#winter soldier x handler reader

[arcadia-smith]

Handle me

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Summary: You both take upon roles, Bucky- The Winter Soldier, you- His Handler. Now you feel like the world's crumbling down under your feet. You don't want to lose him, but you're about to.

Word count: 2k

Note: As for timeline, not really cannon with the MCU. But yes, Endgame happened, Sam is now Captain America

The room was cold. Clinical. Metal walls, a reinforced steel door, and the ever-present hum of machinery that made your skin crawl. The HYDRA scientists were watching. So were the guards.

An old HYDRA remnant had been resurfacing, trying to rebuild the Winter Soldier program, and what better way for them to do so than trying to resurrect one of their best ex-assassins.

It gave you an opportunity to take them down from the inside, going undercover- you as his ruthless new handler, Bucky as The Winter Soldier.

You stood in the center of the room, chin high, hands clasped behind your back like you've done this a thousand times. Like you belonged there.

Bucky, on his knees before you, head bowed, muscles coiled tight beneath the tactical gear he’s been forced into. He looked the part. Cold. Controlled. Empty.

But he wasn't. He was acting. He had to be.

To gain trust, to secure access and prove your control over The Soldat, you had to do something you swore you never would. Watching Bucky clenching his jaw every time you had to call him Soldat in front of the enemy was heartbreaking enough. But then you had to give the order—to tell the Winter Soldier to kill. And you had to do it without hesitation, just as he had to follow through without a question.

The lead scientist, an older man with a sharp smile, stepped forward. "He hesitated on the last command," he said in a voice thick with condescension. "A good soldier should never hesitate. Perhaps he needs a reminder of who he belongs to."

Your stomach twisted, but you kept your expression still. "He’s mine,"

The scientist gestured. One of the guards moved forward, striking Bucky hard across the face with the butt of his rifle. He barely flinched, but a muscle in his jaw ticked. Blood at his temple.

"Say it," the scientist ordered. "Make him believe it."

You turned to Bucky, forcing yourself to meet his eyes. This was just a mission. This was not real. But when he looked up at you, something in your chest caved.

Because for the first time since this started, he wasn't just acting.

There was no recognition in his gaze, no flicker of the man you knew. His blue eyes were blank, waiting, expectant. Like you really were his handler.

Your throat tightened, but you kept your voice steady. "You belong to me, Soldat."

The words tasted like poison.

He gave a short mechanical nod once and lowered his head again. Submission. Like he had done this a hundred times before. Like it’s second nature.

The scientist hummed in approval. "Much better."

You stepped forward, fingers barely brushing Bucky’s jaw as you tilted his face up again. His skin was warm under your touch, but his eyes stayed empty.

"Good boy," you whispered, because you had to.

Your hand was still on his jaw, fingers trembling just enough that only Bucky would notice. But he didn't react, didn't pull away, didn't give you anything to hold onto. Just blank obedience, the perfect soldier carved out of the man you once knew.

A knot tightened in your throat. This is a mission. A role. He was playing the part. He had to be.

And then Bucky shifted ever so slightly, leaning into your touch. The breath you were holding escaped your lips before you pulled back, before anybody could notice.

The air was thick with tension, the kind that always settled in when Bucky had to become the Winter Soldier again.

This mission felt endless, stretching on for months with no finish line in sight.

You watched as Bucky grabbed a beer bottle and stepped onto the back porch, his broad shoulders tense under the dim light.

At least the safe house was nice—a wraparound porch, a quiet garden. Sometimes, you caught yourself wondering if it could be a home, a real one. But you shoved those thoughts away the moment they crept in.

You had no right to feel the way you did—no right to be angry at Bucky for shutting you out.

His hands were the ones that wrapped around that man's throat and twisted it. You had just stood there, cold and composed, playing the part of the handler—the pretty little princess giving orders to the Winter Soldier.

Bucky—the man you'd spent the last five years building a life with—would do anything you asked. Even kill. In another context, that might have sounded romantic. If only it was hypothetical. But this was real.

You could have pushed back, could have said something—argued that you didn’t need to prove your control over him, that a less lethal command would have sufficed. But the words hadn’t come. Your mind had blanked, and the order had left your lips faster than you’d have liked.

The man wasn't an innocent, nor saint, but it didn’t make any of it easier. Not for you. Not for Bucky.

It wasn’t until you were out of the HYDRA facility that you noticed the way his hands trembled, the silence that stretched thick between you on the drive back. He hadn’t said a word.

Now, with your eyes closed, the scene replayed in perfect clarity—the way Bucky moved, his hands tightening around the target’s throat the second you gave the order. The way the life drained from the man’s eyes. The way Bucky—no, the Soldat—stood still, composed, empty. A machine, not the man you loved.

The sharp ring of the phone on the table cut through the memory, yanking you back to the present.

"We're in, Sam." You answered before he even had the chance to ask.

"That's good. Finally. I was starting to think you and Barnes were on vacation, not working," Sam chuckled. His usual humor. Right now, you could strangle him for it.

Any other time, you would have fired back with something sharp and witty, but not tonight. Instead, you just nodded, as if he could somehow see you through the phone.

The silence must have tipped him off. "Everything alright?" His tone had shifted now, more serious.

"Yeah... yeah. It’s just—" You exhaled, voice barely above a mumble. "You know how it is for him."

You weren’t sure if you should tell Sam everything now, let Bucky do it himself later, or just leave it for the mission report.

"It's not like he's that brainless killing machine anymore." Sam quiped.

You squeezed your eyes shut. Yeah. That’s the problem. He wasn’t the Winter Soldier. He was Bucky. And tonight, he’d been forced to kill someone anyway.

"Yeah. Yeah," you muttered, trying to mask the knot tightening in your chest. "Still brings back a lot of memories... and shit."

Your eyes flicked toward the back door—toward the spot where Bucky had disappeared minutes ago.

"We’ll keep you updated when we have something, Sam," you added quickly, cutting the conversation short before it could go any deeper.

Sam muttered something in agreement, tossing in another one of his not-so-funny jokes before hanging up.

With a quiet thud, the phone hit the counter. You rubbed your face with both hands, trying to push away the weight pressing down on you.

With a sigh, you pushed away from the counter and made your way to the back door. The night air hit you as soon as you stepped outside, cool against your skin. Bucky was exactly where you expected him to be—sitting on the steps of the porch, elbows on his knees, beer bottle dangling loosely from his fingers.

You hesitated in the doorway. He hadn’t noticed you yet, or maybe he had and just didn’t care. His gaze was locked on something in the distance, but whatever it was, you knew he wasn’t really seeing it.

“Bucky.”

He didn’t turn, just lifted the bottle to his lips and took a slow sip.

You stepped closer. “You gonna sit out here all night?”

He exhaled through his nose, something close to a humorless laugh.

You sat down beside him, not touching, but close enough that he could feel your presence.

"Look… babe." You exhaled quietly, the weight of your own words pressing down on you. "I should've told them to go fuck themselves. I shouldn’t have—shouldn’t have ordered you to do it." You ran your fingers through your hair, aching to touch him but something kept you back.

Bucky let out a breath that was almost a laugh, but there was no warmth in it. He took another sip from the bottle and gave you one of those hollow smiles—the kind that never reached his eyes.

"Let’s not talk about it, yeah?" His voice was even, controlled. Too controlled. "We both did what we had to for the mission."

It was meant to sound reassuring, but something was missing. Something you couldn’t quite name.

"Buck-"

"You can go inside." He interrupted you. "I'll be there soon. Don't worry." and he stil wouldn't look at you.

You stayed seated for a brief minute before nodding and walking back inside.

That night, he never came to bed. You weren’t even sure if he’d come inside at all—until the morning, when you found the blankets and pillows on the living room floor.

The coffee maker hummed as you leaned against the kitchen counter, fingers tapping against the surface.

A soft creak of floorboards behind you made you turn.

"Morning," you said, testing the waters.

He gave a slight nod. No smile. No teasing remark. Just walked past you, reaching for the coffee pot.

You watched as he poured himself a cup, his movements precise but mechanical, like he was going through the motions just to do something.

"You didn’t come to bed," you said softly.

"Didn’t think I deserved to."

"Bucky…"

He shook his head. It was dismissive. Distant. Like you were just another agent. Just another person in the long list of people he’s lost.

You swallowed hard. "We should talk."

His laugh was humorless. A sharp exhale through his nose. "Talk?" He finally turned his head, but not enough to meet your gaze. "About what?"

You moved closer, "About what happened back there."

He raised his head, his eyes met yours. But wasn't the look you remembered, the one that used to tether you together in the chaos. There was no warmth, no trust—just something fractured, something raw.

"You mean about how you stood over me while I was on my knees?" His voice was quiet, but it cut deeper than a scream. "Or how you ordered me around like I was your fucking weapon?"

You flinched. "You know I didn’t—"

"Didn’t what?" He pushed himsepf to move forward and suddenly he was too close, towering over you, blue eyes burning. "Didn’t mean it? Didn’t want to?" His jaw clenched. "Didn’t enjoy it?"

Your breath catched. "Bucky—"

He shook his head, stepping back like he couldn't stand being near you. "I heard your voice, day and night. It was the only thing keeping me grounded." His throat bobbed. "But then you started giving orders, and I—" He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "I obeyed."

"You were pretending. We both were."

"Were we?" His voice was almost a whisper. "Because it sure as hell didn’t feel like it by the end."

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out.

What could you say? That you didn’t mean it? That you didn’t want to? It wouldn’t matter. Not when the damage had already been done.

Bucky exhaled, a slow, bitter thing. "I used to look at you and see my way out." His gaze dropped, fingers flexing at his sides. "Now all I see is the person who made me go back in."

The words landed like a killing blow.

He turned away before you could say anything else.

[magical-reid]

The Soldier and His Mission

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Reader

Word Count: 1K

Summary: When a trigger sends Bucky back into the grip of the Winter Soldier, he shadows you with an unyielding protectiveness that leaves the team on edge, though he doesn't harm anyone. After days of tension and careful steps, Bucky finally breaks through the icy barrier, returning to himself in a quiet, tender moment, finding solace in your presence.

You should’ve known something was wrong the moment Bucky went still.

One second, the mission was wrapping up—just another Hydra facility wiped off the map, just another set of goons taken down. The next, something triggered him. A phrase muttered in Russian over a radio, the faintest crackle of a long-dead handler’s voice. You saw the shift in his posture before he even turned around, the telltale tightening of his jaw, the blankness overtaking those usually warm blue eyes.

Bucky Barnes was gone.

The Winter Soldier stood in his place.

And yet—he didn’t hurt you.

Not when he turned to face the team, his body language bristling with danger. Not when Steve hesitated before stepping forward, his hands raised in a placating gesture. And certainly not when you cautiously called his name, your voice softer than the others.

Instead, the Soldier moved between you and everyone else.

A shield.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Back at the Tower, you thought the episode would pass. That maybe, after a few hours, after enough familiar sights and sounds, Bucky would shake it off like he always did.

But the Soldier wasn’t leaving. And he had decided you were his mission.

Not to eliminate.

To protect.

At first, it was just hovering. You moved—he followed. You sat—he stood at your back, ever watchful. The others gave him space, exchanging worried glances when they thought you weren’t looking. Steve was tense, obviously trying to figure out how to break through, while Tony was less patient about it.

“This is a problem,” Stark declared after the first few hours, arms crossed as he leaned against the counter. “I mean, I hate to be the one to say it, but we have a fully armed, brainwashed assassin in the Tower again, and we all know how that went last time.”

“He’s not attacking anyone,” Natasha pointed out.

“Yet,” Tony shot back.

You ignored the argument as best you could, focusing instead on cooking something for Bucky—something normal, something familiar, something that might ground him. His eyes tracked you the entire time.

Then you miscalculated the heat on the stove.

The oil in the pan hissed and spat, and a second later, you hissed too as a sharp sting bloomed across your palm. You barely had time to react before there was a sudden blur of motion.

Bucky was on you instantly.

His flesh hand gripped your wrist, his metal one hovering protectively over the stove, as if it had personally attacked you. His face was unreadable, but his grip was firm, his hold gentle as he examined the burn.

“I’m okay,” you assured him, but he wasn’t listening.

Instead, he took the cold pack you hadn’t even reached for yet and pressed it carefully to your palm, his jaw tight, his brows furrowed in focus. You exchanged a look with Steve over Bucky’s shoulder, and the Captain exhaled, something like relief flashing in his eyes.

He was still in there.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The Soldier continued shadowing you for the next two days, much to Tony’s frustration. But as Natasha had pointed out—he wasn’t hurting anyone.

Unless they posed a threat to you.

That was something Steve learned firsthand during a sparring session. You had barely landed a hit before Bucky, watching from the sidelines, had moved. The next thing you knew, Steve was on his ass, blinking up at the ceiling, while Bucky stood between you like a human wall, eyes cold and calculating.

“For the record,” Steve grunted as he sat up, rubbing his ribs, “I was letting her win.”

Bucky wasn’t convinced.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

It wasn’t until you needed a medical checkup that things really came to a head.

“Barnes, I have to actually examine her,” Dr. Cho said patiently, eyeing where Bucky stood between you and the med bay’s equipment.

“No,” he replied flatly.

“Bucky—” you tried.

“The room is secure.”

“That’s not the—”

“She does not require assistance.”

“I do require assistance,” you corrected. “Because I burned my hand and twisted my shoulder thanks to a certain super soldier overreacting in the gym.”

Bucky didn’t move.

You exhaled slowly.

“Okay,” you said, shifting tactics. “Then stay.”

That got his attention.

“If you want to make sure nothing happens to me,” you reasoned, “then you can stay here. But you have to let the doctor check me out.”

His expression was unreadable for a long moment. Then, after what felt like an eternity—

“…Understood.”

Progress.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

When it finally broke, it wasn’t dramatic.

There was no grand trigger, no huge revelation.

Just a moment of quiet.

You had fallen asleep on the couch, exhaustion finally winning after two days of Bucky’s overprotective hovering. When you woke up, it was to warm hands gently brushing over your wrist—both flesh and metal, but softer this time, as if relearning the feeling of touching you.

And then you heard it—his breath hitching.

A tiny, barely-there sound, but one filled with something raw.

You blinked sleepily, looking up.

Bucky was staring at you. Not the Soldier. Bucky.

His face was pale, his jaw tight, his eyes wide—his real eyes.

“…Doll?” His voice cracked over the word, like it had been caught in his throat.

You smiled sleepily, shifting so your fingers curled around his. “Hey, Buck.”

His exhale was shaky. His shoulders sagged. And when you tugged him down to you, he didn’t resist.

He just buried his face in your neck and held on.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

“You scared the hell out of me, you know,” you murmured later, your fingers absentmindedly running through his hair as he rested against you.

“I know,” he admitted, voice rough.

“You threw Steve like a ragdoll.”

“…Yeah.”

“…Kind of hot, not gonna lie.”

A laugh. Quiet, but real.

And just like that, Bucky Barnes was back.

[helaintoloki]

Winter Flower

pairing: Bucky Barnes (Winter Soldier) x reader

warnings: themes of kidnapping, drugging, violence, trauma, suggestive content. mentions of pregnancy, eventual happy ending

notes: wanted to try writing something out of my comfort zone so pls let me know what you think and if you’d like to see more!

summary: fate binds you to the Winter Soldier, but will it be enough to keep you together when you’re constantly being pulled apart?

“We’ve decided to give you a new pet.”

The Winter Soldier isn’t sure what to make of the barely conscious woman that’s been carelessly thrown at his feet by his handlers, but he knows better than to ask questions by now. His handlers seem to find his predicament comical as they laugh at a joke the Asset is not a part of and watch the scene unfold with malevolent smiles.

The woman, unbeknownst to the soldier, had undergone weeks of physical torture and anguish as various Hydra doctors poked and prodded at her mind and body until there was not a single ounce of fight left in her body. She’d been battered and bruised until she was almost nothing, and in the end it had all been a complete waste of time. Their hopes for a new weapon were diminished by the discovery that her body had not taken to the serum; her brute strength and aggression had only lasted for three days before she had crashed and returned back to normal. The experiment had failed, and Hydra now looked to their prized possession to dispose of her properly.

“We will let you have your fun,” his handler had snidely remarked before slamming the door shut behind him, leaving the Winter Soldier locked in his holding cell alone with her. She hadn’t moved in the time since she’d arrived, so the man felt it necessary to firmly nudge her ribs with his boot to wake her up. He didn’t want her here, didn’t enjoy a stranger in the only space he could remotely consider his own, and he wanted this to be known.

Slowly, the failed experiment uses every ounce of strength she has left to lift her head and will herself to look up at the man tasked with terminating life. Unlike the soldier, she knows why they have thrown her in here with their deadliest killer, and the trembling of her bottom lip reveals her trepidation. He initially expects to feel disdain and disgust for this supposed pet that lies at his feet, but when her wide eyes meet his own something inside him shifts.

The Winter Soldier was never one for compassion or empathy; he was programmed to kill without remorse, to void himself of any warmth or humanity, but as he looked down at her his chest swirled with emotions he could not name. It wasn’t pity or mockery, but a compulsive need to protect her from harm the way one wishes to protect a helpless animal from awaiting predators. She is not a pet, but he decides in that moment that she will be his to look after.

Wordlessly, the soldier scoops her limp form off of the tile ground and rests her in the small cot he calls a bed. A pathetic whine of pain leaves her body at the discomfort of being moved around, causing his chest to tighten unbearably. This shouldn’t be happening, there shouldn’t be a sense of longing suffocating his entire being when he gazes upon her weakened form, and yet the man finds himself taking extra care to tuck her under the blankets.

He lets her sleep, keeping careful watch over her form like a guard dog as he seats himself in front of the metal door and basks in her presence.

The Winter Soldier had a new purpose now.

~~~

No one had expected the Asset to become so taken with you.

When the guards came to see if the Soldat had finished the job, they were stunned to find you fast asleep in his bed while he stood watch. They had tried to terminate you themselves only to be met with gruesome ends after just looking at you. The Winter Soldier was adamant that you were not going anywhere, and no one could understand why he had become so fond of you within such a short span of time.

The answer had been discovered a week later by the scientists tasked with creating the new weapon. Though your body had not taken to the physical changes of the serum, they found that it had permanently altered your inner body chemistry and DNA as a result. Your new genetic makeup had triggered something within the Winter Soldier as soon as your eyes had locked with his own, almost as if your blood spoke to his. You were bound together on a biological level by this new serum, and this bond could not be broken.

The deaths of twenty men left Hydra with no choice but to let him keep you as the ordeal was not worth losing more valuable resources than necessary. Your survival did not come without cost, however, and they made it clear that you were expected to earn your keep. The Winter Soldier’s handlers had decided that you could be quite useful in forcing the Asset to comply. The cost of any mistakes or failures were yours to pay, and the possibility of your torture or isolation from one another proved to be a good motivator for the Soldat to execute missions without flaw.

You are an unwilling prisoner in all of this, your freedom taken from under you with no regard to your autonomy, but you know that this is the best possible outcome to have happened to you. Being a pet is much better than being a weapon to abuse or a failed experiment to get rid of, and you know that no real harm can come to you under the protection of the Winter Soldier. You have no choice but to make the most of the course life has chosen for you, and so you fall into your role as his companion.

“I don’t like when you leave,” you utter quietly while making careful work of combing his hair. He is scheduled to be sent away to Italy to locate and execute a deserter known to have important Hydra files with them, and your soldier will be gone for a week. His absence is isolating, and you know that once he is gone a nurse will arrive to hold you down while the doctors drug you to prevent you from causing any problems while he is away. Your brain becomes foggier and foggier with each dosage, and as time goes on the details of your life before the Winter Soldier become hazier until you almost forget everything.

“I must,” is his gruff reply. “It will keep you safe.”

“I want to leave, too,” you whisper despondently, taking great care to ensure your words cannot be heard by anyone other than him. He stiffens, and for a moment you fear being reprimanded, but his quiet utterance in reply has you hopeful for a chance at something better.

“You will.”

~~~

You wake to a man violently grabbing you by the hair and dragging you out of bed. You kick and claw at his arm in a fruitless attempt to free yourself, but he remains unfazed as he drags you to your destination. You know these hallways well enough to know where you are going, and despite your groggy state at having just been woken up from your drug induced slumber you are aware enough to know what is about to come.

Your soldier is waiting for you when you finally arrive to his handler’s office, eyes wide with fury and helplessness as he watches the man lift you by the hair before slamming you back down onto the ground. You cry out in agony and reach for your companion only to have a heavy boot land down onto your hand. The Winter Soldier moves to attack only to have several guns pointed at him, and he is forced with no choice but to stand down and watch you take on the abuse.

“You did not comply with orders, Soldat,” the man says simply, casting an irate glance your way at the sound of your pathetic cries. “I asked you to return with those stolen files and instead you lost them. What good are they to me now?”

A swift kick is driven into your ribcage and you curl into yourself with a sob. His entire body is vibrating with anger, each blow landed only fueling his need for vengeance, and yet he cannot save you. This was the arrangement made, the only reason you were allowed to still be alive, and it was his fault that this was happening to you. A single tear slides down his face at the sound of bone cracking when you take another hit to the ribs, and just when he thinks he can’t take anymore the man raises a hand to signal the assailant to cease his abuse.

“Do not fail again, or next time she will endure worse than a broken rib.”

The guards file out until all that remains is the Winter Soldier and his battered pet that lies unmoving in the center of the room. He’s on you in an instant, hands that were built to kill being used to gently lift your broken form from the ground. Every movement sends painful jolts throughout your body that make you let out pained shrieks and cause his chest to tighten as a result. The Asset cradles you to his chest like a child would their favorite teddy bear and does his best to console you. His metal fingers gingerly comb through your hair as you sob into his chest, and his mind is frenzied with thoughts of how he could ever possibly make this better.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes into your neck, his salty tears staining your skin when he presses his face against you. “I’m sorry, my pet.”

You are a prisoner just like him, and he cannot help you when he himself is bound to Hydra forever.

~~~

A week has passed and your injuries have improved gradually overtime, though your Soldat still takes great precaution when touching you or holding you close at night. He handles you with care, and it will never cease to amaze you how a man who was created to be the perfect weapon can be so tender with a woman who would mean nothing to him if not for the serum running through her veins.

He has been gone more often as of late, assisting in the training of a new batch of soldiers. At times you worry he might take to one of them the way he did you, might abandon you in place of a new pet, but from what you have gathered from overheard conversations the scientists had fixed this issue when creating the new serum. They couldn’t risk him showing loyalty to others and chance him deciding to fight back. He was yours, and admittedly you liked it this way. Perhaps it was the constant drugs being put in your system or the isolation of being confined to this building forever, but you loved him.

“I want a name,” you tell him when he returns from a grueling day of training. He looks at you almost puzzled as he removes his tactical clothing in preparation for a shower.

“Name?” He repeats with furrowed brows, planting himself in front of where you sit on the edge of the bed. You open your legs to allow him refuge in between them and hum in approval when he reaches down to gently run his metal fingers along the lines of your jaw.

“I don’t remember mine anymore, or anything before I came here, not completely. I need a name now.”

The Winter Soldier had never stopped to consider these details before you’d brought them to his attention; he didn’t know anything about himself, and he’d forgotten that this was considered abnormal. You had a life before him, an identity, and yet he’d never stopped to try and ask you.

“цветок.” You tilt your head in confusion and he smiles, a rare laugh escaping him as he explains, “Flower.”

He bends forward to press a kiss to the crown of your head, and in that moment you decide you like your new name.

You prefer being his Flower over his Pet, and you make sure to express your gratitude for this change when joining him in the shower.

~~~

Your privileges, while not many, have increased with your time spent as the Winter Soldier’s companion. You aid Hydra in keeping the man in line and ensuring optimal execution on missions, and your permanent bond to him means you never once have tried to escape in his absence. Thus, they felt it appropriate that you finally be able to leave the four walls of your bedroom.

You now have the ability to follow the soldier once a week to training, and you accompany one another to doctor’s visits rather than having them send the physician to you. So long as neither of you screw up, you can continue this routine of leaving your confinement to enjoy a small taste of freedom.

One of your new privileges is the responsibility of grooming the Winter Solider. Now that you can fully be trusted around sharp objects, you can trim his hair and shave his face while he sits back and enjoys how sweetly you fawn over him. Hydra had lost several workers to this task as one accidental tug of hair or cut to his chin could cost them their life, so this was one job they were happy to rid themselves of.

His blue eyes stare intensely up at your scrunched features as you carefully frame the pieces around his face. You work with practiced ease like you’ve done this before, and maybe you have, but there’s no way for either of you to find that out now. Your tongue pokes out discreetly from between your lips while you trim his ends, and the soldier envisions pulling you into his lap then and there to steal a kiss. He’d never do so in front of watchful eyes such as those of the guard who supervise your activity, it’s too intimate and he refuses to share you in such a way, but it brings him solace to envision a word where he can love you without inhibition or fear of putting you in harm’s way.

“I wish they would let you keep it long,” you hum thoughtfully, voice followed by the quiet snipping of the scissors.

“Not good for missions, Flower,” he reminds you before allowing his eyes to flutter shut at the feeling of your fingers combing through his hair.

“You’re leaving again?”

“Not for long,” the man consoles, flesh hand coming to rest on your thigh before giving it a comforting squeeze. “Hydra says I must complete this one last task, and then we both will go to sleep.”

“Sleep?” You repeat hesitantly, pausing your ministrations to meet his steely gaze. His silence has you unnerved, and you return to your previous work in order to distract yourself from the nerves that begin to settle into the pit of your stomach. “Winter, I don’t want to-“

“It is an order, so we must,” he interrupts. He doesn’t mean to be harsh, but he needs you to understand that even with these new freedoms you are still under Hydra’s commands. He cannot risk you becoming bold, becoming defiant, because he knows better than anyone what Hydra does to those who step out of line. He will not have that for you, and he would rather you understand to comply now than have it beat into you later.

You set the scissors down and step back to admire your work. His blue eyes follow your every move as you begin to clean up the mess, and his chest tightens with yearning as he pictures a life of normalcy. If he tries hard enough, he can pretend that you are a normal couple living a regular life- you’re with him because you love him and not because your biology had been programmed to yearn for him only, and your trimming of his hair is an act of love rather than a necessity forced upon him by his handlers. You’ll never know just how much it pains him to know you will never truly be his, and it is his fault you have been subjected to this life.

“Winter,” you call out gently, breaking the man from his obvious turmoil. You say his name so gently, different from what he is used to. His lips barely quirk into a smile, and for you that is a win. “I love you.”

Placing his metal hand on the back of your neck, he carefully pulls you closer so that your foreheads are pressed together. You can feel the gentle fanning of his breath on your face as his nose gently brushes against your own and inhales your scent. One day he will free you from this cage, even if it is at his own expensive.

“I love you.”

~~~

Your Winter returns to you in shambles and it scares you.

You’ve never seen him so frenzied, so unsure of himself and the world around him. His eyes are welled with tears, and he’s on you the moment he spots you, nearly yanking you out of bed as he pulls you impossibly tight to his chest and begins to comb his fingers through your hair.

“Winter?” You whisper meekly while scrambling to find purchase in his hold. You feel his hot tears trickle down onto your neck and the tremble of his hands as they splay across your back, but his hold never relinquishes.

“There was a man,” he shakily whispers into your hair, faltering to swallow the rising bile in his throat, “a man on a bridge.”

“What happened?”

“I knew him,” he whispers agonizingly, the turmoil evident in his tone. His shoulders tremble with each sob he fights to hold back, but the feel of your fingers gently rubbing circles into shoulders allows him the strength to continue. “He called me- he called me Bucky.”

Your features contort into a frown as you hold the sobbing man impossibly tight. You know just how difficult it is to have no semblance of your past or your identity before Hydra, but you can’t imagine just how awful it is to be given a piece of the puzzle only to have nowhere to place it. You want to help him but you don’t know how, and it pains you to be so useless.

“I think he knew you, too,” you reassure him quietly in case of any prying ears. “Maybe Bucky is your name, and this man is a friend. Maybe… maybe he can help us.”

The soldier stiffens at your words, carefully pulling himself out of your grasp to meet your gaze. You fear that perhaps you’ve misspoken and angered your companion, but once you see the rare glimpse of hope shining through his tears you realize your words have struck a chord within him.

With feverish movements he pulls your body back to him and slams his lips onto your own, swallowing your startled gasp and pushing you back towards the mattress. You accept him willingly and without complaint; you let him take you over and over again to the point of exhaustion until neither of you can hold yourselves up any longer. He worships you, comforts you, ensures to you that he will take this new lead and run with it until he can gain your freedom. His mission has always been you, and you trust him with your entire being to complete it.

They come for him hours later. The door to your room slams open, and two guards stand on the other side. Despite your entangled limbs and state of undress, you know well enough to immediately move yourself out of the way by pressing yourself as far back into the corner of the wall as possible. They grab him roughly by the arms before dragging him out of bed, and you watch helplessly from behind the cover of the sheets as he is taken from you once more. Despite the roughness in which they handle him, his eyes remain gentle as they look upon you fondly, and your heart sinks in your stomach when you note how differently this gaze feels. The door shuts harshly behind him, and a part of you fears that the look on his face wasn’t an expression of love.

It was his way of saying goodbye.

~~~

You haven’t seen your Winter in three weeks, and no one has come to check on you in five days.

You feel like you’re losing your sanity with each second that passes- you never thought you’d miss the interactions that came with your daily injections or the physical touch of the nurse holding you down. You’re thirsty, starving, dirty, delirious, and spiraling in your isolation. What could have happened to make them abandon the Winter Soldier’s pet? What could have happened to make him abandon you? Maybe he’s dead, or maybe he had never truly cared about you enough to get you out of this place, and you’re not sure which is worse.

You think you’re dreaming at first when the door to your prison slowly begins to creak open, and the sudden downpour of light is so blinding you can barely make out the figure standing before you. You whine and tightly shut your eyes, but you’re still able to hear the careful footsteps that approach you as if you’re a scared animal who might bite at any sudden movements.

“I’ve got something,” the feminine voice murmurs. “East Wing, last door to the right. They left someone behind.”

You attempt to open your eyes again and are met with the kind features of a woman. She offers you a comforting smile and attempts to reach for you only to flinch, but she’s quick to immediately retract her hands and hold them up in surrender. It’s clear she doesn’t want to scare you, but your bouts of torture and mental scarring don’t allow you to trust so easily. The Hydra nurses had often smiled at you the same way before strapping you down and aiding in your torment.

“Hey, it’s okay,” she coaxes softly, “I’m not here to hurt you.”

“Are you with Hydra?”

She shakes her head. “My name is Natasha, and I’m an Avenger. My friends and I are here to help you. Can you tell me your name?”

The name strikes a chord within you, but it isn’t impactful enough for you to truly grasp her importance or bring recognition to your mind. It is enough, however, for her to gain your trust and answer her with a quiet utterance of the word, “Flower.”

She hums thoughtfully before extending her hand to you again, and this time you take it without trepidation. Natasha slowly helps you to your feet, but your lack of nutrition and dehydrated state causes you to keel over immediately. The woman catches you in her arms and keeps you upright by allowing you to lean against her, but there’s evident worry on her features now that she fully knows the extent of your physical state. You appear weak and frail, delirious, and she hates to even think about what has happened to you during your stay at the Hydra base.

“Nat,” a new voice calls, and you muster up enough strength to lift your head and lock eyes with the man in the doorway. His features are kind and his eyes blue like your Winter’s, and his build nearly takes up the entire frame. His brows are etched with concern once they catch sight of you, and he’s quick to assist Natasha in guiding you out of the room.

“Flower, this is Steve,” she introduces in a hushed tone, “can he pick you up so we can get out of here faster?”

“I can’t leave,” you murmur hoarsely, eyes beginning to well with tears.

“It’s okay, no one is going to hurt you now if you leave,” she tries to assure you only for you to vehemently shake your head.

“If I leave he won’t know where I am o-or how to find me.”

“Who won’t know?” Steve presses gently, catching your figure as you stumble into his grasp before bursting into a fit of sobs.

“Winter,” you choke, too lost in your crying fit to note the way Steve’s body stiffens at the mention of the man. He shares an uneasy glance with Natasha before composing himself and offering you comfort through the careful rubbing of your back. Your cries echo throughout the abandoned Hydra base and send chills through the Captain’s spine.

He isn’t sure what the next step is or what to even make of this situation. They had been sent here to explore the Hydra base in search of any remaining personnel or files after the aftermath of Pierce, and while he had hoped to find some trace of Bucky he hadn’t been prepared for a battered woman to be the only link left to his missing friend.

Carefully lifting your frail body off the ground and into his arms, Steve trails closely behind Natasha as the two make their exit. You’re an inconsolable mess, but Steve does his best to offer the only words he can think of.

“We’ll find him, I promise.”

You never thought you’d ever get to see the sunlight again, but when Steve carries you over the threshold of the base and out into the open world you find yourself being blinded by its brightness. The feel of fresh air is jarring, its warmth kissing your skin as you are carried into their awaiting jet and set on the softest gurney you’ve ever been on. A multitude of voices surround you, but you can’t seem to focus on anything but the simple fact that no longer are you a prisoner to Hydra and their abuse.

You are free.

~~~

It took hours for Natasha to settle you so Bruce could properly examine you, but no one could blame you for your aversion to doctors and fear of needles. No one had ever been as patient or kind with you as they had been during the process of running blood tests, conducting a psychological profile, and settling you in with an IV to get you hydrated again. You clung to the Black Widow like a lifeline, but she never once seemed to mind. You almost got the impression that she understood the horrors that you’d been through, and that was enough for you to put your entire trust in her.

While your tests are being conducted, Tony and Steve sit in the intelligence room staring at the profile before them on the screen. Your innocent face stares back at the two men, a stark contrast to the woman who sits in the exam room with Banner and Romanoff. Your face is youthful and full of life, and the longer Steve stares at your photo the more the knot in his stomach twists.

“Her name is y/n y/l/n. She was a hairstylist in Manhattan before she was declared missing,” Tony reads along solemnly.

“Does she have any family we can contact?” Steve asks only for his counterpart to shake his head dejectedly.

“Parents passed away when she was in college and there’s no immediate family left. Hydra knew what they were doing when they picked her for their program.”

Sighing, Steve pinches the bridge of his nose in rumination before leaning in back into his chair. He felt a sense of responsibility when it came to your wellbeing; though he didn’t know the exact nature of your relationship with Bucky, he knew you must have been important to him considering how worried you were about him finding you, and that mean you were important to Steve now too. But there was so little to work with when it came to helping you enter back into the real world again, and who knew how long it would take for you to reacclimatize to your newfound freedom.

“This poor girl was tortured for who knows how long. If I could have found her sooner-“

“Hey, don’t do that to yourself,” Tony interrupts with a deep frown, “that doesn’t help anyone. We have her here now, and we’re going to get her the best treatment money can buy to help her get through all of this.”

Before Steve can reply, the two men are interrupted by the presence of Dr. Banner who holds a folder of tests results in his hands. The Captain is on his feet immediately, looking at Bruce expectantly with bated breath as he waits for the prognosis.

“As we suspected, there is super soldier serum running through her veins. However, it appears dormant since she showed no signs of increased strength or aggression or any other possible abilities. We’re not sure what effect it has on her, but I think she should be able to live a relatively normal life despite it being active in her system.”

“You couldn’t remove it?” Tony questions.

“She didn’t want me to. She said it’s what keeps her connected to Barnes, what kept him from killing her when Hydra dumped her on him.”

“I didn’t know that was possible,” Steve murmurs quietly. “Will she be okay?”

“Well, it’s going to take some time for her to psychologically recover from the torture and the isolation she endured, but there is a good chance her memories can be restored with time as well. Physically I’d say she’ll recover, and I’ll ask again when she’s in a better mental state about removing the serum, but…”

The hesitation in his voice is clear, prompting Tony and Steve to exchange uneasy glances before urging him to go on.

“What is it, Bruce?” Tony presses. Sighing, Banner adjusts the frames of his glasses and looks between the two men before landing his eyes on your holographic picture. He doesn’t want to voice the reality of the situation, but he knows he must if they want to help you.

Finally, he replies, “She’s pregnant.”

The room becomes deafly silent as the doctor’s words hang in the air, and it feels like ages before Steve finally works up the nerve to speak.

“Pregnant?” He nearly gawks in astonishment, clearly not believing the words he’s hearing.

“The blood tests and an ultrasound both came up conclusive,” Bruce confirms solemnly.

“And the father?” Steve hesitates to ask.

“Based on the details she shared with Nat, I think it’s safe to say that Barnes is the father.”

“So you’re telling me this woman is carrying a baby super soldier?” Tony questions bluntly much to Steve’s chagrin.

“It would be appear that way, yes,” Bruce replies almost annoyed at Tony’s poor choice of words.

“Is it safe?”

“I can’t say for sure, but I think the serum running through her veins increases her chances of survival and the possibility of a relatively normal pregnancy. We’ll just have to keep an eye on her in the meantime and hope for the best.”

“Well, Rogers, it looks like you’re going to be an Uncle,” Tony congratulates with a hearty clap to his back in an attempt to lighten the mood. Though Steve doesn’t exactly appreciate the jokes, his nerves are somewhat put at ease when he continues, “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure she gets everything she needs for the super tyke.”

It seems that finding Bucky is more important now than ever, and Steve is determined to do whatever it takes to reunite you with the man you love.

No matter the cost.

~~~

It’s been two months since you were freed from Hydra’s prison, but sometimes it only feels like just yesterday you’d been tangled in the sheets with your lover planning your escape. Should you even call him that? You’re not sure anymore. Your new therapist had affirmed you were an unwilling participant in all that had happened to you, but so was he, and he had taken care of you as best as he could given the circumstances you found yourselves in. You think you do love him even if she says you’d only forced yourself to feel that way as a means to survive.

Along with a new therapist, you’d been given all the resources possible to start your life over. Despite their insistence that you were welcome to stay at the Avenger’s compound while you healed, you were adamant about wanting the autonomy that came with having your own apartment. You wanted to learn to be your own person again, to live in your own space by your own schedule, so Tony had helped you find the perfect apartment in a quiet part of town.

Steve visited nearly every day to ensure you and the baby were doing alright considering he felt you were his responsibility now in Bucky’s absence. No leads have been found yet on the whereabouts of the Winter Soldier, but he is doing his damndest to find Bucky by all means. Natasha stops by every once and while when Steve cannot, offering you company and support during your transitional period.

Your body has healed from the grueling abuse you’d endured, but it’s taking your mind a little longer to catch up. You remember your name now, your real name, and vague remnants of your past, but it isn’t enough for you to complete the full picture. Bruce says it will take some time for you to regain your memories, but you’re not oblivious to the possibility that your mind might not ever be fully restored.

Natasha had accompanied you to another ultrasound appointment to check on the health of the baby and your own before taking you grocery shopping. The doctors say you’re almost three months along with a perfectly healthy baby, and Nat had cooed sweetly at the grainy image displayed for you both on the screen. You never knew how exactly to feel every time they showed you the baby- you didn’t hate it or detest the fact that you were pregnant, but the circumstances in which it had all occurred certainly weren’t ideal, and it served as a reminder that you would be going into this alone.

Once you were coherent enough, Steve had sat you down and carefully explained that your Winter once went by the name of James Barnes, though most people just called him Bucky. He told you of their friendship and how he had thought him to be dead all these years until the incident on the bridge, and he assured you he was doing everything in his power to bring you both together again. Of course, that had been a month ago, and Bucky was nowhere to be seen. It pained you to know that he wouldn’t be here to experience any milestones with you, to see his child grow inside you, to hold them and love them and enjoy his chance at having a family. You were supposed to start a new life together, but instead you and your little one are all alone.

You step out of the elevator and head towards your apartment with an arm full of groceries after finally making the trip home. Natasha had offered to help you bring them up, but you insisted you’d be fine on your own. You look forward to the hearty soup you plan to make for dinner and to frame the latest ultrasound on your fridge, and you don’t mind the fact that most days you dine alone. You’ve learned to get used to solitude once more, though it helps when it’s out of your own volition and not because you’ve been locked away in your own personal prison cell.

The apartment is quiet and untouched when you enter and hang your keys on the wall, but it’s only once you make it to the kitchen that you realize there is an intruder standing in your home. Your newly bought groceries fall to the floor with a deafening thud, fruits and vegetables scattering everywhere as you stare at the familiar pair of blue eyes that pierce straight through you. His hair has gotten longer again and his features are covered in stubble, but you know it is him.

“Winter?” You whisper in a trembling voice, afraid that if you speak any louder he might just disappear.

“Flower,” he breathes out, and before you can even blink he’s on you in an instant. Your frame is lifted from the ground when he picks you up in a bone crushing hug, one hand wrapped around your midsection while the other cradles the back of your head. He breathes in your scent as you nestle your face into the crook of his neck and begin to sob with the amalgamation of emotions within you. You missed him terribly, but you hated him for abandoning you and for loving you so much that Hydra had decided you were too valuable a resource to lose, and yet you were so relieved to see him alive and breathing in your little apartment.

“You left me,” you sob into his neck which prompts him to tighten his hold on you in response. “You promised you’d come back.”

“I could never leave you,” he hushes you, trembling lips brushing against the shell of your ear, “I could never ever leave you. I tried to come back for you but you were gone, and I couldn’t risk coming near you with the Avengers around or else they might take me away from you.”

“They wouldn’t do that, Steve has been looking for you. He promised we’d get to be together.”

“That isn’t his promise to make,” the man utters solemnly, finally relinquishing his hold on you so he can step back and admire your beautiful tear stained face. You look so different from the last time he’d seen you; your face was fuller and brighter, and the length of your hair had changed, but you were still just as beautiful as ever. “Flower-“

“Y/n,” you interrupt him. He falters at the name and furrows his brows in confusion until you clarify, “my real name is y/n. And yours is James, but Steve calls you Bucky.”

A look of recognition washes over his features and he nods. “We were… friends.”

“Steve can help us,” you attempt to reassure him again, but Bucky is not so easily convinced.

“No, no, I can’t… I can’t stay here. Many people want me dead, so it’s better to just disappear.”

“Disappear?” You blanch, already feeling the panic beginning to bubble within you. Your hands begin to tremble and you take a step away from him as you desperately try to process his words. “No, you can’t- you can’t leave me again!”

“I came here to say goodbye,” he admits solemnly before gently taking your shaky hands in his own. “You deserve to have a life without me in it.”

“I don’t want that!” You insist through tears only for him to shush you.

“My Flower, the serum bound us together, but it doesn’t mean that I have the right to ruin your chance at freedom. There is no future with me, a life on the run is not what you deserve. I will not put you through torment again. I-“

“I’m pregnant,” you finally blurt to get him to shut up. His wide eyes and stunned silence prove that your methods are effective. You feel his hold on you tighten as he takes a pensive swallow and slowly looks you up and down.

“Pregnant?” He repeats quietly in disbelief.

“I’m pregnant, and that means I do deserve a life with you in it. I deserve to raise our baby with you, to have you by my side. Please don’t leave me again.”

Tears steadily fall down your cheeks, and Bucky is quick to cup your face in his hands so that he may wipe them away. The apartment is quiet as he soaks up the news he’s just been given. He once thought he’d spend the rest of his life a slave to Hydra with nothing to lose and nothing to keep, but then he’d met you and everything had changed. You were his mission, his reason to fight, and now so was this baby. The answer is clear right in front of him, so he takes it.

“Pack a bag,” he urges you gently. “Pack a bag so we can leave and start over somewhere else together.”

Your breath hitches in your throat at his insistence, but you don’t think twice about scurrying off to your room and gathering whatever items will fit in your bag. You did want a new life, a fresh start, but no apartment in New York would fill the hole within you caused by Bucky’s absence if he left you behind. You are grateful to the Avengers, to all they have done for you, but Bucky is right. Your chance at a happy life is not their promise to make.

You leave a note for Natasha and Steve to find explaining that you are safe and will be okay on your own, that they don’t have to look for you and can rest assured knowing you are perfectly happy wherever it is you are. You thank them for everything and leave behind the keys to your apartment, taking one last look at the place before following Bucky to his getaway vehicle.

“Where will we go?”

He rests a comforting hand on your thigh and gives it a gentle squeeze before meeting your gaze. The hopeful glimmer in your eyes fills his heart with warmth and only further fuels his need to protect you and ensure your happiness. He hopes he’s doing the right thing by bringing you along with him.

“Romania,” he finally answers. “I think you’ll like it there.”

~~~

The soft cries from the bassinet rouse you from your slumber, but Bucky is gently pushing you back into bed before you can even remove the covers.

“I got it,” he murmurs hoarsely, sleep still evident in his voice when he speaks. The sun is barely beginning to rise as its warmth seeps through the curtains, and you comfortably stretch yourself awake in bed as Bucky brings the mewling infant to your awaiting embrace. “Hungry again.”

“It feels like she always is,” you jest with a fond smile while lifting your shift and allowing the infant to nurse. Bucky presses a kiss to your temple and repeats the act to your child before retreating into the kitchen to put on a pot of coffee for the start of your day.

Your life in Bucharest has been relatively quiet for the past year. As Bucky had promised, you’d made a fresh start in a new home for yourself, a home of your choosing where you could live in peace with your daughter and without worry of anyone finding your hidden paradise. Time had helped heal you both, and though there was still much progress to be made, becoming parents had softened you both and given you all the more motivation to be better versions of yourselves for your daughter.

Natalia Rose Barnes had been born eight months ago in a small hospital room and was deemed perfectly healthy despite your initial concerns of how the serum might affect her growth. She was the most beautiful little creature Bucky had ever seen, and his heart had bursted with pride when you’d handed her to him for the first time. He never once thought it possible for him to have a family, to take part of the creation of something so innocent and sweet after years of atrocities committed by his own hands, and yet here he was watching her tiny hand wrap tightly around his metal fingers.

Your days consisted of staying home to take care of Rosie while Bucky completed odd jobs around Bucharest to earn money. You practiced journaling often to keep track of old memories that would resurface with time to allow you to continue piecing your life together, and Bucky did the same. The thought of the Winter Soldier reawakening always lingered at the back of his mind, but he made it his mission that he would never show that part of himself to your daughter or to you ever again. You were no longer Winter and Flower but Bucky and y/n, and he was determined to keep it that way at all costs.

“I have to go out into town for groceries today,” he informs you whilst holding the cup of coffee to your lips and allowing you to take a drink. “Rose needs diapers, and we’re out of plums.”

You hum thoughtfully in response and reply, “If there is enough money leftover can you stop at the bakery for muffins?”

“Of course,” Bucky replies with a gentle grin, gently brushing his knuckles against your chin. “Anything you want.”

“I think Rosie and I will go for a walk in the park today,” you tell him. “Maybe you can join us once you’re done and we can walk home together.”

“I’d like that,” he affirms. You know how paranoid Bucky gets when you and Rose are alone, especially when it’s out in public, but he tries not to restrict your freedom too much and allows you to do certain things on your own.

You both prepare separately for your days and accompany one another out of the apartment. Bucky assists you in setting up the stroller and strapping a sleeping Rose in her seat, and he gives you a tender kiss before parting ways with you. The day is bright and beautiful, and your heart is content as you walk through the streets of Bucharest and to the local park.

You don’t have any friends or family in Romania, so you appreciate the friendliness of locals that greet you in passing or simply offer a smile your way. Many people especially like to stop and fawn over Natalia, so your guard is down when a woman seats herself next to you on the park bench and interrupts your journaling by cooing at your daughter.

“She’s beautiful.”

“Thank you, I-“ you begin to say only to freeze once you look up from your writing to acknowledge the stranger. She gives you a pointed look, but her smile is playful as she watches you process her presence before you. “Natasha?!”

“You’re hard to find, you know,” she quips with a raised brow, but she isn’t given a reply when you instead choose to throw yourself into her arms and hold her impossibly tight.

“I-I can’t believe you’re here,” you breathe in disbelief, eyes welling with tears at the comfort that comes with seeing a familiar face.

“I can’t believe you already had the baby,” she replies before pulling out of your hold to take in your face. “Are you alright? Banner was worried it might be hard on you because of the serum.”

“It was perfectly safe, Rose and I made it out fine.”

“Rose?” Natasha repeats before casting her gaze to the cooing baby sitting in the stroller.

“Well, her middle name is Rose, but her first name is Natalia,” you correct with a sheepish smile after seeing the way Natasha looks at you in surprise. “I wanted to name her after someone important, and after everything you did for me it only felt right.”

“I’m… honored,” she expresses, still getting over the initial shock. A new emotion flashes across her face for a split second before becoming unreadable again, but you detect the change before she can hide it.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that without asking you first,” You immediately jump to apologize in fear of upsetting her. You’d been so excited to see her you hadn’t even considered the fact she might be irritated with you for leaving without a trace and not bothering to reach out with your new location.

“No, it’s not that. It’s just… well, it makes this next part a little harder,” she admits mournfully, taking in the way your eyes widen slightly and lips begin to pull into a frown at her sudden change in demeanor. “As much as I wish I could say I’m here for a friendly visit, I’m actually here to bring you in for questioning.”

“What?” You gape in quiet bewilderment. You can already feel the unease beginning to grow at her serious tone, and your mind is racing with possibilities of what you could possibly be in trouble for.

“A bomb was recently planted at the Vienna International Centre and killed several UN representatives including King T’Chaka of Wakanda. Security footage revealed that the person responsible for this was Barnes.”

“That’s… that’s impossible!” You immediately argue, mind scrambling to catch up with the news Natasha has just dumped on you. Your heart is racing in your chest and body beginning to feel the oncomings of a panic attack when you realize your peaceful little life in Bucharest has been abruptly ended by a false accusation. “He couldn’t have done that, we’ve been together almost every day with Rosie.”

“They have him on camera, y/n. My hands are tied. I’ve been asked to bring you in because of your connection to Barnes, but if you can honestly say he’s been with you here in Bucharest this entire time then that might help him out. Steve and Sam should be with him right now.”

You can almost feel the hope draining out of you as you process the fact that the life you’d built for yourself was crashing down all around you. No matter how far you run, the past continues to catch up to you both. Bucky isn’t the Winter Soldier anymore, he’s trying to be better, and you wish others could see him for who he is rather than for what he has done.

“I’ll go with you if you promise they won’t take Rosie away from me,” you urge her. Natasha frowns.

“I can’t promise that, but I can promise that no matter what happens she’ll be safe. Can you trust me on that?”

You do, and that’s why you follow her willingly to Berlin for questioning. Bucky is already there when you arrive, and your heart breaks when you see how they have chosen to restrain him. His eyes are filled with sorrow at the sight of you and Rosie being escorted to a separate room, and he wants nothing more than to be there for you both, but he can do nothing as you are taken from him once again.

The prime focus is on Bucky, so you sit alone in the interrogation room for some time before the door finally opens and Steve enters. He has a tired smile on his face meant to hold up his facade while he hands you a glass of water.

“I thought you might need this,” he offers before taking a seat across from you.

“Are you here to question me?”

“No, I’m here as a friend. I don’t think you should be locked away in a room like this on your own.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time,” you offer bluntly. You don’t mean to be crass, but you’re beginning to become fed up with constantly having your life uprooted without any consideration of your feelings or autonomy. You didn’t choose this life for yourself or plan for it to be this way, yet it seemed you were always being punished for loving a tortured man who was trying to do better.

Despite your brashness, the air is void of tension and instead filled with the happy babbles of Rosie who continuously tries to reach across the table for Steve. She has Bucky’s eyes and his smile, and Steve feels a sense of protectiveness wash over him every time he looks at her. He has a duty to you and to Rosie to help prove Bucky’s innocence, and he hopes you’ll be able to see that he is on your side no matter what.

“Would you like to hold her?” You ask him after noting the way he eyes her so intently. He happily obliges, and you’re filled with a sense of ease to see your baby being coddled by Captain America. At the very least Rosie has a super powered support system, and this fact helps alleviate some of your stress.

“She’s gorgeous,” Steve compliments, allowing the girl to press her hands against his face in exploration. “This is all I ever wanted for Bucky. A chance to have the life that was taken from him, to start a family with a nice girl who loved him despite all he’s endured. I just wish it could have happened differently.”

“I know,” you reply solemnly before casting your gaze to your hands resting in your lap in order to hide your welling tears. “I do too.”

Steve opens his mouth to reply only to be interrupted by the blaring sounds of an alarm. The interrogation room is coated in red, and Rosie begins to shriek at the assaulting noise. You look to Steve with wide and fearful eyes when he quickly rises from his seat and hands you back your daughter. The alarms are reminiscent of the ones at the Hydra base, and it takes everything in you not to fall apart for the sake of your baby. Steve rests a gentle hand on your shoulder and provides you a reassuring squeeze before instructing you to stay put.

“I’ll be right back, I promise,” he avows before bolting out of the room. Your breathing comes in quick gasps as you press yourself to the furtherest corner of the wall and slowly sink to the floor with a crying Rosie to the floor. Your mind attempts to retrieve the therapeutic techniques you’d been taught to help you deal with such episodes, but none of them come to fruition fast enough for you to settle. You feel like you can’t breathe, and the blaring alarm has turned into a distant ringing as you curl in on yourself with the baby pressed tightly to your chest.

You don’t know long you’re stuck waiting in that room, unable to differentiate between minutes or hours, but you’re finally freed from your prison when the door swings open and Natasha rushes to your side.

“We gotta go,” she urges you whilst helping your trembling figure off the ground.

“Natasha, what’s going on?! Where’s Bucky?!” Your press for information falls on deaf ears as she uses one arm to keep you close to her form while the other holds out her gun for potential attacks. “We can’t leave him!”

“Someone activated the Winter Soldier,” she finally answers you after ensuring the area is secure and urging you forward. “It’s not safe for you or the baby.”

“No…” you breathe out before stopping in your tracks, “no, that’s not right.”

“Y/n, we don’t have time-“

“He wouldn’t hurt me, Natasha. The serum, it-“

“I’m not taking any chances,” she states adamantly before forcing you along with her to the exit. You can only stumble after her quick pace and follow her to safety while Bucky wreaks havoc on the building. The next few moments are a blur once you’re shoved into the back of a military van and sped off to a secondary location. The building grows further and further away, separating you and Bucky once more.

~~~

A warm breeze brushes through the grass around you, serene and comforting while you stare pensively at the lake before you. You’d sat at a lake like this once years ago with your parents when they were still alive, and it brought you the same comfort then that it did now. The world is calm here in your bubble, and you think you can finally breathe.

Rosie sits a few feet away from you in the grass playing with two of the local girls from the nearby village. The children adore your toddler and flock to visit her nearly everyday, but you don’t mind. This is what you had always wanted for her, to see her play with other children and know a world of peace where no harm could come to her. This was the most relatively normal childhood she could have, and you were grateful to be here in Wakanda.

After the Winter Soldier had been activated that fateful day, Natasha had stashed you and Rosie into a safe house while she dealt with the aftermath. Days passed before Steve finally came to get you, and you were promptly taken to be reunited with Bucky in Wakanda where T’Challa had granted you both asylum. They would work to erase his programming while you were there, and you would get to raise Rosie without the fear of having to up and leave at a moment’s notice. You’ll be forever indebted to the King for his kindness towards your family, and you truly think this could be the end of all your worries.

Your rumination is interrupted by the shifting of the grass when a new presence joins your side, and almost by instinct do you immediately lean into his side and rest your head upon his shoulder. You sometimes still expect to feel the sensation of cool metal against your cheek, but his appendage is gone now along with the Winter Soldier. Time has healed your husband, and there is no chance of anyone using him as a weapon now.

“I never thought life could be like this,” he voices aloud, a small smile forming on his lips at the sound of Rosie’s echoing laughter.

“It’s nice here,” you agree quietly. “Peaceful. We don’t have to run anymore.”

There’s a pause of silence following your words before he speaks again. “I don’t think I ever thanked you.”

His comment has you turning to look at him in puzzlement, your brows furrowing with uncertainty at what he’s trying to convey.

“Thanked me?”

He nods before shifting his gaze to you. His face is melancholic and full of sincerity when he reaches for your hand to take in his own. His eyes are swimming with devotion and admiration, and it has your stomach doing a nervous flip at the sudden shift in his demeanor.

“For giving me this second chance, for giving me a family. Hydra brought our paths together and the serum bonded us to one another, but Banner could have removed it from your system so you could live a normal life in Manhattan without a connection to me. You refused it. And when I returned you followed me to Romania despite me trying to set you free. You loved me anyway despite all you’d been through with me, you never gave up on me. I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you.”

You smile up at him with complete adoration and devotion before resting a hand upon his cheek. He immediately melts at your touch, eyes fluttering shut as he releases a relaxed breath and savors the feel of your palm against his skin.

“You’ll never have to thank me for that,” you assure him with complete sincerity. “I will love you for the rest of my life with or without some stupid serum. We came into each other’s lives for a reason, and this is it.”

You pull him towards you for a passionate kiss that both of you ensure to savor before returning your gazes to the landscape before you. The sun sparkles on the water while the wind rustles through grass, and Rosie begins to make her clumsy ascent towards you both with hands outstretched for her father. Bucky is quick to pull her into his chest and hold her securely in his lap as your little family enjoys a peaceful afternoon in Wakanda.

Life is still and perfect, and for now you can continue to remain in your peaceful bubble blissfully unaware of the dangers yet to come.

[vunblr]

Toy Soldier (part 1)

Bit by bit, torn apart. We never win, but the battle wages on for toy soldiers.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings:Warnings: 18+ only. Angst. Hurt/Comfort. Eventual Smut. Dark Content: Sexual Assault Wounds (Bucky). Depictions of Physical Wounds. Psychological Trauma. Canon-Typical Violence. Mentions and depictions of Non-Con (both characters as victims).

Summary: She had been the tool Hydra used to keep him operational; he, the weapon manipulated by their tendrils to execute their ambitions. Years after breaking free, fate Sam Wilson brings them together once more. Now, they must navigate the challenges of forging a connection beyond the twisted dynamic that once bound them in the past.

Word Count: 5.6.k.

notes: Even though this fic will include the tone I usually maintain in my stories, there will be flashbacks to unpleasant events that might be triggering. Please read the warnings carefully, and if I’ve missed any, feel free to let me know. More tags will be added in the future.

The cell reeked of bleach and iron, a suffocating blend of sterility and blood. She sat huddled in a corner with her knees drawn to her chest, shaking from the lingering aftershocks of what they had made her do mere hours ago. A steel table in the center of the room bore the evidence: blood-soaked rags, reinforced restraints, and instruments that glinted menacingly under the harsh light.

The door creaked open, and she flinched instinctively. Her pulse quickened as they rolled him in on a gurney, his body was impossibly broken again, but somehow, still alive. The Winter Soldier. His mask was cracked, exposing a bruised cheekbone, his metallic arm hung at an unnatural angle, wires sparking like dying fireflies. His tactic suit was shredded, revealing deep gashes that glistened with dark blood.

"Fix him," the handler barked, void of empathy. He tossed a clipboard onto the table, detailing every injury, every broken bone, every expectation to her work. "We need him ready by morning."

She didn’t move at first. She never did. But the familiar press of a gun muzzle against her temple jolted her into action. They didn’t tolerate hesitation.

Her bare feet slapped against the cold tiles as she approached the table. Soldat’s chest rose and fell unevenly, his blue eyes were half-lidded and glassy, staring past her into the abyss. She wondered, briefly, if he even felt the pain anymore, or if the agony had simply become a part of him, stitched into his body like the scars of the wounds she was forced to erase.

She laid her trembling hands over his chest, cutting the remnants of the suit and rushing her power forward like a tide, knitting sinew, mending fractures, restoring what should have been allowed to rest. His body convulsed as the healing process awakened raw nerve endings. He groaned low in his throat, a sound of both relief and torment and her eyes burned with unshed tears.

"Good pet," the handler sneered, patting her head, "Keep going."

As the minutes dragged into hours, her hands moved mechanically, weaving muscle and bone back into place. Every touch drew more from her, siphoning her strength to pour life into a body that shouldn’t be able to withstand such brutality. The process left her light-headed, and her vision started blurring at the edges, but she didn’t dare falter. They would notice. They always noticed.

As her hands pressed over a jagged wound on his side, a faint tremor ran through his body. His breath hitched, shallow and uneven, and his eyes fluttered open. Glassy and unfocused at first, they slowly, impossibly, found her. A vacant gaze, yet somehow piercing, locked onto her face as if trying to understand who she was and what she was doing.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, the words spilling out before she could stop them. She kept her voice low, trembling, her fingers brushing the edge of the wound as she worked. “I don’t want to do this. I’m sorry.”

His gaze didn’t falter, even as she murmured the apology again, with a cracking voice. He didn’t speak -he probably couldn’t- but the weight of his stare felt like an answer. He knew. Somehow, he knew.

More time passed, and the room emptied. The guards left her alone with him, trusting her to finish her work under the ever-present cameras. The sterile silence closed in around them. She wiped the sweat from her brow and whispered again, “I’m sorry,” her voice breaking completely now. “I’m sorry for all of it.”

Soldat blinked slowly, almost as if acknowledging her words, but his body remained still. Her fingers lingered over his shoulder where fresh skin covered what had been a deep gash, and couldn’t stop herself from caressing his bloodied temple before going back to mend him.

By the time she finished, her legs felt like water, barely holding her upright. The Soldat’s breathing had evened, the jagged cuts on his skin replaced by fresh, pale scars. His metal arm still hung limp, but it wasn’t her area of expertise. He looked human again, or as close to human as Hydra would ever allow him to be. She allowed herself to caress him again as if that gentle touch could make up for what her actions on his body entailed, his endless torment.

When the door creaked open, the spell was broken. The handler barked a question she didn’t hear over the roaring in her ears. Then he stepped forward, inspecting her work with a critical eye. He tugged at Soldat’s extremities and poked his body, then he turned to her with a smile that chilled her blood.

“Well done,” he said, sickeningly sweet. “See? You’re still useful. You’ve earned yourself another day.”

The words felt like a slap, a grim reminder of her reality. She wasn’t a person to them. She was a tool, an extension of their will, just as much a prisoner as the man she had just saved. Her power was her curse, chaining her to a life of servitude. And for what? To keep the Winter Soldier standing. To ensure he could carry out their dirty work, kill their enemies, and endure whatever horrors they deemed necessary for him to endure.

The handler gestured to the guards. “Take her back. She’ll need her strength for tomorrow.”

They grabbed her arms, dragging her toward the door. Soldat's eyes shifted for a moment, trailing her as they walked her out, his gaze still glazing but faintly flickering with awareness. Then the door slammed behind her, sealing them both back into their respective hells.

----

The cryopreservation always left her disoriented, the passage of time reduced to a murky void of nothingness. Days, months, years, they blurred together into a haze she couldn’t untangle. Based on the count of the meager breakfasts slid through the cell door, it had been two days since they’d pulled her from the tube. Her body still ached from the cold, and the numbness clung stubbornly to her limbs.

When the metallic clank of the cell door jolted her from her thoughts, she instinctively tensed. Two guards stood there, gesturing sharply for her to follow. 

The halls they guided her through were unfamiliar. These weren’t the sterile corridors leading to the medical bay. These walls were darker and the air was heavier, and the faint hum of machinery was replaced by an unsettling silence. Confused, she knit her brows but swallowed the urge to ask.

When they descended a narrow staircase, her stomach sank. The flickering lights cast long shadows against concrete walls. They passed rows of heavy metal doors, each marked with faint rust and grime. No cells with bars, no windows, just solid slabs of steel.

Her breath hitched when they stopped in front of a door near the end of the corridor. One guard yanked it open with a screech that set her teeth on edge. The other shoved her forward, barking a single command: “Fix it.”

The door slammed shut behind her, and the sound echoed in the cramped room. She stood frozen, since the stench hit her like a physical blow: blood, sweat, semen, and something else she couldn’t place.

Her gaze darted around the sparse room. A cot pushed against one wall. A table cluttered with ominous instruments. And in the corner, barely illuminated by the flickering overhead bulb, the Soldat.

Her breath left her in a shaky exhale as she took him in. He was curled into himself, naked, trembling despite the heat radiating from his abused flesh. Blood and cum stained his thighs, while bruises painted his skin in grotesque patterns. His wrists and ankles bore the raw marks of restraints, and burns and welts layered over old scars, turning his body into a tapestry of pain.

But it was his face that shattered her. A blank mask with hollow and distant wet eyes, haunted by whatever horrors had left him in this state.

She forced herself to move. When her shadow fell over him, his head snapped up and his vacant blue eyes locked onto hers. The movement was sharp and instinctive, but he didn’t lash out, didn’t flinch. He simply stared, as though he were looking through her rather than at her.

She paused for a moment, crouching to his level, resting her hands lightly on her knees. “It’s okay,” she murmured, her voice steady. “I’m here to help you.”

He didn’t respond. The haunted emptiness in his expression pierced her chest. He didn’t deserve this. “I know,” she said softly, inching closer. “I know it hurts. I’ll do what I can.”

She reached for him carefully, brushing his arm. His muscles tensed under her touch, but he didn’t pull away. Gently, she guided his arm away from where he’d been clutching his side, revealing the bruises and burns scattered across his flesh. Her stomach churned, but her hands remained steady. She had no room for hesitation, no time to falter.

As she worked, she whispered to him, not apologies this time, but reassurances. “I’m with you now, I’ll make this right, even if it’s only for now.”

As expected, he didn’t speak, didn’t move beyond the involuntary twitches of his battered body. But his eyes stayed on her, betraying a silent acknowledgment, a fragile thread of trust.

She tried to focus on the burns on his chest, the raw welts along his ribs, anything but the bruises and blood marking his inner thighs. But eventually, she had no choice. The damage there couldn’t be ignored. Swallowing the bile rising in her throat, she shifted closer, and her hands trembled for the first time that day.

She couldn’t comprehend it. Couldn’t understand how anyone could twist a man into this, into something pliable, stripped of will, used like a puppet for their every vile whim. The red book and the chair had shattered his mind, and then they’d wielded that power not only to carry out their heinous crimes but also to satiate their carnal perversions. 

“Soldat,” she said softly as she crouched closer. “I need to see the rest.”

His chest started to rise and fall in shallow breaths. His lip was caught between his teeth, bitten hard enough to draw blood. The distant, vacant expression he’d worn before had given way to something else now, resignation, or shame.

“I know,” she whispered, her voice breaking slightly. “I know it's private -should it be-, and it hurts a lot… but I promise I’ll make it better, yes?”

Her tone was as soft as she could make it, the kind someone might use with a frightened child. For a moment, there was nothing. Then he exhaled and shifted ever so slightly, granting her access. The movement wasn’t much, but it spoke volumes. He didn’t fight her. He didn’t resist. Even now, after everything, he complied.

“Thank you,” she whispered. Her hands moved carefully, brushing his battered flesh with as much gentleness as she could muster. She swallowed hard, trying to keep her focus on the healing, not on the tears threatening to spill over. Every touch she had to make felt like another betrayal of his dignity, but she couldn’t leave him like this, they wouldn’t leave him like this.

“It’s not fair,” she said under her breath “Fuck, it’s not fair.”

Every so often, her gaze flicked to his face, but he didn’t look at her this time. His eyes were closed, and his body was eerily still except for the faint shudder of his breathing.

—-

Some days, she wondered if he resented her. If he was even capable of that. She wasn’t the one inflicting the pain, wasn’t the one abusing him, but she was the one who ensured he survived it. She pieced him together, over and over, a cruel kind of mercy that prolonged his torment. Without her, they wouldn’t have been able to keep breaking him the way they did.

It haunted her.

Sometimes, it seemed like he remembered her. On the rare occasions when his body was whole and he wasn’t immediately dragged back out for another mission or another “session,” his vacant gaze would linger on her. Just a flicker of recognition in those haunted blue eyes, something that made her wonder if, somewhere beneath the chaos they’d inflicted on his mind, a part of him knew who she was.

Other times, he didn’t seem to know her at all. He would stare past her like she wasn’t even there. She didn’t know which was worse: the possibility that he hated her or the possibility that he didn’t think of her at all.

-----

Nine years had passed since her escape from their clutches. Nine years since Captain America and his team put down Pierce and dismantled Hydra’s plans,  the Soldat went missing and she got away in the chaos of the fight.

In the early days, survival had been a constant struggle. She’d wandered aimlessly at first, her coarse, prison-like clothes drawing stares from strangers who gave her a wide berth. The world was unrecognizable: a kaleidoscope of flashing screens, roaring cars, and people glued to strange, glowing devices. Everything felt faster, louder, and infinitely more confusing than the world she remembered.

For a couple of days, she kept to the shadows, but the hunger and desperation eventually pushed her to the edge. One night, trembling and exhausted, she walked into a police station. The officer at the front desk glanced at her with a mixture of suspicion and concern, likely wondering if she had escaped from a mental institution. And maybe, in a way, she had. She tried to explain, spilling out her words in a garbled mess of decades-old trauma. She told them about being taken, about Hydra, about the years spent in cryo. The officer raised a skeptical eyebrow and asked her to sit while he "sorted things out."

She knew they didn’t believe her. Not until one of the younger officers, fresh off patrol, walked in with a nasty road burn on his arm. She didn’t think, just acted. In seconds, the wound knitted itself back together under her glowing hands. The room fell silent, every set of eyes fixed on her in a mix of fear and awe.

From there, things moved quickly. The police dug into her story, and to everyone’s shock, her name and photo flagged a cold case from October 1962, a missing person report filed by her family. A woman who had disappeared without a trace, and presumed dead after two years of fruitless searching.

But what the police uncovered was too big for them to handle alone. They passed her case to federal authorities, and soon, she found herself in the hands of people who promised her a fresh start, though she quickly learned that nothing came without strings attached.

The feds helped her establish a new identity, gave her a place to live, and taught her how to navigate the modern world. In exchange, she worked for them using her mutant powers to heal injuries, aid covert operations, and clean up the messes no one else could. 

Still, the past lingered in her mind, haunting her in the quiet moments. She often wondered what had become of the Winter Soldier, since freedom, she realized, was not the same as peace.

In the years that followed, she began piecing the fragments of her past into the puzzle of the present. The world had changed in ways she struggled to comprehend, yet she adapted, carving out a relatively ‘normal’ existence.

Then, one day, she heard his name.

James Buchanan Barnes.

She learned about him in bits and pieces from news reports and whispered conversations among the people she worked with. Steve Rogers' best friend. The Winter Soldier.

The details unfolded like a tragic epic: framed in a terrorist attack, slipping under the radar, fighting in Wakanda, only to vanish in the Blip. And then, five years later, he returned. His face, no longer the blank mask of the Soldat, appeared on screens everywhere as the government pardoned him under strict conditions: mandatory therapy and restricted accommodations, a leash that kept him just shy of true freedom.

She watched every news segment, every interview. He wasn’t the weapon she remembered. There was something different in his eyes. Half-masked pain, certainly, but also humanity. He was trying, struggling to reclaim himself, to exist in a world that only knew him as a ghost or a monster.

It wasn’t an obsession. At least, that’s what she told herself. It was curiosity, concern, a connection she couldn’t sever no matter how hard she tried. Because no one else could understand what they’d been through. No one else had seen the depths of his torment, or felt the same chains biting into their skin.

She hadn’t planned to ever contact him. The idea terrified her. For all she knew, his fractured mind might not even remember her. Worse, maybe he did and resented her for the role she’d played, for the way she’d prolonged his torment under Hydra’s commands. Those thoughts were enough to keep her at a distance, safely watching from the shadows of her new life.

But life and destiny had their ways of unraveling carefully laid plans.

-----

Her work with Sam Wilson had started as another government assignment, one of many designed to keep her powers useful and her secrets buried. Yet, somewhere along the way, it had turned into something more. A friendship. He didn’t know about her past -no one did, actually-. He only knew the version of her life the government had scripted, a fabricated identity polished to perfection.

Leaving that aside, she liked him. He had a way of making her feel less like a displaced ghost and more like a person. Sometimes, they hung out after missions, sharing laughs over beers or stories about the ridiculous situations they found themselves in. And when he came back from a mission bruised or limping, she always tried to help.

That friendship had led her here, to a bustling backyard party, with warm laughter and music filling the air. Sam’s birthday celebration. She had accepted his invitation without thinking much of it, expecting a relaxed evening with a few familiar faces. What she hadn’t expected was to see him.

Standing at the drinks table, not the Winter Soldier, not the cold, empty Soldat she remembered, but James. His shoulders were relaxed, his hair shorter, and his blue eyes clearer than she’d ever seen them. He looked... alive in a way that left her breathless. For a moment, she froze, and her stomach twisted into knots. But there was no turning back now.

Not when he lifted his face after grabbing a glass of soda, only to find her mere inches away, rooted in place and staring at him like a rabbit in the middle of the road.

Her breath caught, and the world around them seemed to fade into a blur of laughter and music as his piercing blue eyes locked onto hers. 

He didn’t move, didn’t speak. The faintest flicker of something -recognition? confusion?- crossed his face. The glass in her hand suddenly felt heavy, and she tightened her grip around it as her heart raced.

“H-hi,” she managed to mutter, almost lost beneath the hum of the party.

He tilted his head slightly, deliberately, as if weighing her. For a long, agonizing moment, he simply looked at her with an unreadable expression. Then his lips parted, and a single word escaped from them, low and hoarse.

“You.”

Her stomach dropped while her mind scrambled for a response. Did he remember her? Or was it just the way her face stirred a distant and fractured memory?

“I-” she started, but the words tangled in her throat.

His gaze darted over her, taking her in: the way she clutched the glass like a lifeline, the way her shoulders tensed, the way she made one step back as though retreating was an option.

Sam’s voice cut through the moment, cheerful and oblivious. “Hey, Buck! Flirting already with one of my girls?”

Bucky flinched, the spell breaking as he snapped his gaze toward Sam, stiffening his posture. “I’m not f-”

“Don’t be a dick with her,” Sam interrupted, grinning as if he were the greatest matchmaker alive. “She’s good people. Y/n, this is Bucky, a pain in the ass but a good friend. Bucky, this is Y/n.”

Bucky’s jaw tightened, his expression still unreadable as his eyes flicked back to her. He didn’t speak, didn’t offer a hand or a smile, just narrowed his eyes slightly, like he was trying to solve a riddle only he could see.

Her pulse thundered in her ears, and her instincts screamed at her to move, to flee, to escape his scrutiny before his fractured memories pieced her together.

But she didn’t.

Instead, she squared her shoulders and forced her lips into what she hoped was a polite and not-too-awkward smile. “Nice to meet you,” she said, her voice much steadier than she felt.

Bucky studied her for a moment longer. Finally, he gave a slight nod, stepping back as though he’d decided she wasn’t worth the effort of figuring out. “Yeah. Same,” he muttered before turning to leave.

As he moved away, she exhaled, a shaky breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. Her grip on the glass trembled, the adrenaline coursing through her leaving her both relieved and strangely disappointed.

“Don’t take it personally,” Sam intervened, leaning in with a knowing smirk. “He specializes in a heterogeneous game of staring, brooding, and groaning. Dry comments here and there, too.”

She let out a soft, nervous laugh, grateful for the break in tension. “Good to know,” she murmured, still gripping the glass tightly.

Sam patted her shoulder with the easy camaraderie of someone who had no idea the weight of the moment that had just passed. “He’s not so bad once you get past all the walls. Might take a while to crack that nut, but hey, who knows?”

-----

Two months later, Sam called her for a job.

“It’s a simple mission,” he’d explained. “Poland. The higher-ups want you to stay at the safehouse most of the time in case something goes wrong, but if we need someone to move unnoticed -play tourist, fetch intel- they figured you’re our best bet.”

She hesitated for a beat, her instincts screaming at her to say no this time. But she had never ditched a mission before and Sam will be there, so she agreed.

When she climbed aboard the military plane early the next morning, with a duffel bag slung over her shoulder, she almost turned around and fled.

Bucky was already sitting there, strapped into his seat, with his arms crossed over his chest. His expression was as closed off as ever, and his gaze was fixed somewhere on the cabin wall. Her stomach dropped, and before her brain could process what she was doing, she turned sharply on her heel and headed straight for the cockpit.

The pilots greeted her with raised brows, clearly surprised to see her there before takeoff. She forced a nervous smile, chatting with them about flight logistics, weather conditions, anything to stretch the time and delay the inevitable.

“Shouldn’t you be back in the cabin?” one of them asked eventually, glancing at her curiously.

“Just thought I’d keep you company,” she replied, slightly strained.

The hum of the plane’s engines growing louder reminded her she couldn’t hide forever. She exhaled deeply, gripping the doorframe. Maybe, she could slip into some corner, unnoticed once the plane was in the air.

But life wasn’t so kind.

“Sam’s voice came loud and clear, calling her. “C’mon, you’re holding us up!”

Bucky’s head turned, locking his sharp gaze onto her the moment she entered. His expression didn’t shift -no frown, no surprise- but what she saw in those blue eyes made her knees threaten to buckle.

She forced herself to take a steadying breath. “Hi,” she greeted the two men quickly, her voice barely above a murmur, before moving to the furthest seat she could find.

Her hands fumbled as she pulled a book from her bag, flipping it open without even checking the page. She pretended to read, scanning the same line over and over as if the words might somehow shield her from the weight of Bucky’s stare.

Sam furrowed his brows, glancing between them with a mix of confusion and curiosity. He’d been prepared for the usual brooding and disagreements from Bucky -his default settings on most missions- but he’d expected her to be more engaged. She’d always been sharp and chatty, quick to offer solutions or crack a joke, but now she seemed... distant.

He leaned toward Bucky, “Did you scare her off already before I got here?”

Bucky shot him an unimpressed sidelong glance. “I didn’t say a word.”

Sam, determined to break the awkward silence, leaned back in his seat and raised his voice. “Alright, we’re stuck in this tin can for the next few hours. Someone better start talking, or I’m gonna make us all play twenty questions.”

She forced a small smile, though her eyes remained glued to the book. “You win. I’m reading.”

He huffed dramatically, shaking his head. “Tough crowd.” Then he turned back to Bucky. “Guess it’s just you and me, Buck.”

Bucky didn’t respond, his gaze flicking toward her briefly before settling on the wall ahead. His expression remained impassive, but his metal fingers tapped against his thigh, the only sign of some internal debate.

-----

After a while, Sam, ever persistent, leaned forward, and turned to her “So,” he started, casually but probing, “you ever been to Poland in other mission before? Got any recommendations for pierogi spots or are we flying blind here?”

She hesitated, tightening slightly her fingers on the edge of her book. Avoiding interaction had been her plan, but the pointed look Sam sent her way made it clear he wasn’t going to let her off the hook.

Finally, she closed the book with a soft sigh, forcing herself to meet his expectant gaze. “No, never been,” she replied, cautious. “Though I think I read somewhere Kraków’s old town is nice.”

Sam grinned, seizing the opportunity. “Kraków, huh? I’ll take that as a vote to play tourist if we get the chance. “Maybe you can even guide us, seeing as you’re good at blending in.”

“I doubt we’ll have time, Sammy,” she said quickly, trying to deflect.

“Oh, come on,” Sam teased, leaning back in his seat with an exaggerated grin. “You’re one of the friendliest people I know. You’ll probably charm us into some exclusive spots. Earn your keep!”

She let out a soft, nervous laugh, shaking her head. “I think you’ve mistaken ‘friendly’ for ‘quiet enough not to get in trouble.’”

Sam smirked, undeterred. “Nah, you’ve got that vibe. People trust you, and open up to you. Don’t think I haven’t noticed how often you walk away with more intel than anyone else.”

Her fingers tensed slightly on the edge of her book, but she forced herself to smile. “I’ll take that as a compliment... I think.”

“It is,” Sam replied, his tone warm and easy. “And I’m just saying, if we do get downtime, we’re counting on you to find the good spots.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” she managed to say, though her stomach churned under Bucky’s relentless stare.

He hadn’t said a word, but the weight of his gaze made every exchange feel heavier like he was dissecting her responses, searching for cracks in her calm facade. She refused to look at him, focusing instead on Sam’s cheerful grin.

Sam clapped his hands together. “That’s the spirit. See, Buck? She’s already proving more useful than you.”

Bucky huffed, the barest flicker of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth before disappearing. “Yeah, well, let’s see if she’s still useful when things go south.”

Her stomach tightened at his words, though she kept her face carefully neutral. It wasn’t outright hostility, but the skepticism in his tone felt like a challenge, a warning wrapped in a dry comment.

Sam rolled his eyes, shaking his head. “Man, you’ve gotta work on your people skills. Not everyone you meet is gonna double-cross you, you know.”

Bucky didn’t respond and bit his lower lip as he looked away, clearly done with the conversation.

She forced a small smile, trying to defuse the tension. “I think he’s just saying I should prove myself first.”

Sam shot her an encouraging look. “You don’t need to prove anything to him. Trust me, you’re good-”

“Sam,” Bucky intervened almost dryly. “I’m just saying what we’re all thinking. This isn’t sightseeing. It’s a mission. If she’s not-”

“I can handle myself,” she interrupted, managing to keep her voice steady despite the sudden rush of heat to her face.

The fact that she addressed directly to him got Bucky’s attention. He turned, locking his gaze onto hers, and for a moment, the silence between them felt heavier than the thrum of the plane’s engines.

“Guess we’ll find out,” he murmured, leaning back slightly in his seat. He kept staring at her sharply and unyielding. After a beat of silence, he added, “And, actually, what exactly do you do?”

Fuck.

The question wasn’t casual, she could see it in the way his eyes stayed fixed on her, a glint of something just beneath the surface. He knew. He was waiting for her to say it, to confirm what he already remembered but was pretending not to.

Sam raised an eyebrow, looking between them. “Bucky, come on. She’s solid, alright? I wouldn’t bring her along if she wasn’t.”

Bucky didn’t even glance at him. His attention stayed locked on her. “I didn’t say she wasn’t solid. Just curious what her... specialty is.”

She forced herself to take a steadying breath. If he wanted to play coy, fine. Two could play that game.

“I’m good at staying unnoticed,” she said, feigning a casual tone “Recon, blending in, getting intel…” She shrugged lightly, as though explaining her skill set was just a routine part of the job.

Bucky tilted his head slightly, his eyes narrowing in faint amusement. “That it?”

She gave him a polite smile, curling her fingers around the edge of the book on her lap. “Well, I’ve been told I’m handy in a pinch. Let’s just say I’ve got a knack for fixing things.”

His lips quirked, but the expression didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Fixing things, huh?”

“Yeah,” she replied smoothly, ignoring the way her heart raced under his scrutiny. “Little cuts, scrapes, that kind of thing. Nothing too fancy.”

Sam, oblivious to the subtle tension between them, chuckled. “Don’t let her undersell it. She devours. Saved my ass more than once, you wouldn’t believe the absolute carnage I've seen her mend.”

“Good to know,” Bucky commented, with his gaze still locked on her. There was something in his eyes -something sharp-, almost daring her to break first, but she didn’t flinch.

“Just doing my job.” She added, her eyes still glued to the unreadable baby blues.

Bucky leaned back, the corner of his mouth twitched as if he wanted to say more but decided against it.

Sam glanced between them. “It's pretty early for a staring contest.”

She didn’t answer; she just smiled at him and returned her focus to the book. He remembered, she was sure of it.

Still, if he wanted her to confirm it outright, he’d have to try harder. For now, she’d play his game, and she was determined to win.

-----

The safehouse was a two-bedroom apartment in an old building that groaned with every step. It was cramped but functional, the kind of place that wouldn’t draw attention. As they settled in, Sam tossed his bag onto one of the worn couches and stretched like a cat.

“Alright,” he said, grinning at her. “Do us all a favor and work your magic in the kitchen. I haven’t had a proper meal in weeks, and I can’t survive on takeout and those protein bars Bucky packs.”

She raised an eyebrow but didn’t argue. Cooking would give her something to focus on, and it was the perfect excuse to isolate for a couple of hours.

“Fine, let’s see what I can do,” she muttered, scurrying inside the kitchen.

“You’re the best!” Sam called, grabbing his jacket. “I’ll be back soon, gotta meet a contact nearby. You two... play nice.”

The sound of the door closing made her grimace. She exhaled slowly, tying an old apron on her waist as she dug through the sparse pantry and fridge. Within minutes, she was chopping some potatoes, humming Animals while she was at it, because fuck it all.

She felt the weight of his gaze pressed against her back like a physical thing before she heard him. He stood in the kitchen doorway, quiet and unmoving, a presence impossible to ignore.

Her grip on the knife tightened, but she didn’t turn around. “Need something?”

“No.” The simple word carried so much weight that it made her pause mid-cut.

She exhaled slowly and resumed her task. “Then why are you standing there?”

He didn’t answer immediately, and the silence stretched until it became almost unbearable.

“You’re good at it.”

Her hand froze. “At what?”

“Pretending.”

She forced herself to keep chopping, while her pulse hammered in her ears. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure you don’t.” His tone didn’t carry malice, but the words felt heavier than any accusation. He leaned against the doorway, crossing his arms. “I remember you.”

Her chest tightened, and the room suddenly felt smaller. “You’re mistaken,” she said flatly.

“I’m not.” He took another step forward. His tone was soft, but the words were unrelenting. “You were there. Hydra.”

Next Chapter ->

[brokenbarnes]

Haunted Eyes

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Based on the Episode "The Power Broker" from the Falcon and the Winter Soldier. Zemo is offering the Winter Soldier to Selby for payment, but the reader plays his handler. Hurt/comfort type shyt

Warnings: canon level violence, slight panic attack, mentions of ptsd

A/N: Holy shit guys I haven't written (and posted it) in over four years. I hope you enjoy it, hopefully my writing as improved since high school!

You were unhappy with the idea from the start.

Your best friend, closest confidant, one you’ve watched grow into a new version of himself; forced to play the part of the man he used to be. Could you even consider the Asset a part of Bucky? Would it be rude not to? There’s been many long conversations about who he is now, how he defines himself in this modern era.

Zemo’s plan was awful enough that it could just work. Bucky back under the invisible muzzle of his former self, playing a part to appease a buyer who just couldn’t resist.

If that wasn’t awful enough, Zemo had a role for you as well. His field Handler, his orderly, his master. Someone he would obey every and any command from.

The thought of it made you sick. Your stomach rolled as you zipped up your disguise, provided by Zemo conveniently on the flight to Madripoor. A tactical Kevlar jacket, form fitting dark slacks and heavy combat boots.

Looking in the mirror, you fixed your posture to reflect one with authority. Shoulders back, chin lifted, hands on your hips. You could possibly make this work, if you could see it through.

Bucky didn’t say a word to you at the club. Neon lights, hazy blue smoke, the odor of too many bodies rubbing close together. The Asset is not supposed to speak unless spoken to, therefore his coldness shouldn’t have been a surprise to you.

“Ready to comply, Soldat?” Zemo smirked at him in Russian as Bucky followed you and Sam through the crowd.

You didn’t flinch, but you felt you heart tear in two at the empty look in his eye. How did it come back so easily? The Bucky you woke up to everyday had a warm look in his deep blue eyes, crows feet crinkling when he smiled at you. This was not your Bucky.

As a shady looking man placed his hand on Zemo’s shoulder, you ordered Bucky to attack. He did so without a question, reminding you of the fraction of the man you saw on the DC bridge almost a decade ago. He put men down without blinking, clearing the room as people gasped.

Selby’s lounge was tinted with green neon and a faint smell of cigarette smoke. Your stomach turned at the atmosphere. Zemo lounged in a modern looking chair, Bucky positioned himself between the two, Sam opposite. You stood near Bucky, posture stiff, arms behind your back, face rigid as steel. Bucky was the same.

Selby reminded you of a snake, draped over her disgusting couch, wrapped in expensive materials and reeking of designer alcohol. She eyed your soldier with a hungry gaze, a different emotion burned in your chest.

She greeted Zemo not as a welcomed friend, but as an adversary she couldn’t wait to see what the next move was. You read her well enough to know she was skeptical of Zemo, the rumors of him locked away were supposed to be true. So how was he in Madripoor?

One look at Sam’s face showed you he did not trust Zemo, not one bit. Apparently Bucky did somewhat, or didn’t care about trusting him, just using him to get to the next step. Bucky’s past wasn’t based on trust, it was based on obedience.

And fear.

Zemo remained relaxed in his chair, glancing over at Bucky who stood so stiffly in the corner. His eyes were emotionless, muscles slack. You knew if you placed a muzzle over his mouth, it would be like nothing had changed at all since he came into your life. All the progress he was working towards with you and Dr. Raynor would be gone just like that.

“In exchange for information of the serum, I offer you the Winter Soldier,” he smiled in his sinister way. “Along with the code words to control him of course.”

Selby sat up straighter on her snake skin couch, like a cobra raising it’s head before it attacks. She was interested.

“He will do anything you want,” Zemo mused.

You met Sam’s eye across the room, worried, curious, concerned. Bucky slipped back into the role of someone he never wanted to be ever again. Maybe just a little bit too easily.

“Anything?” She leaned forward, puffing her chest out slightly, eyes locked on Bucky. Not his eyes, anywhere but his eyes in fact. His chest, his shoulders, new and improved arm, thighs, his feet. But she did not look in his eyes.

“Handler?” Zemo’s cold, calculating eyes turned to you. “Care to demonstrate?”

The words were bitter on your tongue, but Zemo’s warning replayed through your head. You cannot break character if you want to live, you have to sell it.

“Ready to comply, Soldat?” You tried to not stumble over the Russian, the language you learned so many years ago. The language that haunted his nightmares, waking up mumbling in a Slavic tongue engrained in his consciousness. Speaking the language for the both of you meant something had gone terribly wrong.

The awful blank stare in eyes remained, but his jaw clenched as he nodded. “Yes, Handler.”

“Kneel, Asset,” you hated the tone of your voice. One you hadn’t used in a long time, one that was never meant for Bucky.

He dropped to his knees at your feet, eyes still staring straight ahead. You tried not to wince as his knees slammed into the hardwood floor without even a moment of hesitation from him.

From the sheath on your thigh, you lifted a knife to his neck. He didn’t blink as the blade pressed into his skin.

“The Asset is completely compliant to your every need,” your voice was brittle, like glass. It appeared strong but one push was all it would take to bring it all down. “He will fight, kill, destroy anyone you ask him to.”

Selby’s hungry eyes asked for more.

“The asset does not think for itself,” you continued. “Anything you ask it to do will happen automatically. Completely submissive for its handler.”

You swallowed hard, turning your attention down to the man at your feet. “Asset, lean forward.”

You watched as Bucky leaned forward, digging the blade into the soft skin of his throat. You fought to keep your expression neutral as a tiny bead of blood trickled over his Adams apple.

“He will do anything without regards for himself.”

Selby smiled, clearly thrilled with her new deal, turned to Zemo and gave up the name of the doctor working on the serum.

“Stand, Asset,” you said, just loud enough to be heard by the one who mattered most.

Bucky returned to his standing position, posture military perfect, eyes staring straight head. A small stream of blood drying over the stubbly skin of his throat.

You were grateful for the tactical jacket when the shooting started. Selby’s lifeless body stared up at you like a snake skin, a hole blown through her sternum.

Although the cover was blown, Selby dead from a mysterious assassin and a whole nightclub full of dangerous people below; you were grateful you were no longer Bucky’s handler. The mask he had donned was gone, the awful, haunted look in his eyes had vanished but left a trace.

Later...

Finding Sharon Carter in Madripoor was not on your bingo card for this mission, but you were grateful for the temporary shelter of her apartment. Bucky lost his Asset attire, Sam no longer looked like a pimp, you were able to borrow some of Sharon’s sensible shoes.

Your adrenaline crashed at Sharon’s apartment, after running for your life from Selby’s night club and a bounty placed on your heads. All of the energy you felt when playing the Handler drained out of you, it was all you had to try and listen to Sharon discuss her situation.

You pulled your feet beneath you on her fancy leather couch, resting your head in your palm against the arm rest. Your mind replaying the image of Bucky leaning into the knife in your hand.

Bucky sat on the other end of the couch, avoiding your eye contact, hands laced together in his lap.

You wished he would catch your eye, lift the corner of his mouth in a subtle smile, reach over and nudge your foot with his. But when he thought nobody was watching, his head hung low, staring down into his lap, bouncing his knee in the way you know meant anxiety was making his skin crawl.

Sharon was hosting a party in the gallery below her luxury apartment, full of questionably authentic art pieces and shady customers.

Although the customers were having fun, the four of you observed, on edge. Despite the open bar, nobody from your party was drinking, silently observing the life Sharon had built for herself.

Bucky noticed as you slipped away, seemingly uncomfortable in your own skin. He silently followed you from a distance, watching you take the elevator up to Sharon’s apartment. He waited and took the next car up.

By the time you reached Sharon’s apartment, your chest was tight and it felt like you were breathing through a straw. No matter how deep of a breath you tried to take, it was never enough air.

You stumbled your way into her bathroom, turning on the sink and watching cold water flow over your wrists. Bracing your forearms against the porcelain, you dropped your head, pressing your eyes into the damp skin.

Tears burned in your eyes, squeezing your eyelids together you tried to contain the guilt building inside.

The scary thing about Bucky was that he could sneak up on you like nobodies business, avoiding squeaky floor boards and balancing his weight just perfectly. He was still like a ghost in many ways, as much as he tried to erase it.

So when he knocked gently on the bathroom door, it startled you, moving you to quickly wipe your eyes.

“Y/N?” His voice was gentle as he called through the door.

You froze, trying to steady your breathing although you knew his super soldier hearing picked up on it through the door.

“Y/N, Honey, let me in,” he murmured, leaning his temple against the door, hand on the doorknob.

“I’m okay,” but your voice was shaking.

“Y/N.”

You sighed, wiping your eyes once last time before opening the door. Your super soldier was leaning against the door frame, arms crossed over his black long-sleeve shirt. Usually you’d admire how the material stretched across his broad chest, but your eyes were flooded with tears.

You let him in without another word, he shut the door behind him. Sitting down on the lip of the modern-looking tub, you ran your hands through your hair, trying to calm down.

He didn’t speak, his favorite tactic, which drove you crazy. Forcing you to fill the silence like an interrogation technique.

“Bucky, I…” you swallowed hard, guilt stirring in your gut as you looked at him. You blinked quickly before trying again. “Bucky, I don’t ever want to do that again.”

“Do what, Doll?”

“Be your handler,” you spoke the world like it was a slur, a bad taste in your mouth. “Make you… Make you…”

He tilted his head at you, observant eyes watching your every move.

“Honey, you didn’t make me do anything.”

You stood up, standing in front of him as he leaned against the sink.

He had wiped the blood away and the serum had healed the thin skin over his throat, you swore you could still see where your knife had nicked him. You reached out and gently touched the spot under his chin where you had pressed the unyielding steel.

“I hurt you,” you shook your head, chin quivering.

“I’m okay,” he shook his head. Your touch was warm against his skin, he reminds himself that he enjoys this feeling.

“I don’t want to be another person in your life that’s hurt you,” tears spilled over your cheeks now, dripping under the neckline of your borrowed shirt.

He closed his flesh hand around yours, the one that was still tracing the healed line on his skin. His clear eyes met yours, blurry with tears and guilt.

“You are not my handler,” he spoke quietly, but firmly. “I know the difference. You were playing the part, not that it ended up mattering anyway. You didn’t hurt me, Y/N.”

You looked down at your shoes and tried to focus on your breathing. Why was he being so nice to you? You became another figure of those that had hurt him, had turned him into a shell of a human.

“C’mere,” he murmured, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and pulling you against him. You let your head fall against his shoulder, listening to the metal hum under your ear, a sound that has always brought you comfort.

“There is never a good time to be playing the Winter Soldier,” he spoke softly, just for your ears only. “But if I had to choose anyone to be my handler, I’d choose you any day.”

“Don’t,” you wiped your eyes on the soft cotton of his shirt.

“Nah, I’m serious,” he took a deep breath, which reminded you to copy him. Something you do all the time for him. “You’re the one that’s pulling me out of all this. You know all the dark secrets of my mind.”

“Dark secrets?” You wrinkled your nose, feeling your muscles relax a touch.

“Mhm,” his warm hand felt good on your skin, brushing the tender skin of the underside of your arm. “I trust you.”

Trust was a hard thing for Bucky, you could count on one metal hand the amount of people he trusts. But if Bucky could still trust you after playing the antagonist of his nightmares…

And you knew what those nightmares were like for him, leaving him shaking, sweating, reeling for a grasp on reality. Out of all the handlers he had in his lifetime, you hoped you were the one that showed him the most kindness.

“I don’t want you feeling all mixed up now,” he squeezed you quickly before letting go. “There’s only room for one crazy person in this relationship.”

You wiped your eyes, sneaking a glance in the mirror over his shoulder. He blocked your reflection with his strong back, leaning in to kiss you.

You’re forgiven, he told you, pressing his body into yours.

And that’s all you needed.

[cece693]

The One Kind Voice

pairing: bucky barnes x male reader tags: winter soldier time, kinda short but I wanted to test the waters, maybe I'll make it into a small series, open ending, perhaps reader is dead or escaped, no specific timeline, winter soldier finds a good thing amongst the bad

The metal restraints were always cold against his skin, but he barely felt them anymore. In the shadowed corridors of the Hydra facility, each clang of steel against steel was a drumbeat of his captivity. He didn't ask questions. He didn't show emotion. Not after they had scorched his mind and scorched it again, drilling into his consciousness until he could no longer remember his name.

But certain things—small shards of time—still lingered, sparkling in the darkness of the broken memories. Moments that Hydra’s reprogramming couldn't fully erase. And in all the jagged recollections the Winter Soldier carried, there was a face. A man with bright, gentle eyes.

He wasn’t like the other handlers. They supervised him with harsh commands and even harsher punishments for the slightest infractions. A slow aim here, a missed step there. The result was always pain. But not with him. The Soldier never learned his name—only recognized the warmth in his voice, the understanding in the slight upturn of his lips, and the soft twinge of regret behind every command he uttered.

Some nights, after a particularly brutal mission or a session in the chair that left his thoughts scrambled, the Soldier would lie on a cot in a dimly lit cell. The man would appear, quietly shutting the door behind him. He would kneel beside the Soldier, carefully checking for wounds. He never scolded. He simply whispered words that the Soldier couldn't always process, but they felt safe, like a lullaby in a storm.

“It's not your fault,” the handler would say, running a gentle hand across the Soldier’s forehead. “You'll be okay.”

At times, the Soldier didn't know if it was kindness or a Hydra tactic to trick him into obeying. But as the days bled into weeks, he found himself clinging to those brief, serene moments. Even Hydra's voice in his head, that droning command that threatened to break him again and again, could not drown out the memory of those gentle hands.

Then one day, the man disappeared.

The Soldier remembered walking into the training bay, battered and dazed from the previous night's reconditioning. He kept his eyes low, waiting for that small moment of kindness. It never came. Instead, stern-faced guards escorted him to the next mission briefing with mechanical indifference. Another day passed. Then another.

He had tried once—just once—to ask about the handler. His voice was clipped, each word tasting of tension. The guard merely grunted and shoved him forward. The question lingered in the Soldier’s own mind, haunting him as the reprogramming machine screeched and sparked. He felt the cold electricity surge, but beneath it, he clung to the thought: Where did he go?

Every mission, every bullet fired, every step he took along Hydra’s grim path was laced with that faint memory: a rare flicker of compassion in a world of torment. The more Hydra tried to strip him of his identity, the more that one face, that one gentle voice, stood out amid the chaos.

Sometimes, he wondered if that man had been a ghost or a figment of his fractured psyche. Perhaps Hydra had found him unnecessary. Or worse, they discovered he was too kind, an unacceptable weakness in a place that thrived on fear and pain. The Soldier replayed each conversation they’d shared, every time he had been consoled instead of condemned. He wondered if that handler had paid a price for showing him mercy.

Yet, in the darkest corners of the Soldier’s mind, that memory persisted, untarnished: someone had cared. Someone believed he was more than just a living weapon. And while the Winter Soldier could not fully comprehend his own pain or place in the world, that single memory was a lifeline.

Because maybe, just maybe, if there had been one soul in Hydra who treated him with humanity… there might be hope left for him yet. And so he held onto the recollection of the disappearing handler—wondering if he was safe, if he’d escaped to a better life. In the dreamlike haze of his brainwashed state, he allowed himself one fleeting comfort: maybe one day he would be free as well, free to find answers about the kind man who vanished, and the shards of memory he left behind.

[writingunderneathawillow]

his present (the winter soldier x fem!reader)

WARNINGS: PLEASE READ 18+ mdni please please NON/CON (I mean it) Rough, dark smut, depressing, pain, blood, angst, fem!reader, no use of y/n summary: The Winter Soldier's need is out of control. HYDRA gives him a gift. You. word count: 964

The Winter Soldier was insatiable. His diverse handlers had figured that out quickly. Most times, they refused him any pleasure at all. They thought it motivated him. Made him angrier. More brutal. More efficient.

But there came a time where he was so pent up, so desperate for release that it affected his usually flawless performance as a killing machine.

Less focused, desperate and sloppy.

Harder to control.

He had killed seven people in the last three days, all of them had been ripped to shreds and many years were going to pass until every last part of them was found.

The HYDRA agents tried to drug him, dominate him, make him calm down. Nothing helped him.

His need was overpowering and any medication that they gave him to incapacitate him, burned away in his overheating system.

So, instead, they found him a toy.

A girl.

They had taken her in, months ago. Her memory had been erased, her body exposed to multiple tests. She had failed them all and was considered useless.

But with the Winter Soldier’s unappeasable hunger, she had gained a purpose.

They dragged her to his cell, her eyes closed and limbs dragging over the cold floor, unconscious.

The Winter Soldier stood at the furthest corner of the room, eyes following their every movement. And then his gaze fell onto her.

She wore a flimsy hospital gown, slashed and bloodied from weeks of abuse. He took in her disheveled state, her lack of awareness. The unbroken parts of her skin were pure. Soft. Desirable.

They threw her in front of his feet and a pained gasp escaped her mouth, her body shaking with pain.

“For you,” one of the agents said. “A present. Get what you need but let her live.”

The door fell shut behind them and the Winter Soldier and the girl were alone in the room.

She still remained unmoving, whimpering on the floor while he stepped closer, scrutinizing her, running his metal fingers over her exposed skin.

Every part of her body was ice cold and his artificial fingers left a trail of goosebumps.

Another sharp intake of breath echoed through the room as he pulled her closer, flipping her onto her back.

He truly was filled with limitless desire.

Both his hands, flesh and metal, ghosted over her as he ripped the hospital gown off, leaving her bare in front of him, slipping in and out of awareness.

His eyes took in every curve of her body, every dip of her frame. Hunger, that before had been distracting, now turned into overwhelming.

With few movements his tactical gear fell to the floor and his own body was exposed.

His rock-hard length pressed against his stomach as he pushed her legs apart.

This seemed to bring her back to reality, as whimpers escaped her lips.

She was pleading.

“Please, don’t.”

The Winter Soldier had heard many people beg. Men, Women, Children. None of them sounded as sweet and hopeless as she did.

As always, her imploring fell onto deaf ears.

He caged her in between his arms, his legs restraining hers from closing as he lined up with her entrance.

His throbbing need brushed up against her and her cries became louder.

“No, no, no,” she screamed until a sharp thrust shut her up.

A throaty and deep groan broke from his lips, as he inched forward into her, feeling her tight walls gripping him and attempting to prevent him from entering fully.

She was flailing around, her arms shoving at his chest and breathless weeps begging him to stop.

He pushed further and felt a warm liquid around him. Her blood seeped out between them as he his hips finally met hers and he was fully buried in her.

When he pulled out again, there was less resistance, her own blood helping his movements become smoother and therefore faster.

Her sobs hadn’t stilled yet but they were quieter. She had given up on begging for him to stop, instead she only whispered quiet words of defiance.

He ignored them, only focused on how tight she felt around him. He thrusted inwards again and moaned.

This was heaven.

Within seconds he had found a rhythm that brought him close to the edge. It had been too long since they had allowed him to find any kind of relief. His balls were slapping against her entrance, filled with his seed to the brim and threatening to explode.

He pumped into her while burying her under his body.

The sounds that filled his cell were ungodly. His dark grunts, her quiet whimpers, the slap of skin on skin.

Heat flowed through his body, building up in his stomach as he dove in and out of her and his release was closing in.

With a deep grunt and a final thrust, he finally felt his pleasure washing over him.

He was heaving, shaking, buried inside of her as his spent coated her walls and leaked out between them, even with him still stuffed into her.

When he pulled out with a groan, he missed her warmth immediately.

His eyes darted over her body, used and broken in front of him. His seed and her blood formed a pool between her legs. Her chest rose slowly, the only movement that proved that she was still alive.

He wasn’t supposed to feel regret. He wasn’t supposed to feel, period.

But he did.

As he watched her slowly curl up into a ball, crimson staining skin and cold sweat coating her, his heart ached. It was a sensation so unfamiliar to him that it almost triggered his fight or flight instinct.

He retreated carefully, quietly.

While his gaze was fixed on her, he heard her sobs. And it tugged at his heartstrings, releasing his mind just a little from the dark place it had been stuck in for 70 years.

[ell0ra-br3kk3r-writes]

Fractured Loyalties

pairing: bucky barnes(the winter soldier) x fem!ex-widow!reader

genre: angst/neutral

el's thoughts: okaaaaayyy i had a little too much free time today... this took me three hours and i'm exhausted but so proud of this!! it's prettyyy long compared to my last few fics, so enjoy!! please let me know your thoughts please please please!! tagging my few new bucky mutuals for feedback if you're willing! @lomlbuckybarnes @dollface-xoxo @probablybucky

bucky masterlist

They were never supposed to be anything more than weapons. 

HYDRA made sure of that.

Y/N and Bucky were forged in the same fire–HYDRA’s brutality, the Red Room’s merciless conditioning. Their pasts were written in blook and rewritten in pain. They weren’t meant to have choices, weren’t meant to be people. And yet, somewhere in the fractures of their broken minds, they had found each other.

She had been the only constant in the Winter Soldier’s shattered existence. Even when memories faded, when his mind was wiped clean of anything resembling a past, he remembered her. The whisper of her voice, the flash of steel in her hands, the way her presence lingered even after she was gone.

She was more than a mission partner. She was the only one who knew what it was like to wake up in a body that no longer felt like her own, to fight battles she never chose. They never spoke of it–not with words, at least. But in the quiet moments between assignments, when their handlers weren’t watching, when their guards were down, they understood each other in a way no one else could.

And yet, it was never enough to save them from what they became.

~

“You hesitate too much, James,” she spoke up. She was sitting across from him in the dimly lit barracks, wrapping a bandage around a fresh wound on her forearm.

Bucky watched the careful way she tied the knot, her fingers precise, methodical.

“Maybe you don’t hesitate enough,” he countered, leaning back against the cold metal wall.

She looked up then, her sharp gaze pinning him in place. “That’s why you keep getting punished. One day, they’re going to take the hesitation out of you.”

Bucky exhaled through his nose. “They’ve tried.”

She smirked slightly, but there was no real humor in it. “Not hard enough apparently.”

Silence stretched between them.

He had never said it aloud, but he knew it wasn’t hesitation that made him different. It was her. 

She was the only thing that made him remember he was still human.

And HYDRA didn’t want humanity. They wanted a weapon.

~

The first time Bucky sees her again, it’s through the scope of a sniper rifle.

He doesn’t pull the trigger.

He recognizes the way she moves—silent, calculated, a shadow slipping through the compound’s perimeter. Her face is different, a little sharper, a little harder, but it’s her. Y/N Y/L/N. The last person he expected to find standing between him and his mission.

“Shit,” he mutters under his breath, lowering the rifle.

She’s taking down guards with precision, a knife to the ribs, a twist of the wrist, a body crumpling without so much as a sound. Bucky has to remind himself to breathe.

Then she looks up.

Their eyes meet.

She stands frozen for a moment.

Something cold settles in his stomach.

And then she vanishes.

~

The screen flickers on causing Y/N to stand rigid, arms crossed tightly over her chest, eyes locked on the grainy surveillance footage of James restrained in the glass containment cell.

She can feel it before it even happens. A deep, gut-wrenching wrongness coiled inside her chest. She’s seen this before. She’s lived this before.

Then the interviewer starts speaking.

“Longing.”

Her stomach drops.

“Rusted. Seventeen.”

Y/N jerks forward, her pulse hammering. 

“No,” she breathes.

Steve stiffens beside her. “Y/N?”

She doesn’t answer. She can’t.

Because she knew James had been compromised again—becoming someone she couldn’t trust. Again. 

The moment his body was seen jerking violently against his restraints, Y/N was up and out of her seat.

“Y/N, wait–!” Steve calls after her, but she’s already bolting through the corridors, shoving past agents, and sprinting toward the containment room.

She knew what was coming.

And she knew she was already too late.

-

The alarms were blaring when she skids around the corner, but she barely registered the sound. The reinforced glass had shattered, the guards were down, and in the center of the wreckage stood him.

The Winter Soldier.

His movements are fluid and efficient. A calculated killing machine, taking out anyone in his path.

“James–”

He turned around at the sound of her voice. For a split second, something flickered in his eyes—something almost familiar. Something that nearly warms Y/N’s chest at the mere sight.

Then it’s gone.

He lunged at her before she had time to process.

Y/N barely dodges the first blow, twisting away as his metal arm flies past her face, crashing into the wall behind her, shattering the concrete as if it were paper.

She grits her teeth as she keeps her body low to the floor. “Guess we’re doing this the hard way.”

She counters fast, standing but quickly ducking under his next strike, driving a sharp elbow toward his ribs. He catches it effortlessly, twisting her arm behind her back. She hisses in pain but isn’t hesitant, slamming the back of her head into his face, catching his nose and lips.

It barely slows him.

“James, listen to me,” she pants, twisting out of his grip. “This isn’t supposed to be who you are.”

His response is a brutal kick to her side.

Y/N crashed into the ground but rolled onto her feet instantly, spinning around to throw a backheel kick aimed at his head. He blocks it with terrifying ease, grabbing her leg and throwing her across the room. 

She lands hard, gasping as the air is knocked from her lungs.

Dammit.

She blinks rapidly, forcing herself up. She’s fought him before—back when she was still under the Red Room’s control. Back when they were both nothing but weapons. She doesn’t hesitate.

With a running leap, she throws herself at him, wrapping her legs around his shoulder and neck in a desperate attempt to choke him out.

“Come on, James,” she growls, tightening her grip. Her elbows repeatedly aimed at the back of his head as she was hunched over him. “Snap the hell out of it.”

For a second, it almost worked. He staggers back, shaking his head like he’s trying to clear something. Y/N froze, still bracing herself against his head.

Then he slams her into the floor.

The impact rattles her skull. Her vision blurs. 

And before she can move, he’s on her—his metal fingers wrapping around her throat.

Her breath cuts off instantly.

Her hands claw at his wrist, but it’s like trying to move a mountain. Black spots dance in her vision.

She gasps, barely above a whisper—desperate, pleading.

“James… please.”

His grip didn’t loosen, and his stare didn’t let up. His blue eyes bore down into her eyes. Cold and unrecognizing.

Her chest burned. Her vision tunneled.

She’s losing.

A sharp blast of energy suddenly knocks The Winter Soldier backward. Y/N collapses into herself, coughing violently, sucking in air like it’s the only thing keeping her tethered to the world.

She blinks up—eyes wet, throat raw—to see Tony Stark standing in front of her, arm raised, repulsor glowing hot.

“Alright, Terminator,” Tony snapped. “How about you pick on someone your own size?”

The Winter Soldier’s jaw ticked, and he charged at him.

Y/N wheezed, clutching her throat. Every breath felt like fire, but she didn’t care.

She forced herself up.

Despite every bone in her body screaming at her to run away or at least end it all right then and there, she wasn’t going to leave him. 

Not this time.

Sure, she didn’t trust the Winter Soldier in the slightest—not even James at this moment— she couldn’t bring herself to leave him. If she was given a chance to redeem herself and clear her name, she would do everything she could to give him that chance. 

~

“You trust him?”

Y/N’s voice is razor-sharp as she leans against the wall of the safe house, arms crossed. Steve meets her gaze with an unshaken clam.

“After everything that just went down?”

“I do.”

She scoffs. “Then you’re more of a fool than I thought, Rogers.”

James watches from the side, silent. He doesn’t blame her for the anger coiled beneath her words and doesn’t expect her to trust him. He wouldn’t either. She had seen firsthand the things he did while in HYDRA.

“You’re still working against HYDRA,” Steve says, tilting his head slightly. “So is he.”

Her jaw tightens.

“We’re not on the same side,” she snaps.

Steve raises a brow. “Aren’t you?”

The silence stretches between them. 

Finally, Y/N exhales sharply. “If he slows us down, he’s dead.”

James shifts in his seat. “Trust me, Doll, I know.”

Her glare could set him on fire.

Steve sighs but doesn’t argue. He knows Y/N well enough by now to understand that trust isn’t given—it’s earned. And right now, Bucky’s running on a deficit.

Y/N pushes herself off the wall, rolling her shoulders like she’s shaking off the weight of old ghosts. “Fine,” she mutters. “He can stay.”

She steps closer to James, her presence crackling with tension. Her eyes scan him, calculating, measuring—looking for a weakness, a hesitation, anything that proves she’s right to doubt him.

James meets her gaze head-on. He won’t flinch. Not now.

“But if you even think about crossing me–” She leans in, her voice a dangerous whisper. “I’ll put a bullet between your eyes before you can even blink.”

James’ lips twitch, not quite a smirk, not quite anything at all. “Wouldn’t expect anything less.”

She scoffs, turning away. “Then let’s get this over with.”

As she strides toward the door, Steve exhales, rubbing a hand over his face before looking back to his friend. Bucky watches her go, the ghost of something unreadable in his expression. 

“She’s not wrong,” Bucky mutters, running a hand through his hair. “I wouldn’t trust me either.”

Steve exhales through his nose, shaking his head. “Then prove her wrong.”

Bucky nods, but the weight in his chest doesn’t lift. Because the truth is, no matter how much he wants to, no matter how much of himself he’s clawed back from the abyss—he’s still not sure he can.

[scariusaquarius]

rehab.

Avenger! Bucky Barnes x Winter Soldier! Fem! Reader

Summary: While on a mission to find any more possible super soldiers that were a part of the Winter Soldier program, Steve and Bucky make a discovery in an abandoned HYDRA base that was cleared out a few years prior to their mission. They discover the Reader, a long-forgotten soldier that was still asleep within a functioning cryostasis pod; still awaiting orders. While Bucky isn't happy about it, he is put up to the challenge of helping to rehabilitate the soldier in Wakanda where she may be able to become a person again.

-

A/n: I couldn't help myself. I really think it would be cool to navigate Bucky's mind within a situation like this, so I really hope that this takes off honestly. I saw another writer on AO3 (@sunny_shadows, PLEASE check out their work, Shattered Under Midnight, it is fucking phenomenal) do story notes and explanations after the chapter, so I wanted to try that out as well! I am NOT fluent in Russian, so I did use google translate cause I couldn't find a good translator that I trusted. If anything is wrong, PLEASE let me know!! Also, I tried to list as many warnings as possible so you know what the story will contain as chapters are posted. Stay safe!

-

Genre: Slowburn, Enemies to Lovers/Friends to Lovers, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Humor, Drama, Dark Content Rated: Explicit Warning: Angst, Dark Content: Graphic Depictions of Sexual Assault, Blood and Gore, Mentions of Manipulation, Kidnapping, Canon-Typical Violence, Body Horror, Nonconsensual Body Modification/Scarring, Emotional and Physical Abuse, Mentions of Murder, Mentions of Suicidal Thoughts/Ideation, Graphic Depictions of Human Remains, Mentions of Sexual Coercion/Manipulation, Death, Misuse of Drugs/Forced Drugging, Self-Harm (Graphic Depictions and Mentions), Nightmares

-

Author: ScariusAquarius

-

rehab masterlist.

Cryogenic frost was a completely different kind of frost. It was invasive; delving into every crack and crevice that it could; went into every orifice possible until you were cold from deep within. It hit you internally first; freezing your organs and bones first before it began to spread out to the muscles and tendons and fat of the human body.

It was uncomfortable, and when it was time to come out of the pod; the melting frost left behind such uncomfortable feelings that would have you desperately messing with your ears until the melted frost drained.

Don't even get Bucky started on the way his balls felt after.

It was an all-around uncomfortable feeling; disorienting and sickening that Bucky could recall some times when he would be taken out of cryo that he would throw up from the vertigo and aching that would come from deep within.

Even now, he could feel the tresses of nausea poking at his stomach as he stared up at the cryostasis pod that was steaming as it opened.

"You know, I think I vaguely remember telling you that I wasn't the only Winter Soldier...and I thought Zemo had killed the remaining Winter Soldier's back in Siberia."

His tone was annoyed, accusing, and the response that Bucky got back didn't make him feel any better about what his old-time friend was doing.

"Well, it seems Zemo was lying or he just wasn't aware that there were more soldier's within the program."

Steve then sighed as Bucky continued to stare at him, his brow furrowed deeply and making Steve return the look.

"Listen, with HYDRA being gone from these facilities, someone needs to rescue these people and rehabilitate them...just like we did with you."

Bucky's brow creased, and he was unrelenting as he turned to Steve, shaking his head.

"You don't understand. Without a handler, some of them can't be rehabilitated. I've trained these people, Steve, there's no getting through to them."

"We got through to you, didn't we? Besides, it wouldn't be right to leave these people in these pods like this."

Bucky's lips pursed and he spun around to face the cryostasis again, his metal arm whirring as the plates shifted; ready for a fight.

"That was different. You were my friend before everything...these people don't have anybody to bring them back."

Steve was quiet, concentrating on the pod. Slowly, a form began to show; boots, familiar leather pants, the same vest, and the same mask. Bucky couldn't help the tightening in his chest when he realized that the person in the pod wasn't just a Winter Soldier: they seemed to be a young woman; their hair becoming wet as the frost within it began to melt.

Beside the pod was a black book; most likely with notes about who the Soldier was and how to activate them, and Steve asked gently as the Soldier opened their eyes.

"Do we need to use the book?"

"I don't know."

Bucky was taken back by the brilliant (e/c) eyes that flicked to him for a moment before looking straight; and when the woman tried to take a step, they began to crumple to the ground. Steve jumped over the control center to catch them, giving Bucky a slightly miffed look as Bucky's feet stayed planted to the ground.

It was too familiar; too known, and Bucky was uncomfortable. He watched as Steve dragged the woman to a chair and sat her down, asking her.

"Hello, are you alright?"

She was unmoving and unblinking, staring straight ahead like a good soldier should and Bucky swallowed thickly, shaking his head. Steve asked her again, but Bucky shook his head a little more.

"She's not going to answer. You're not her handler."

"Okay, then how do we get through to her?"

Bucky pursed his lips, sighing heavily before he stood in front of the woman.

"укажите свое обозначение."

Her eyes came to life for a moment, glancing up at Bucky with a look that he knew all-too-well before she glanced back down; clenching her jaw.

"Зимний Солдат."

Bucky sighed deeply, rubbing his temples slightly, and Steve just observed, his blue eyes curious as he glanced between the two of them. Bucky then took the black book, noting the way the woman's shoulders seemed to square slightly; muscles in her neck tensing, and Bucky felt sick to his stomach. He handed it to Steve, muttering.

"There might be some information in here about her. If not, we'll look into the files we downloaded...if we have time."

Steve nodded, and Bucky turned to the woman again, asking.

"Что ты помнишь?"

"Невозможно завершить. Для выполнения инструкций необходимы дополнительные разъяснения."

Bucky frowned again, muttering to himself before he asked.

"Что ты помнишь перед тем, как тебя уложили спать?"

Her jaw clenched again, and this time, she seemed hesitant to answer. Her eyes flicked up to Bucky, and he could see the uncomfortable look she was giving him within her eyes. The person that was in there was trying to respond; trying to tell him, but the programming wasn't allowing her to answer. Fear flashed in her eyes from the inability to complete his request, and Bucky could feel his throat trying to close up.

HYDRA was getting better at their programming, it seemed.

"I'm not going to hurt you if you're unable to answer. We are not HYDRA."

Confusion flashed within her eyes though her expression never wavered, and Steve stepped forward.

"We're with the Avengers...do you know who we are?"

"Невозможно завершить. Требуется дополнительная аутентификация."

Steve turned to Bucky and suggested, crossing his arms slightly.

"This might be a job for Shuri. We should contact King T'Challa and set out for Wakanda as soon as possible."

Bucky pursed his lips before he turned to the woman, her fists clenched slightly.

"Следуй за мной, солдат. У меня есть для тебя миссия."

She stood up immediately, her eyes becoming dead again as the programming within her mind forced her to follow the commands of The Winter Soldier.

"Готов соблюдать."

Bucky hated it. He hated this feeling; of being the one on the opposite side of the glass; giving orders and handling. While Bucky had trained many super soldiers before, he wasn't ever a Handler like Brock Rumlow or Alexander Pierce. He was another instrument; another tool that just had higher privileges because of his compliance and performance record.

He had learned early on that resistance was futile and met with much harsher consequences.

No, the Winter Soldier's only purpose was to serve HYDRA and to further their cause. That was all. Anything that didn't involve a mission was null. He, among others like him, were only meant to serve the purpose of HYDRA and HYDRA alone.

But he hadn't activated her nor told her that he was her handler, so why was the soldier complying?

Was it possible that the woman had been frozen long enough that the programming was malfunctioning? Was she just assuming that Bucky was her handler because of his arm?

Or was it possible that she was faking it on pre-existing orders given before she was put under.

Bucky glanced over his shoulder at the soldier, the woman's eyes still just as dead-looking as they had been before; looking straight ahead. For a moment, however, her eyes flicked to his, and Bucky frowned before he turned to Steve, muttering.

"I have a bad feeling about this."

Steve's brow was furrowed, lips slightly pursed as he glanced over at Bucky, worry within his eyes.

"You having a bad feeling is never a great sign."

Bucky almost scoffed, but refrained from doing-so; elaborating on his thoughts about the situation instead.

"I never gave her any indication that I was her handler nor did I activate her. What if she has pre-existing orders?"

Steve frowned, his tone becoming more hushed as he walked a bit closer to Bucky.

"Are you saying that she's a threat?"

"Any Winter Soldier is a threat, but I don't know if she's an active threat or not is the problem. She's blankly following orders...either someone gave her a mission before she was put under or...it's possible she thinks that I am still...with HYDRA. We should be careful."

Steve glanced back behind him to look at the woman before glancing down at the black book within his hands. As the three of them walked to the quinjet, Steve instructed Bucky as he sat down at the controls.

"You go ahead and get her strapped in and call Shuri. I'm going to see if there's anything in here about who she is and where she came from."

Bucky nodded before he turned to the woman who was standing in the middle of the jet; rigid and unmoving. Bucky sighed slightly before instructing.

"Присаживайтесь."

Wordlessly, the soldier sat down, strapping herself into one of the seats, and Bucky took a long glance at her. To a normal; outside perspective, it would look as though she was completely still and robotic. It would seem as though she wasn't even breathing; a blank stare to the opposite wall and deathly still.

However, to a fellow soldier, Bucky could tell that there was something on the woman's mind. The soldier's fists were clenched as they rested upon the top of her thighs, eyebrow furrowed just slightly, and Bucky could tell that her feet were fidgeting inconspicuously.

If Bucky didn't know any better, he'd say that the woman seemed nervous.

But what about?

Bucky wasn't able to ponder the thought any longer. Instead, he simply just looked ahead and began to call Shuri, hoping that this wasn't going to end up in a fight.

~

STORY NOTES: In the beginning, Bucky is remembering what it was like to be put into a cryostasis pod. He recalls that it was uncomfortable and that the frost and ice seem to penetrate every orifice possible, which is extremely uncomfortable when being thawed.

Then, it is revealed that Bucky and Steve Rogers are on a mission to find any remaining super soldiers that were a part of the Winter Soldier program that weren't killed by Zemo, which Bucky is apprehensive about but Steve is adamant on doing.

The soldier within the cryostasis pod then awakens after being thawed, seeming to be completely blank. When Steve tries to make contact, the soldier does not respond, leaving Bucky to resort to acting as a Handler, finally getting responses out of the soldier.

While trying to ask the soldier for information, Bucky is unable to get anything useful from the woman. He makes an educated guess that HYDRA had further adapted their programming, making it difficult to make the soldier talk without having to completely activate them.

Steve decides to take a trip to Wakanda to see Shuri and T'Challa so they can rehabilitate the soldier just as they did with Bucky, but Bucky begins to think that the soldier is a threat due to their compliance despite Bucky not activating them nor introducing himself as their handler.

Bucky makes a final observation, noting that the woman seems nervous, though Bucky is unable to figure out what about. He speculates further that there could be foul play, and is unhappy at the possibility of a fight. End Scene.

TRANSLATIONS:

укажите свое обозначение - Indicate/State your Designation

Зимний Солдат - Winter Soldier

Что ты помнишь - What do you remember?

Невозможно завершить. Для выполнения инструкций необходимы дополнительные разъяснения - Unable to complete. Further clarification is required to complete the instructions.

Что ты помнишь перед тем, как тебя уложили спать - What do you remember before you were put to bed/sleep?

Невозможно завершить. Требуется дополнительная аутентификация - Unable to comply. Additional authentication required.

Следуй за мной, солдат. У меня есть для тебя миссия - Follow me, soldier. I have a mission for you.

Готов соблюдать - Ready to comply.

Присаживайтесь - Have a seat.

[jimblejamblewritings]

Pet Soldier | 3

Summary: Bucky's past catches up to him, unlocking painful memories of his time as the winter soldier. The only thing that could make it worse was having to be on a team with a captured HYDRA soldier he wants to see dead. But her healing power is simply too invaluable to let go.

THIS IS A DARK FIC!

Warnings for the Series: 18+ only. Heavy Angst (eventual hurt comfort). Violence. Mentions and depictions of Non-Con and Dub-Con. Psychological Trauma. Not Canon Compliant. Manipulation. Hydra.

Important Warnings for this Part: trauma, torture, manipulation

Pairing: eventual Stucky x reader, Stucky x hydra!reader, Bucky x reader

Word Count: 4.4k

Previous Part | (Series Masterlist coming soon)

“I believe it would be best if L/N was moved from Avengers Tower.” 

Those were the first words out of Steve’s mouth. He was trying and failing to get out more before the protests started. Not only had he scheduled an emergency meeting before anyone got a chance to eat but now he wanted to just let you roam free unsupervised? Outside of the tower. 

“Enough! As the captain, I am choosing to make an executive decision.” 

“This is bullshit and you know it, Steve. She can’t be trusted.” 

Bucky called for Dr. Myers. His knee bounced up and down the entire time as he waited for the therapist to arrive on their floor, ignoring the arguments coming from the rest of the Avengers. Every so often, his eyes flitted over to you. Nothing in your body language or facial expressions was readable. Bucky finally sighed in relief once his therapist arrived.  

“Let’s just let the doc decide if this move is best for everyone mentally,” Bucky spoke slowly. “FRIDAY, starting from two months ago, anywhere from one in the morning to around three, please find any time when I entered L/N’s room.” 

That shut the team up. No one could figure out why he would have been in your room but they knew it probably wasn’t good. However, they all expected the problem to be you. Bucky swallowed thickly as the video played. You weren’t the monster. He was. That was the only real thought going through his head. It didn’t matter if it was the winter soldier, not at that moment. 

Tony clamped a hand over his mouth, wide-eyed and head shaking as the video showed Bucky choking you to a point of concernment. The winter soldier’s nightmares were nothing new to the team. But there was always a sort of blank stare in his eyes. An obvious sign that Bucky wasn’t present with anymore.

The soldier on the video in front of them was far more expressive than any nightmare before. There was a concentrated darkness to his gaze and sadistic enjoyment in his smile. Like he wanted you to feel this pain. And that scared everyone. 

“Barnes, what did you do?” Natasha struggled to even look at him. “What did you do to her?” 

“Nothing HYDRA hasn’t programmed him to do,” you answered for him, startling everyone that you seemed to be defending him. “The Asset’s rampages have never been easy. HYDRA found an outlet to subdue and satisfy those rampages with minimal violence and eventually no casualties.” 

“They let him rape you?” Sam asked, unable to tear his eyes away from the now still image on the screen. 

“Why do you sound so surprised? I thought you all go on and on about how HYDRA are the bad guys.” 

“But to allow him to do that to his own handler?” Natasha folded her arms over her chest. “It doesn’t seem within their nature and a good way for them to lose control of their asset.”

You didn’t have a good response so you chose to stay silent, hoping your face didn’t accidentally crack from the relatively bored expression you had been sporting since entering the room. It wasn’t exactly a shocker to you that the Avengers would be horrified by HYDRA practices. But you were a bit surprised to see that their expressions were showing actual concern for you. Someone they believed was a handler and higher-up in that horrid organization. 

Wanda’s gasp drew everyone’s attention. Her eyes never left you, making you squirm in your seat. If anyone was going to recognize the change in your microexpressions, you had expected it to be Natasha or Bucky. You went stiff at the sudden remembrance that the woman still staring at you could read minds. 

“What is it?” Steve asked. 

“I don’t want to talk about it,” you muttered. 

He was almost taken aback by the lack of authority in your voice. It was a tone they weren’t used to hearing from you. A tone of near defeat. Steve was conflicted. You had just been through possibly the worst thing he has ever personally witnessed and he didn’t want to push it. But if it helped your or Bucky then he kind of really needed to know. He looked at Wanda, knowing she was reading his mind. She gave him the most miniscule nod before speaking in a very sweet tone. 

“Whatever you’re afraid of everyone knowing, we can help. You have no need to be scared.” 

You scoffed. “I’m not afraid of him or any of you. I do not want to be held responsible for breaking Sergeant Barnes.” 

“I think it’s a bit too late for that,” Tony said, finally finding his voice. “We’ve seen enough HYDRA footage to reach that decision of our own. But if it makes you feel better then Manchurian Candidate never has to know what you tell us. You can talk to just Wanda or Nick or whoever. The only person you can’t avoid knowing is the leader of this team who is, unfortunately, Capsicle. But he won’t tell Barnes, will he?” 

Steve nodded with the utmost seriousness. “I promise.” 

It was like your entire body shut down. When did they see any footage from the facility? How could they be treating you the way they had if they had seen anything? You had made your peace with your past and how it would blend into this new present but that was when you were operating under a different level of assumptions. Carefully, Nick and Maria inched their fingers towards their holsters as they watched your face scrunch up in anger. Frantically, you scrambled for the dog tags hidden under your clothes. 

“So, has it been you this entire time then? Even those times you terrorized me at night?” you spat at Bucky with more vitriol and emotion than the entire team had seen before. “I spent hours rationalizing it was him and not you. Those nightmares might have been one thing but I thought even your real mind was too damaged by HYDRA for you to remember the truth. Yet, you’re saying it’s you? You’ve seen the records and you chose to treat me like this? Not the Asset. Not Soldat. Not even Sergeant Barnes. You, James Buchanan Barnes? Fuck you, Bucky.” 

You threw the dog tags at his face before storming back to the resident area of the tower, choosing the stairs so no one could try to intercept you on the elevator. For once, you didn’t give a shit how many times FRIDAY alerted Tony that you were on the stairs of some levels you weren’t authorized to be on yet. You didn’t stop walking until you reached the residential area again, ending up on the balcony to try and calm yourself with the fresh air. 

The Avengers sat in the meeting room confused. No one had ever seen that much emotion from you before. But they couldn’t figure out what had upset you, especially if you weren’t upset about the winter soldier’s nightmares. Almost afraid, Bucky grabbed the jewelry you threw at him. It slipped from his fingers instantly and landed on the table with a sharp clanking that pierced his ears. 

“What is it?” Sam reached for the metal his friend now refused to touch. Two wedding rings and a small engagement ring flanked either side of the two dog tags. Sam flipped the flat pieces of metal over. “James B. Barnes. Y/N M/I L/N… What the actual fuck is going on?” 

“Bring me Zemo,” Bucky said, darkly. 

Despite being in handcuffs, the man’s face held a smirk that didn’t break even when Sharon harshly forced him into the empty chair. A growl nearly ripped through Bucky’s throat when Zemo started clapping. 

“I take it you finally figured it out, Sergeant Barnes. I admit, you took much longer than I thought. I suppose they fried your brain even more than I believed.” 

“Why?” 

“I told you already. I don’t care for super soldiers, righteous or otherwise. I might hate supposed superheroes even more. Y/N happened to have helped keep one alive all these years when she should have just let you die. Don’t get me wrong, she might be the only person with powers I like, dare I say maybe care for. But small sacrifices must be made.” 

“You knew we’d eventually figure it out,” Steve muttered. 

“I had hoped for the winter soldier’s mind to be more fractured beforehand… There’s still time.” 

Natasha was seconds away from wanting to kill Zemo right where he sat. They had isolated you for months over what was looking more like a lie by the second. She had slapped you clear across the face on her first day of meeting you. 

“What did you do with the real footage?” 

“Flitted through whatever pieces I found could fit a narrative, hid the parts that didn’t fit, only focused on one angle of the cctv. It wasn’t that difficult to get you all to fa—” 

“Where’s the real footage?” 

“Well, I didn’t exactly bring it all with me when I was arrested.” 

“Do you have the real footage of what you showed us?” 

Nick slammed Zemo’s head into the table when he refused to answer. Trying to ignore the blood running from his nose, Zemo eventually relented. The director called in for another SHIELD agent while Tony intently watched Zemo to make sure he wasn’t trying to pull a fast one on them again as he recovered the footage. 

“Get a team back to the Siberian facility. Scour it for footage. It’s solely a recovery job. Get in and out as quickly as possible.” 

“Yes, sir.” 

Fury turned back to the team. “Are we ready?” 

Tony watched the screen flicker for a moment before nodding. “FRIDAY has run all the footage we currently have through her system. Just press play on the remote.”      

Despite the fact that they were ready, they hesitated to actually start. What if more of the footage resembled Bucky’s winter soldier nightmares? That wasn’t something they were eager to relive again, let alone so soon. With a roll of his eyes, Zemo pressed the play button. The team stared at a scene that seemed so familiar already, hesitant at what new information they might be gathering. 

“Sergeant Barnes,” you said as you walked past Bucky’s shower stall. 

Instead of staying on you, a second cctv video started to play alongside what they had seen from the original video. 

Bucky wasn’t stoic at all. His body didn’t move but a smile graced his face. 

“Are you just going to stand there the entire time and watch me like a creep?” 

“If I want to admire you, soldier, I can.” Your voice was light and jovial. 

“Well, doctor, if you’re going to keep staring at me, can you at least check for injuries?” 

“Does something hurt?” There was a hint of serious inquiry in your tone. 

Bucky turned ever so slightly, smirk still plastered on his face. “My last mission was really hard. I think I still might be affected by how hard it was.”

You rolled your eyes at the cheesy line but began shrugging off your lab coat anyway. “Well, a doctor’s touch should heal you right up.” 

“I was hoping you might say that, doc.” 

In the meeting room, everyone was slowly turning a shade of red or feeling warmth heat up their faces. Bucky tried to look everywhere else but the screen. However, he kept locking eyes with various teammates and resolved himself to just stare at his tea instead. Tony stopped fixing his cup of shitty breakroom coffee, whipping around to face the screen. 

“Hold on, were you two actually fucking roleplaying? That’s what that was?” 

“It would appear so.” Bucky felt his ears go hot when a familiar part of the audio returned. 

“You’ve been holding out on me, Sarge. Maybe they should send you on more of these hard missions so I can come see you. I didn’t know you were so well endowed.” 

This time, Bucky wanted to leave the room for an entirely different set of reasons. He never thought there would be a day where his bedroom fantasies were broadcasted past Wanda accidentally reading his mind at inopportune moments. He almost wished it had been one of those times. At least he and Steve weren’t into this embarrassing roleplay that everyone was witnessing right now. 

“I’m sorry to have met your acquaintance only recently, doc,” Bucky said through a moan. “Rest assured, I’ll keep coming to your office after all my hard missions now that we’ve met.”

“I’d like that… I missed you, James.” 

“Missed you too, sweetheart. But if you keep touching me like this, I’m not gonna last long enough to return the favor.” 

“I thought you’d be tired. You just got back.” 

Bucky finally turned around, stopping centimeters from your lips. “I’m never tired when it comes to you, only bright spot in this shitty little nazi den.” 

You gasped. “Buck! What if someone hears you? They’ll wipe you again.” 

“Wipe me for what… it happened again, didn’t it?” 

You nodded, thumbs caressing his face. He shuddered underneath you before sighing. 

“I guess it won’t be long before they send me to the machine. I’m sorry if I forget you for a few days like last time.” 

“As long as you come back to me safe. Relatively safe,” you amended when he gave you a look. 

Bucky smiled. “Well, if I don’t have too long before another trip to the frying pan… Think it’s time to start seeing if this hunk of metal can bring you some pleasure. You’d like that?” 

Tony cleared his throat awkwardly as he sat back down with a now prepared cup of coffee. “Well, I’m glad you two found some levity. No matter how much I wish to scrub my memory of this foreplay.” 

“Thanks, Tony,” Bucky muttered, cringing as he heard himself asking you to finish all over his fingers. “FRIDAY, we can go ahead and skip the rest of this one. I don’t think we’ll find anything else of importance.” 

“Certainly, Sergeant Barnes. However, there is probably one more bit that might be of some significance.” 

Reluctantly, Bucky told the system to keep playing the video if it really was super important but to skip as much of the intimacy as she could. 

Bucky smiled as you both got redressed, watching you intently. You pulled your necklace you had taken off to shower with him from your lab coat pocket. Tilting it ever so slightly, you let the rings slip off the necklace along with one of the three dog tags. Bucky plucked one of the plain rings from your hand with grace, smiling as he put it on his right hand. 

“Thanks for keeping it safe for me, doll.”

“I always will.”

Bucky pulled you to his chest, giving you another kiss before you both left the showers. The two of you walked towards the garages hand in hand. With a suaveness that hadn’t been seen since he was in the 40s, Bucky held open the car door for you. 

“Hate that I had to take a shower outside my own home,” Bucky said as he reversed out of his parking spot. “Sorry you had to drive down here, sweetheart.” 

You shrugged. “I don’t mind. As long as it stops you from tracking blood through the house.” 

“I would have cleaned it up, promise.” 

The drive was only a few minutes but you and Bucky made those minutes stretch, including the time it took the elevator to reach the floor with your apartment on it. Giggles couldn’t stop pouring from your mouth when you were lifted off of your feet and carried bridal style out of the elevator. Bucky wouldn’t listen to your laughter filled requests to put you down. He opened the door with one hand, shutting it with his foot once you were both safe inside.

“What would you like to do tonight?” you asked him, accepting that he wasn’t going to set you down until he was ready. 

“Well, I would love to ravish my beautiful wife until the sun comes up but I don’t think she’d let me.” 

“You got that right, Sergeant. But maybe I’ll consider a few hours. After dinner, of course.” 

“Then I’ll go heat up some of that chicken noodle soup we made a few days ago. And can I request that you, Mrs. Barnes, go put on your favorite lingerie and one of my button downs? I’ve been dreaming about that for a few days now.” 

“I think I can make that happen, Mr. Barnes. I might even throw on one of your favorites.” 

“I’m looking forward to it.” 

Bucky wanted the ground to swallow him whole. No one had anything to say. Wanda kept rewinding the last few minutes, hearing those few sentences repeated over and over again. Bucky squeezed the necklace that had been resting in his hand since they brought Zemo up to the meeting room. 

“FRIDAY, please just play the next one,” he whispered. It was the only thing he could do to keep himself from leaving to go find you. 

“Are you sure?” Zemo asked, making Bucky look over at him. “Sergeant Barnes, you were very different as the winter soldier. Even with Y/N.” 

“Just play the damn thing.” 

You were kneeling outside on the balcony in nothing but a thin lingerie dress. The rain beat down on your shivering skin. It was like you were afraid to look up from where you hugged your own body to keep warm. The sound of heavy footsteps reached your ears. 

“Can I please come back inside? Please, Buc—Soldier?” 

He didn’t answer you, not that he could with the mask still on the lower half of his face. But the man made no moves to remove it.             

Bucky felt his heart shatter, bile rising in his throat, as you kept trying to apologize for whatever you did wrong while the winter soldier simply ignored you. Steve took large, slow nods. 

“That’s why she didn’t want to get off the quinjet.” 

“It’s your favorite way to punish her,” Zemo said as he sat back with a satisfied smile. “I noticed that throughout the tapes. The soldier always went back to this one. The rain or snowfall, minimal to no clothing, out there until you let her back in. Sometimes you weren’t even watching her, just left her out there.” 

“Stop,” Bucky murmured weakly, eyes never leaving the screen. 

“You always chose to have her just on the brink of collapse. I suppose that makes the threat more real. You know, if you were feeling extra cruel, you would put her straight in the shower after being out there. Hot water. Never hot enough to burn but it certainly must have felt like it, especially after the snow.” 

“Just stop!”

Your self-soothing was rather loud. Roughly, you kept wiping at your eyes to try and stop the tears while telling yourself to breathe and calm down. 

“It’s not Bucky,” you whispered. “It’s not Bucky. You’re fine… you’re fine, Y/N. It’s not Bucky so he can’t be talked to like him.” 

With stiff joints, you moved yourself to sit against the balcony guardrails. 

“It’s getting rusty.”

The soldier looked down at his metal arm before returning his gaze to you. 

“If I have to replace it, you will get another punishment…” You sighed as Bucky simply ran a finger over all the metal plates, another plea falling on deaf ears. “They can’t have you performing in the field in a compromised manner. They’ve said this to you multiple times now. Let’s go inside and I’ll work on you instead of Karpov.”  

Bucky sniffled at the added context. He watched the soldier nod and finally hold open the door for you. The rest of the video didn’t matter to the brunette. He didn’t need to see it to figure out how the context changed. You weren’t requesting time in cryo because you were sick of the soldier.

You were scared and needed your own recovery time. Because of something he did to you. It was all he could think about. Bucky almost didn’t register the videos were over until he heard Nick tell Maria to make a phone call to Ross and Steve question something. 

“But if she stays here… what if Buck’s nightmares make him hurt her again?” Steve argued. 

“Now that we have gotten some glimpses of the truth, I believe the soldier’s anger towards what he perceived was Miss L/N will be mitigated or gone entirely. FRIDAY monitoring Mr. Barnes’ whereabouts could give peace of mind. But I believe moving her could do more harm,” Dr. Myers said.  

“Then what do you suggest we do?”

The doctor started packing up the new file he created for you. “Be gentle with Y/N. That’s about the best we can do until further examination. And please do not change the decor of the resident area too much, really the entire tower should stay relatively the same. Her environment should be stable unless she is the one to actively make changes. She needs a routine. Like her days at HYDRA, only healthier. And I’m recommending that she no longer accompanies you all on missions unless absolutely necessary. Even then, she should stay in the quinjet.” 

“Anything else?” 

“Oh, comfort. She should be given the option of comfort. Don’t bring it into her room. Let her do that herself but it should be there.”  

Everyone nodded at his suggestion. They could do that. Tony wasn’t even planning on any major redecorations for a while. He was already texting Pepper to pick you up a long list of what Dr. Myers suggested as well as going into FRIDAY’s system to remove all the restrictions that had been placed on your living situations.  

“Buck, where are you at?” Wanda asked gently after Dr. Myers exited.

“I hurt the one good person I had in there. I had a wife. I had a wife and I hurt her.” The crack in his voice was unmistakable. 

“Bucky…” 

He pulled away from Sam’s touch. No one was sure of what to say. Sometimes it was best to let Bucky rationalize and process all by himself. Especially when it came to HYDRA. But this was different and the team wasn’t sure if leaving him to simmer in his own thoughts was a good idea. Even after Maria, Sharon, Nick, and Zemo had left, the team stayed with Bucky. He wasn’t sure how long he sat there but it felt like it was at least an hour before he was able to rise from the meeting chair. He needed to find you and talk. 

The rain had started about fifteen minutes after you had initially stepped onto the balcony. Practically running, you tried to open the door. It wouldn’t budge. Fear ran up your spine at the sudden remembering you technically didn’t have permission to be here yet and your thumbprint wasn’t yet accepted by the lock. Your breathing got shallower as you tried to yank the door off of its hinges. You started calling out to every person on the team even though no one was in your field of vision. It was the only thing you could do at the moment to not completely shut down. 

Bucky was in his head as they returned to the resident area. He wanted to talk to you. Had to. Although, what he was going to say, he was absolutely unsure of. His ears perked up at the sound of crying.   

The brunette ran when he caught sight of you pounding against the glass of the building, pleasing to be let back inside. The terrace door nearly flew off with the force he used to open it. You shook hard as he held you close, bringing you to the safety of inside. Your fist pounded at your chest in a poor attempt to regulate your breathing again but it wasn’t working. 

“I’m sorry,” you told him, teeth chattering the entire time. “I’m sorry for whatever I did, Bucky. Please don’t make me go back out there. Please. I’ll be good. I promise.”

“I’m sorry, Y/N.” He rocked you both back and forth. “I’m so sorry, Y/N. You did nothing wrong. Come on, let’s get you out of these soaked clothes.”   

The bloodcurdling scream you let out the moment he tried to help you up made Bucky accidentally drop you. 

“No! Please don’t take me back out there. Soldier, please!” 

Bucky stepped back with a vengeance, hands up to try and make himself seem like less of a threat. He moved out of the way when he felt a warm hand on his shoulder. Sam crouched down to your level, holding you by both of the shoulders and doing very exaggerated breaths. 

“You’re cold, aren’t you?” 

You nodded, teeth still chattering. 

“These clothes can’t be comfortable any more. I can fix that if you want.” 

Sam thanked Steve as he took the large towel from the man. He wrapped it around you, rubbing your arms to warm you up a bit. You took his hand after some careful consideration, letting him help you get to your feet. Your breathing was still unstable. Everyone watched you take in large gulps of air as if you were drowning. 

“Nat and Wanda are going to help you get into something dry and warm. Is that okay?” 

Your eyes flitted over to Bucky. Without missing a beat, Sam stepped in front of him. 

“Hey, hey, look at me. He’s not going to do anything, alright? No one is taking you back to the terrace.” 

You wouldn’t move, still staring at Bucky. The super soldier sighed, patting Sam on the shoulder so the other man could move aside. The rest of the team held their breath as he approached you. Even if he didn’t like to speak it, he never forgot a single word of Russian he learned. 

“Let’s go. The girls will put you in something warm, dry. Safe.” 

He didn’t wait to see if you were following, knowing that wasn’t going to help. Bucky’s ears were tuned into you though. He finally breathed when he heard the sounds of your footsteps moving towards him. Nat and Wanda were quick to follow.

✭

TAGLIST:

@lil-riddle-kiddle @valckenaux @fries11 @blackterrae @violetlilites @dakotali

[embeanwrites]

Zima and his Handler (Bucky Barnes x Reader)

A/N: I think this is the longest one-shot I have ever written, and I wrote it like a person possessed. I haven’t written for Bucky since I was 13 so I hope I still got it.

No use of y/n or reader, the reader is a honeypot (prostitute) for Hydra.

No descriptions of rape but heavily implied. No description of suicide, but suicide idealation implied.

This story follows when they meet during Hydra, till after the events of Falcon and Winter Soldier in short spurts from Bucky's point of view.

Word Count: 7.9k

The Winter Soldier had various handlers that Hydra used with him. It’s not fair to say that any of them were his “favorite”. Some were crueler than others, but it was always a painful scale with very little rest or sometimes understanding why he was doing what he was doing. There was no growing use to his situation.

He learned early on that questions got him nothing but pain, and it wasn’t worth questioning the new world around him. He knew much more time must have passed since he first got his metal arm, but he was in no place even to begin to question it. The world was changing, and the technology was different than he had ever been aware of, but he never stayed unfrozen for long enough to decipher anything of value, nor did Hydra seem to think it was valuable to clue him in.

His handlers seemed to change with the times as well. Sometimes, he was used as an assassin, sometimes a bodyguard, sometimes something worse he’d immediately block out of his mind.

However, when it came to his handlers, there was one thing that he was painfully aware of constantly. It was the use of his trigger words, constantly echoing around him and forcing him to do whatever the handler had in mind, regardless if it was for the mission or not. There were more times than not he’d be forced into situations he knew deep down weren’t part of the missions, and parts of him would be used without his consent, but he had no say in any behavior of his own.

Except for one handler. It was rare the Winter Soldier was assigned to her, though, her missions required him to simply be an attack dog, on stand by protecting her while she completed her own missions that involved going to a back room. He would stand and wait, and in the morning, the two would go back to the base. He would never say anything to anyone, but near the beginning of their time together, he felt like he was wasted on these missions; any soldier could do what he was doing. But the more time they had together, the more he was thankful for the break and time with her.

The Winter Soldier found himself surprised during their first assignment together. At no point did his trigger words slip from her mouth. She looked at him with not even the expectation that he would do what he was told; she just…looked at him, and he listened.

It started off small. It became increasingly clear to her that he wasn’t going to talk unprompted, and even prompted, he’d rather hold his tongue than not. He’d rather not risk some form of torture from Hydra for saying something out of turn, but she seemed to have no problem risking it.

“Do you prefer Soldat or Zima?” She asked him one day as he drove them to their mission location. It had been hours of silence in the simple black car as he followed the map on a tiny electric screen. Looking at the map, the Winter Soldier had learned it would be at least another hour before they arrived. She allowed the question to sit between the two of them, but when it became increasingly clear he wasn’t going to answer, she followed up. “I don’t mind calling you something else if there is something you’d rather, but you have to tell me. Winter Soldier seems so long, and there’s quite a few of you, but only one you. If that makes sense.”

The Winter Soldier felt his hands tense around the steering wheel, mouth tense behind his mask. Something inside him swirled at the idea of her working with other super soldiers like him. It was one thing picturing a regular soldier, it was another to picture one of the many he would fight for training.

“I barely remember what I was named before I was this for Hydra. Do you remember yours?” She asked, receiving more silence from him. Finally, after a long stretch of silence, she seemed to let it drop. They arrived at what seemed to be another hotel. She sat and waited for him to come around and open her door. As they walked through the building, he slowly dropped further and further back from her, still close enough to keep an eye on her, but far enough that she could do her job without him intimidating the target too much.

Her words did, however, give him something to ponder. He didn’t know much about her, but he knew that the individuals who did the job she did rarely were mindwiped or tortured, it wasn’t cost effective like it was to do for the Winter Soldiers. As he moved silently behind her, he wondered where she came from, if she knew anything from her past, if she had been frozen through time like him, and if she was awoken to a jarring sensation of knowing time had passed on without you.

Based on what he saw from her, he didn’t think she was frozen, and she certainly didn’t have much training in self-defense. She also seemed comfortable with the technology they were around, confidently typing in the address on the small screen for him when he seemed to struggle with something that never made sense to him. He wondered if she had a family looking for her or if they thought of her as dead like him.

He knew these thoughts were traitorous, and if anyone knew he was having them, he would be lucky to walk away with no permanent injuries. If they found out, they would stop assigning them together, and they might even do something worse to her.

Dragging himself out of his thoughts, he watched her whisper something in the mark’s ear before letting out a giggle. She grabbed the man’s hand, and with a wolfish smile, she pulled him towards the rooms. The Winter Soldier watched as she spared him almost a second of eye contact. He nodded and slowly followed them, ready to stand post at the door until morning.

She would come out in the morning, slowly closing the door behind her. The two would make eye contact, and for a small moment, he could read guilt across her features as she handed him a small black piece of plastic that she had on a previous mission. She explained to him that it was something called a USB drive. Then she would take a deep breath, and he would lead the two back to the car.

He also learned that rarely would she pose her questions on the ride back to Hydra. Opting for a silent ride.

___________________________________________________________

If he had to guess, he would say it was roughly every 3 weeks or so he would accompany her on similar missions. Every time it was a different hotel, a different man, and different information the two would return with.

Hydra seemed to care little about how she would return and cared very little about what happened on the mission outside of the two coming back on time and with the promised information.

Some weeks when there seemed to be more time between their missions, the Winter Soldier would find himself anxious about her. He’d wonder if she was safe, he wondered if other soldiers were accompanying her on her missions and if they were as good at looking after her as he was. Did they answer her questions? Did she try to talk and connect with them like she did him? If he never answered her questions, would she keep asking, or would she eventually give up? Leaving him alone with his thoughts.

He allowed himself in his darkest moments to think that just maybe, for some strange reason, it was just him that she asked questions to, that she wondered about. That she was only interested in him and wanted to get to know just him. But it never took much conditioning for him to leave those thoughts behind, as pleasant as they seemed.

___________________________________________________________

He found himself in his usual spot near the end of their missions, standing still and silent outside of a room. Trying not to listen while she did her job for Hydra. He began wondering how many times she had done this type of mission as he stood outside another hotel room. If his memory served him right, which it rarely did anymore, this had to have been at least the 5th time they had done this.

He had grown used to it, and in a strange way, it was nice to visit a place where he wasn’t expected to kill anyone, just keep her safe and make sure she completed her mission. There was silence after her mission was complete, silence that the Winter Soldier found himself cherishing

“No!” Her scream ringed out as the Winter Soldier stood tense outside the hotel room. He had learned that some of the men she was with played rougher than others, and he had been told more than once by Hydra that her saying no didn’t mean anything.

“Please, no!” Her voice rang out again, he could hear shuffling in the room, a loud thump, a cry. His hands tensed at his side. He kept telling himself that this is just the game she is forced to play. This is her mission; maybe they decided beforehand this is some sort of roleplay the target was into, and she was simply playing a role. He had no right to listen in outside of making sure she completes her mission. He is just her bodyguard. She has a mission she must complete for the good of Hydra.

He is not supposed to interfere.

He is not allowed to interfere.

He is not permitted-

“Soldat!” Her voice is all it took.

It felt like a blink later. The Winter Soldier found himself standing in the room, gun in his hand, a dead body on the floor holding a knife that he had clearly used on her, and her crying in the bed with a long cut running down her bare chest, he took one glance to know that the cut would not kill her but had to hurt like hell. Blood was dripping down her body, staining the white bedding. She seemed barely aware that she was naked or bleeding everywhere.

“He…I’m so sorry. Winter Soldier. Please, I'm so sorry.” She cried. He stood still, watching the body bleed out, anything to not look at her body. He reached down and grabbed her undergarments from the ground. Without looking at her, he held them out. He listened to her sniffle before grabbing them. It felt like hours watching the dead body before her voice rang out again. “What are we going to do? Hydra will punish us.”

He found himself circling this idea, that they would punish her alongside him. All she did was cry, and he was the one who killed the target. He will be lucky if he sees her ever again. At that thought, he found himself spiraling. How could he ever think himself lucky to go on a mission? And why was she so sure she would be punished for his actions? This could not stand. The Winter Soldier couldn’t let this be the last time he protected her, for what if this happened again? Would the other soldiers do what needs to be done to protect her?

“What did we need?” His voice sounds unused even to his ears, he realizes it must have been days since he’s said anything. He sees her out of the corner of his eye, still in nothing but her undergarments, looking at him like he’s just done the craziest thing. A small voice in the back of his head reminds him that this might be the first time she’s heard his voice.

“I…I was supposed to steal his phone. It’s black and plastic; it looks almost like a brick but thinner, if that makes sense.” The Winter Soldier nodded, thankful for her description of the phone, and began looking through the discarded clothes; it didn’t take long for him to hold up a black square object. “That’s it, yes, but what if Hydra knows we killed him?”

There’s that word again, he thinks. We. She thinks of them as a partner in this, as if she held the gun.

“People die.” He answered simply with a shrug as he began handing her more of her clothes. She takes them and slowly gets dressed.

“People die of a heart attack! Winter Soldier, we shot him in the head.”

“Not we.” He finally finds himself saying.

“If I hadn't called for you, he would still be alive. Yes, we.” The Winter Soldier can’t deny her logic as much as he wants to. What he truly wants to tell her is that it is just him because she has never said his trigger words. That he pulled the trigger at all instead of standing outside the door and waiting for the man to be done, but he couldn’t. “Get dressed and get your stuff. I’ll take care of the body.” With that, she seems resigned to whatever comes next.

___________________________________________________________

The car ride is silent as normal. He catches her a few times out of the corner of his eye, rubbing where the wound is, her thick clothing hiding if it was still bleeding. Hydra would be unhappy that she’s been damaged, but they would take care of the wound easily. For a moment, he wondered if this would be the first time she’d return with a wound like this and if they would ask her questions about it or if they’d accept it as a part of her role. Would she be able to play it off correctly?

Though part of him feels responsible for her state. She didn’t even complete the mission the way she normally does, and she’s acting as if she did, being silent and almost as if she’s mourning something.

“We won’t tell.” He finds himself saying before he can stop himself. Almost immediately, her eyes are on him, wide and confused. He spares her a glance, hoping it puts her at ease. It doesn’t seem to work; if anything, she seems more wound up.

“They’ll kill me if they find out we lied.” He knows she’s right. If Hydra finds out they failed a mission and killed a target, she will be lucky to survive it, and he’ll be lucky to survive another punishment.

“We’re not lying, we’re just not telling.” He finally decides. Hydra will not ask the two point blank if the target is alive; all they care about is if they got the information they were promised.

“Are you sure, Winter Soldier?” She asked softly, aware of this slippery slope the two were staring at. If they start lying now, where will it stop? What will it get them? Surely there’s no happiness, and this life has already been so punishing, are they really willing to open themselves up to more?

“You can call me Zima. Soldat if you’re in trouble.” He says instead of a real answer, hoping she’ll understand what he’s saying. What he’s trying to give her. She continues to look at him, expression not changing.

“Okay, Zima. It stays between us.” She agrees, and he finds himself desperate to keep it between the two of them.

___________________________________________________________

Their next collection of missions remained similar. His eyes stay locked on her, his ears listen for her calling for him if she’s in trouble. She never calls for him now, but on the ride, he is always blessed with at least one question for him.

Most of the time, he remains silent or shrugs. It’s rare she’ll ask a question that he genuinely has an answer to.

Sometimes, he finds himself wishing he had the answer, just to see the excitement on her face when he answers her.

Zima, do you remember where you’re from?

How did you lose your arm, Zima?

Did you have a big family or a small family before this, Zima?

Nothing would swirl of his identity before he was the Winter Soldier. Sometimes, there would be glimpses in his few hours of sleep, but he’d lose any real connection by the time he was awake. It was on their fourth mission since killing the target that he was finally asked a question he could answer.

“Do you have a favorite food?” Her voice was small next to him, he fought the urge to shrug his shoulders. This was a simple question, surely one he could answer even if he wasn’t 100% sure his answer was even true. He could name one of the few foods Hydra fed them, but that didn’t feel genuine.

“I…I think I like coney dogs.” He finally answers with as much confidence as he can muster, still not really sure what the taste is on his tongue and why he seems to remember it, but he knew it was something he must have enjoyed prior to Hydra, he just wished he could remember more to give her.

“What’s a coney dog?” She asked with a giggle. The Winter Soldier feels as if he’s been struck by lightning with that sound. He had never heard her genuinely happy, and even though it was so small, he felt electric that he was trusted with that sound. He wanted to sit in this car forever just being able to answer her questions. He wanted to bottle up that sound and save it to listen to before missions, when they’re apart, to have something to hold on to, something that Hydra cannot take from him.

“I don’t remember, but I think I used to like them.” He finally answered. She hummed and looked forward in the car.

“I hope one day you get to have another one.” She finally answered after a long pause as they got closer to the hotel. He fought with his own internal monologue, desperate to say something else to keep her laughing and talking, but he had nothing. Just the hope that on the next car ride, he’d be able to answer her next question for her, and he’d be able to hear her laugh once more.

___________________________________________________________

He’s sure it’s been months since he’s seen her. Maybe longer. It’s become even more impossible for him to get time straight; the more he is frozen and wiped, the more confused he finds himself becoming. Every time he sees her, she is not aged, but he knows she’s not frozen. Are they freezing him for just a few weeks at a time? Why? Why are they bothering to freeze him when he can do missions, he can train, and more importantly, he can fight between missions?

Since meeting her, he has found himself asking more and more questions, always keeping them inside, yet they were still bubbling around him, now more than ever. It makes him want her. He finds himself needing her. He has become almost desperate for her but hides it within himself. He needed to tell her about what had been happening. Maybe she can make sense of the stories he’s been hearing.

He knows there is no way he will be assigned to a mission with her right now. Not while his main objective remains to kill Captain America with Pierce breathing down his neck for a successful outcome, but he needs her to know what’s happening, and before he can fully understand his actions, he once again lies in order to protect her.

He is silent as he walks through the quarters she is kept. He had swiped the key to her room off a guard almost a full day ago, waiting to see if he got caught with it between training and mission briefs. He’d rather just get him in trouble instead of the both of them if it gets to it, but no one seems to notice or maybe care.

He is vaguely aware that there’s a chance that she won’t be behind the door, that she’ll be on a mission with a different Winter Soldier, but this could be his last chance before they wipe his mind again, his only chance to tell someone what’s happening.

Slowly, he opens the door and he finds himself letting himself slightly relax when he notices that she is there, sitting on the cold gray floor. He makes quick work of closing the door behind him, leaving it unlocked just to make sure he’s not caught in here stuck.

Her eyes are instantly on him and stuck on him, wide and almost haunting. She looked more unkempt than usual, but he supposed if she didn’t have a mission, why would Hydra waste resources keeping her pretty.

“Zima?” She asks. He hears a slight fear in her voice. He realizes that in some fucked up way she might think he is here to kill her or hurt her, a punishment from Hydra considering their partnership on missions. A reminder that while he is there to protect her, he would not hesitate to stop her if she ever went against Hydra. He did not have the time or vocabulary to assure her of anything, and who’s to say he hadn’t hurt her before and Hydra wiped his memory?

“I don’t have much time. Can you remember something for me?” He asked her as quietly as he could manage, his heart pounding in his ears as she nodded. “My name is Bucky.”

Leaving Captain America, no…Steve. His friend. Someone from his past, before he was this monster created by Hydra. Someone who saw through the Winter Soldier and gave him back his name. Something he had wanted to give her for so long. On the shore, he left him with mixed feelings that were for certain. He fought internally with himself about what this meant.

He failed his mission; he could not return to Hydra. They would torture him or maybe kill him for a mistake this grave, especially considering he could’ve let Steve drown and just be done with it all.

But he knew that man, he knew Steve from before Hydra. Steve told him his name was Bucky and gave him a starting place to remember who he was before Hydra took everything from him.

He wondered if they would assume he died or if they would know he deserted.

He wondered what would happen to her.

Would she manage to escape? Would they torture her for information on him? Surely, they didn’t know that the two were close. Surely, they wouldn’t think he would tell her his plan, certainly because he didn’t even have a plan. There was no universe where he could’ve predicted this outcome.

He allowed himself a moment, a fleeting thought that maybe he could just rescue her. Kill whatever soldier was assigned to her next on a mission and just take her and run. Surely he’s not the first to run from Hydra, and certainly they’d just replace her and move on with their day.

But if he goes back and tries to get her, he could risk her life even further.

And he had a spiraling thought that maybe she only talked to him to give herself some sort of break from their missions. That maybe the closeness was all in his head and maybe seeing him again would torture her, would scare her.

And he just wasn’t ready.

“James, is there anyone left on your list you’d like to make amends to? Real amends.” His therapist's voice brings him back into her office. He is exhausted and done with these court-mandated therapy sessions. He’s tired of other people telling him what to do and how to feel. He sighed and looked up at the ceiling. It had been better than therapy (in his opinion) putting the ex-Hydra agents in their place.

“I don’t know.” He finally answers.

“Really? There’s no one you can think of that you’d like to make amends with. Non-violent amends with.” She tries again, and Bucky sighs.

“I don’t know, Doc. Do you have someone in mind?” He finally looks at her, and she holds out her hand for his notebook. With a sigh, he handed it over and watched her slowly flip through it before looking at him with a tired look in her eyes.

“Hmm, I think you already have someone in mind, James. Why don’t you go talk to her?” His therapist says as she throws the notebook back to him, and he catches it with both hands. He knows she’s right, that she’ll continue to haunt his nightmares and be on his mind till he confirms she was okay and she was safe.

He knew from his own…research (definitely not stalking) that she had managed to escape Hydra in all the chaos he and Steve caused and seemed to have a semi-normal life now, and who was he to stomp in on her normalcy and demand to make amends?

He wasn’t sure if she’d even want to see him or if seeing him would throw her into a bad state. He had his fair share of PTSD from his time with Hydra, and the idea of reconnecting in a positive way with any part of his Hydra past made him feel nauseous.

“It’s not as simple as just going to talk to her.” He finally answers, folding his hands in his lap, eyes fixated on his black vibranium arm, wondering if she’d recognize him with the different arm and hair.

“Why not?” She asks, and he watches her twirl her pen in her hand, knowing if he doesn’t start talking soon, she’ll start passive-aggressively taking notes like he hates to try to pull anything out of him.

“What if she doesn’t want to see me?” He asks.

“Then you leave, James. But I think for your own sake, you need to at least try.”

___________________________________________________________

“At least try.” He mumbles under his breath as he stands outside of her apartment, almost sarcastically. I mean, truly, what did his therapist know about the two's relationship? Seeing him would bring up a whole host of bad feelings for her, something he’d never want to cause, but a very selfish part of him was curious about how she was doing and if she could fill in the gaps for any of his memories.

Bucky took his time walking through the building and looking around her apartment. It was nice; the building was old but had a sort of old school flair that he really enjoyed looking at for the past 10 minutes, as he definitely wasn’t stalling. He let himself wonder what she did for work, if she had any roommates, if life was being kind to her.

It wasn’t until his hand was forced that he had realized how scary this moment actually was. As her door finally opened and she walked out, it took them both no time to recognize each other. She had stopped dead in her tracks when she noticed him, and he couldn’t help but drink her in. For a split second, Bucky couldn’t believe it was her. She looked the same to him; her hair was a little different, but he imagined she did it for the same reason he did. Just to have the illusion of freedom and choice, something to change for himself. She was dressed as if she was leaving, but her bag dropped to the ground the longer she looked at him. It looked like her, healthier, but still with the same wild look he sometimes finds in his own eyes. He feels like he can see the wheels turning in her head.

Why was he here?

Was he still with Hydra?

Was he going to kill her?

Finally, he forced himself to look her in the eyes, and he realized immediately she was crying.

“Are you here to kill me?” She finally asked, her voice coming out shaky. Bucky recognizes the panic, and for a moment, he wonders if she knows about him going after members of Hydra. If she thinks for a single second he blames her for anything that happened to them and that he would come to punish her he would never forgive himself. The thought hurts him more than he thought it would, but he pushes it aside as quickly as possible in order to comfort her.

“No, no, not at all. I promise. I just-” But that seemed to be all she needed because the moment he confirmed that he wasn’t here to hurt her, she practically jumped to him. Wrapping her arms tightly around his neck and pulling herself against him. It didn’t take him long at all to return his arms, more loose than her in fear of hurting her, but still around her.

___________________________________________________________

“Did I ever hurt you?” He finds himself asking, he still isn’t sure if he wants the true answer. He’s unsure if he can live with the idea that he hurt her. He watches her as she continues to pick at the fries on her plate. This was the second time the two had reconnected, and he had suggested the two get a bite to eat when he showed up at her apartment for the second time, this time being brave enough to knock. She nodded slowly and followed him out.

He had been more nervous this second time, now that he knows that some part of her trusts him he finds himself worried he’ll screw it up. That this fragile relationship the two are building will shatter at any moment, leaving him without anyone once again. They had arranged to meet up, to talk and try to be…normal, but Bucky still found himself struggling around her. His memories were still fragmented, but he wasn’t even sure how she was holding up with hers.

“No.” She finally answered. “I don’t think you ever even touched me, even in passing. You always let me lead.” This was news to him. He always felt so close to her and in control, but he guessed the proximity was enough for him to make it feel wrong and different from his usual missions.

“Did any of the Winter Soldiers hurt you?” He asks.

“Depends on your definition of hurt, I guess.” This answer surprises him, and he allows the silence to sit around them, hoping she would continue. “I mean, Bucky, come on, it’s not a secret what my job was.”

For a moment, he sees red. The idea that the other soldiers were putting her through the same torture Hydra did. That they saw her as nothing more than some toy, something that they could use and have and do whatever they pleased. That she was abused for other people’s pleasure makes him feel sick to his stomach to this day. It’s not until her hand finds his flesh one that he snaps out of his thoughts.

This is the first time since she hugged him that he’s touched her, the second time probably total throughout the whole time they’ve known each other, and it feels electric. He still feels the guilt bubbling in him, that she was being used and hurt, and he truly did nothing to stop it.

“It wasn’t your fault, Bucky.” She reminds him, and he finds himself smiling despite himself.

“You sound like my therapist.” He groans, and she laughs.

“Good, it means what I’m saying is right. I mean it, though; without you, I can think of a dozen different times I might have died.” She said with a smile. “Can I ask you a question now?”

“Of course.” He answered, almost excited at this sense of normalcy between the two of them, hoping that just like before, he’d be able to answer her questions.

“Did you escort any of the other girls?” She asked softly, thumb rubbing small circles against the back of his hand, his food completely forgotten as he tried to remember despite being distracted by her touch.

“No, I don’t think so,” He answered hesitantly. “A lot of my memories from Hydra are fractured. I can remember the people I hurt as the Winter Soldier, but sometimes the details of the mission I’ve lost them. I don’t think I ever escorted anyone but you.”

She nods at his answer, satisfied with it as she continues finishing her fries. There’s still a question bubbling under his skin, threatening to ruin their time together, but he can’t find the strength to ask, at least not yet.

“Can I ask you another question?” He asks and she nods. “When I came to tell you my name…was that the first time I had been to your quarters?” He watches her carefully, but she kept her hand on top of his. He watches as she picks her words carefully.

“It was the first time you had been to my quarters, yes.” He’s not blind to what she’s implying, but he looks at her until he continues. “Sometimes, Hydra would send other soldiers to visit me both as a punishment for me and a reward for the soldier, but no you had never been one of them.”

“When I showed up, is that what you thought was happening?” He asks, even though he already knows the answer. She sighs.

“Yes, but the thought didn’t last long. I never thought you would hurt me, ever. I still don’t.” She watches him closely as her words sink in. He has every reason to believe her, but he still finds it hard to believe, so he nods and gets back to eating. She follows his suit, clearly used to his silence.

___________________________________________________________

“You know I’ve been meaning to ask, did you ever get your coney dog?” She asked as they turned the corner. This time, they had decided to skip the food. She said she had somewhere she wanted to show him, and he was happy to follow along. He found himself not surprised by her question, he’s since learned since they started getting to know each other that she just seems naturally curious about the world with a memory sharp as a tack. She was always able to recall little things he had mentioned, he wondered if that’s why he trusted her with his name way back when because he knew she wouldn’t forget.

“I, uhh, no, not yet.” He said with a laugh. “I don’t think they’ll hold up as well as I’d remembered.” She hums and nods, seemingly satisfied with his answer.

“Do you have a new favorite food?” She asks as she continues looking straight. For a moment in Bucky’s mind, he feels like they’re back in that car, him driving them on a mission with her trying to learn a little about him. Either as a distraction or as a genuine interest.

“I really enjoy plums.” Bucky is surprised when she stops dead in her tracks and looks at him. For a split second, he’s worried he’s said the wrong thing, but within seconds, she’s laughing at him. Full-blown laughing, hands on her knees, tears in her eyes, the whole package and he can’t help the grin that finds itself on his face. “What?” He asks with a chuckle as she keeps going.

“I’m so sorry…I just, one second.” She said, trying to catch her breath. “I’m really sorry, Bucky, that is just the oldest man answer I’ve ever heard in my life.” She said with a cackle, and he couldn’t help himself and joined in on her laughing.

“Hey! I’ll have you know I’m over 100 years old. I’m allowed to enjoy my plums, okay! They’re good for your memory, and they’re healthy!” With his explanation, she continued laughing. “Oh my god, okay, I get it, let’s go; show me what you wanted to show me.” He said, gesturing for her to keep walking.

He follows her slightly behind, just one step behind. Overly cautious and knowing what following directly behind her could mean for the both of them, but not wanting them to take up the whole sidewalk. He wonders if she thinks about it too, how they must look together and how they used to look. He wonders if her actions haunt her the way he does him. He wonders if when she left Hydra if she had similar feelings of not deserving her freedom.

But this moment, answering her questions for her to laugh and tease him, something he’s unsure she would do to the Winter Soldier, causes a warm feeling in his chest, an understanding that while they are still the people they used to be, that they have changed. He is vaguely aware of these feelings that are making a home in his heart, and he’s unaware if they’ve always been there, but he’s starting to suspect they always were.

Especially as she opened the door and he stepped through. He immediately notices the smell, something so nostalgic that he immediately feels at home.

“I’m not sure why, but I just felt like you’d like this place. I found it on one of my walks.” He slowly walks past her, through the aisles, with her following close behind, wearing a sneaky smile.

The two were surrounded by a mix of old books from different genres, some in English, some not. Bucky was amazed by the collection, recognizing some of them from before he went to war. He felt as if he was walking through history, it was amazing.

“I know you’re from a different time, so I just think it’s cool because of history, but I just thought…that maybe you’d like it?” Even though it wasn’t a question, he could’ve sworn it was due to her nervousness.

“I love it, seriously.” He said, completely enamored with his surroundings. He watches her nerves go away with a small smile as she gestures for him to follow her deeper into the bookstore, and he happily obliges.

___________________________________________________________

It’s almost three weeks after the bookstore that they see each other again. Bucky had to go with Sam on a mission, cutting their time to short messages throughout the week instead of hanging out. There was a sense of nerves that had the unfortunate reminder of their time back in Hydra. The sinking feeling of something happening and him not being able to protect her was back in full force, and he had to fight the urge to call her at the end of every day, sticking to sporadic messages that hopefully didn’t feel as awkward to her as it did him.

All he wanted to know was if she was safe, just like before, but this time, there was more intent with it. He was remembering more of their time and the questions she asked, and their conversations finally got to stick with him; it was like they were building something that was a long time coming.

Finally, once he knew they were for sure coming back on a Tuesday, he asked her if she was free, but with her work schedule, they ended up not being able to see each other until Friday. Bucky had to fight the urge to just show up at her house and beg for forgiveness for needing to see her.

But he managed to wait, and once Friday rolled around, he showed up at her apartment, and the two of them made themselves comfortable on opposite ends of her couch, her cat in Bucky’s lap. The two of them did their usual of passing questions back and forth until a long pause brought Bucky’s biggest question to his mind.

“Can I ask you a really fucked up question?” He finally asked, feeling brave at this moment.

“I think all of our questions have been fucked up considering the our situation, but please let’s add to this.” She said with a watery laugh, clearly fighting off tears. Bucky took a deep breath, knowing he had to ask that he needed to know this answer and that he could no longer let this eat him up on the inside. Especially considering how their friendship is growing, he needs the answer before it’s too late, before it forms a black hole inside of him, tainting every action the two have.

“How come you never used my trigger words?” She freezes at his question, eyes remaining squarely on the floor, and he can barely believe he finally asked. He feels as if the silence between them is dangerous, as if she’s going to stand up and finally ask him to leave her alone. That all of this will be over and he will never see her again because he finally crossed that line.

“What if my answer is too fucked up?” She finally responded, doing nearly nothing to quell the rising feelings in his chest.

“Than it’s fucked up.” He decides, still desperate to know the answer.

“The trigger words were to control the Winter Soldier, but honestly, the worst thing you could’ve done to me is kill me, and that would’ve freed me from it all. From sleeping with all those men, from doing Hydra’s dirty work and being tortured. I would’ve welcomed the escape, Bucky.” Bucky allows the words to hit him, he understands what she means. He remembers missions where he was more careless in order to hopefully end his suffering with Hydra, but it never crossed his mind that she might be in a similar position.

“I know what you mean.” He whispers, understanding how she really viewed him during that time.

“But Bucky, I never thought for a second you would hurt me. The Winter Soldier…you protected me multiple times and were always as kind as you could be. I tried to never show favoritism to Hydra because I was afraid they’d stop assigning us together, but our car rides were the one break I got.” The words sit between the two; the truth Bucky probably could’ve figured out on his own, but it felt good hearing it from her.

“It never bothered you what I did?” He asks.

“Did it ever bother you what I did, Bucky?” She throws back, and he shakes his head. “We both were under terrible, horrible circumstances. Why on earth would I hold that against you?”

“I hold it against myself sometimes. I mean, I could’ve gotten us away during a mission; we could’ve run. I could’ve fought back.” He finally voiced.

“Right, because a man with a metal arm wearing all black clothes and a prostitute with no change of clothes would’ve been so hard for Hydra to find.” She said sarcastically, reaching over to put a hand on his thigh.

“I never thought of you like that.” He says with a mumble, unsure how she’ll react.

“Like what?” She asked, head cocked to the side.

“A prostitute. You were just doing a job required by Hydra. It didn’t reflect on you, at least not in my eyes.” He murmured, finally looking at her. Something had changed in her eyes at his words; somehow, they seemed softer, more understanding than before, as if how he viewed her had always weighed heavy on her.

“Oh, Bucky.” She said softly. She moved almost in slow motion as her hand found his and grasped it tightly. “If it makes you feel any better, I was so honored when you let me call you Zima,” The Russian sounded so familiar on her tongue to him, “I always thought of you as more than just the Winter Soldier; I knew you were in there somewhere and when you came to tell me your name was Bucky…Even though we didn’t see each other again from our time in Hydra, it did give me something to hope for.”

“You gave me something to hope for.” He finally said, trying to get his feelings across to her.

She simply smiles and squeezes his hand. He knows in this moment that those feelings constantly arising in him are some sort of love for her, for everything they’ve been through. He has no idea if she feels the same and wonders if he deserves her with the burden he’d be placing on her, but at this moment, it doesn’t even seem to matter. Because he loves her, and he knows it.

___________________________________________________________

Bucky wakes up in a bed, one that surely isn’t his as it’s far too soft. His memories of the night before slowly come back to him.

The two had talked late into the night, holding hands and clearing so much of the air left between them and their time in Hydra. A deeper understanding of the torture they went through and what each other meant to themselves. The reprieve she offered him and the safety he offered her.

He remembered insisting he wasn’t too tired to go back to his place, and he remembered her insisting that if he died going home from her place, she’d never forgive herself.

He remembered laughing but taking her up on the offer to spend the night.

He feels a slight pressure on his back, but when he begins to shift, the cat jumps off of him, and he lets out a chuckle as he watches the white cat make their way out of the room.

“She’s going to remember that.” Her voice supplied, and he flipped his body so he could look at her. She’s on the other side of the bed, looking at him with messy hair.

“Oh yeah?” He said with a smile.

“Oh yeah, Alpine holds grudges like nobody's business.” She said with a chuckle. He watched her gently shift. He knows at this moment that something has changed between the two, that their bond has changed, but he does not doubt that he will always be there for her, in any way she will allow.

“We didn’t have sex, by the way.” She blurts out in the silence, sitting up, causing Bucky to burst out laughing, blood clearly flooding her face and turning a darker shade. He’s almost positive his has turned red as well.

“Yeah, I do know that,” Bucky said, still laughing.

“I’m just…after everything, I don’t know if…” He watches her take a deep breath. “Bucky, if this…I mean, if we become a thing. I want you to know now that we may never have sex. I might never be okay or ready for it, but I do like you. I like you a lot, but I don’t want to lie to you or force myself to do anything I don’t want to do, so if you wish to just say friends, you have to say it now.”

“We could never touch, and I think I’d still be in love with you and happy to just be by your side, whatever that means to you.” He breathed out, almost surprising himself, but wholeheartedly meaning it. He watched the sunlight illuminate her surprised features.

“Yeah?” She asked, a smile like he’s never seen paint her face.

“Yeah.” He whispers out, and slowly, like she’s waiting for him to say no, she puts his hand on his cheek. He fights the urge to make any movement that might scare her as she leans in close, kissing him chastely on his chapped lips.

And it’s perfect and worth every bad moment the two had faced. All because he would get to come home to her and protect her. 

And it's all he had ever wanted.

[samodivaa]

Training Techniques

Winter Soldier x Reader He is not allowed to move an inch—he can only watch you pleasure yourself—but why is there a ring on your finger?

Warnings - smut, light angst, mastrubation(f), rough sex, choking, breeding kink Words - 2600 ⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄ You have absolutely no pleasure in the work in which you sometimes so madly indulge—training the assets with delicacy of words with which their handlers don’t approve of—Soldat is your favorite, with his expression of endless and unconditional gratitude and a silent promise of complicity unto death—he may not remember your face, but he always remembers your voice, its' gentleness. The soporific air of your room, in the soft breath of bread and sweets—he was sent there, because he was misbehaving again.

It has not been in the pursuit of pleasure that you have periled this life and reputation—but here you are—on your bed trying to sleep when you see him sitting on the chair, waiting. And this isn't a romance. You're not a damsel in distress and he is not the handsome prince who comes to save you—this is his desperate attempt to escape from torturing memories, from a sense of insupportable loneliness and a dread of the impending doom, but they didn’t know that.

You know.

He can't stop looking at you—Soldat is gazing at a distant star. It's dazzling, but the light is from tens of thousands of years ago, because he is not allowed to move until you instruct him to.

Subconsciously, he licks his lips at the sight at your body in a night dress and wonder if he will ever just cum in your mouth as you suck him off to your knees…or if he’ll take you by the hair before he’s finished and fuck you into a sobbing heap before blowing his load. It doesn’t seem worth the risk —but he wanted this for so long now, he needs to voice it.

“Please-” —an irrational and indulgent mistake. you stand up on your elbows in shock at the word he utters—his eyes drift leisurely back up to your face and his lips twitch. Soldat has fallen into a state of feverish lust, but that is not a justification for his disobedience. His heart goes into a shameless delirium when your eyes meet. “Desperate?” you mock, but underneath the mockery Soldat finds a reservoir of understanding. You lay back on the bed as nothing has happened, and your voice takes on a restful strength “I still need to punish you for that, Winter” He behaves as naturally, with such discretion, that he does not lose his composure, not even when you remove your wedding ring—who committed the impertinence of marrying you? He goes through a crisis of disappointment, fury, jealousy, but this is your way of giving Soldat a layer of respect—he wants to call it loyalty. And maybe you can be his or maybe you will be entwined in this sexless foreplay tonight.

He wants to ask so many questions, but he can’t. Not now. There is a pent-up curiosity, hysteria of his unsatisfied needs, unnaturally suppressed communion and also a kind of tense respect, because if he is obedient enough—he will be rewarded.

“You will watch me, that's all you will do for now” you say, your voice has sunk to a whisper. Your words stoke a warmness in his stomach, a fire in his crotch. And he doesn’t care what you will do with him—even if you want to cut him, sharpen him however you please—that's all he knows anyways. He wants this memory to stay what it is, one intense moment, something that is strong and sweet enough to stand on its own. Your room has turned into an idyllic paradise for a good many years, your skin glistening in the light coming from the slits in the blinds as your hands play with your breast through the nightgown. He has lost his voice and a thread of cold sweat runs down the path of his spine, suffocating with heat, because of the black leather clothes—the stiff collar and the tight harness that is restricting his breathing, is becoming increasingly annoying.

His eyes are growing moist with indignation, with angry impotence, and for the first time, he is barely controlling himself. It is the natural sequel of an unnatural beginning—he needs to be patient, but it’s hard—not harder than his cock—It's more erotic, more intense to watch you touch yourself. He is master of what he does, but never of what he desires. You are greatly overestimating his self-control. But this is what you are testing tonight—his ability to subordinate the impulse to fuck you. Self-control might be as passionate and as active as the surrender to passion, but you need to show him who is in charge while your panties are becoming steadily slicker. All you need to do is to tell him to come, but you refrain from doing the thing you want so badly—to be consumed by Winter. You glance up to find his eyes blazing with raw need—blue orbits pleading for you to command him. You spread your legs open, positioning yourself in front of him—one hand still toying with your nipple while the fingers of the other hook in your panties and drag them down your legs slowly before throwing them in his direction. His breath stutters as they land on his left boot and Soldat eyes them wickedly, knowing that all he can do is watch. 

"Good, very good, Soldat '' you coo, sliding two fingers into your core, scissoring and stretching, curling over the one sweet spot—imagining his metal digits. You remove them as your index finger takes their place, rubbing slow, torturous circles on your clit, sliding down to tease your opening, then back up. Over and over again.

He slides his tongue across his teeth, remembering the taste of your nectar, becoming more and more aroused with every beat of his heart that runs down his shaft.

“I want you so much, gosh” he is stirred by the lust in your smooth voice. You are breathing deep with your mouth wide open—he doesn’t blink, he doesn’t dare blink. Soldat can swear he feels the pressure of your palms on his cheeks—or is it a memory? Everything is a memory to him. “I want you here, fucking me” There is something raw and pleading in your voice that surpasses sexual desire, these fleeting moments of carnal craving.

With the auspicious attention of a strained killing machine, he examines your fingers, your shivering body and listens to your muffled moans meticulously. It is such a tumultuous and intemperate invasion to his mind—your scandalous behavior is pulling at every string of his nerves and self-control.

It is such a prolonged act, so meticulous, so rich in all aspects as you are giving yourself over to the deserved adoration of your own body and pleasure. It leaves Soldat breathless at the tremendous spectacle of your nudity and lack of shame as you bring yourself closer to the edge.

“Jesus-I am so close” You confess, surprised at how fast the arousal is budding. You arch your back and hips buckle like an electric current runs through your body, moaning, rubbing your clit faster, forcing yourself to let out a louder moan. The orgasm wrecks your body from head to toe and being watched by a ferocious male is exciting—all he needs is a feeling as primitive and as simple as that of love.

You see his eyes, still unblinking and you feel menaced by some invisible danger—you are keenly aware of every movement, every breath you take. Lust is a weed that grows in the vacant lots of an abandoned mind and the stacks of bad words that you have been forced to swallow, spills “Soldat, come here” you command, languid and serious.

You lick your lips, trying to quench the thirst for him. Your throat is dry as you watch him between your spread legs, getting up and slowly coming towards the bed as his thick, black pants fall to the floor around his feet, the belt clattering noisily. Winter 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. He breathes, his chest rising and falling so close to yours.

“Kiss m-” you whisper the words, and before you even finish saying them, his mouth is on yours and you are melting under his lips, eyes flutter shut—and it is blissful oblivion—giving you the most intense and explosive kiss you two have ever shared. With the coldness of his lips and the warmth of his tongue beneath yours, you vow an endless bliss. He pulls back with a groan—Winter’s sky-blue eyes stare back into yours, and in his eyes you can see no parting from you. You put your hands on either side of his face, and the room falls away. You have never gotten so lost in a kiss before. And the kiss is not gentle. It is a wrestle of who would lead the excursion into the territory of passion and ecstasy, heat and unending craving for one another. You suck on his lower lip between your teeth and he lets out a low groan. It sounds almost aggravated and definitely impatient. Fire looks into his quiet eyes, touches his dear, familiar face—you lean upwards for a moment and dip your head towards his ear, grazing his soft skin with your teeth, while your hand slides to the harness. Soldat stills, angling his mouth towards your bare, perfect neck. You feel a warm slickness on your skin, his tongue trailing a path towards your shoulder.

It is a wild, animalistic compulsion, an urgent need as he suddenly slots himself between your legs and you turn your head away. Your fear is returning, crawling through your limbs and leaving you numb to everything. You shut your eyes, gripping the sheets, and whimper when he pushes himself inside you. He releases a ragged breath before moving, slow but with purpose, and you simply take it with soft whimpers and gasps as he pumps in and out of you, now starting to set a steady pace. His eyes, the blue completely gone from his them, soften for a moment and he kisses you tenderly before he whispers in your ear, his breath puffs against your skin. He spends a good amount of time on your neck, a brief stop at the base of your throat—he wants to bite you, but he can’t—something melts inside Soldat that hurts in an exquisite way—you are not his. “Who did you marry, Snow White?” He asks, voice throbbing with menace—before slipping inside you again and burying himself to the hilt. Sex with you this time is different, he has never felt this dominant, this claiming. He is so far in that his balls are right against your lips. You arch your back and moan “It doesn’t matter” as he slides back out nearly all the way before slamming into you hard and fast. You wrap your legs around his waist as he slams into you over and over, the only sound in the room is the skin slapping. You close your eyes and swallow. Your mouth parts and stills—your voice is barely a whisper as his tip touches your cervix. “Pierce…I am closer to ruining his plans, closer to freeing you” Despite your eyelids being tightly shut, a single, hot tear runs out of your eye. You are so angry that it has escaped—so angry—he stops his trusts completely. You moan as you feel his movement out of you. Then, as he almost has the tip fully out, he slaps it back in. When your eyes meet his gaze as you are sitting here staring at each other, time stops. Your fingertips reach to trace the metal shoulder, but he grasps your hand with his own. He leans down, far enough that the ends of his hair brush feather-light against your face, catching in your lashes and tears.

His breath, warm and measured, hits your cheek. Two breaths. Three. Then you stop breathing, and a second later, you feel his lips on your mouth. It is hungry, desperate. His metal hand wraps around your neck, thumb presses into the skin—you moan, it ripples over your nerve endings. His breath caresses your ear again—his grip on your neck tightens. And this makes you always still and submit…the act of Winter taking shameful, contemptuous possession of you is the kind of rapture you want.

“Next time-” you try, but with your restricted of oxygen brain, you are not able to. He tastes passion. He tastes lust. He tastes his power over you. He tastes a world of stimulants he’d never imagined. You are right there in front of him, he can do whatever he wants. Winter loosens his hold—only to observe you as you breathe raggedly, sliding down slowly, a moan ripping from your throat. 

“Next time he calls you in his house, I will be there, too”

I have nothing to give but my heart so full and these empty hands.

“I need to kill them one by one, Winter” His mouth curves into a smile—his eyes are light blue and dancing with life. He pauses for only a fraction of a second. Then he leans forward and presses his lips to yours "Okay, yeah, yeah" a devil-soft whisper. He blinks several times like he is trying to comprehend your plan word by word. His trusts become so hormonal—you want his roughness. His other hand slips to your waist, pushing you into the mattress as he fucks you. For him, sex intimately relates to the most primitive kind of human contact, which can satisfy all of his needs he has been deprived from. "Winter " you gaspe breathlessly "Slow down" You try to let out a choked squeal, but his metal hand tightens around your neck again, muffling any sounds, your toes curling as he brings you steadily closer and closer to orgasm, reeling from the thrill and the fear from both his forceful thrusts of his powerful hips and the choking. Soldat is unrelenting in his domination of your body. But you are his at this moment, your cunt clenching around him while you mewls and grunts fill his ears, he can’t slow down even one bit. Logic would say that this is insane, every other fibre of his being says it's right—he has to fill you up. You can't move. You can't breathe. And his pace. And the adrenaline. “I will cum inside—dear Snow White” This is his demarcation line, all of a sudden it seems unfair to withhold it from you. Your inner muscles tighten as waves of pleasure start to build and ripple out. You don’t normally get off this fast, but you are lost in the exquisite sensations—you put your hands on his metal arm as your body bursts into flames, your fingers curling into the metal. You can’t make a sound and it is a shame, because it is the best orgasm you ever had. It is unbearable, unreal, unimaginable—it is too much as your eyes can only see darkness due to the choking. You can only hear a broken and hoarse cry escaping his lips, his warm come filling you up completely.

You can hear his breath, as your vision slowly becomes solid—a stray lock of dark hair falls into his eyes as he is looking down—he moves his hips back and then into you again, enjoying his cock being in a tub of cum, swimming in your honey.

[lyssa-rina]

Project Xerox.

Synopsis: Hydra has managed to clone the winter soldier, you, a handler, managed to escape with your ward after their downfall. Now after the scattering and reassembling of the avengers; trying to put themselves back together they uncover a lost secret.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x f!Reader (slowburn!)

Characters: Natasha Romanoff, Clint Barton, OCs, Reader

Warnings!: fighting, stabbing (it's not serious).

word count: 3.3k

AN: Ngl bro, I totally forgot I was writing this for a second bc my mom was in the hospital, but I digress. This is for fun plz be chill. enjoy!

The last time you heard of the Avengers they were fighting in an airport in germany. You were fueling up at a gas station the news broadcasting on the convenience store tv showed airport security footage. Blows traded by both sides, back and forth, explosions and a giant man. The news anchor spoke over looped clips of fighting, something about ‘holding heros accountable’. You didn't care, no one at hydra was ever held accountable for what you went through, so who gives a shit? As long as they left you alone. Natasha was there, you hadn't spoken to her since she escaped the red room. Unbeknownst to herself and the captain, they were the reason you were able to escape hydra all those years ago.

It had been two years since hydra's downfall and you were still moving, trying to keep them off your trail by never staying in one place too long. Alexander Pierce’s death coupled with the incident in Washington created a domino effect across all of hydra.

They might have fallen but a hydra always rises from the ashes they said. A few patrons stopped to watch the news both in shock and feigned disinterest.

He was there too, the soldier, the asset, the blueprint. His face became a constant in your life after you were traded to hydra by the red room. Blue eyes that followed your every move, now watching you with curiosity.

"What's wrong?" You sat on the boardwalk, side by side with your ward, fishing poles waiting for the dark water to cough up a few more fish. A cold wind rustled the trees as a chill ran up your spine, that was all that you could hear besides the lapping of lake water.

"I think it's time for us to head back to the house." You received an annoyed whine in return.

"But- I haven't caught anything yet!"

"I know, but we've been out here all evening, I want you to get some studying in before dinner time" those eyes, staring back at you in disbelief.

"What?! Why?" Despite his protest, he knows to follow orders. That training has been ingrained into his mind since birth.

Reeling in his line with a pout. "Why do I have to study if I already know everything?"

You hum in answer as you smile at the kid. He looks so adorable with his oversized jacket and unruly hair.

"Do you think fish have dreams isaac?"

Those eyes again, swirling with so much curiosity, intrigue and as much scepticism as any eight year old could muster. How was he supposed to know that?

"See? You don't know everything." The walk back to the house was spent with Isaac trying to prove that he did in fact know everything. He did, kind of. Growing up under Hydra’s thumb meant he had to know everything, be anything. To survive you had to be the best of the best and he was. Surpassing dozens of other clones. Alexander Pierce had personally congratulated you on shaping their best new asset, it was sickening the way scientists marveled over their creation. They said he was perfect, genetically, physically, mentally and academically. But who cares how smart you are when they need mindless soldiers. But most of all he was profitable.

It was silent, the only sounds were leaves rustling in the trees and crunching under your feet. The weather was getting colder and the lack of birds chirping didn't seem too alarming. But still, the feeling stayed. The feeling reminded you of the first times they ever went outside. More than half of the kids were terrified, seeing the sky for the first time. Issac was amongst those scared kids but he adapted the fastest and now you can barely keep him inside.

You locked every door and window as soon as you got back to the house. Drawing each curtain as you moved through the cabin, they wouldn't do much for protection, unless there was a sniper they would at least keep you out of view. Even after you prepared dinner, that feeling of unease was there.

"Issac?" He was at the coffee table. Rereading an advanced algebra book for the fifth time.

“Yes?”

“Go tell your brother dinner’s ready.”

The soft thumping of a walking stick became familiar. It was like hearing your own heartbeat in the dead of night. The whirring of a breathing machine was white noise when your thoughts traveled too far, pulling you back to the present as you poured your stew over rice. The heat of the stew was a comfort in a life that always seemed to be moving, rice was cheap and convenient, but versitial.

When you turn to set the table Ben is already in his seat. He usually helps you with cooking but recently the cold makes his leg ache. Since then he’s been listening to the radio frequencies, waiting to hear anything suspicious but thankfully there's been nothing so far.

‘smells good.’ Ben signs as you place his bowl in front of him.

He then turns to Issac, who’s standing beside him. ‘Let’s hope it tastes good too.’

“Hey!” You say feigning offense. “ I was trained to be a spy, not a cook.” The two boys burst into a hearty laugh.

Dinner was peaceful, well, as peaceful as any dinner could be with two young boys debating theoretical cartoon physics in sign language. The boy's dynamic was the same as any other pair of siblings. Brainwashed or not every sibling has pulled a knife on the other, there was that intense push and pull of love and hate. According to the scientists at the hydra facility, they wouldn't exactly be classified as siblings. They were identical, even more than twins. They were the same person, exactly the same. The same person living different lives. When the experiments started you pondered if a singular soul could be split into two, maybe three? But how far can a singular soul stretch? Can a soul even be shared?

“Are you coming to bed?” Issac asks, his big puppy eyes stare back at you. You can tell he senses your unease the way he fidgets on your shared bed.

“I’m not tired yet, I’ll come to bed in a little bit. Okay?” He pouts, crosses his arms and looks away. He’s getting such an attitude these days. You’re thankful that he is, it means he’s not afraid of you. You don’t think they ever were scared of you, maybe by a fraction. Growing up in that place breathes hesitancy, it breathes fear. One guard's bad day could lead to your worst.

“Ben. . . ” You threw him a look, you haven't told him about the unease you felt at the lake. But the eyes tell it all, you’ve both developed a sort of telepathy over the years. Something wasn't right and as he looked back at you from his mattress on the floor he understood completely. Ben knows the drill, he’s been doing this for years.

They look just like him, soon enough you might not even be able to tell them apart from him. They might still be kids but they were under hydra's control for so long. You’re afraid that they might end up back there, end up like the asset, like the soldier that can’t say no and won’t ask questions; because that’s exactly what they were made for.

He nods.

“Goodnight boys.”

You stayed awake, sitting in front of the fireplace with your piece. The fire crackled. It’s light dancing across your eyes and then you heard it, a creak. Wood bending under the pressure of some sneaking intruder, it was the back door. You eased off the couch and sneaked behind a wall armed and ready, when you saw another shadow walk across your front window. You could handle them, sure, but you’d like to stop running someday, find somewhere safe enough to feel normal. Somewhere you didn't have to look over your shoulder after every step.

You suspected it. But you wouldn’t believe it, you hoped they hadn’t found you.

You had a slight upper hand, as small as the cabin was, you’d been living here for weeks. You knew the layout. So waited, back against the mantel wall. Waiting for them to cross the threshold of the hallway. Their steps light, you could hear the subtle drag of the sole of their shoe. If you hadn't known they were there you would think nothing of it. Before the intruder could check their periferal you striked. Grabbing their arm you threw them over your shoulder, they slammed onto a wooden armchair destroying it. You aimed your piece and missed as they kicked you in the chest. When you stumbled they rolled out of the chair limbs and kicked your legs from under you. The both of you were on the ground fighting over the gun when you fired again, it grazed their side. They launched at you and you kicked them off and kicked up into a standing position.

Before you could take aim again, they kicked your gun out of your hand. They tried to climb onto your shoulders, it was a predictable move. You reached for a vase on the window when their calf landed on your shoulder, they backed off after it shattered against them. You were able to keep up as you traded blows, it was a dance you were familiar with. When someone grabbed you from behind, trapping your arms to your sides. Right! There was another one. You lifted your legs and kicked the first intruder in the chest, sending them flying into the broken chair. Yourself and the second intruder flew into the side window from the force of the kick. The glass cracked with a web leaving a big hole in its centre. This was starting to get tedious, but you realised they weren't trying to hurt you but maybe distract you. What if some else was trying to get to your boys while you were stuck here fighting.

You leapt over the first intruder to get to them but the second one grabbed you from behind again. Your window trick wouldn't work again so you head butted them and their grip slackened.

“Ah! Shit!” they hissed.

That was a familiar ‘shit!’. It definitely stood out against all the grunting from the struggle. You froze when the lights came on a second later and you were released. In the corner of the room stood your long lost fellow captive, Natalia Alianovna Romanova, Natasha Romanoff, the widow that escaped. When you turned around the second intruder you came to find out was just Clint Barton. Your entire body sagged with relief but before you could say a word, Clint cried out again gripping his thigh. It was Isaac, armed with a small knife. His eyebrows furrowed, his teeth bared, like a kitten with a crazy smile. He’d stabbed him in the thigh thinking you were in danger, you honestly don’t blame him but he shouldn’t have too. He’s just a kid.

“Isaac no!” you cried out, as he pulled his arm back to strike Clint again. You managed to grab his hand before it came down. Grabbing him by the torso and dragging him away. Confusion brewd on his face as his small frame fought against you. He wouldn’t dare use his real strength against you but why were you stopping him? He was trying to protect you.

“Issac, stop!” his hesitancy was written all over his face. You could tell that he was sacred. He was on the verge of tears, his breath trembled.

Ben stood at the threshold of the room, eyes wide, breath rasping, balancing on his walking stick.

‘I tried to stop him.’ His hands shook as he signed. His breath was ragged, his chest pumping rapidly but not so much from fright but lack oxygen. Rushing after Issac he wouldn't have had time to put his oxygen concentrator on.

“It’s okay. I know you're scared but these are my friends-“

“But they attacked you!” Issac wheezed out.

“ They surprised me- and I got scared and I reacted without thinking.”You really weren't thinking, even with the light from the fireplace you’d ignored all recognizable features and just focused on the fight.

“Remember what we talked about?” His eyes darted between the three adults but avoiding eye contact.

“ . . .I’m sorry.” He murmured.

“You don’t need to be sorry issac. You were just trying to protect me.” you breathed a sigh of relief as he curled into your chest. Silent cries shook his tiny frame, you tried to sooth him, rubbing circles into his back. “But, you don’t need to protect me, I’m the adult, I’m supposed to protect you.”

“Don’t feel bad, kid. I’ve stabbed him by accident too, he’ll be fine.” Natasha snickered out.

“Hilarious.” Clint mockingly hissed and turned to you to ask for a first aid kit.

“It’s under the sink and I’m trying to teach him to not stab people anymore.” The cut on leg definitely wasn’t deep but the drama queen still clutched his thigh in pain.

“Well, you're doing a terrible job.” Clint whined as he sat at the kitchen table.

“Cut me some slack, we’re practically hermits.” you grinned slightly.

The boys wouldn’t go back to bed after all the commotion, so you all settled in the front room, well, what else was left of it; While Clint stewed the small connected kitchen. The cold breeze streamed through the broken side window chilling the room. The cabin was only eight hundred square feet, if you would even call it a cabin,It wasn’t made for long ‘vacations’ but you managed.

You felt safer with Clint and Natasha here but something still wasn’t right. They wouldn’t be here without a reason. You sat in the centre of the couch, Issac’s head in your lap and Ben curled into your side, both eagle eyed.

“Sorry about your window.” Nat poked at the fireplace trying to heat up the room.

You waved her off. They wouldn’t be here if they didn't intend to take you all to wherever they were staying. Your time here was limited anyways, if they hadn't come you would’ve left soon anyways. “That was Clint’s fault, it’s fine”

“My fault?!” Clint gawked, but you ignored him.

“You should take care of that.” Gesturing to the bullet graze you gave her. She nods, her back to you, her focus was on the fireplace.

“We’ve been tracking you for months.” The flames from the fireplace rose, glowing ashes floated up as Nat added more wood. She was floating on an air of disquiet, her posture was rigid, feigned calmness. You’d known each other since you were kids, you were trained to pick up on weakness, even eachother’s.

“Hhm, guess I’m getting lazy.”

“With two kids? I’m surprised we took so long.” Ben and Issac were trained in the same ways you were, hiding in plain sight was something that came naturally to everyone in this room. Moving through life without leaving a trace wasn't just a skill, it was survival. You don’t know why she would point that out.

“Cut the bullshit. Why were you looking for us? What happened?”

“I can’t check on an old friend?” Trying to ease the tension she turns to you and gives a small smile.

You raised a brow. “We’ve been out for years and no one but Hydra lackeys cared about us until now.”

Nat postures to speak again but hesitates.

“General Thaddeus Ross happened.” Clint answered, digging into one of the kitchen cupboards. “Com’on, You guys don’t have reeses?” he mutters to himself.

“Latvia doesn’t have reeses- what does Ross want?” you ask Nat.

“You ask that everytime we’re Latvia Clint.” Nat rolled her eyes feigning annoyance.

“What does Ross want, Natasha?” She doesn't speak but her eyes say it all as they linger on your fingers combing through Ben’s hair. Ben tenses under your palm, he already knows what’s going on.

“Issac, go help your brother back to your room.”

“He has his cane-” he tries to whine.

“Issac, please.”

Ben takes Issac under the arm, the three of you sit in pregnant silence waiting for the sound of the bedroom door to shut. They would probably still hear you because of their super hearing but this was an adult conversation, they're just kids.

When you hear the sound of the door shut Clint breaks the silence with a chuckle.

“Stubborn, that one.”

You knew why the Avengers fell apart, because of the accords. That general Thaddeus Ross wanted superheroes under his thumb and tried pressing their team into signing the accords, they disagreed and things got messy. You also knew when Hydra and S.H.I.E.L.D fell all their secrets were strewn onto the internet, hidden behind their plans, strategies and weapons testing there were documents out there that detailed your time in that hell hole. Everything about the experiments that wasn’t on paper was out there and had been out there for a long time. Their weight, height, progress and even their ‘date of birth’. It was all there. Someone was going to get their hands on it eventually.

“You know what happened.” Nat sighs, wiping the exhaustion off her face.

“That doesn't explain why you're here! The last time I saw you two, you were fighting each other on tv.” You rise from your seat on the couch to see them both. To look them both in their eyes.

This vagueness Natasha was operating in, especially with you of all people, was freaking you out.

“First of all, we’re always fighting. Secondly, that was six months ago and I forgave her.” Clint puts it matter of factly, with one finger pointed and a pack of saltines crumpling in his hands. You really wished he wouldn’t eat your snacks but you’d be leaving soon anyway, so who cares?

“Nat, you need to tell me if they’re in danger. Please. . .” She does.

She spills her guts and in turns sours yours. After the accords fell the general started digging up anything he could to get the avengers to hand over their power. He was trying to stretch himself far and wide to get back any semblance of power and he landed on project xerox. He concluded that all ‘weapons’ produced by the experiments were legally property of the US government because of S.H.I.E.L.D’s involvement. Natasha explained that a ‘friend’ that worked for the government leaked the information to her. The mad man wanted your kids in custody, presumably to be child soldiers.It was like deja vu, your story wasn’t changing.

What was left of the ‘dubbed by media’ team cap were all still on the run, hiding out in eurasia and africa. When Nat got the tip she left the safety of their group without warning just to come find you, which meant Thaddeus Ross probably already knew where and by extension so did his enemies. You were bugs caught in a spiderweb of agendas and every arachnid wanted a piece.

“Where were you staying before you came here?”

“A couple towns over.“ Nataha’s slight grin gives the inclination that they’ve been following you closer than you initally thought. So much so that Natasha and Clint were able to stop a military squad before they were able to intercepted you and the boys.

“And I’m guessing you didn’t just bring Clint here to annoy me.” Clint rolls his eyes.

“No, I came to take you on a field trip.”

“To where?” The three of you swivel to the boy’s heads peeking out of the bedroom door in the hallway.

“Boys! What did I say?”

Taglist: @impoeticbeauty

[gremlin-girly]

Fake Title: The Banana and the Winter Soldier

Nonnie, when I tell you this had me giggling at the DND session last night 💀🤚

Thank you @buck-star for helping me decide on a change 😌

The Banana and the Winter Soldier

Pairing: The Winter Soldier/Bucky Barnes x Hydra!Handler!f!reader

Tags/warnings: NSFW themes, 18+,

A/N: This one ran away from me so it's a bit longer oopsie 😅

Navigation | Based on this Ask Game

"Mission report."

You sighed, tapping the down key on your keyboard to scroll the medical report of the soldier. He'd come back in almost near perfect condition again. As always.

Your job was a mixture of abhorrent terror and boredom. You don't know why you'd were picked to be a handler, maybe someone higher up the food chain didn't like you. Obviously; the soldier had killed the last 3 handlers he'd had. You didn't know why or if you'd be next.

The boredom part happened when he was gone or these mission reports. When he was gone it was day-to-day admin. When he returned, he was fine and the mission was a success.

You didn't know why you were the middle man for a slew of information that was classified to you. It seemed stupid. It was.

Your stomach grumbled loudly before the soldier can speak and you offer him a sheepish smile as you reach for your untouched lunch.

"Fuck. Sorry." Your grumble and hold out a packet of crisps to him. "Would you like something to eat Soldat?"

"No."

"Okay." You sigh, throwing the packet back onto the desk and picking up your banana instead. You always tried to offer him food or a drink - some camaraderie - but he was always like this. Blunt. Efficient.

You scroll down and tap the banana on your lip when part of the medical report catches your eyes. Severe bruising. There's images attached and they look terrible. How can he still be walking?

You hum thoughtfully and the soldier clears his throat.

"You can continue, Soldat." You say absently, peeling the top end of your banana delicately. He's only going to tell you it was a success anyway. You pretend to listen as you take a bite of banana and he chokes up, sputtering his words slightly.

Looking over at him curiously with your brows raised you pause your chewing. "Soldat, are you ok? Do you need to go lie down?"

"N-no."

He sounds like he's in pain and you wonder if that bruising on his ribs has finally taken effect. You take another bite of the banana and he looks physically pained.

"Yeah OK, I'm not doing this when you're in pain." You huff, turning back to your screen. You click a few things before closing it down and getting to your feet with a long stretch. You can feel his hawk-like eyes watching your every move and you feel slightly uncomfortable. He was never usually like this.

"Come on," you grumble. " I'll escort you back to your room."

The soldier stands, he's so much bigger than you, muscles making the tac-suit creak as he straightens. Yeah, he could kill you if he wanted. He could do a lot if he wanted. But his programming should hopefully stop that.

You munch on your banana down the hallways, discarding the peel before you get to his room and see him inside. You offer to help him undress and he nods, watching you gingerly undo the straps on his suit and help him out of it.

You've never been this close to him before and under his watchful gaze you can feel your cheeks heat up. He was handsome, you couldn't deny it and oh boy if it didn't make at least a little bit hot and bothered by having this life size toy soldier let you help him out of his clothes.

"Handler, I-" He tries, cheeks pink, to vocalise whatever it is he's feeling. "I need your help with something."

The way he says it sounds desperate, almost pleading and you frown with worry. He'd never said anything like this before.

"Sure soldat, what is it?"

Licking his lips, he almost pouts at you before taking your hands gently over the bulge in his pants. Your breathing hitches and your eyes are immediately drawn downward, tracing the curve of the straining outline and how both your hands barely fit around it.

"You always do this to me." He says quietly. "Sometimes I can wait until I'm back here but tonight you -" he hisses a breath that sounds more like a sob. "You and that banana I just- I couldn't-"

You giggle and watch as the soldier's face turns three shades of red in the space of one second. The soldier was horny for you. That's why he was different with you. But he won double points for being so cute about it and for getting hot and bothered over a banana.

You squeeze your hands around his cock and the soldier whimpers, earning him a smirk from you.

"Dont worry soldat," you reassure him. "I'll take good care of you."

[vunblr]

The Broken Waltz

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader/ Bucky Barnes x other characters.

Warnings: 18+ only. Angst. Hurt. Sprinkles of Comfort. Dark Content: Dead dove, do not eat. Violence. Depictions of sexual violence. Dehumanization. Brief description of torture. Rape/Non-con. Non-consensual use of drugs. Degradation. Hydra Trash Party. Mentions of blood.

Please read the warnings carefully, and if I’ve missed any, feel free to let me know. I'm serious, this is not like my usual content. If there is a warning you don't recognize, ask about it. You are responsible for your media consumption.

Summary: Before freedom, before choice, there was only function. A tool and a weapon, bound in a dance orchestrated by Hydra’s cruel hands. The tool was meant to mend, the weapon to destroy. That night, the tool got to witness the weapon's other purposes.

Word Count: 5.6.k.

notes: This is a side-story from the completed Toy Soldier series. It can likely be read as a standalone, but for context: Reader is a mutant with healing abilities, kept in cryo alongside the Winter Soldier over the years to repair him and ensure he remains operational. If you didn't read the main story, I'm afraid there will be spoilers at the end.

As the guards escorted her through the dark corridors, their boots echoed against the cold concrete walls. She knew where they were taking her, had only been here once before, but once was enough. It was the night she learned what other uses Hydra had for the Soldat.

She didn’t ask why they’d dressed her like this -a dress, and heels that made her steps unsteady- she wasn’t stupid enough to question it. But the nerves twisted her stomach as they led her deeper into the facility.

They stopped at a different door this time, bigger and rusted, pitted with age. But she could picture the scenario waiting behind it, and her hands started to tremble.

One of the men reached for the handle. The hinges groaned as it swung open, but the sound was swallowed immediately by the music seeping out, a slow, pulsing bass that vibrated through her bones. The scent in the air hit her next, thick with smoke, sweat, and something else.

Her pulse pounded against her chest as she hesitated at the threshold, and a firm hand pressed into the small of her back. Not a push, not yet. Just a reminder. Keep moving.

Someone noticed her. A man near an improvised bar turned to her, his grin was sharp and knowing, as his gaze dragged over her form.

“Ah,” he drawled, sipping from a glass. “About time.”

Her stomach churned. She swallowed it down.

Then a second voice, closer, colder. “Come on, don’t keep us waiting.” A hand closed around her wrist. Not a bruising grip, but firm, insistent. She forced herself forward.

Laughter rippled from the far side of the room, loose and taunting, while bodies draped lazily over worn-out furniture. Half-drunk officers, lounging agents, some already slipping hands beneath pants or unbuckling belts. At the center of it all, stood him.

The Soldat.

He wasn’t restrained. He didn’t need to be. Not with the way they had carved obedience into his brain, made his body react before his mind could resist. His expression was blank, unreadable. But she saw the tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers curled slightly at his sides before flexing loose again. A tell.

His handler sat nearby, with his legs crossed, and one arm draped over the chair like a king on his throne. His gaze flicked over her, unimpressed. “I was wondering if I should retrieve you myself,” he mused. “But it seems you were just putting in extra effort to look pretty for tonight.”

She didn’t answer. Didn’t even let herself stiffen.

“Sit,” he said, motioning to a cushioned chair. An order, dressed as a courtesy.

She complied.

The handler leaned back, exhaling like this was all a dull inconvenience. He gestured vaguely toward the Soldat. “Let’s see… Orlov, just do it. It doesn’t look like it’s going to get hard on its own anytime soon, and you know how some of the guys get when they don’t get to play with the full package.”

It.

Always it.

Never he. Because to them, that’s all the Soldat was, a thing.

‘Orlov’ stepped forward, a man in a neatly pressed blue suit. Detached, he pressed a metal syringe to the side of Soldat’s neck and thumbed the plunger. The liquid disappeared into his bloodstream. He didn’t flinch.

The handler sighed again, shifting in his seat. “I’m tired of this chair. Get on your hands and knees.”

Soldat obeyed instantly, lowering himself to the floor without hesitation. The handler perched himself onto his broad back like a piece of furniture, rolling his shoulders before reaching into his pocket. A velvet bag emerged from it, and the drawstring loosened between his fingers.

He rattled it once. “I’ll draft the numbers now.”

Excited murmurs rose from the crowd, and the anticipation sharpened the air.

“Patience, gentlemen,” the handler said, in an almost jovial tone, like this was nothing more than a friendly game. A joke among comrades.

He reached into the bag.

And the night began.

----

She didn’t understand why she was here.

For nearly two hours, she had sat motionless, a silent spectator to the relentless degradation inflicted upon the Soldat.

She had watched as they forced him to lick their boots, dragging his tongue over leather, metal, and filth while rough hands struck him at random. The blows landed carelessly: open-palmed slaps, backhanded strikes, sharp cuffs to the head that made him lurch but never resist. They had bent him over next, pressed him down with easy cruelty, and brought out a paddle. She didn’t know what it was made of, only that it was capable of leaving angry red welts blooming across his skin, crisscrossing over old bruises like a map of their past indulgences.

And now-

Now, he knelt in the center of the room, forced to orally service them, one after another. His head yanked forward and back at their whim and other times, they just grabbed his long locks to hold him in place and they thrust harshly down his throat. His knees were pressed into what looked like shattered glass. She couldn’t tell if it had been scattered there on purpose or if a bottle had been dropped and left behind, but the damage was the same. Dark smears stained the wooden planks beneath him, fresh blood dripping steadily from the ravaged skin.

She tried not to watch. She really tried.

But the chair they had placed her in was angled toward the scene, a deliberate choice, and the guard beside her stood too close, with the long barrel of his gun nearly brushing against her arm. And then, there were the sounds. Wet, broken, relentless, rising over the muffled pulse of the music, embedding themselves into her ears.

And then-

A loud crack.

The slap landed hard across Soldat’s face, snapping his head to the side.

“Look at what you did!”

The man who had just pulled himself from Soldat’s throat was seething, his face was twisted in rage. The hem of his trousers was stained deep red since the blood from Soldat’s knees soaked into the fabric.

He flinched as the agent wrenched his head back by the hair, forcing him to look at the damage.

“You useless thing,” the agent spat. His fingers dug into Soldat’s scalp, twisting cruelly. “You think this is funny? How the hell am I supposed to explain-”

He cut himself off with a growl, shoving the asset away like he couldn’t stand the sight of him. “This can’t happen again,” he muttered darkly. Then, firmer: “It won’t happen again.”

Dragging his foot, he shoved a pile of blood-slicked glass shards toward him. “Eat it.”

Silence.

“All of it.”

For a moment -just a fraction of a second- Soldat hesitated.

His eyes flicked up, searching for something.

It wasn’t rebellion. It wasn’t resistance. Just something close to human, buried so deep it barely surfaced before being swallowed back down.

And then, as if something inside him snapped back into place, he obeyed. His fingers trembled only slightly as he scooped the jagged pieces into his palm. Brought them to his mouth.

The first bite sent fresh blood spilling past his lips.

His throat worked around the sharp edges, every movement of his jaw was slow, deliberate, agonizing. His breath hitched as a shard sliced the inside of his cheek, a small, choked sound that escaped before he could stop it.

A whimper.

Soft. Nearly lost beneath the noise of the room.

The agent’s fury reignited at once.

“Swallow it all,” he barked, yanking at his hair again. “Or I swear to god, I’ll shove the rest of it up your sloppy ass!”

Soldat shuddered, and his body trembled with restraint. His wet eyes burned with the sting of unshed tears as he forced himself to chew. To swallow.

His throat clenched around the shards, red smearing across his lips, his chin.

But he did as he was told.

----

The handler sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “Fucking hell,” he muttered under his breath.

It was against policy to intervene while the winners were playing with the asset. But now that the damage was done -now that Soldat had swallowed every last sliver of glass off the floor- there was no choice. If its insides tore beyond repair, the party would be over before it could really begin, and tomorrow's mission would be delayed.

The handler turned to her with a flat, bored expression. “Fix it. Periodically. Its stomach needs time to dissolve the glass, and I don’t need it bleeding out on any of the carpets.”

She nodded. Then, at the risk of being ‘disciplined,’ she hesitated, just enough to seem careful, not defiant. “Sir,” she started carefully, lowering her gaze, “the noise and… the space here makes it hard to concentrate. May I take him somewhere quieter? Just the corner, so I can work properly.”

It was a complete lie. But the man barely looked at her before waving a hand, already losing interest. “Fine. Just don’t take too long.”

She exhaled silently, then reached for Soldat’s wrist.

The skin beneath her fingers was too cold. He didn’t flinch. He just let her guide him through the crowd, moving with the same eerie compliance as always. Around them, heat and alcohol-thick laughter embraced them, with grasping hands brushed against her arms, fingers grazing her waist. She kept moving.

As they weaved through the sea of bodies, she let a slow trickle of healing energy seep through her grip, mending the welts on his rear, and the smaller scrapes littering his skin. She couldn’t do much without direct touch, but it was enough to ease the fresh bruising, to soften the pain just slightly.

When they reached the spot she had chosen, she gestured to a stool, small, rickety, ridiculous. “Sit, darling,” she murmured, gently. “So I can reach you properly.”

He obeyed instantly, lowering himself onto the stool without hesitation. His posture was perfect, straight spine, knees spread just enough to be ready to stand promptly. The blood pooling in his mouth made his lips glossy, and his throat worked hard to keep from spilling it.

“I’m going to help with your mouth, alright?” It wasn’t necessary to warn him. If she had shoved a spoonful of nails past his lips, he would have accepted it without question. But she still gave him the mercy of knowing.

Her fingers ghosted over his jaw before pressing gently against his lips. A soft glow spread beneath her palm, slipping through torn flesh, knitting muscle and skin back together.

His eyes widened, flickering with something unreadable.

Then, hesitantly -almost imperceptibly- he leaned into her touch.

Her breath caught.

For a moment, there was something painfully young in his expression. A quiet, fragile trust that had no place in this environment.

She worked quickly, sealing the lacerations on his cheeks, the punctures inside his mouth, and the shredded edges of his tongue. The bleeding slowed. Then stopped completely.

But she lingered, with her hand still cradling his jaw, feeling the warmth of his breath against her skin. “Better?” she murmured.

His lips parted slightly beneath her touch. He swallowed hard, nodding faintly.

She did the same with his throat, then let her hand drift lower, pressing gently over his chest, then his stomach, focusing on the unseen damage inside his body. She avoided looking at the painful, leaking erection straining against his belly, but it was difficult, especially when she had to kneel to mend his torn knees. He had been like this for hours, courtesy of whatever they had injected into his bloodstream, to endure its effects long past the point of agony.

How much longer would they make him suffer?

When she looked up again, she caught him wetting his lips, noticing how his throat worked as he swallowed. Right. He had spent the last few hours licking boots, servicing men, choking on their pleasure, only to end up with his mouth full of blood.

“Are you thirsty?” she asked softly.

He didn’t respond. He was too well-trained for that. But his eyes betrayed him.

She glanced around and spotted a half-empty water bottle discarded nearby. Reaching for it, she held it out to him. His gaze locked onto it, desperation flashing behind his carefully blank expression.

But he didn’t take it.

His hands remained on his thighs, his fingers curled in silent obedience, waiting.

Then she remembered.

She had heard his handler laughing in his face earlier, taunting him If you’re thirsty, Soldat, find a guest to suck it from. That’s the only drink you’ll be getting tonight.

Her stomach churned. That perverted son of a bitch.

Then, an idea came to her, a fragment from one of those ridiculous romantic novels she used to devour before all this. It might not work. But if it did…

Slowly, she uncapped the bottle and took a generous sip.

His eyes darted downward, and he tensed his jaw. His shoulders went rigid as if escaping from another cruelty, another taunt about what he could never have.

Instead, she reached out, fingers light under his chin, guiding his face up to hers. Then, she leaned in and pressed her lips to his.

He froze, startled by the shift in her demeanor.

Her lips moved against his, coaxing, soft. When her tongue brushed his lower lip in silent request, his lips parted, hesitantly at first, but when she tilted her head, letting the water slip from her mouth to his, he swallowed without hesitation.

But it wasn’t enough.

 The moment she started to pull back, his breath stuttered, and before she could fully retreat, his tongue flickered out, clumsy, desperate, catching on her lower lip as if searching for more.

A low, aching sound left his lips, and she hesitated for only a second before drinking and tipping forward again. This time, she pressed deeper, letting her tongue slide against his as another mouthful spilled between them. His throat worked, taking every drop.

When she finally pulled back, he was panting with damp lips, and his eyes were blown wide with something raw, something dangerously close to reverence.

She licked the last trace from her lips. “What do you say?” she murmured, voice barely above a whisper. “Want the rest?”

A nod. Small, barely there.

But real.

----

The air was thick with sweat and sex, clinging to her skin like a second layer. At some point, some of the spectators had wandered off, no longer entertained, while others -too drunk or too aroused- began touching themselves or indulging in one another.

If there had been even a thread of innocence left in her about what people could do to each other during sex, it unraveled completely that night. Not that it mattered. Damaged goods couldn’t mourn the loss of something already long gone.

She had once agonized over losing her virginity before marriage, racked with guilt over the belief that no respectable man would want her afterward. Laughable. Especially when, just a couple of months later, she discovered her sweetheart had been cheating all along.

And now?

Now, she sat watching these men -these monsters- pound into Soldat, fisting his hair to use his mouth like a fleshlight, carving slurs into his skin with the tip of a knife, playing darts against his flesh as if his body were nothing but a living target board.

Most of them wore wedding rings.

Respectable men with families to return to, wives to kiss, children to lift into their arms. Hours ago, they had taken turns forcing a human doll -chained to a wall- to accommodate whatever they could think of. Testing his limits like he was a broken machine, stuffing objects inside him just to see if he could take it.

They had laughed at his suffering. Struck him for the crime of exhaling too sharply. When he whimpered, they punished him for making noise.

And now, beneath the dim, flickering light, they poured their own cum into cocktail glasses smirking, toasting, collecting it in a disgusting jar that would no doubt be used in some other depraved act before the night was over.

----

A drunken cheer erupted from the corner of the room, followed by raucous laughter. She didn’t want to look. Didn’t want to know.

But her gaze betrayed her, drawn to the loose circle forming around Soldat. Their eyes gleamed, alight with cruel amusement.

A man she recognized -one of the cruelest- stood at the center, with a cigarette pinched lazily between his fingers. He took a slow drag, exhaling smoke through his nose like a bored dragon.

Then the scent hit her nose.

Burning flesh.

Her stomach lurched as she spotted it, a small ember of orange pressed against the meat of Soldat’s thigh. The contact lasted only a second, a brief sizzle before the man pulled back to inspect his work.

He frowned. Unimpressed.

“Nothing,” he muttered, taking another drag.

“Figures.” Someone else snorted. “It’s just a fucking corpse with a pulse.”

“Maybe we’re not trying hard enough.”

The murmurs of agreement were instant. A ripple of dark anticipation.

The cigarette man smirked. Then, without hesitation, his free hand reached down, curling his fingers around the rigid length between Soldat’s thighs.

Heat crawled up her neck and sick, bitter nausea at the sight of what was coming. His body was slick, coated in sweat, his drug-induced erection still throbbing in cruel betrayal.

“Wonder if it’ll react to this,” the man mused.

The cigarette lowered, pressed just beneath the sensitive head.

This time, Soldat flinched.

It was barely noticeable -a twitch of muscle, a ghost of a movement- but they saw it.

And like sharks catching the scent of blood, they surged.

“Oh, you felt that, didn’t you?” A rough hand fisted in his hair, jerking his head up, forcing eye contact. “Bet it doesn’t hurt as bad as getting your throat split open, huh? Do you even feel pain anymore?”

The cigarette was pressed down again.

A sharp, wet inhale.

His stomach tensed, and his muscles coiled like a trapped animal. His body knew to recoil, even if his conditioning held him still.

The ember dragged a slow, deliberate path along his shaft, burning the skin in thin, blackened lines. Flesh darkened beneath the heat, branding him with each cruel press.

Someone passed another cigarette. Then another.

The men took turns pressing them into him, searing small, blistering circles along his cock, his thighs, and hip bones. A slow, methodical defilement. Some fresh and raw, others already darkening, puckering.

A sigh.

Heavy. Exasperated.

The handler stepped forward, boot nudging Soldat’s chin up, as cold, assessing eyes flicked over his ruined body. The spit drying on his bruised skin. The lipstick stains, smeared and fading. The fresh burns now marred his flesh. He curved his lip with disdain. “You look fucking disgusting.” A scoff. A lazy wave in her direction. “Fix it. I don’t need it pissing blood all over the floor.”

She moved toward him on unsteady legs, too slow for the handler’s liking.

He made a show of tapping his chin, exaggerating the gesture as if deep in thought. Then, with a smirk that curdled her insides, he spoke, “You know, pet, you’re already dressed for the occasion. "Fix it with your mouth.”

Her stomach turned. Her steps faltered.

The agents laughed, tossing crude comments her way, jeering that she was finally going to earn her place instead of sulking in a chair.

She forced herself to breathe. “I don’t know if I can, sir,” she tried, with a calm voice despite the tremor threatening at the edges. “I’ve never-”

“Don’t act all shy now, you slut.” The words cut through the space like a whip crack. “Far as I’m concerned, you’ve had your mouth on more than a couple of cocks in here.”

The laughter swelled. A few mocking whistles followed, crude and sharp.

She willed herself not to react. Not to remember.

Instead, she lowered her gaze. Pick your battles. “I meant healing, sir. My mouth… I’ve never used it like that before.”

The handler tilted his head, amused. “What better time to learn than now?”

He turned, spitting his next command at Soldat. “On your feet.”

Then, his eyes snapped back to her.

“You. Put that mouth to use before I change my mind and make you earn your food with your holes.”

She couldn’t stop the shudder that rolled through her body.

A thick swallow. A deep breath. Then she got on her knees, pressing hesitant hands against Soldat’s hips. His skin was clammy under her palms, too warm now, from fever or drugs or both. The scent of his body hit her like a blow, charred flesh, sweat, and the metallic tang of blood that trickled between his thighs.

Her stomach twisted, but she leaned in anyway.

A tentative lick, a slow stripe along his shaft. She reached, searching for the connection, trying to channel her gift through her tongue.

Nothing.

Her stomach clenched. She tried again, swirling her tongue around seared skin, forcing herself to ignore the low, wet noises of the room.

Nothing.

She pulled back, lips barely parting as she murmured, “It- it doesn’t work.”

The handler sighed, in a long and theatrical tone, as if she were a child disappointing a parent. “Useless bitch.” He flicked his wrist, already bored. “Fine. Use your hands.”

A pause.

“While you suck that pathetic excuse of a dick it got there. Don’t want the boys dying of boredom.”

Her fingers trembled as she wrapped them around him, the burned skin hot beneath her touch. She swallowed hard.

The agents were watching. Waiting.

A hand clamped down on the back of her neck, squeezing just enough to make her jolt. "Now," the handler warned with impatience.

Her lips parted, and she forced herself forward, feeling the taste of sweat and burned flesh thick on her tongue. The moment she took him into her mouth, laughter erupted around them. Some sneered in approval, others jeered with drunken amusement.

“Look at her,” one of them drawled, slurring slightly. “Acting like she’s never done it before.”

A sharp slap landed against the side of her face, not hard enough to bruise but meant to humiliate.

His skin was fever-hot on her mouth, the brutalized flesh cracked and raw where the cigarettes had bitten deep. He didn’t react. Didn’t flinch. He just stood there, waiting to be used, to be humiliated, to endure.

She breathed through her nose, shifting her mouth slightly, adjusting to the salt and copper clinging to her tongue.

Soldat’s stomach tensed. Just barely. Just enough for her to notice. Her hands smoothed over his hip in reassurance, though she wasn’t sure who she was trying to comfort.

“There you go,” the handler mused, with mock satisfaction. “Not so useless after all.”

Her hands began to glow faintly, and her gift sought out the worst of the wounds, the deepest burns, the tears that had yet to stop bleeding.

“Ah, help her rinse her mouth”, one of the men said, pouring his drink on Soldat's groin, splashing her face in the process. She imagined the burn of alcohol searing over the scalded skin of his cock, a punishment layered upon punishment.

He twitched in her mouth, jerking from pain or something else, she couldn’t say. And yet, quiet, shameful gratitude curled in her chest, and her lips parted slightly as the mock assistance washed over her tongue, ridding her of the taste of burned flesh.

Her fingers ghosted then over the ruined skin of his shaft, guiding her healing through the raw burns, knitting together flesh that should never have been damaged in the first place. Beneath her touch, she felt him twitch again, the smallest, involuntary reaction to relief.

The room buzzed with lazy amusement. Some had lost interest, slumping back in their chairs with half-drunk glasses dangling from their fingers, while others watched with languid, predatory satisfaction.

"It’s... it’s done, sir," she murmured, keeping her gaze toward the floor, and her hands trembling against her thighs.

Laughter. Mocking.

"I still see it at full attention, pet."

She clenched her teeth, willing herself not to react. Of course it was. The cocktail of drugs coursing through his veins had ensured that much.

“But the healing-”

"Oh, for the love of God," the handler groaned, exasperated. "Just suck it dry the same way you do with Bìkov on his shifts. You’ve already started, after all."

A pause. A slow, deliberate smirk.

"Besides, I think it likes you."

A sharp pat to Soldat’s shoulder, condescending, like a master indulging a particularly obedient pet.

She pressed her lips together, feeling her pulse roaring in her ears.

A slow inhale.

"Yes, sir."

She leaned in again, gently pressing her fingers against the tense muscles of his thighs as she worked his hard, throbbing length with slow and deliberate motions. At some point, his blue gaze flicked down to her. She held his stare as she swirled her tongue around the sensitive head of his cock, washing away the last traces of pain. Slowly, she took him deeper, hollowing her cheeks as she sucked him gently, coaxingly. One hand slid to cup and massage his heavy balls, while the other slid up and down the part of his cock she couldn’t accommodate in her mouth. She started to move with the determination to bring him to completion quickly. 

The room faded away -the leering faces, the harsh lights, the laughs-. At that moment, there was only him, and his taste in her mouth. A perverse intimacy born of cruelty and circumstance.

The tension in his body shifted, and the trembling was no longer solely from pain. His breath hitched, and his fingers twitched where they had been obediently fisted at his sides. A shudder ran through his body, deep and uncontrollable, as his body finally gave in to something other than suffering.

His release was silent. No groan, no exhale of pleasure, only the sharp, involuntary clench of his abdomen, and the sudden, erratic rise and fall of his chest as his hips jerked once, twice. His body convulsed with the force of the orgasm, and his shoulders locked tight before he sagged forward, utterly spent.

For a moment, nothing moved. He was still hard -of course he was- but the unbearable strain had lessened, and the raw edge of his agony momentarily dulled. Even if just for a second, his body had been allowed to take something back.

She pulled away, swallowing thickly as she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, trying not to think about what had just happened, what she had done, what he had been forced to endure. She wasn’t sure how she felt. Relief? Shame? It didn’t matter now.

The room, however, reacted differently.

Laughter erupted in the stance, drunken and wild, it was the sound of amusement tinged with something mean-spirited. Someone clapped, slow and mocking. “Well, would you look at that,” the handler drawled, stepping forward. His boot nudged at Soldat’s knee, forcing his posture back into proper submission. “Guess it had more in it than we thought.”

More laughter. A murmur of approval, men slapping each other’s backs like they had just witnessed a particularly good joke.

----

As expected, the jar of collective filth had a purpose.

At some point -between the agony, the laughter, the sick indulgence- someone had forced the asset into a maid’s dress. The fabric clung awkwardly to his frame, and the short skirt pooled in humiliating ruffles over bruised thighs. A lacy headpiece had been pinned into his damp, tangled hair, slipping askew with the weight of sweat and abuse.

And now, they had him kneeling before the jar, a straw pressed between his raw, swollen lips.

After all the abhorrent things she had witnessed that night, this felt… surreal. It should have been absurd, laughable in its ridiculousness. But it wasn’t. Not with the way his hands stayed obediently folded over his lap, not with the way his hollow eyes stared straight ahead, as he drew slow, mechanical sips from the straw.

The men around him roared with laughter, snapping pictures with strange cameras, sleek, silver things with small glowing screens, no film to spool, no rolls to develop. Instant gratification. They posed beside him like he was nothing more than a prop, tilting his chin up, forcing his battered lips into a parody of a pout.

Like a girl sipping a milkshake for a magazine cover.

A beaten, swollen, defiled version of that, obviously.

----

The night had stretched long, and the indulgence had given way to exhaustion. The room had thinned, only the most depraved lingered to watch the final act of entertainment.

Soldat had been given an order.

Dance with her.

His head tilted slightly at the order, and his swollen lips parted as if to breathe in the command like it was something tangible. Then, with slow, deliberate steps, he turned toward her chair.

His tired eyes found her across the room, sunken into herself, bracing for whatever fresh cruelty they had conjured. He moved. Slow, limping, his bare feet sticking to the filth-slicked floor, and the torn lace of his ridiculous maid’s dress swaying pitifully against his bruised thighs. He stopped before her, close enough for her to see the dried blood at his hairline, and the trembling in his fingers as he extended his hand.

A parody of elegance.

A gentleman in a ballroom.

The room was silent now, watching. Waiting. She took his hand -what other choice did she have?- and there was no hesitation in his grip as he pulled her up. He led her to the center of the room, positioning her as was desired, and then… he moved.

Despite everything -the degradation, the broken skin, the exhaustion woven into every fiber of his body- he was a good dancer. He guided her with a firm but gentle hold, leading her through the waltz as if this were an evening of refinement instead of a pit of debauchery.

She forced herself to focus on him. Not the sneers, not the slurred laughter, not the echoes of what they did to him, or what they made her do. Just him.

His lips were split, and a cheekbone was darkened with bruising, yet his eyes -God, his eyes- were what undid her.

Awake. Not just alive, but aware.

And in that awareness, something wretched.

Sadness. Heavy and inescapable, a ghost of a man still lingering in the hollow shell they had carved him into.

She wondered if this skill on the dance floor was shoved into his brain as another tool, another weapon for seduction and subterfuge, or was a remnant of something real. A fragment of the past, long buried beneath steel orders and forced obedience.

She tried to picture it. A different setting. A different life.

Trade the tattered maid dress for a suit and tie, with the sharp cut of the jacket emphasizing his broad shoulders and strong arms. His tangled and dirty hair, clean and neatly styled. His mouth free of blood, curving into a mischievous, charming smile.

Would he have smiled at her? Would he have asked her to dance, some lifetime ago, with laughter in his voice instead of a command in his brain?

God, she would have said yes without a second thought.

As he guided their steps in slow, measured turns, she let her thumb brush over the back of his hand, a quiet, fleeting comfort. Almost imperceptible.

“It’s almost over,” she whispered, her voice meant only for him. “Almost there, Soldat. And then, I’ll make it all go away.”

Physically, at least.

His grip on her hand tightened, just slightly. Not enough to hurt, but enough to be felt. His gaze never wavered, locked onto hers with a force that sent a shiver through her body. His lips were pressed together, then parted, just a fraction, like he wanted to speak but thought better of it.

Still, that tiny hesitation said enough.

----

Silence, at last.

The spectators had had their fill, leaving only the echoes of their laughter behind. Soldat was sent back to his "kennel," and as always, she followed; trailing in his shadow, the designated keeper of a thing they would soon redeploy, its suffering inconsequential so long as it functioned. His condition had to be pristine. His pain was irrelevant.

So here they were.

She sat on the rim of his cot, watching the broken thing beside her, an instrument of war curled in on itself, reduced to a trembling frame of raw muscle and open wounds. He didn’t try to sit, didn’t dare after what they had done to him. His back was to her, the powerful body that could break men like nothing was now curled tight as if trying to disappear.

She knew better than to startle him.

"I’m going to touch you now, sweetheart," she murmured. "Your head first. Then I’ll work my way down, alright?"

No answer. There never was.

But he moved. A shift, subtle and deliberate, and suddenly she wasn’t staring at his bruised back anymore.

Blue eyes met hers, tired, shadowed, yet startlingly present.

----

"Cream cheese or plum jam, doll?" he asked, shaking a thick slice of toast in his vibranium hand.

She blinked.

The past bled away as she lifted her head, meeting those blue eyes that were no longer dull, no longer shadowed.

He'd put it on again, her frilly, maid-like apron. The delicate lace looked absurd against muscle and metal, tied haphazardly around his broad frame.

She swallowed, pushing the memories down, and locking them away where they belonged. "Both, handsome," she answered, carefully setting the cups and cutlery on the table.

Maybe he didn’t remember that specific day.

Maybe the chair had wiped it from him, erased it like so many other things.

And for that, she was grateful.

Tags: @cats-chaotic-mind

Dividers by: @/cafekitsune

[lazycats-stuff]

Hello, firstly I love your writings ! I was wondering if you could do a Batfam x teen reader, who is like the winter soldier from Marvel? He has a Metal arm and has been trained to be a weapon .

Only if you want to, of course. have a good day !

Thanks anon, I will.

Summary: (Y/N) has been a soldier for a long time. Bruce helps him out.

(C/N) = Code name

Warnings: Similarities to Marvel's Winter Soldier, brainwashing... All of that good stuff.

Bruce didn't like the fact that there were so many children who were being experimented on. Whether or not it was their enemies who were experimenting on them, Bruce still didn't like it at all. It was also the way that he has met (Y/N) or the (C/D).

Their first fight was in Gotham when he was sent to go to kill Batman. For Bruce, that is not new. However, a seemingly teenage looking kid, with a metal arm is something new. Bruce didn't expect it and was just as shocked when he saw it glistening in the moonlight.

Bruce was nearly thrown off of a building by him and (Y/N) did break his ribs during that fight. However, he has started to investigate (Y/N) at that time. He didn't know where to begin though. He didn't believe that it was Lex.

Lex would have used genetical material to create the best soldiers. So he is out of the question. Completely.

Ra's doesn't use soldiers like that. He just revives them with the pit if they die.

Deathstroke could be a good potential suspect, but he his has been in a prison for a while now and there was no way he has been able to do it and be (Y/N)'s handler.

All agents need their handlers.

In a way, Bruce is a handler for his children and sometimes their teammates if the situation calls for it. For (Y/N), he needs a constant handler in order to keep him under control.

So where he is being held?

It had to be a lab in order to implant the arm. It would have to be secret enough in order to conduct the experiments like that. Which means a remote location in the world.

Bruce had asked his other contacts about (Y/N), if they had heard about him and his doing.

Bruce was unnerved when he got a good list of assassinations. The only thought that went through his mind is holy shit and what the hell?

Such a young kid and so many kills tacked to his name. He went through the entire list and the list is true. All of the victims were assassinated quickly and efficiently. Sheer precision and sheer efficiency.

Bruce shook his head and they had to intercept him. Bruce looked at the only photo of (Y/N) they had. Such a young boy. Nobody deserves to have this type of life. Bruce had no doubt that he was kidnapped when he was a little bit younger.

He didn't dare to think what has happened to his arm and how he got that metal arm. And besides, it didn't look that efficient at all. It didn't have great mobility and the metal itself wasn't really good for that type of purpose.

None the less, Bruce had to make a plan to get (Y/N) in the Justice League HQ. If they get him, they might get the information they need in order to shut the laboratory down.

Plus the entire facility and the people who run it. Especially people who run it.

Of course, Bruce talked to Wonder Woman and Superman to make sure that the plan is set in stone. They would have to make sure that (Y/N) is taken in quickly and swiftly.

But that would take a while and Bruce had to rest. That didn't mean he would fully rest. He would just have to walk down to the cave when none of his kids are guarding it.

Easier said then done.

However, he could ask them to watch over Gotham while he is looking for (Y/N). They have all been worried for their father after the attack and knowing that Bruce is going after him... As much as they trusted Bruce, that didn't mean that they could agree with him in doing this.

Do they believe that (Y/N) needs to be saved? Yes.

Do they believe that Bruce needs to save him? No.

Why?

Because Bruce is human and the suit can only hold and absorb so much. And they knew that Bruce knows what he is doing and they could somewhat trust him to get back in one piece.

They know that Wonder Woman and Superman will make sure that Bruce comes back in one piece and all of that, but can you really control Batman to make sure that he is unharmed. And Bruce can maybe sometimes go on his own.

And when it came to children, Bruce would go in head first to save them and that is something that everyone loved about Bruce. Children are off limits to him.

The mission went smoothly and the facility is shut down officially. (Y/N) had to be sedated and was currently in a cell strong enough that could hold Superman in if it was necessary. It didn't have any Kryptonite, but it could have.

Just in case. You never know.

Bruce watched the arm carefully. He didn't like it at all. It didn't look like it fit him the way it was supposed too. It looked liked it was just clamped there and Bruce didn't like the fact that this metal wasn't used for this type of things and yet they put it on this poor boy.

Bruce knew that (Y/N) had a long way ahead of him. Thankfully, the book that contained his trigger words has been burned, all thanks to Bruce. He was happy to see it burn and Superman swore that Bruce looked unhinged at the that very moment.

Nobody believed him.

Bruce knew that he would take (Y/N) home with him to start healing, far away from the facility. There will be no more missions for him, at least until he is free from the shackles that they have implanted in his mind.

When (Y/N) woke up, it wasn't easy for him to realize that he isn't going back and he may have banged on the glass for a very long time and Bruce knew that it would take a while. So he stayed and waited. He was happy that he invested into this cell.

He sat down and he waited. He didn't say anything to (Y/N), he just waited. He didn't mock him for his tries. He just waited patiently for him to finish.

It took hours before (Y/N) was exhausted and just slumped down. Bruce took a moment to think about what to say to (Y/N).

" Can we talk? " Bruce asked and (Y/N) just huffed.

" All you want is information. "

" We found the facility where you operate from. Your handler and everyone there was arrested. We have all of the intel we need. I don't care about information. " Bruce said, watching (Y/N)'s face.

A slow, subtle change from neutral to shock... Oh, whoever trained him did a good job, but not good enough. (Y/N) didn't expect that.

" Then what do you want? " (Y/N) asked, crossing his arms and Bruce heard the squeak of the arm and saw a subtle clench of his fingers.

" I want to give you a normal life. And a better arm too. This one looks like it hurts. " Bruce said and (Y/N) glanced down at his arm.

" What? " (Y/N) asked softly and Bruce saw a... Shimer of hope?

" Yes. But for now, you will need to stay here. I have to make some arrangements and you will have to see a therapist. " Bruce said, raising his hand when he saw the protest coming.

" You need to speak to one. You need to process everything you have been through. " Bruce finished and stood up.

" You see that button near the doors of the cell? If you need something, you can press it and ask for it. I have to go back to Gotham, but I will visit you tomorrow. "

(Y/N) didn't say anything as Bruce walked out of the room. Was Batman telling him the truth?

After a week, (Y/N) was brought to the manor. Everyone was slightly nervous about having a brainwashed soldier in their house, but they didn't want to show it. Alfred specifically because he knows he is not young anymore.

His bones won't heal that quickly.

But he didn't show the way he was nervous. And he won't. (Y/N) has just become his grandchild even though he didn't know it. The house has been enhanced so that (Y/N) doesn't break the stuff.

Not that (Y/N) would. He was far too grateful that he wasn't in a cell anymore. He was so careful, but quiet. If the family wasn't trained to pick up on those type of enemies, they would have been scared shitless, numerous amounts of times.

Now the only problem was (Y/N) adjusting to a routine without a mission. Sometimes loud bangs would make him tense and they would have to bring him back.

The other problem was (Y/N)'s arm. With the help from Lucius, he managed to make a better one, the one that would suit him better and would just make him feel better overall.

(Y/N) cracked a smile when he saw his knew arm. Bruce saw that as an absolute win and (Y/N) got happier with his arm.

Now, the others included him in their own activities. (Y/N) liked the meditation from Damian. He often did it when his mind got too much for him.

Dick showed him gymnastics and has decided to teach him a few moves. (Y/N) had to admit, it felt good on his muscles.

Jason showed him some places in the house if he ever needed to be alone from everyone and showed him a space that he has made his own.

Tim has decided to show him his favorite TV shows and movies. (Y/N) got very fascinated and watched them every other night with Tim. (Y/N)'s favorite was Inglorious Basterds.

And Alfred was sure to discover what he liked about food. He would be an official taster of the family and would tell Alfred how it is. Needs more of this, needs more of that... And in the process, he is discovering what he likes and dislikes. So far it has been a fun experience.

And Bruce could see that he was getting happier and happier with them. Slowly but surely. But he was still nervous around other people and they were still working on it.

But they were in it for the long run and they wouldn't change their for anything.