#зимний солдат

[pararave]

some more Bucky fanart <3

[florateaa]

Зимний Солдат

[hydrabucky]

Hey

Ich heiße Moth

@moth-to-the-flames

"Я Зимний Солдат." Winter says, staring at Moth.

[justawhitewolf]

"Ты предатель, Зимний Солдат. С предателями нужно обращаться соответственно." (You are a traitor, Winter Soldier. Traitors must be dealt with accordingly.)

Hello Hunter

[lady-phasma]

Зимний Солдат (Zimniy Soldát)

Part 1 of 2 (cross posted from AO3)

Warnings: 18+ MDNI; from my AO3 - "Bucky's metal arm kink"; mostly p n v sex, fluff, canon typical discussion of Bucky's past and violence, implied/referenced past noncon. Written in first person fem!reader.

Summary a/n: Some feels but mostly reader and Bucky are simmering at this point. (This is how old this fic is: Events take place after F&WS Episode 5 - I want to add some plot and character details but there are only 6 episodes so I’m waiting until we find out what episode 6 brings us.) No beta. 3k words.

“Like dancing, it’s been a while,” he smirked as he looked down at his gloved hands. A pained smirk. He ran his thumb across the knuckles of his left fist.

“I’m sure it has,” I said. I reached up and brushed my fingers along his jaw, coaxing him to look at me. “Dancing has changed a lot in 78 years, this hasn’t.” I smiled and his face softened. His shoulders relaxed a little.

Without speaking I took his hands in mine and started to slowly remove each glove. First his right hand, grazing his palm with my fingers, then his left. The vibranium was warm to the touch. He flexed his fingers as if taking off the glove reminded him that his arm was metal. I held my hand out, palm up, offering it to him. The warm metal folded around my hand.

“How much can you feel?” I asked him.

“Everything,” he said and made small circles with his thumb in my palm.

I stood up from the couch and let his hand fall to his lap. He looked up at me as I slid my hand into his jacket. I slowly started to remove it but he got the hint and shrugged out of it. I straddled him and surprised him by sitting on his lap. I gently pressed on his shoulders, getting him to lean back on the couch, relax a little. His chest heaved with a sigh. My hands rested lightly on his t-shirt clad shoulders. “Well maybe it has changed a little,” I grinned as I teased him.

“Yeah, I don’t remember it quite like this,” he smiled and winked at me.

“I hope that not all changes are bad,” I whispered as I leaned in to kiss him. My hair fell by my face and he reached up to tuck it behind my ear. He placed his palm on my cheek and kissed me back. I wanted to pace myself, not rush anything, but it was proving difficult. I wanted to feel his tongue, to part his lips with my own tongue, but I was really enjoying this 1940s kissing as well. I pulled back a little so I could look at him. His eyes were closed. I pressed my cheek into his hand.

He opened his eyes, seeming to wonder why we stopped kissing. When our eyes met I turned and kissed the palm of his hand. His hips twitched slightly underneath me. I put my hand on top of his and pressed my lips harder against the metal. I began to make my way down his palm and wrist to his forearm, weaving my fingers between his. I glanced up at him as he leaned his head back on the couch. I watched the rise and fall of his chest as I kissed his arm. I slid my free hand up his bicep to his shoulder, fingering the ridge at the connection of metal and skin briefly before resting it on his chest. His heart wasn’t racing but I could feel it beating. I closed my eyes, sighed warm breath against his vibranium, and kissed the inside of his elbow. I released his hand as I kissed his bicep and he placed his hand on the back of my neck.

“Damn,” he sighed. “Definitely not how it was in 1943.” He raised his head and smiled, blue eyes sparkling. He gently pulled me toward him and kissed me. His hand moved into my hair and pushed me harder against his lips. His tongue slipped past my lips and I opened up to let him in. I pressed my chest against his and breathed deeply into our kiss. Bucky moved his hips as if he were uncomfortable so I spread my legs a bit wider. I moaned, deep and quiet, when I felt him hard against me. I shifted my weight in his lap and he inhaled sharply and grabbed my ass with both hands. He raised up to kiss me and lift me off his lap in one motion. Before I knew what was happening I was sitting on the couch and we were no longer kissing.

“What? Is everything-““Yeah, yes,” he cut me off. “It’s… fine. I just need a breather. You know… just don’t want to end this too early.” He looked down at his hands.

“Okay,” I said. “Do you want to talk?”

“Sure.”

“I have wanted to ask you something for a while now,” I stammered as I looked at my own hands. “It’s strange but I was curious if you really had never, you know, in all those years…”

“Is that a question?” he asked but didn’t wait for me to answer. His voice got lower and his tone was immediately serious. “Um, yeah, a few times I guess. I remember every mission, every encounter, every command. So, consenting? Not in almost eight decades. As him at least a handful of times.” “I’m sorry,” I mumbled. “God that sounds so lame when I say it out loud, but I am very sorry.” I reached out for his hand. His skin felt cool when he took my hand in his. I slid closer to him so that our legs touched. I placed my hand on his thigh.

“Well, I’m only in a little bit of a hurry,” I winked. He smiled and leaned in to kiss me. He placed his hand on my shoulder and squeezed a little. I immediately noticed how much more intense that touch was. Not more forceful but there was no give, no softness, in that hand. I moaned a little into our kiss. He pulled back and looked at me. I couldn’t meet his eyes so I smoothed my hair behind my ear. I intertwined our fingers and pressed my shoulder into his other palm. I encouraged him in a feline manner, pushing against his hand. He understood. His hand slid down my arm, onto my breast. When he paused I inhaled deeply and forced my chest out. His hand tensed and relaxed. He started to make small circles over my nipple with his thumb. Feelings like electricity shot from where he touched me to my crotch, making me jump a little. I finally met his gaze and languidly smiled at him.

He untangled his hand from mine and placed it on the small of my back, guiding me with the slightest pressure. I followed and moved back into his lap, straddling him again. So many sensations all at once: his hand pressing harder against my breast, his dick hard against me, his hand sliding up my back under my shirt.

“Bucky,” I moaned. I leaned into him, breathing near his ear, pinning his arm between us. I ran my hands through his hair, down the back of his neck, and over his biceps. I nibbled at his ear and kissed his jaw. Slowly, his hand slid away from my breast, toward the top of my jeans. “Yes, please,” I encouraged.

He cursed under his breath a bit as he got closer and fumbled with my buttons. I straightened up long enough to help him then pushed my body against his. His vibranium was smooth and warm against my belly. His fingers brushed against me not teasing but taking his time. I wanted so badly to speed things up but I didn’t want to pressure him. This was on his time but my hips twitched involuntarily and he inhaled sharply. He seemed to hold his breath as he slipped one finger over my clit.

“You are so… wet,” he mumbled.

“I know,” I replied. “I want you that much.”

Almost timidly, he slid his finger further down, then inside me. I rocked my hips on his lap and kissed him, hard. He slipped a second finger in. I moved slowly with him inside me, watching him. I held his face in my hands. He seemed so relaxed, so peaceful. For the first time I saw the scowl fade away from his brow. He closed his eyes. His fingers curled slightly inside me while his other hand travelled down my back and onto my bare ass. My jeans needed to come off but I didn’t want to stop him. I groaned and ground my hips into his hand. The vibranium seemed to match my body temperature and where I expected to feel metal I felt only him. I kissed his forehead, his cheek, his neck, his shoulder and then… I was back there, my lips on his arm. The metal worked and flexed as he moved with me.

I couldn’t take it anymore and began to move to take off his shirt. He looked at me and picked up on the hint. Neither of us wanted him to move but both of us wanted more. More skin, more contact. I lifted his t-shirt up and he moved his hands out of my pants. Oddly, I noticed his his left armpit was also metal. The crazy things we think in these moments, my brain said to me I bet he saves money on deodorant. I felt myself smile. I dropped the shirt on the floor, ran a hand down his bare chest, around a nipple, and over his stomach. Wow. Super soldier indeed. I think he blushed at my touch. I gently lifted his dog tags and then let them clank back onto his chest.

“You still have dog tags, Sergeant?” I teased.

“Uh, yeah, actually,” he mumbled, looking down at them. “Steve gave them to me. I guess, after HYDRA got me, these got stashed somewhere. He never said where he found them but they’re mine from the war.” My eyes widened at the thought of what these tags had been through over 70 years. I ran my fingers over them, the chain, and up to his neck, barely touching as if they, and he, were fragile.

I slowly reached down to unbutton his jeans but he grabbed my hands and gently began to push me back. I stood up. Before he could start I slipped my shirt off and stood in my bra and jeans. He kissed me just above my belly button. Smoothed his hands up my back to unhook my bra. I shrugged it off. He pulled me to him. His face was hot against my nipples. The cool air in the room and feeling him on me made them hard. He kissed one then the other. With his face still close to me he pushed both hands into my jeans and panties and slid them down until I could step out of them.

I was normally too shy to be this naked, this vulnerable, standing in front of a man but James made me feel enough. I didn’t rush to hide my stretch marks or try to distract him from looking at me. I let him look. His eyes followed the curve of my hip as he trailed his hand down my thigh. His vibranium hand slid to my ass and squeezed. He smiled and pulled me closer, covering me with kisses. I sighed deeply and ran my hands through his hair. I wanted him so badly. Why was he still wearing pants?!

I bent down slowly and ran my hands down his sides. His smooth skin taught over strong muscles. I got my fingers just in the waistband of his jeans when he understood and leaned back. He unbuttoned them and raised his hips to let me pull them off. Taking both underwear and jeans off at once required some awkward movements but then there he was. Just as vulnerable as I was. The scars at his shoulder stood out in contrast against his lightly-tanned chest. I reached out and touched the edge of the vibranium just where it met his skin. He shivered.

I moved toward him but he shook his head. He gently guided me to lay down on the couch instead of sitting. I smiled. He slid to half-kneel between my legs and pulled my hips close to him. My small giggle surprised even me. He ran his hands down my thighs, placing my legs so I could wrap them around him. Then he leaned forward. His biceps quivered as he propped himself up on his hands, one on either side of my head. The black and gold vibranium catching the light in the room, his dog tags swaying between us. I could feel him watch me looking at his arm. He kissed my neck. The movement resembled a push-up and I couldn’t take my eyes off the flexing of his arm. He kissed my collarbone, my shoulder, my breasts, each kiss accompanied by that flex and release. I ran my hand along the vibranium tricep, feeling it move under my touch.

“Bucky,” I started.

“Mmmm?” was his reply.

“Do you, well, I don’t know how to ask really… Does it bother you?”

“Not at all,” he looked into my eyes. “It turns me on actually. I like that you like it. Instead of it being this weird, shiny elephant in the room. Hell, you could be disgusted by it I suppose. But, no, not bothered in the way you mean.” He grinned that half-grin and raised an eyebrow. “Plus, it’s not going anywhere.”

“Good, that you aren’t bothered, I mean” I looked away. “One more question… are you sure you want this, now I mean? It’s not too fast?” He replied with a deep kiss. He slid his hand under me, to the small of my back, leaving his vibranium arm by my head. Then, for the first time, I felt him hard against my naked skin. I groaned and bit my lip. He slid his dick over my clit and between my lips before tentatively sliding inside me. His face was a little scrunched with concentration and his eyes were closed. I took that as a cue not to move or take things beyond his pace. So I kissed his forearm. I moved a hand to his back and then to the curve of the top of his ass. I didn’t pull but pressed my fingertips enough to let him know he could keep going if he was ready.

I felt every inch of him move into me, so slowly I thought I would lose my mind. I was so used to fast fucking, little intimacy, and not near-virgin sex. I reminded myself that he wasn’t a virgin and I let out a deep breath. He opened his eyes and kissed me as he began to move, began to pull out and return, a steady pace. His hand on the small of my back moved to grip my hip and pull me toward him. Harder. I moaned. I lightly grazed my fingernails over his back. He shivered.

I squeezed him tighter between my thighs and felt him deep inside me. Tiny drops of sweat were starting to bead up on his forehead. He was concentrating so hard. I buried my face in his neck; kissed and nibbled my way to his shoulder. I wanted to try something but I wasn’t sure if it was appropriate. I tried to think of a way I could ask. It was selfish, of course it was, but I was going to cum soon. If I were going to ask it needed to be while I could still make a coherent sentence. His hips rocked between us and the feeling of his entire body against mine was the incentive I needed.

“James?” I whispered close to his ear. I moved my face directly in front of his and placed my hand on his cheek.

“Hmm?” He slowed and looked into my eyes.

“Um… would it… would you like me to say it? To call you that?” I didn’t take my eyes from his. I didn’t know of a better way to ask without just being direct.

His eyes widened for a fraction of a second when he understood. He blushed. He stared at me and nodded. Then he tucked my hair behind my ear with his vibranium hand and leaned down to kiss me. As he did, I arched my back to meet him, our bodies pressed firmly together. We kissed for a long moment.

He pulled back, took his hand from behind me, and propped himself on both hands again. I loved this safe space, this intimate place between his arms. I could barely see anything but him. I caressed his back and shoulders and kissed his vibranium. He increased his pace every time I did that. I felt my muscles start to tense and the heat build from our connection. I couldn’t catch my breath. As I came I put my lips near his ear, moaned as the orgasm rushed over me, and said:

“Zimniy Soldát”

He drove hard into me and his breath became shallow. I put my hands on his neck and the back of his head, making soothing noises in his ear.

“It’s okay,” I told him. “You are safe. I want you to cum because you want to. I want to feel you do that. I want you, Zimniy Soldát, all of you.”

He let out a sound, somewhere between a cry and a moan, and bit his bottom lip. He dropped his face into the crook of my neck and fucked me as the waves of pleasure shook his scared, beautiful body. He dropped to his elbows and pulled me into a fierce hug, fucking me deeper. I groaned so loud neighbors could have heard me. Something warm was on my shoulder and I wondered if he had shed a few tears. Before I could even think to turn his face toward me to sooth him, he moaned and froze. He whispered my name. All of his muscles seemed to tense at once and I felt him twitch inside me, the last of his cum spilling into me. I didn’t want to move, to make him feel like he should move yet. I turned my head slightly and kissed his jaw. His vibranium hand slid up my back and he curled his fingers in my hair, tugged just a bit.

He raised up and kissed my neck, my jaw, and then looked down at me. He brushed his lips against mine. I tensed around him and he groaned into our kiss. Our breaths mingled together. He slowly pulled out of me. It was my turn to groan. I moved my legs so he could sit up. Instead, he moved one of them and laid down behind me on the couch. He pulled me to him, the full length of our bodies pressed together. He ran his hand down my side, my hip, up my belly, and over my breasts. I listened to the slight mechanical whirring with every movement. He tucked my hair behind my ear, then gently kissed my neck.

Part 2

[patchoulimademoiselle]

Bat Shit Crazy. (Part 3). NSFW.

Bucky Barnes x Reader Fic.

Word Count: 4.1k

Warnings: PTSD (trigger warning). Insomnia. Winter Soldier Bucky (kind of, just flash backs really). Toxic and manipulative behavior from both parties. Substance abuse. NSFW.

Summary: Both troubled and unable to sleep, you take a midnight stroll. The conversation gets deep, too deep, and harsh truths have to be faced before the sun comes up.

Notes: You push your boyfriend a little too far, dancing too close to the edge and triggering something you aren’t sure you can contain. He does his best to show you why you shouldn't push him too far.

Masterlist.

A nightmare rips you from your sleep, startling awake, you claw at the sheets around you, grasping for anything out of sheer panic. Your bedroom is cold, dark, your eyes taking a moment to adjust as you pant to catch your breath.

A gun, blood, a girl screaming, you faintly remember Bucky's voice, but you don't know what he was trying to tell you. You don't know what was happening, the scene came to you in broken images, feelings of pain and terror rather than a full picture.

It scared you, anxiety creeping in when your vision finally adjusts, you examine your room, your training kicking in. You feel threatened. A response that was engraved in your mind, now a second nature.

You see nothing, you hear nothing, everything just as you left it before falling asleep. All except the empty space beside you, once filled with a warm body, now cold sheets.

He gets like this often, restless, tortured, unable to settle even when he really needs to. He hasn't slept since you got home from your mission yesterday. It would worry you if it had been anyone else, but you know he is strong, his mind darker and able to handle more than most.

Even so, you find yourself getting out of bed, wincing at the cold floor on your bare feet. You decide to go find him. But first, you pay a visit to Tony's personal bar, needing something to soothe your shaken soul.

Neat scotch, you can`t help but gulp it down before refilling the glass. You have a bit of a habit, sleepless nights and deadly forms of escapism.

You stare at the glass for a moment, taking in your reality. The team has followed up on the intel you brought back, benching you for your hard work. It was meant to be a reward, but it feels more like torture to you now, unable to rest, unable to find a normal balance in your time off.

The compound is silent. No tv's, no music, no rattling or shuffling.

Chaos rattling in your bones, you let out a heavy exhale when you finally lay eyes on him, shirtless and tormented, his eyes heavy with bags and his hair a fluffy mess. He's been toying with it, something eating away at his mind, it almost breaks your heart to see.

But you look no better, you realize, his eyes snapping up to yours at the sound of your footsteps.

No one needs to say anything, you both know what this is, you both know what you need from each other. Silence, true understanding, something to intoxicate the soul and reignite life.

You hand him your glass, it clinks against his metal fingers.

You sit across from him, settling onto the couch on the opposite side of the room. You notice now that it's raining, water droplets sliding down the wall length windows to your right.

The air feels heavy with tension, Bucky's eyes have yet to leave you, "зимний солдат". Winter Soldier, you test the words, waiting for a reaction. The muscle under his eye twitches, but he says nothing. "Does it still haunt you?"

A selfish question, you know it does, and you don't mean to dig your fingers into his open wounds, you're just curious. Like a child drawn to a fireplace, aware of the danger but attracted to the way the flames dance, daring to get as close as possible until they get hurt.

"No more than your past haunts you." A twinge of something dark lingers in his voice, it excites you, you sit up, inching towards the edge of the couch.

"What do you see in your dreams?" You ask, watching as he takes a sip of scotch, baring his teeth at the burn it gives the back of his throat, "Are you killing people? Are you being beaten by your superiors? Can you feel it?"

You can see exactly when you lose him, a deep swallow, his eyes become vacant. It's like he's gone back there, where ever they used to condition him.

You weren't intending to be cruel, only to find answers. And as he stares at you blankly, detached, eyes dead as they stare into yours, you realize now why he hasn't slept since you've returned from your mission.

The man you identified in that camp, he knows him.

You aren't sure how yet, you know he may never tell you, but his behavior confirms everything you were starting to wonder about.

"Bucky." He flinches at the sound of your voice. Nothing. "Baby, snap out of it."

He doesn't, but you remain calm. He's trained you for this, in any case that he loses control, you know how to bring him back.

You walk slowly to where he sits, taking the glass from his hand, lips almost pressed to his ears as you butcher the language he worked so hard to teach you.

"Вернись ко мне, любовь моя." Come back to me, my love.

He blinks slowly, head turning to look at you again. "I'm still here." His grip is firm when it clamps down on your hip, pulling you to sit on his lap.

You weren't sure what you would have done if it didn't work, this has only happened one other time before, you didn't know what to do, it ended badly.

Nights like this are hard for you both.

It makes you wonder about so many things, if he ever did fall back into his Winter Soldier state of mind, if you would be enough to pull him back. He falls into hazes, daydreams of memories that trap him in place, stuck in time almost. Nothing like an actual switch.

You wonder if one day you will end up having to fight for your life against him.

His grip turns tight on your waist you whimper. "I warn you not to push me." He scolds you.

"That man." Is all you can say in response, confirming what you were trying to find out, confirming what he had been trying to hide.

"It was years ago," He says, "But it's still there. Still fresh."

It still haunts him.

It is one thing to chose to do the things he's done. Killing, torture, to be a force of pure darkness, to become something inhuman, to ignore all morals and principal of right and wrong. But to be forced to do it, to be brainwashed, highjacked, is a whole other thing. A trauma that you don't think he will ever recover from.

He will never be the same, he will never forget. No matter how close he gets to having peace, it will always haunt him.

Doomed to remember.

"Does anything help?"

He considers for a moment, his touch teasing, fingers toying at the edge of your shirt. "This." He shrugs, "Nothing will ever help. But at least I feel something."

With you.

Your heart swells.

"Why are you up?"

Fear creeps up your veins, anxiety spreading up your back and sending a chill through your spine as you remember your dream.

"I think we killed someone." You say. "Or You killed me? I couldn't tell. But it fucked me up a little."

He watches your face, you try your best not to give anything away, but you know he knows you too well for that.

But he doesn't say anything, just pulls you to lay against him, and you're grateful for it. You're different from each other in that way, where he shows restraint you push until something devastating happens.

He wants nothing more than to pry, the same way you just did. But your reaction will be nothing like his. You're on the verge of a meltdown. He can see it in your posture, sense it in the way you just pushed his limits.

It's a cry for help. In your own fucked up way, you were asking him to see you, to hold you, to help somehow.

"Let's go for a walk."

You can't contain your grin, climbing off of him. The rain has picked up a little, just enough to turn the ground wet, enough to darken your shirt when you step outside.

To anyone else, this would be crazy, you would be judged, scolded even. Like a misbehaving child. But your Bucky understands the need to feel something. So he follows you outside into the rain, shirtless and barefoot, rainwater mixing with the liquor you brought him, not a care in the world as you quickly become soaked.

He trails behind you, watching as you lift your face to the sky, letting rain land onto your skin. The air is lighter, you feel weightless, head empty of any thoughts. You feel free, normal for once, not a deadly assassin working on a team of misfits, but a young girl, tipsy and in love and walking in the rain.

He stops when you do, waiting for your next move. Head tilted to study you, not sure what to expect.

Moments like these can go either way, he's playing with fire and he knows it, pouring gasoline on the flames. He'll have to contain you soon, snuff out the flames if you burn too far.

"I hate what happened to you," You say, "But it brought you to me. You were frozen in time so that I could find you."

A selfish thing to say, you know he left a life behind, you know a part of him feels empty and missing, imagining what could have been. A war hero, a normal life.

But here you are, fucked up in the head and justifying it. Selfish or not, the universe saved him just for you, your demented boyfriend, the only one to ever truly understand you.

You take his hand, lacing your fingers.

"Does this help?" He asks, hair clinging to his face when he looks down at you.

"A bit." Not really.

It's a good distraction, a good freeing moment that lets you escape, lets you feel free. But it will only be temporary.

Nothing will ever help. You're too far gone for that. He and you are different, yet the same. Opposite sides of the same coin, forever contradicting but so close to aligning perfectly.

"Do you think we can ever be normal again?" You ask, unable to control your thoughts, unable to mask your emotions. "If we stopped doing this, had a normal life, do you think we could be happy?"

He seems to consider it for a moment, his expression blank but his eyes lighting up like the stars above you, as if he were truly trying to picture it for you.

A house, kids, a dog or two that he would train to kill anyone who got too close to you or his little girl. She would be bright eyed and playful, like her mother, and you would spend your days together doing what normal families do. You would start a garden, harvesting vegetables to cook with every night, and he would trim the grass to keep a friendly competition with the neighbors.

He would do construction, something with his hands, you could never see him being the pencil pusher type. You would go for walks with the kids, two or three if you're lucky, find things to do to keep them active and happy. The house would be clean and dinner would be ready on the dot for him to get off of work.

Life would be simple, fulfilling in ways that don't revolve around killing. You could let yourself go, eat whatever you want, go where ever you want. Never answer to anyone.

It could all be so simple.

"If you got therapy, years of therapy, maybe you would have a chance." He finally says, eyes staring down at you with an intensity that makes you want to cry, because you know what he's about to say before he even gets to say it. "But I can never be anything more than what I am now, and you will only get worse if you stay with me."

You have your own darkness about you, an attraction to things that wouldn't be considered normal. But he was right. Your troubles are nothing compared to his.

"Are you content with that?" You ask, "Knowing that this is all you will ever get from life?"

"I had a life." He says, "The closest I will ever get to having that again is being with you." His touch is gentle when he tucks a finger under your chin, "But you can't ignore the fact that loving me is destroying you, and soon enough you will become just like me."

Just like me, his words haunt you, your blood turns to ice as a collection of images flash across your eyes.

The rest of your dream.

Because you realize that he's right, the thing that jumped you from your sleep in a panic, the thing that scared you more than anything you had ever encountered before, was yourself.

Wild eyed and uncontrollable, unable to hold yourself back as you killed and tortured everyone you came across. It might have been a mission gone bad, those details you can't remember. All you can see is the face of the child you killed, her blood gushing as she screamed for help, squeezing the trigger of your gun over and over, until a pair of hands grab you tight, shaking you, the voice of the man who had trained you how to kill, trying to get you to stop.

And he can see if in your eyes when it clicks, a softened expression that disgusts you, because you know you must look so fragile to him. So young.

"Y/n." His tone is firm, despite the softness in his eyes. "What did you dream about?"

"What use is telling you?" Your tone is harsh, not that you meant for it to be, but now your defenses are up. "Gonna send me to Stevie so he can pick my brain? Good Doctor Banner?"

He glares at you, "In case you can't recall, they dumped you on me because they couldn't help you." He snaps. "If there's something wrong with you, I need to know. You might be unfit for duty."

"Duty." You spit the word back at him, "Is that all you care about? Are you worried I'll shoot you instead of the people who made you what you are?"

You both go silent then, realizing the situation you're in. His grip on your chin has turned pinching, he releases you, as if your skin had burned him somehow.

Only you could get under his skin this way, make him lose his composure and lash out without meaning to.

"You're such a brat." He growls at you, teeth grit with an anger you've grown used to. "And it's my own fault."

But despite his tone, he reaches out for you, grabbing you by the waist and lifting you over his shoulder as if you way nothing.

"Put me down." You huff, only to be answered with a harsh swat on your ass.

"I would say you're back to your usual self now." He says, "And I'm not drunk enough to deal with your attitude."

Just like that, the conversation is over. No real answers given, no understanding met, just two fucked up people too stubborn to let go of each other.

He walks you back inside, and you brace yourself, expecting him to put you down. He doesn't. He carries you to the bar you found yourself seeking out earlier, dropping you rather harshly to sit on the counter, the air leaving your lungs as your bare thighs hit cool marble.

You watch him, face covered with wet hair, dripping water along his path to pick a drink. He looks sinful, bare chest glistening in the dark. You can barely make anything out, moonlight illuminating just enough for you to let your imagination run wild.

He finally returns to you when he's picked something, slotting himself between your legs, a bottle of dark liquor in one hand, the other hooking itself under your thigh, pulling you closer to the counters edge.

"Now what was it you were saying?" He asks, voice low and teasing, "You want to shoot me?"

His eyes are hidden, all you can see is the underside of his jaw when he tilts his head back to take a swig straight from the bottle.

You take the time to read the bottle, no doubt its something expensive that Tony will scold you for later. But the only man you want to think about is the one standing in front of you.

You can't help yourself, hands reaching out to touch him, fingers tracing the harsh line on his chest where flesh meets metal. He seems to melt under your touch, warmth trailing after your fingers.

"I have a list of things i want to do to you," You catch his eyes finally, blown open with lust and watching your every move, "But shooting you isn't one of them."

He lifts the liquor bottle to your lips, encouraging you to drink. You do, taking a mouth full of the warm liquor, wincing as it burns your throat. His grip tightens on your thigh, pulling you an inch closer, your chest flush against his, faces centimeters apart.

"It's my fault you're such a fucking brat."

"You love it though."

He hums, and you can feel it spread through your chest.

His hand starts to wander, cool metal gliding across your skin, up your leg, around the curve of your hip, dragging you even closer, your pelvis pressed against his with a need that you know must feel painful, rock hard and throbbing between your legs.

But he says nothing, does nothing, just lets you feel him against you, and something about it makes you feel flushed all over, stomach fluttering in anticipation.

"Bucky," His name comes out of your mouth like a whine, and you can tell he enjoys the sound of it. "You're teasing me."

Another sip, "I'm not teasing you, baby." He coos at you, bring the bottle to your lips once again. "I'm getting you ready."

All of it is forgotten as you take another swig, the way you yelled at him, your nightmares, his brooding behavior, and the harsh way he manhandled you.

All you want is for him to touch you, your head starting to spin as you become intoxicated.

"You starting to feel better, baby?" He asks, placing the bottle down to cradle your head, tracing a thumb across your bottom lip. "Or are you still holding on to that prissy attitude?"

It almost gets you riled up again, opening your mouth to retaliate. But before you can get a word out, he pushes his thumb across your bottom teeth, warm salty flesh rubbing cross your tongue, pressing firmly.

He shushes you, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead.

That does it, your eyes fluttering closed as you wrap your lips around his finger, sucking gently.

"Good girl." His praise make you moan, the sound muffled by the digit in your mouth.

You feel him twitch against you, the thin fabric of his shorts letting you feel everything, and it only encourages you.

You suck harder, grinding yourself against him. He grits his teeth, holding back a moan of his own when he pulls his thumb from your mouth, taking a step back away from you.

You're disappointed, jaw going slack in disbelief.

"Don't look at me like that." He says, "I am going to fuck you on this counter, I don't care who hears it either."

His face turns soft, "But we have to deal with whatever's going on in your head first."

That's all it takes for your face to scrunch up, tears swelling in your eyes faster than you can stop them. The sudden denial and the liquor in your system mixing together to break down the walls you put up.

You tell him everything, your head tucked against his chest, his dick still hard and pressing against you as you cry it out. You acknowledge that there's something fucked up about the way both of you turned to sex and alcohol to get each other to open up. But you don't care, because it feels good.

You feel alive, a warmth burning in your chest, a hunger churning in the pit of your stomach. Your tears subside, dark eyes watching you when you pull back to look up at him.

He feels it too.

There is something significant about this moment, the way your hands tangle in his hair, the way his mouth molds against yours, hands frantic to free himself finally, his tongue licking into your mouth as he rips your panties from your lower half.

Something almost primal, animalistic, an imprinted need and want taking over you. You would call it love if you understood what it meant, you would call it adoration, something soft an intimate if only to be perceived by others.

But this was far from it, his hands rough as they slide you to the very edge of the counter, lining himself up with your entrance, based off of feeling and memory alone.

Your moans start to become too loud, his teeth sinking into your bottom lip as he finally thrusts himself inside of you, filling you up, pulling you closer to fit deeper. The liquor bottle shatters against the floor, he braces himself against the counter, pulling you with him, one hand supporting your back as he leans you backwards, trying to find a good rhythm.

You wrap your legs around him, freeing your lip, the metallic taste of blood coats your tongue, and you know he can taste it too in the way that he moans, his tongue darting back into your mouth.

Every thrust bottoms out inside of you, hitting against your cervix in a blinding rhythm. You gasp for air against his mouth, pussy clenching against him out of pure want.

"Fuck!" He pulls back, a moan cracking from the back of his throat, "Fuck you feel so good."

The praise makes your legs shake, you wrap them around him tighter for support, giving him the freedom to stand. His hands find your hips, guiding you back on forth on his dick, each thrust sending you further into pleasure.

You can't help but cry out, your hair sticking to your tear stained cheeks, vision blurred and your head spinning with pleasure. Until finally, your grip tightens, you feel breathless, legs squeezing against his sides, "You gonna come, baby?" He asks.

You can't answer, every thrust knocking air from your lungs, mouth agape. All you can do is moan.

"This is what you needed, isn't it?" His tone is teasing, but his words hit you right where you need him most. "You needed a good cry and a good fucking, didn't you?"

His pace is relentless, bouncing you with no effort, "You need to come. I'm not going to stop until you come."

You don't want him to stop, but you know you can't go like this forever, a knot building in the pit of your stomach.

He slows his pace, changing his rhythm, grinding his hips against yours, until finally you can catch your breath, "Bucky, I'm gonna-"

"Don't fight it, sweetheart. Let yourself come."

As if you needed his permission, as if you were denying yourself until he told you to, finally, you let yourself come, clenching around him as you squirt against his chest, nails digging into his skin.

He doesn't stop, watching as you come all over him, a groan escaping his lips as your pussy clenches around him, as if trying to encourage his own orgasm. His thrusts are lazy, sloppy, you can tell he's close, eyes blown open as he rides the wave of pleasure you give him.

"Come inside of me." You encourage him, hands pulling him down to cradle him against you.

You cry out as his teeth sink into your shoulder, hips sputtering against you as he finally finds his release. His moans in your ear are enough to have you clenching around him again, sending a jolt of pleasure through him, draining him.

It doesn't take long for him to recover, lifting you up to carry you to your room. He doesn't bother covering himself, doesn't bother cleaning up the mess you made.

He gives you a hot shower, showing you a rare gentleness. He washes your hair, kissing the wound on your lip, enjoying the mess he made of you.

"I love you."

You almost question if you really heard it. But the expressiveness in his eyes confirms what you thought you had hallucinated.

There are many things he can't give you, but at least he can give you this.

[bucknastysbabe]

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

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

we love that for him.

thank you thank you thank you!

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

Goes along with Praise Kink

Shadowplay - Joy Division

Rating: Explicit

Word count: 3,882

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Soldat. Status Report please,” she quavered.

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

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

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

“I know,” she soothed, “I know.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I did everything, everything I wanted to.

I let them use you for their own ends.

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

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

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

“What would you have me do, Komandir?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Too hot?”

“No. I like it hot,” he murmured.

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

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

“Lean up baby.”

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

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

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

You’re falling apart.

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

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

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

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

“Soon, Малыш,” she promised.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Front, front, front!,” he babbled.

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

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

“Well?”

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

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

“I’ve got you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Трахни меня! Fuck me!,” he sobbed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Die between his beautiful thighs.

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

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

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

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

“глупая девчонка”, Vasily would say.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[ggondae99]

сейчас досмотрю "соколиный глаз", а потом сразу же бегу смотреть "эхо" и "сокол и зимний солдат" 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

[hoteldreamss]

Brock Rumlow || imagine

часть 1 часть 2 часть 3

Метки: упоминание пыток (не подразумевала изнасилование, сексуальное насилие над читательницей); Брок не только агент Щ.И.Т.а, события можно сказать происходят до «первого мстителя: другая война/зимний солдат»; намёки на депрессию.

Слов: 908

Поставив пакеты с едой, ты выдыхаешь с облегчением. Ездить в магазин каждую неделю казалось одновременно благословением и наказанием. Выбраться из дома иногда было приятно, но в то же время тебя всё это обременяло.

— Дай мне пару минут, и мы идём, — произносишь ты, протянув руку к своему псу. Ты гладишь его, треплешь и начинаешь разбирать пакеты.

Спарки – пёс породы басенджи, радостный, ходит вокруг тебя, ожидая прогулки.

Закончив с продуктами, ты сразу же направляешься к машине, вместе со Спарки, прихватит поводок и всё необходимое для пса в случае чего.

Парк, больше напоминающий небольшой лес, находится не так далеко от вашего дома, но ты всё равно предпочитала доехать до него, нежели идти.

После полудня в четверг не так много людей, и ты искренне наслаждаешься этим свободным пространством, наслаждаешься своей спокойной жизнью, даже если не видишь в ней смысл��.

Шаги позади тебя нисколько не привлекают твоего внимания. Хотя учитывая твою прошлую работу, ты должна была бы оставаться настороженной, но тебе больше не хочется иметь старые привычки.

— Ты даже не смотришь по сторонам, а твой пёс не важный охранник, — знакомый голос разносится с боку от тебя, и глянув в сторону, ты видишь Брока.

Ты, останавливаешься, держа руки под грудью и смотря хмурым взглядом на Рамлоу.

— Что ты здесь делаешь? — твой тон совсем не дружелюбный, но пожалуй этого Брок и ожидал. Хотя в тебе не чувствуется злоба или гнев, скорее усталость.

Он выглядит хорошо, даже если ты можешь заметить царапину на его скуле. Должно быть кожа треснула от удара. Его взгляд также скользит по тебе, он замечает что ты немного изменилась, не только твой взгляд стал потухшим и хмурым, но и твоё тело кажется менее подготовленным к драке, каким было раньше. Рамлоу отмечает, что ему и так нравится. Что-то глубоко в его груди заставляет его снова мучиться, и это ему уже не нравится. Он понимает, что до сих пор любит тебя, всегда любил и будет. Он любил бы тебя любой и это разрывает его. Потому что направляясь к тебе, он был уверен в себе, убеждён, что просто поговорит с тобой и в лучшем случае добьётся желаемого.

— Ты знаешь. Щ.И.Т. интересовался... они хотели бы вернуть такого агента, как ты, — Брок пытается выглядеть непринуждённо, даже если внутри у него всё бурлит. Этого не было до встречи с тобой, Рамлоу убедил себя, что ничего не испытывает к тебе, но самого себя всегда сложнее обмануть.

— Я уже говорила, что не вернусь, они официально уволили меня, я не в отпуске. Не теряй время.

Ты разворачиваешься, желая продолжить свою прогулку. Спарки уже бежит тебе на встречу, должно быть он заметил, что ты перестала идти за ним. Когда он подбегает, то пару раз гавкает, заставляя тебя слабо улыбнуться и опустить руку, утешительно погладив его.

— Идём. — Твоя команда позволяет ему снова отбежать от тебя уже на меньшее расстояние.

Рамлоу догоняет тебя быстрыми шагами.

— Мне жаль, что с тобой произошло подобное, — произносит он, совершенно не чувствуя себя готовым к подобным разговорам с тобой. Но это то, что он должен делать. — Ты знаешь, те, кто так поступил с тобой уже наказаны. Ты не можешь продолжать сидеть в этой глуши, занимаясь лишь уборкой дома и выгуливать собаку.

Он следил за тобой пару дней. Ты думаешь он делал это из-за работы, но Брок просто хотел этого. Он прибыл один, а значит у него было больше выбора в действиях, и была возможность выбрать желания души и эмоций, а не разума и долга.

— Я могу заниматься тем, чем хочу.

— Мы оба знаем, что это не то, чего ты хочешь.

Ты глубоко вздыхаешь, сдержанно, злясь. Он не имел право использовать «мы», больше не было никаких «мы». Но ты не хочешь поднимать эту тему. Это было давно, и ты сама всё прекратила. Рамлоу не был виноват, что ты не справилась.

— Ты прав, я хочу, чтобы ты оставил меня.

Ты ускоряешь свой шаг, но он делает то же самое. Брок обгоняет тебя, становится перед тобой, и ты останавливаешься.

Он ненавидел то, что оставил тебя. Иногда он думал, что не должен был отпускать тебя одну, не должен был позволять Гидре схватить тебя, не должен был позволять Фьюри отправлять тебя с не самыми квалифицированными агентами на всё ещё работающую базу Гидры. Ты никогда не говорила, что именно там произошло, но он добрался до сведений заключения врачей, которые обследовали тебя после освобождения, он даже нашёл информацию о действия Гидры в их базе, и это разорвало его сердце, в наличии которого многие сомневались.

Ты никогда не заслушивала всего произошедшего, и это злило Рамлоу. Он хотел защищать тебя, даже если твоей работой было защищать граждан, обычных людей, Брок уверен, что тебе самой тоже нужна защита.

Пытаясь обойти его, ты не ожидаешь того, что он схватит тебя. Его рука сжимает твой локоть, когда его карме глаза заглядывает в твои.

— Мне жаль, что всё произошло таким образом... но ты нужна Щ.И.Т.у, и здесь тебе не место. — Он отпускает тебя, становится перед тобой, теперь в его движениях нет резкости. — Ты также нужна мне... мы можем попробовать начать всё заново.

Его ладони чешутся, он хочет положить их на твою талию или щёки, но не уверен в том, как ты это воспримешь. Осталось ли твоё желание сохранить собственное пространство таким сильным и резким, как после освобождения от Гидры.

В его взгляде читается надежда и мольба, насколько вообще она может присутствовать у Рамлоу.

Ты могла бы сказать «да», могла бы признаться, что тебе не хватало его, что ты думала о нём больше, чем положено. Ты могла бы признать, что такая жизнь оказалась не для тебя. Всё это не для тебя. Но и возвращение тоже не казалось правильным.

[therealbuckybarnes]

Зимний солдат....? -@snowfoxkaleb

Hi-

[drekkavac-moving]

ДРЕКАВАК И ЗИМНИЙ СОЛДАТ. - mutuals may interact.

[thedogsled]

I have other favorite sections of the diary, (Jessica Jones' cameo for example) but the part at the top of Chapter 4 is one of my favorites, so while I'm going to post it here, I would still love you all to go and read the entire thing now that it's all up! Happy Holidays! Full transcription below:

Reverse

When we enter the Danube, the ship begins to follow the path of the flowing water, and the engines don’t have to work so hard as they did fighting their way up the Rhine or the Main. Instead, we are carried downstream, sometimes coasting. The men are more relaxed with the canal and the locks behind us. I am sure they are homesick, because they speak often of their families. They ask me if I have anyone, knowing I do not remember.

But I think of Steve. I think of Brooklyn, even though being there frightened me. I am

Am I homesick? The thought of going there again is frightening to me. I can’t imagine it would be a good idea, for Brooklyn or for me. But the thought of never doing so fills me with despair as well.

Page 91 

Picture of young Steve (bad memory recall)

At the docks or by the river, sometimes on a good day at Coney Island, Steve and I spend so much time together. We know all of each other’s secrets and we will take them to the grave/

He’s so young in some of the memories that he wouldn’t be recognizable at all except for the feeling that comes alongside them: this boy is Steve. Steve sitting at the playground with a bruised knee; Steve using a dustbin lid as a shield. Steve Steve Steve Steve.

Reverse

I have chosen my path, at least for right now. I am on the other side of the planet, speaking another language. The only difference is that now I don’t fight for HYDRA, nor will I ever fight for anyone against my will ever again. Nor kill. I do not know who I am. I know I am the Winter Soldier and I know I am James Buchanan Barnes, but neither of those things are who I am now. Both men killed. I don’t know what I should hope to be, if anything other at all than invisible.

That’s what I want for now. If nobody can see me then I don’t have to be. I don’t have to be the Winter Soldier. I don’t have to be “ Bucky”. I don’t have to be anyone at all, for anybody. I know it’s selfish. I know I’m afraid. I know I’m guilty.

Page 92

I can hear the water rushing in my ears. I know that I jumped, that I am plunging into it, face first and reaching, reaching.

I heard a scream. I didn’t realize I was the one screaming. Watching him fall, as I fell. Me falling. Him falling. Into the water. Into the ice. Into the future. Dying and dying over and over again.

Reaching for him, finding him, taking hold as he never could and swimming, pulling, dragging, fighting until we’re on the shore. One arm, the other dislocated, fighting against the current, for breath. 

Why does this

I can’t see it yet but it’s close. There’s nothing more frustrating than this feeling, trying to remember. He’s alive, and as the river’s water drips off me I feel nothing but shame. Reverse

In the bank, there was a file. Paperwork. A few things. I have disposed of most of them. Perhaps I should have added this then. I don’t like looking at it. It has been loose in this book since I found it and I should place it now, so that I no longer have to wonder where it should go.

When I see myself in the ice it doesn’t look like me. Sleeping. So peaceful I could be something harmless. But I remember more than fragments now. Time on the ship has let me see more than I ever could before. This is the face HYDRA saw. The face of an innocent man turned into a monster. Loss of innocence. Me. Зимний Солдат.

Looking at this picture hurts. It feels as though it somehow carves a pit into my stomach.

Page 93

Picture from WS file, Bucky in ice (Credit: @youneedtostrut)

Written: It isn't really sleep. Sleep isn't peaceful. Being in the ice was like not existing at all. Quiet.

Reverse

We were on a train. It was a mission from before there were any missions. Before HYDRA when I was with Steve and the Howling Commandos behind enemy lines. In Europe, during the war. I took the shield. We practiced with it together. That’s how I know how to use it. We would play catch. I protected him, and then. 

The wind roaring in my ears. Screaming, thundering wheels on the tracks. Screaming. An impact. I couldn’t have known what would happen. I can sense the incorrect stance now, the shield held too straight when I should have used it to glance away the projectile. Instead, it carries me off the train.

I hold on. He reaches for me. And as I scream I fall and fall and fall.

Page 94

Here on this ship, I sleep and I dream, and it’s clearer than it has ever been. There are nightmares. That is why I cry. I see Steve reaching for me. I see the snow. I see Zola. I hear my own scream, my own cries and sobs. I am frozen. Defrosted. Experimented on. Frozen again. Left in a dark, cold cell. Shown a newspaper telling me that Steve Rogers, Captain America, is dead.

I feel despair and fear and hunger and despair again. There’s unimaginable pain and humiliation. I hardly sleep. The new arm hurts my shoulder and I try and claw it off, make them operate on me again and again. I don’t know how long it lasts. How long I keep fighting, resisting. When they begin to introduce electricity, the fading starts. The timelessness. The disconnect.

[lady-phasma]

Other fandoms masterlist

Gradually cross posting my fics from AO3

Main masterlist

The Sandman (written in first person reader)

Patience Rewarded Part 1 - Morpheus Returns Part 2 - The Gathered Storm

Marvel:

Frank Castle Battered and Broken - The Punisher (may become a series) - Frank Castle x fem!reader

Bucky Barnes Зимний Солдат (Zimniy Soldát) - Part 1 (written in first person reader) You can't ignore it - Part 2 (not in first person because I am chaotic)

Daryl Dixon - The Walking Dead

Happiness at the end of the world Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 - in progress

The Mandalorian - Din Djarin x Togruta OFC

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 - cross posting soon Chapter 3 - cross posting soon Chapter 4 - cross posting soon Chapter 5 - cross posting soon

More coming soon from quite a few fandoms...

Main masterlist

[wintersoldierishere]

Hello there! Um…winter soldier? My name is becca! And i wanted to ask if you wanted to be my big brother? Please?

- @becca-barnes-official

-squints- Hello, Becca. I am Зимний солдат. Some call me Зима.

[official-arnimzola]

Does Asta have any trigger words like the зимний солдат?

Соблюдай, экспериментируй 305

[ggondae99]

после соколиного глаза я собиралась смотреть сокол и зимний солдат, но потом узнала, что есть отдельный сериал про майю (эхо) и кажется я всё таки сначала посмотрю его

уж больно она мне понравилась в соколином глазу 😊😊😊