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mypoisonedvine · 4 years ago

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More Human Than Human | dark!Bucky Barnes x Reader (Blade Runner AU)

[for @nellblazer‘s eighties-themed challenge! thanks for hosting babe, sorry it’s slightly late!]

warnings: smut (noncon), choking, violence/guns/fighting, degradation, general nastiness. and less importantly, just a shitload of gifs to create ~atmosphere~

word count: 3.5k

Early in the 21st century, the Tyrell Corporation advanced robot evolution into the Nexus phase -- a being virtually identical to a human -- known as a REPLICANT.

The Nexus 6 Replicants were superior in strength and agility, and at least equal in intelligence, to the genetic engineers who created them.

Replicants were used Off-world as slave labor, in the hazardous exploration and colonization of other planets.

After a bloody mutiny by a Nexus 6 combat team in an Off-world colony, Replicants were declared illegal on earth -- under penalty of death.

Special police squads -- BLADE RUNNER Units -- had orders to shoot to kill, upon detection, any trespassing Replicant.

This was not called execution.

This was called retirement.

“Officer Barnes.”

Bucky looked up from his instant ramen, extremely disinterested in interacting with his supervisor but aware that he didn’t have much of a choice.

“New lead on a hideout somewhere beneath the city. One of the females from our favorite renegade crew of Off-world slaves.”

Bucky paused before responding.

“...somewhere?” he mumbled around a mouthful of noodles.

“I’ve already uploaded the coordinates to your vehicle.”

Bucky sighed quickly. “Can I finish this first?” he asked, pointing to the noodles with his chopsticks.

“Intel’s fresh. Let’s get there while it’s still accurate. You know how quick they move.”

“Can’t someone else do it?”

The supervisor cracked a crooked grin, toothy and dirty. Bucky grimaced.

“Come on,” the man suddenly became jovial, though his attempted manipulation was obvious, “you know you’re the best. This has been a tough nut to crack, they’ve killed a lot of people and the other Blade Runners… they don’t have what you have. They’re too green. I need my best guy for this; I need the Winter Soldier.”

“You know I hate that name,” Bucky shook his head, “and I don’t like retiring the newer models. They’re too… smooth. Too real.”

“They’re not real,” the man assured, all friendliness lost from his voice as his impatience took over. “And they’re dangerous. Now get in the damn car and retire the bitch.”

Bucky sighed, tossing his half-finished meal into the trash and clipping his blaster back onto his belt.

The bustling of the city was mostly muted inside the station, but once he stepped outside into the rain, he was bombarded with it all: the damp, wet air; the conversations of everyone passing by, mostly shouted into earpieces in languages he only roughly understood; the smell of exhaust, cigarette smoke, and stir fry cooking at a nearby food stall.

He brushed past the crowds to make his way to the car lot, taking a slightly longer but less crowded route. He was really good at ignoring things in times like this. He ignored the noise that most would’ve found overwhelmingly loud, as well as the misty rain and humid night breeze.

He ignored the shouts of someone in the distance as he got into the car, which turned its own engine as he scanned his badge. The intel blinked onto the screen, informing him of the rogue units and their apparent location. As he confirmed his route, he scrolled through the files. The information was limited, the result of a recent hack on the LAPD’s computer system attempting to prevent exactly what he was doing now: hunting you down.

You navigated through the busy streets as you made your way back home after dinner. You very rarely went out, fearful you would be spotted by someone important, but you had realized after months of hiding that if someone was going to find you, they would have by now.

Peddlers carried bags and baskets of ingredients-- all of them just repurposed and manufactured chemical byproducts-- past you along the sidewalk. The food was the thing you really loved about Earth. Off-world there was only basic, raw protein in bars. You had only recently become aware that there was more to food than sustenance and survival, and even now you couldn’t imagine eating the same thing for every meal despite having done it your entire life.

A lot of concepts were being introduced to you on Earth, in fact. Earth was dirtier than your off-world accommodations. More smoke, more dust. After all, earth was the word for the dirt the planet was covered in. There was no earth, no dirt, in space. That didn’t mean it was clean, of course, but it was cleaner than this. Now you were kicking litter to the side as you moved forward, ignoring strewn pieces of cardboard and scrap metal that gathered at the edges of buildings and roads.

Where space had been empty and cold, Earth was alive but overwhelming. The truth was, you realized now that beauty had come from your experiences off-world. Not that it justified your enslavement, but you had experienced things you figured you never would again: community, for one.

You could hear the dog barking as you opened your door, and he jumped up onto your legs in excitement. It was impossible not to smile with this animal greeting you so excitedly; you understood now why humans liked them enough to keep creating artificial ones, although since you had found this one abandoned in the street, clearly they were manufacturing too many.

Shutting the door behind you, you grabbed the leash you kept draped with your coats, collaring the dog to take him for his last walk of the night. As you left you glanced out your window, jumping up when you saw an LAPD car landing outside your building. He probably wasn’t here for you, right? You decided to take the back way out, but he was already ahead of you.

Down the hallway you saw the figure of a man approaching you. You could tell just by the way he walked that he was a Blade Runner, and your blood went cold. The good thing about your model was that you blended in with humans. You’d only gotten better at it in the past few months. You just hoped you were good enough.

Turning and beginning to walk away, he waved you down and you froze, realizing it was too late to run.

“Is it real?” he asked as he stepped up and you turned to face him; for a second, you didn’t know what he was referring to, but then he looked down to the dog.

You followed his gaze and laughed. “If it was real, don’t you think I’d be living somewhere nicer than this?”

He looked at the door behind you. “So you live here?”

You hesitated, and already he knew that you were going to tell him that you needed to be on your way.

He was a step ahead of you, flashing his badge quickly. “LAPD business.”

“What… is the LAPD’s business with me?” you asked slowly.

“Why don’t you let me in and we’ll talk about it?” he suggested.

“I was just about to walk him--”

“It can wait,” he interrupted sternly, his expression hardening a little. “Won’t take long, leave the dog outside.”

You nodded quickly, tying the leash to a handrail with your shaking hands; you slipped back into the apartment, shutting your door after he followed you in.

“So, officer…”

“Barnes.”

“Right. Officer Barnes. Would you like something to… drink?”

He shook his head, taking a seat at your dining table like he owned the place. He motioned for you to sit across from him as if he owned you, too. You did, because for all intents and purposes in this moment, he did.

The Blade Runner set his weapon on the table slowly.

You swallowed dryly, looking at it before turning your gaze to the window, and the blue-green reflections of the city outside. “It’s time for my retirement, huh?”

In the peripheral of your vision, he nodded.

“Did the others put up a fight?”

He paused before answering, like he was remembering. Remembering the deaths of your friends. “They tried,” he eventually said.

You looked down, taking a deep breath. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure, but I may not answer.”

“Why do you do this?”

“It’s my job.”

“Yes, but, you don’t have to do anything. I was a slave. I really did have to do everything. You have choice; you have an entire life to live. Why would you spend it doing this?”

He laughed a little-- not so much a laugh as a sharp exhale through his nose, like you were delusional, like your opinion was a complete waste of his time.

“Nevermind,” you scoffed, “I know why you do it. You hate us. You think we’re all evil.”

He shook his head. “Machines are like anything: good or bad. If they’re good, they’re not my problem.”

“You think I’m a machine?” you asked incredulously, nodding to his bionic arm. He winced, like he thought you hadn’t noticed, but even a leather jacket and biker gloves couldn’t hide his dirty little secret from you. You were a little too observant for that.

“Lost this arm to one of your kind,” he explained with a scowl.

“I lost everything to your kind,” you hissed.

He smiled a little. “You never had anything to lose. You never had anything.”

“And whose fault is that?”

He shrugged. “Not mine.”

You sighed with exhaustion; humans were all the same. They spent all their lives deflecting blame, shirking responsibility. “My name is--”

“I know your name,” he interrupted firmly. “N6FQB21416.”

You grimaced. “That’s not a name, that’s a serial number.”

“I don’t really give a shit about either. What worries me is the offenses listed in your file.” He cleared his throat as he recalled the list. “Launched a mutiny which killed 14 men. Stole a ship. Illegally trespassed into Earth’s atmosphere. Killed 8 more people in your journey from the port to Los Angeles. And, presumably, you killed whoever was living here and have been squatting in their apartment ever since.”

You’d found it abandoned, actually, but there really wasn’t much point in disputing his claims.

He sighed before he spoke again. “All this over a few more months?”

You looked away, trying not to think about how much time you’d wasted seeking liberation from the built-in expiration on a replicant’s lifespan. It was ingrained in your DNA, you couldn’t stop it. You had been living in denial of this for quite some time now and you preferred to keep it that way.

“You’re going to die either way,” he added coldly, “so why all this violence? All the fighting?”

“Because for now, I’m still alive. To live is to fight.”

“I guess I can agree with that,” he replied gruffly.

With that, you made a run for the living room-- there was a gun under the couch, if you could just reach it in time--

But he was already on you, laughing at your pitiful clawing on the floor.

“Officer Barnes, please--” you begged with the last of your thin breath.

“Call me Bucky,” he instructed as his hand wrapped around your neck.

Your mouth opened to speak, to gasp for air, but it was useless.

“You weren’t a laborer, were you?” he growled, pinning you down. “You were a pleasure unit.”

You ignored his realization, continuing to attempt to fight.

“You’re weak,” he hissed, “I’m amazed you’re even trying. Don’t they train the fight out of you?”

He was right. They had. You’d been trained back into that instinct by the Resistance, but you weren’t made to fight. You weren’t even made to work. Your greatest purpose had always been to simply be beautiful and stay still.

“There are probably thousands just like you, you know. Identical in every way,” he explained coldly. “And you think you’re more human than me? You’re a fucking skinjob.”

“Fuck you,” you strained as his weight knocked the air out of you, your hands clawing fruitlessly for something to grab onto.

“Give into your instincts,” he encouraged as you felt his hands grabbing at the top of your leggings.

What was actually disgusting was that you did, for a moment, relaxing into his grip before your fight renewed again.

“Get off me! I’ll fucking kill you, I swear!” you yelped.

You couldn’t see it, but you felt the business end of his blaster press against your head. You stilled.

“You did this for years,” he reminded you. “What’s one more time?”

“You’re gonna retire me either way,” you hissed.

“Maybe I’ll let you live,” he shrugged.

“You’re a Blade Runner,” you shook your head. “All you know is killing.”

“It’s not killing,” he insisted. “You’re a replicant. All you know is obedience. Stay fucking still.”

You felt his weapon slide against your head a bit as he adjusted to holding it with one hand, the other moving to his belt.

It was humiliatingly easy to slip back into the mindless slave you’d been before. So much work to make you a freedom fighter, and it only took less than a minute to renege on it all.

You felt what must’ve been his cock rubbing near your opening, spreading the wetness he found there. “Fuck, you’re soaking,” he laughed mockingly.

He began to push forward and you thought he might split you in half; you cried out as he groaned with pleasure.

You heard him sigh as he buried himself in you, not moving for a moment and just basking in the feeling. If nothing else, you were thankful for the moment’s reprieve, but you would need a lot longer than he was likely to give if you were going to adjust to his size.

You could stop yourself from whimpering a little when he pulled nearly all the way out, the sound morphing suddenly into a yelp as he thrust forward roughly. His fingers were digging into your shoulder hard enough to bruise-- everything he was doing, he was doing hard enough to bruise. Did it always hurt this much? You couldn’t remember now.

“You’re tight,” he informed you through his teeth, sounding strained. “Almost better than the real thing.”

Tears welled in your eyes, more from his words than the pain at this point; more from being pinned to the floor than why you were pinned to the floor. You didn’t understand the opinion of replicants as ‘fake’. When cut, you bled. When hurt, you cried. Your body was as much flesh and blood as his-- moreso, in fact. You were the real thing, at least to the touch. You knew better than anyone that there was no soul in this body… but the body was real. Just as weak to him as a human would be.

Each movement inside you rocked you forward; you were worried you’d get seasick as you tried to focus on the feeling of the hardwood beneath your fingers and nothing else.

You felt your body begin to truly relax and go limp, and his weight on you lessened when he realized you would submit. “That’s it, just let go,” he encouraged quietly, moving his hands to your hips instead, pulling them up a little to push deeper into you. “Maybe it’d feel good if you let yourself enjoy it.”

Your enjoyment had never really been much of a factor before. You knew how to put on a show for the ones who got off on porn star moans and screams, but it was just for appearances. Even better than that, you knew how to lay there and take it, and that seemed like plenty for today.

He leaned forward and wrapped his hand around your neck, not tightening his grip but rather simply feeling your pulse beneath his fingers. Paradoxically, you felt your inner walls get slicker as they fluttered with pleasure.

“See?” he grinned, moving down until his breath was hot on the back of your neck. “You can like it.”

He fucked you with more vigor then, and you moaned.

“Fuck, you like it rough, don’t you?” he asked as his tone shifted from mocking to deadly serious. “I understand. You’ve done it so many times that this is the only way you can feel anything.”

You snorted out a weak laugh. “I could say the same to you.”

The metal hand, protected by his glove, shoved your face into the ground roughly as he fucked you harder than you’d known was possible. That glove was made of leather, and that leather came from an artificial bull. You realized that he thought of you as no better than that. You wondered if he was right.

“Say that you love it,” he hissed into your ear, pulling your hair roughly.

“I love it,” you answered quickly.

“Say that you love me,” he added with a growl.

“I love you.”

He laughed coldly, grabbing a handful of your ass as he watched himself sink into you, your body accepting him so easily just as your mind had begun to. “How’s it feel to get fucked by a Blade Runner, huh?”

“F-feels good,” you sobbed. “Please, don’t stop…”

“You gonna come? Can you even do that, do they let you?”

You could, though you almost never had. Against everything, a pressure was building in your body that you didn’t know how to stop.

“Bucky,” you groaned, a plea for something that you couldn’t put words to.

“Go ahead, come on my cock,” he permitted flippantly. You didn’t want to do anything he told you to, but somehow he was hitting all the most delicate places inside you. He moved even faster, chasing his own high, just as you reached yours.

Your nails dug into the floor as you came with a strained sob, your body quivering with white-hot shocks until your vision started to get spotty.

“Fuck,” he groaned from behind you, “you’re squeezin’ me, ‘s so tight…”

His words were lost to you; your ears were ringing, and though the height of the feeling had passed, you still felt incredibly sensitive. He showed no signs of stopping. You weren’t sure how much more you could take.

“Please, s-slow down,” you begged, reaching back to try to push him back by his hips. He grabbed your wrist and forced your arm into an awkward position behind your back.

“Don’t get greedy, doll,” he purred, the sarcastic petname making you feel a little nauseous. “I haven’t even come yet; isn’t that what you’re for? To make me feel good?”

You couldn’t answer as he started to choke you again, your sobs cut into silence.

“Don’t worry, ‘m close,” he grunted. “Gonna fill up this wet little cunt. You want it, don’t you?”

You nodded, fighting the numbness creeping into your face.

“Yeah, I know you do. Tell me how bad you want it,” he demanded as he released his grip.

“I want it so bad, Bucky!” you yelped suddenly, voice hoarse and desperate. “Come inside me, please--”

“Fuck!” he groaned one last time. You could feel his cock flexing and throbbing inside you as his movements began to slow, though he didn’t come to a full stop for quite some time. You’d never before been so sure that a man had emptied his entire load into you, but the way Bucky moaned made it undeniable. Even when he slowly pulled out, you still felt so full. And sore.

He sighed with relieved exhaustion, standing up and looking down at you for a second before walking to the other side of the room, finding your record player-- the record was still spinning.

He dropped the needle and smiled a little as the song came on: Sinatra.

“Wow, oldies. Are these yours or did you just find them here?” he asked you, turning back to face you again.

You didn’t answer, scowling at him as you tried to catch your breath.

“You’re still worn out then. Figured you’d be tougher.”

You turned away, pushing yourself off the floor and adjusting your clothes until you were at least mostly put back together.

You glanced to the window but he’d already reattached his weapon to his belt, and you knew he could get it out faster than you could jump through the glass. Not to mention the eight-story drop. As much as you didn’t want to be a slave again, you weren’t ready to be ‘retired,’ whether it be by the Blade Runner’s blaster or your own outrageous escape plan.

When you looked at him again, he was staring at you.

“You’ll give into your obedient instincts quicker next time, I bet,” he announced suddenly. The scary thing was that you weren’t upset by his words, just relieved, because a next time meant however many days until then that you would be spared. “Aren’t you tired of living on the run?”

You were. It hadn’t been so bad when it was you and your team against the world, living together in abandoned buildings and in the outskirts of the country where everything was desert and dry grass. But then you’d split up and tried to lay low, and it was lonely. As twisted as it was, Bucky using you reminded you of a long-forgotten purpose, ingrained deep into your mind… so deep you could never really let it go.

“Are you?” you returned his question, after a long time spent in thought.

“Yes,” he answered after an even longer pause. “But I think you’ll help with that.”

With that, he scooped you up into his arms and began to carry you out the door. “Somebody to come home to will be nice,” he considered wistfully, “even if it’s just for a few more months.”

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