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darkdemeter · 5 months ago

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・issue/clipping #1・ SOLDAT'S REPRISE

⚤ Winter Soldier x Female Reader issue contains material not suitable for readers who are not 18+ or are sensitive to the following: 18+ Psychological and sexual thriller — depictions of previous supposed "dub-con" encounters, stalking, medication usage, therapy and trauma — paranoid reader — (semi) dark Winter Soldier — slow burn to smut — I think that's it. ✎ 2.5k The past is always an aspect that will haunt you. No matter where you go, or where you run and hide, the past and it’s ghost will always find you.

↳ MASTERLIST | ↳ TAGLISTS ────────────────────────

The will of Alexander Pierce was fundamentally clear. Upon his death, the Asset would be inherited unto you, as your personal form of security and to continue Hydra’s mission. By no means were you related to him. Far from it. But he raised you like you were his very own and that was enough for him to sign you into his will. Into Hydra’s will.

You left that all behind. Alexander Pierce is a forgotten man to you. A dead man. With your absence at the funeral, it wasn’t too long before settlement lawyers tracked you down, presenting you with a fortune you would take no part in claiming.

Not the money, not the businesses and paperwork. Not the Asset.

You’re glad for it, moving out here into the snowy escape, deep into the wood’s heart and away from civilization. You never wish to return to any of that nightmare if you can help it. You still have nightmares about it all. In the middle of the night you wake up in a cold sweat, a terrifying and odd mix between a moan and scream tearing from your throat as you claw yourself out from the sheets.

Sometimes his screams follow you out of the nightmare and sink into the four walls around you, the light-grey hue feels darker each night with those haunting cries of pain. It’s taken years to feel some kind of normalcy, some sort of escape from it all, until the news came on.

The Winter Soldier found in action once again. Sighted at the bombing in Vienna with a rampage following in Berlin. That was a month ago now, Four excruciating weeks of reliving it all again, night after night and day after day. The hidden lab’s sterile odour, the grim and twisting hallways of Hydra’s labyrinth, the soul-wrenching timbre of his tortured screams and the intertwined pants and moans of bliss shared during night’s most intimate hour and darkness. At this point, your appointments could do little to help. Still, you tried.

Ever since then, you began to see shadows in the blistering winds of white, each tree a darkened and potential silhouette that has you anxiously fiddling with the trigger of your pistol. No, you never really were one to engage in combat, but your training in self defence required it. No, you highly doubt you’d actually be able to shoot him, but the gun is better than nothing.

And no, you hadn’t thought twice beforehand that living out here would conceal your screams of pleasure nor pain.

“There is still no update regarding the apprehension of the Winter Soldier, who remains at large. Authorities and governing panels assess their options of how to proceed in locating James B—”

With a harsh press of your thumb you turn the news off, uninterested to hear another word.

You have to endure living in fear already. Knowing that he’s still out there terrifies you, you don’t need anything else fuelling the hyperactive levels of paranoia and insomnia that courses through your nervous system.

Tossing the remote aside to land absently on the couch somewhere, you head towards the kitchen, making your way around the pillar wall that connects to the counter to finish brewing your hot beverage. The static of silence brought a sense of eerie to settle over you, and you find yourself glancing over your shoulder to peer around your home, only to find nothing.

The many present corners provide a horror-esque theme. You never fancied the idea of something lingering just around the corner, watching, lurking and waiting. You hum to yourself softly, estranged and off key, but it fared better at occupying than the little voice in your head saying, you’re being watched. Look behind you. He’s here.

The spiralling wave of steam hovers over your drink, blown away in a gust as you take a leisurely sip from it, allowing the taste of your beverage to warm and smother you with something comforting. In your constant reminding to soothe and sipping, you stutter in your walk back towards the lounge with a hiss at the pounding creak of something against your window.

Quickly, you shield the hot stream of liquid from dripping evermore over your rim, glaring at the few drops staining the floorboards. “Shit.”

Sighing, you look up to just see that damn branch rattling sharply on the window pane. “That fucking branch.”

You pass the mug off to sit on the couch’s end table, resting it on a coaster as you draw the curtains to a close, hearing the grating clatter of rings move along the railing. Now with that threat out of the way and assured by, you turn back and collect your cup, the foresight of your mind in such a haze to realise the lack of a coaster under it.

Your lack of awareness for your surroundings always allowed him a sick sense of playfulness.

In account to your prior option of lazing about, you’re drawn to cross the hallway and into your study, the growth of work put off during the day now no longer viable to be left for tomorrow. You set your drink aside and take your place in the office chair, pulling yourself to log into your laptop and pull up your work emails and other related windows.

Time passes as you sort through the multitude of tasks, soon enough burning through your beverage, you gauge the time.

‘11:32pm’, the time in the screen’s corner reads. At this rate, you could pull an all-nighter. Tiredness to drag you to sleep evades you still without the aid of some medication that you’ve been trying to slowly wean yourself off.

Maybe another cup, a bit of TV and reading and then bed.

Seems pretty fair, pretty logical. The deadline wasn’t until the week’s end anyway, you could let yourself sleep in a little tomorrow. Signing off your laptop, you ignore the notification ping that pops from the corner, figuring it's a random email you’ll have to unsubscribe from, another chore to knock off the list tomorrow.

The hem of your woollen shirt pulls up as you stretch your arms over your head with a grumble hearing a few pops and cracks.

Another cup won’t hurt, you remind yourself as you snatch up your empty mug and exit your study. You catch movement in the corner of your eye and swiftly, your head follows, your heart feeling as though it's dropped a hundred yards into the abyss of your stomach.

Nothing.

It’s just your mind crafting illusions out of nothing. A trick of the light, you think you see the outline of a human being and paranoia does the rest at unsettling you.

Venturing back to the kitchen, you place the ceramic cup down with a gentle thud and reboil the kettle, once again surrounded by that deathly void of silence that only fades out of existence at the comfort of boiling water.

You make quick work to fill the portions of your drink before you realise that you have neglected your phone for some time now. Rounding that same wall out of your kitchen, you head for the coffee table, peering over the long stretching couch to see your phone’s black screen reflecting the bouncing halo of light above.

“Ah, exactly where I left it,” you hum to yourself and reach for it only to pause. Your hand hovers over your phone before it moves over the TV’s remote. “I swear I threw you over here...”

You look to the couch with a hardened crease falling over your brow, your mind working to retrace your steps but it all feels like some giant haze that leaves you questioning what is what. With a shrug, albeit still sceptical, you brush it off and grab your phone.

‘Security system 4 detection at 10:59pm.’

Your study. Eyes widening, you flick the notification box up.

10+ security notifications. All dated from today. Your mind is on auto-pilot of panic, that creeping chill runs up your spine like a sprint as you open the security app. You have a ton of notifications, why haven’t you noticed a single fucking one of them?

He’s here…

Today. All from today, all scattered apart in increments of hours, almost like a coordinated attack. The timestamps range from the study and all the way back to last night, around 1:30 in the morning, right where you believe you finally dozed off. If these alarms are being sparsely triggered, you dread to wonder just how many he didn’t set off.

Ping!

Your wide eyes caught in the hunter’s headlights turn downwards to your phone screen, taking your focus off the potentially dangerous horizon that circles you. Your breath hitches deeply in your throat, becoming a dry knot.

‘Security system 1 detection at 11:38pm.’

Front porch.

Your phone trembles in your grasp, your entire being pliant to fear, your pounding heart counts the seconds of haunting anticipation.

It takes so much for you to finally move one foot. You cradle the phone to your chest that heaves with erratic, laboured breaths. Along your way to investigate, you reach over the kitchen counter, your hand curls around one of the knives from the block and hold it at your side. Tears form on the brim of your vision with a misted blindfold as you pad your way cautiously to the door.

It utterly terrifies you how silent he can be. How deadly he is. Like a ghost. What’s more is this habit would be… natural for him. You’ve come to believe that he enjoys tormenting you like this. A sick, perverse game of the hunt. That even through the process of wiping, engrained indoctrination and strict persistence, he retains a dark sense of appetite for this. For you.

He’s out there. He’s outside waiting for you. He’ll be standing right there and he’ll take you.

That voice in your head whispers a sharp lullaby of fear into your mind, poisoning you only further into that spiral of madness. It keeps telling you over and over that it’s him, that he’s here for you and that there is no escaping him.

At the archway of the door you freeze before it, the barrier that is meant to keep unwanted shadows out and yet one may very well be lingering on the porch. A wolf ready to devour the rabbit with a bleeding limp, drawn to follow the warm trail of waning strength to run.

A deep breath taken in shudders in your chest as you steel yourself to face whatever lays behind.

Knife held tight in the grasp of one hand, the other that holds your phone juggled with shifting the lock and twisting the handle. Immediately a swarm of winter cold breezes through the fine gap with a hollow, ominous howl. Your skin is riddled with a chill from both the cold outside and the terror you suffer.

You pull the door open more and more, breath held until it enlarges into a suffocating bubble that sends a tingling sensation through your arms and to your cold fingertips. You raise the knife high with the intent to slash and cut as you release your breath with a loud gasp, eyes wide with a maniacal drive to survive. You stop dead in your tracks before you can fully cross the threshold.

Nothing.

All is normal. No looming silhouette that blends into the blackened backdrop of woodland that scare you enough with that threat that he hides among them. There’s no evidence he even crossed the front porch to set the alarm off, snowy prints untraceable on the cherry wood flooring.

Your shoulders sag low as the adrenaline dies to keep yourself on the front of combat. You almost feel silly for letting your fear take it this far. Have you really become so consumed by it?

He is… he’s out here…

Shaking your head you rid the intrusive thoughts from taking anymore of your sanity tonight. You turn and quickly head back in, body falling back against the door as you shut and lock the door behind you with an audible and safe sounding click.

Showers had become a late night occurrence and by no means could you have picked a better time after all that’s happened. Under the watery barrage that steams the glass panel and hangs in the air with a misty halo, you are absorbed into a place that is safe and away from any danger that lurks close by. Fingers combing the drenched tresses of hair and massaging the last of the conditioner through, you’re taken aback by the inkling that you heard the lock’s audible click. But it’s hard to tell from the rain of hot water. So you ignore it, push it deep down into a box of irrational fear. That’s all this was – all this night had been.

A nightmarish fiend conjured by irrational fear.

You turn off the water and the overhead drips remnant wetness onto the tiles below and down the drain as you step out, hands wrapping your fresh and warm towel around you.

Standing before the fogged up mirror, you take part in dressing yourself in a fresh singlet that clings to your warmed, dewy skin like a second layer. Following you tugging up your panties, you brush a streak over the mirror with your hand.

Your eyes widen, forming tears dry on the waterline as your body is consumed by that feverish, icy cold of dread, heart pounding hard against your ribs at the sight of him. A ghost that confronts you in the safety of your own home.

“Soldat!” you scream until your cords shrink and shred, leaving your throat scratched and irritated, you pivot on your heel fast only to find your breath hitching, those tears come to glass over your vision and a sob chokes out from your throat at seeing…

Nothing.

“I’m telling you, Doctor, I saw him—” Though your voice is a little hoarse from screaming last night, you still plead to be heard by the one person who is obligated to do so. But she doesn’t. She dismisses you, a hand raised into focus of the camera.

“Victims in these situations can suffer relapses and experience hallucinations that otherwise appear to be real,” she says with a calm, experienced octave. She’s been with you long enough to know just how your process works.

That you often have some breaking point that sends you spiralling back down to the bottom of your paranoia and trauma.

“No… i-it wasn’t a figment, Doctor, I actually saw him…” Your eyes are red, disturbingly swollen from the amount of crying that occurred in the aftermath of your encounter. Your whispering voice quivers as you reiterate, “I saw him… and the way he looked at me…”

You cannot forget that crazed look in his eyes, gaze abandon of anything remotely sane turning deep to that primal lust. That distinct trace of something carnal. “He looked like a mad dog…”

You saw in the reflected image of his eyes that he vowed to claim you once again, all in due time.

Your watery eyes move away from the laptop’s camera, downwards to the glass of milk resting on a coaster to absorb the trickles of condensation.

THANKS FOR READING!

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