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deadtired-highkeyenergetic · 19 hours ago

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HEADLOCK

JAMES BUCHANAN BARNES

that was the name written on a gravestone in brooklyn with no body below it since the sergeant had been pronounced dead in 1945.

the body that once belonged to that name was now hydra's most prized possession— but the winter solider was not the only danger locked away down in the remote siberian facility. you were there, too. a monster made from horrors most refused to believe could be real.

two trained killing machines.

one bound to commands and trigger words.

the other bound to instinct and bloodlust.

it had been a long time since either of you had seen the sun. you could get out with his help in the brief, painful moments of clarity he had. when he answered to that long forgotten name, you could escape together.

but bucky was often buried under that brooklyn headstone-and the winter solider who slept in the bunk below you nearly every night was a danger to even you.

this is a fic that explores bucky's time in hydra. the content warnings are as follows: torture, manipulation, angst, pain, psychological horror, graphic descriptions and language, poetic comparisons to cannibalism, hurt with minimal comfort at times, stockholm syndrome, smut, degrading, power imbalance, canon divergence. 18+ fic.

bucky x fem!reader (you have a given name in this fic for the sake of making writing easier, but it will be used sparingly)

word count: idk i write on tumblr— but this one is long... (roughly edited)

<- previous part

PART THREE —

— GREAT ADVENTURES

it was snowing.

outside the walls of hydra’s siberian facility, it was snowing. the snow glimmered like millions of diamonds under the glow of the midnight moon. you stomped through it like a toddler stomped through puddles. you kicked it up at you walked, bearing your teeth in a smile that was all too feral as they escorted you both to the chopper.

the last time you had gone outside it was barren. it had been summer. and although summer was nearly just as cold as it was now, there had been no snow.

you liked the cold.

the real cold.

not the stale cold of the hallways or your bedroom.

not the cold of the cryochamber.

you liked the cold of winter.

“keep your head down,” he said, grasping the back of your neck and dipping you with him as you climbed into the chopper.

a team of three was dispatched with you. handpicked by the head captain, the heavily armored soldiers stood a chance against everything except you two. you did not know their names. you did not see their faces. they were nothing but extra hands on the job.

you could kill them all in an instant if you wanted to.

it made you grin to think about.

he noted the line curled across your lips and pressed his leg against yours. you looked up at him. to others, the blank expression on his face meant nothing— but you could see what others could not. every micro expression was as loud as if he were to have shouted at you.

‘behave.’

you turned your head away and stared out at the open sky. it had been a long time since you had flown anywhere. you used trucks on most missions. they loaded you into the back together — usually in handcuffs — and you would stare at each other and brace for each rattle on the bumpy, unpaved roads down the mountain. you were loaded into underground trains. choppers were only used if you were going somewhere far, far away.

and that’s exactly where you were going.

far, far away.

the chopper landed at a small airport controlled by hydra intelligence responsible for monitoring the airspace along the mountain range where the siberian base was located. as you climbed out of the chopper, you were each sent to change. while this was an assassination attempt— it was an recon mission, too.

your group was joined by two more hydra agents.

officers.

these faces you knew. you knew their names, too: karov and nikta. two nasty rats that spread disease everywhere they went— and for the last two months, they had been following the unlucky shield agent you’d be taking the head of.

“this is ridiculous,” you muttered. you tried to tug the brown skirt down lower but it wouldn’t stay put. despite the fact that you had thick winter stockings on, you felt exposed.

“it looks fine,” he said with a glance your way.

“you get to wear that,” you gestured to his outfit that consisted of plain blue jeans and a nice winter jacket with a red and black flannel below. “and i have to wear this…”

you stared at yourself in the mirror and scowled at what you saw. a skirt. a blouse. earmuffs! you looked like an office secretary. you looked ridiculous! the fur-lined coat was nice but you wanted your gear. your leather padding and bullet resistant armor. you had never gone anywhere without it— and now you were in furs and…tights.

you did not like this whole going undercover thing.

you turned away from the mirror without looking at your face.

the small office room was quiet as the two of you finished getting ready. you slipped on chic winter boots and pulled on velvet-lined gloves. looking over your shoulder, you watched as he pulled a beanie over his head.

with a gentle hand, you reached up to straighten a piece of his hair. it was strange to see him in clothes like this. he looked like a lumberjack. you weren’t quite sure what you thought lumberjacks wore these days — you still had no idea what year it was — but you felt like it was close enough.

he looked…normal.

if only he were normal.

if only you were.

the plan was simple.

you would take a small passenger plane out of one of russia’s major airports to new york city in the states. while each one of your team members had different roles to play and backstories to go along with their reason for travel, you and the winter solider would pose as a married couple on their honeymoon. you had been issued fake passports with the same last name. you were given fake wedding rings. the suitcases you carried with you had the same tags.

an easy cover for the two of you to keep, all things considered.

you toyed with the ring on your index finger as you recited your script in your head. in the back of the cab with him on the way to the airport, you had never felt so claustrophobic.

‘the year is 1983. my name is natalia andreev. this is my husband, ivan, and we are on our honeymoon. we have been together for five years. i am twenty-seven years old. my name is natalia andreev,’ you told yourself over and over again in your head.

my name is isla constantinescu.

you could see yourself in the reflection of the window.

you looked as though you had seen a ghost.

it had been a long time since you said that name to yourself— and it made your stomach lurch.

you kneaded at the edges of your skirt and squeezed your eyes shut. being in the warm, wobbly taxi made you nauseous. you bit the inside of your lip and tried to focus on your breath.

you were going to be sick…

you looked up at him as he brought your hand to his lips and kissed your knuckles. one at a time, he kissed each knuckle on your hand. each one on your fingers. the tension in your shoulders dropped and you found your breath. as his eyes met yours, he nodded once.

you nodded, too.

when you arrived at the airport, whatever nerves that had come over you in the taxi were gone. you slipped your sunglasses over your eyes. the sun had not risen yet but it was habit to cover a part of your face. you took his hand as he helped you out of the car. he tipped the taxi driver the minimum before taking ahold of his bag and guiding you inside.

you couldn’t recall the last time you were at an airport like this. the crowded, noisy place was exhilarating. you never saw more than a group of twenty people at a time. right now, you saw hundreds upon hundreds.

“this way,” he said with a soft tug of your hand.

you felt a bit jealous as you watched him do all the talking. your script was so minimal. hi, my name is. this is my husband. and yet here he was talking all sorts of nonsense to the worker at the counter as you both handed over your passports and luggage that would go underneath the plane.

“honeymoon, aye? are you both excited?” the lady at the desk asked. she looked at the two of you with a beaming smile.

“very,” you said, a bit tenser than you meant to.

he hooked his arm around your waist as if you were his most prized possession and smiled between you and the lady at the check-in desk. “it’s our first international trip together. new york has been on our bucket list for a long time. what better place to go to celebrate us being in love than the big apple?”

you kissed his cheek but couldn’t muster the courage to say anything.

you don’t know why it made you sad.

why it made you mad.

it felt like they put you both through this on purpose— like they were rubbing normalcy you’d never have in your faces.

as you walked with him through the airport holding nothing but each others hands, you could see on his face that he was thinking something the same.

“when we get to new york, we will have to wait for karov and nikta to arrive. they are landing at a different time and in a different airport in the evening. the strike team arrives in the morning. we will spend the night in a hotel alone together and tomorrow once the strike team arrives, we will kill nick fury.” he whispered into your ear.

to those passing by, you were a couple giggling and murmuring a quiet conversation to each other as you shared an orange. you picked a piece free and offered it to him, “lucky us. no cameras watching. no guards hawking over us. how will we spend our night of freedom?”

“i’m going to fuck you.”

you shoved the orange slice into his mouth and he laughed as you scowled. he grabbed your wrist and tugged it down away from his mouth before you could swat at him. you shook your head and scrunched your nose— but you couldn’t help but laugh, too.

“you’re not funny.” you whispered. your face was unhelpfully hot.

“you’re laughing.” he said, chewing the orange slice you stuffed into his mouth.

you rolled your eyes and turned away. “am not.”

“are to.” he said, pinching your cheek.

you leaned against him and tucked your face down into his chest. he let you stay there. he rested his lips against the top of your head and pressed soft kisses to your hair. all the tension you held within you dissipated entirely. for the first time in a long, long, long time, you felt like you could breathe.

— ☆ —

you didn’t like flying.

helicopters were something you had grown used to, but you had never been on a airplane for longer than an hour or two.

you grew more and more restless on the long flight to new york. he didn’t seem the most thrilled either. while other people napped and talked amongst each other, the two of you stared at the seats in front of you and didn’t say a word.

what was there to say?

what did you two ever talk about?

nothing.

you talked very little to each other despite spending nearly every waking second in the same room unless forced apart. you didn’t know how to talk to him. there was nothing to catch up over. no future plans to fill each other in on. there were very few fond memories to discuss— but out of habit, you never spoke of anything fond out of fear that those memories would be stripped from you.

if hydra knew you kept anything close to your heart, they would grind it down to dust so fine it would be indistinguishable from all the other black gaps in your memory.

“try to sleep,” he said softly.

you looked up at him but his head was tipped back against his headrest. his eyes were closed. you doubted very much that he’d be able to sleep. he hardly slept in his own bed as it was. he hardly slept ever. you were supposed to be the nocturnal monster, not him.

you wouldn’t pass up the opportunity to potentially pass the time though.

you hooked your arm through his and rested your head down on his shoulder. when he didn’t nudge you off, you let your eyes fall closed. the closer you were to him, the harder it was to let your guard down but it was an itch you couldn’t help but scratch. a festering wound.

he was the most dangerous thing to you— and yet you clung to him, seeking some semblance of normalcy between you both.

it was too warm.

it was too noisy.

it was too bright.

he was the only familiar thing.

not even the clothes you wore were your own…

you couldn’t keep your eyes shut for long. you tried. you really did. you squeezed them shut as hard as you could but it felt like invisible fingers pried them open.

you were bored.

for the first time ever, you were bored.

on base camp, every single move you made had to be calculated. you could never let your guard down. not ever. there was no time for boredom. you focused on training. you focused on what the cameras may see if you did something out of line or said something you weren’t supposed to. you spent time in bed with him, drowning out any downtime the two of you had at night until you were exhausted.

you looked down as his hand slid over your thigh. you realized then that you were squirming in your seat. you were so tense you could’ve broken your own bones if you didn’t relax.

you watched as his warm, calloused fingers danced along the edge of your skirt.

your chest stilled as he slid his hand underneath it. you looked up at him as if he were crazy. in a way, he was. the bastard hadn’t even bothered to open his eyes and check if anyone was around.

that’s because everyone was already around.

the plane was full. the people in front of you were smoking and chatting about business deals and money. the people across the isle were sharing snacks and reading separate books. the people behind you were arguing under their breaths. one of them was a lair and the other was a fool.

his palm pressed against your thigh and you spread your legs out of habit. grasping ahold of your arm rests, you held your breath as he traced circles onto your clit through your fleece-lined tights. you had never wanted to moan more. you bit the inside of your cheeks to keep quiet. when you looked up at him, he was finally glancing around to make sure no one was paying any mind to the two of you.

“winter,” you breathed his name against the warmth of his shoulder.

“shh,” he murmured. he pinched your inner thigh and made you squirm. he smiled to himself. “be a good girl and i’ll make you cum as soon as we’re alone.”

you didn’t make a peep the rest of the flight.

— ☆ —

from the moment you stepped off the plane and out of the airport, you were smack dab in the middle of one of the busiest cities in the world. cars honked and people shouted vulgar words at each other. the streets were congested with hundreds of people. thousands of them.

the world was so much larger in real life than you could ever remember it being.

and the sun was so unbelievably lovely.

but american’s were so noisy.

as the two of you stood in line to call for a taxi, you were curious if people in new york knew they didn’t have to yell to speak to each other. the two of you couldn’t help but stare as a loud group of men passed by. one of them pursed his lips and blew a kiss at you. you grabbed ahold of winter’s arm as his faced pinched with disgust.

“easy,” you whispered.

winter hooked his arm around your shoulder and tucked you into his side. “pig…”

you smiled to yourself.

you couldn’t help but close your eyes and tip your head back, resting it on his shoulder. the sun felt good on your skin. it felt good on your face. you could’ve spent hours basking in it. it was warmer here than it was back in russia. it was noisy and crowded, but you were comfortable on the sidewalk despite the commotion. you did not shiver the way you did outside the airport back home.

even your companion was tilting his head from side to side to catch the sunlight on his face.

the taxi ride took longer than you thought it would. it was longer than the drive down the mountain did when you left the basecamp for internal ground missions. there were so many streets in new york and not one of them had a steady flow of movement. too many cars. too many people. the two of you stared at each other as honking and swearing sounded off all around you from outside.

it was hard not to laugh.

it was hard not to be amazed by the city itself.

you never imagined buildings could’ve been built so high. the two of you stared up in disbelief at the size of the skyscrapers as you drove by. you pointed at all the flashing lights and dazzling signs. there was so much to see. so much to smell. but not all of the smells were good…

“thank you,” he said in english as he reached over to slip the taxi driver the american money he kept in his pocket.

it was strange to hear him speak anything other than russian. it was strange, too, to finally hear a language that wasn’t russian.

that was all you two spoke day to day.

that is what the guards spoke.

the doctors.

the overseer.

sometimes, you forgot that you even knew english.

the hotel was…standing.

you hadn’t expected anything lavish. you had not known what the world was going to be like when you stepped foot back into it. you were assassins on a mission to take a man’s life. you weren’t expecting a pool— but maybe something more than a grimy old building that smelled like dust and mold.

you really, really hated this undercover shit…

it was easy enough to find your room. third floor, third door on the left. he twisted the key into the lock and pushed it open— but it wouldn’t budge. he bumped his shoulder into it. nothing. he rammed into it a bit harder and the door popped open with a stickier sound than either of you would’ve liked to hear.

“after you,” he said, gesturing his metal arm.

you pulled your suitcase inside and tried to keep the facial expressions to a minimum. “hm…”

the room wasn’t as bad as you were expecting. whatever cleaning services the hotel employed, they employed one’s that at least kept the rooms to a healthy degree of cleanliness.

it was a small room. obnoxious floral wallpaper matched god awful floral bedsheets, but the bed was comfy. you sat down on the edge and bounced a bit. it was much comfier than your mattress in your cell.

there was a large mirror across from the bed. a desk with a lamp that didn’t turn on. a small ice box that had nothing inside it. a large window with white curtains drawn open. a bathroom off to the side with a bathtub and shower all in one.

“this is something, eh?” he sat down beside you and tested the mattress for himself. he cocked an eyebrow. the bed was the redeeming quality of the whole hotel thus far.

“definitely something,” you agreed.

it grew quiet between you.

painfully quiet.

you couldn’t help the way you brought your hand to your mouth and chewed on your nails. you never bit them off. they were too long for that. they were weapons no one could take from you— but you did chew and click them against your teeth when you felt on edge.

when you felt nervous.

“look at me,” he said.

you couldn’t.

“look at me, isla.”

you stood.

turned away from him, you cringed at the sound of him standing, too. you cringed at the way that name sounded. you could feel him behind you like a shadow. looming over you. he stared down at you. his fingers twitched at his sides.

he’d chase you if you ran.

you’d run away so many times…

the first mission you ever went on, the reason you bit him was because he got between you and the only thing that mattered to you.

blood.

you’d run away each and every time they let you out. you never ran with the intent to go away. you knew nothing but your cell in the facility. you knew nothing but chains and following orders. you knew nothing but him— which is why you always came back.

and he would wait for you.

he would wipe your bloody mouth once you’d had your fill of whatever you could find in your small moments of freedom.

“i need to shower,” you said under your breath.

he said nothing.

you could hardly hear the spray of the shower head pouring down onto the tile. you could hardly hear anything that was not your blood ringing in your ears. you stared at yourself in the mirror as it began to fog. you leaned forward, your fingers brushing against the reflective glass.

is that really me?

you looked up as he caressed your face in between his metal fingers. he pursed his lips and tipped his head, a silent warning not to slip down into that rabbit hole. he’d be forced to pull you out of it— and he didn’t want to do that. not now. not after your neck had just finished healing.

you weren’t allowed to look in mirrors.

hydra feared that if you looked at yourself, you’d get lost trying to find the woman in the mirror.

for him it was easy. he was fractured into thousands of pieces that made it impossible to see himself as anything at all.

his reflection was nothing but that.

your reflection was every question you didn’t know how to ask— that you could never have answered.

you watched as he stripped himself of civilian clothes with a bitter taste in your mouth.

you wanted to shower.

but you went nowhere without him.

it drove you mad sometimes.

he drove you mad.

always him. always you both. always together. never apart. never alone. never not beside each other.

even now, with no one forcing you to stand side by side or be in the same room, you were still together. still right next to each other.

everything you did he had to do, too.

you wanted more than anything to hate it. you wanted to hate him. you didn’t like him. he was a parasite at your side. a collar around your neck. you could’ve hit him right now it made you so angry to see his face. you wanted to.

you wanted to want to be alone, too, but that was a feeling that had never once come.

if he walked out that door right now and decided to lay in bed and watch shitty cartoons instead of shower with you, you’d follow after him without a second thought.

there was no where he went that you did not go.

there was nothing you did that he did not do, too.

you stood together in the shower close enough so that the water could spray down over the both of you. your soft, warm breath fanned across his chest as you both soaked in the heat of the scalding hot water. you’d never taken a shower so hot. it hurt— but it felt so damn good.

you took turns under the stream once you began to clean yourselves off. you washed away the airport air from your skin. you washed away the cigarette smell that had clung to you from the taxi. you washed away the chill under your skin that living in the lab put inside you.

you wished you could wash more off you— but the hotel would run out of water before then.

you sat on the floor by the bed in nothing but a towel as you watched him struggle to work the tv. the small shitty box was fuzzy with static that made an awful noise. he pressed all the buttons at the bottom. only more static. he slammed his hand on the top of it, hoping to rattle something into place.

nothing.

you made him turn it off and he obliged.

he sat down beside you on the floor in nothing but a towel, too.

you whispered it like a passionate confession, like it was something sacred, “i hate you.”

but it was a lie.

you both knew it.

and he said nothing.

“i really, really hate you.” you finally looked at him, wanting to see his reaction. you wanted to see him angry because you were angry— but he just stared at you. like he always did.

he narrowed his eyes and looked up at the ceiling, tilting his head. “i hate the color of this room.”

for a long moment, it was quiet.

“i hate the tv.” you said, your lips twitching with the urge to frown.

“i hate the way those jeans felt.” he said.

“i hate the clock. it ticks at an off time.” you said.

that was true. every three seconds, the little red second hand would stall. it would miss a beat.

you glanced at him as he reached over to grab something out of sight. your eyes widened as he threw his boot and shattered the clock. glass fell onto the floor and the clock broke into bits. you looked at him, eyes blown wide.

the corner of his lips twitched.

yours did, too.

and the two of you laughed.

he watched you as you crawled over to the mess he’d made. holding your towel to your chest with one hand, you picked up a large shard of glass with the other. you admired it. he’d broken something and there was no one to scold him for it.

you looked up as his shadow swallowed you whole.

his palm lay open. waiting.

you placed the piece of glass in his hand and expected him to toss it away. he would clean up the mess. he didn’t like mess.

your eyes widened as he pressed the glass into his skin and cut a line down his lower stomach. dark red blood trickled down his toned belly. it stained the towel.

“what the fuck are you—”

he grabbed you by the roots of your hair and shoved your face towards the wound. a wince escaped you. you glared up at him as he forced your lips against the cut. red smeared across your chin.

“drink,” he said softly.

“i— i don’t want it.” you whispered, his blood spreading across your lips with every word.

“you always want it.” the way his voice sounded made you feel small. “you fool the others— you may even fool yourself, too, but you don’t fool me, little monster. i see the hunger in your eyes. i hear you breathe in the smell of me in when i’m near. i feel it in every kiss.”

“now drink.” he commanded.

a soft cry escaped your lips as you gave in. your hands curled around his thighs and you sat up on your knees to reach the wound. you wrapped your lips around it and sucked the red into your mouth.

his blood burned on the way down like whiskey did.

the frenzy of bloodlust did not consume you whole as you swallowed mouthful after mouthful. you were too well trained to feel that when it was he you drank from.

but you felt euphoria.

he gripped your hair between his fingers and groaned as you sank your teeth into him. sharp and quick. you licked at the hurt. you kissed it. you suckled at the weeping injury and swallowed everything it had to offer, clinging to him as he spread across your tongue, slipped down throat, and warmed your stomach.

“fuck,” he breathed, rubbing his thumb across your hairline. “that’s a good girl.”

“more,” you pleaded, your breath hot on his skin.

“more.” he whispered, nodding his head.

you dug your nails into his thighs and bit him again. he groaned at the sensation— at the sight. your mouth was covered in him. your teeth. your tongue. and you were looking at him. staring up into his eyes as he stared down into yours.

he wanted you to eat him whole.

he wanted to be inside you— apart of you.

you were eager to have him.

you dipped your head down and grazed the edge of the towel around his waist with your mouth. he let go of your hair slowly. you bit down on the damp fabric and tugged.

the towel fell.

his long, muscular legs were covered in dark hair. his waist was outrageous. the V-line of his naval was covered in blood. it made your mouth water. you ran your eyes along the dark trail of hair matted with red that went from his belly button to his cock.

you’d never put him in your mouth before.

not really.

he had every right to be reserved about it.

sharp fangs weren’t exactly ideal for such a sensitive place. you knew part of him was always worried that you’d bite it off.

“kiss it.”

you looked up at him. an emotion you hardly ever felt squirmed within your insides. a furious blush colored your face and it became hard to draw a steady breath as he wiped his blood off your lips.

humiliation wasn’t something you ever felt.

but you did right now.

and you liked it.

“kiss it, isla.”

the tip of his cock was soft against your lips as you kissed it. once. twice. three times. once you began you didn’t want to stop— and he let you cover him in kisses.

you kissed down the curve of his shaft. you grazed each pulsing vein with your lips. the heat of his erection burned your cheek. it weeped sticky, pearlescent tears from the slit— and you caught them on your red-stained tongue.

he pulled you off the floor by the back of your neck and consumed you in a hungry, feverish kiss.

your head hit the mattress with a thump that didn’t hurt. you grabbed him as he crawled atop you. he tore the towel around you open. his human hand grasped your breast as he bent down to kiss you. he could taste himself on your tongue. the metallic twang of blood and salty sting of precum.

that’s what he wanted.

he wanted you to consume him so he did not have to feel guilty for consuming each and every bit of you.

it was a mess of red between you as you hooked your legs around his waist. the cut on his stomach and bite marks beside it dripped with blood. it smeared between you both. it was hot on your skin. it spilled onto the duvet and stained the sheets as it slipped off you.

you squirmed helplessly as he grabbed ahold of his cock at the base and angled it down towards you. ragged, broken breaths escaped you. you dug your nails into his shoulders as you felt the tip at your entrance. he grabbed ahold of your chin with his cold, metal hand and stared into your eyes as he pressed the head of his cock into you.

a low sigh of relief escaped you both.

you reached up to caress his face and you pulled him down into a desperate, wet kiss. he parted his lips to taste your moans as he began to ease himself inch by inch into you. your eyes pinched shut and you whimpered into his mouth. he let you have it all— and you took the whole of him, settling for nothing less.

you hooked your arms around his neck and clutched him to you as he began to thrust. hard. so hard that it stung the skin of your thighs as he snapped his hips into you. he buried his face down into your cleavage, grunting against your skin. your hips rolled in time with his, grinding down onto him at just the right angle that his pelvis hit your clit.

it was so easy for him to make you cum— and he fulfilled his promise on the plane.

your eyes rolled back as you tipped over the edge. sharp, breathless moans spilled through your lips as he watched you come undone below him. he smiled. he always did when you came. he kissed down your neck, making you tremble as he placed warm, savory kisses to your sensitive skin.

a sudden strangled cry escaped you.

you looked down as his teeth pressed into the skin of your chest, right above your left breast. you smashed your palm against the side of his face, trying to shove his mouth away. he caught your wrists and stole the other, pinning them above your head with the metal arm.

tears wet your lashes. it felt like fire. like terrible, awful fire that kept growing and growing.

he did not have sharp teeth— and it hurt far worse to be bitten by him than it did to be bitten by you.

you felt your skin give way and his teeth sank in.

you swallowed the cry at the tip of your tongue and watched as he pulled his mouth off you. his eyes widened. blood began to rise out of the marks his teeth had left. a tremble ran through you as his lips curled up into a smirk.

you tasted like sweet cider.

a quiet moan slipped passed your lips as he thrusted his hips forward and fed off you.

it was a sight you never wanted to forget.

he picked his head up and licked the bright red blood off his lips. the sound of his pants made you squirm. he did not try to hold you down as you reached for his face. he let you— and he let you kiss him.

he let you on top.

his head tipped back and his breath shuddered as you bounced above him. the wet, sloppy sound of your movements mixed well with the thump of the headboard against the wall and the squeak of the bed springs. his fingers dug into the soft flesh of your waist, eliciting a wince from you.

you liked that it hurt.

you liked that you were a mess of red and sweat that dirtied a bed that didn’t belong to you.

you liked that you were raw, weeping wounds.

he did, too.

“enough,” he rasped, entirely breathless. “get up.” his throat bobbed as he swallowed. “i’m close.”

“finish,” you whispered, dipping your head down. you ghosted your lips across his and stared into his eyes.

he laughed lowly, “don’t piss me off, kúkolka.”

you frowned at him.

his brows drew together in a small expression of sympathy. he patted your bottom and gave you a soft kiss as he nudged you, insisting you get off.

you did as you were told.

you laid down on the bed and kept still as he slid behind you. he pressed his face against your back and let out a shaky breath as he reached down to stroke himself. the tip of his cock slid over your ass as he worked himself to the edge of his release.

“kiss me,” he breathed against your ear.

you turned your head over your shoulder and pressed your mouth onto his. he grunted against your lips. his hand move furiously, chasing the climax he had been cresting.

as the seconds passed into minutes, he grew frustrated.

“you witch of a woman,” he hissed through his teeth. he pressed his forehead down against yours and growled under his breath. “fuck…”

a small purr escaped you as he grabbed your wrist and placed your hand on his cock. he looked into your eyes, pleading for your help. you leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his lips.

all you had to do was tease the slit with the pad of your thumb and he crumbled into a mess of tremors, moans, and ribbons of cum that painted your belly.

you watched as he rolled onto his back. his chest rose and fell wildly. a flush of blood to his face colored his cheeks pink and sweat beaded on his hairline. his stomach and waist were covered in dark, dried blood— but so were yours.

“so much for a shower…” he whispered.

he turned his head at the sound of your laugh.

a real, genuine laugh.

it made him smile— and then it made him laugh.

really laugh.

it was deep sound that came from his belly.

you crawled beside him and giggled as you placed kisses to the scar where flesh met metal. “let’s clean up. i don’t want nikta or karov to come knocking and find us like this.”

“in a moment,” he said as he wrapped his arms around you. he tucked his face in between the warm, soft nook of your breasts and closed his eyes. “let me catch my breath.”

— ☆ —

karov and nikta brought pizza.

you sat on the floor by the window, eating your second slice as you watched the three men huddle around a map that nikta had spread out on the bed.

the mess you and your companion made was no where to be found. no glass on the floor. no blood on the bed. not a single thing looked out of place which gave neither officer anything to hold a grudge about.

officer karov was a short, doggish-looking. he barked like one, too. his voice was gruff and deep. a low bass that rumbled across the room even when he did his best to whisper. he wore nothing but his uniform every time you saw him— except for now. he was wearing a hawaiian shirt and tan cargo pants.

office nikta was a tall, brown haired man with bright green eyes. he had hundreds of freckles on his face and the broadest shoulders you’d ever seen. he wore a nyc sweatshirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing all the bite marks and scratches that usually stay hidden under the layers of his uniform.

you knew nikta well.

he had been on the team that looked over you when you were first created. he had been the one to break you in. to teach you hydra’s version of right and wrong. it was his job to make sure you followed orders.

the only man who scared you more than the winter soldier was officer nikta patrova— and the bites on his arms were all accidents.

most of them, at least.

“it will work.” nikta said, crossing his arms over his chest. his voice was a buttery rasp that sent chills down your spine. “you have never missed a shot.”

the winter solider dipped his head.

but you noticed the deep crease between his brow.

“you don’t think so?”

all three men turned to look at you as you asked the question. you stood up and brushed any lingering crumbs off your shirt. karov and nikta made space for you as you wiggled your way between them.

the mission was to kill agent nicholas fury.

nikta and karov had studied the agents whereabouts every day for two months. like clockwork, agent fury would enter the shield agency posing as a bank at 7am for work. he would leave at 1:13pm on the dot every day to get himself a slice of pizza three streets over on his lunch break. he would return to work at 2:33pm without a second to spare.

the plan was to shoot nicholas fury on his walk back from his lunch break at 2:22pm when he passed by the ironwork offices where the winter solider would be perched in the window ready to fire the shot accompanied by officer karov and one of the strike team’s guards.

if the grace of god blessed nick fury and winter somehow missed the shot, you would be waiting on that street for him and take a shot of your own. if all went the way it should and winter hit his target, you’d be sitting a cafe with officer nikta and the remaining two strike team guards ready to confirm the kill and take the agents remaining eye.

a request from the overseer himself.

“you don’t look confident, solider.” you said, narrowing your eyes at him.

his jaw tightened and he forced a smile. “i guess i’m a bit butt-hurt there’s a plan in case i miss.”

a beat of silence passed as you two stared at each other. if you had knives, you would’ve been digging them into each others guts.

the officers stiffened beside you before they bursted into fits of laughter that felt painfully out of place.

“you are a funny guy, soldier.” nikta said, clapping winter on his metal shoulder. “don’t be so hurt. i don’t believe you’ll miss, but someone does have to be down there to take what we need.”

winter dipped his head once more and let the tension from his shoulders go.

“do you understand the plan?” karov asked as he looked up at you.

“mm,” you grunted before returning to sit by the window and watch.

— ☆ —

karov and nikta overstayed their welcome.

you were grateful they got your tv to work and brought the best food you’d eaten in stretched out decades, but you were happy to shut and lock the door behind them as they left.

you did not mind that he turned the tv off as soon as they left.

he could feel you staring as he cleaned up the mess of greasy napkins they had left behind on the desk alongside the empty pizza box. “what?”

“truth. now.” you demanded, plain and simple.

“i find it odd,” he said as he tossed everything in the trash. he glanced over his shoulder at you. “the fact that they would separate us.”

“we have done missions like this before. the murder of chairman kruger and his son is one that comes to mind first. the virus plant in…tch…what was it again? 1957?” you asked.

“1956, actually.” he said passively. he hook his head, “but this is different.”

“it’s no different. you kill. i confirm and clean up any mess that you make on the ground— most of the time by killing everyone else.” you said.

“not when shield is involved.”

you closed your mouth.

you had killed shield agents before. it was always an ambush somewhere quiet. somewhere they couldn’t be reached by help in time.

and yet agent fury was going to be only a street and a half away from a covert shield agency.

he was right.

“maybe there is more to this than we know. we are deployed with officers, after all. they must know more. there has to be more.” you said softly as you sat down on the edge of the bed.

you looked over at him and shrugged, trying your best to ease his worry by being rational. “there are always secrets they keep from us, winter.”

he said nothing as he walked over.

you felt your lips twitch with the urge to frown as he kneeled in front of your legs and rested his head down on your thighs. you ran your fingers through his hair and leaned down to kiss the stubble on his face.

“we will do what we came to do and then we will go home.” you said softly, assuringly.

he could only muster a nod.

you nudged him and he picked his head up. the look in his eyes made your heart tremble in your chest. those deep, blue eyes were full of unease.

what you did, he did.

but not tomorrow.

“come to bed,” you whispered, scooting yourself back onto the mattress. you pulled down the covers and slipped underneath them.

he clicked the lights off before he crawled into bed beside you. the city outside the window was bright with flashing signs of all kinds. it was easy to see his face as he laid his head next to yours on the pillow. your hand curled around one of his metal fingers rested on the mattress between you both. he stared into your eyes as you burned this moment with him into your memory.

“tomorrow,” he said softly. he lifted your hand to his lips and kissed your fingers. “if i miss—”

“you won’t miss.” you interrupted.

“if i miss,” he said again, sternly this time as he met your eyes. “you run.”

your brows drew together and your lips parted in protest— but protest did not come. not when he pulled you in by the waist and ran his hand over the curve of your cheek.

not when he looked at you like that….

“promise me that you’ll run,” he whispered, his nose brushing against yours. “and that you’ll run to me.”

you nodded, hardly able to find your voice. it was tangled in your throat. “i’ll…i’ll run to you.”

he smiled. it was soft and sweet on his face and you wished you could’ve stared at it forever— but he pulled you into a kiss that tasted tender and devote.

you had little time to worry about what spooked him so badly as he pulled you on top of him and slipped his hands under your shirt.

tomorrow would happen as it would.

for tonight, you focused only on him.

hope you enjoyed. part four coming soon. let me know if you would like to be added to the tag list.

tags: @aegonshusband @homiesexual-or-homosexual

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deadtired-highkeyenergetic · 1 day ago

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Been hitting milestones both here n on twt so thanku for 750+ flws!!! As a reward hav this dr strange thirst trap

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deadtired-highkeyenergetic · 1 day ago

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Made a little oc who is a clone of bucky to be made into another winter soldier by hydra but before he could be conditioned a secret group of indie hunters broke in and destroyed the lab where this Lil guy was found. One of the hunters named Nan took him in and raised him to be a hunter they are like indie agents but also fight vampirss aliens and anything really threatening earth. The oc is named Mikhail, and he looks around 20 years old. He has no memory of his origins but adores Nan as his adoptive grandmother.

That's all I got so far.

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deadtired-highkeyenergetic · 1 day ago

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crimson eyes | season1rivals!bucky x reader

warnings: teeth-rotting fluff, no smut, bucky calls reader doll once, no use of y/n, soft kissing, mentions of blood and wound, you stich bucky’s wound up

new york was as much as a hellhole figuratively as it actually was. vampires roamed the streets, and if it wasn’t vampires wrecking everything it was looters trying to get what they could to survive. you and barnes were housed together in a small, cramped apartment, as you have been for the past month and a half. there were two bedrooms, both painfully small. you got the ever so slightly larger one.

one night, bucky came home from a grocery run with a bloodied shirt. “what the hell happened? oh my god, are you ok?” you shot up from the couch and examined his arm, which was the source of the bleeding. “i’m fine. i ran into a little…problem.” he winced in pain as he put the bag down. he was bleeding out everywhere, and he still managed to bring your shared groceries home. interesting.

he sat down on a stool as you got a medkit to stich him up. he took his shirt off, and the wound wasn’t as bad as you thought. it was superficial, and it was pretty clean, thank goodness. but that wasn’t the main thing you were looking at. you were slyly looking at his chest every now and then as you stitched him up, his strong abs speckled with white hair, that gathered at his happy trail, which went lower and lower and..

“ow, fuck-“ bucky yelped as you poked the wound a little too hard as you were too busy checking him out. “shit, i’m sorry! lemme get you some tylenol real quick.” you stood up and made your way to the kitchen cabinet that hosted a couple of different medicines, and you found the pain killers. you looked back at the soldier. “do you want something to drink with this?” he looked back at you, and a bit of silence hung in the air. “water’s fine.” he said flatly.

you continued to stich him up for a couple of minutes, and the wound was completely sealed up for the most part. he had stopped bleeding mostly as well. “thank you for takin’ care of me.” he said quietly as you sat in front of him, wiping the dried blood softly with s gauze pad. “it’s my job. we’re here to take care of eachother, right?” you murmured quietly as he nodded.

“i found some things at the back of a walmart that wasn’t picked through for you. some candy and stuff.” he gestured at the bag that was filled with stuff, even a small plushie toy. you smiled excitedly and chuckled. “i..thank you. i didn’t even know candy still existed here, y’know..”

the two of you gazed at each other for a while. you felt you could get lost in those crimson eyes of his as they seemed to pierce your soul. the smile on his face faded. he placed his organic hand on your knee, and it rested there as he leaned in. a soft blush ran over his face. you could feel his warm breath on your face, and he looked at you with his one-quarter lidded eyes, “is this ok?” he whispered quietly. a hot blush rsn over your face too, and your cheeks flushed. “yeah.” you remarked in a hushed tone. with slight hesitation, he learned in even more and gave you a feather-light kiss. your lips met softly as you closed your eyes, and his hands moved to your hips.

he pulled back and looked at you again, a darker shade of pink now on his face. you put a white lock of his behind his ear as you said, “what was that for?” you muttered. “it was.. it was a thank you.” he kissed you again, this time with more pressure, and his metallic hand cradled your face as gently as it possibly could. you kissed him back, and tangled one of your hands in his snow colored hair. he sighed in the kiss, and kissed you back even deeper. his hand kneaded your plush waist as his artificial one rested on your collarbone. he broke the kiss, and he gazed at you as he licked his lips.

“you’re a good kisser.” he said as he got up. you watched him, wondering where he was going. he walked over to the walmart bag, and pulled out a king sized snickers. “wish i could of known sooner, though.” he smiled coyly and gave you the candy. “this is my favorite..” you smiled me stood up. you wrapped your arms around him, even though he somewhat towered over you. “thank you.”

he kissed your forehead softly and rested his hands around your waist. “you’re welcome, doll.”

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deadtired-highkeyenergetic · 1 day ago

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HEADLOCK

JAMES BUCHANAN BARNES

that was the name written on a gravestone in brooklyn with no body below it since the sergeant had been pronounced dead in 1945.

two trained killing machines.

one bound to commands and trigger words.

the other bound to instinct and bloodlust.

but bucky was often buried under that brooklyn headstone-and the winter solider who slept in the bunk below you nearly every night was a danger to even you.

bucky x fem!reader (you have a given name in this fic for the sake of making writing easier, but it will be used sparingly)

word count: idk i write on tumblr. (roughly edited)

<- previous part

PART TWO —

— KEEPING AN EYE

you hit him hard enough to hurt.

if you didn’t, someone else would.

and you couldn’t let that happen.

if anyone were to draw blood from his veins, it would be you. only you understood what it meant to make the winter solider bleed. only you understood the importance of his blood. as you kicked him across the face, it kept him out of that god forsaken chair.

it kept his mind in one piece though you split his lip in two.

“jackass,” he hissed, cupping his mouth. he spit out red and it splattered across the sparing mat.

what a waste…

stop it.

“c’mon, winter.” you raised your hands and shifted your weight, watching each and every move he made.

he was slow this morning.

slow enough to draw the attention of those who sat inside the observatory box above you. the dark glass was almost a mirror. it blurred the shadows of the people inside— but you could feel them watching.

they were always watching.

everywhere except your bedroom, they were always keeping their eyes on the two of you. guards by the doors. cameras with blinking red lights, recording every second of your day. always being watched. always being tested and studied.

the winter solider swung at you— but your reflexes were as fast as his. maybe faster.

whatever they had concocted in the bottle your abilities came out of made you a lethal machine of blood and bone. you could smell blood from miles away. you could crush bone between your teeth. you could hear the faintest of sounds. you could track trails that had been cold and dead a long time.

but you were impulsive.

hot-headed and volatile.

that is why they paired you with him.

he was exactly what he was supposed to be.

a weapon.

a weapon they had no problem deploying against you to keep you from biting back at the hands that made you.

the winter solider uppercut you with that hard metal fist.

you stumbled back, catching yourself with your arms spread out. you spit out a tooth. a bloody red smile curled across your lips— and the tooth you lost was replaced by a new one in an instant.

the guards lining the room gripped their guns as they watched the two of you spar.

that was too gentle of a word to call what transpired on that mat.

it was war.

it was rage and blood and pain.

you swung yourself around him like a spider as he tried to pin you in a headlock. he hissed through blood stained teeth as you choked him with your legs. he roared like a feral animal.

you braced yourself as he slammed you both down onto the hard, cold mat. air escaped your lungs in a violent gasp. the two of you grappled for control.

he always had to have it.

and that vibranium arm made it easy to grasp.

he felt no pain.

no matter how hard you bit down, your teeth would break before the metal did. he pinned you down onto the mat by your face, hard metal fingers digging into your cheeks.

“yield,” he rasped.

you swung your legs up and caught his shoulders. twisting like an alligator, you rolled the two of you. you jammed your knee down into his throat, gasping for breath. that metal hand still encased your mouth.

‘yield!’ your eyes demanded.

“no mercy.”

the voice that came from the speakers above froze you both in place on the mat as it echoed across the room.

for a moment, all you did was stare at each other.

and then it was blood and pain and war again.

the winter soldier kicked you off of him in one fluid strike. you hit the mat hard. landing on your side, your ribs took the blow. fire encased your side and you scrambled to get up.

but he was already above you.

he grabbed you by your hair and pulled you onto your knees. you struggled to fight off the hold he had on you— but once that cold metal arm slid around your throat and he hoisted you up, it was over.

you choked as he dangled you inches above the ground. you tried to claw at his face but your hands kept flying back up around the hard metal to pry yourself free. the bruises on your neck made the pain worse. he crushed your throat in the bend of his elbow and leaned back, restricting any and all airflow you could get.

you tappped— but he did not let you go.

he couldn’t.

no mercy.

the edges of your vision began to blur. you could hear his breath fade in and out as he struggled to hold you still. your hands dropped from his arm, nails cracked and red with blood. when your head fell back against his shoulder, the lights went red.

“mercy.”

the winter soldier lowered you to the ground and placed you down on the mat. he stepped away as two guards swarmed you. he licked the blood off his lip and watched as they injected you in the thigh with a large, sharp needle.

you shot forward and let out a strangled, broken scream as adrenaline shot through your veins.

you grabbed one of the guards by the throat and dragged him in an instant onto the floor below you. the other guard shot you before you could tear at the padding protecting his throat.

you winced as the dart stuck into your arm.

you plucked it out and tossed it aside. you wobbled as the sleeping agent calmed the rage of adrenaline. the guard shoved you off and you hit the mat face first. blood smeared across your cheek as you landed in the puddle of it.

his blood.

you parted your lips and breathed in through your mouth, catching the faint taste of it in the air. a soft cry escaped you. you fought against the heaviness of your eyelids as you crawled across the mat. blood streaked along the dirty floor as you pulled yourself through it.

when you finally blacked out, you did so with your hand curled around the laces of his boot.

the winter solider looked down at you. he nudged you with his foot but you did not move. those slender fingers stayed curled around his laces. laying there beside him face down on the mat, you looked nothing like a weapon— a heartless killer.

you looked like a woman.

he bent down lifted you off the ground like a groom would his bride— and he carried you off the mat without looking back at the box above.

— ☆ —

the good thing about getting your ass kicked was the medicine.

they drugged you up good when the bruises on your neck turned black and blue. that was the second time in only a handful of hours that he choked you. you were in for a rough couple days. it was hard to swallow and you were glad of it.

they gave you as much blood as you wanted.

they let you poke a straw straight into one of the spare blood bags they had stocked up for moments like this. you sipped it like a juice box, your feet propped up as you watched old black and white cartoons in the medical bed you were strapped into by the waist.

he sat beside you.

in an rickety wooden chair with his arms crossed against his chest, he had little interest in the cartoon. he watched the way you licked the dark red blood off your lips and sucked it off your teeth. he watched the way the corner of your lip would twitch into a slight smile when something was funny to you.

tv was a privilege so rarely gifted.

so was a smile from you.

you glanced at him out of the corner of your eye.

you should’ve been used to him staring at you by now. it had been decades now of you two staring at each other. most people were gray and wrinkled in that amount of time. married with kids and grandbabies to spoil.

marriage would never be possible for either of you.

you didn’t want to marry him, anyways.

you didn’t want to marry anyone.

you didn’t want him to marry anyone.

ever.

yet your face burned the longer he stared.

“spit it out,” you rasped through a weak, crushed windpipe.

he rolled the word on his tongue before spitting it out at you. his voice was too gruff. “sorry…”

“i don’t like when you say sorry.” you sighed. you focused on the cartoon, finding yourself less and less interested in the moving pictures. “just…just cut it out…”

“i am sorry, isla.”

the blood bag burst and splattered red across the whole of him as you threw it at his head.

you bared your teeth in a wicked, feral scowl whilst he sat as still as stone. blood dripped off his face and pooled on the chair as it slipped off his gear.

“don’t.” you hissed through your teeth.

with great restraint, the winter soldiers wiped the blood from his eyes— except it wasn’t him. not really.

he was not alone in those deep, blue eyes.

you watched as he stood up and felt panic arise in you. your were trapped. you were strapped down to the bed with no way to free yourself— but the tension dropped from your shoulders and you uncurled your hands from around the sheets as he turned up the volume on the tv.

your heart skipped a beat as he reached above and turned the camera away.

“what are you doing?” you asked in a whisper as he approached. you were gripping the sheets again.

“you have a mess to clean up, no?”

you couldn’t tell who was speaking to you now. who was looking at you as he sat down beside you. he spoke like winter. he stared like him, too. cold and calculated.

but the way he spoke.

the way he spoke was different.

you winced as he kissed you.

it did not hurt in the slightest but you braced yourself as though you expected it to. you braced yourself for his hand at your throat.

his hand did touch you— but it was not the metal one.

his warm, calloused fingers caught your chin between their tips as he kissed you slowly.

your lips parted and your tongue swiped across his mouth, cleaning him of the blood you so rudely threw at him. your heart pounded with every sound outside the door. it wouldn’t be long before they realized he had turned the camera.

you had been caught doing worse with winter before.

but you were not kissing him now.

bucky savored the way each messy kiss felt on his face. it made him smile. spots you would clean of blood would cover him again in lipstick-like marks all over his pale face. you couldn’t help yourself.

blood and kisses— two things that disarmed you.

you swiped your finger along his jaw, catching the blood stuck in thick, un-fallen droplets. he watched you lick your finger clean.

to winter, it would’ve been arousing.

to you, it almost was.

to him, it was intimate.

bucky swiped his thumb across your lips. you were turning into more of a mess than he was. a soft tremble rattled through his frame as you sucked away the blood on his thumb.

“taste good?” he asked in a whisper.

“not as good as you.” you murmured, nipping at the tip of his thumb.

it wasn’t exactly true. his blood had no appeal in the sense that it quenched your thirst. it never did. you could not feel satiated on his blood alone.

but you loved the taste of it because it was him.

the door swung open and guns cocked, red lasers trained to the weakest parts of you both. one shot with the bullets in those guns would kill you. you both turned your heads as the guards parted and the head captain stepped into the room.

bucky was quick to stand and fall in.

you bared your teeth, a strangled growl slipping through them as he bashed bucky across the face with his gun.

bucky kept his head down.

the head captain walked across the room and positioned the camera back to the way it was supposed to be. a clear view of you on the bed. of him beside you in his chair— but they did not let him sit back down.

they did not let him stay.

and they did not let you watch tv again.

— ☆ —

it was weeks before you saw him.

they kept you from each other as punishment for the little stunt he pulled— and to make sure you recovered from your injury without any hiccups.

you two were prone to…roughhousing…and they couldn’t risk you worsening in any way.

once you could swallow real foods and the swelling in your throat went down, they let you out of the infirmary. you hated being there. that bed was uncomfortable. those lights were too bright. the smell of sterile alcohol and bleach made you feel sick.

the sound of him screaming made you feel sick, too.

they brought you into the lab bound in chains from head to toe with that metal muzzle over your mouth and forced you to stand in front of him. white froth spewed from his mouth around the black plastic bite they shoved between his teeth. the blood vessels in his eyes began to burst as he strained against the pain.

“longing.”

you turned your head at the sound. behind you, one of the doctors held that red notebook with the star. you curled your hands into fists and grit your teeth together.

they weren’t punishing him.

they were preparing him.

“rusted.”

he screamed around the bite in his mouth, shaking like a seizure patient within the chair. the veins in his head threatened to burst. his hips bucked wildly as if he were trying to stand— trying to escape.

you fought the urge to step forward.

no matter how valuable you were, they’d shoot you.

you’d be dead before you hit the ground.

“seventeen.”

you knew what each word meant. you had learned them over the last four decades as you watched them break him apart and reconstruct him.

they wanted you to know them in case you needed to put him back in his place.

longing— for his old life.

rusted— for his arm.

seventeen— the year he’d been born. 1917.

“daybreak.”

he groaned in agony as the tremors worsened. every vein in his body was protruding out of his skin. tears dripped from his unblinking eyes as sweat slipped down his face.

daybreak.

it was a taunt.

a jab at him.

at you, even.

you couldn’t remember the last time either of you had seen the sun. they dispatched you at night. neither of you had felt the sun on your skin in a long, long time.

“furnace!” the doctor shouted over his cries.

that’s where they threatened to throw him if he disobeyed. they’d burn him to nothing. they’d destroy him entirely.

“nine!”

nine for the date 1945.

the year he’d been pronounced dead.

“benign!”

that is how they saw the part of him they wanted weakened.

they wanted bucky barnes to be nothing more than a benign piece of his past.

“homecoming!”

this carefully picked set of words would bring their prize weapon home no matter how hard he fought against them.

“one!”

a weapon with one mission.

“freight car!”

the train.

his demise.

the death of james buchanan barnes.

the machine whirred as it powered down. the locks that held him in place unclicked and unlatched from around him. the steam wafting off him from how hot he’d become under all that strain fogged the air. his bloodshot eyes were void of all and any bit of emotion as he stood.

guards drew their guns and aimed them at his chest.

but there was no need for such a thing.

“ready to comply,” he rasped, his voice raw.

you stumbled as the guard holding the leash of heavy chain handed you over in one rough, unkind movement.

the winter solider glanced at you.

though they wiped him clean, he could never forget you. you were too ingrained in his program. he went no where without you— and you nowhere without him.

but he was as unfeeling as the metal arm he looped the chain to your collar around. with a small tug, you stepped to his side. a well trained beast. you did not need words or pain to make you fall in.

you only needed fear of the winter soldier.

and that is something you felt down to the marrow of your bones.

you feared him like a child feared the monster under their bed— the way the guards feared you.

but you were drawn to him like a moth to a flame.

the two of you walked down the quiet, cold hallways with guards in front of and behind you. the collar around your neck was offensive to the leftover bruises, but you ignored it. it’s not as though you could tell anyone it bothered you, anyways.

the metal muzzle kept you from making a sound.

the dark, stuffy room you two were brought to was familiar. you sat down in your respective seats — two desks beside each other — and stared at the blank white screen ahead. a soft click echoed behind you and light shot out from the projector.

“this,” the head captain said as he pointed to the picture on the projector screen. “is shield agent nicholas fury.”

the image of the man with one eye on the screen was one of the clearest pictures you had ever seen. and it was in color.

you glanced at him as he glanced at you. you both wondered how long it had been since the last time you were awake if they had such high quality colored pictures these days.

“he has become a top agent in shield’s ranks and he has fallen onto our red list. he knows too much about the weapons we build. weapons designed to harness the power of the tesseract— and we fear shield has begun searching for it, too,” said the head captain.

“we want him gone.”

you sat back in your chair and rested your hands in your lap. it had been a long, long time since you were dispatched to assassinate a member of shield. nearly three sleeps ago, if you could remember correctly.

it was the most dangerous kind of job.

you turned your head to meet his gaze. he had the same lazy look in his eye that you did.

you were both pitifully unamused.

hydra had such a bad habit of leaving messes for you two to clean up— but at least it meant you’d be free of this hell-hole for a while.

“tell us where to find him and we will put an end to him.” the winter soldier said lowly.

you stuck out your hands, jiggling the chains. your eyes crinkled at the edges in a wicked, devilish smile.

the winter solider shared that same smile as he watched them strip you of your cuffs, your chains, and your collar.

you both had a job to do.

and neither of you were intent on letting the name nick fury mean anything for a moment longer.

hope you enjoyed. part three will be on its way soon.

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deadtired-highkeyenergetic · 1 day ago

Text

HEADLOCK

JAMES BUCHANAN BARNES

that was the name written on a gravestone in brooklyn with no body below it since the sergeant had been pronounced dead in 1945.

the body that once belonged to that name was now hydra’s most prized possession— but the winter solider was not the only danger locked away down in the remote siberian facility. you were there, too. a monster made from horrors most refused to believe could be real.

two trained killing machines.

one bound to commands and trigger words.

the other bound to instinct and bloodlust.

but bucky was often buried under that brooklyn headstone— and the winter solider who slept in the bunk below you nearly every night was a danger to even you.

this is a fic that explores bucky’s time in hydra. the content warnings are as follows: torture, manipulation, angst, pain, psychological horror, graphic descriptions and language, poetic comparisons to cannibalism, hurt with minimal comfort at times, stockholm syndrome, smut, degrading, power imbalance, canon divergence. 18+ fic.

bucky x fem!reader (you have a given name in this fic for the sake of making writing easier, but it will be used sparingly)

word count: idk i write on tumblr. (roughly edited)

PART ONE —

— HALF DEAD

it was easy to remember the first time you saw him.

it was hard to tell which one of you had been made first. you took turns asleep. most memories you had these days were all black. large gaps in time that felt like nothing at all. it was hard to wake up every time they thawed you from the ice cold sleep that could’ve been death itself. you often wished it was. it would be easier if it was.

he was young.

you were young, too, and you knew that— but you hadn’t look at yourself in a long time. many turns in the black sleep had robbed you of youth regardless of if it showed in your face or not. you would be nearing a hundred soon — so was he — even though you both still looked like you were in your late twenties.

they were putting you down as they were waking him up. that was the first time you saw him. the chains around your hands, ankles, and throat jingled as you walked. the iron slab around your mouth they used to muzzle a danger like you kept you from say anything— but you never said a word to anyone. not unless asked. not unless told. you were well behaved.

but not one of hydra’s weapons were as well behaved as him.

the winter solider.

he was a whisper in the halls when you were awake— and you saw him with your own eyes as they laid you down in the chamber you’d spend at least fifteen years frozen in.

he looked at you.

as guards pulled him from his own cryochamber, he stared at you from across the dark, cold lab. his breath fogged as his chest rose and fell in slow, pitiful motions. the frost began to melt off his long, flat brown hair. it dripped in time with the clang of your chains. even as guards and scientists began to poke and prod at the two of you — readying you both for separate things — you stared only at each other.

‘hello, solider,’ your eyes seemed to say.

the corner of his mouth twitched. ‘hello, monster.’

the likelihood of ever seeing him again was slim. you knew that. hydra was far too careful having made such dangers like the two of you. he would remain a whisper you’d overhear about in passing. perhaps for him, you’d remain the facility’s rumor of unimaginable horror. a nightmare that the guards were relived from once they put you to sleep with no intent of waking you for years.

if the guards were really lucky, hydra would keep the two of you underneath the floor boards until they got to retire.

you and the winter solider were separate projects.

two separate missions.

two separate files.

two separate entities.

until you weren’t.

the first time you had been paired together, it nearly ended in catastrophe for hydra. as two stone-cold killers who lived to do nothing else, you did your jobs.

and you did them well.

in the dead of night, you were like whispers in the wind. you slipped into the soviet outpost together like creeping fog. your mission was covert. you were sent to seek and destroy— and you were nothing but shadows on the walls. soundless footprints on the floor.

you killed who you were sent to strike down in the warmth of their beds.

you found what secrets hydra sent you digging for and buried what was left in ash and rubble.

the overseer had predicted you two to do well—but he had overlooked your… appetite.

james buchanan barnes had been made into a super solider. he was a dog that followed orders and submit to the will of whoever held that notebook with the star on it. all it took was a few hand-picked words to break him into shape.

but you…

you were something else entirely.

you submitted to nothing but the cold embrace of black, icy sleep.

you hungered for warmth. ice was so often the only thing that you were met with that you hungered for the warmth of skin. the warmth of blood— and that is what you sank your teeth into his neck to find.

red stained the snow outside the outpost as the winter solider grappled with you.

the vampire.

while bucky had been made to counter the star spangled hero known as captain america— you had been made for the simple fact that they wanted to try. they had plucked you from the streets of romania. it was one of the few things you could recall about yourself after all this time. using a serum similar to the one that made the winter solider so strong and an invasive set of surgeries that reconstructed your jaw, teeth, and tongue, hydra had made their very own vampire.

though they severely underestimated the strength of you when they let you run free on your first field test.

you had done your job. you had been trained to follow orders and you had— but once those orders were fulfilled….

you gave into the bloodlust that made a monster like you what you were.

it was only thanks to his metal arm that you were subdued that night. the cold kiss of his fist made you bleed instead— and you suckled on your bottom lip the whole plane ride back to camp c3 bound in chains from head to toe.

he sat across from you.

he stared at nothing but you as he clutched a sterile clump of gauze to the puncture wounds in his neck.

a monster indeed.

it comforted him to know that he was not the worst thing they cooked up in that lab.

but oh, how he wished to be you.

and you pitied the poor bastard for it.

they kept you awake together since that night. if you were put under, you were put under together. you awoke together. they trained you together. there was no mission done that was not done alongside the winter solider. there was not a waking moment for you that didn’t revolve around him.

which meant you heard the terror in his screams as they broke his mind each and every time it tried to piece itself back together.

you were lucky.

you were a solid wall. nothing within you got out and nothing they could subject you to got in. they had taught you hard lessons, sure, but there was nothing they could strip you of the way they could strip him of things.

they had taught you not to hunger for your own blood. they had taught you to resist the urge to bite at your companion— but there was nothing they could do to you that could crack at your mind they way they cracked at his. you couldn’t remember much from your life before hydra. nothing of importance, anyways.

if it was important — though so few things were to you — you did well to never let it slip through the gaps of your teeth.

bucky had a harder time with that.

he would cry in his sleep for his mother.

he would mumble to himself about a friend he once had named steve.

it got him in trouble.

and they made you watch.

you weren’t sure as you stood there each and every time they would strap him down and fry his head with electricity and recite specific words from a notebook if they wanted you there so that it would deter you from making the same mistakes he did.

don’t ever be anything more than that we made you.

you weren’t sure, too, if they were hoping that by keeping you in his line of sight as they tortured him that the mere presence of you would keep james buchanan barnes from trying to dig himself free from his grave.

you were a monster— but they mistook your sharp teeth and affinity for blood as evil.

you weren’t evil.

you weren’t exactly good but you weren’t evil.

if they wanted bucky to be scared of you, they shouldn’t have locked you in the same room as him every night.

you did not scare bucky.

but the winter solider scared you.

— ☆ —

you were fast.

you could outrun cars you were so fast.

but you were never fast enough to wake before he could get his hands on you.

a muffled scream escaped you as he dragged you down off the top bunk. his metal hand was firm, sharp, and cold against your lips as he twisted you below him. the mattress that belong to him sank under the weight of you both. the metal springs below hissed in protest. for a long time, the overseer had the guards keep you muzzled out of fear that you would leech off your roommate in the night.

the winter solider ripped your muzzle off himself each and every time they put it on.

how else would he kiss you?

you huffed against his mouth as he pressed his lips onto yours. warm. his mouth was so warm. his metal hand slid down the column of your throat, grasping the soft skin firm enough to keep you in place underneath him. he always had to be the one in charge. he needed control.

winter was harsh.

and it was he who nipped at the apple of your cheek.

bucky was dead in brooklyn as of right now.

“i was sleeping, asshole.” you whispered against his lips. you didn’t care. this was better than sleeping— you just liked to push his buttons.

he grunted into your mouth, “sleep after.”

every kiss you shared set your nerves on fire. sweat began to pool on your back and bead at your hairline. it didn’t matter how cold the room was around you. together —tangled up and grinding on one and another — you could’ve started a fire in the sheets. you never got used to how it felt to kiss him even though you did not particularly like him.

“off,” you winced. you squirmed below him, struggling to free your hands from where they were crushed between your chests. you clutched the collar of his shirt and tugged at it. “off. take it off.”

he sat back on his knees as best he could despite the bunk bed above offering little room and pulled his red long sleeve shirt over his head. it was the start of the pile that would soon be your discarded clothes. he tossed it aside and your hands were quick to map every inch of that warm flesh you desired so deeply. you slid your hands up the length of his back as he settle down between your legs.

he shuddered as your fingers grazed the place by his shoulder blade where metal met flesh.

he closed his eyes as your lips scraped across the stubble roughening his jaw. your tongue flicked across the shell of his ear. you wrapped your lips around his lobe and sucked. he squeezed your throat, choking on a moan stuck in his own. you could feel the weight of his erection poking at you through your pants. kissing and licking his ears were the fastest way to make him hard.

him grasping you by the roots of your hair and shoving your face into the crook of his neck made the space between your legs weep.

he always let you have a taste.

you were convinced he liked it more than you did.

it was as fast as clicking a pen. you sank your teeth into the crook of his neck just deep enough to draw a small amount of blood and pulled them right back out. your clit cried for any kind of friction as the savory, hot, metallic blood spread across your lips. you sucked it into your mouth, tangling your fingers into the roots of his hair to lock him in place. he rested his forehead down onto your shoulder and gave you control.

it was the only time he ever did.

you swallowed all of him that you could before the tiny cuts your teeth had made in his skin began to heal themselves. you could’ve kept going. it was an easy fix. suck harder. bite deeper. prod and lick at the teeth marks to keep the blood flowing— but you were well trained to resist the way his blood in particular tasted.

you could’ve kept going.

a small part of you wanted to— but a bigger part of you wanted to suck on a different part of him.

you turned your head away, huffing as you fought to catch your breath. it was no easy feat to deny yourself blood. it put you into a frenzy that could’ve so easily become bloodlust if you were below anyone else— but you weren’t with anyone else.

you were with him and you had it beat into your bones that you were not to desire the blood that came from the veins of the winter soldier.

he was simply kind enough to let you have a taste because he held a twisted, prickly, unnatural sense of fondness for you in his chest.

it was the same unnerving, unkind, unwanted fondness you felt in your chest for him.

it wasn’t right to say heart. neither of you had hearts even though they thumped within the cages of your ribs right now. more so than any other time, your hearts were beating wildly.

but that didn’t make a difference.

you both were half-dead.

“up,” he commanded.

you raised yourself off the mattress on queue. he was quick to strip you of your shirt. he tossed it atop his own on the floor. when you slept, you didn’t bother to wear a bra. your nipples hardened in the cold and a shudder ran through you. a rare and fleeting grin curled across his lips at the sight. you found yourself smiling, too, as your eyes met. he cocked an eyebrow at you. you rolled your eyes.

you didn’t like him.

but you didn’t hate him, either.

he was the only tangible thing you had when you were awake besides your clothes and your pillow. nearly every decade you had been woken up together and locked in this room at night. you fought beside each other. you killed together. you planted seeds to destroy governments from within. you buried secrets that the world would never be able to find out. you ate together. showered together. trained together. bled together.

sometimes, it felt as though you would forget how to breathe if he was not near.

the two of you were incapable of love— but you came close to making it in his bed.

the rattle of the metal frame was the loudest sound in the cold, dark room you shared. he was soundless. you were soundless— but you couldn’t make a peep even if you wanted to. his cold metal hand clasped over your mouth each and every time he fucked himself into you. the only noise capable of escaping you were quiet breaths out of your nose.

his eyes bore into you as he thrusted the whole of himself in and out. he was rough — always rough — but he never rushed. his hips would snap forward with enough force to make your tits bounce but he would linger within you and pull out slow. over and over again each thrust was deliberate and intent as he stared down into your eyes.

he kissed you through the metal of his hand.

he could feel your jaw moving in his grasp. he could almost hear your teeth clenching together. soft huffs escaped your nose and you squeezed him from within.

he knew it felt good.

when it felt good, you couldn’t fight the urge to bite.

that’s why that damn metal hand stayed clamped over your lips.

he’d learned the hard way.

you wanted to kiss him. you wanted to feel his lips against yours. you wanted to suck on his tongue and taste him. the lingering metallic twang of blood on the roof of your mouth only made you all the more desperate for it. you framed his face in your hands and craned your neck, but his cold metal palm held you captive.

he kissed you through the metal and you kissed him back as though he’d be able to feel it.

you both liked to believe that he could.

a soft cry of ecstasy escaped you as your eyes rolled back. he smiled to himself as he sank all seven thick inches of his cock into you to the hilt. he savored the way your walls clenched around him. it felt as though you never wanted to let him go.

he was almost glad of it.

“that’s a good girl,” he breathed into your ear. he licked a warm, slow stripe up the side of your neck and nipped at your ear. “do you want to cum?”

“mm,” you tried to nod. you dug your fingers into his biceps— one was far more forgiving to your nails than the other.

“speak,” he demanded, creating a small enough space in the curve of his hand for you to move your mouth freely.

“yes,” you panted. the metal was hot with your breath. you nodded over and over again as you squirmed. “bucky, please.”

his metal hand clasped around your throat and you choked out a breath as he squeezed.

hard.

too hard.

you grabbed ahold of his wrists and coughed out nothing. no air. not a sound. blood rang in your ears. the expression on his face was volatile. his cock stilled inside of you as he grunted, watching your eyelids flutter. your lips went blue.

a loud, helpless heave escaped you as he let go of your throat. you choked on air, gasping for breath after breath. he watched the color flush to your cheeks now that the blood could flow freely. your lips pinked in an instant.

“don’t call me that.” he whispered. he met your eyes and shook his head once. “ever.”

“it slipped…”

“ever.”

“i’m sorry,” you breathed. you reached up and ran the backs of your fingers across his jaw. “forgive me.”

he stared at you for a long, quiet moment.

winter pulled out of you and nudged your waist. you rolled onto your left side. your nose nearly kissed the cold stone wall as he settled in behind you. you still hadn’t quite caught your breath back and it trembled in your throat as he guided you to slid your leg up. you fisted the old, stale sheets as he pressed the tip of his cock into you.

he hoarded you against his chest, his arms wrapped tight around you. he rested the side of his face against yours and pressed soft kisses to your cheek. he was giving you a chance to shove him off.

you did no such thing.

his hands cupped your breasts as he rutted into you from behind. breathless moans escaped you as he toyed with your nipples. you had a favorite hand— the warm, calloused, real one. and he knew that. he used that one to dip between your thighs as rub circles against your clit.

the springs below the mattress squeaked as you two moved together. grinding yourself on his hand, it only made it easier for him to thrust. he could go deep when you pressed down onto him. he could feel the weight of himself press into you against his wrist. slow and deliberate, every move he made was a kind of torture you were desperate to be the subject of.

“yes,” you gasped, throwing your head back. you squeezed your eyes shut as you felt pressure boiling over in the depths of your belly. the space between your legs was a wet mess that he slipped in and out of. you grabbed his metal arm as he captured your face between his fingers, squishing your cheeks between the cold, hard fingers. “more, more, more.”

he thrusted himself hard into you. at this angle, you could feel every vein in his cock. if you didn’t cum soon, he would— but once he kissed you, it was all over. you unraveled like a spool of yarn.

you came hard.

you always did.

a violent, toe-curling orgasm rippled through every muscle in your stomach so hard it was nearly agonizing. you moaned helplessly into his mouth and he ate each sound as he kissed you.

subdued by pleasure that left you brain dead, he kissed you without fear that you’d sink those sharp teeth into him.

you turned as he pulled out of you. he was such a large man it was almost funny how much he struggled to be on his knees in his cramped bunk below yours. his head bumped against the metal springs above but he cared not. you wiggled your way beside him and opened your mouth.

he was smarter than to shove his cock in your mouth after letting you get a taste of his blood— but he let you have a taste of something else.

where else was he supposed to cum, anyways?

you sighed as warm, thick ribbons of cum shot out of the tip of his dick. you swallowed the mouthful. it wasn’t great but you’d learned to love it. a piece of him you could enjoy freely. no one had ever told you couldn’t taste him that way.

a soft lick to the tip of his cock to clean the slit showed him that your dangerous mouth meant no harm— and it made his legs tremble.

the two of you redressed in silence. the floor was cold on your feet even through the socks. you could feel him watching you as you pulled your shirt back on. he was the only thing that could watch you in your shared cell of a room. hydra refused to replace the camera that should’ve been in the corner of your room any more.

he kept ripping it out.

when you glanced at him, you couldn’t tell what the expression on his unhelpfully pretty face meant.

he flicked his head towards your bunk.

as cold as ever, it seemed.

you froze as he took a hold of your waist before you could climb up into your bed. he lifted you up into it himself. you settled into your bed and he watched with those void, lifeless blue eyes. everything about him was winter and ice— and yet he placed the warmest kiss to the space between your brows as you laid your head down.

“go to sleep.” it was a command more than anything.

his kindest way to say goodnight.

you closed your eyes in reply and you curled up into your sheets. you only opened your eyes once you heard him get into his own bed. the metal frame trembled as he settled in, jostling you the smallest bit.

you hid underneath your covers and touched your throat. a small, shaky breath escaped you and you pinched your eyes shut. anger could’ve boiled in your veins but you were too tired to care. too defeated after all these years to want to feel any sort of hate for him.

the winter solider had done worse than choke you.

he’d been forced to time and time again.

hydra has made sure the reason you did not seek to sink your teeth into him was him— and they made him break you down until the smell of his blood had you retching.

you shouldn’t have called him bucky.

a stupid mistake you would both sleep off.

— ☆ —

when the lights came on, you wanted to shrink away into the dark but they never let you. the guards threw open the door to your room and shouted at the two of you to get up, guns drawn and laser sights set on each of your foreheads. they threw fresh clothes for the two of you on the floor. towels, too.

he tossed you yours and left the room first.

guards lined the halls all the way down to the showers. such a welcoming was procedure for the two of you— but you were not the only things awake down in the cold siberian labs right now. you could hear them wailing in their rooms. you could hear them tearing apart their mattresses and punching at the walls.

the other super soldiers were awake.

the spray of lukewarm water was better than nothing. you let it pour down over the top of your head and tried to imagine it was rain. the harsh spray was nothing like it. if anything, it felt like hundreds and hundreds of pellets.

not even a shower here could be kind.

you rinsed the soap from your hair, tipping your head back and ringing out the strands with your hands. across from you, he was doing the same. to most who may not seem him, his metal arm was impressive. you preferred the real one. watching the way the hard, firm muscle moved was delightful. you enjoyed his body. out of all the sights you could see down here, he and his figure were the easiest on the eyes.

as you turned away to clean yourself off, you could feel him watching you.

he was always watching you.

sometimes, you thought he didn’t know any better. you spent so much time together that it was near habit to keep each other in your lines of sight.

most times, you thought of him as just another guard.

though the winter solider was hydra’s hound that they could whistle up and bring to heel, he sure held your leash more than you held his.

you dressed quickly. once away from the water, it got cold fast. you pulled on the leather gear you wore to train and made sure to keep your hair back. it was harder to fight with your hair in your face. gel was one normal thing they gifted you. that, a toothbrush, and pads for when you bled.

before you could leave the wash room and step into the hallway lined with guards, he grabbed a hold of your chin.

you stared up into his eyes as he stopped you in your tracks. his expression was unreadable. always was. his eyes ate you up whole— but they lingered on the bruises on your throat. his brows twitched. a deep line creased between them.

you saw the ice in those eyes of his begin to crack away— and you did the only thing you could think of to keep him from that chair.

you rammed your knee up into his crotch.

the winter solider doubled over and fell down onto his knees with a low, pitiful gasp.

you walked out of the bathroom without looking back.

‘sorry bucky,’ you would’ve whispered if you could. ‘you can’t come out to play right now.’

if anyone but you noticed the look in his eye, they would’ve strapped him down and broken him into millions of more pieces than there already were. it would do you no good. if bucky were surfacing once more, he could only do so in the safety of your room at night.

you wouldn’t snitch.

but the winter solider would— and his absence alone was more than telling to those who wanted james barnes dead and gone for good.

you could hear his footsteps behind you. you could tell from heavy step alone that whatever sheen of clarity had graced him was gone.

maybe you did hold the leash around his throat more than you thought you did.

you hated it.

you hated that the two of you knew how to break each other down before they could break you first.

that isn’t what you wanted.

deep down, you knew he didn’t want it either.

that’s why he regretted those bruises on your neck.

the mess hall was a pitiful attempt at civility. the overhanging lights whirred and flickered. the tables around the room were stained. no one bothered to clean them. and only one was ever usually in use. the one you both sat at.

they served slop and stale bread. it turned your stomach. they created you to be a blood-sucking demon and yet they never let you get a taste unless you were on the field.

he pitied you for it.

that’s why he let you have a taste of him every now and again even though his blood had little appeal.

it was better than nothing.

and it was him.

a damning comfort.

he slid you his cup of orange juice.

you glanced at him but he did not bother to meet your gaze.

a peace offering.

sorry for choking you. we’re even.

you took the small cup of juice but you were not even. no where close to it. you’d saved him from the chair. whether or not he knew that in the scrambled mess that was the inside of his head, you settled for the juice because what else was there to gain?

nothing.

but there was always everything to lose even when you had nothing left to give.

hydra would find a way.

they always did.

and a pit festered in your stomach all the worse as the doors to the mess hall opened and in marched the group of five.

winter was not the only super soldier hydra possessed and he was no where near the strongest. his metal arm and ability to be a clean slate for commanding made him the favorite— but he was in danger when the others were awake.

what if they decided to replace him with another…

that was the only reason you were afraid.

you could eat them all for lunch if you wanted to.

“what is this?” you asked under your breath. it was a stupid question. neither of you ever knew what went on down here even when they told you. there were always other plans. other motives. other projects.

you took a sip of the orange juice he’d given you and swallowed hard. so many new smells in the room had you bouncing your leg under the table. you had seen them all before. once or twice. they were not strangers— but they were forever unaccustomed to your senses. the smell of them made your mouth water.

the winter soldier did not bother to look up from his plate and he toyed with the gruel. “who cares.”

you scowled at him and he bumped his knee against yours under the table to keep you in check. you huffed under your breath. he downplayed it because it would do no good to worry— but even he knew that if the others were awake, something terrible was on the rise.

terrible enough that he brushed his soft, human hand against yours and locked your pinkies together for a fleeting, fraction of a second.

you looked up at him, your eyes wide.

bucky.

hope you enjoyed. next part ->

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deadtired-highkeyenergetic · 1 day ago

Note

this is def self indulgent but what about bucky who notices all of readers little habits? maybe they have ocd or has a lot of stims and tics or something that and he’s just so sweet and doesn’t even say anything, he just goes with it. Could also be a cute aftercare idea, maybe reader has a specific routine

ROUTINE

Warnings- So much fluff.

A/N- Hey anon, thank you for the request! I was at work, and thinking about this story, and I daydreamed so much everyone questioned why I was smiling for no reason all day (In a relationship with Bucky Barnes of course). I hope you'll like this, I am not sure if it's very much to your expectations, but if you specify what you meant by tics a little more, I would love to write another one exactly like that. Cheers! ❤️

He has been watching you for the last half hour or so.

You sit at your dressing table, wearing one of his shirts that comes down to your thighs. You both have just had mind-bowing, toe-curling sex, as always.

And you're doing skincare.

Bucky can't help but be equally amused and frustrated at the number of bottles and lotions and facemasks that you keep putting on your face. Every time he thinks you're done, you pick up something new. He knows you have a routine, and when you don't follow it exactly to a T you tend to get up in the middle of the night because "I forgot to remove my makeup!" Bucky doesn't mind. He loves watching his princess be a princess. But Bucky's also a needy man.

"Baby."

He says gently, and you jolt out of your reverie. You are so relaxed when you do your routine that you forget anything else exists.

"Y-yeah bucky?" You look back at him sweetly, curling your eyelashes with castor oil on a mascara wand.

"I need you," he pouts. Exactly like a 5-year-old.

You giggle and roll your eyes as you remove the curlers from your hair.

"I'm coming bucky! The fruits of patience are always sweet", you retort playfully, giggling again.

"I want YOUR fruits though," he tells you suggestively, a cheeky smirk on his face. He adores when you blush, and when you blush you just start laughing even harder like a schoolgirl. He lives for that sound.

Finally, when you're all done, and still just admiring yourself in the mirror, Bucky can't take it anymore. It's not that you're obsessed with beauty. You like yourself (mostly). You just want to be the prettiest for your absolutely Greek God boyfriend.

Bucky gets up from the bed and walks over to you.

"Bucky! Nooo!" You squeal as your boyfriend wraps you in a bear hug, lifting you off the seat. He grins as he leaves wet kisses all over your face, making you wince in mock disgust when you JUST did your skincare so meticulously, before he finally puts you down.

You huff angrily, stamping your foot.

"You messed up my hair AND my skin! I hate you!" You scowl as you cross your arms.

"You look adorable baby girl," he chuckles and bends down, kissing your cheek. "Now who's my pretty baby?"

You try to stop yourself from giggling, but you still smile and bob your head.

"I am."

"That's right. And now it's Boyfriend cuddle time."

He picks you up and drops you on the bed, and gets in with you, nuzzling your nose with his. His hands find your waist, feeling your soft skin under your his shirt. He buries his face in your neck, inhaling deeply as your scent fills his lungs, making him finally feel calm after a very long day.

"It tickles Bucky!", you giggle as he nips at your ear and the skin on your shoulder.

"Oh really?", he grins evilly before he full-on attacks you, tickling your body everywhere. You laugh so hard you accidentally snort. Your eyes widen as you pray he didn't hear you.

"What's wrong baby? Did I hurt you?" He asks concerned when you suddenly stop laughing.

"No i - i just made things weird i guess...." You look away, embarrassed. Bucky frowns and turns your face by your chin to face him.

"Because you snorted?"

"Mhmm". You give a small nod, his eyes looking into yours.

He bursts into laughter and hugs you to his chest.

"Baby you couldn't do a single thing in the world that I wouldn't find adorable. You sneeze and I'm like "Aww she is so cute", you giggle and it's the most beautiful sound in the world, and your little snorts are so so adorable too sweetheart. You can be as weird as you want ", he laughs as he finishes his little speech.

Your heart melts into a little puddle. But first things first.

"Bucky?"

"Yeah baby?"

"I can't breathe," you finally manage to squeak. Bucky grins as he presses you even further into his chest, muffling all your weak protests. But he's always telling you it would be such a good way to die being trapped between your legs, and you think this is the female equivalent of that feeling. You just give in and let yourself be hugged by your giant teddy bear.

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deadtired-highkeyenergetic · 1 day ago

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deadtired-highkeyenergetic · 2 days ago

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Memories

A...prequel I suppose to The Hunter. I might continue expanding on this relationship, I quite like the dynamics. Let me know your thoughts on it too!

Summary: Bucky remembers you, despite everything.

He remembers that voice. The low rumble, accompanied by warm touches that are kind and gentle. The voice that promises no one will harm him, that's he's safe. The voice that had been taken away from him one night, suddenly vanishing without a trace, leaving him alone in the cold dark rooms.

They'd said you'd been killed by the enemy and gave him a new Handler. New hands that hurt, a new voice that brought only pain. Every night he curled up on the cold hard floor, he clung onto the memories of that low voice and warm touches. Nothing could wash those memories away, not the painful machine they had him strapped to, not the endless beatings. It was those memories that kept him going, gave him a sliver of hope that one day the pain would stop. He'd refused to believe the enemy had gotten you, he knew you were skilled, smart and strong. There was no way you'd just die and leave him behind, it had to be some sort of trick.

It was some sort of trick.

Here you stood, a gun pointed at his chest. You were alive and well, but for some reason stood on the opposite side.

"I don't want to hurt you, James."

James. His name. The name he'd given you when you asked what his name was.

"Y/N." Your name. The name you'd given him when you asked what his name was.

Your throat bobs as you swallow hard, but your hand remains steady. The gun's muzzle doesn't move, your finger curled around the trigger. It's not aimed at his heart, it's aimed at his right shoulder, but he knows that the moment he tries to attack a bullet will find its way into his leg. He's seen you do that before, when you wield a pistol it's as if the pistol is an extension of your body and he's never seen you miss.

"Stand down, please." Your voice cracks and he can see the look in your eyes. It's the same look you give him when he's injured and it fills him with that weird feeling in his chest.

"They said you were dead." He needs to know what happened. He needs to know why you left him. He needs to know why you're standing on the opposite side.

"Of course they did. Can't go around admitting that one of their prized assassins went rogue, can they?" You chuckle, but it's tinged with sadness. He's confused, why are you sad? Why did you leave?

"Why?" That one word is all that can come out of his mouth.

"I'm sorry for leaving you behind. Believe me, I've been trying to find a way to get you out too." You take a step closer to him but the gun remains pointed at his shoulder. "Please, James. Put the rifle down and surrender. I have a way out, we can leave this all behind."

"I can't." He has to complete his mission and return to his Handler. Return to the blonde man. Running away would be to fail his mission, and he cannot fail. He will be punished if he fails, and he doesn't want the pain. "I cannot fail."

"I promise that Hydra will never get their hands on you again." Your voice is strained but he can see the fire in your eyes. You mean it, every word. You've never broken a promise before, he knows you will do all you can to keep him safe. You always have, on every mission, but he's confused and hurt. You left him behind, and he doesn't know how to confront that.

He lowers the rifle and sees the way your eyes brighten. You take a hopeful step towards him but he turns and runs. He has to report back, his Handler has to know that you're alive. Maybe Hydra will take you back, make you his Handler again. He wants that back, he wants you to be his Handler again.

He wants to feel safe again.

"Mission report."

He looks up at the blonde man. So many questions he wants answered, but his Handler only wants his mission report. They refuse to tell him who the man on the bridge is, the blonde man who called him 'Bucky'. The blonde man is his mission, they firmly say, nothing more. There's no need for further questions about him.

"Y/N. They — they're alive." He looks pleadingly at his Handler. "They weren't killed by the enemy."

"So it seems." His Handler seems disappointed. Why? You was one of their best, not once had you ever failed a mission. Why wouldn't Hydra want you back?

"Can you kill them?" His Handler kneels down, looking him in the eye. "Can you kill them for me? They have turned traitor, betrayed us both. They have to die."

His breath hitches. His flesh finger twitches. Kill you? Can he?

Betrayed us both.

You had left him behind, faked your death, and that had hurt him. Did that warrant your death? He inhales shakily, you are his mission now, along with that man on the bridge who seemed to know him, but he doesn't know if he can do this mission. There's something that's preventing him from nodding, from executing his mission perfectly as always, and it only makes him even more confused.

"I —" He can't give an answer. He doesn't know the answer, and it scares him.

"Wipe him."

He lets the doctors push him back onto the chair and opens his mouth. The gag goes in and he feels his breaths getting more rapid. He knows the pain that will soon follow and his mind automatically slips into the memories he's hidden as best as he can. Memories of warm hands, memories of quiet chuckles, memories of tender moments.

Memories of you.

After the blinding hot pain he desperately searches his mind, clinging onto the few memories that remain. Even after everything, he still wants you back. He misses you, misses your touch, misses your warmth. Maybe he can convince you to come back, show his Handler that he doesn't need to kill you.

Y/N.

Your name floats around in his empty mind, anchored by a thread he's created to prevent it from being wiped. He clings onto it, repeating it in his head. He cannot forget it, it's the only thing he has left that's warm in this cold dark place.

He doesn't see you afterwards. Not until he pulls the man called Steve from the river and disappears behind some bushes, panting hard. Blood mixes with water and trickles down his face, he doesn't know why he saved that man but something tells him that he'll find out in due time.

The bushes rustle and his head snaps up, metal hand curled into a fist. His eyes narrow, muscle tensing up until he sees you emerge. Your hands are raised in surrender, palms open to show that you mean no harm and he relaxes.

You don't ever harm him anyways.

"I…know a place. We can lay low there, figure out what to do next." You hold out a hand. "You don't have to accept, it's your choice. I know I don't deserve your forgiveness but here's my way of trying to make amends for leaving you alone in Hydra's grasp."

He takes a hesitant step towards you, searching your gaze for any hint of a lie but there's none. You speak the truth, and he lets himself trust one more time. He can afford to do that, with you, because deep down, he knows you want nothing more than to protect him.

You've always fought to keep him safe from harm, going as far as to kill potential Handlers when they dare to have their way with him. Despite the punishments that followed, you never stopped looking out for him. You were his safe haven once and you were willing to be one again for him.

He exhales, reaching out with his flesh hand and feels something bloom in his chest when your hands connect. He likes the feeling, likes the electricity that crackles along his skin. It feels nice, comforting, and it's new. Your fingers intertwine with his, a small smile creeping onto your face.

You're as warm as ever, your touches as gentle as before and he realises just how much he's missed this. He yearns for more, wants to be by your side again, wants to watch your back while you watch his. He wants that feeling back, the knowledge that you always have him, the comfort of your back against his.

You drive the chill away, enveloping the memories of cold hard floors and white hot pain with your genuine love and care. He lets you lead him to the safehouse, watches as you fumble with the keys and angrily shove the correct key into the keyhole.

You're still as clumsy as ever when not handling a gun, and that makes him smile a little. You never punished him for smiling, you even encouraged it with your own smile and that always displeased the higher ups. You never cared anyways, not when it concerned him. When you were with him, you weren't the Hunter, nor his Handler. You were simply Y/N, and he was James.

"Welcome home, James." You turn around, smiling at him as you push open the door. "I hope it's to your liking."

His gaze never leaves you, not even to look at the house's interior.

Home.

He never thought he'd ever call any place that word again, but here he was, standing at the door of a place he wouldn't mind calling it.

"Home." The word feels foreign on his tongue.

"Okay, maybe not yet, but hopefully in time." You laugh, gesturing inside. "Come on in."

Your eyes sparkle and he decides he likes that look on you. He takes a step inside, properly looking at the house's interior and turns to find that you've dropped the keys by accident. He bends down, picking them up and feels his hand brush against yours.

"Thanks." Your words are a whisper. He lets his hand linger against yours, feeling the warmth that emits from your hand and lets himself smile wider.

He was right. Choosing you over Hydra, that was no mistake. Not when you offered only kindness while Hydra only offered pain. He would do his best to be James, repaying you for everything you've done for him. But first, he would start calling this place home, because this place has you in it.

#marvel #mcu #mcu x reader #marvel x reader #bucky #marvel bucky #mcu bucky #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #winter soldier #winter soldier x reader #bucky x you #winter soldier x you #james buchanan barnes

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deadtired-highkeyenergetic · 2 days ago

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Handle me

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Summary: You both take upon roles, Bucky- The Winter Soldier, you- His Handler. Now you feel like the world's crumbling down under your feet. You don't want to lose him, but you're about to.

Word count: 2k

Note: As for timeline, not really cannon with the MCU. But yes, Endgame happened, Sam is now Captain America

The room was cold. Clinical. Metal walls, a reinforced steel door, and the ever-present hum of machinery that made your skin crawl. The HYDRA scientists were watching. So were the guards.

An old HYDRA remnant had been resurfacing, trying to rebuild the Winter Soldier program, and what better way for them to do so than trying to resurrect one of their best ex-assassins.

It gave you an opportunity to take them down from the inside, going undercover- you as his ruthless new handler, Bucky as The Winter Soldier.

You stood in the center of the room, chin high, hands clasped behind your back like you've done this a thousand times. Like you belonged there.

Bucky, on his knees before you, head bowed, muscles coiled tight beneath the tactical gear he’s been forced into. He looked the part. Cold. Controlled. Empty.

But he wasn't. He was acting. He had to be.

To gain trust, to secure access and prove your control over The Soldat, you had to do something you swore you never would. Watching Bucky clenching his jaw every time you had to call him Soldat in front of the enemy was heartbreaking enough. But then you had to give the order—to tell the Winter Soldier to kill. And you had to do it without hesitation, just as he had to follow through without a question.

The lead scientist, an older man with a sharp smile, stepped forward. "He hesitated on the last command," he said in a voice thick with condescension. "A good soldier should never hesitate. Perhaps he needs a reminder of who he belongs to."

Your stomach twisted, but you kept your expression still. "He’s mine,"

The scientist gestured. One of the guards moved forward, striking Bucky hard across the face with the butt of his rifle. He barely flinched, but a muscle in his jaw ticked. Blood at his temple.

"Say it," the scientist ordered. "Make him believe it."

You turned to Bucky, forcing yourself to meet his eyes. This was just a mission. This was not real. But when he looked up at you, something in your chest caved.

Because for the first time since this started, he wasn't just acting.

There was no recognition in his gaze, no flicker of the man you knew. His blue eyes were blank, waiting, expectant. Like you really were his handler.

Your throat tightened, but you kept your voice steady. "You belong to me, Soldat."

The words tasted like poison.

He gave a short mechanical nod once and lowered his head again. Submission. Like he had done this a hundred times before. Like it’s second nature.

The scientist hummed in approval. "Much better."

You stepped forward, fingers barely brushing Bucky’s jaw as you tilted his face up again. His skin was warm under your touch, but his eyes stayed empty.

"Good boy," you whispered, because you had to.

Your hand was still on his jaw, fingers trembling just enough that only Bucky would notice. But he didn't react, didn't pull away, didn't give you anything to hold onto. Just blank obedience, the perfect soldier carved out of the man you once knew.

A knot tightened in your throat. This is a mission. A role. He was playing the part. He had to be.

And then Bucky shifted ever so slightly, leaning into your touch. The breath you were holding escaped your lips before you pulled back, before anybody could notice.

The air was thick with tension, the kind that always settled in when Bucky had to become the Winter Soldier again.

This mission felt endless, stretching on for months with no finish line in sight.

You watched as Bucky grabbed a beer bottle and stepped onto the back porch, his broad shoulders tense under the dim light.

At least the safe house was nice—a wraparound porch, a quiet garden. Sometimes, you caught yourself wondering if it could be a home, a real one. But you shoved those thoughts away the moment they crept in.

You had no right to feel the way you did—no right to be angry at Bucky for shutting you out.

His hands were the ones that wrapped around that man's throat and twisted it. You had just stood there, cold and composed, playing the part of the handler—the pretty little princess giving orders to the Winter Soldier.

Bucky—the man you'd spent the last five years building a life with—would do anything you asked. Even kill. In another context, that might have sounded romantic. If only it was hypothetical. But this was real.

You could have pushed back, could have said something—argued that you didn’t need to prove your control over him, that a less lethal command would have sufficed. But the words hadn’t come. Your mind had blanked, and the order had left your lips faster than you’d have liked.

The man wasn't an innocent, nor saint, but it didn’t make any of it easier. Not for you. Not for Bucky.

It wasn’t until you were out of the HYDRA facility that you noticed the way his hands trembled, the silence that stretched thick between you on the drive back. He hadn’t said a word.

Now, with your eyes closed, the scene replayed in perfect clarity—the way Bucky moved, his hands tightening around the target’s throat the second you gave the order. The way the life drained from the man’s eyes. The way Bucky—no, the Soldat—stood still, composed, empty. A machine, not the man you loved.

The sharp ring of the phone on the table cut through the memory, yanking you back to the present.

"We're in, Sam." You answered before he even had the chance to ask.

"That's good. Finally. I was starting to think you and Barnes were on vacation, not working," Sam chuckled. His usual humor. Right now, you could strangle him for it.

Any other time, you would have fired back with something sharp and witty, but not tonight. Instead, you just nodded, as if he could somehow see you through the phone.

The silence must have tipped him off. "Everything alright?" His tone had shifted now, more serious.

"Yeah... yeah. It’s just—" You exhaled, voice barely above a mumble. "You know how it is for him."

You weren’t sure if you should tell Sam everything now, let Bucky do it himself later, or just leave it for the mission report.

"It's not like he's that brainless killing machine anymore." Sam quiped.

You squeezed your eyes shut. Yeah. That’s the problem. He wasn’t the Winter Soldier. He was Bucky. And tonight, he’d been forced to kill someone anyway.

"Yeah. Yeah," you muttered, trying to mask the knot tightening in your chest. "Still brings back a lot of memories... and shit."

Your eyes flicked toward the back door—toward the spot where Bucky had disappeared minutes ago.

"We’ll keep you updated when we have something, Sam," you added quickly, cutting the conversation short before it could go any deeper.

Sam muttered something in agreement, tossing in another one of his not-so-funny jokes before hanging up.

With a quiet thud, the phone hit the counter. You rubbed your face with both hands, trying to push away the weight pressing down on you.

With a sigh, you pushed away from the counter and made your way to the back door. The night air hit you as soon as you stepped outside, cool against your skin. Bucky was exactly where you expected him to be—sitting on the steps of the porch, elbows on his knees, beer bottle dangling loosely from his fingers.

You hesitated in the doorway. He hadn’t noticed you yet, or maybe he had and just didn’t care. His gaze was locked on something in the distance, but whatever it was, you knew he wasn’t really seeing it.

“Bucky.”

He didn’t turn, just lifted the bottle to his lips and took a slow sip.

You stepped closer. “You gonna sit out here all night?”

He exhaled through his nose, something close to a humorless laugh.

You sat down beside him, not touching, but close enough that he could feel your presence.

"Look… babe." You exhaled quietly, the weight of your own words pressing down on you. "I should've told them to go fuck themselves. I shouldn’t have—shouldn’t have ordered you to do it." You ran your fingers through your hair, aching to touch him but something kept you back.

Bucky let out a breath that was almost a laugh, but there was no warmth in it. He took another sip from the bottle and gave you one of those hollow smiles—the kind that never reached his eyes.

"Let’s not talk about it, yeah?" His voice was even, controlled. Too controlled. "We both did what we had to for the mission."

It was meant to sound reassuring, but something was missing. Something you couldn’t quite name.

"Buck-"

"You can go inside." He interrupted you. "I'll be there soon. Don't worry." and he stil wouldn't look at you.

You stayed seated for a brief minute before nodding and walking back inside.

That night, he never came to bed. You weren’t even sure if he’d come inside at all—until the morning, when you found the blankets and pillows on the living room floor.

The coffee maker hummed as you leaned against the kitchen counter, fingers tapping against the surface.

A soft creak of floorboards behind you made you turn.

"Morning," you said, testing the waters.

He gave a slight nod. No smile. No teasing remark. Just walked past you, reaching for the coffee pot.

You watched as he poured himself a cup, his movements precise but mechanical, like he was going through the motions just to do something.

"You didn’t come to bed," you said softly.

"Didn’t think I deserved to."

"Bucky…"

He shook his head. It was dismissive. Distant. Like you were just another agent. Just another person in the long list of people he’s lost.

You swallowed hard. "We should talk."

His laugh was humorless. A sharp exhale through his nose. "Talk?" He finally turned his head, but not enough to meet your gaze. "About what?"

You moved closer, "About what happened back there."

He raised his head, his eyes met yours. But wasn't the look you remembered, the one that used to tether you together in the chaos. There was no warmth, no trust—just something fractured, something raw.

"You mean about how you stood over me while I was on my knees?" His voice was quiet, but it cut deeper than a scream. "Or how you ordered me around like I was your fucking weapon?"

You flinched. "You know I didn’t—"

"Didn’t what?" He pushed himsepf to move forward and suddenly he was too close, towering over you, blue eyes burning. "Didn’t mean it? Didn’t want to?" His jaw clenched. "Didn’t enjoy it?"

Your breath catched. "Bucky—"

He shook his head, stepping back like he couldn't stand being near you. "I heard your voice, day and night. It was the only thing keeping me grounded." His throat bobbed. "But then you started giving orders, and I—" He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "I obeyed."

"You were pretending. We both were."

"Were we?" His voice was almost a whisper. "Because it sure as hell didn’t feel like it by the end."

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out.

What could you say? That you didn’t mean it? That you didn’t want to? It wouldn’t matter. Not when the damage had already been done.

Bucky exhaled, a slow, bitter thing. "I used to look at you and see my way out." His gaze dropped, fingers flexing at his sides. "Now all I see is the person who made me go back in."

The words landed like a killing blow.

He turned away before you could say anything else.

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