#asset!bucky barnes

[post1490]

The Winter Soldier

[samodivaa]

Thrill me, Fulfill me

You agreed to help for one mission—now you are both lustful and carnal, affected by sex pollen—you are flint, he is tinder.

Warnings - sex pollen, smut, rough/possessive sex, Hydra past, breeding kink, choking kink, multiple orgasms

Words - 8k

(the 3D render is for this fic, enjoy :3)

The horizon tips on its side, and slowly, hour by hour, the day spills out and soon the night will spread its darkness—traveling through the countryside is a charming escape and in a chronicle of events, with the light of the days—you feel the light inside too, your human spirit wanders in thoughts as you sit on the BMW’s trunk with closed eyes. It is June, and the world smells of roses, moments like these leave a rich heritage of beautiful memories in their going—in a fortunate combination of delightful weather, Bucky and freedom—your soul feels at peace.

“I talked with Sam, he wants me to help him” There is an endearing nervousness in his voice “I was wondering if you would like to come with us”

In an instant, you reply with an annoyed face “No”

“No? Come on, you need people other than me in your life”

He scolds as he nests between your legs, fingers finding their way on both sides of your hips, drawing soft circles as they travel up towards your waist.

You arch an eyebrow at him, as if the answer is obvious “I don’t need others”

“You will love Sam, I told him about us, I mean-about us living together”

“You did, why?” you clip your words, hissing them into his face as you give a wide-eyed, searching look.

“I used to invite him over to my apartment, he started wondering why I stopped. I wanted him to know anyways”

“What else did you tell him?” you look at him with an arrested expression. His smile fades, and he finds himself staring into your eyes “James?”

It is only a brief moment, but you catch his blink of surprise at your demanding tone before he offers a tentative smile.

“I-I told him about your connections and he was hoping that-” he trails off quietly and you notice a tightness around his mouth and a dimness to his usually bright eyes.

You regard him thoughtfully and he sees the comprehension dawning in your eyes. You know exactly what he is asking.

“Did you miss the part of how I built them?” you ask, your voice dripping with sarcasm.

He huffs in annoyance “Well no, but don’t worry-”

“Oh, hey Sam, I am another brainwashed assassin and when I escaped I did it willingly, for money, nice to meet you by the way”

“I get it, but you are changi-”

You snap, pinching your eyebrows close together.

“And this is my former partner who I used to occasionally fuck at Hydra and now that we have reconnected, we are fucking and living together”

“Anything else you want to add?” 

“No, that's all” you finish bitterly, furious with him for letting Sam know so much about you.

“He already met you once in Madripoor, he knows about your past. Trust me, he is a good person, he accepted me”

You let out a hollow laugh

“I am not Captain America’s best friend, James. I am nobody, I don’t even have a legal identity”

You explain in a humorous yet deprecating tone, staring into space.

“Look at me, you need to trust me” he coos, his blue eyes have a doorway to your heart, the place where his care for you resides “I know that you are scared, but you need other people in your life”

It's the caring that he lovingly gives, the passion that he shows—that convinces you every time.

“If I break your heart, I break mine, darling”

Shifting your mouth from a frown into a light-hearted smile, you let out a small chuckle from underneath your breath. His metal hand rests on the small of your back, in that sweet spot that makes you feel feminine and protected—vanity, fear, uncertainty—all such distortions within your own ego—condition you to stay silent about your own feelings. Your programmed mind-pattern still needs to heal, all you need is time, you will get there eventually.

You kiss him on the cheek, which kind of surprises him.

“Хубаво, ще дойда” (Okay, I will come)

His gaze flickers up to your eyes and he can detect no deceit, no mockery. 

There are many circumstances that lead to arrogance: one is when you're wrong and you can't face it—but you decide to face it this time, because you know that your brain relies on the familiar. It is reluctant to experience the unknown, which is the very essence of your human life.

The past should have no power over the present, but it still does sometimes—anger and death are deeply rooted, your emotional thermostat is broken. Everything in you is broken—you view yourself as pieces and Bucky somehow sees you as a whole.

Inside, your soul was so cold that you hated everything. You even despised the sun, for you knew you would never be able to play in its warm presence—you were condemned to stick to the past, working as a hitman for years. Everything changed when Bucky decided to track you down. You knew he was spying on you, because you made it easier for him.

You were afraid of the aloneness that you trusted for so long, but that is the truth that you still store in the granary of your mind. Maybe you will tell him one day. Maybe one day you will let him know that he helps you abandon your corporeal prison.

"Я просто люблю запах страха" (I just love the smell of fear) you whisper—a knife-wielding lunatic.

You face the attackers in a kind of instantaneous flash and see the disconsolate eyes, which remain stamped on your heart like the hot coals of fear, the power of death is then borne out by you—the queen at the bloody carnival, not afraid to spill blood while Bucky tries to prevent hurting, killing people at all cost.

It is easy when you work together, just as in the past—but he is holding back, you are not used to seeing him fight so carefully—Winter’s brutality is non-existent.

You sigh as the last man drops dead to the ground. With a knife in his chest. Or, rather, a pair of knives in the chest.

Yes, you helped them locate the rumored Hydra base, but Bucky’s intense paleness on his face shows regret, because you still don’t mind killing—you give him a pitying smile when your eyes meet before your system is poisoned with something.

It is such a tumultuous and intemperate invasion that you forget why you are here. And then your eyes meet again, there is fascination in his gaze, menaced by some invisible danger, and you want to succumb the terrible desire to weep when you realize what it is and you look at the mysterious trembling of your hands—your gaze goes up, but Bucky is nowhere to be seen.

He knows he has to go somewhere, he heads back to the apartment and he has feelings of sorrow, regret, directionless rage, a broad feeling of impotence. The horror of this misfortune penetrates Bucky so deeply that he is close to a panic attack—as if reliving the nightmare he sometimes has—Hydra giving him the pollen back in 1990.

He wanders all through the rooms as if walking in his sleep, chewing on his quiet rage.

He knows the theoretical mechanics of the pollen and he can barely stay on his feet because of the weakness of his knees, his skin is burning and he can’t resist the urgent need to palm himself through his pants—it starts slow and will go progressively worse. 

He rubs his hand over his scalp, where his long hair used to be—now shaved very close to his head and bristling against his fingers, he lowers his blue eerily crystalline eyes before closing them. He feels like he should be crying, but he couldn’t summon the tears.

—it’s all his fault. Why did he need to come to your apartment a year ago, on a beautiful August’s evening?

„I knеw that we were following me, Soldat,“ you loudly acknowledge him, drawing out the derogatory term while your back is turned to him.

Stillness wraps Bucky up in a cold embrace, a chill running down his body as he hears you speak. On the string spun of your angel voice, grief and pain drowns him. The tone drawn from memory in his dreams it’s the same, unblinking, robotic as you offer him one spare look before focusing on cutting vegetables on the wooden board.

He exhales, then he slowly enters the apartment. „It is not Soldat, it’s Sergeant now“ his breath hitches and he stops as soon as he enters the room.

There is a crack in his stoic expression, excruciating memories flooding his mind. He knew that somewhere, some day, maybe at a less miserable time, you may see each other again, but he couldn't wait any longer.

The memories are still in his mind and the pain—too ripe in his heart. The more deeply he felt, the less he was able to breath, thinking of grief, and of getting past it.

That's why he came. He needs you in more ways that he wants to confess.

„Oh? What do you want, Barnes?“ your face is carefully blank.

„I wanted to talk to you“ he starts, taking a couple of steps towards.

Shadows lick up the side of his cheekbones, making his skin gold as he slowly walks to the opposite side of the kitchen island, you hear him move the wooden seating.

„And you couldn’t just-I don’t know…have knocked on the door?“

„Sorry, I didn’t know how to-“

He says, a tremor makes his voice uneven. Bucky takes in a deep breath to balance out the embarrassment thrumming through him.

„It is easier to be loyal to past habits, can’t blame you“ you murmur, voice perfectly respectful as you think about it with a heavy heart.

You said it as a matter of fact, without the scorn and mockery, but as an accepted truth before placing the knife you have been using, on the cutting board and finally facing him completely as you step closer to the island as well, leaning forward on your elbows.

But the wintery feeling of the pollen is already clouding the pond, frosting the pane, obscuring that summer's memory of meeting you.

The memory played in his head, with a hopeless nostalgia that he was completely disoriented—he doesn't care if you are heartless, vicious and vulgar, stupid, grasping with incurable programming and mental problems, he enjoys spending time with you. He would rather have misery with you than happiness with any other person, because it is shared, you have a deep and silent understanding.

He was so happy when you suggested living together four months ago—he was okay with the sleepovers at each other's apartments—never was bothered with the need to rush your companionship.

The key to personal development lies in the daily routine—creating new memories with you stretches out psychological time, and lengthens his perception of both your and Bucky’s lives. When he wakes up from a nightmare he is so relieved, because he wakes to a dream, he enjoys the miracle of living with each other as much at the table as in bed.

Bucky finally lays on the bed, his head aches. He admits that he is still human, vulnerable, and sensitive—but he begins to remember how it had been when Hydra gave him the pollen and his self revolted at this, hates himself for not being able to fight it, hates himself for bringing you here.

He is sick with conflict, destructive emotions festeres in him while this sludge eats away at his insides and Bucky is acutely conscious of the swift passage of time, it will make him become blunt and callous—there is a certain clinical satisfaction in seeing just how bad things can get for him, but maybe this is what he deserves.

When you push open the bedroom door, you can’t prevent it from scraping against the uneven floor. Suddenly, in the absolute darkness of his mind, Bucky is brought back to reality. He is not surprised, for without knowing, he has been expecting you to come.

You close the door behind you as he stands up on his elbows—wondering why are you such a stubborn, blind, obtuse woman—why are you here?

Your scent carries across the room and paralyzes him with longing.

“Stay away, why did you fucking follow me?”

You stop in shock at the words he utters—they are so rusty, so ugly, so meaningless.

He is vulnerable, slightly paranoid. Although his voice is broken by uncertainty and his hands seem to doubt the existence of things—he tries to appear composed.

You can feel his eyes traveling up your whole body, staying on your side for a split second before moving up to meet your gaze.

“James, we don’t have another choice, we don’t have time”

You can't blame him—he is scared, scared and frozen, afraid of what he can do to you...the old primitive urge for sex. It's getting harder to control it with every passing minute—every second is lived with terrible intensity. It all flows over you with a screaming ache of pain—as you see him, the need grows even faster...and all you can do is remember and feel—the effects of the pollen—like a disease of the blood, dispersing throughout the body.

He looks like a bundle of past recollections, knotted up in a bundle of flesh.You remember what his flesh has gone through—but you also remember what he put you through that day. You feel the naked fear, the urge of self-preservation, you appear solid in front of him, but you are mimicking nothingness.

“God, I smell you. So hot and sweet”

The blank hell in the back of his mind starts to break through, spewing forth like a dark pestilence, the pollen eats away the pith of his humanity—the chaotic words pour out of his mouth as he gets up from the bed and you self-paralyze, your back hits the door—but this is the only way that will pull you both out of the plunge of—pain, need.

Your sexual attraction to him has been heightened beyond measure, as much as you try to bury it deep down in fear, the lust is getting greater than any other feeling or emotion. Every part of him is heightened to you now...his voice included.

He stops in front of you, belatedly realizing where his feet have carried him. There is no glamor, no attempt to hide it, nothing: his need taking slowly over all his senses. The unwelcomed bubble of intrusive lust, sinking into an even more heavily occluded state—you feel it too as he molds his front to yours and pins your breasts against his chest.

You are mesmerized by the tiny flecks of indigo in his blue eyes—you can drown in those eyes and it wouldn’t be the worst way to go. His beautiful features offer themselves to your gaze as you trail through them, annoyed at how attractive he looks—putting your mind into a darker cloud of irritation, waiting for him to do whatever he wants.

You feel stuffy, there is not enough air to breathe as he cages you against the door, his consciousness already vanishing and deforms itself in something primal, there is a delicious animal fire in his gaze.

“I want to taste you so desperately, it rages through me-fuck, fuck this-I want to fuck you”

His eyes are growing moist with indignation, with angry impotence, he is barely controlling himself. It is the natural sequel of an unnatural beginning— it’s hard—but not harder than his cock.

“Do it, come on” you gasp out.

“If you don’t get out of here, you know what will happen”

He explains weakly, and when you say nothing, he grabs your waist with both hands, vision already blurring. His bones fill up with foam, a languid fear, and a terrible desire.

Bucky’s control dies a slow death, shedding layers like leaves until—there will be none—he tends to be particularly rough, aggressive and possessive when given the pollen. You remember the feeling of possessiveness he had as the Winter Soldier over you, so intense it transformed into an obsession over your body.

“I'm not leaving, I need this as much as you” you say, tremulous with longing.

Bucky stares at your mouth as you speak—it looks provocative to him when you talk.

“Enough, dammit, leave”

His voice tightens, it pierces your soul—half agony, half lust.

You still have the choice of running away and finding someone else to do it, but leaving Bucky behind—you know there is not a girl in the world that can handle him, no one else has the serum, but you—your brain is ricocheting in between. It all drifts to the periphery of the mind when you meet Bucky’s eyes.

“It’s normal-” you say haltingly, your expression turns guarded.

He is livid, a sad look on his face

“We are not normal” he interrupts with a soft firmness “It’s insane to pretend we are”

You are both aware. Catastrophically aware.

“Stop talking, we’ve been through that once-”

and you look so well-equipped for this that is seems abnormal to Bucky, he is conquered by the obstinacy of you—so docile and willing to help—he wants to be emancipated for the moment from the torment of the pollen, but the guilt is still eating him.

“Do you remember the year it happened?”

"You always ask me whether I remember the stupid years, lets just-” you say with a shrug.

"It matters, it matters to me. I hate that you remember, I hate myself for what I've done to you” He explains, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear with his human hand.

"James” you whisper his name tremulously “I don’t blame you for anything”

His pain is paramount and you want it to end. His pain, his guilt. You are willing to suffer for the rest of your night so that he can take the easy way out of his needs. You admit it to yourself, without bitterness—you need to sacrifice dearly on behalf of Bucky. 

“I’ll lose control” What you cannot forgive is dishonesty—you would rather know the hideously unflattering truth of his devastating visions than foul evasions “If you try to run now, I will probably chase you down anyways”

With all that waiting you have lost the strength of your legs, the firmness of your breasts, your tenderness look—barely keeping your heart intact. Maddened by that prodigious talking, you shamelessly groan, closing your eyes.

“This is bad,” you whimper “Oh God, this is bad. Please, do something”

The next critical manifestation: the unbearable pain.

“Snezinka-” (snowflake)

“Stay with me” your eyes shone “Play with me, please” like those of a cat.

In that state of hallucinated lucidity—you just can’t take it anymore. Presently the need grows stronger, hesitating then no longer. The attempts to conceal the pollen’s effects don't work anymore.

“At least…give me permission this time” Bucky shakes his head, sadness vibrating through his body as he speaks through clenched teeth.

“Yes, do whatever you want” you moan, shaking, desperate for his touch.

And then you see something possessive wash over him, making your body shiver in anticipation.

“Please, I need yo-”

You say, nodding at the soul-reaching blue crystals, not looking away from him, but Bucky doesn’t let you finish as he kisses you. His lips are warm, his body is heat and muscles against you. He kisses you like a tide, gentle at first, but with the ability to drown, his fingers digging into your waist, urging you ever-nearer to him, even when it’s physically impossible to be. Then his fingers slithers over your chest, hands immediately find your breasts and he starts to massage them for his own pleasure.

His fingers curl around the edges of your soaked blood shirt, pulling and eventually tearing it away from your skin.

There is lust and there is pain, a whirling wheel—not stopping.

He wastes no time, kissing you deeply again, already missing the feeling of your skin.

“I am yours, you know that”

A simple reply, his voice cut into you like glass, his words bleeding into your skin. It isn’t something to be argued against, it’s the truth and you acknowledge that. It’s ridiculous, absurdly sentimental to think that you managed to lay a claim on him like you did in the past. 

You are trying to think of something, coming up short when he presses his hips flush against yours again, the chest harness wrinkling under the tight grip of your fists, pulling him and he hems you up against the door, grinding his cock against you. You slide one hand downwards, wrapping around his hard manhood and squeeze, Bucky moans quietly and involuntarily rolls into the contact, desperately seeking relief.

“Fuck” he says, a bit too breathlessly.

„James-this is not enough“ you undulate your hips against the aching bulge.

His name falling on his ears like that sent chills down his spine, he can hear the beat of his heart, his palms belong on your skin as he closes the gap between you. Nothing is sweeter, nothing else than you—lust is spreading like quickfire in his veins, groaning in the kiss.

“I know, I know” he whispers, a hint of exasperation and affront in his tone, leaning forwards to kiss you yet again, teasingly licking at your lips as he pulls away.

Sexual perversions mix with guilt and adrenaline as his mind sees in scattered images of varying vulgarity. Bucky grips your waist and lifts you off the ground with ease, dropping you softly on the luxurious white linen bed.

You lick your lips, trying to quench the thirst for him. Your throat is dry as you watch him between your spread legs—his belt clattering noisily as he unbuckles it, popping the buttons of his jeans open, followed by the low purr of his zipper coming undone, he drifts his hands down his sides and hooks both thumbs into his jeans, sliding them and the boxers down his legs. The corners of his mouth curve upward when he notices you staring a moment too long as he removes his jacket and shirt.

You remove your own pants and then you spread your legs open, positioned right in front of his standing body—one hand toys with your breast through the bra while the fingers of the other hook in your panties and drags them down your legs fast before throwing them in his direction.

His breath stutters as he catches them with his metal arm, becoming more and more aroused with every beat of his heart that runs down his shaft. It’s becoming more painful. He starts to pump his cock, the veins bulging beneath his grip—even in his large hand, it looks intimidating, the veins in his neck tightening.

He’s quite tall with broad shoulders and an athletic physique that even his leather jacket cannot hide. Your eyes continue their upward travel to his strong square-shaped face framed with short brown hair that falls to his shoulders and deep, blue eyes. 

He then craws on top of you and he cannot articulate a word, capable only of an animal sound, a strangulated wheeze that shocks him deeply, enraging him, this sudden loss of the faculty of speech that feels somehow bestial and forgotten now.

It is the impatience of the way he tears your bra from your body that really scares you: the pollen getting the better of him and you spread your legs wide, exposing your overall and the fragrance of the essences permits in the air, he smells it.

His cock nudges around your sleek mound until he gasps as he guides his sticky cockhead glides through your delicate folds. He doesn’t say anything as he slips inside you, burying himself to the hilt.

Sex with you this time is different, he has never felt this dominant, this claiming, this selfish. He is so far in that his balls are right against your pussy lips.

His greedy lips are once again on your skin, devouring everything he can—licking, sucking, and kissing, not holding back his throaty moans. He drags his lips up your throat, along your jaw, back toward your mouth. His lips are usually gentle and loving, promising long days and summer forever—but they soon turn sharp, peppermint, winter.

Animal logic. Prey. Predator… teeth dragging against your neck, living marks. The primal lust, the sheer need to claim you, quickly finding ways to express his sacred hunger to you in animal passion. He snarls out gluttonous groans against your skin as you clench and seize, pounding you harder as your body contracts. Pleasure breaks out like a wildfire, reaching around your temples; shooting up and down your spine.

You're perfect when you're underneath him, it's where you belong, beautiful face and pretty wide eyes locked onto his powder-blue orbits—curves cushioning him, your obedient body lush, muscular, but still feminine, your eyes flashing—and all he wants is to ruin you.

It's a sinful sight each time he buries the length of his cock all the way inside you, shaft slick and wet and glistening when he pulls it out. You make the prettiest noises when he shoves in deep only to pull out and slam himself back inside, you've got the prettiest expression as he grips your legs and folds them up to fuck his dick into you even harder than before.

“Don’t stop, don’t, please”

There is something raw and pleading in your voice that surpasses sexual desire, these fleeting moments of carnal craving.

He continues to trail his lips down the front of your throat and you realize that he is mouthing words against your skin “Mine. Mine. Mine”

“You feel so good every time, snezinka” he murmurs at your ear as slide to your throat and he tightens his grip on both sides on your neck, reducing the blood and oxygen to the brain. When he loosens, the rush of blood and oxygen to the brain results in an explosion of dopamine, followed by a shamelessly loud moan from your lips “I think that I love you”

“We’re drugged. That’s why,” you gaspe “Did you forget?”

Bucky acknowledges your words, they sink into him—he focuses his attention on your skin. He nibbles at your earlobe, loving the sharp intake of your breath, skin breaks out into a pale sweat and your eyes fill with tears. His trusts are ruthless.

“There is no pleasure as good as the feel of your pretty cunt wrapped around me” a dark edge creeps into his tone.

He says as he fills out pounds you, drawing a muffled scream from your throat as he starts to thrust more rapidly, setting a demanding rhythm.

Something strange starts to rage inside him, hearing you inhale sharply as he continues to kiss and bite your neck, leaving bruises deliberately and as he fucks you deeper, wanting to mark you in an entirely different way—he wants to breed you.

And you know you will wear the bruises of Bucky’s hands as you wear the scars of Soldat.

All extremes of the pollen are allied with madness, finally consuming his brain and body.

“You are so beautiful”

He says into your skin, tears welling, confused, mingling in his throat. Old wounds never truly heal, your past will never fully heal anyways. That one tear, that tiny, salty, droplet of moisture is a means of expression—joy, and torment. Although it's just a small tear, it is the heaviest thing in the world. And it doesn't do a damn thing to fix anything in this situation.

“James-” your whole body exhaled a lugubrious lament, your heart breaks for him.

His eyes are always soulful, in some way; they seem to say things that you know he's probably never say out loud.

“I know baby, I know,” he nibbles on the side of your neck “You are so beautiful, I am sorry-so sorry, I can’t stop” his growls erupt from his chest, the primal noise flooding your senses, making your insides clench around his length “I need this, I need you”

You’re powerless…utterly at his mercy and that’s what makes you cum—his voice sends shudders through your body, reacting in all the right ways to the words. The orgasm has gutted your vocal chords, and all you manage is a small gasp, tears slipping down the old salty trails as he doesn’t stop, his head lulling on your shoulder.

He leans down, nose brushing against yours as he pants, thrusts never faltering, his mouth hangs open with bliss, his cock plunging into you with skin-slapping speed and he finally reaches his orgasm, cock spurting a thick dollop of cum with each throb. He closes his eyes, because of the volcanic eruptions of fever still goes through his body—his orgasm is long, raw, reaching all his body senses.

Sex is unthinkable without roughness tonight—he is already thinking about his second orgasm—should he just cum in your mouth when he makes you fall to your knees… or if he should take you by the hair before he’s finished and fuck you into a sobbing heap before blowing his load. Of the few times Soldat has face fucked you—gagging you to near vomiting—you’ve never miss a drop of cum. He remembers it.

His hand closes around your throat and the grip tightens, slowly cutting into your skin while cutting off oxygen. It is more painful than lethal, but more erotic than painful. Your head is spinning, ears are ringing—suddenly, without warning, he withdraws completely, leaving you coughing and gasping for air. As you try to catch your breath, you feel him get up from the bed which urges you to come back to your senses faster.

In his temporary madness, an idea comes to his mind.

In seconds, he is back on top and when your vision finally clears—his lusty orbs descend to your cheeks, detailing your skin before leaning in to lick off your tears—some form of mercy which you don’t need.

He is now in that state of fire that excites you. You want to be burnt.

His eyes drift leisurely back up to your face and he smiles, nova-flare eyes blazing into your own—you look for love hiding in his eyes, in his face, and you find nothing but possessiveness.

But something is not right.

His eyes are cold and dark.And your heart stops.

He is taking you over. Staking a claim.

He slowly thrusts his hips forward, his cock pressing into your front, earning a squeal from you as he ruts back and forth dragging his length across your opening and then slowly plunges into you. You exhale, trembling as you feel the tip pressing against your opening and penetrating you. He is mesmerized by the sight of his cock disappearing inside of you, filling you up to the brim.

Bucky brings both of your wrists above your head and grips them in his metal arm, restraining you from moving them—and you tremble like a downy rabbit caught in the clutches of a wolf—he seizes you as boldly as Soldat used to capture his favorite prey—you—in the past.

A flash blinds you for a moment and you see him holding his phone—this feels surreal—leaving you breathless with an inexpressible delight of it. Bucky’s inner voice of lust speaks, it is so spontaneous and unannounced. Your mind searches for the logical thought of his action.

“Fuck, I can cum just by looking at it” He musters his primest tone, throwing the device to the side.

You whimper as your abdomen contracted painfully around his hard length at his words. He lets his fingers release your hands as his cold digits swipes back the hair from your face. Cursing, he grips the back of your neck and brings your lips to his while the metal ones grip your hip so tightly you are sure he’d leave a bruise. You whimper as he starts to fuck you, slamming you into the matress.

The usual warmth of his hands is not there. They chill your skin as they hold you close to his body, and you realize he is scared. The extreme joy mixes with the bone-crushing grief—what if you don’t want to be around him after this night? What if you condemn him, consider it with high and unjust resentment and leave him? It pierces his soul, but he can’t stop—he is half agony, half animal...the past beats inside like a second heart now.

Your soft fingers trail his face and continue to attempt a connection that he refuses to acknowledge at first—the past slips and vanishes like sand between the warm touch of your fingers, acquiring material weight, only in its recollection, because the more shared past there is in any relationship, the more present you need to be for each other.

“Let go," you whisper and he loosens the grips—he is ashamed of holding you so tightly "No, not of me," you say smiling.

You look right into his eyes, right into him as far as you can see, because you want him to hear you, you want him to hear you with everything you say—and his chest tightens as if some euphoric drug has gone straight to his nervous system—but it is not the pollen, it is you—reassuring him, leaving a psychic imprint in his mind.

It’s both a blessing and a curse to share the same trauma. And even though you are sometimes harsh, restless and despairing—he is your weak spot, you love him in your own way.

"You can hold on to me as long as you want. Let go of the past, let go of the pain" you say, giving him permission, taking him into your flesh, a clear invitation to madness.

Emotions clamp down on his heart, but he stays terribly silent. Bucky says nothing after that, only your name, as if your name is not a name but a question. He shakes his head and kisses you, long and quiet.

He grabs your jaw in one hand forcing you to look at him, tears coursing down your cheeks as he thrusts into you, making low, growling noises in his throat—a predator purring with pleasure while it devours its prey, picking up a brutal pace once again. Your legs tighten around his waist, hooking over his hip bones as he practically folds you in half, nails digging into his back, surely breaking his skin with your manicured fingers.

He groans at the pain and removes your hands, intertwines his fingers with yours, pins your wrists flat to the mattress on either side of your head. He holds himself up over your body as he fucks into you, supporting his weight on his forearms. His cock is slamming into you, balls bouncing against your clit just right, the sight of his well-muscled body, covered in a thin layer of sweat, invites you to utter depravity, it is what drives you over the edge.

“You look so good taking all of me” he pants against your throat “I will fill you again-so good”

Hard, long, deep trust that forces moans out of both of you.

You whimper and nod dumbly, screw your eyes tight as another wave of pleasure spread throughout your body in orgasmic tingles as he pulls his own climax with you. He presses his face against your neck as his hips lose any and all sense of tempo and when he finally stills, he holds himself deep inside as he leans back—with every breath, your bust heaves, sweat droplets running between them and attracting his gaze.

It pollutes his mind even more, it cripples his morality, because he is infatuated with fucking you like this again—is it the pollen at this point? 

''Bear with me'' He murmurs, gritting his teeth ''I need…more” his cock slowly sliding out of your tight pussy before sliding back inside with equal slowness, sliding through copious amounts of thin lubrication and cum. Your legs wrap around his waist and prevent him from pulling out even if he wants to—your understanding, your willingness is a kind of ecstasy to him.

The blue moons in his eyes are glimmering with an emotion you can’t put your finger on. What is he thinking about?

A part of him cares about you.

But there’s a depravity in his mind right now that enjoys seeing you like this—your hair is in disarray, several tendrils scattered across your face and constricting your view of him, sweat pricks at your hairline and down your back. There is something unmistakably exultant in turning you into a mess—such a mess of cum and tears. Gently, he brushes the tendrils out of your face, tenderness in his touch—that’s the part of him that cares.

“I need you on the floor, on all fours” —that's the part of him that's deprived tonight.

You can feel the desire. The thirst. The absolute beast threatening to tear from his skin.

Soldat loved to fuck you against solid ground. He never truly left, sometimes Bucky is on the verge of cracking and showing the color of the thing beneath, but you don’t mind, you are not scared, you never were. 

All he wants is for you to be filled, marked, bruised from staying up all night, taking his cock into your body until you are depleted of all your strength. Even then, he will fuck you. He doesn’t say more, but he groans as he gets up—what a sinful twist of his lips, watching you slowly get up, your legs are incapable of supporting your weight much longer.

Your cunt hurts, too—you feel his cum dripping down your thighs, making yourself position in doggy style, legs winched apart, everything exposed to his view and he goes to stand on knees behind you, eagerly holding up his cock then he lines up your hole. He twists your hair around his fist and yanks your head back, at the same time thrusting into you from behind as his fingers slide to dig into your ass. 

Bucky grunts as he slams into you “Я без ума от тебя” (I'm mad about you) his balls slapping against the sensitive nub. You choke on your words, this angle allowing him in far deeper than before. You arch your back more and dig your nails into the floor, clawing at the dirty ground as he relentlessly pounds into you. Sweat drips down his neck as he watches himself entering and exiting you.

He grips your hips tightly, slamming into your snatch with ferocity. A wave of pleasure suddenly overwhelms you, and the tingling is growing stronger once more.

“Я предан тебе…ты моя девочка”(im devoted to you)...(You are my girl)

You can only mewl and gasp as you are rocked back and forth on your knees, losing your breath every time his cock hammers into your cunt. You clench around him when you hear your full name spoken in his gravelly tenor.

He molds his front to your back, spearing through your tightening pussy. He grabs your hair and snaps your head back roughly before it travels down around your throat and squeezes tight while his other palm splays across your stomach.

His lips rests on the back of your shoulder, hissing

“Очевидно, что , нас чувства друк к други” (You can’t deny what's between us)

He carries on rutting you like an animal. Your skin slapping together, your pussy squirting around his cock as it invades your snatch repeatedly, making suction squelching noises with every thrust in of his length. It keeps on hitting your cervix, your nubile breasts swing with the force of your body rocking—you know that you will be sore later.

"You fill my heart, I fill your cunt"

But his words strike every inside your body and his honesty brings the euphoria of complete surrender.

“Enough, stop, it is too much”

You plea and nearly asphyxiate on the words as your orgasm bursts upwards from your abused cunt. A sob wracks your throat and he continues thrusting, riding your orgasm until your entire body is convulsing and you are desperately trying to wiggle out of Bucky’s arms with the last of your strength, but it's not enough compared to the strength of his arms holding your hips with renewed vigor, determined to breed you.

You catch sight of him from your peripheral vision, his eyes closed, his lips are silent, but he chatters with his fingertips, with the way his hands grip your hips, fingers digging in, the way he fucks you. And you thought that he chose that position, because he was embarrassed, but he was not—he wanted to disguise from you how much he was enjoying himself.

You have the strength to kill him, but here you are—so obedient.

His little submissive.

His expression is dreamy, floating. Soaked in pleasure—breathless, possessed, lost in the volcanic eruptions of fever, lust and delight. Your pussy cradles around his dick as he pounds into you from behind.

“James” 

His name on your lips sooth a place deep inside him, and the urgent need to hear it in again pulses in his heart, making himself guilty of such a secret, he must perforce hold it—

—but he shamelessly let out a loud moan, he never felt so out of control. You are a disease worse than the pollen itself.

“Bucky” 

That makes him groan like an animal, noises coming out of him that you never heard before, he was never this vocal. The groans are desperate, endless, but the sound of his name is unspeakably erotic to him. He can’t get enough of this. He will die without it, without you.

“You look too pretty when you’re getting fucked like that” he blurts out, without even thinking.

There is already a fissure in his mind and madness just rushes through. Praising him puts him on edge, it’s something he never thought he wanted or needed. You wreak havoc on his life.

He squeezes his eyes shut—to utilize the entire spectrum of the other senses, moans of ecstasy crescendos and his breaths come in short instances, each with a slight pause in between as his body is rack with his orgasm, cum is flooding out of your cunt, dripping of you onto the hardwood floor and there is a charm about it that makes it unspeakably desirable for Bucky.

In this stillness, he finally finds serenity. 

All you want to do is crawl back beneath the mound blankets—he gently picks you up and you smile crookedly at him, something about your smile loosening a knot in his chest, because holding you in his arms is more natural to him than his own heartbeat.

Morning came in through the blinds cutting everything into ribbons, but the light can make the most vulgar things tolerable—you are aware of the aching hips, and your whole body hurts like hell as if you have been run over by a train.

Bucky steps out of the bathroom, freshly showered with a white towel around his lean hips. He takes a half step toward the bed, and his jaw works for a moment before he asks

“How are you feeling?”

“Tired, did you tell Sam what happened?”

“No, of course not. He is thankful that you helped us” He says and rakes his fingers through his damp hair, making it stand on end “He invited us to Louisiana”

You barely resists smiling at him “Okay”

He raises a brow “Just like that, okay?”

“If you give me my bracelet back”

You both look at the bracelet around his right hand. Then he bites his lip as he grins.

“Not happening” he says, his tone flattening and he can't help the smirk that tips up the corners of his mouth.

“Guess I need to buy a new one then” You peel back the covers, indicating for him to get in and you watch him climb next to you “With your name on it”

His palm reaches up to wrap around the back of your head, his fingers tangling in the depths of your hair, pulling you closer, his lips hovering over yours. Everything about him pleases you.

Not just his looks, but his patience and his kindness. He is an obsession waiting to happen. Kissing him is terrifying, breathing the same air makes your knees weak, a liquid sensation swooping throughout your stomach—but you've been betrayed, stabbed by every single person in your life, the body heals, but it injures the heart and the wound lasts a lifetime. You are scared of love, scared of these new feelings, scared of trusting anyone, but you are trying—that’s why you gently press a kiss to his mouth.

(Her kisses are deliberate and polished. When she kisses me—she doesn't want me. She has me and knows it.)

Bucky throws himself onto the couch next to Sam, slewing his eyes over to him.

"So you are sleeping and living together, but you are still not in a relationship?"

He takes a long sip of his drink when he hears the words, tips his head back against the couch, and decides he could…maybe live with that.

"Yeah"

Sam’s lips tighten to suppress a smile "That's a bit weird, Buck"

He chuckles, low under his breath "The part where I live with my ex-coworker or the part where we sleep together?"

James takes a deep breath, and Sam can see his blue eyes searching for his, like he is looking for an answer.

”Maybe it is what it's meant to be for now” A frown settles on Bucky’s face as he considers that “She has a lot to experience, too. If you pressure her with anything, you might lose her completely”

“I don't want to be in love, but she is making me, Sam” he sighs, a headache blooming right between his eyes. He rubs at the spot, stalling as he tries to figure out what he wants to say “But you are right, she needs to heal”

Several emotions swirl in Sam’s eyes. Worry, sadness, maybe even intrigue. But not judgment. Never. “Did she agree to go to Wakanda?”

He wets his dry lips and says the most basic truth:

“No, she is too untrustworthy, I can’t believe she even agreed to come here”

Sam sees it as hope—and he wants to put that light within his friend, too “But she did”

They can’t talk about it anymore, not when they hear you, Sarah and the kids coming back, and when your gazes meet, your soft smile and the look in your eyes, they are the best interpreter of your mind—you are truly happy, seeing you like that makes him feel like he can single-handedly vanquish an army.

He has outlasted all family, desires, dreams, his grief alone is left entire—sometimes visiting the lonely desolation of nightmares, they are gleamings of his empty heart—Bucky is a heap of ashes, but meeting you—kindled him back into fire.

Oh my goshhh thank you for reading! Hope you enjoyed this project!

More of this ex!Asset AU? - MASTERLIST

[rarepears]

You know how in PIDW, there's all those secret realms where the portal to enter them open like once every 500 years?

What's not to say that those portals lead to other worlds.. Perhaps not always empty dimensions with only leftover precious treasures and plants ripe for picking as the protagonists usually encounters but other worlds.

And maybe in those other worlds, there's an unlucky fellow just leaning against a wall or standing at the right exact spot where the portal opens and they...

Drop into PIDW.

For a certain someone, that would be a blessing.

For a certain cultivator, that is anything but a blessing.

But that's how the Qing Jing Peak Lord ends up with a real human beast in tow. So much for his hatred of men when this "Winter Soldier" has imprinted on Shen Jiu as his owner.

But does this man even count as a man when he doesn't even eat before he's commanded too?

[iwasmadetobeasoldier]

Who Broke It?

White House, Avengers meeting

@official-buckybarnes: "So.. who broke it?" *broken coffee pot on the table. No answer* "I'm not mad, I just wanna know."

@c4m3r0n-st0n3: "It was me- I broke it."

President Bucky: "No, no you didn't. Wade?"

@loganschuchuzinho: Don't look at me. Look at Soldat."

@iwasmadetobeasoldier: What? I didn't break it!

Wade: Huh, thats funny. How'd you even know it was broken?

Soldat: Because it's sitting right in front of us, and its broken.

Wade:....suspicious

Soldat: No, its not!

@proud-owner-0f-americas-ass: I-if it matters, probably doesn't, but @natt-romanoff was the last one to use it

Nat: what?? What do you- I don't even drink that crap!!

Steve: Oh yeah-? Then what were you doing next to the coffee cart this morning??

Nat: I use the wooden stirrers to push back my cuticles, everyone knows that!

Cameron: Okay, okay, lets not fight. I broke it, Bucky, let me pay for it.

President Bucky: No! Who broke it?!

*silence*

@you-know-me-you-do: Barnes, @the1-and-only-peggycarter 's been awful quiet.

Peggy: REALLY??

Howard: yeah!

*overlapping arguing*

President Bucky: I broke it. It burned my hand so I punched it.

I predict in 10 minutes they'll be at each others throat with war paint on and a pig head on a stick.

Good.

It was getting a little chummy around here anyway.

[logansgaar]

Steve Rogers' parting wisdom to Bucky Barnes: don't let anyone know you watched technology grow through the decades and learned to use it all in real time after each freeze, or that you lived in Wakanda for two years, the most techno advanced country in the world- listen, listen, don't let them know, it'll be really funny, let them think you only listen to 40s music and don't know what the internet is, please Buck do this one thing for me it'll be the greatest

[sketchnskribbles]

“Now remember, the Soldier gets a little quirky when out of cryostasis for too long. If it begins to malfunction out in the field, it is best to send a Handler to ensure Mission Success. It is recommended for the Soldier to be directed immediately to the Chair after mission debrief.” —Winter Soldier Handbook, pg. 48, lines 36-38

— —

The Asset gazed down at the alley cat with an unusual warmth that brought a shiver down Brock’s spine. He brought a hand up to rub his chest when a stab of emotion he didn’t really want to evaluate flashed through him like lightning.

It had brought out what he knew to be the Asset’s favorite knife. Presenting it to the mangy thing like a gift. Which was completely stupid. What the heck does a cat need a knife for?

The agent was just glad that this time the Asset didn’t feel like stabbing the weapon into his leg, like the last time if got weird.

[imtryingbuck]

She’s gone

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader

Summary: The team lose their friend (I’m bad at summaries sorry)

Word count: 1,695

Warnings: Angst. Sad times. Swearing. Reader threatens to bite people. Children get thrown (fun) Death

Translation: мисс мисс плохой парень - miss, miss bad guy./ ты хочешь летать? - do you want to fly? (if translations are wrong please let me know, thank you)

Masterlist   Series Masterlist

6 years ago.

Fury and Maria walked into the briefing room where everyone was waiting “I’m just going to get straight to the point, an organisation going by the name of The Reapers have threatened to blow up a hospital in Russia- yes Y/n?”

“Why?”

“I was just getting to that part”

“Okay you can proceed”

“Why thank you. Now as I was saying, they want their leader to be treated for- yes Y/n?”

“What’s wrong with him?”

“You know Birdie if you stop interrupting me you might find out” Smiling sarcastically towards her.

“That’s true, continue Mr Furry” Everyone chuckles at her nickname for him.

“Their leader has a heart defect, a British heart surgeon who is the best of the best is in Russia to help out - Y/n put your hand down - they want him to be treated, they’ve been flagged up by the FBI as a terrorist organisation so obviously they’re not getting any help. Now they’re threatening to blow said hospital up, now Y/n you can ask your question”

“Why don’t they just do it and just fuck up - language I know - by putting in a teeny tiny little bomb inside of his chest, wait until he leaves and then… BAM, he dead.” She slams her hand on to the table “Ow that hurt. But anyway why don’t they just do that instead of letting hundreds of innocent people die?”

“She’s got a point” Tony agrees.

“Thanks dad” Receiving a salute as a response.

“Where will we get this teeny tiny little bomb from?” Fury asks with his arms crossed.

“Me”. Saying it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world “I’ve been working on it for awhile now and it’s great, my little baby is perfect if I do say so myself” She speaks with pride lacing her voice.

“It won’t work, the FBI wants them alive so they can be questioned”

“But why? And also why are we being involved if we can’t kill them?”

“I don’t know, it makes no sense to me either and the reason why you’re being involved is to be there when they do something-“

“Oh fantastic. So we just have to wait for them to do something bad and then we can kill them”

“The girl might have a point” A voice comes from the doorway.

“Ew I’m a woman”

“Sorry, the woman might have a point”

“And who are you?” Steve asks.

“I’m Special Agent Lloyd Johansson with the FBI Counter Terrorist Unit. As I was saying this gir-woman might be on to something. Okay let’s say we have a bomb placed in him how close by does he have to be in order for it to go off?”

“I can set it off from the comfort of my bed”

“If I give the go ahead on this Fury I want her to be a member of my Unit”

Everyone was ready to protest at Agent Lloyds comment but Y/n jumped in first

“Over my dead body! No. No fucking way will I work for the FBI. Nope. No. Fury I won’t do it! I’ll eat his face off if I have to!”

The whole room fell silent at her last words.

“Okay maybe I won’t eat his face, Jesus people it was a joke! But no Larry I won’t join your unit”

“Lloyd, my names Lloyd”

“Sorry Lawrence. But no means no, thanks for playing though” 

Lloyd speaks directly to Fury “I like this one! Okay you’ve got the go ahead to plant this bomb but I will be joining you guys”

“Suit up we leave in 20 minutes” Fury says as he leaves the room.

On the quinjet 15 minutes later Fury’s telling everyone their part. Y/n was sat down and was getting her headphones out when Lloyd sits down next to her.

“Hey”

“Hi?”

“What’s your name again?”

“Natwanda”

“No it’s not” He chuckles.

“Why ask me when you already know the answer?”

“Why does Fury call you Birdie?” Lloyd asks changing the subject.

“Because I have a bird tattoo”

“Why a bird?”

“It’s free. Just like me”

“Cool so are you datin-“

“Yeah, see the guy with the metal arm who’s giving you dirty looks. Him. And he’ll break you like a pretzel”. She gets up and moves closer to Bucky.

“Like a pretzel?” Bucky chuckles.

“Yep, hey you wanna listen to some music with me?” Already handing him one of the buds.

“It’s not going to be Black Sabbath again will it?”

“Bee Gees?”

“That’s fine”

“Don’t wanna hurt your precious old man ears now do we?”

“What was that?”

“Nothing”

Touching down near the hospital, the team moved into place.

“Buck something’s not right about this…”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know, something’s off”

And just as she said that all that was heard was gunshots and screams.

“Everyone move in!”

Gunfire and chaos erupted from all around as Y/n approached alongside with Bucky who was followed closely by Steve and Nat.

“Get down” Steve orders a split second before he throws his shield. “Y/n go left, Bucky go right, Nat you stick with me”

“Ay Ay Captain” Y/n salutes as she takes the left corridor.

There was way more of The Reapers than they had originally thought. As her gun gets jammed she throws it to the ground and releases her claws, trying to push The Reapers back and help getting people out as much as she could.

She had just cleared the 7th or 8th room when she heard Thor’s deep voice from the other end, as she turned to face him a huge explosion hit from her end of the corridor.

She could hear Bucky’s and Thor’s screams coming from her comms though she was to disoriented from the blast she managed to mumble out “I’m okay. I’m okay Buck I promise”.

Hearing her voice come through his comms and hearing her repeat she’s okay calmed him down. He was busy helping doctors move patient after patient out of harms way when the whole building shook. His heart jumped to his throat as he realised the explosion came from her end of the hospital.

Slowly the gunfire ceased, they all met up at the checkpoint they had agreed to. As soon as Bucky sees her he pulls her to him for a hug, checking over for injuries straight after.

“We still have kids on this side of the building we need to get out” Nat says.

“We’ll get them don’t worry. Y/n are you alright?”

“I’m fine. Someone best have a donut ready for me soon or I’m gonna start biting people”

“You and your donuts kid. C’mon let’s get to work” Tony chuckles.

A little girl no older than 8 grabbed Y/n’s attention by pulling on her arm “мисс, мисс плохой парень” pointing over to a man who had a gun pointed at Thor.

“ты хочешь летать?” She asked the little girl who just smiled and nodded, “Bucky! Catch” just as he turns around, he sees a little girl being thrown towards him.

Running towards Thor a gun is shot. Then another.

“Y/n? Y/n are you hit?” Thor panics.

“Yeah but I’ll live, he won’t though”.

“You…you took a bullet for me? What were you thinking?”

“Of course I did, and I’ll happily do it again. And Thor my love, you should know me well enough by now, I don’t think, haven’t got a brain inside my skull” Chuckling as she walks off.

“Lady Y/n you need to ge-“

“Thor I’m fine, I promise”

Going back to where she was originally at before she continued to help passing the kids in to Bucky’s waiting arms. All that was left on that side of the building was Y/n, Thor and 5 more children.

“Thor jump down next to Buck, and I’ll throw these kids at you two”

“What’s with you and throwing kids?” Bucky asked.

“It’s fun, no honestly it is and they love it. Well that little girl did anyway, come on Thor I haven’t got all day”

Thor listens to her, jumping down to stand by Bucky they both wait for these poor little children to be thrown at them. Just as she has the second to last one, a boy who looked up at her with wide brown eyes, she smiled and whispered “It’s okay”.

Holding the little boy in her arms she heard the sound of the building shifting “That’s not good” she whispered mainly to herself. “Thor! Catch!”. As soon as the child is free from her fingers the building starts to collapse.

“Y/n get out of there!” Screamed Steve.

But she couldn’t. There was another child, and there was no way on earth she would have left it behind. So she scrambled to get her, pulling the crying and terrified child into her arms she shouts over the deafening noise of bricks falling “Bucky!” As quickly as he could he hands the child over to an agent, just as they all hear one final gunshot.

Turning towards Y/n he sees her standing there with wide eyes, her mouth open and closes as she gasped for air. His blue eyes already filling with tears trail downwards until they land on the crimson circular splatter on her chest.

No one could move. Everyone was frozen.

The building came tumbling down.

“No! No! Y/n! Y/n! Baby answer me!” Bucky screamed “No no no no no” He kept repeating.

Thor gripped onto the super soldier as they both fell to their knees, holding his friend tightly in his arms as the soldier lets out gut-wrenching sobs that tore through his chest, screams echoing the now quiet street.

Fury drops to his knees, his trembling hands cover his head. Trying his hardest to make himself smaller.

The Avengers fall to their knees one by one with tears streaming down their cheeks. Their bodies each shook with an onslaught of sobs and tears.

Each agent of SHIELD followed suit.

Lloyd walks off and once he’s around the corner he raised both hands and says “Hail Hydra” before falling to the ground, foam pouring from his mouth.

Next>

~ banner credit goes to @sweetpeapod ~

[strange-little-spy]

Chapter Thirteen – New York City, Unknown time

Ghost art at the bottom!

Chapter warnings: Angst ~ angst ~ aNgSTTTTT

Word count: 2039 words

Ghost felt herself panting harder as she screeched to halt before running smack into a small child who was trying to see something. Her appearance must have frightened them based on their expression and high-pitched scream before they bolted through the crowd.

“I have to get higher-..” She thought, looking around and pushing through the crowd, nearly knocking a few over with her unnatural strength. She finally found a secluded alley, the trash cans providing a shelter of sorts. She slumped to the ground, leaning against the bricks and trying to calm herself. Where was she? Why had she gone from woods to the city? Why were they all speaking English? What were they all doing there?

She heard herself crying, her moist tears trickling between her mask and cheek, her tongue darting to wet her chapped lips.

She made a decision and reached under her hair, fingers trying and failing to undo the latch keeping her muzzle on. She grunted, trying again. Maybe she could cut the leather? Yeah, the knife—

She reached down and pulled her long knife from it’s sheath, working the razor sharp blade under the leather, ignoring the pain from her neck as she slowly cut away the leather.

She cried out in relief and pain as the spot on her nose where the hard plastic bit down was suddenly free, she could breathe again finally.

What happened…?? This had never happened before, at least not on a mission. She knew it did happen before, but it just wouldn’t come to her. Her mind was reeling. Her throat raw as she cried.

Why was she crying? She’d never cried after a mission. She’d done her work, she didn’t care. Was she afraid? Was HYDRA coming to find her and punish her for running away? What was going to happen?

Maybe it was the scent of the animal or the wet nose on her hand that woke her, but she saw a dog with a shaggy coat of grey hair sniffing at her. She jerked back, startled. Pierce owned a dog, and if she dared touch it, she would be beat.

The dog yipped and barked once, not at her, but for her.

“Go ‘way.” She rumbled, her throat dry and her lips even more chapped. “Leave me alone.”

“Tramp!” A man’s voice called, making Ghost jump to her feet, her fingers tightening around the knife. “Where youse, dog?”

The speaker came into view, an old hobo by his clothes, a bottle of something in his hands.

The dog ran to the man, sniffing and wagging it’s tail. Ghost didn’t relax but watched the man stare at her, his bleary eyes studying her uniform and stance.

“Get outa here, wench! This is my turf!” He waved at her, swinging the bottle at her. It was empty apparently, but she took it as a threat.

Pouncing on him, he was silenced quickly with a slit throat along with the dog. She couldn’t risk being followed.

She looked around, making sure there were no witnesses before dragging the body behind a trash can and leaving the alley, her hair hiding her face as she ducked through the people on the side-walk, not really having a destination, but she had to find a more permanent hiding place. An abandoned building, a shack, anything. And she needed to hide herself, a long coat, a shirt, something to cover her uniform.

One thing was for certain. She was on her own.

The night came and Ghost finally found a place where she could hunker down before the cold really came. It was still winter from the cold in the air and the clouds high above the buildings that stretched high into the sky. She was fascinated, utterly amazed that these people could get steel to get that high.

She had locked the door of the room she had found in a building with a whole lot more rooms, but this one was empty and hadn’t been used in a long time based on the layer of dust dropped over everything. Of which she didn’t even care about as she collapsed onto the filthy matress, sending a cloud of said dust outward. She coughed as she inhaled some of it, followed by a sneeze. Her throat was still sore, and the sneeze didn’t help her situation.

“Bless you!” Someone yelled from the other side of the door, their voice laced with humor.

Ghost stared at the door, puzzled by the words the person shouted. Was it an order to be quiet? To get out of the room?

They didn’t continue, to which Ghost sunk back onto the matress, a shockwave of exhaustion surged over her, a moan escaping her. To her own surprise, she fell asleep.

“Adds?” His voice called sleepily, his small hands worming their way up and down her back as she felt herself jerked awake from a rather pleasant afternoon nap. “You okay, doll?”

“Yeah,” She said, brushing her hair from her face and giving him a tired smile. He chuckled and smiled back. “Just napping.”

“Long night?”

“You could say that.” She shrugged, adjusting herself so he could sit next to her, his airy scent wafting upward. “How about yourself? What did I miss?”

“Oh, nothing that important.” His lips tickled against her ear as he nuzzled close to her. “It can wait.”

“Okay.” She smiled, turning her head to him and letting him kiss her, she gnawed on his lower lip, taking in all of him.

“I’ve missed you.” He pouted, his mouth traveling down her neck.

“I know, darling.” She whispered, feeling his teeth nibble at her throat. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t leave. I wish I could…”

“Don’t go.” His hands gripped her wrists. “Please don’t leave me again.”

“I wish I didn’t have to,” She felt herself starting to cry again. “I really do.”

“Will you come back?”

“I’ll try.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

She gasped as the air refused to come, sitting up she heard herself cry out. She was hurting, she wanted things to go back to the way they were. Why did she have to be an animal!? Why her?!

“Please…” She begged to no one in particular. “Just send me something. Something to help. Anything.”

Her tears flowed freely now as she forced herself to strip of her weapons. She had no idea how long she was asleep, but the imprints of the mattress on her hands and arms told her it was probably a few hours.

She wandered around the empty apartment, curiously taking in all the things she didn’t recognize. When she caught sight of herself in the bathroom, she yelped and nearly took a punch before she realized it was just a reflection. It took her a moment to calm her breathing, her shoulder painfully bumping against the wood door frame.

As she looked at herself in the mirror again, she barely could know herself. She was unearthly pale, almost sickly. Her cheeks were sunken and bruised from countless slaps of discipline, her eyes—her formerly bright and kind blue eyes were now cold and empty. She was not human anymore.

A soft knock at the door made her jump and reach for her pistol, but it wasn’t there. It was in the big room. But she was there now, pulling it out of the holster and holding it at the ready.

Another knock. “Hey, anyone in there?”

She didn’t say anything but waited.

“I heard yelling, is everything alright?”

No, nothing was ‘alright’. She was a result of a sick experiment, nothing would ever be alright again.

“Unlock the door.” The other person, a man by their voice, requested firmly. She took their tone as an order and quickly complied, holding her gun at her side.

The door opened and a young man poked his head in, planting a foot in the way too so she couldn’t shut the door on him. “Hey, you alright?”

She jumped back, startled. “S-Soldat!!” 

Her partner had just walked through the door, or at least he looked like the Soldier. But—how come he looked so different??

“Hey, whoa, I won’t hurt you—“ He held out his hands, showing them to her. “You’d better put that gun away, honey.”

He was—there was no way he was here—Just, then, how--?!

“Hello?” He waved a hand in her face, his brows scrunched together. “You okay??”

“Soldier…” She pointed to him and then to his hand. It wasn’t metal.

“Holy cow, you’re hurt--!” He observed, spotting her burn. “What happened??”

“Branded..” She replied hoarsely. “You ha-have one..”

“No, kid, I don’t.” He shook his head, his hair was much shorter and made her glare harder. There was no way this was a dream—

Somehow to her own surprise, Soldat had gotten her into another apartment, this one much more lived in and furnished. A younger man, this one with blond hair which faded to deep brown as it traveled down to his ears, approached. His expression concerned.

“Whoa- Bucky, what happened??”

“I think she’s running from someone. Found her in the unrented apartment downstairs when I heard shouting. She had a gun too.” Soldat pulled out the pistol Ghost had wielded. She tried to reach for the weapon but he pulled it back.

“I think you’d better leave that alone for now, but I’ll just put it here, okay?” He set it on the top of a bookshelf, keeping the muzzle pointed toward the wall. “I don’t want you to hurt yourself, kid.”

She gazed longingly at her weapon, her protection—but Soldat was here, he protected her. She nodded silently, her arms hugging her middle.

“I’ll get her some clean clothes,” the smaller man said, speed-walking into another room.

“C’mer,” Soldat guided her to the couch, gesturing her to sit down and relax. She looked at him, confused. Asset sat on the floor. He knew that better than anyone.

“Asset sits on floor.” She muttered, watching his eyes loose their sparkle. He didn’t understand, that was protocol. It was rules.

“You can sit there, I don’t mind.” He half shrugged as the other man re-appeared with a bundle of clothes. “Oh, here, you should get out of that uniform.” He tugged on the black leather of her uniform, now opening another door for her. “Maybe take a shower?”

She titled her head, her mane of hair tumbling over her shoulders.

“Go on now,” He motioned to the doorway kindly, a ghost of a smile on his lips. She glanced between Soldat and the other man before taking the fresh clothes and strolling into the other room, looking around in the strange area. There was a stall where the spout poked out and two knobs for water. Two? Cold and Cold?

No, the other one was red. Red meant danger right?

She’d better not turn it. She quickly peeled the filthy uniform from herself, feeling that wave of relief flood over her as she stood stripped on the tile, taking a free breath now that the harness wasn’t hindering her lungs. She felt a shiver run up her spine as she stepped into the stall, hurrying to finish. It wasn’t as if she thought Soldat wanted his turn as soon as possible, but it had been engrained into her that showers were a reward and they were not to be squandered. You got in, you got out.

The water was ice cold as it came out of the spout, unlike the pipe HYDRA had used. She felt her muscles tense but numb finally as she let it wash over her tired body. Her hair was greasy and crusty but it relaxed as the water washed out all the grime, sweat and blood that had dried in her cinnamon colored mane. She didn’t open her eyes the entire shower, feeling her starved and abused body like a blind man would read the braille dots. She felt her chest heave again as her warm tears contrasted to the cold water splattering on her face. She felt miserable. She didn’t care if she was safe, she was alone and shattered. A shell of the person she once was, whoever the hell that was.

End notes: Okay, so why doesn’t Bucky recognize her? Well, if you changed your skin tone, clothing, physique and hair, you’d be pretty hard to recognize too

Ghost's uniform, on left with mask, on right, without.

thank you for reading 🥰✌️

Dividers by @strangergraphics

prompt by @the-superoriginal

written by yours truly, all relation to actual people are purely coincidental

tag list: @oh-to-be-a-murderer - @fictionalmenjusthitdifferent - @itzzkaylaaa - @crazyinlovewithmarvel - @natt-romanoff - @ohyeah-itssamwilson - @proud-owner-0f-americas-ass - @thebestmerc-1 - @daniel-barnes-the-ghost -

if you would like to be tagged in the upcoming chapters, please send me an ask and I will make sure to tag you!

[mandyyvibes]

interrupting my accounting work bc i couldn’t not do this

[kyuoki]

[samodivaa]

Words don’t trigger him, emotions do

Bucky Barnes x Reader

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

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

Words- 3400

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You know its' name—Winter.

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

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

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

“Bucky-”

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

“Give me ten minutes”

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

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

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

“Okay”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Let's head home”

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

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

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

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

But nothing stays secret forever

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

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

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

That was a year ago.

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

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

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

Always.

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

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

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

“Why did you call me that?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You.

Only you.

Bucky dreads this power you have over him.

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

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

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1968–1969, Zhao Jianmin Spy Case

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

All he needs is one push.

And you are about to shamelessly shove.

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

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

It breaches something within him, and he gives in.

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

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

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

He craves you, he kisses you again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

That through alone causes trouble below his belt.

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

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

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

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

“Ты - моя, слышишь?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It doesn’t matter”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He loves you.

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

Because you are already long united by the past.

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

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

You have possessed him—and you never knew it.

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

“Bucky,”

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

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

You are made for him, made for fucking.

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

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

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

You have never seen him like that.

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

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

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

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

[rebelmeg]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Alpine the Cat & James "Bucky" Barnes Characters: James "Bucky" Barnes, Alpine the Cat (Marvel) Additional Tags: Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes, Good Cat Alpine (Marvel), Mission Related, Fluff Summary:

The Asset has been out of cryo for awhile, and his conditioning is starting to break down. So when a tiny, scrappy kitten tries to play with the laser sight on his rifle, he can't help but play along. Just a little bit.

Notes: For my @buckybarnesbingo​ square U5 – Surveillance!

[chaos-is-beautifvl]

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: winter soldier!bucky x asset!reader

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 213 (probably the shortest thing i’ve ever written)

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 💌: anon requested this & as soon as i saw it, i had this little idea

i’ll definitely be expanding more on this concept because the dynamic is so much fun to write

“Quit following me,” Bucky hisses, leering over you, his right arm caging you up against the brick wall of the alleyway. His steely eyes appear more black than blue in the dim lighting, narrowed and staring down at you harshly with a clenched jaw. He’s that much more irate when he catches the smug grin plastered on your face.

“So, you’re pissed because you can’t keep me off your trail?” You ask with a condescending raise of a brow. “Tell me something, Mr. Winter Soldier…” You pause, making direct eye contact, “Are all those decades you have on your roster affecting you? Because, my good god, you are so easy to catch.”

“You little-”

He’s interrupted by you making a swift duck under his arm. He moves to grab at you but is left grasping air as you scurry away, safe by just a centimeter.

“Too slow. Maybe you’ll catch me one of these days. Hopefully before you croak of old age.” You enter the light of the street, leaving him in the dark. “I’ll see you around, grandpa.”

The last bit is said as with a taunting little wave and the cockiest fucking grin Bucky’s ever encountered before you’re turning around and continuing your afternoon jog.

One day, he’s going to kill you.

check out my other writing here!

[thecoldsoldiers]

Open RP

Asset had been on his own for long enough, nights of scrambling through garbage and breaking into houses in order to get supplies. His thoughts didn’t exactly make sense and so he wasn’t going to return to anyone, not Steve Rogers, not SHIELD or HYDRA.

He had slipped in through an open window of a home, using the cover of shadows to rifle through the fridge. Asset was searching for anything edible. He had no clue who lived here but he didn’t really care, filling his arms with snacks and biting down on a leftover pizza he found.

[writingsinashes]

I've kinda been playing with an idea since I read a couple of fics that portrayed Winter and Bucky in this way;

I'm thinking of having James Buchanan Barnes, both Bucky and Winter by separating James's psyche with him having developed DID to survive when Bucky would slowly try to 'take the light' and try to bleed into Yasha's identity, which is all fucked up because of the monstrosities he was forced to deal with brainwash after brainwash.

All of the above is just one of the reasons that would end up sparking an actual PERSONALITY with Yasha, not just HYDRA's fist, therefore creating Winter's/Yasha's whole personality other than murder bot.

But he'd be traumatized, scared, and unsure all while doing what he was told to do by his handler regardless of the mission, only every now and then- between long stages of cryo and mind wiping when JAMES tries to sneak into Yasha's headspace (Not Bucky because he has a different personality and view on life and what's acceptable and isn't and view on his actions either by his body's hands or not) BUT NOT WEAK AND UNCOOPERATIVE.

Not until he escapes.

And yes, he escapes. Steve doesn't play a part in that until Bucky starts to fight for their consciousness.

[imtryingbuck]

Remembering

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader

Summary: The team lose their friend (I’m bad at summaries sorry)

Word count: 2,821

Warnings: Angst. Mentions of children dying. Our poor reader gets attacked. Small mentions of suicide, being spat on

Translation: unde este femeia?-where is the woman?/oms-who/da, ea este prietena noastră- yes, she is our friend/ea este cu noi, acum ești în siguranță-she is with us, you’re now safe. If any of the translations are wrong please let me know

Masterlist   Series Masterlist

It has been two weeks since the attack on the Capital. Two weeks since the Avengers got their friend back.

Y/n was taken straight to the Raft, for her own protection incase Hydra came for her. None of the team was happy about it especially Bucky who fought against the medical staff, trying to stop the SHIELD agents from taking her.

“It’s for her own safety” Fury explained, he still couldn’t believe she was alive, he didn’t believe the agent who had informed him that she was was on the street and was now working for Hydra.

“Okay well why all the guns being pointed at her?” Tony said with his arms crossed.

“For everyone’s safety”

“You’ve got a collar around her neck, two handcuffs on her wrist and cuffs on her ankles. I don’t think she’s going to get very far, do you?”

“It’s okay Tony-it’s fine I promise” Y/n spoke, Fury had to admit he hated doing this to her but he had no other option.

In them two weeks, they fought tirelessly to get her back to the tower, fought to get her pardoned - it should of been easy as they couldn’t connect her to any crimes committed by Hydra, but the government wanted her locked up as a traitor.

Ross allowed the team including Fury to go and question her at the Raft, on one condition - there be armed guards in the room.

They were led into a huge room with tiny windows, a small table and three chairs. There was armed guards lining against the wall. They had been there for 10 minutes before three locks sounded from the metal door, just as the door came open the guards stance changed, ready to shoot kind of stance.

They saw the man in charge walking in front of someone who they assumed was Y/n, who was then being flanked by three guards on either side. When they got closer the man moved aside, they all sucked in a breath at the sight of their friend handcuffed, a collar around her neck, but the worst part was the bruises littering her face and a busted lip that they could tell were fresh.

Fury reached out to her before a voice stopped him “No touching the traitor”

“She’s not a traitor” Fury snapped back.

“That’s not what her file says” Turning his head to Y/n “Sit and don’t move”

“Don’t talk to her like that” Bucky’s anger started to get the better of him.

“Oh I’m sorry, do you want to have this visit or not?”

“It’s fine. You can leave now” Fury replied.

“Remember no touching her and don’t try and pass her anything or she’ll be shot, enjoy” the man walked off chuckling to himself.

“Are you alright?” Questioned Bucky.

“I’m so sorry for what I did to yo-“

“Hey it’s fine, I’m okay, look. Now answer my question”

“I’m fine”

“What happened? Because they’re fresh bruises Birdie”

“It’s nothing”

“It’s not nothing Y/n! Who did it?” Tony says from next to Steve.

“Nothing I don’t deserve” Shifting more comfortably she sighs “Ask the questions you want to ask and you can leave”.

“You don’t deserve this Y/n!”

“Ask or I’ll get them to take me back”

Fury finally speaks after a few minutes of silence. “Okay, do you remember what happened the day we lost you?”

“I remember we was on a mission in Russia and I remember being shot and then falling and hearing voices, thinking it was you lot I-I saw faces and felt something pinching me and then waking up at Hydra’s base.”

“T-that can’t happen, Y/n we found your body and you was dead. We took you back home…”

“It wasn’t me. Hydra used a woman who could shape shift, they showed me”

“What else do you remember?” Tony asks.

“They tortured me, questioned me about my genes, t-they showed me my funeral. Then they gave me the serum and after a few months they started training me”

“Do-do you remember any missions you went on?”

“No. They always wiped my memory after I came back”

“Has any memories come back?”

“Yes”. Her head bowed and her eyes closed “I was the one that killed all those SHIELD agents”

All of them sighed in defeat. At her confession, she could be tried as a traitor, it didn’t matter if she was brainwashed or not. She had just admitted that she killed over 60 agents.

“I don’t remember any other missions. I’m sorry. I hear that you’re trying to get me freed, don’t. I belong in here”

“No you don’t! None of this is your fault!” Bucky’s voice broke.

Not listening to him, she looked directly at Fury “Lloyd was a member of Hydra, there’s many agents at the FBI that work for them and The Reapers didn’t exist because it was Hydra - the whole thing was a set up to get me. Rumlow told me that there was a deal in place between Hydra and The Facility, but when Logan got me out it pissed them off because they didn’t have me and the deal was off” Sighing, she moves the handcuffs to more of a comfortable position.

“Theres something else you need to know, the base they kept me at is in Romania. There’s children there, they’ve been injecting them with my blood. Innocent children are being killed because of me. I’m so sorry.” Looking at the guards “I’m ready to go now”.

“No no Y/n we’re not done yet” Fury stands and tries to stop her from standing.

“I’m done. Take me back”

“She’s not safe in there Fury!” Tony exclaimed as he paced back and forth in the briefing room.

“We don’t know who did it yet” Fury replied.

“Well it’s obviously the guards, we need to get her out of there” Tony’s voice rose with each word.

Shaking his head at the billionaire, “It’s safer for her in there Tony”

“No it isn’t and you know it!”

“We need to find this base and see if there are any children like Y/n said, couldn’t that help with getting her out?” Wanda ever the voice of reason.

“About that, the main reason I came here is because there is a base in Romania just like she said, you guys need to go there and check it out, I’ve already sent the coordinates to the pilot”

“When?” Steve asks.

“Pilots are ready whenever you are”.

Five hours later they were inside the base, the whole building had paperwork littering the floors, blood smeared on the walls, the horrible stench of death lingered in the air.

They searched the whole building from top to bottom for any signs of life, coming up empty until Bucky and Sam opened a door on the far end of the corridor, inside the darken room they saw seven small children huddled together in the left corner.

“It’s okay, we’re not going to hurt you” Sam says as he put his gun down. The children’s faces all contorted in confusion making Bucky repeat what Sam had said but in Romanian.

“unde este femeia?” A young boy spoke from the front.

“Oms?”

“Y/n”

“Y/n?”

“Da, ea este prietena noastră“

“ea este cu noi, acum ești în siguranță” Bucky and Sam watched as the children took careful steps towards them, Sam spoke through his comms to let the team know that they were coming out with kids.

After getting the kids on the quinjet they both made their way back into the base.

“I found a file called Little Bird, all the crimes Y/n’s ever committed for them is on here” Nat says as she opens up another link, surveillance footage after footage showing Y/n, committing crime and crime, more worse than the previous.

“Download everything to do with Y/n and we’ll show Fury, Buck Sam said something about the kids knowing Y/-Buck?” Sam laughs at Steve’s facial expression when he realises that Bucky’s not in the room with them.

“Left corridor, right at the end”

“She carved her name into the wall just so she wouldn’t forget” Bucky says without looking to see who was behind him. “She also wrote how many days she was here, she probably lost count after day 327” Turning to face his oldest friend with tears rolling down his face. “Steve, day 327 I lit a candle in her room to keep it smelling the way it always did. For 327 days we cried and mourned her whe-when she was here all along, alone and terrified. I should of done more Stevie, I shou-should of known she was still alive”

“Buck it’s not your fault! It’s not our fault either, we all watched her die. We couldn’t of known Buck so stop trying to blame yourself”

“I need to tell you something”

“Anything pal, you know this”

“17 years ago when I was still under Hydra’s control…I was sent on a mission to kill this girl, I get to her location bu-but I couldn’t go through with it. I remember her smile as clear as day, she was with an older man - laughing about who knows what but her smile Stevie” For the first time in over two weeks Steve watches his friend smile at a memory he wishes he could see. “I left and was punished for not completing the mission. It was Y/n, she was the girl. The exact same smile when I first met her-“

“Buck…”

“I never told her. I just couldn’t you know? And the worst part is Steve, if I could go back in time and do it over again, I wouldn’t. For my own selfish needs I wouldn’t stop the pain she would have to go through for six years. I would let her go through all the pain and suffering because I’m selfish!”

“You’re not selfish Bucky! You love her, you always have and you always will. I’m glad you didn’t do it 17 years ago either because I wouldn’t have met her, I wouldn’t have had a great friend, she’s the only person who ever treat me as Steve and not America’s puppet. It’s okay to be selfish sometimes Buck”

“We agree, with Steve I mean” Both men turn to face the team who were standing in the doorway.

“It’s not your fault tin-Bucky, none of this is” Tony corrects himself.

“I’m pretty sure she’d do it all ove-“.

Wanda gets cut off by Fury’s voice through their comms “You need to get back to the Tower now”

“What’s goin-“

“Now!”

They are looked equally confused by Fury’s tone and demand, but complied nonetheless.

After the children were taken away by the medical staff, FRIDAY let them know to go straight into the briefing room - where Fury, Maria, Ross sat waiting.

“What’s going on?” Steve asks, looking at all three people.

“Y/n’s been attacked in the Raft” Fury speaks solemnly.

“W-what? Who by? When?”

“Late last night”

“And you’re only telling us this now?”

“We only found out an hour before I told you to get back!”

“Where is she?” Tony questioned.

“Still there…” Ross speaks up from the end of the table.

“You’ve got to be joking right? She gets attacked and she’s still there?”

“We have to wait for the President to sign the paperwork agreeing to have her moved to a hospital, a lot of armed guards are going to be needed”

“Who attacked her?” Bucky asks.

“We don’t know”

“How bad is it?”

“We don’t know, but bad enough for the prick in charge to let us know about it happening”

Just as Bucky was about to open his mouth an agent came running in “Sir, this is straight from the President” Handing over a piece of paper to Ross, who then squeezes his eyes shut.

“What does it say Ross?”

“He’s not allowing her to be moved”.

Chaos. Chaos is the best way to describe what happened next. Everyone shouting, Tony even picked up a chair and threw it through one of the windows.

“He can’t do this!” Fury shouted.

“He’s the President of the United States Fury! He also believes she’s a traitor. He’s also not allowing her to have any more visitors”

“She’s going to die in there Ross!”

“I know, I know. Now if everyone calmly collects themselves and follow me I have a plan.”

She had managed to find a more comfortable position to finally fall asleep, which wasn’t easy to do on cold concrete flooring. Now matter which way she turned the collar dug in her neck causing her to wince at the pain. The handcuffs weren’t helping either.

Hearing the now familiar locks clicking on her door, she sat up and scooted into the corner.

“You’ve got special visitors” One of the guards said “Get up traitor”

Standing up on shaky legs, she waited for her next instructions, which didn’t come as the guard gripped the cuff link and pulled her roughly. Bare feet digging slightly into the metal grates of the walkway as she tried to keep up with the guards.

“Get in there” His rough voice echoed through the empty corridor, her heart pounded in her chest as this wasn’t the same place she was taken to when Fury and the team had been to see her.

“Whe-“ She gets cut off as she gets pushed into the room.

In the windowless room there was no chairs or table, there was nothing other than 8 men standing there.

“You’ve got two hours boys. Make sure you don’t kill her or the warden will be pissed plus she’s got more special visitors tomorrow” The guard chuckled before he closed the door.

“The most respected agent of SHIELD you was, hell I even looked up to you. And now you’re a murderer and a traitor!” A tall man with dark hair, whose eyes burned with hatred.

“So here’s what we’re going to do, each one of us is going to take a turn beating the shit out of you and your gonna be a good little girl and take it, understand?” The only blonde man spoke.

“Understand?” The first one spoke again.

Nodding her head, she watched them move around each other and waited for the first blow to come.

The punches and kicks just wouldn’t stop, she couldn’t even fight back due to the collar and handcuffs. Despite her whole entire body screaming and throbbing in pain she refused to let one sound slip from her now busted and swollen lips. All she repeated in her head like a mantra was that ‘she deserved this and more’, everyone was right, she was a traitor and no not because she wanted to but because she didn’t end her life before Hydra had a chance to turn her into a monster. She betrayed every single thing she stood for, everything she believed in, she betrayed herself and SHIELD. But most importantly she betrayed The Avengers, her family.

Knowing that they watched her ‘die’ broke her heart, when she watched her funeral, - Rumlow using it to break her - she put a shaky hand to theirs faces on the small grainy tv screen, trying to send them comfort despite where she was and what she was going through. She didn’t mean to hurt them, of course she didn’t want to but it wasn’t something that she had no control over. 

If laying on the cold, dingy floor taking punch after punch, kick after kick was to make up for the pain she caused her family to go through, she’ll happily do it until her last breath.

“Times up fellas” The guard came into the room “I gave you an extra 15 minu- you did a right number on her, didn’t you lads” He chuckled at the sight of her.

“Just give me one more minute with her, I just need to say one last thing”

“Sure thing just make it quick”

As the men walked out they spat on her one by one, and when the door closed the last man picked her up by her hair. “That was for all the agents you killed, my brother was one of them! I had to tell our parents that he wasn’t coming home anymore. I promised my ma I would get the person who did this, best 300 bucks I’ve ever spent - oh sweetheart, didn’t you know that the wardens charging people to have their way with you, you’re not big and scary now are you?” He chuckled just before he spat right in her face and dropping her.

The guard comes back in and takes her back to her cell. “Sweet dreams Little Bird” is what he says to her before locking the door.

After the third day, her face was unrecognisable. Her prayers for death weren’t being answered.

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