#Winter Soldier au

[dvchvnde]

EXCERPT: JOHN PRICE, WINTER SOLDIER AU.

You're still getting used to the sight of him—bare faced in patches: the beard shorn off into a mere shadow of what it was before; a choice he'd made for himself after scrubbing down in a long shower, refusing any help or medical aid—and he doesn't make it any easier for you in these brief, uncomfortable stages of acclimation you suffer through.

Hands lashing out into dead air. Fingers catching, unyielding and firm, on your skin. Nails—split and jagged; regrown in patches after being ripped off over and over again (for hree years, is the mocking whisper snaking along the nausea when you look at the pinked-tinged beds)—burrowing into your flesh. Anchoring you in place as he bends down, moulds his frame around you. Malleable shadow eating you whole.

Indomitable.

John Price was always an intimidating man.

Towering. Broad. Gruff. Surly. Mean old man was often thrown around amongst the new recruits, ones too scared to voice what they really thought:

Miserable fucking bastard.

His weight thrown around like an extension of himself—all raw, barely contained anger trembling out through the cracks. Lashing thick, brutal lines across his forehead. In the sharp, downward tug of his mouth tucked behind a bed of brunt umbre hair.

He was difficult to deal with on a good day, even when he'd offer that mocking smile of his. A parody of geniality—lips split upwards like a crocodiles maw.

(come, come, put your hand inside this beasts jaws; he won't bite—)

As fucking if.

You've only known him in pieces. Patches. Barely enough to make a whole picture, but you could still fill in the empty spaces with that grizzled anger of his that seemed to roll off of him in waves.

(no wonder he burns so hot—it's all that fury.)

Mostly, he'd come to dress you down in front of everyone watching. Snapping at the sight of your desk—organised chaos a true oxymoron (and for the most part, that seemed to be what he thought of you: a moron)—and how you handled files, and how you waltzed around like you owned the place—

and do you, sweetheart? do you own this place, mm? is that why you never listen to a goddamn thing i tell you?

All-in-all: a miserable fucking man.

And one made of sharp, brutal contradictions. Paradoxes layered over each other. Sealed with fury—of the righteous, pragmatic kind—and reinforced with an utilitarian core. Forlorn hope in the distinct shape of a man, one always readying himself for a pyrrhic victory (but a victory, nevertheless).

Easy, in hindsight, to deal with when you knew how to navigate the frothing gyre of anger and juxtapositions that made up the man who brute force, physicality, to get what he wanted.

By sharp contrast, the version of him who stands before is more enigmatic than the mangled mess of savagery and labyrinthine defenses. Almost unknowable. Unfathomable.

Even more so when he lifts his hand—scarred up, still blistered and bruised from fighting his way through fire and kin to get to you—and presses those mangled knuckles to the swell of your cheek, as tender as a man like him could ever allow himself to be, and runs a soft, shallow line down the side of your face. Eyes—still that same, dizzying blue—darken into liquid sapphire as he stares at you. Inexplicably soft. Lids crested. Half-mast in pleasure as if staring at your face was relaxing. Comforting.

Something swirls in those deep, endless lagoons. Some implacable emotion—all at once too much; too heavy—frissoning over his feature. A paroxysm. You can't catch it. Can't define it.

It's unquantifiable. Unknowable. And yet—

You know, instantly, that John Price would never look at you with something this archaic, this intense, brimming up like geysers in the endless spill of blue that can't seem to look away from you.

This man is not John Price.

But when he pulls you into a kiss—one softer and sweeter than you'd ever imagined the infamous captain could ever be capable of—you let him.

In fact, you kiss back.

And you'd really rather not think about what that says about you.

[l0standn0tf0und]

James Buchanan Barnes ☆ fic recs p.3

part 1.

part 2.

part 40s.

♡ = smut, 18+ only

bucky with a partner who isn’t quite…right

bucky and touch headcanons

all these things that I've done

bloodstains and daydreams

how's retirement, bucky?

scars to your beautiful

complaining by bucky

silver and garnet

good morning

in my dreams

almost kisses

gentle kisses

filthy fingers

cold metal

the life

♡closer

♡rinse cycle

♡enlivened mornings

♡bucky's second first time

♡helping bucky stay grounded by riding him

All credits and support to the authors: @hesthermay @fandoms-writings @collaredsoldat @angelltheninth @buckybarnesandmarvel @mrs-bucky-barnes106 @mercurial-chuckles @tom-holland-parker @buckys-metal-arm @eufezco @buckys-wintersoldier @aquaticmercy @embbarnes @brunchable @gaysindistress

masterlist

[dragonpyre]

Got bored so I rotoscoped some Winter Soldier au

Commission info ko-fi

[devilish-frog-3]

"Bucky?"

"Who the hell's Bucky?"

Officialmood your Winter Soldier au will not be forgotten

[kaseikiwi]

my friend and i were talking abt middle school interests and they went “satosugu! winter soldier au… with gojo as steve and geto as bucky” and i went insane

[ashfault]

Winter Soldier AU

This au the rightfully owned by @ruinkiwi !

I can say.. I am now attracted to Ballister as winter soldier thanks to you. I love winter soldier and seeing someone make an au that combines BOTH of my favourite boys...

You know I had to draw him. (Clearer picture when you press the image TvT..)

[buckgasms]

Pom, it has plagued my mind and now it must plague yours. Alpha!Winter Soldier using you as his own person cocksleeve...

Darling, this is such an old ask and I apologise for how long it has taken me, but I just wanted to do it right, so it took me somewhat longer that intended 😅. It has indeed plagued my mind! I hope I can make up for the wait with the very long filth that follows!

Because oh my god YES.

This will be dark with elements of dub-con & non-con so please proceed with caution or avoid if it's not your thing ❤️

Zayka means bunny in Russian because of course he has to have a pet name for us 😂

Imagine if during a mission he spots you? He's hiding somewhere looking for his target, and as he scopes out the area you walk into his line of sight?

And something primal lurches in the pit of his stomach that tells him, he has to have you, as soon as possible.

He points you out to his handler's and they make arrangements. They know sometimes the soldier needs release so they don't argue. As long as the job gets done right?

🌑

You awake in a room unfamiliar to you. Your head pounds as you try and remember what happened. You were just walking through the park when a shot rang out. Everyone fled in different directions and as you ran out of the park.... You were intercepted... Two men in black military gear were calmly walking towards you... Then a sharp pain... Then nothing...

You realise suddenly that your own clothes have been replaced with a hospital gown and nothing else. Your body starts shivering with adrenaline and cold wondering what the hell is going on.

As you try to move the door unlocks and swings open. A huge man with a silver arm and piercing blue eyes is standing there in front of you. He only has a pair of black trousers on but even as the door is being locked again he is stripping them off as you cower on the floor.

"Theres been a mistake" you croak. "I shouldn't be here, I'm not... Please, I don't understand."

He walks towards you and drops to a crouch, running a hand across your cheek and assessing you. "Yes. It's you. I wanted you..." He rises, offering a hand which you don't accept, trying to shuffle away from him as quickly as you can. He threads his flesh hand into your hair and pulls, not hard but enough to stop your movements.

"Be good, be good for me and I'll make sure they let you go. Be bad and I promise nothing. I need you.... It needs to be you."

He sounds almost desperate for you. Like his control is only surface deep. You look at him and see pain behind the strength he easily displays. You glance around. No one is coming to help. Maybe if you're good....?

"Ok..."

With that he lets go of your hair and scoops you up in his arms carrying you to the poor excuse for a bed and places you down with more gentleness than you were expecting. He immediately removes your gown and pushes your thighs upwards, giving him direct access to your heat.

"Perfect" he murmers before diving down and licking and sucking at your cunt. His tongue dips in and out of your heat, then he sucks at your clit before shaking his head and stimulating your whole pussy.

Despite your lack of willingness, it is extremely effective and before you can even catch up, he has you on the edge of orgasm in moments. But he's not giving you that yet.

He grips your ankles and spins you, so your head is now hanging off the bed, inches away from his crotch. "Take it out and suck it" he orders and when you don't move he lands two harsh swats to your thighs. As you cry out you are moved into action. His dick springs free and you grip it before guiding him into your mouth.

He groans and stutters a little before his metal fingers are probing into your folds. The cold, hard metal sends shocks through your body as he chokes you simultaneously. "Fuck, good girl." He growls as his hips slide steadily into your mouth. Drool and tears mix on your face as he fucks your cunt with his fingers. Your moans and wails are muffled but the sensation on his cock sends him feral.

"Knew it had to be you. Fuck, made for me zayka" he growls, his cock pressing further down your throat as he brings you to a earth shattering orgasm. He over stimulates you, until you are flailing your legs to escape his touch.

"Easy, easy now" he says, removing his fingers and pulling his cock from your mouth. You lay, twitching as your body recovers from your climax but he's nowhere near satisfied.

"Up zayka, hands and knees"

You shudder and move slowly into position but he isn't satisfied so moves you again, his little ragdoll to play with. He pushes and pulls you until you are laying on your back, watching as his cock taps on your folds.

"So wet for me hmm? Made for this aren't you?" He waits until you nod, then sinks in, hand around your throat as he sheathes himself all the way. You both emit a long moan at the feeling before he starts pumping his hips again, skin slapping against yours as he fills you up.

Your hands flail around, gripping his metal hand that's fixed around your throat, scraping at his chest. He swats it away. "Touch yourself little slut. Play with yourself or I'll bind your hands" He growls and you can only obey, tentatively rubbing circles with one hand while your other paws clumsily at your breasts.

"Good girl, my good girl"

His praises have such a confusing effect. As much as this is wrong, you want to please him. He's making you feel so good. It spurs you on, with the hope that it will keep you alive. You want it to end. But you never want it to end.

Your walls clench tightly around him and he groans, emptying himself into you as he keeps fucking you to your second, intense orgasm. When he pulls out he watches as his seed drips from you, mixed with your own release and he rubs it together, taking a taste and moaning.

Finally, you think it's done. You curl away and wait for him to leave, but instead strong hands turn you back over. "Not done" he states and drags you to lay on your front, not before you catch a glimpse of his already semi-hard cock.

"I can go for longer than most kayza" he explains as you feel his cock press against your sensitive folds, dragging up to your puckered hole. You whimper and he reaches around, squeezing your breasts and shushing you. "You're doing so well... Be good for me..."

You whine as he sinks back into your puffy folds and holds there. Relishing the feeling of your spasming walls. You barely notice as he spits on to your ass and rubs it around before sinking his finger in slowly.

"Have you been taken here?" He asks, and you nod slightly, "just once" you mutter and he tuts. "This belongs to me now. You and your pretty holes are mine." He lands a slap on your skin and you cry out as he slides out of your pussy and into your ass.

He dips in and out of both holes, using your wetness to ease his entrance into your tight hole. The pleasure mixed with the pain drives you senseless, bucking your hips as he sinks further and further in. Finally he is fully seated and both of you are panting, a fine sheen of sweat covering both of you.

You feel his hand sink into your hair and pull you upwards so your back is pressed to his chest. "Taking me so well... Knew you could..." He ruts upwards, fingers rubbing mercilessly at your clit as he fucks you. You are sure you black out at his fingers slip into your folds and curl towards your g-spot making your whole body tremble. He groans in your ear as you whine, desperate for release again. He sucks bruises into your neck and shoulders, occasionally sinking his teeth down to leave impressions in your skin, marking you as his.

"Please...please" you beg as you teeter closer to your limit of pleasure. "Come for me, come as much as you want... Going to fill up your holes kayza..."

His talented fingers and never ceasing cock drag you to another peak and he holds you tight in place as your jerk and squirm through it. He growls again as he comes in your ass, holding himself in place making sure you don't lose a drop.

You fall to the mattress again and can't help the exhaustion that takes over your body. He climbs over you and drags your body to his. "Sleep kayza, more later..."

🌑

You awake to the feeling of fingers in you, and find his cock being guided into your mouth. You squirm and cry but he shushes you and threatens a spank. "Suck and I'll make you feel good..."

You take his cock in your mouth and he wraps his thighs around your head, trapping you in place as his tongue and fingers delve into your pussy. The focus on breathing removes any other thought from your mind, focusing you onto one task and blocking out the fear that is now dissolving in your stomach. For his part he works your body like he's known it for years, kissing your folds, nibbling and biting your sensitive thighs and curling his finger gently inside you.

His cock tightens before he releases in your mouth, almost choking you in the process. It's clear he has no intention of releasing you until you are dragged to another climax, your walls now intensely sensitive as he curls his finger beyond what you can take, until finally he releases you from the headlock and your body falls backwards.

He hovers over you, hands pressed either side of your head. He presses sloppy kisses to your face, almost like he's forgotten how to. His lips drag over your skin, leaving trails of goosebumps in his wake. He pulls back to look at you. "Open your mouth" he says and you comply. "You swallowed it?" He growls and you nod, feeling suddenly embarrassed even though you shouldn't.

"Next time hold it, I want to see it..."

Your cheeks redden and you shiver again. Next time? You felt sure it was almost over. But the look on his face suggests not. He follows up by spitting in your mouth and squeezes your cheeks, making it drop over your lips and chin.

"It's like you were made for me kayza... So perfect.... So soft and sweet..."

🌑

He let you sleep for a while, and during that time he was summoned. They spoke in Russian and he took on the role of submissive. He nodded and was led out of the room with heavily armed guards.

Maybe while he was gone they would set you loose? You didn't know anything, you were innocent.

But you waited hours. At some point a meal was shoved through a flap in the door. You waited for a moment but your hunger took over and you scrambled to the door and ate whatever mush was on the plate.

You wrapped a blanket around you and sat cold and silent. You didn't know which was worse. Waiting for him or being with him. You tried to understand how you let yourself surrender to him so easily. You felt like you did nothing to stop it, but what could you do? No one was here to help you and at least he seemed to care about you... In his own way.

🌑

You heard thundering footsteps heading down the corridor outside your door. With a short pause it was suddenly open and he was back in the room. You sat there staring at him as he stood staring at you.

He shrugged off his clothes and walked towards you. "Show it to me." He said, gesturing to your lower half but you couldn't move. "Kayza, be good or I can be bad..." You exhaled and dropped your thighs open and he hissed as your swollen pussy leaked out his release. He dipped his hand down and rubbed making you whimper at the touch.

Once he was naked he laid back on the bed next to you. His hands drifted over your body where you sat until he was pulling you into place, sitting on his body. "I can't, it's too sensitive..." You pant as he lifts you up by the thighs and guides you to sit on his fat cock.

"No, no, you take it, you can..." You can't escape his grip as he drags you down with one hand and guides his cock into your heat. Your hands grip at his chest and you cry out as he stretches you. You gasp for air and he just holds you still, shushing you as you are overwhelmed.

"You're made for this. Look at you... Still taking me all the way..." He lets his soft hand drag over your body, squeezing here and there, pinching your nipples until they are swollen and sore from his actions. He rolls his hips experimentally and even he can't cope with the way your walls clamp down on him. "Fuck, that's right... It's just want you like huh?"

He stops again, letting you calm down before rolling again. He keeps this torturous pace, stopping and starting until tears track down your face and the only thing keeping you up is his hands around your throat.

"Did they touch you while I was gone zayka?" He whispers, hands squeezing slightly tighter, hips thrusting slow but deep. "N...no...no." He growls again as your eyes roll in your head. "Tell me why... Why did they leave you alone?"

"Because....ah..b...because I belong....to you."

He drags you forward and crashes his lips to yours in a primal kiss, you return it clumsily, moaning in his mouth. His hand reaches round and presses into your ass as he ruts. "That's right.....mine."

🌑

Time passes, probably days but they are a blur to you. He leaves and returns once more, the rest of the time he uses you, holds you and occasionally you sleep.

Until one day he goes, and he's gone for a long time. Your only sign of life is the weird meals that pass through the door every several hours.

Eventually someone opens the door. Not the soldier. A guard of some type. He throws a gown at you and leads you to a quiet room with a scary looking chair. Are they going to kill you now.

Despite the horror of the situation, you find yourself wishing for him. At least he was gentle, these guards did not look gentle.

Suddenly he is marched into the room and thrown into the chair. You watch horrified as he is strapped down, a glassy look in his eye. He looks at you briefly, a flare of possession and recognition shot towards you.

"We are going to wipe his memory, but we can't deny the effect you've had on him. Kept him much calmer than the others before you." A guard explains as doctors whizz around the room, pressing various buttons.

"If he remembers you, little kayza," he mocks, "then you can live. If not..." He cocks his gun near you and you shiver. An impossible fate lies ahead of you. Death or life, but what kind of life would it be?

You are forced to watch on as he screams during the process. Tears track down your face in fear, for both of you. Clearly he is as much a prisoner as you.

Finally the ordeal ends. They speak to him in hushed tones as various plates of metal are removed from his body. You are pushed forward into his eyeline.

Your heart is in your throat as he stares at you. Will he remember?

[lady-of-the-spirit]

Smth smth rhaenicent winter soldier au alicent is the winter soldier

[waywardstoryenthusiast]

Was watching Fellowship of The Ring the other day, and I had a thought: Has anyone done art or a story of Boromir as the Winter Soldier? Cause I feel that would be a fun (heartbreaking) AU.

Either Aragorn or Faramir as Captain America.

I just really love the mental image of the reveal scene.

"Boromir?"

"Who the hell is Boromir?"

(Course, Boromir is the one with the round shield (in the movies) so he could be Cap. But then Faramir would likely be the Winter Soldier. Oof, that's worse.)

[unholyhelbig]

Around season 4: Skye/Daisy Johnson. Reader is a Winter Soldier like Bucky and has been part of the team since the beginning. Reader’s has always been there for the team especially Daisy, and has a huge crush on her, painfully watching on as she goes out with different people. Now the Reader needs help but doesn’t want it, what will Daisy and the team do?

Title: No Control (Daisy Johnson x Female!Reader)

Words: 2452

Trigger Warnings: Blood, mind control, manipulation, night terrors, talks of death, horrible grammar (Let me know if I should add more)

[A/n: Okay, I may have deviated from the prompt just a little bit, but in my defense, this is technically my first time writing Reader/Daisy Johnson so I had to feel it out a little!]

Main Masterlist | Read my stuff on AO3 | Leave Requests

The rope dug into your skin like a nasty row of teeth, biting at the skin, drawing a flourishing flash of bright blood. The image made you pull harder in a vicious tug of strength. Your jaw ached, tasted thick of metal. If you could just get out of this stupid chair, this horrible cell. It was much too small for your liking.

Quake, Daisy as you knew her, watched you with a lifted eyebrow. Her fingers were curled around the iPad that connected her to the controls of your containment. She grimaced, a wetness building in her stare.

When your struggle against the ropes had proved fruitless, you glanced up at her through wild, unkept hair, chest heaving. “What did you do to me? Why can’t I get out of this? Let me out of this!”

It felt like you were underwater, your chest heavy with discontent, even when you went slack in your binds. The first inkling that something was wrong had been swallowed down, the nightmares that ripped through your subconscious and pulled you from sleep.

For weeks, you’d wake up drenched in your own sweat as you tried to draw any type of air into your lungs. It often ended with you sitting, exhausted and scared, in the kitchen of the compound. First, you’d drink a cup of tea, then you’d pace and drink another, before finally succumbing to exhaustion on the common room sofa.

Agent May had found you the first night, just before dawn. She didn’t’ poke or prod, instead, she gently woke you and wordlessly gestured back towards your bunk. Other agents would be walking in and out, scourging for breakfast and their own fix of caffeine.

Those dreams- those nightmares- would soon leak into your everyday routine. As you sparred with Bobbie, you’d thrown a particularly deadly right hook. It was the color of her eyes, the seafoam dusty grey that you’d always found so endearing flashed and ripped into his gaze.

You’d drawn blood and stumbled back on the blue mat. Other recruits gaped at the two of you, floating by the edge of the training room. Bobbi pulled her fingers from the laceration on her cheek, already forming a bruise.

“I’m sorry,” came your whispered response. You grabbed your bag from the nearby bench, louder this time “really, I’m sorry.”

Bobbi called after you as you pushed open the doors of the training room and shoved through agents until you made it to the safety of your room. Except, it didn’t’ feel much like safety anymore. Your fingers were shaking, and your knuckles had a smear of dried brown blood, Bobbi’s blood, against them.

It had been years, nearly a decade, since you’d first been approached by Phil Coulson with his grandiose idea of forming a team to take down hero-level threats within SHIELD, because after all, everyone needs a backup plan. And while you’d been hesitant at first, that single decision in a Montanna bar changed the course of your life. Changed your isolation tactics, the person you had once been.

SHIELD was your family. They’d slowly ebbed away the distant memories of what had created you in the first place: the brainwashing, the torture, the misguided loyalty was all on the backburner. You’d forgotten just how cold it was.

Something was wrong. Something was wrong. Something was wrong.

Without warning, the icy hand of your captor was closing around your throat once more, but this time, you were surrounded with people who you cared for. The thought of hurting them had you hunched over the bathroom in your room, retching whatever mint-tea concoction you’d swallowed down hours before.

At one point, you blacked out, and when you came to, when you finally pulled yourself from the scent of bile and blood and regret, you were here. They’d moved you to a containment unit and restrained you with ropes that did no favor to your already aching body.

Your fingers were still coated in blood, too much to be from your outburst in the gym. And while you still panicked, while you were still choked with fear, there was a calmness about the situation. If you were in here, you weren’t out there. With them.

“Whose blood is this?” you asked.

“Hard to say,” Daisy replied. “You did quite the number. It’s hard for agents to fight off a super soldier, you know?”

Your jaw began to ache as you pressed your teeth together, peering at her through strands of sweat-caked hair. The rope wouldn’t hold you for long, but the containment unit would. There was an electric buzz from the forcefield strong enough to hold back ten-thousand super soldiers.

Daisy had a tepid stare trained on you that made you squirm. You tested your strength against your binds, pressing and pressing until the frayed edges drew blood, dripped down the tips of your fingers until the floor was puddled with it.

A laugh bubbled up in your throat. You lolled your head, trying to loosen up your shoulders. Everything was weak and fuzzy and above all else, you felt the hiss of someone’s voice in the back of your mind. Eyes seeing through your eyes, hands gripping past your own.

There was a poison to Daisy’s voice “You just leveled a room full of twenty-five agents and you’re laughing?”

She’d clicked off the iPad, set it aside. Daisy stood and crossed her well-toned arms over her chest. God, even in your disillusioned state, you were acutely aware of your feelings for her. They’d been festering under the surface for a better part of the last three years.

“No, no… I just…”

With an extra tug, the mass of rope fell to the ground in a heap of ties and caked blood. You couldn’t distinguish your own from those of the agents that you be felled. Your fingers worked at the lacerations.

“You’ve got a very motherly tone right now. I mean, you’re scolding me, actually scolding me!”

“What do you expect me to do, y/n? What I witnessed in there was one of the scariest, most startling things I have ever seen and you expect me not to scold you? What the fuck is going on?”

Her voice cracked during the last sentence and your heart tugged at the sound. You’d heard it before as she sunk to the floor years ago when Lincon had perished, and when she’d succumbed to the fear of her own powers growing out of control.

The part of you that was still you didn’t want to cause that pain, and most certainly didn’t want the fear to take over. You stood, approaching the barrier. It was the only thing between you both, and it was highly charged.

You’d been tempted to touch it, to place your hand against the electricity save for the pain. Instead, you started pacing back and forth, the length of your makeshift cell. “This is where we held Agent Ward, isn’t it?”

She didn’t’ answer, instead, she swallowed the lump in her throat as you examined the metal frame bed and the cameras that were situated around each corner of the cell. Part of you swelled with pride, being confined in the same spot the biggest threat to the team had been in. You quickly drowned the thought, shaking your head.

 “Does it bother you? Watching two people you love fall down the same path?” The words had slipped past your lips before you could quell them. Instead, you tutted “You’re well on your way to a pattern, young lady. One more good-looking sociopath and you’ll collect all three.”

“Don’t,” Daisy snarled “You need to tell me what’s wrong. This isn’t you.”

You stopped pacing, lilting your head to the side as you stared at her. She was itching to leave, and you wanted her to. It would make all of this easier. Your entire body itched too, wanted to give in to the full control. It wasn’t something you were willing to do in front of Daisy.

“Do you know how much control I have to practice on a daily basis, Zee? Just a little more strength than usual and I rip a cabinet door off. I shatter a mug. I punch a co-worker in the face. It’s a constant push between what’s right to do and what I was designed to do.”

“So what? You decided you’re done watching your strength? That doesn’t warrant an attempt at massacre.”

“You don’t get it!” You punched the barrier, reveling in the feel of electricity that moved through your fingertips, your arm and elbow until it dissipated altogether. She flinched but didn’t step back. “When Hydra… why Hydra trained me it was all I knew. I would wake up, follow orders, and be put back to sleep before I could even register what I had done. Who I had killed, what I destroyed.”

This was something you had refused to talk about. Coulson knew the gist of your containment, of your de-programming because that was all listed in your SHIELD file. But the true horrors of your ordeal were a mystery to the entire team. It was behind you. He was behind you.

“A SHEILD team raided one of Hydras bases and I was there. I was willing to go without a fight and Hydra was willing to leave me there to absolve for their sins.” You chuckled at that, shaking your head “There was months of imprisonment, of interrogation and then deprogramming. And finally, finally after years of trying to prove myself to Director Fury, and Agent Hill, they cleared me for duty. Cleared me to join Coulson’s team.”

You let yourself plop down onto the metal chair, suddenly too exhausted to remember why you were fighting so hard in the first place. Daisy clenched and unclenched her jaw. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Two years of deprogramming doesn’t make up for a lifetime of torture, of molding me into the perfect killing machine.” You swallowed hard “I played my part, I ignored the feeling of being watched, the dark thoughts that tried to break through into my new, good, life. I fought every single day to make sure all of you were safe and unharmed and… suddenly, suddenly the people who were controlling me got stronger.”

Daisy shifted, uncrossing her arms “You’re saying you’re still under Hydra’s control?”

“I’m saying I wasn’t strong enough to fight off their hold on me. A few months ago I started blacking out and the nightmares, they got worse. But everyone was finally settled, finally happy. We were happy”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Daisy’s voice waivered “Y/n, one of the perks of having a girlfriend is being able to talk to them, to tell them things. You should have come to me.”

“I didn’t want to hurt anyone. I thought I could handle it. I thought I could keep things under control.”

Daisy let out a long sigh and lowered herself back into her own chair. Her elbows resting on her knees. She bounced her leg, staring at you with those deep brown eyes that you could drown in. Somehow, her being there, was enough if only for a moment.

“I have to tell Coulson.”

“I know,” you said.

“He’ll know what to do. We’ll get through this, y/n.” Her words were whispered, eyes glassy with emotion. “I love you. We all do. This is just another challenge, okay? We’re here to help.”

“I admire your perseverance, Daisy, but the hold hydra has on me. It’s bigger than me, it’s bigger than us.”

She swallowed thickly “You don’t mean that.”

But you did, didn’t you? Your skin felt like it was on fire and you wanted nothing more than to peel it off strip by strip until there was a new layer glinting under the industrial lights. Anything to stop the uncomfortable feeling of not being in your own body. You’d gotten to complicit under the watchful eye of SHIELD. Hydra didn’t like that, and at this point, neither did you.

It had been so easy, so simple to rip through those agents as they aimed red dots at your center. You didn’t care if they fired their weapons, you hadn’t a care in the world and it was freeing.

It was hard to wager that with the sad look your girlfriend was giving you now. Her fingers were tapping against her knees, hardly a perfect interrogation technique. It was hard not to crave her touch, her mouth hot on yours. Even if you did give yourself up to Hydra entirely, there would always be Daisy.

You lilted your head, narrowing your eyes at her. She’d be just as easy to break; just a little bit of homegrown brainwashing and she’d be by your side again. Both of you dripping in blood. A power like hers, resting under her fingertips, would be invaluable.

Standing, you gently touched the barrier separating you both. There was a subtle electronic buzz that moved through your fingertips and up to your elbow. It was warming, a constant comfort, almost. “Darling, we could make all of this go away. Just the two of us.”

She lifted her hazel stare from the tablet in front of her, reading your vitals like an open book. They were steady, you were sure of it. There was curiosity in her stare.

“Do you remember the house in Vermont we talked about?” You dragged your fingers against the barrier, a blue trail following fast. “The two of us can forget all of this, forget SHIELD and Hydra. We can go there, start a family. Isn’t that what you want?”

You could read it in her expression, it was exactly what she wanted. But Daisy Johnson was no fool. Despite your terse begging and manipulative tactics, she remained calm. One knee was balanced on the edge of the chair, the other foot planted firmly on the floor.

“Rae’s Restaurant… the floorplan that we drew out on the back of a placemat. Two stories, a nursery, and office. A massive backyard. I remember it well.” Daisy stood again, facing off against you with nothing but an electrical panel holding you back. “This isn’t the you I imagined it with. Where is the kindness? The selfless woman that I fell in love with?”

You gritted your teeth. “Gone. Nothing but a fabrication, baby. I’m just offering you one last chance to join me. I have no reservations about destroying you right along with this entire organization.”

Daisy swallowed hard, trying to quell the lump in her throat. She refused to let herself cry. “I’d like to see you try.”

“I do love a challenge.”   

[dragonpyre]

Batman Winter Solider au

Part 2 Part 3

[inactiveuser374]

MIA (chapter three)

pairing; Simon “Ghost” Riley / Male!Winter Soldier!Reader

contains: graphic depictions of injury, flashbacks, fears of abandonment, mentions of abduction, human experimentation & torture, memory loss and regaining, brainwashing and conditioning, male anatomy for reader, slight sexual themes, lovers to strangers to enemies to lovers?? idk

link to chapter one

The world seemed like a loud blur, every sound felt as if it was making your brain bleed. The voice attached behind your ear rose up as the lead singer in an horrid band you couldn’t block out no matter how hard you tried.

The unheard words only indulging the jarring chorus of life while you froze, your hand still caressing the hilt of your knife.

“What did they do to you?“ Another voice emerged and it was only then that you were reminded of the other in front of you. Your mission that had somehow jolted you from a half awake mindless sleep.

“We have a sniper on top of the building soldier, step away so he can take the shot.”  

Through the chaos and noise, you could still make out the meaning of the words. A few months ago, you would’ve stepped away in an instant, obeying orders like a dog. 

But your body shielded Ghost just enough to create a shadow with your importance, you knew that nothing would happen as long as you were in range. 

You needed this man alive, even if it was your mission to end him. You couldn’t complete it just to forget his face like all the others. You weren’t going to lose the possibility of having a new life, one free of killing and pain every day of your life, repeating an endless cycle with every mission you returned from.

He knew you, knew your name and probably more about your life than you ever thought to consider. Without him you were like a half erased slate. Not fully blank, but just enough missing so that whatever used to be on it was no longer understandable. 

You needed him to remind you of who you were, you could tell in the way he looked at you, that your relationship had at least been close enough not to have him lie about it. 

If you turned to take out the sniper, you’d risk Ghost running or worse, attacking you while you were vulnerable. And the last time you’d gone up against him, he’d somehow been almost as skilled as you. 

Your face stilled into a look that Ghost seemed to find threatening as you looked up at him through your eyebrows. His breathing and the twitch of his wrist as he readied for another attack showed you his thoughts. 

What it didn’t show you was the handgun hidden under his belt as his finger curled around the trigger, already stopped by your grip before you even realized it. 

You had it under the much stronger metal of your hand, easily pulling it from his grasp as his lips curled up to almost reveal his teeth in an expression that was far closer to irritation rather than full on anger.

As the gun was flung far enough away to where neither of you could get to it fast enough, you straightened yourself up again, merely annoyed at his attempt.

Ghost looked as if he was stifling a sigh of frustration before he spoke.

”Wasn’t aiming for you.” He said, his tone confirming the irritation you had suspected. 

“Don’t move.”

His sudden lack of movement caused a hint of satisfaction to creep into your head as you removed your earpiece, effectively crushing it under your heel before turning swiftly. 

He soon realized that you had already known about the sniper, probably even before him, leading him to wonder if they were merely backup for you. 

Your knife was pulled from its hilt in a smooth manner as you took it into your stronger arm and hurled it like a spear towards the top of the building. You had hit the man’s arm, more than likely stopping him from taking a shot while you continued your conversation free from anyone else. 

“Who’s on the earpiece?” Ghost questioned, voice lowered to an almost menacing manner. 

“How do I know you?” You lashed back.

“Are you joking?” He could’ve said it angrily, but instead his eyes softened along with his voice. 

“We worked together for four years, [name].” 

“Don’t call me that.” You somehow stopped yourself from seething the words, digging your nails into your palm.

“We were on a hostage rescue, you got shot in the arm.” He continued speaking, eyes drifting down to the slim line of metal that showed out from under your sleeve before it was consumed again by your glove. 

“Our soldiers were down and I had to leave the building but when I came back, you weren’t there.” 

Outlines of the images he described fluttered in your mind's eye as he spoke. A window, broken by gunshots, paired with the stain of blood drowning you in red as you looked down at your own crumpled body, weak and useless as all you could do was try not to fade away. 

“We searched for you for six months, but every time we thought we were close, any proof we had just disappeared. After seven you were announced missing in action.” 

The man had genuine pain in his voice. The type that felt like it was boring a hole into your chest as you listened. You were frozen in place, shallow breaths being the only motion that barely even moved your chest. The air around you lay stagnant without so much as a heartbeat to send it moving. 

“I wish I’d stayed with you in that room every day since.” 

Though no more memories showed their face, you could tell he was speaking the truth. He had no intention of lying to you even if it meant his own death. 

His mouth opened once more to speak but as he did you heard the reverberating sound of something happening to your hand and then a loud crack as you felt a buzz starting from your left arm and manifesting into a wave as it passed through your entire body. 

In an instant of confusion you thought your arm might’ve malfunctioned, maybe you’d pushed it too hard and the mechanics snapped against each other. But Ghost’s reaction was what made your stomach drop.

Even in the dark, even against his black hoodie, the wetness pooled up right above his hip. Just as you looked back at him, his body curled in on itself and he looked as if he were about to keel over.

Instinct took you by surprise as you dove for the gun you had discarded minutes ago, cocking it and shooting five muffled rounds at the shadow on the building, thanking something greater that the man had poor aim from his injury. 

“Ghost?”

He seemed shocked, but you couldn’t tell if it was from the bullets shot towards the sniper or the steel caught his abdomen. 

You had little experience with treating wounds, but luckily you remembered the basics for gunshots due to the amount of times you had had to patch yourself up on missions without help. 

He hadn’t fallen over yet, but his legs were definitely about to give out as you grabbed him, pocketing the gun and pulling him down the alley until you felt far enough away that anyone looking for you wouldn’t search. The bullet had rendered your left arm nearly useless as the metal pulled on your shoulder rather than enhancing your strength, forcing you to pull him with only your right. 

Upon inspection the injury looked tame compared to what you had seen on yourself in the past.

The bullet had barely even passed his skin after going through your hand, but it was fragmented, one piece was sticking to the skin where the open flesh met skin. 

“So you do know who I am?” He said with an oddly normal toned voice, as if the hands pulling pieces of metal out of him had no effect. 

“I only know what I’ve been told, by the people I work for, and that includes your name.”

His breathing seemed to change in the slightest midway through your sentence, but you paid no mind as you worked on slowing the bleeding. The desperation to keep him alive grew with every pulse of his heart. 

“Someone tells you to do this?” He questioned, his eyebrows creasing downwards as he looked at what you were doing with your hands. 

“When they need me.” You answered vaguely. “Stop talking.” 

Ghost sat in silence as you finished dressing the wound with what little resources you had. You were no doctor but wrapping an open gunshot wound with a hoodie maybe wasn’t the best thing. You cursed under your breath, standing up to survey either side of the alley, relieved at the lack of people outside.

“My flat’s right down the street.” Ghost let his words out trapped inside a ragged breath. “First floor, shouldn’t be much of a hassle.” He tried to push himself up but you immediately dropped down, keeping him where he was. 

“Yeah? Gonna tell me your credit card number too?” Part of you was amused by how much he trusted you, given the circumstances of who you were and how he was practically at your mercy at the moment.

“You aren’t going to kill me,” he sucked in a pained breath as you helped hoist him up over your shoulder.

“You want to remember. More than just your name.” He took the words right from your head, but for some reason you didn’t want him to know that. 

“I don’t need a biography.” You seethed, suddenly aware of how heavy he was without the help of your now broken enhancement.

Ghost wasn’t lying, it was only a two block walk until you arrived at the entrance of a brick building, four stories high. 

The place was dark, the only light coming in was through the half drawn blinds. But once you switched a light on, the apartment showed itself.

It was practically empty, only the necessary furniture and items lay perfectly in their place. A plain mattress sat in the corner, the sheets and blanket laid perfectly even tucked in underneath it. 

“You don’t remember this place?” Ghost sounded a bit better now, but you doubted that the walk here had done him any good. 

“Can’t say I do.” You muttered, irritated at the almost teasing tone he had spoken with.

You found the first aid kit was in the bathroom, along with a suture kit that seemed to be filled with items pulled directly from a hospital shelf. 

Ghost sat in an old wooden barstool while you sewed up the large hole in his side with so much as a subtle wince each time you pulled the needle through. 

The skin around the injury seemed to be a map of a battlefield itself, bullets and slices nearly painting a picture on his chest. 

Silence had subconsciously begun to grow like a weed between the two of you, only ending when he allowed a single question to pass through his lips. 

“What did they do to you?” His voice was flat and almost emotionless as you cut off the rest of the tape around the gauze. 

You took your time answering, allowing him to get his shirt back on while you tried to think. Nights filled with screams allowed you at least some form of an idea that the people who you now used to work for had indeed done something to you, maybe even multiple times. But the memories were distant and clouded, you couldn’t rely on them without proof. 

“I don’t know.” 

Ghost’s eyes met your left limb, which had been dangling at your side the entire time, a simple chunk of metal attached to your body was all it was now. The glove had been blown clean off through the shot, which gave him a clear view of the shiny hand. 

“I should go.” You stood up, pulling your hood back on before twisting the handle on the sink. The blast was a lot harsher than you had anticipated. 

Ghost got up as well, walking towards the door presumably to let you leave. 

The water began to heat, washing red stains from your flesh even faster before you shut it off, allowing silence to fill the entire apartment.  

Ghost opened the door for you while you were turned, the knob turning with a slow cream just loud enough for you to hear as you dried off your hand admiring the wall for about five more seconds until you felt clean enough. 

As you started to turn, the back of your head met a hard spot as an unfamiliar voice met your ears. The sentence was too short to pinpoint, but it definitely wasn’t Ghost, instead a heavy Scottish accent met your ears as the pressure on the back of your head grew. 

It was only then that you realized what the object held against your skull was, and that Ghost had been walking towards the bathroom with the first aid kid in hand, not the front door. 

“Don’t move.” 

I posted this without proofreading the second half because I’m too tired, so I apologize for any typos or repeated paragraphs that I missed

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[utterimmolation]

SPOP WINTER SOLDIER (kind of) AU

Trying to inspire myself to finish this one by sharing:

She gasps for breath, staring wide-eyed up at the equally exhausted looking foe. One minute she'd been on top of a tank, staring out as the Rebellion "barracks" were engulfed in flame, trying to place the uncomfortable feeling in her gut as soft-looking cadets(?) fled the area with their equally soft-looking commanders.

The next, she'd had a name for that feeling: vertigo. The sound of something not unlike acid rain on a shingle, accompanied by the smell of flowers and something like the rare sugar cubes Shadow Weaver rewarded her tea with on an especially good day was the only warning she got before pudgy hands seized her tail and world shifted in a haze of pink. Her organs lurched and she didn't even try to lash out at what had to be a princess as she collapsed to the ground, more focused on trying not to hurl her guts out.

"Call off your attack Horde Scum!" The princess shrieked, hands glowing with ominous fluorescent power. She didn't look too steady herself, her glittering, nauseous-looking pink curls matted with ash and sweat.

Still, she had the advantage, given that she had hands full of some kind of shimmering magic and the ability to seemingly pop in and out of existence at will and Catra had…well claws were all well and good but she had a feeling that it wouldn't be enough. Maybe if she could distract them, she could get in a swipe, as soon as it stopped feeling like her tongue was too big for her—

A dark blur on her peripheral is all the warning she gets before something dark and tall and strong slams into the stout princess looming over her and seemingly body-checks the pinkette halfway across the battlefield.

Feline eyes widen as they absorb the sight looming of them: a humanoid, armored in the black and grey of the Horde, sickly green wings menacingly emblazoned upon their chestplate. Steel plates clink and shift over thick armor weave as straining, muscular shoulders and arms ripple and strain against their confines. Muscled thighs that look capable of crushing stone between them flex in armored combat pants. Steel-toed boots crush smouldering grass and ash under this powerful frame. The lower half of their face is sealed beneath a toughened plasteel vented mask. Blond hair cut short at the top nestles upon a military undercut. And between the two…

"You," Catra breathes and she swears the steel-blue orbs peering back at her flicker with recognition. For a moment, all sound stops. For a moment, the world seems to pause. For a moment, all Catra can do is gaze into the very, very pleasing eyes (and arms and legs and neck and—) of this warrior and think: beautiful.

[laughing-moonlight]

Winter Soldier: Scott Tracy AU. He didn't come back quite right, or maybe his Dad wasn't able to bring him home at all. Once International Rescue goes public, his training begins and his arm is replaced, his mission to destroy the fragile peace IR is able to uphold.

This reminds me of an AU I had but didn't have the patience to write, where Scott gets broken down and essentially turned into a loyal assassin for the Bereznikian military or something. And within that assassin division, they'd get the monikers of legedary/mythical creatures...so Bereznik would essentially be sending the "Thunderbird" after the Thunderbirds because I'm a sucker for poetic angst like that.

[permanentlyexhaustedpigeon88]

The Scars On Our Hearts | Adar/OC (part 1)

Summary: With her husband presumed dead, Mae struggles to pick up the pieces, refusing to believe he is truly gone. Throwing herself into her work is only capable of carrying her so far. With the threat of a nameless soldier surfacing, however, Mae will find that she has little time left to mourn. Particularly when the soldier's newest target turns out to be her.

Warnings: Alternate universe, original female character(s), canon character/oc pairing, angst, memory loss, brain-washing, depictions of violence, gun use, hostage situations, torture, more to be added as the series goes on.

Other: Please let me know if you'd like to be added to a tag-list!

He has been watching the woman for seven days.

In that time, she has demonstrated ample proof of her training. Though it may not be entirely visible to the naked eye, there are certain habits—certain mannerisms—that display it quite clearly for a more skilled observer. Never sitting with her back to a doorway or window. Constantly alert, even when she is not alone. Tiny gestures that occasionally check the weapons that are typically concealed beneath her jacket, and at her ankle.

To an unpracticed eye, the movements would seem like a simple adjustment of clothing, but he can recognize them for what they are in an instant. He recognizes every last action and reaction, because they are so very similar to his own.

A part of him wonders if that means something. If he might be better served by spending time considering the potential implications of it, but he quickly casts that particular line of thought aside. Questioning anything other than the mission is not a part of who he is. Maybe it never has been.

Instead, he redirects his focus to the woman as she climbs out of her car at the dawn of the eighth day of his observations, shutting the driver's side door behind her with a sharp snap. A young girl clambers out of the passenger seat and moves to join her.

Together, the two make their way to the gathering at the far end of the cemetery, joining with the others, dressed in black as they stand beside an open grave. The girl remains close to the woman's side, leaning against her as though trying to find the strength to remain standing.

Shielded by the structure beside him, the man watches as the two of them greet their companions. As they allow themselves to be pulled into conversations, and embraces, the young girl in particular seeming to cling to a man with wind-tousled curls.

By contrast, the woman seems to hold herself stiffly. As though determined to remain apart from her companions in any way that she can. That tension only seems to grow as a tall man draws near, dark hair pulled back from his brow to keep the wind from disturbing it. The two of them exchange a few words, before that man wanders off once more.

Taking note of the way one of the woman's hands seems to clench at her side, fingers flexing almost without conscious awareness, her observer wonders at the cause. Something about the gathering itself, perhaps, or maybe the way her former companion had spoken to her?

It startles him when he realizes he has taken exactly one step forward. As though he intends to—do what? Reach for her? Go after the man who troubled her? For a moment, confusion muddies his mind, the ever-present static that seems to exist there doubling in intensity in a matter of seconds, if not less.

A wince passes over his features in response, ears ringing with the effort of attempting to decipher it all, but before he has the chance, the grouping is moving again. Standing closer to the open grave they'd come there for, while the same man with hair drawn back that had spoken to the woman addresses them all as one.

He does not hear the words, too lost in the ringing of his ears, and the static in his mind to extend the effort to riddle it out. For a moment, those gathered around the gravesite fade to the background in favor of attempting to hold steady against this new onslaught. To avoid crumpling beneath its weight.

A hand flings out to catch upon the structure beside him, to keep himself standing, if nothing else. A ragged breath escapes as the pain between his temples eases, somewhat. As it lets up, inch by agonizing inch.

Slowly, the sounds of the world around him come back into focus. A bird chirps somewhere overhead, calling to its mate, and the wind rustles through the leaves as it passes them by.

Lifting his head, he realizes the other sounds must be—sobs? Muted by distance, they are still discernible, and the young girl he had seen with the woman, before, clings to her now, arms wound around her waist. Squeezing. Tightening.

The man he had seen the girl embracing before—the one with the curls—draws closer to them both, and the woman in particular seems to relax, some of the tension leaving her smaller frame as a result. She watches the proceedings with less rigidity in every movement than she had before.

Another unfamiliar feeling surfaces, then. Coiling its way through his chest like some sort of venomous snake. Determined to avoid a resurgence in the static and the ringing, the man grits his teeth against the unfamiliar sensation rising within him. He pushes against it, forcing it from his awareness because that is what he has always done with uncomfortable feelings, be they physical, or from another source, altogether.

"You are a weapon. A weapon, created for a single purpose."

The words rise above the static as it struggles to regain control. They provide him with a means of continuing to fight against it.

Posture straightening, the man finds himself capable of regaining the sense of resolve he had possessed when he first arrived. Looking up, he finds those gathered around the graveside mingling with one another yet again, only this time, they are clearer. More cohesive. Less blurred by the tumult of his own thoughts.

Again, his focus narrows to the woman. To the way her stance appears to have shifted once more as she crouches beside the open grave, one hand placed firmly on the ground beside it. The younger girl stands beside her, clasping her free hand, shoulders bowed in what is clearly meant to be an open display of grief, and he feels—nothing. He revels in the success of it, when the static and the ringing fade away, replaced by a singular, unshakeable thought.

"A weapon does not need to feel."

All of the confusion and uncertainty of before now a thing of the past, even if not distant enough for his liking, the man watches as, one by one, those who had gathered around the gravesite begin to depart. Before long, the woman, the girl, and that man the girl had been clinging to at the start are the only ones who remain. They speak in hushed tones, while those who had been with them move toward parked cars.

He waits as, one by one, those cars disappear, pulling away from the three that linger behind and moving back to whatever they had been doing prior to their arrival. As though his earlier confusion had never become a problem, he is once again capable of remaining nearly motionless, and hidden, exactly as he had been before.

Eventually, the remaining three he has been observing begin to stir. They move away from the gravesite, making themselves into easier targets than they had been mere moments before. Separate. Vulnerable. Alone.

It is then that he takes action, stooping to reach for the weapon that had been carefully concealed at his feet. Sights set on the woman, he positions himself to aim directly for center mass.

A serene sort of calm washes over him, steeling his resolve, where before, it had seemed almost fractured. Whatever questions and doubts may have plagued him are now long gone.

He sucks in a breath. Lets it out slowly. Methodically, while his fingers tighten on the trigger of the weapon held firmly in place. A shift in aim is all that is required as the woman continues trailing along in the wake of her companions. All that is required to rid himself of the thought that the slight lurch inside of his chest as he keeps an eye on her through the scope can be anything significant.

Focused once more, he continues to track her movements. He waits until her male companion is likely to be too distracted by fumbling for his keys to react quickly.

Another slow breath is all that is required for him to move. To bring the mission that brought him here to completion. The hollow voice that had been in his mind, earlier, echoes there once again, a distant reminder of all that he has ever known.

"Weapons do not feel."

He exhales. Muscles tense. The young girl slips back into the passenger seat, and when it is only the woman standing in the open, he acts with a practiced ease.

He pulls the trigger, watching with unflinching calm as the woman stumbles, one hand flying to her chest before she crumples in a heap to the ground.

The young girl's horrified scream from the confines of the car reaches him as he turns, weapon in hand, to walk away. Their male companion has clearly taken note of what has just transpired, given the shout of surprise, and perhaps something else, that echoes on a gentle breeze.

Attention now set upon the task of reaching the designated checkpoint at the appropriate time, the man pays the commotion little heed. He is able to continue forward, even with the lingering stab of—something—making itself known at the back of his mind.

With every piece of distance placed between them, that something—whatever it may be—only gets easier to ignore, and very soon, it fades to nothing. The bothersome buzz of a fly passing nearby, and nothing more. And as he pauses for just long enough to deposit the weapon he'd used in a predetermined location for later retrieval, the mantra that seemed ingrained in him with implacable resolve reverberates through his thoughts once more.

"You are a weapon. And weapons do not feel."

So long as he allows nothing to get in the way of the mission, those words are all he will ever need to know.