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metalbuckaroo · 3 months

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The Chase

Summary// "we had a deal, my dove. You promised."

AU// WinterSoldier!Bucky x F!Reader

Warnings// chasing kink, unprotected sex, smut, a yank to the hair, cursing, use of petnames- dove, dovey

Note// I think I'm a little rusty, but I'm also beyond tired rn so it could also be that ehsudienaua. This is a part two to the Black Mail fic I did for kinktober many moons ago

"Who is he?" He was everywhere. His gruff voice echoing through the trees, surrounding you as you frantically looked around. Trying to find a way out of this situation. "I don't share, dove."

He was right behind you, your legs working before your mind to carry you in the opposite direction. Lungs burning from the cold night air as his dark chuckle faded in the distance.

But, he was quick and quiet. Moving just as fast as you could look over your shoulder before slamming into what could only be described as a wall of pure muscle, sending you falling back onto the leaf covered ground.

"Please- James, please. I'm sorry." You pleaded, tears stinging your eyes as he stood over you. The same mask Hydra forced him to wear covering the lower portion of his face.

He kneeled down, denim blues dark with something you couldn't place. "I won't ask again. Who. Is. He."

"Your way out! Please, just let me go. I still have a week!" The metal of his left hand gleamed in the moonlight as he reached his hand out to grasp your chin. Pupils blown and touch gentle.

"I'll give you a headstart. You have three minutes, dovey." You just stared at him wide eyed, chest heaving and heart hammering against your ribcage. "Run."

As if on instinct, you scrambled to your feet, trying to find your footing to dart back into the darkness the trees provided.

You knew you couldn't go much longer, your aching muscles sending pains through your legs each time your feet would hit the ground. There was no use in running anyways, he'd always win.

"We had a deal, my dove. You promised." You swore you could hear the grit of his teeth when you'd stopped, so close to giving in as you leaned your forehead against the rough bark of a nearby tree. Fingers curving against the wood. "You're just like them."

"No, I'm not." You heaved, trying to take a moment to catch your breath.

"I saw you with him at that diner. You're suppose to be mine."

His voice was getting closer, making you bite down on the inside of your cheeks to take some of the attention away from the burning in your legs before taking off again.

Though, you didn't make it far before fingers curled in the back of your hair. Crying out when he barely yanked to make you stop.

"I was doing what I was told. You want out, I have to find someone who can do that." You tried to reason, words not coming easy from the way he had your head craned back. His warm right arm snaking around your waist to pull you against him.

"Lies." He seethed, calloused fingers slipping under your shirt. "I've dreamt of you. Craved you. Now I finally have you again. I've been so cold without you my sweet dove."

Your body gave in the moment nimble fingers flicked the button of your pants open.

There was something twisted inside of you that liked the chase, the constant looming feeling you'd had over the weeks since you'd last seen him- like he was just lying in wait for the right moment.

It was hard to think of much else than the last time you'd saw him. The drag of his fingers against your skin, the way his lips seared kisses to your throat- much like now, cold and warm hands dragging against your sides as your fingers worked at the tactical belt that kept you from what you were truly after.

The ground freezing against your bare back not slowing you from getting what you craved.

It seemed to take ages for James to notice your struggle, his hands replacing your own to easily pull open the buckle as yours went to unclip the mask. Carelessly tossing it into the leaves to pull his lips to yours.

The hunger behind his kiss fueled you, your fingers weaving through his long locks and legs going around his waist to pull him closer. Swallowing breaths and quiet grunts as his hand fumbled to grasp his shaft.

The shudder that rolled through your body as he pressed into you was enough to send your mind reeling, everything else around you fading away and your senses overwhelmed by only him as he found his pace. Short, hard thrusts rocking your body- sending shocks of pure pleasure shooting down your legs.

You'd missed how full he made you feel. An emptiness left behind in his absence, his touch electric as he groped at your chest and left sloppy kisses along your throat. Deep moans vibrating against the skin, mixing with your whines in the cold night air.

"Can feel you milking me, dovey. Make a mess, show me who I belong to." James panted, drinking in the pleasure drunk scrunch of your face as your legs tightened around his waist, pulling him impossibly closer.

Wedging his arm under you for a better angle, he didn't change his pace. Taking the opportunity to slot his lips over yours when you cried out in bliss, swallowing the sultry sound as your cunt clamped around him. His hips jerked forward at the feeling, the swirling sensation at his base building until he couldn't take it anymore- spilling into you with a huffed grunt.

The warmth of his body was quickly replaced with the night air, goosebumps prickling your skin as you whined in response. The dull ring in your ears making it hard to focus as you found your jeans to redress.

"One more week, dove. Better hurry."

#bucky x reader #bucky imagine #bucky fanfic #bucky #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes marvel #bucky barnes #bucky barns imagine #ws!bucky #ws!bucky smut #winter soldier!bucky barnes #winter soldier smut #winter soldier x reader #chasing kink #bucky barnes smut

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samodivaa · 8 months

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Words don’t trigger him, emotions do

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Anger, resentment and especially, jealousy—those emotions were all he knew while you both spent decades at Hydra.

Warnings- angst, jealously, mental struggles, smut, possessive sex, love bites

Words- 3400

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And his love has its own dark morality when rivalry enters in, when another man dares to flirt with you and Bucky shall show well what he shows best.

“Hello, snowflake" he says "Hope I'm...interrupting”

There is an intonation so bitter and so imperative that the man who you are talking with shallows hard. The words which are set in the air—in themselves they are simple and sweet. But his jealousy, protectiveness are a living thing. Shifting, changing, growing.

"Do you know the man?" he asks politely, blue eyes burning with violence.

There is a natural comorbidity between possessiveness and jealousy, between the desire to fuck and the desire to kill.

„Yeah, I do,“ you reply and Bucky feels alone in the moment your eyes break contact—and in a fever, among the walls of the bar, he looks around too, a thickening twilight peeps out in his mind.

"Who is he?" he asks in a pleasant but cold voice, now clearly less friendly than before.

„It doesn’t matter“ you smile softly, that sentence is a uttered curse to Bucky’s ears. Immediately, his guard is up.

Bucky is silent for a moment, suffocated by the situation, ringing in his ears, and the heart—it will bust.

The simplicity of your answer spreads as frost, closing off the light of his eyes. His mind starts racing once again, a nameless emotion has nested in Bucky – who is that guy?

Bucky sits on your left side before he leans on the counter next to you, with his metal hand and puts his right one on his tight, closer to his gun strapped there.

You know him, you know that behavior— this yearning to protect, tearing at his insides like hunger and thirst. It is not love. Love is warm and soft, like a bed of leaves. But this is dark, like the shade under a poisonous shrub, and it is hungry. So hungry.

You know its' name—Winter.

You're stuck with him. Not for a few decades, not for centuries. You're tied to him forever. That's why you are good at putting out his flame before it grows—the frame he still carries from the past.

Jealousy isn't a pleasant quality, apart from its inconvenience there's even something touching about it—his starless nights eyes—his face, as if it has been a dial cut in impassive stone, the dwindling of life.

You are equipped to handle what he has, both past and present—package deal of both. In other words, you have been assigned a load you can handle.

“Bucky-”

“Let's go home, it’s getting late” he interrupts, in a soft, vicious voice.

“Give me ten minutes”

He feels like a thread has come between you when he hears your answer, tugging, tugging at his heart—so hard, it hurts him.

You glare at each other. He closes his eyes, because there is a petulant woundedness with which he stares back at you.

Neither of you say a word until Bucky moves, leaning back against the counter, and folding his arms over his chest. It takes all his concentration, to keep from ripping out this man’s throat. But Bucky shoves the familiar fury down, to the place where he stifles Winter's power.

“Okay”

He says as he looks over to the man, and wants him to say something mean so he would have an excuse to shoot him. Bucky is something dark and beautiful, in conflict with what he shows to the world and what he truly feels inside, it is hard to control it.

A worry deep in you stir, but you ignore it for now, pushing it down as best you can with the distraction of music and whiskey.

You fully turn to the man and all Bucky wants is your full attention. He wants your gaze to stay fixed on him, only him. He wants to stare into those beautiful eyes for as long as he lives.

Every avalanche begins with the movement of a single snowflake, and you are this Snowflake tonight.

When the ten minute mark hits you hear a quiet screeching sound—he has carved a small heart on the counter with his index metal finger—you can’t believe how jealousy has him gagging, his blue eyes are clouded before he lowers his gaze to the floor.

Snow is super soft, bottomless and amazingly light, yet supportive—until you take a wrong turn and feel every crystal reacting within your soul, suffocating you. Bucky has lost himself in the emotional storm: it takes so little this time, to put fuel in his cynical heart.

“Bucky…” you whisper and your eyes meet, his actual humanity can’t seem to triumph over the rage and jealousy this time, something you hardly imagine in your wildest dreams.

And this is the secret you both share—the kind you don't dare to let out—Words don't trigger him, but emotions do. You can’t leave them unnoticed, unattended and unsolved.

“Let's head home”

Your language has been lost for so long at Hydra. But not the gestures. It is almost comforting, this mutual acceptance of understanding each other without the need for words.

He maintains his silence, but he slowly gets up—he doesn’t look back, he knows you are following him closely. Of course you do, but you think about what has just happened

While you were looking into his eyes, there were fragments of his inner struggle that were deeply repressed—he always tries to repress the past. It’s hard to distinguish if they were buried inside because dealing with them was such dirty work, or if he was ashamed to voice them.

The truth is that he would rather dig his own heart out, with a knife, than admit it. A while ago he let you know that it's hard to control certain emotions—but he didn’t want to throw his intimacy in front of you, especially when he cares.

But nothing stays secret forever

You are trying to heal too, but, finally, there are things which he is afraid to divulge even to himself—he needs you, he needs your reassurance, he feels like someone will snatch you from his hands, damn his split personalities and untrustworthy habits from the past, but he can’t help it, it scares him.

You are both unearthed by deception, torture, brainwashing, whose essence was shrouded by Hydra—your own father naming the Winter Soldier program after his own daughter, you, stringing you with Bucky together—the yearning theme of your life.

After you escaped Hydra, you went your separate ways until he came back to you, searching for someone who understands him.

That was a year ago.

The more he thinks about it, the more he wants you, the more my desire rises and swells—

“Bucky” He shakes his head in exasperation, not stopping as he climbs the stairs to your shared apartment, aiming for the door, but he can’t stay with you, not when he is not fully himself “Bucky, stop, talk to me”

You have known him for so long, you can see the pride through his words, the truth through his silence, and the anger through his smile.

Always.

“Soldat“ he turns to you, perusing your body as he comes to stand in front of you, his abysses as deep as those of love, finally meet yours.

That realization takes about a nanosecond to register in Bucky’s brain before the real important information comes to the forefront—you’ve noticed.

He lowers his head toward you, so you could feel his breath warm against your skin, your mouths only inches apart

“Why did you call me that?”

He has no answer nor idea, just a never-ending list of questions, he is searching for a loophole that increasingly feels like a noose—he denies it, he tries to—you are not entitled to exposing him like that.

How hollow is it for him to have no secrets left—Bucky's love gives, and Soldat's lust takes.

His gaze, improper, is the most sensual thing he can have done at this moment, and it jolts your heart into a strange rhythm as you speak

“Tell me, how can I help?” You put your hands on his chest, your eyes still locked and an unwelcome sensation pierces you.

“You already know” he says thoughtfully as his cool gaze devours you “snezinka” (snowflake) and his lusty grin when he says that, it's sinful—and pleasurable.

“There is nothing to worry about. Do whatever you want to make yourself feel better” All you want to do is make him feel better, to drown his worries in your embrace.

Both shame and worry drown themselves in the dark eyes that stare back at him.

You.

Only you.

Bucky dreads this power you have over him.

Everything you say is exceedingly obvious, and undoubtedly true, but he feels that something more obscure, more frightening lurks in the back of your mind.

You don’t halt the hands he lays on your waist when he pushes you, backing you into the door.

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1968–1969, Zhao Jianmin Spy Case

„That is going to be mass murder, send them together.“

This mission is a long, never-ending massacre, it never ends.

He is lost in your eyes, it’s eating him alive.

Corpses fill the floor, the sight of gore is peaceful in your corrupted existence. He becomes obsessed in this moment of solitude with you, he has the need to touch you and you respond with a kiss, blood all over your face.

Your wretched fate is shared, your need for touch also.

Winter’s lust betrays him as he pushes you against the wall, feasting on your lips and neck, his hands running up and down your back.

“Relax, Winter” you giggle as you gently press your fingers into his shoulders, forcing him to break the kiss as he looms over you- waiting with a predatory grin.

„I need you, Samodiva“ he slurs, eyebrows furrowed as he glances up at you. His trembling fingers touch the strings in vain, wanting to find the right notes from the fading memory, Soldat wants his soul to vibrate again; with lust, with love.

He knows you feel his arousal, your closeness causing him to grow hard, inhaling sharply, enjoying the sensations you are eliciting in him.

“I need you, too” you finally answer without faltering.

This is all Soldat needs to hear - his tongue flicking lightly over your neck once again, tracing the skin slowly, eliciting a moan from your lips, bodies acting on instinct.

A soft squeak escapes your puffy lips, the tension building up in your body too fast, too soon. Winter puts his hands around your waist, your pants already unbuckled, surrendered to him.

He wastes no time, there's no time left… his hands suddenly drop to his own pants, popping the button open and then pulling down the zipper.

The feeling of your insides drains all of his self power to not come on the first trust, he moves at an excruciating slowly pace, fucking you into the bloodstained walls, there is a glimpse of human nature when you fill the room with moans.

„I am yours,“ he whispers, his words sending a series of chills through her.

This is about him, not you, this is what he needs.

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“1968, do you remember?“ he groans as he brushes his mouth against your cheek. The plea in his tone floods your veins with a whole different form of power “Just say no, snezinka-”

“This is exactly what I want“ you counter. As you arch your back, pressing the tips of your breasts against his chest, closing your eyes at the whisper of a kiss, at the hunger that ravages inside you.

He leans down more, his mouth only inches from yours. “Fuck,” the barely leashes growl of his voice rumbles up through his chest, and every nerve ending in your body flares to life.

Bucky loves seeing you pinned to the door—his control balancing precariously on the point of a knife. He tightens his hands holding you even closer, until your chest is pressed against his own, you can feel his hard cock pressing between your bodies.

All he needs is one push.

And you are about to shamelessly shove.

“Come on, I can take it” you tilt your head up to his and draw his bottom lip between yours, sucking before gently nipping him with your teeth.

“Yeah, yeah, okay” He speaks against your throat and finishes one languorous stroke up the column of your neck.

It breaches something within him, and he gives in.

Finally, mouths collides, and the kiss is hot and hard—it invades his body, abolishing any constraints and bringing to life the desire for you. It grounds him firmly in the moment and drags his body in it, too—Bucky wants to be the only thing touching you, the only thing that touches you ever again. He is kissing the shell of your ear, nipping at it gently and then soothing the nips with soft kisses.

Rage. Lust. Jealousy. Past. Preset. Every day is a reminder of how nothing stays the same, every day an exercise in variability, resilience, understating and trust.

You love the seasons, but, you must admit—at the risk of offending the others—Winter is your very favorite one. What a beautiful madness, to explore the darkness in his old self and find joy in the unearthing of such a wicked past.

He craves you, he kisses you again.

When your mouth touches his, it is like a blade glancing off metal—the darkness inside him briefly lights up with violence and rage before the emptiness comes flooding in like a black lake—you see it in his eyes.

“Let’s get inside '' he hears your whisper and he reaches up to stroke your cheek with the backs of his fingers. He might be lust-intoxicated, but he always cares.

Tonight, you have successfully deflected his attention from the gloomy thoughts and the contemplation of his past—his lust rushes, but his love makes him wait.

His love lasted for decades—will last for a lifetime.

Awash with trepidation, you two manage to get into the apartment, but the moment you lock the door—your back is against the wall again.

All those desires Bucky has felt in passing have culminated, growing deeper, hungrier, darker—he can do whatever he wants with you.

That through alone causes trouble below his belt.

He pulls his shirt over his head, the sight of his sculpted muscles, crisscrossed with countless scars. They have the strange power to remind you both that the past is real.

Bucky’s hands languidly roam the curves and valleys of your body as his kisses became sensual, slow and deep. There is such a luster in his eyes that you have to look away, but when you look back at him, his gaze hasn’t moved, still focused on your face.

Then he shifts his mouth to your neck for a hard love-bite that makes you cry out— the need to possess you, to claim you, he never did that before.

But even though you feel his erection stir as you press your hips against his, he doesn't attempt to resume the lovemaking in full, he catches you around your slender waist again and brings you close to whisper teasingly in your ear

“Ты - моя, слышишь?”

You begin to feel a familiar wetness form between your legs.

“Bucky,” you call out, impatient with desire.

But that exact position triggers so much delight, of the heated memory—he has all the time in the world, not as the last time.

He kisses you like he has forgotten how your mouth tastes—with a curious childish delight, kisses like wants to take you dancing.

As you pull apart, you remove your own shirt and his teeth scraping down the skin of your neck, his hands sliding around back to remove your bra, tossing it aside.

His right hand makes its way up, passing over a mark left by a bullet—your cheeks heat, and your breath hitches, but you can’t look away, you follow his hand with your eyes.

“I was not there when you got shot” he says as his fingertip skims the top of your breasts “When was that?” he uses the vibranium arm to lift one of the long locks of your hair to his lips and inhales the scent.

“It doesn’t matter”

And maybe you are right, but it stands as a reminder yet again of how you too escaped death's touch before. It was almost...normal for you back then.

Bucky takes a breast into his mouth to suck at it vigorously as you shiver in his grasp, the metal hand sides down to your waist to keep you against the wall.

You let out a small moan as you feel his hardness tighten and press even more insistently against you.

You worm your hands between your bodies, opening his jeans, freeing his length from the confines of his boxer-briefs, then reaching in to caress it and he burying his face in your neck to stifle his groan.

Bucky shudders when when you take him in your hand, stroking him painfully slowly. He allows it for several moments before hiking up the skirt of your dress to quickly tear your damp underwear.

He rubs a hand down your leg, fingers curling behind your knee and pulls it to his hip.

You instinctively jump, he catches you, abandoning his attempts of fingering you in favor of grabbing your hips, and you moan as you wrap your legs around his waist.

He loves you.

He loves you because nature wills it as it did for decades.

Because you are already long united by the past.

The bare flesh on every part of you always belonged to him, the scent emitting from your skin is his—he loves you, but he doesn't dare tell you that.

You have become Bucky’s favorite hiding place over the past year, the place he put every secret, every solitude, every nervous prayer, you keep him safe.

You have possessed him—and you never knew it.

He has been dependent on exactly how close he can have you next to him, how long he can get to stay at your apartment—making various excuses every time until you suggested to him to move in with you two months ago.

“Bucky,”

you tighten your legs around his waist, urging him to continue, running your hands over his shoulders.

Your voice pulls him out of what was ravaging in his mind, all those thoughts, but then he kisses as he roughly inserted his cock with no warning, you let out a surprised gasp as his forehead falls to your shoulder, bracing his hands on your hips and pressing you against the wall more firmly when he bottoms out, moaning shamelessly at the feeling of your body against him.

You are made for him, made for fucking.

“I love biting you, I need it” his voice is brittle, not saying anything else.

You stare like he is something you can’t comprehend, something unexpected – willingly admitting.

Your fingers thread gently through his hair and you can’t help, but hang your jaw in bewilderment at the sight before—he is falling apart from the need to claim you, to reach the white-hot ecstasy.

You have never seen him like that.

He bites his way along your jaw to the base of your throat. His mouth is hard and punishing, lathering your skin with marks—ferocity burns in his gaze promising something primal—thrusting into you wildly, trying to elongate your pleasure for as long as possible, but suddenly he is choking on moans as waves of climatic bliss are sent throughout his body.

This is about him, not you, this is what he needs.

This night you learn about his jealousy, it has you starving to learn more about this side of him. A new hunger that you know you will satisfy only with time.

His steel blue eyes hide a nearly irresistible urge to claim you—it’s hard for Bucky to control it when the incurable desolation of Winter exaggerates in displaying old emotions.

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becca-e-barnes · 2 years

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wanting to be used and abused by ws! bucky on this fine afternoon 😵‍💫

Areeee we ready to talk about a ws!bucky who couldn’t possibly care less about your pleasure but the dick is so good, you can’t stop getting off?? 🫠

Because the thought of ws!bucky having you bent over the bed, fucking you brutally with your arms pinned behind your back, held there by his metal hand.

His cock feels like it’s splitting you in two, it’s so long and thick and bare. The way he pounds your cervix is always torture because there’s nothing quite like the reminder that he’s going to flood your womb at some point, you’re just never quite sure when until it happens.

You’ve already cum 4 or 5 times, you can’t really remember anymore but the super soldier is still grunting and groaning, sweat beading on his forehead as he feels you tightening around him again. You’re cumming with nothing but wordless, blissed out screams, struggling against his grip but he’s not relenting.

“If you don’t. Stop. Fucking. Cumming.” He warns, pushing your hips down harder and really forcing every last inch into you. “Sick of how fuckin’ greedy this cunt is. Cummin’ all over me every chance you get. You’re. So. God. Damn. Slutty. ‘M gonna give you my cum, you don’t need to act so desperate for it. ‘S like you’re tryin’ to milk it from me. Can’t fucking control yourself.”

Your eyes roll back a little more with every thrust and fuck, this is Heaven. The belt of his tactical gear tinkles with every thrust, reminding you that while you were naked and waiting for your Soldat to come home, he’s hardly even undressed.

“You get off on your Soldat using you, little slut? Must like being a little hole for me to fuck. Hm, I guess you’re more than just one hole though. You’ve got a few you let me use.” You don’t need to see his face to know he’s smirking, not that you even really register what he said. That is until the slick tip of his thumb begins to press ever so gently against your tight ring of muscle, slipping into your asshole and now it’s his turn to cum, blowing his load with a low, filthy groan. Not that cumming once will be enough to stop him.

#asks answered <3 #anon #becca writes spice #ws!bucky #winter soldier smut #i fucking launched my head into the kitchen ceiling yesterday afternoon besties #and then I had a nap #and woke up feeling so nauseous #and then realised my essay was due like 4 hours later #all in all; yesterday was HORRENDOUS #especially when the only thought in my head was something really filthy with Lee

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ruckystarnes · 10 months

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Title: Taken Author: RuckyStarnes Rating: Teen Event: @buckybarnesbingo Square: B1 - Doppelgangers/Evil Twins Characters: 50's!Bucky & WS!Bucky Words: 259 Warnings: Summary: Bucky is taken by someone that shares a face Type: Drabble

He could see the horror on his wife’s face when the bright light enveloped them, his surroundings blurred and shimmered simultaneously. In a blink of an eye, Bucky was in a dank room with several men armed with rifles, all trained on him and the man who was responsible for bringing him there. He would be lying to himself if he said he wasn’t scared. Because he was. He didn’t know where he was or what happened, just that a man that had his face made him go through a portal that he only thought was possible in the science fiction novels he read. A quick glance at the scarier version of himself made his stomach roll.

“Molodets, soldat,” a gruff voice sounded just to Bucky’s right. That definitely sounded like Russian, at least based on what Bucky remembered from what his mother taught him and his sister when his grandmother moved to America when they were little.. Another slew of foreign words were said from the mystery man, and Bucky’s doppelganger nodded before turning away. It took a minute before Bucky could turn towards the man who spoke, coming face to face with a stern looking Russian.

"Who are you?" he asked softly, his eyes roaming over the guns pointing at him. They knew who he was and what he was.

More Russian was said, none of the words making sense to him. Another man grabbed Bucky’s arm and started to pull him towards the door. Another string of words he couldn’t understand and then everything went dark.

#bbb2023 #buckybarnesbingo #bucky barnes #winter soldier #ws!bucky #50s!bucky #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes drabble #bucky barnes sequel #bucky barnes angst

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rookthorne · 2 years

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A Grave Price | ʙᴜᴄᴋʏ ʙᴀʀɴᴇꜱ

Pairing; none Word Count; 1.3k Warnings; hurt/no comfort, major & background character death, graphic descriptions of blood and injuries, auditory hallucinations, WS!Bucky A/N; God, I am so sorry guys. Please don't hate me, I know I'm awful.

WHUMPTOBER MASTERLIST

A soothing voice was guiding him and to where, he did not know - but he knew he would be safe from the horrors that followed him.

Soldat’s target was dead, the body strewn in the snow amongst the rocks and boulders, but it didn’t come without a price.

Everything - everything - had a price.

Extraction wasn’t for another agonising few hours, and Soldat had to be on site. It was an order. Orders were to be obeyed. Pain did not come before an order, the river of blood surging from the wound in his thigh did not come before an order - his life did not come before an order.

The blood that leaked from his veins didn’t contain only his life essence, it held within it the control Hydra held upon him. With every step away from the deceased target, every single drop of blood that leaked from his wounds, he lost himself - lost himself and became a shell of someone he did not know.

Screams and shouts echoed in his ears and it disoriented him amongst the encroaching snowstorm, and for all Soldat knew, those voices belonged to people in the trees, their wailing cries a siren’s song for a dying man.

His training hadn’t prepared him for the possibility of death and the horror that came with it.

Extraction point. He had to get to the extraction point, he had to follow an order.

Through the strong wind and flurries of snow, Soldat stared at the line of trees to find the way he came, only to fall to his knees with a groan of pain.

“Nyet,” he growled fiercely, ignoring the way his voice grew weak. “Nyet, nyet.” His gloved hand came away from his side to find purchase against the white snow, and he gasped quietly. The snow, once so white, was now stained crimson with his blood.

“Bucky!”

Soldat’s head snapped up towards the trees to find the source of the voice, only to find no one there. “Nyet, nyet,” he repeated.

Determined, Soldat pushed himself to his feet again, ignoring the way the world tilted on its axis, and ignoring the way he had to gasp for air against the stab wound to his lung. The target hadn’t gone down without a fight.

Snow crowded his vision, but Soldat pushed on - he had to get to the extraction point, lest he get the chair and the burning halo. No.

“Bucky! Come home!”

The disembodied voice startled Soldat and he pulled free his rifle, taking aim at the tree line. “Kto zdes'!”

It was though his conditioning had completely abandoned him - calling to an enemy was suicide, yet, he did it. No one came into sight, there were no more calls that carried across the wind.

“Kto zdes'!” Soldat tried again, his fear turning quickly to anger. “Kto zdes'!”

A frustrated growl made its way up his chest and he grimaced, he did not understand the prickling of his skin, or the way his stomach was tied like a knot - tighter than those he used to interrogate.

Emotions were a weakness, and weaknesses will get you killed.

Extraction. Move.

Soldat shouldered his rifle once more, wincing against the movement that pulled at the muscles of his chest and side. “Dvigat'sya.”

His boots dragged along the snow, each stumble against a wave of vertigo almost tore an angered shout from his throat. The extraction point was not far from where he had landed the killing blow to his target, so why was it taking so long to get back?

“Bucky! Over here!”

“NYET!” Soldat roared to the wind, his eyes wildly looking around for the source only to see no one. “Ostanovi yego!”

The blood was draining from his wounds faster than he could staunch it, faster than his ability to heal, and the world was becoming grey and blurred. In an act of desperation, he pulled free his side arm and pushed on, no longer listening to the incessant calls of “Bucky!” in the wind.

It was a terrifying possibility it wasn’t coming from the wind, but his own mind.

Soldat stumbled and fell only two more times until the extraction point - a small shack no bigger than the cell that held him - came into view. The door swung open to admit him when he pushed against it, and he fell to his knees with a hiccuped groan of pain.

Blood drenched the front of his combat suit, the once meticulously kept black leather now slick and shiny, not with his target’s blood, but his own.

The rifle on his back clattered to the floor when Soldat ripped it away with a gasp of pain, and he wished the muzzle could be taken off, but that was prohibited - no one could touch the muzzle covering the bottom of his face but his handler, not even him.

“Bucky?”

The voice was right there, right in front of him, and Soldat looked up from his chest to stare into nothing. “Kto zdes'?” His voice came out as a wheeze, a strained sound that was so foreign to him and it unnerved him further.

“Come home.”

“Home,” Soldat repeated, his hand came to rest against his side on the now gaping wound. Blood pooled at his knees and he swayed slightly when his vision blurred. “Chto home?”

“Home,” the voice affirmed - a soft voice, Soldat realised. This wasn’t a handler.

Soldat’s vision blacked out and he blinked to clear it, an uneasy feeling settling deep in his chest. “Kto Bucky?”

“You are,” the voice said quietly, and if Soldat didn’t know any better, the voice was still coming from right in front of him; a comforting presence knelt down in front of him at the bitter end.

A hiccup wracked Soldat’s frame and he winced. His chest was constricting and his throat burned with something he had never felt before. The sudden feel of dampness high on his cheeks startled him, he didn’t understand.

“Time to come home, Bucky,” the voice whispered and Soldat stiffened with fear. Another hiccup tore through his chest and his eyes felt wet, worse than when they dunked his head into a trough of ice water. “Come home.”

Before he could stop himself, Soldat reached up with his trembling right hand and brushed the pads of his bloodied fingers against his cheekbone, pausing to examine the clear liquid like it was hazardous. Another hiccup barreled through his chest and he whimpered through the wave of pain it brought.

“You’re crying, Bucky,” the voice said quietly, and the constant use of the word Bucky was beginning to soothe Soldat in a way he did not understand. “I’ve come to bring you home. Come with me.”

“Idi domoy?”

“Home,” the voice repeated.

“Mne kholodno,” Soldat whispered back. The door slammed shut in the wind and he slumped back against it, his once taut and rigid frame slackening with the loss of blood.

Soldat didn’t have a home - never had a home - but the urge to rest where it was safe, where the voice could protect him, overwhelmed any sense of danger for asking another question. “Mogu ya otdokhnut'?”

“Yes,” the voice answered. There was a sudden pressure against his chest that made him look down, but there was nothing there; a phantom hand of comfort resting against the slowing beat of his heart.

“Yest' tsena?” Soldat asked shakily, but he didn’t feel scared - the voice was there, and it would protect him. His hands, metal and flesh, fell limp in his lap, and his head lolled to the side.

There was no strength left within him to fight the laxness of his muscles, nor the cold that nipped at his every last nerve.

“Yes,” they answered. Soldat went to open his mouth to speak, but only managed a slow, deep exhale. With his body still and his eyes glazed over, the voice continued solemnly. “It’s one you have wanted to pay, for so, so long, Bucky.”

Nyet = No “Kto zdes'!” = “Who’s there!” “Dvigat'sya.” = “Move.” “Ostanovi yego!” = “Stop it!” “Chto” = “What is” “Kto” = “Who is” “Idi domoy?” = “Go home?” “Mne kholodno” = “I’m cold” “Mogu ya otdokhnut'?” = “Can I rest?” “Yest' tsena?” = “Is there a price?”

You can imagine the voice as anyone - I’d give examples but that might ruin it. Lemme know who you thought of in a reblog. 💗

___________

Graphics & Header made by yours truly.

Masterlist | Library | AO3 | Wattpad

#whumptober2022 #no.27 #PUSHED TO THE LIMIT #stumbling #altprompt #stabbed #tears #marvel #fic #hurt/no comfort #major character death #background character death #graphic descriptions of blood and injuries #auditory hallucinations #WS!Bucky #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes oneshot #rookthorne's works #A Grave Price

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mondritter · 4 months

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The last year I decide to get back into comics and read old runs until the new ones.

I came to the conclusion that I just went back to a state of constant frustration because 2 of my faves are these gentlemen lmao.

At least this year looks like Jason is going to finally get his own supporting cast FAR AWAY from the BatFam... I'm hoping for a miracle that at least Bucky gets rid of those writers.

#bucky barnes #jason todd #winter soldier #red hood #tiny nat #tiny artemis #my art #first time posting it ever lol #I really love the adaptation of the WS suit #I'll probably never do something this detailed again #dc comics #DC #marvel comics #Marvel

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burninblood · 1 year

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Bucky with his new costume from the comics!

I wasn’t so sure about this look at first, but it’s growing on me, and I *love* the man bun, sorry not sorry.

#bucky barnes #bucky #comics bucky #winter soldier #(yes you're still the ws and bb sorry bae)#marvel #marvel comics #captain america: sentinel of liberty #bucky new look #the revolution #fanart #mine #burninbloodart #i suck at coloring sorry

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5ummit · 3 months

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New teaser shots for What If season 3

I am... intrigued

#we already knew about the ws/red guardian team up #which I'm super excited about #but mecha avengers???#did not see that coming #get in the fucking robot bucky #what if #what if spoilers #bucky barnes #sam wilson #alexei shostakov #monica rambeau #marvel

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mohish-ko · 6 days

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Let them rest

#Civil war era of Bucky #artists on tumblr #bucky barnes #winter soldier #thunderbolts #mcu fanart #mcu #bucky fanart #buckynat #alpine #bucky and alpine #ws #work in process

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biteofcherry · 1 year

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Getting into a physical fight with Bucky while the Winter Soldier is taking over, only for it to end in him absolutely obliterating that 🐱

And when bucky himself comes back you're just a drooling fucked out heap

Ohhh, Bucky's riding that edge, being semi-conscious but he can't stop the primal, rough side of WS taking over. Then he notices how wet you got, how you clench around him, how hard you come from it. He stops fighting it and just gives it to you raw.

When you finally come to your senses, aching all over and leaking cum, Bucky's there caressing you tenderly and in a soothing voice asks: "Why didn't you tell me you want to be fucked like a needy mindless bitch, angel?"

#dumbgothbunny #Bucky Barnes x reader #Winter soldier x reader #Ws!bucky Barnes

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amarriageoftrueminds · 1 month

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Considering Bucky's recovery in a post-WS scenario, and the fact that IRL the American Psychological Association (APA) collaborated with the CIA* on mind-control and 'black psychiatry' programmes...

And it really is difficult to see how Bucky is supposed to go to doctors and psychiatrists for therapy etc., and trust them, when it was (among others) doctors and psychiatrists who inflicted his trauma?

How does he get help when the very people capable of helping him are just like the people who abused him? It's a real catch-22. 🤔

(*source) (source) (source) (source)

#bucky barnes #bucky meta #meta #mcu #mcu meta #medical stuff #bucky's medical stuff #bucky's recovery meta #makes you see the logic in him turning instead to eg. wakandans (who cannot resemble anyone responsible for inflicting his trauma)#and why it would need to be someone like that (ie. nothing like hydra)#have also read fics where jewish!bucky turns to rabbis after WS and that scans too for the same reason

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samodivaa · 8 months

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┊Kills and Kisses┊

WS!Bucky Barnes x Asset!Reader He comes back to save you from Hydra, he can’t leave you behind. You are linked deeply through the wounds of the past you share - hanging by a string, loosely holding each other from collapsing.

Warnings - angst, violence, sexual tension, soft!Soldat Words - 3300

He has a very particular set of skills. Skills that he has acquired over the decades at Hydra. Skills that make him a nightmare for the people who are his mission. Soldat’s heart is bursting with such intense emotions—for the first time since he was entrapped that he doesn’t care about the pain after the fight with Steve anymore. More important than pain is this impulse that's rising within. There is something violent, boiling up from within—he needs to save you, he can’t leave you behind.

As Steve lies unconscious, he wastes no more time—he heads back to the base.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧ „Ah, Soldat, you are finally back“ The handler turns to face him calmly. Even with Soldat taking a lot of time to come back, he doubts he should feel particularly concerned. He stars at him as he approaches. He has concluded that generally speaking he is neither permitted nor inclined to hurt his own handler. The Asset stares at the handler as though he is considering something. Then his eyes grow flinty, and he steps back for a moment. He freezes and is silent for a surprisingly long time. An indecipherable expression ripples across his face before he blinks and laughs faintly. It occurs to him that if he is to try to kill him it is probably the perfect moment. Soldat’s lips press into a hard line and the other man sees his jaw clenching. There is so much under his controlled mind. A slumbering rage is stirring, rippling just beneath the surface. The Soldier is on the borderline, caught between the tides of pain and rapture—the idea of killing them all and being free. Soldat finally looks up at him.

“I came back fo-”

He glances over at his handler with a cold expression. He continues to study his face for several moments before a slow smile curls across his lips. The other man wishes he could be so calm without feeling like he is frozen. Soldat looks around to make sure no one else is nearby, then lowers his voice. „I came back for her“ He is so precisely contained, but his eyes are a storm; they look like they contain the power of the sea as he slides his throat, watching the body drop to the floor. He is trying to calm his now-rapid heartbeat. He knows where they hold her. Soldat walks down a long, dark corridor, knowing the maze of this Hell too well—it Is always dimly-lit, industrial, cold. You two share such a fate—monstrous and empty, a whirling wheel for decades—fades to nothing, shadowed and veiled, plaguing your whole existence.

He is close to the two heavy double doors, sealed shut, and his breath catches in his throat as he crosses them in quick steps, presses the button to open them, and when he sees the doctors touching you, he feels a gut-wrenching anger. You swallow down a lump in your throat. You don’t know what to say, why is he here? Your eyes widen, frozen and staring helplessly—fear and shock flashing through as you keep your eyes on his soulless ones—pupils dilated due to adrenalin. With a little gasp, he blinks slowly before settling on your face as blood dips from the knife on the floor. You shift in your seated pose on the bed, you feel ever-so-slightly off-balance, with a nervous, anticipatory energy for what is going to happen.

The doctors look at him in shock, obviously having never seen an Asset disobey to such an extent. "He killed someone" one of them gasps, somehow managing to keep his outburst to a strained whisper „We will leave, let us leave, please“

Soldat laughs and his eyes finally leave your face to settle on the man talking “No, no one is leaving“ he says in a dismissive voice. Fear bubble up inside the three men. Fear for their life. Tears gather up in their eyes. The fraction of hope vanishes. Soldat waves his hands dismissively, the knife dancing across his fingers. He shifts the weight in his still posture—before they could exhale, the sharp blade strikes one of the men’s necks and they all watch the body drop lifeless, blood sweeping down his neck. The remaining men’s eyes are wide with fear, mouths agape and breathing heavy. Your brows knit together, eyes narrow. Soldat can tell you are doing some form of mental math, edging ever closer to his true intent. Finally, you say, slowly „Как така се освободи?“ (how did you free yourself) Your mind is twisting itself up with rationalisation. Trying to make yourself adapt and think freely. To make you survive in this unexpected denouement. You draw another breath and try to recall anything from the past. A blur of a face is in front of you, staring. You blink a couple of times, trying to make your vision clear up. Your vision slowly starts to gain its focus, blinking until it clears. “Hey” Soldat sighs, touching your face with one hand and raking his fingers up through his tousled and now bloody hair with the other “It is okay, we will be okay.” His lips try to form a smile and he reaches over to ruffle your hair fondly. “What is wrong?” he says as you swats him away from his touch “Talk to me, please“ You focus your attention right back onto the man in front of you, pushing both the worries and memories to the wayside for the moment. His eyes glint as he smiles, a triumphant tone to his honey-sweet voice. Fear explodes inside, dangerous, fire rushing over your skin. The gleam of metal makes you slide your gaze away. It always looks like an ornamentation, a deadly one. His eyes remind you of the ocean: clear as spring water tumbling over mossy rocks, dark as a cloud shadow. Soldat leans closer, his mouth next to your ear, whispering with a despaired groan trapped between his teeth „Say something, anything…do you remember me?“ Your jaw is between his metal fingertips, griping tightly „I will get you out of here“ Winter swallows the lump in his throat, eyes never leaving yours.

Physically and mentally the dread begins to fade as you force your mind to adapt. You don’t feel nauseated, your heart doesn’t pound painfully anymore.

„I want to kiss you“ The dark glint in his eyes and the wicked curl of his lips shows what he has in mind as he hears you say it. His beautiful features offering themselves to your gaze as you trail though them, you are annoyed at how attractive Winter looks—with his dark, messy locks covering part of his bloody face—putting your mind into a darker cloud of both irritation and lust.

He feels his combat pants get tighter as he feels something growing. It feels weird, almost like his first memory of getting an erection as a child. „Kiss me then“ His own words sends a shiver down his spine along with a lightning bolt to his cock. He looks at you with his big doe eyes and stays silent. For a moment, he'd almost thought he could see the faint light glinting off your eyes as you blink rapidly. Soldat suddenly gives you a tender kiss which quickly grows in passion and intensity. He removes his hand from your chin, tugging at your hair and gaining enjoyment out of it. He is the one to pull away, his face seems to be filled with longing, a yearning of sorts. You sigh, unconsciously pursing your glossy lips together to form an innocent, tempting pout, you want more, but now it’s not the right time. There is a device connected to your thumb, a pulse oximeter. It displays your heartbeat—it starts beeping, the shortness of breath and excitement on full display and he watches you remove it, your eyes full of embarrassment and you blush a furious red so he decides to speak. „Let’s form a plan, let’s get out of here“ His voice is soft, but it hits you with a force of a hammer, resounding within your ears like a bell, ringing clearly. His gaze—sharp and intense, appraising you and making you realize he looks at you with so much concern, with protectiveness. You don’t know what to quite make of it. He always leaves you feeling exposed and vulnerable, though covered up you may be. Between the certainty of light and darkness there’s a play of shadows, a question. Between the machine and the human-self there’s an encounter called distance. What do we do now? You don’t notice that Soldat slowly moves away for a bit. His large hands spread a map next to you, tilting it left and right, thinking. You know what he’s searching for. You can feel it, like there’s a hook embedded in your chest, tugging towards freedom as well. So many countries and yet, right there—you choose point and say „Bulgaria“ „Hm?“ Soldat stars at you, eyes wide with surprise and confusion. „Let’s go and live there“ „Why Bulgaria exactly?“ He asks groggily. „I can’t remember yet, but it sounds so familiar“ You have forgotten that word a long time ago, in the midst of all the brainwashing. But that word is the path you take to remember more. Step by step, you will remember, right?

„Yeah, okay. I will find clothes and bags, you can stay here“ His main priority now is survival and your safety. Nothing else. It is his instincts of a trained killer—kill or be killed. It looks like he is about to say something, but then he just drops his gaze and steps through the doorway. The moment you glance at him as he returns to the room, you can’t identify the person you are staring at. The outfit emphasizes every part of his body. His waist, his perfect thick thighs— „I found some for you, too“ You nearly topple out of your seat on the bed at the sound of his voice and swivel to stare at him with your mouth agape. It makes your eyes raise from his thighs, gaze slowly and seamlessly lifting to meet his. He throws the clothes on the bed, his face only inches away from your own once again. Soldat’s metal fingers come in contact with your cheek. The moment they touch your hot skin, you shiver a little, expecting more. „We need to go“ „They will go after us“ you let out a quiet sob, shaking your head from side to side. For several tense moments, you simply blink at one another. He knows what awaits—people will criticize, condemn, and chase them but it takes all his character and self-control to be understanding of the situation, his mission is to keep you safe, to reassure you to a certain extent. There is no escaping this change of life—what is even the meaning of life—you need to try to grasp infinity while being paralyzed by the truth of all that you both still don’t have names. Soldat’s eyebrows knit together, sadness taking over his perfect features „We will be okay, we will be“ And even if the uncertainty of this world becomes too overwhelming, you have each other. You are his only shade of color, a beam of light. Your hearts are not connected to each other through mutual understanding alone. They are, instead, linked deeply through the wounds of the past you share - hanging by a string, loosely holding each other from collapsing. As you reach out for the clothes, he turns around to give you privacy, feeling his heat rise to his cheeks. „I am ready“ you say after a minute. His eyes settle on you again, suddenly he is very conscious of his lack of words and he clears his throat „You look-good“ his lips part on a soft gasp. He regains his composure, working that same muscle in his jaw as he looks you up and down. You are simply wearing jeans with a plain shirt, but to his depraved mind is enough to leave him speechless, a strange smile quirks his lips almost involuntarily. You are wearing a small smile of your own, and there are tears in your eyes. You two look so normal. Human. For the first time in decades you have come across this. To experience something so surreal, so close to what you truly are, and still have no way to describe it. You finally meet a dream from eternity. Emotions too wild and organic to be domesticated into words. You can tell he is fighting his emotions, and the fact that he is close to tears threatens your own hold on yourself. You both head to the main exit, the sigh of gore – dead bodies and blood doesn’t scare you. ✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧ The absolute delight—of you being well, the absolute horror of what it costs—blood in every corner of the rooms and corridors and still, there is still a garden made for his soul where he can sleep peacefully, far away from solitude. Remorse—it grows and grows and grows, but his loyalty and care are stronger, but it haunts him. Oh, secret cries of a sorrowful heart—you will keep this day a secret forever. And this is what you learn on the first day as a human being: that he was the antidote to your never ending Hell, that standing within his anger—the beauty and the mystery of his mind, you will re-dignify the worst-stung heart no matter the blood marking your freedom. Only his own heart knows a secret your mind can’t grasp. A poem that’ll always remain unwritten.

Someday you will ask him, ask him why he risked coming back? ✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧ The greenery stretches for miles. Earth and sun are in a dance older than your time. But now that you can see how they kiss each other in all the trees and flowers while clouds hop freely across the blue sky—this is heaven? Strange, how such a heaven on earth could exist while you spend so much time underground. „Hey, come on“ he calls you and you turn your head. Soldat is a few feet away, waiting for you to get in the car. „We will get new documents for the country, there is a guy that will also supply us with plane tickets. I-I made my handler call him befo-“ „There is no need to explain, Winter“ You open the door, the words are no sooner past his lips than you enter, his hands already gripping the wheel. You find your gaze travelling over Soldat’s elegant fingers as they move nervously, his knuckles turning white. The way he leans back in the seat, his long legs stretching out before you, tight black jeans leaving nothing to the imagination. His wide eyes stare into space, at nothing. Soldat is completely unsure how to broach this, if he even should have tried to broach such a tender topic. You already saw enough of what he has done. He feels your gaze, because he finally looks at you. Your eyes meet. Soldat gives a small smile before speaking. „It’s Bucky“ „Bucky? What is a Bucky?“ He laughs genuinely at your comment. The shell of the Asset starts to crack and there begins to be a consciousness of the subliminal and physiological underlying personality, you just catch a glimpse of It. „My real name, before Hydra“ he explains softly and fidgets in his seat, already feeling uncomfortable of needing to mention the word. „You had a life before?“ He feels something stubborn and angry enter your voice. The smile on his face instantly vanishes and his expression becomes distinctly cagey, avoiding you gaze. You press your thighs together and try not to pay any attention to the growing sense of emptiness inside. It is overwhelming—do you even have a name? Can you remember who you were, before Hydra told you who you have to be? ✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧ Everything it is a blur after that conversation. You don’t feel physically, mentally, and emotionally ready for your new life. Your loyalty to the past becomes your most dangerous trait. The programing runs deep in the fabric of your mind, it’s hard to fight, because it is all you know. When you finally board the plane, he finds the courage to finally say something about it. „No, I still don’t want to talk, Bucky“ your voice is dripping acid. It is an act in self-preservation, he understands. He nods begrudgingly, but sits next to you. He knows that you fear to fling yourself straight into life, without deliberation. But Bucky—he is more than ready.

He thinks of Steve, such memories, are long remembered and sealed into his soul—him remembering those memories is what saved you both. Sorrow compresses his heart; he wants to see him again. ✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

As you step out of the airport, Bucky wastes no time, heading to a car which is parked nearby, driving in a direction unknown to you. ✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧ The haunted mind catches fire—the dread and evil of his night terrors punishing him almost every night. He is not alone in this—It’s both a blessing and a curse to share the same trauma. Breakfast is so delicious, but not free erection anymore. Bucky looks like he hasn’t slept a wink, though, with dark circles under his eyes and his face propped on his human hand as he tries to calm both his body and his mind. Is it healthy or is it just familiar to suppress the human side just becomes he is scared of it? It is your fault, too. He admits it freely mentally. Well, if someone is to come across him; he would deny it vociferously. But—to himself—he admits that he is lusting after you.

He pulls his textbook out of his bag on the floor and sets to write to distracts himself for a bit. You have been mysteriously absent this week and even though you have settled in a quiet village for now, he still worries about your safety. There is a conversation he is dreading, but all you do is avoid him like a contagious disease. Bucky hears you enter the house, but doesn’t lift his eyes as you pass him to go to your own room. He wants to tell that hiding your hurt only intensifies it. Problems grow in the dark and only become bigger. You need to take off your mask, to stop pretending you don’t need support and walk into this new chapter together. Then he hears sounds and immediately goes to your room. He follows the continues sobs to your bathroom.

You are huddled in the shower under the cold water, fully clothed—weeping and rocking on the floor and hugging your knees.

He stands in the doorway for a moment, not coming any closer. Speechless.

"Мила?" His voice is rasping, talking in the language he knows you find comfort the most.

Your crying abruptly ceases and your head shots up to look at him, locked on his face. | He immediately moves towards you reaching over and turning off the freezing water. Bucky then kneels down, rubbing your back with his human hand then running his hand through your wet hair.

"Погледни ме,моля те, погледи ме“ he pleas. (Look at me, please, look at me) He gathers you into his arms and pulls you into his lap.

Too many days and nights passed through the body and slowly you started to lose your mind. Where are your own memories? Where is that life you had before? You drift in the tides of the lost time and lost yourself wave after wave—uncovering nothing, not even an echo of the past.

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shackleton2 · 8 months

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I'm working on this fic where I'm trying to write an emotionally dark take on post-Winter-Soldier recovery, where Steve & Co capture Soldier-Bucky right after the events of Insight, when he's still almost entirely in the grips of Hydra's programming.

I loved this Sebastian Stan quote someone shared on here: “That’s why he doesn’t kill him. That’s why he saves him. That end scene to me was always like: ‘I don’t know what this is, I just know I’m supposed to do this right now. Whatever this is, I’m supposed to protect this for some reason.” I love the heartbreaking urge to protect Steve being impossible to erase or repress despite everything, but what stands out for me is also that this confirms what his expression and act of walking away seem to say on the riverbank: he has no idea what the hell is going on. His brain didn't go "OMG STEVE" and switch him back over to Bucky Barnes in that incredible final moment on the helicarrier—the wall of programming just got its first tiny crack.

It drives me crazy that the Soldier walks away after saving Steve—he wants to know why he saved him, how he knows him, obviously, but he walks away from the simplest way to find those answers-STAY WITH STEVE, drink hot chocolate under blankets with steve!! It also drives my fangirl heart crazy what a stubborn resilient competent independent SOB post-WS Bucky is. He doesn’t trust anyone and he doesn’t want anyone to own him ever again.

He’s got conflicting lines of thought that lead to the same conclusion: He’s programmed to kill Steve, those are his final standing orders, and obeying orders is all he knows. If he wants to keep Steve safe on some level, he knows that won’t be with him, because of those orders, because Hydra owns him. On the other hand, if he’s realized that Hydra is his enemy, he also knows that SHIELD is Hydra, and Cap is affiliated with SHIELD, and thus can’t be trusted to keep Hydra away from him. And/or he disobeyed orders and abandoned his mission, and he doesn’t know why, but he does know the consequences for doing that, and thus has a lot of resentment for the guy that made him do so.

To be clear, I love the Bucky Barnes character and I think any narrative that casts him as a reformed villain who needs to make up for his past actions is bullshit. He is a victim, not only of what was done to him, but also what he was forced with zero agency to do. Having said that, I’m also totally riveted by the Winter Soldier as a bad guy, a threat, a killer. In the MCU movies he goes off after the Insight debacle and somehow deprograms himself all alone, and the next time we see him in Civil War he’s got his sense of himself as Bucky pretty much back—he’s in control of his actions, he knows his and Steve’s history, and he doesn’t want to hurt people. I’m stuck on what else the story could have been instead of the hand-wave transition from brainwashed murderer to Steve Rogers’ loyal friend. The only traumatic encounters with the Soldier Steve experiences are those in the movie where he’s actively trying to kill him, which that’s definitely bad enough for poor Steve—but what about traumatic emotional encounters? What about Steve Rogers trying to talk and reach his friend, but the person he’s talking to is the Soldier immediately post-Insight, still mentally in Hydra’s possession much more than his own?

Anyway one day this little scene came to me and I'm building this WIP, including these notes, around it. Successfully? Who knows, not me.

He regarded Steve through the glass with a hint of curiosity. His voice was soft and quiet. “Why do you come?”

Steve leaned forward and tried to meet those icy eyes. He couldn’t help it. “You’re my friend. You might not remember me, but I will always be your friend.”

The Soldier tilted his head, still questioning. “That’s why you come here?” Every day, Steve thought he heard unspoken; he wasn’t sure whether Bucky registered his presence at all some days, but maybe every instance was recorded in his mind. Maybe not. What happened to a supersoldier brain when it incurred severe sustained deliberate damage was a riddle they were just beginning to examine.

Steve was determined to be steadfast, but there was little he could do to calm the intensity of what he felt. He wanted Bucky to ask these things, because he wanted him to know these things, and he would tell him again and again forever in the hope he would one day believe him and then remember himself.

“I’m here because I want to know how you’re doing. I want you to know I’m here. I’ll come every day unless you tell me honestly you don’t want me to.”

Still the cocked head, the mystified expression. “You come because…he was your friend.”

He leaned in an inch more and found his forehead touching the glass. “You’re my friend. You are Bucky Barnes. You were born in 1917 and we grew up together. You are a good man. What happened to you…was wrong, and I will do everything I can to make it better, for the rest of my life. That’s a promise.”

The cocked head straightened and it looked like some kind of comprehension dawned. He was looking at Steve in a way he couldn’t remember Bucky ever looking before, and after wondering for a few moments Steve realized it was pity on his face.

“You think he’s here.” The look of pity intensified. “You think you...can talk. To him.”

Steve swallowed. “I…I know he is. I don’t know how to convince you it’s true, but I swear it. We played together as kids and then we grew up and lived together and then the war came and we fought together. And now we’re here. I know you don’t remember, Bucky, but there’s no way I’m giving up on you, even if you never do. I know you. I’ve known you as long as I can remember.”

On the other side of the glass Bucky’s expression had settled into the blank resignation the Soldier often wore. He licked his lips, an oddly human gesture that hurt Steve’s heart, and then said, with what might have been an attempt at gentleness, “Your friend. Is gone.”

Steve took a moment, felt his forehead press a little harder on the glass. “If he’s gone, who am I talking to?”

“What,” the Soldier corrected, and then answered, “Hydra.”

He was going to need a lot of punching bags later. “Emotions don’t help,” Natasha had told him, brisk and flint-hard the way she was when she was being kind. “Men think they understand this, but they don’t. Understand it.”

Steve was beginning to understand. He didn’t howl or pound on the glass or leave to find a fight. Instead he swallowed again and asked with a calm that shocked him, “So you…believe in Hydra? In what they do?”

“The Soldier is the fist of Hydra. Weapons don’t believe. They do not need to. The Winter Soldier. Is. Hydra.”

That was the most the Soldier had spoken in one go.

#fanfic ramblings #cookin in my stewpot #post-winter soldier fanfic #steve rogers and bucky barnes #captain america and the winter soldier #struggling with how much i should make him be mean to steve lol #and for how long #and I have a little brainworm that Tony finds out about his parents a different way while the WS is in custody in stark tower #and him and steve fighting causes the soldier to break out to protect steve #🤷🤷🤷#what happens next?? eww i have to write it to find out???

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ruckystarnes · 2 years

Text

Title: Comply Author: RuckyStarnes Card: B018 Words: 215 Characters: WS!Bucky Barnes, Maeve Parker Warnings: hostage, bound, gun to head Rating: Mature Square Filled/Daily Challenge/Prompt: Day 3 - Hair's Breadth from Death - Gun to Head | Adopted Square - Whump Written for/Dedicated to: @whumptober | @buckybarnesbingo Summary: Type: Moodboard | Drabble

Maeve swallowed harshly, closing her eyes as she felt the cool metal press against her temple; her breathing started to become irregular as a single tear fell from her closed eyes. She tried to stop translating the words that the HYDRA agent was saying to the person holding the gun to her head, she knew what she was telling them what to do.

"Please," she begged softly, trying her best to keep herself from losing every ounce of control she had mustered once she was bound and forced on her knees. "James, please. You know me, don't do this."

"Tishina!" the agent yelled, and she felt what was a gloved hand hit her cheek with enough force she had bit her tongue. She willed herself not to let the pain show, but her nerves were fraying.

"James please, you can fight this," she pleaded again, willing herself to open her eyes and forced herself to look up at the man holding the gun still to her head. His blue eyes looked cold yet wild behind the dark strands of hair, but she could sense he could hear her, after all, they have known each other.

"It's Maeve, you know me."

There was no movement from his stare, but she heard the click of the hammer.

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rookthorne · 2 years

Text

Biding Time | ꜱʜʀɪɴᴋʏᴄʟɪɴᴋꜱ

Pairing; Shrinkyclinks Word Count; 1.6k Warnings; hurt/slight comfort, hostage situation, WS!Bucky, implied character deaths (not Steve or Bucky), descriptions of blood A/N; can we stare at the gif I made for this header, just for a minute? if you time it right, he walks on beat to Seven Nation Army (no - that wasn't on purpose... 👀)

WHUMPTOBER MASTERLIST

Every man had a weakness. They found and exploited his, and they would sorely regret it.

Their control was slipping, they knew that much. Day by day, hour by hour - they were losing.

Somehow, they had not accounted for the sheer force of will Bucky Barnes had, nor his conviction.

There was no way in hell that they’d keep him pliant, cooperative - deadly - without the conditioning that was falling away faster than the shells they fed to a gatling gun. A single bullet was one shred of control gained by Bucky, one lost by Hydra.

It was a cruel game of just how long one man would last against the barrage of orders that went against his unshakable morals.

The words still worked, but he fought against them like a dog turned rabid. Each utterance spoken by his handler was like nails down a chalkboard to his ears and a hand over his heart - the sharp talons of death just waiting to squeeze against the unwilling soldier for any hesitation.

Everything changed the moment his cell door slammed open after an extraction of a mission; one he had failed to epic proportions - on purpose.

They had beaten him and shocked him worse than ever before, but somehow, he was still breathing - struggling and slipping between the savage mind of The Asset and that of Bucky Barnes.

It had been too long since he had been strapped to the chair, and way too long since his last forced sleep in the tube, so seeing the scrawny blond man being thrown against the cement floor of his cell was startling.

What kind of guard couldn’t even stand on his own two feet? The Asset wondered, absolutely perplexed while observing how the man’s shallow pants made his frail chest shudder.

The door slammed closed behind him and The Asset was confused - there were no guards or handlers in the room with them, there were no orders spoken, no indication on what to do with the man sprawled on the floor and almost coughing a lung up.

Cautiously, The Asset spoke. “Кто ты?”

The man on the floor struggled to his hands and knees, his laboured breathing a dead giveaway of how weak he was, and how easy it would be for The Asset to reach out and squeeze his throat. There was no order to, so he stayed his hand.

“Steve,” the man rasped in reply and The Asset tilted his head, still standing stock still in the corner while he observed. “My name is Steve.”

Steve was on his knees now, his head angled up to the ceiling while he gulped lungfuls of air down against the wheeze in his windpipe.

The Asset felt uneasy, a prickle of apprehension settled over his skin while he watched the man before him with such scrutiny; a wolf studying its prey.

The Asset knew him - but not from where.

“I’ve been looking for you, Bucky-”

A sharp stab of pain tore through The Asset’s temple like a branding iron and he winced, his flesh and bone hand pushing against his temple to abate the onslaught of visions in his mind’s eye. “Stop,” The Asset growled when a vision of the man before him lingered a second too long. “Nyet.”

“I won’t stop, Bucky,” Steve pushed on, now on his feet and crowding the soldier with little to no self-preservation. “I need you to come home.”

A cackling laugh echoed through the observation slit in the door and Steve froze before him, turning on his heel to face the door. Bucky backed further into the corner and thumbed at the holster on his hip, the handle of his knife - his only source of comfort, protection.

Arnim.

“You’re too late, Steve,” Arnim sneered. “He’s too far gone, but you’re going to help us control him.”

The slide slammed shut and the door creaked open to reveal three guards, and Arnim standing at the forefront.

“Like hell, I will,” Steve spat and the entourage chuckled. Arnim gestured to Steve and The Asset watched as two guards stalked forward to grasp Steve’s shoulders and kick out his legs.

Arnim strolled into the room to stand in front of Steve, a wolfish grin on his lined face. “Soldat,” he asked and Bucky felt his stomach sink. He could still see the young man from the flashes of memories like they were burnt into his eyelids. Nothing ever good followed that tone of voice. “He will be your new handler.”

Steve gave an almighty struggle against the hold of the guards and The Asset - no, Bucky - stepped forward without thinking, his left hand coming to rest with a tight grip on Steve’s shoulder to stop him.

If he strained hard enough against the fog in his mind, he could see the pressed sleeve of an olive uniform and a hand against the blond’s shoulder.

Protect. He had to protect Steve.

“Прекращать.”

There was a beat of silence before Arnim cleared his throat. “Fascinating,” he said.

Steve was staring up at him with barely concealed terror in his eyes, but Bucky squeezed his shoulder warningly.

He was Bucky, and he had to protect Steve. The thought lit a fire in his veins so strong it consumed him.

“Take him away,” Arnim barked and Steve struggled when Bucky stepped back obediently.

Steve’s shouts of protest echoed down the hall as the guards dragged him away and out of sight. Arnim turned back to Bucky and smirked. “You will receive your orders soon, Soldat.”

SLAM

The echo of the door after Arnim left rattled through his bones and through his chest. Now, all he had to do was bide his time - they would regret bringing Steve here.

Hell hath no fury for any man, or woman, that stood between him and Steve.

The next time Bucky saw Steve was a few weeks later.

Hydra had been sure to keep them separated after The Asset’s display of possessiveness back in his cell, and they were careful to only let ‘The Asset’ hear Steve’s voice.

Every syllable Steve spoke brought Bucky back, the shell of the man they had used to create a weapon faded every order Steve gave - because of his voice.

Bucky remembered that voice from before the war.

Hydra learnt that if Steve spoke to ‘The Asset’, that The Asset would follow through, no matter the heinous deed they bid - as long as it came from Steve. There was no need for the words.

After a mission particularly well done, Arnim had come into his cell with a bucket of freezing water and a cloth.

“For a job well done, Soldat.” Bucky eyed the bucket impassively while Arnim watched. “You deserve a reward,” he continued and Bucky looked up from the bucket into his face. “Steve is awaiting you.”

Bucky scrubbed his skin until it was raw, there was no way he was going to let Steve see the results of his words painted on Bucky’s skin like a grim portrait. He clothed himself in the rags they threw into his cell and followed them obediently, careful not to show just how eager he was to see Steve. He had a plan and he wasn’t going to jeopardise it over misplaced excitement.

The guard escorting him was sized like a brute, but Bucky could see all of the ways that he would crumple under a single hit. It was too dangerous to land a blow or lash out, Steve would be hurt and he could not allow that - no one hurt Steve.

“Stop.” The brute huffed and Bucky froze before the steel door. He could pick up a gruff accent in the guard's voice and it sounded American, like the men he used to fight with - not against. “Don’t try anything, Soldat.”

Bucky stared blankly at the guard and watched while he undid the latch to throw the door open, only to turn into a glare at the sight before him.

Steve was crouched on the floor, his arms suspended in chains above his head and a contraption was stuck to his back. It was spiked and if Steve moved even an inch, he’d be impaled.

The guard’s hand shoved him in the shoulder and he stumbled inside only to feel the gust of wind at his back from the door slamming and locking shut.

“St-Steve?” Bucky whispered, his voice rough and foreign to his own ears.

Steve’s hand twitched and he spoke to the floor, too weak to lift his gaze. “It’s me.”

Quickly, Bucky stalked forward and yanked the contraption from Steve’s back and tore the chains down from the ceiling. Steve slumped forward and Bucky caught him, sinking to the floor so he could cradle the smaller man in his arms.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Bucky chanted, his right hand kneading against Steve’s shoulder while his left cradled his back. The burn in Bucky’s eyes was unfamiliar and it scared him, his breath escaping in shuddered gasps. “I’m sorry.”

Steve ran a hand through his matted, wet hair and shushed him. “It’s not your fault, Buck,” he whispered.

They held one another in the dank cell for hours - Bucky too distressed to speak more than a few words at a time, Steve too exhausted to keep his head up.

“I will get you out,” Bucky said hoarsely into Steve’s temple, the fierce determination in his voice not deferred by the fear he felt coursing so viciously through his veins. “They won’t hurt you anymore.”

“I know you will, Buck. I’m with you.”

It was only a few days later when Bucky executed his plan, painting the cement walls crimson and black with the splatter of blood and bullets, all for Steve, who waited ready at the end of the corridor.

What was left of Hydra bled and wept through the cracks in the floor and down into hell below, where they belonged, by Bucky’s hand.

“Кто ты?” = “Who are you?” “Прекращать.” = “Stop.”

Graphics & Header made by yours truly.

Masterlist | Library | AO3 | Wattpad

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bucknastysbabe · 1 year

Note

your pegging fic with bucky was SO FUCKING GOOD. can you please do another one?? like im literally so into it i was drooling the whole time

as for plot, just making him cry again LOL and overall just having him be a mess because

we love that for him.

thank you thank you thank you!

Bro I am so sorry I have no clue how this escalated. You have another free Bucky railing fic that doesn’t include my brain going wild. But he do be crying and a complete mess. Thanks for asking and I hope you are at the LEAST entertained!

Goes along with Praise Kink

Shadowplay - Joy Division

Rating: Explicit

Word count: 3,882

Tags: TW‼️WHUMP, DEAD DOVE, UNHEALTHY RELATIONSHIPS, OFF SCREEN SUI‼️, Everyone is crazy, the reader is having a Hydra Life Crisis, Lots of ass play, pegging(m!receiving), fem dom, reader is ace spectrum, Bucky is a crybaby overstimulated touchstarved Angel, praise kink, slight dacry, angst ANGST ANGSTTTTT, switching pov’s like me in bed, they do a little Russian it’s called they do a little Russian, Hydra!Reader

A/N: idk man I’m just a vessel, also just liked the idea of there being a lead up to Buckbuck being like I Cannot Compute Anymore You Assholes then his boyfriend Steve saves the day💞 HC: Pierce likes Bucky be in emotional pain so sends him to her thinking he’ll kill the reader. Translations under cut

Russian translations: Милый (dear), блять (bitch/whore), глупая девчонка (foolish girl), Малыш (baby/bb boy), Умница (good boy), да (yes), хуй (cock), Трахни меня (fuck me), командир (commander), Спасибо (thanks/ty), зимний солдат (winter soldier)

To the center of the city where all roads meet, waiting for you.

To the depths of the ocean where all hopes sank, searching for you

The asset knew he had to report to his Komandir. That’s what happened every mission. They tried to tell the asset that Rumlow was his handler now. Rumlow was not his handler. Komandir was. But she had been gone for some time and he needed her back. The strike team leader was reckless and too bloodthirsty, not calculating enough. The asset could not say that out loud.

He trudged through dark alleys and poorly lit streets, rain pelting down on his leather tactical gear.

Nice Komandir. She was nice. The asset had unregulated emotions for her. He needed maintenance badly. First, the asset must give the mission report to her. The fake handler would be monitoring for the asset now, with their dogs and strike team.

Strike team would not find the asset. He will return himself after reporting to Komandir. The asset got intel on her whereabouts. She was relocated in New York under a new alias. The asset could almost smell her, see her, if he focused enough.

His boots slapped through a puddle before launching up a fire escape. The rain poured down harder— threatening to fill up the alley like an ocean. The asset would swim until his lungs gave out. The Director couldn’t take her away, putting her in an swarm of people or in the deepest cave. Because the asset would find her. She had to be locked up. She would never leave the asset.

They took her— he’d decided earlier after reporting to the pretender. The asset’s morale was sinking fast under Rumlow. That’s when the Director informed the asset on his Komandir. The Director had waved a hand dismissively, “Go find her then, do what you must and come back.” He didn’t understand but went out anyways.

I was moving through the silence without motion, waiting for you.

In a room with a window in the corner, I found truth.

Soldat climbed higher and higher until he was outside her window. He’d memorized it over and over and over and over. The asset grappled onto the thin balcony with a jump, using the moment to swing himself onto the platform. His covered eyes gathered the limited surroundings. A couple of flowerpots, an ashtray on the windowsill, and her familiar face gaping in the window.

The asset wanted to weep, kneel, receive her perfect touch. The asset only got stabs, bloody thrusts, and punches between his bloodshot eyes. Then wiped and put on ice. Although he hadn’t been put on ice much since transitioning to the United States. They had lots of people to get rid of before that. So the Director wiped him more often.

The window opened and her familiar rasp rang out in the rainy night, “Sweet soldier. You must be cold. Come in.” The asset nodded dumbly, shoving himself precariously through the window, contorting his broad shoulders and thighs to get through. Inside was a silent, thinly furnished room.

Cigarette stubbed beside the couch, the television playing something. His blues caught on a blanket and book, her handgun laid on top. Air blew the curtains softly from the window in the corner. The asset whimpered, “Where did you go Komandir?,” he fell to padded knees, “I cannot comply when Rumlow doesn’t have clearance for mission report.”

She cooed and stood tall as always, only clad in a thin gown. Komandir’s lips turned down at the mention of Rumlow. Her hands brushed his cheeks. Off came the goggles, then the mask. The asset’s wide blue eyes followed her obediently. One of her calloused thumbs strummed against his stubbled jaw. She said, “Sweetheart, I’m not officially your handler, not your Komandir anymore.”

He nuzzled into her hand, lips already wobbling. Why would they replace the best Komandir? She learned from Vasily Karpov, Vasily from…from. He couldn’t remember— there had been so many. One that smelled of aftershave and two older men with glasses that made him feel very cold.

She sighed, “They said I wasn’t worth their time sweet boy. I had to go.” The asset believed her, Komandir always told the truth. She knelt down and smiled, tears welling in her eyes. “You’re a star, precious, you shine so bright that not everyone can keep up with it.”

He replied, a ghostly whisper if anything, “The left me to Agent Rumlow. You couldn’t stay under him?”

Fear laced her stern features for the first time. The asset grew uneasy. His programming was screaming, “Maintenance! MAINTENANCE!” Her heart rate spiked rapidly while the agent fumbled for words. He gripped her wrist to bark, “You defected then! You defected like a coward and left me,” a sob tore his throat, “with them!”

His silver hand wrenched Komandir‘s other wrist towards him, her grunting in pain. Her breasts heaved as she panted. The asset glared her down, so many emotions swirling he felt he may explode. She lied to him. Why would she lie to him? Her star.

“Soldat. Status Report please,” she quavered.

Soldat’s tight shoulders relaxed minutely as he listed off, “Physical functions one-hundred percent. Maintenance required as soon as possible. Confusion, dangerously elevated norepinephrine, panic, traumatic response, and- and-,” he bit his tongue to stare. Komandir’s face was wrought with grief.

She murmured, climbing into the asset’s lap, “I need you to slow down comrade. It’s just you and me right now,” she pet his long locks to elicit that chest deep purr, “Can I tell you what happened while I get you clean sweet boy?”

The asset’s lids dropped at her soft body, familiar scent, and wise words. His plump lips trembled while whining, “P-please. I-I’m becoming…defective.”

“I know,” she soothed, “I know.”

In the shadowplay, acting out your own death, knowing no more.

As the assassins all grouped in four lines, dancing on the floor.

As the former agent pet her broken star her chest constricted with emotions. Pierce knew. The bond between asset and handler had grown entirely too close. He’d spat at her, “That thing is a weapon, not a puppy for you to coddle.” She wanted to tell the Director that a person could only go so long under this treatment before snapping completely. Render them useless to the plan. Whatever that may be.

Surprisingly Pierce had demoted her down to the lowest strike team squadron and elevated the prick Rumlow to be the next handler. The Director’s shiny teeth looked like fangs as he spoke, “I’ll keep you around because of your…skills. Any infractions you’re dead.”

So the former Komandir was a grunt again, under Strike Team Omega. They mainly went around sabotaging small terrorist cells. Soldat whined under her hand again, the woman tilting his wide eyes up. She frowned. Poor baby looked so broken, so lost. He had no clue he was going to leave here without his Komandir.

“Take off your gear, precious,” she ordered.

The Russian divested soldat of his guns and knives, laying them out on a neat line. She asked, “How much are they putting you on ice sweet boy?” His blues grew disoriented as he thought. Mechanical as ever, Soldat’s hands divested his leather top.

“Not much. More wipes. Something is coming.”

Something was coming. Maybe not now but in a couple of years. Pierce had something big. There was a reason scientists were holed up in one the hangars, crews building day and night. So they were over-using the soldier to make sure nothing crept out.

She thumbed the seam of scars along the asset’s prosthetic, the other’s hands jolting at the sensation. His pretty lips opened to whimper. Komandir unbuckled his belt and hummed, “They demoted me. I was with a lower strike team. I couldn’t take it anymore. W-without you I cannot provide anything useful for the greater cause.”

The woman remembered her last point. They were in Zagreb celebrating after a arms dealing commune was torn to shreds. Instead of going home, the team helped themselves to the women in trafficking. Assassins, warriors— dancing fools with these broken women. The former handler left and didn’t look back. She knew nothing. Hydra had a purpose once. It grew rancid just like everything else.

And with cold steel, odor on their bodies made a move to connect.

But I could only stare in disbelief as the crowds all left.

Alone in the world again. The Komandir wandered and wandered. Somehow always getting roped back into the underbelly of civilization. She told the silent asset about it. He seemed just as lost contemplating free will.

“I joined a couple of syndicates, former KGB, some widows. I moved around the states and just found no one had a goal. I just try to get by now, my sweet. It’s not pretty out there.”

She wiped her nose, “And to think I’d always dreamed of having you to myself forever. Sick. Selfish.”

I did everything, everything I wanted to.

I let them use you for their own ends.

Tears welled in Komandir’s eyes. She pulled his huge frame close and cried into greasy hair. “I should have got you back, kept you safe, get Hydra back to stage one,” her voice cracked, “I don’t know. I just ran and left them to break you down even more. I-I-I-I’m so sorry Милый, I’m so sorry.”

The Russian knew how this would end. She would die and be a remnant of something unattainable. Perfect was unattainable. Soldat was the closest she would witness and that’s enough. She stroked his wide back with gentle circles, sobs dying.

Soldat’s voice was a dull rasp in the pitch room.

“What would you have me do, Komandir?”

He looked so hopeful. Rage filled her heart, cracking and blistering from exposure. Run with me, start anew, kill that блять Pierce. The woman sat back and put on a smile. She purred, “I would have you relax and let me take care of you, sweetness.”

The asset nodded, unlacing his boots, plates in his arm clacking and humming. The woman thumbed his delicate nose, the thin skin under a once bright blue eye. She whispered, “Such a pretty soldat, perfect soldat.” Silent tears slid down her face. Vasily was probably in a hideout shaking his head. глупая девчонка.

She said, “I’m going to get the bath running, just lay your clothes out and join me,” she shushed his panicked noise, “Just around the corner Малыш.” She padded through the small apartment, ignoring the state of it. Soldat likely cared.

The former agent ran it scalding hot, throwing some lavender in there. She readied a towel and fluffed it. The bath tub was small, but she wanted to pamper her perfect star anyways. She worried her lip, he seemed to be cracking, bad. Too much time off ice and repeated wipes have not been studied. Komandir had never heard him speak so much, all that raw emotion.

Soldat’s hulking frame shadowed the doorway. Knelt down the Komandir beckoned him over. He gracefully clambered into the tub, sitting down with a grimace.

“Too hot?”

“No. I like it hot,” he murmured.

Her eyes roved the beauty of his body, stopping on heated cheeks, full lips, bulky chest, and that beautiful cock. It laid on his belly, a deep red and leaking. His balls were tight but she could see the stress, the heaviness of it. Supersoldiers needed to cum much more than the average man.

The woman grabbed a cup and dunked it to fill it up. Her other hand cupped his knee, thumbing the soft inside. Soldat whimpered again, dark lashes fluttering. She poured the water over his oily dark hair, doing it again until it was soaked.

“Lean up baby.”

She poured some cheap shampoo into her palm, lathering it up. The asset groaned deep in his chest at the contact— nails scritch-scratching away the oils and dirt. He stated, “I’m not supposed to remember you.” His watchful orbs looked up.

“You’re not supposed to remember that you’re not supposed to remember, Умница.”

He bit down on his lip and warbled, “I’m s-scared Komandir. I don’t know what’s happening to me.”

You’re falling apart.

“Shh, baby, in the moment now, in the moment.”

He stilled but Soldat’s eyes had that ingrained wide-eyed fear. She washed the suds out and combed through the tangles, earning some pretty sighs. The Komandir found herself lecturing, “What the Americans do not get…you have to make sure your weap- agents are clean and cared for.”

She hissed while scrubbing his wide shoulders and neck, littered with yellowed bruises, “They don’t take care of their prized fist, that’s why poor soldat is feeling down.” He nodded along, shoulders relaxing minutely. Komandir washed down his arms, digging out the blood encrusted into the plates.

She did the rest methodically: Wash the feet, move down to the toes, calves, thighs. Stop. Soldat was mewling and squirming, face trained on her. His lips wobbled, brow furrowed in agony. The asset whined, “Komandir, please, need your touch, help me.” She ran a hand slowly down his trembling belly, palming the swollen cock.

“Soon, Малыш,” she promised.

His bitten lips pouted, but her good boy always listened. She stated, “I was blind that Hydra would keep the original goal alive. I felt more confident leaving knowing that. But I was wrong, sweet baby. You’re the key and they don’t know it.”

Komandir pulled out a straight razor and shaving cream. She shaved his stubble while continuing, “You will be the one to change Hydra. Burn it into the ground or rise above the sham it’s become. That’s your reality, and the time will come. You must not fail now dear soldat.”

He steeled himself, relaxing under orders, vague as they are. She knew Soldat knew he had to wait for the perfect moment. The brunette thanked her in the softest voice when she wiped off his newly cleaned cheeks. The woman cooed, “Never seen a prettier baby. Turn over so I can get everything.”

By the time she’d cleaned and prepped the soldier out he was a mess. He’d come once already, scrabbling at the tile and wailing in ecstasy. Poor thing wasn’t done. Now dry, her perfect soldier rutted against her soft, soft thigh. His pink lips were sealed around her nipple, whining and suckling.

She pulled at his long locks and said, “As a gift,“ she tapped his cleft chin, “Do you want your Komandir to fuck your sweet hole?” The Russian wouldn’t mention it was a final gift. He babbled in multiple languages but the message was clear— fuck me. She smiled down at his teary cheeks and cooed, “Eager baby. I’ll show you what it’s like to be fucked. Not like those jackasses.”

“Mmmh-pleaseee,” the brunette wantonly begged. He rutted against the bedding while the Komandir moved to a chest in the room. The asset drooled, spreading his thick thighs to draaag his achy cock against the too-soft material— eliciting an annoyed whine.

“Almost there my star,” she laughed. There were some noises of clipping and leather. To their ears it sounded like a gun belt or harness of sorts.

She clicked the heavy black silicone into place. There was no other side to stimulate the woman. Same as it always was, it was her precious boy’s pleasure to take, not her own.

Ambling over to the bedside she asked, “Front or back sweetheart?”

“Front, front, front!,” he babbled.

“Okay. When you see me and change your mind just say so baby.”

He made a confused gesture but flipped onto his back, exposing that pretty pink cock again. Drool actively collected on his plump lips at the sight of Komandir’s strap. He obviously had never seen anything like it. Scarred hands gave it a slow stroke, fingers barely able to meet around the girth.

“Well?”

The asset whined her name thinly, begging for her to take him. She climbed upon the bed one knee at a time, hand on the cock, eyes heady and glued on the trembling soldier. She purred, “Are you sure you want it? Reaaaally think baby boy, there’s freedom of choice under all that mess.”

She tried to play it across seductively but the true meaning was laid bare. Soldat’s eyes flicked about the heavy silicone, throat bobbing in anticipation. He began to speak, faltered, frustrated tears welling up. Finally with his head down the soldier croaked, “Please, want you, please.”

“I’ve got you.”

To the center of the city in the night, waiting for you.

She stripped off the gown and tossed it to the dingy carpet. The woman crawled between his legs and kissed a path up to his waiting mouth, puckered tightly. He was vibrating with need, huge arms circling around Komandir’s slim waist. He closed the gap, licking into her open lips.

The woman seized Soldat’s throat with a loose grip, just to stabilize the inevitable freefall. The brunette’s lips were insistent, demanding— like he was trying to take her soul. She moaned lowly, twisting around his probing tongue easily, lips wetly smacking. She nipped his lip playfully, squeezing his veined throat.

The soldier cried out, teeth gnashing against hers as he kissed and kissed and sucked. The soft skin of Komandir’s belly rubbed against Soldat’s achy need, sending pin pricks of pleasure to overstimulated nerves. When she suckled on his tongue, the titanium arm shifted with a shrill whine.

She pulled back breathless, patting the hand once round Soldat’s throat on his sweaty chest. He mewled in frustration, rutting his cock into the air, no release on the horizon. The Russian cooed, “More kisses soon needy boy. You want my cock in you, да?”

Soldat nodded, tears dripping like a leaky faucet down his red red cheeks. The assassin spread his legs wide open, tucking heels against the meat of his ass. Komandir crooned, “Look at you, precious thing, all open and ready for my хуй.”

“Трахни меня! Fuck me!,” he sobbed.

She shushed him with a slight slap to a muscular thigh, wrapping them up around her hips afterward. A once-manicured hand guided the fake cock to the asset’s pink hole, glistening and ready with slick. He babbled, “Oh please- need it, командир, please!”

Without a pause she jabbed the entire length into his eager ass, pretty soldat crying in relief, ripping his big hands through the shitty sheets. She thrust into him deeper, before pulling out with a lurid squelch, then diving back in twice as hard.

The Komandir poured all over her anger, heartache, stupid stupid love, agony into the brutal fucking. The asset’s brown locks bounced around as he drooled and moaned like a slip of a thing getting her pussy split in half. He was in paradise. The woman grunted, smoothing her palms up his ridged torso, “Singing so sweetly baby, you feeling good star?”

“Y-yes,” he choked on his spit, “Gonna cum!”

She cocked her head in surprise, not missing a beat, “So soon, after I milked you out in the tub too? Greedy babe.” More tears leaked at the humiliation, the asset pulling her on top of his writhing body. He nuzzled into her sweaty hair, panting, “Mmmfuck, more, always more, never enough from you Komandir.”

Finding her own eyes growing wet the woman fucked him harder, shaking hand rolling his still swollen balls around. The asset mewled in her hair, getting it sticky with spit. His back was tightly arched as he clung to her. Behavior one wouldn’t see out of a six foot, two-hundred something pound killing machine.

He whimpered, “M’cumming, cumming for you, fuck!”

She seized his newly shaved chin and pressed damp foreheads together. The Russian breathed, “C’mon then, paint me up my precious. Good boys like you get to cum all they want.” He fell apart beautifully, all violent twitches of big muscles and the bloody biting of lips. Cum plastered her belly and even tits. The asset cried for his Komandir, trembling as she licked his tears up.

A feeling of time slipping struck the woman in the chest. In a fervent frenzy she coaxed him onto his belly, the soldier still dazed from the earlier release. The woman propped his ass up, praising the greatest creation of Hydra through her tears.

Die between his beautiful thighs.

She slid back into his sore hole, thumbing around the rim as she watched the stretch. Soldat snuffled, “Спасибо, Спасибо, Спасибо.” The brunette rutted back onto her brutal thrusts, bracing himself on his arms. Constant noises dried his mouth out but everything felt so good. His Komandir, back again to take care of the asset.

The Komandir was drilling his sweet spot dead-on now, moaning softly in delight. She pulled at her precious baby’s engorged cock and cooed in his ear, “Taking me so well, that’s my boy. I love you. You’re going to do big things,” he sobbed and spread out sluttily, “Bigger than me, Rumlow, Director, the whole lot of them.”

The asset was mewling and babbling, nose runny from how overwhelmed his body was. Everything felt like it was getting fucked on his touchstarved body. The cum getting forced out of his balls was spreading all over Komandir’s bed. But he was listening to her words, trying to, hard when he was about to explode.

“Promise me зимний солдат,” she whispered, “Promise me that when the chance comes you take it, okay sweetling? Do it for your Komandir who loves her star very much.” The woman couldn’t hide the crack in her voice at the end. Those gorgeous blues gazed at her like she was good, whole, someone who hung the moon and stars.

“глупая девчонка”, Vasily would say.

The woman kissed his blubbering lips to stop herself from crumpling. He panted, “I promise, I promise Komandir. I will cuh-comply.” He was puffing out weak cries now, twisting underneath her clumsy strokes. She swiped her thumb over the red hot tip of the asset’s cock and watched him spill for a third time, crumpling with a cracking wail. Only a bit spurted out this time.

The Komandir pressed her lips to the center of his spine, chest heaving. She sounded like a broken machine at this point. “Promise me, promise me precious star.” He wept, “I promise, I do, I love you, always follow my Komandir.”

The once prideful woman knew that was the last words her boy should utter. She eased out of his overtaxed hole, shushing him and holding on to that sweet little mewl for dear life. She took off the harness, aware of the soldier waiting. The woman would cuddle up for now, letting the soldier gather her up in his warm embrace. She snuggled tight, imprinting this moment into her soul.

His breath petered out into slow puff, mumbling ‘love you’ sleepily. The Komandir slid from his embrace, padding to the kitchen. Her heart was eerily calm. She knew this had to occur for the greatest creation of Hydra to rise above. His pain would fuel the fire of the future.

She scrawled out a letter, sweet as could be, apologizing for everything. The woman knew she deserved death. She wouldn’t make him do it. Ripping off the Hydra insignia necklace she kept on her neck was placed on the letter.

The woman moved the the couch and grabbed the gun. Shift, click, pray for me soldat, pull.

To the center of the city in the night, waiting for you.

#READ THE TW AND TAGS #answered asks #bucky is touch starved #ws bucky gets his ass rammed #winter soldier x reader #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x reader #hydra trash party #hydra reader #angsty angst angst #songfic

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