a familiar pang in my chest. I almost don’t want it to stop. I need to feel alive. I need to be here with myself. Bast, help me, I think, lifting my head to the water, letting it wash away my tears. I’ve never been one too devoted to religion, but thinking of some all-powerful being can help me to cope with the never-ending rat-race of politics. Sometimes it can feel so great to fight for what you love, but when the dust settles, things only seem the same or worse, and redundancy rears its ugly head.

After far too long, my hands are pruny and I start to get a little light headed, so I take one more deep breath, hugging my shoulders tight. Squeezing with all my might, like I was wringing out a towel I exhale it all out, rolling them back. I can keep going, I have to.

The bathroom is steamy and light, and the crimson sky pouring in from the window tells me I got out just in time. Nothing puts me back in a positive mood like a Wakandan sunset. Just as promised, the set sent in from the royal designers hangs proudly in my closet. A fierce, sunny yellow that’s sure to look impeccable on my skin is cut into leggings and a top that are perfect for yoga. I’m almost excited to get back out into my garden, until I remember that it’s not summer anymore and it definitely won’t be as vibrant as I remember it. Bast, I have to come back more often. 

Through the kitchen, there’s still no trace of the Winter Soldier, so I assume he must be wherever he sleeps at night. Upside down in a cave, probably, I joke in my head, until I correct myself. He’s a human being just like you, only a little stronger. Exaggeration will only make you tolerate him less. It’s a lot easier to enjoy yoga when you’re not waiting on a scientifically-enhanced-master-killer to greet you. 

My plots are a lot less dead than I thought, the new imported herbs and the vibranium fertilizer are pairing nicely. As much as I try to defy Wakandan stereotypes, I really do use it everywhere. Melted and then woven into chicken wire, it not only stops small animals from eating my produce, it vibrates intensely, scaring them away for good. The rain gauges measure the acid level and filter it from what I recycle for the plants. If I hadn't been so busy these past months, I would’ve started my heated greenhouse, which can accurately recreate the ideal conditions of the most rare and complex plants’ growing processes. 

I roll out my mat, bringing my arms and gaze to the sky, and blow out, reaching down low. My Kimoyo beads tighten on my wrist so as not to slide down, and I’m ready to start, my eyes gently shut.

“Uh, excuse me.” The Winter Soldier is in my garden.

“What?” I bark at him, shooting up into a fighting stance, kind of muscle-memory when I’m startled, but I wouldn’t put anything past him. I stumble a little before regaining it, but I know he noticed. Damn it.

“Hello,” He swallows a smile, eyes flickering down at the hand he’s got outstretched in front of him for a handshake. “We’ve met before. I’m Bucky Banres.”

I watch him, his hand still out, practically begging for a handshake. After a while he puts it away, “Yes, I know who you are. You’re the Winter Soldier.” I tell him, squinting my eyes in scrutiny.

“Actually, I don’t really go by that anymore. I’m just Bucky. Not the Winter Soldier.” His eyes hold a twinge of regret in them, and…. Shame? The crickets in the garden get just a little bit louder. I remember I shouldn’t be taking my frustration out on this grown man who’s just doing his job. “And Shuri hired me to protect you.”

“I understand that, but it doesn’t explain you hiding in my garden.”

“Hold on, I–” He wipes a hand over his face, like he can’t be bothered to deal with me. “I wasn’t hiding in your garden. I was doing a lap around the perimeter to check for possible security breaches, miss.”

Very maturely, I scoff and roll my eyes at him. “Whatever,” is the best thing I could come up with, while in a skin tight suit after showing the Wint– Bucky Barnes, where the sun doesn’t shine. “I see you’re already helping yourself.” I say, as unaffected as I can, gesturing to his handful of plums. 

Bucky sets his jaw in a certain way, blue eyes still boring into my face as he defends himself. “Griot told me your usual schedule, so I knew you’d be out soon. Wasn’t gonna just take them.”

“That’s nice.” Blandly, I resume my routine, bending my left knee in front and extending the right backwards, resting into a warrior’s pose. My arms stretch in front and back also. He doesn’t get the hint that I’d like to be left alone now, and instead turns into a chatterbox.

“Y’know, my friend‘s got some just like where he’s from. Morris, right?” He squints as he looks past me at the sun setting over the front of the house. “I thought they grew in the summertime.”

All of this curiosity is just not making sense. “I thought you were quieter.”

He rolls the plums in his hand, ogling them like something spectacular: “Well, I guess Wakanda isn’t a place that abides by normal agricultural rules with all of this technology.” A few seconds pass of uninterested silence before we both speak at the same time.

“Which friend–”

“So, would you mind–”

I take a deep breath, and start again, “Yes, you can have the plums. The texture is foul to me.” Waving away the thought, I relax into a neutral stance and finally look him in the eye. Not so unpleasant. “Which friend?”

He lights up at the ability to talk about someone he loves, like a kid who finally got what he wants for Christmas. “Sam Wilson, Captain America. We’ve uh–” A pause to scratch the back of his head. “We’ve known each other for a while.” Despite myself, I smile at this notion. 

“How sweet. I always hear good things about that man.”

Crossing his arms over his broad chest: “He’s single, by the way.” Bucky is definitely not a shy matchmaker.

I sink into a lotus pose facing him, letting each hand rest delicately on my knees. “I’m not.”

He lets a silence pass for a few more seconds. I can almost hear him thinking. Staring at me still, I can feel the focus on my closed eyes. “Yes, you are.”

“No, I mean I’m married to my work.” I blink open my eyes, and he looks perplexed for a moment while windchimes sound from across the garden. His short cropped hair moves a little in the wind.

“Being a cultural ambassador for such a reclusive country takes up most of my free-time. I’m sure your friend understands the effort it takes to represent a nation.”

His lidded eyes are downcast. “Yeah, but he still tries to get out of the house from time to time. It’s nice that you care so much. I’ve lost all of my patriotism.”

“Different things work for different countries. For me, it’s not as simple as patriotism. Wakanda is my life, as cliche and unhealthy as that sounds. I have to work hard, day in and day out to make sure our standard of excellence is upheld. America has no standards for its people.”

“As true as that may be, Captain America has always been a representation of what America could be. Maybe your excellency could be of use.” My eyes snap open at that absurdity and I can’t help but laugh. 

At first, he was actually serious and didn’t get what was so funny, then, he rolled his eyes like a 13-year-old. Stifling a smile, he rolls his tongue to his upper jaw. “Okay, I don’t think it was that funny, really.” My loud cackles drown out his irritated grumbles, low like purrs. Rotating the plums in his hand, he flexes his metal arm, and the plates shift and then resettle.

“Let me tell you, if I ever start working for the American government, kill me, because that’s an imposter who’s stolen my likeness.” I tilt my head all the way back until I’m looking at the sky. “But I wouldn’t mind working with Sam Wilson.”

Bucky nods his head in acceptance. Good, we’re finally getting somewhere. Maybe this will be alright after all, as long as he stays out of my way. He stretches his arm to me again, the real human one. “Nice to finally meet you.” He offers a closed-lip smile, one that’s not completely insincere.  I stand up, returning the kindness. “Likewise. Enjoy the plums.” He walks past me into my suite, waving a set of Kimoyo beads in front of the scanner. Wow, so we’re giving those to anyone now. Before I can think any more negative thoughts, I take a big deep breath, and reach my arms up to the sky. This is a start.

[havenscribes]

guys just realized my pinned post says welcome to the hub.

😕

should i change it to something else?

[havenscribes]

if i speak…

Gorgeous, gorgeous man oh my god T.T

[havenscribes]

and i’m back in the lab. chapter 5 out this week

[havenscribes]

guys i know i’ve abandoned you but cabnw thoughts:

- sam wilson you are forever my king and my captain america

- joaquin torres let me show you where the sun don’t shine actually

- the whole time i was watching i could not gaf about ross at all bc he’s president😭😭 like someone trying to kill the president? in this political climate? sign me up

- isaiah bradley made me cry

- the israeli widow looks like the smurf cat (pictured below)

[havenscribes]

guys here's an official playlist for ow while i painstakingly fight tooth and nail to get chap 5 out...

what songs should i add?

[havenscribes]

everyday i look for a sam wilson x reader fic, and everyday i see a BUCKY BARNES x reader fic that was tagged incorrectly and MALICIOUSLY.

[havenscribes]

the baddest…

Storm #4 - "A Flame in The Wind" (2025)

written by Murewa Ayodele art by Lucas Werneck, Ales Guimaraes, & Fer Sifuentes-Sujo

[havenscribes]

tiktok i shoulda never deleted u :(

[havenscribes]

ugh my man

The Falcon and the Winter Soldier || Truth (1.05)

[havenscribes]

me everytime I read words like "reader blushed pink" in a fanfic

[havenscribes]

Only Warriors - Bodyguard!Bucky Barnes x Wakandan!Regent!Reader - Chapter Four

Word Count: 1800 words

Warnings: some big feelings from reader, backstory is a little more fleshed out

“This is insane.” I state, jumping from my seat with an expression on my face that’s nothing short of scandalized. The Winter Soldier, a man who is literally credited with over two dozen assassinations is supposed to keep me safe? And who knows when the Black Panther will have this situation rectified. She will never give Namor the surface world, and he only seems to get more passionate with each of their encounters. For the first time in my life, I think M’Baku may be onto something. My eyes search wildly around the room for someone to poke me or something and tell me Just kidding, we’re gonna let you off with a warning. No one does.

General Ayo is still seated, gripping her spear like it’s a snake that might wriggle away at any moment.

 “I mean, does anyone not realize that? I’m being turned over to a weapon of mass destruction, not to mention, one that has crossed treasonous lines in Wakanda multiple times? Have we forgotten that he is not to be trusted?”

M’Kathu’s wife stands slowly leaning on her staff, the deep lines in her face getting more pronounced as she frowns at my outspoken-ness. “Child, I hope you aren’t so proud as to challenge the opinion of the Queen of Wakanda.” Her staff was more of a less intimidating than a spear but held the same austerity because of its masterful craftsmanship. Carved from sturdy baobab and stained a deep, almost black brown, the staff displayed Wakandan proverbs and affirmations in gold winding around its surface. At the top, about six inches taller than her six foot stature, a sparkling blue-green tourmaline rests in the wood. 

I can hear the displeasure in her voice and it just sends me over the limit. “I hope you’re not voting on matters in which you don’t have a say,” I reply with a snarl. “Elder M’Kathu is the council member. Not you.”

Gasps fly around the room at my insolence, and I’m starting to understand why General Ayo called it a temper tantrum, but this whole situation has gotten way out of hand. One little attack from Namor and I have to be babysat by a serial killer?

“Y/n! Remember your place.” M’Baku barks a warning at me, widening his eyes as if to scold a child. I am really getting tired of that. I stare at him, refusing to look away until my Kimoyo beads buzz on my wrist. I lift them and tap on the middle bead that pulses with light, and a diaphanous, shimmering image shows.

The Queen is not in the best shape. Her hair is mussed and matted, and her face is gaunt, cheekbones sticking out like she hasn’t eaten for days. I don’t see any injuries, though, so I try to relax despite the fear that the worst is yet to come.  Her voice wavers a little before the signal is straightened out: “—Y/n? Can you— hear— Can you hear me?”

“Yes! Yes! Cousin, I can hear you! Are you alright?” A weight is lifted off of my shoulders with every word that comes through. She still has her jaw set in that determined way but her head’s on a swivel. The dark shadows on the walls behind her make me nervous. “Are you unharmed? Where is he keeping you?”

“I’m fine, Y/n. Namor’s military is keeping me in some kind of temple, and I haven’t seen anyone in hours.” 

Now that I see she’s in one piece, the anger that was bubbling up in me returns. “But you could contact the Dora, right? Not me?”

Shuri has the absolute nerve to roll her eyes at me, sighing in exasperation as if my anger is unfair. “I had specific instructions for the Dora were this situation to arise—” 

“We agreed that last night would be a solo mission. No Doras on the premises, only back up off-site. You promised me.” My lip trembles as my eyebrows harden into a tough line.

She purses her lips and I can tell she’s thinking hard about what to say to make this better. “General Ayo has seen too many ‘simple missions’ go south to let things get too far out of her reach. It wasn’t my first choice at all, Y/n. I was outvoted.” The council all bow their heads to avoid any more scrutiny from me. The sight makes my stomach curdle in bitterness.

“Did they also vote for me to be babysat by the Winter Soldier?” I spit. Just saying his name disgusts me.

“He’s not the Winter Soldier anymore. I made sure of that.” She replies self-assuredly, knowing that there aren’t many things I trust, but her genius is one of them. “He may not run around during all hours of the night brutally murdering anyone he sees, but he will always have that blood on his hands. The Winter Soldier’s title was earned.”

The room is silenced at this defiance because they’ve never seen us without the layers of custom and cordiality. Ever since we were girls we’d disagree and bicker about everything, but only now it’s become an apparent problem. Council members avery their eyes and hush, and General Ayo stands, driving her staff into the ground twice. The other Dora do it once, and turn on dimes to leave the hall. I walk behind them like a dog with its tail between its legs, Shuri’s hologram still hovering over my arm. As they turn the corner, I slip into one of the other rite rooms. 

This one is for marriages: Clean off-white walls, draped with purple linens and ferns hanging from high in the ceiling. Gold accents are interspersed throughout the room, and the morning sunlight glinting off them almost brightens my sour mood. I remember it like it was yesterday: this was the room in which my parents were married. Traditionally, children come after marriages in Wakanda, but the tribes never scrutinized my parents for their child. I was just regarded as a blessing that came a little early. Just like a wedding present or a pair of engagement rings, I was a physical manifestation of their love, and the flower girl. It was one of the happiest days of my life, and my favorite memories of them. 

Their silent joy that filled the spaces in their vows, my father’s tears as he looked upon his bride for the first time, and the slow dance with what felt like the whole world watching and smiling on them, these were the signs of love that I looked forward to. As years passed, they left to be with the ancestors, but that love never left. I feel it everytime I look in the mirror, and see the unique mixture of their features or when I stay in their old house and find letters to each other in the margins of textbooks and magazines. Sometimes I want that for myself, but who could give me love that was bigger than two people, but at the same time, so small that it could sit with each and every one of my cells?  And how could I love at all when I’m there for my country at all times?

“It’s just as beautiful as I remember.” Shuri’s slightly warped voice shakes me out of my memories. She was there at the wedding with me: I’d led her down the aisle, grateful for the attention to be mostly on the young princess.

“I haven’t come back in so long.” I replied, feeling a little guilty, like I‘d let my parents down. They could never stop raving about their wedding, and as soon as I lost them, I’d acted like it never happened at all. 

“You don’t have to do anything.” Shuri tries to reassure me, but this shame will take a little longer to get rid of. “Your parents loved you, Y/n. They would want you to be happy, and looking forward, not fearing the past, burying yourself in your work.”

I am happy, I think, as long as I keep moving. As much as they loved each other, they loved Wakanda even more, and they’d want me to protect its legacy. 

“I love them too, Shuri, and I am happy. I’m completely content with everything I have. But they loved Wakanda even more, and you saw how ecstatic they were when I started the ambassador’s course.”

Shuri rolls her eyes again, and I know this time it's because I’m missing her point. She sighs for what must be the millionth time before she starts: “They were excited because you’re brilliant, and you’ll do well at anything you choose. You could’ve been a footrest maker and still made them happy because you are their daughter. You are what they loved most in the world, and their love for your home was a product of that.” As much as I hate to admit it, she struck the right tones for the rest of my anger to melt. All that remained was the dull ache of missing someone who you can’t just call.

I sniff, suddenly regaining all of my bearings. “So you understand why my job is so important, yes? Why I need all the freedom in the world to do it and to not be held on a leash by some brute?”

“This is about keeping you safe. End of story.” I’m sure I’m working her nerves, running round in circles because I just can’t fathom it. There’s no way the Winter Soldier is taking me on as a charge. “Y/n, I trust that you are entirely capable of doing your job, but just imagine what could've happened if Bucky wasn’t there.” Eww, I hate that they’re on a first name basis. “If I’m accepting help, know that it’s truly needed and coming from a qualified source.”

I’m still not convinced. More and more, people from the council slide past the arched entrance to the hall, giving me a look before awkwardly running past. I give my cousin a look. She’s a thousand leagues under the sea, captured by some god with a lust for vengeance, and only thinking about the safety of her loved ones. Not only that, but pleading with me to let my guard down just a little, so that someone else can hold it up. It suddenly dawns on me that my choices also affect my loved ones, and I owe it to them to take good care of myself.

My lips twist to the corners in thought. What’s the worst that could happen? If he tries anything, the Dora will rip him to pieces. “Okay. I’ll meet with him.”

She smiles weakly, and I wince at her visible tiredness. “Thank Bast. You’re so stubborn I thought you’d lock him out of your suite as soon as you saw him.”

“He’s in my suite?”