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sergeantbarnessdoll · 3 months ago

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Hi can you do a fic where female reader is a winter soldier in civil war as well as Bucky but he doesn’t get activated but his the reader does and the avengers and Bucky has to get through to her. He finally does when Steve and him crash the helicopter to keep her from leaving by asking her to finally marry him please?

I love your fics so much

Marry Me » Bucky Barnes/Winter Soldier

Pairings: Boyfriend!Bucky Barnes x Girlfriend/Winter Soldier!Reader with Steve Rogers/Captain America and the Avengers

Summary: You get activated as the Winter Soldier, but Bucky doesn’t. When he gets through to you, he asks you to marry him.

Warnings: Angst (not you and Bucky), Fluff, language, violence, crying, kissing, pet names

A/N: Thank you for the request @bladesismylife 🩵

A/N #2: I used Google Translation for the Russian translations. I apologize if I got anything wrong.

Translations: ready to comply: я готов отвечать |

Written on my phone. My apologies for any mistakes.

GIF IS NOT MINE! Gif credit goes to the creator.

You groaned softly as you woke up. You don’t remember passing out or how you ended up in a metal pod with your arms and legs strapped down with metal restraints. You looked around the room, trying to gather your surroundings. Lucky for you, Bucky was in the same room as you. Unfortunately, he was in the same position as you right now.

“Thank god! You’re awake!” Bucky says in relief.

“Where are we?” You asked.

“I think it’s some kind of facility.” He says.

You two managed to keep each other calm by talking to each other. Zemo walks in the room and sits down at the table that’s a few feet away from the pods you and Bucky are in.

“Hello, I’m Helmut Zemo. I’m here to evaluate you.” Zemo says, looking at you.

Little do the both of you know that Zemo’s focus is on you, not Bucky.

“What do you want?” You asked, your voice filled with annoyance.

“I just want to talk, Y/N.” Zemo says.

You and Bucky watched closely as Zemo rummaged through a file folder from your days in HYDRA.

“You’ve seen a great deal, haven’t you, Y/N?” Zemo begins. “I’m here to discuss your home. Not where you grew up. Your real home.” He says.

Zemo picked up a journal with a black cover. Your eyes went wide and your heart dropped to the pit of your stomach.

“What the hell is that?” Bucky asks.

“You’ll see in a moment, James.” Zemo says.

Zemo opened the journal, flipping to the page that has your trigger words written on it. He stood up and started reading each trigger word. Your breathing became uneven. You squeezed your eyes shut and tried to tuned him out.

“Doll, don’t listen to him. Focus on me.” Bucky says.

You opened your eyes and looked at your boyfriend. Bucky could see the pain in your eyes. Zemo circled the pod you’re in as he read your trigger words. He stood in between yours and Bucky’s pods, blocking your view of Bucky.

“Please stop.” You pleaded, tears rolling down your cheeks.

Zemo didn’t stop. He read every single trigger word till you broke free from the metal restraints and broke yourself out of the metal pod, using all of your strength. Bucky watches with wide eyes. You slowly stood up in from of Zemo.

“Soldat?” Zemo says.

“я готов отвечать.” You replied.

Zemo brought up a date from years ago. It was a mission you did for HYDRA. You didn’t respond to that well and Bucky seen it firsthand. Bucky used all of his strength to get free of the restrains and the metal pod at the same time Steve and Sam entered the room.

“What the hell happened?” Steve asks.

“Zemo activated Y/N as the Winter Soldier.” Bucky tells him.

“Why didn’t he activate you?” Sam asks.

“I don’t know.” Bucky replies.

Bucky, Steve, and Sam seen Zemo on the floor. Bucky picked him up and slammed him against the wall.

“What the hell did you do to my girlfriend?!” Bucky growls.

“Like I said, James, you’ll see.” Zemo says with an evil grin on his face.

“What the hell is supposed to mean?” Steve asks.

That’s when you came up behind Bucky, Steve, and Sam and started attacking them. They tried to dodge all of your punches and kicks, but you still knocked them to the floor. Bucky ran after you and grabbed you from behind as you tried to left the room.

“Doll, you have to fight it. This isn’t you.” Bucky says.

You tried to squirm free, but Bucky had a tight grip on you. You threw your head back, giving him a blood nose, which made him let go of you so he could hold his bloody nose. You left the room.

“Buck, are you ok?” Steve asks.

“I’m fine.” Bucky says, uncovering his nose.

“Your nose is bleeding.” Steve points out.

“Yea, I know. She threw her head back against my nose.” Bucky tells him.

While Sam went to see where Zemo went off to, Bucky went to the seating area with Steve following behind him. You flipped Sharon into a table and slammed Natasha into another table. You then found a gun and aimed it at Tony. That’s when Bucky ran over to you and got it out of your hand and crushed it with his metal hand.

“You need to snap out of this, doll. I know you can.” Bucky says.

You stared Bucky right in his eyes before walking away. Bucky followed close behind you.

“Why is Barnes trying to sweet talk Y/N?” T’Challa asks Steve.

“He’s trying to get her to snap out of it.” Steve says before following you and Bucky.

Bucky followed you to the roof. He watched you get in the helicopter and start it up. Bucky ran over to it, grabbing on to it and using all of his strength to stop it. Steve got on the roof just in time to help Bucky. Your jaw clenched as you glared at your boyfriend and his best friend. You move the helicopter towards them. They jumped out of the way before the helicopter hit them. Bucky watched in horror as the helicopter fell off the edge of the roof and into the water below. He jumped off the roof and into the water to get you. Steve jumped in the water as well. Bucky pulled you out of the helicopter that’s now under water and then got you above water, swimming to the side with you in his arms. He gently out of the water and got out of the water with Steve’s help.

“Doll, wake up.” Bucky says softly, gently tapping your cheek.

You woke up and coughed up water. Bucky helped you sit up and rubbed your back.

“Y/N?” He asks, making sure it’s you and not the Winter Soldier.

“Yes?” You asked as yourself.

Bucky felt relieved that you’re back to your normal self and hugged you. He then pulled away from the hug and cupped your cheeks, gazing deep in your eyes.

“Are you ok?” He asks.

“I am now.” You replied.

Bucky leaned his forehead against yours, still gazing in your eyes.

“Marry me?” Bucky asks softly.

You felt your heart flutter in your chest when he said that.

“What?” You asked, making sure you heard him right.

“Will you marry me?” He asks again. “I know I don’t have a ring, but I can’t go another day without you being my wife.” He says with love and adoration in his voice.

Your eyes teared up at Bucky’s heartfelt words.

“Of course I’ll marry you, Bucky.” You say happily.

Bucky smiles widely and kisses you passionately. Steve watches the cute moment in front of him. He’s happy that his best friend found someone he loves and wants to spend the rest of his life with.

“Congratulations, you guys.” Steve smiles.

You two pulled away from the kiss and smiled at Steve.

We should get out of here before we get caught.” Steve says.

“That’s a good idea.” Bucky says.

You and Bucky kissed once more before standing up.

“I love you so much, doll.” He says softly with a smile.

“I love you too, baby.” You almost whispered, smiling back.

🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵

-Bucky’s Doll

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importantstudentbusinessspy-blog · 4 months ago

Text

Controlled

Masterlist

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x (f)reader

Tags: NSFW, third person POV, 1950s-60s, spies, psychological conditioning, telepathic reader, mind control, PTSD, cold war, Hydra, winter soldier program, split personality disorder, emotional, jealousy, protective bucky, possessive bucky

Additional tags: sex, sub reader, dom/sub dynamics, intimacy, forced proximity, sadism, blood, biting

“Test number five.” The Hydra research intern, a man named Mark, spoke into the recorder before clicking it. “Since our last test, subject G-34, was able to read the thoughts of all the people in the room with her, she has been practicing since. Isn't that right, G-34?”

“Right,” she nodded, wiping her sweaty palms on her beige uniform. The same uniform all the test subjects in the facility wore.

“And now, we will test her ability to read someone outside of her vicinity. I have a screen with me where I will type questions to Dr. Braun, who is in the next room. He will type the answers back to me. All I want is for you, G-34, to tell me his answers. Nod if you understand.”

As soon as she nodded, he began to type into his computer. “Go ahead.”

She closed her eyes and concentrated on locating Dr. Braun's mind. When at last she found her intended destination, she began with the first answer. “The shirt he is wearing is the color blue.”

The scientist nodded, before typing in a new question.

“The number he is currently thinking about is 34,” She answered.

“Very good.” The scientist mumbled, already typing in the next.

She focused again. “His dog is a mix of a husky and–” her voice cut off with a sudden gasp.

Braun’s voice was gone. Replaced by a completely different one. The new voice belonged to a man, English. No... no, American. “No, no, no, please I don't want to forget!!”

She cupped her ears, desperately trying to quiet the overwhelming mental scream.

Simultaneously, someone else spoke to the screaming American, in Russian.

“Желание” (wish) The third party spoke.

“No!” The American cried desperately.

“Семнадцать” (seventeen)

“Stop!”

“Ржавый” (rusty)

“Please! I don't want to feel this anymore! Please just kill me! Kill me!” The American begged.

“Stop it!!” G-34 let out a cry of her own. With her head in her hands, she was desperate for the torment and pain to cease. Whoever he was, wherever he was. He was in agony. He was terrified. What kind of experiments were they running on him? She shivered from the thought of it alone.

“G-34?” Mark placed his hand on her shoulder.

“S-sorry,” She said through clenched teeth. “I am hearing from someone else. A man. He is in great pain.”

“... Interesting.” The scientist said. Not a shred of sympathy in his tone as he wrote in his notepad. “Can you still hear him?”

“Yes, he–” Before she could finish speaking, the voice disappeared. Or rather, changed. He was calm now. Quiet. At first, she wondered if she was back to hearing Dr. Braun. But no, it was the same voice that had been screaming just a moment ago. This time however, he spoke in Russian.

She had only managed to catch the last few words when he said, “Зимний солдат... готов отвечать.” (Winter soldier, ready to report).

“He… he stopped.” She said, lowering her hands from her ears.

Mark hummed, raising a brow at her. “Stalling our tests again, G-34? You know that only wastes both our time.”

“I was not stalling, sir!” Her mouth felt dry. “Really! He... was begging to die…” Her voice felt hollow at the haunting sound. “I thought he needed help.”

The scientist blinked, waiting for her to say more.

When she didn't, he clicked his pen and offered a disappointed smile. “Well, let’s try to stay focused from now on.” He gave a dry laugh. “Nod if you understand.”

Still in shock, she nodded absently.

Two Weeks Later

“Subject G-34,” Dr. Arnim Zola, the head researcher at the facility smiled at her. “Meet subject Z-26.”

Zola gestured proudly to the man standing across the room from her, like a child presenting a high test score to their parent.

She gazed up at Z-26. So this was the man whose screams she had been hearing for the last couple of weeks. The man whose family called him ‘James’ and whose friends called him ‘Bucky’ in his deep subconscious memories.

The Winter Soldier.

She gave a choppy nod. “Hello.”

Z-26 nodded back. With his chin raised and his hands resting behind his back in military fashion, he towered over everyone in the room. She curiously eyed his left arm, which seemed to be made entirely out of metal.

In the fluorescent lab lights, he managed to be somewhat more tanned than everyone else, hinting at his foreign origin. Perhaps he grew up spending lots of time outdoors.

He was in his twenties. Clad in a new pair of combat boots, cargo pants and a clean white t-shirt. He looked like a commodity rather than a person.

His facial features were sharp, angular, yet unlike everyone else in the facility, he did not look malnourished or underfed. He looked strong. Blue eyes with dark circles stared pointedly at her as if sizing up a target. His dark hair was cut short, matching the same haircut as all male test subjects.

“G-34 is one of our brave volunteers,” Zola explained to the soldier.

Z-26 eyed her with an unreadable expression. In his mind, she heard the very voice ask, “She volunteered for this...?”

“She is a very valuable asset to our mission. Like yourself, soldier. We think the two of you could partner up someday. Brains and muscle.” Zola gestured to them both excitedly. “We anticipate a fruitful partnership.” He cleared his throat. “But for now, you are both still training.”

A Few Days Prior

After another successful task, G-34 finally mustered up the courage to ask. “Dr. Zola. I was wondering…”

“What is it?” Zola muttered as he typed away on his computer.

She wiped her sweaty palms on her uniform and cleared her throat. “What... or I suppose, who is the Winter Soldier?”

Zola instantly stopped what he was doing.

A dreadful feeling of instant regret crept over her. One day, her curiosity would surely get her killed.

“How does she know about the Winter Soldier?” Zola’s mind raced.

She licked her lips. “It was something I overheard the other day. During a test with Dr. Braun.”

Zola bit the inside of his cheek while his mind ran; browsing through options, plans, and contingencies. At last, he folded his arms, leaning back against his chair. “‘The Winter Soldier’ is a program we use for our protection.”

“This can go one of two ways.” Zola thought. “No one other than cleared personnel knows about the program's existence. So either she keeps this a secret or she tells someone…”

“I will not.” She insisted “Tell anyone, that is. I was just curious.”

Zola eyed her for a long moment. “She's too valuable an asset to waste.”

Waste? In what way? Alarm bells rang in her mind. “I will keep this a secret, Doctor.” She insisted. “I swear on my life.”

He shushed her then. “Your life is a gift, child. Do not say such things. I know you will not tell.”

She sighed in relief.

“But I need to think about some things. Let's end the session here.” He clicked off the recording device and got up before leaving the room. Before he let the door close, he turned back to her with a smile. “Good work today.”

Present

“And G-34, I do not need to tell you too much about Z-26.” Dr. Braun said, tapping his temple; a knowing grin plastered on his face. “You have shown us that you are perfectly capable of finding that all for yourself.”

Catching on to what the Doctor had implied, Z-26 aimed a glare her way. His brows drew together, nostrils flared. “Get out of my head, you witch.”

She gasped. Instinctively taking a step back.

“What is it, G-34?” Zola asked. His voice was strained, barely containing his excitement. “What is Z-26 thinking?”

Before she could respond, Braun gave an obnoxious chuckle. “It is the first time the poor bastard's seen a woman since the war.” He turned to give another scientist a mocking grin. “Besides you Mark.”

The research intern shook his head, giving Braun a rude gesture as the men around them broke into laughter.

“The dog is probably imagining all kinds of depraved shit.” Braun jeered, eyeing Z-26 with disgust. Reading Braun’s mind, G-34 felt a wave of hatred rolling off Braun, aimed at Z-26. No, not just. Aimed at all Americans. He enjoyed humiliating Z-26 because he knew the soldier couldn't fight back without orders. He felt safe, but at the same time, on edge.

She looked back at Z-26, his glare was now aimed at Braun. “Idiot.”

She couldn't help her curiosity. Or her fascination. Why was he thinking in English? Why had he spoken Russian that other time? She wondered if Z-26's identity is still tied to his American past, while the Winter Soldier was shaped by Hydra’s programming.

Regardless, she did not get a chance to find out, as the meeting adjourned shortly and both subjects were led back to their cells. The session was deemed a success, if Zola's thoughts were any indication.

A Week Later

She caught the creak of leather boots pressing against the floor, and suddenly, she knew she wasn’t alone in the lab.

Then came his voice, low and indifferent.

“Ah. The volunteer.” Z-26 thought as his gaze fell on her seated at the metal lab table.

He walked in carrying a heavy box of supplies, putting it down at the corner of the room.

She tensed. Not at the words but the way they felt. Filled with disdain.

“I did not volunteer because I thought this would be fun,” she muttered, not looking up from her notebook

That was a mistake.

She knew it the second his body stilled.

When he turned to her, his movements were slow. His eyes were dark and meeting his gaze, she felt the way an animal feels the stare of a predator before an attack.

Unconsciously, she shrunk back against the cold metal desk where she was working.

“Stay out of my head.” Z-26’s words weren’t raised, or shouted. But they cut like a knife. “As if they haven't screwed me up enough,” he thought. “Now not even my thoughts are safe.”

She wanted to tell him that she had no intention of using his thoughts against him. But that would just reveal that she read his mind again.

Instead, she opted for the truth. “I hate it here as much as you do.”

“I doubt that.”

“It is true. Those of us who volunteered had no other choice. My family was starving, and now they are not. Thanks to my being here.”

“Choice.” He thought as his bitter, soundless laughter rang in the room. “My corpse was dragged and reanimated in a lab. My body was made into a tool. For my enemy to use as they please. And speaking of family, any memory I may have had of mine was wiped clean. I don’t even know what my fuckin’ name was.”

He didn’t say any of this out loud.

Patients reacted to trauma in different ways. Some screamed. Some bore it silently. She concluded that Z–26 fell under the latter category. Even if his mind was screaming the entire time.

She hesitated. Then, softly she spoke. “James.”

He didn’t react. Didn’t even breathe. For a long moment, she thought she had made another mistake. Then, slowly, his blue eyes narrowed.

“That is your American name,” she said, watching him carefully. “It is what people call you in your subconscious memories. Sometimes your friends call you ‘Bucky’.”

She braced for it. For the anger. The accusation.

Instead, his lips parted slightly. “James,” he murmured. Testing the sound. “Bucky.”

And for the first time since she met him, there was no coldness in his voice. Only a hollowed, broken sound.

Two Weeks Later

Taking her hand, Zola led her around the banquet hall.

Unused to wearing heels, and dressed, G-34 stumbled clumsily in her gown, relying on the scientist to keep her balance. Her gift was more of a curse when she could hear the other guests mocking her clumsiness in their minds.

The hall was full of impeccably dressed, wealthy, immoral, well-fed, greedy people. Arms dealers, oligarchs, oil tycoons. And her mission was to read their minds and report anything of interest back to Zola.

She looked around the room, searching for Z-26. He was in the car with them on the way here, but since they had entered the building he was nowhere to be found.

“Jean!” Zola greeted an elderly man dressed in a black suit.

Reading his mind, G-34 concluded he was a French biologist named Jean Armand.

“Ah, old friend.” The Frenchman greeted him. “Are we to expect your, how do they say ‘A-game’ at tonight's show?”

What show? G-34 blinked, looking between the two men.

Before either could speak again, two large doors opened at the far end of the hall and the crowd began to pour in with exciting murmurs and whispers.

What was happening? G-34 tensed. She turned to Zola with a look of confusion.

“It’s time to find out.” Zola said to Jean, before offering her his arm once again. “Shall we, my dear?”

She let him lead her into an adjoining room.

The room was filled with seats at all sides. With a boxing ring in the center.

Once everyone took their seats, all of the lights shut off to a chorus of delightful laughter and awe. Only the boxing ring was left illuminated.

The crowd clapped as a well-dressed man walked onto the middle of the ring holding a microphone in his hand.

“Ladies, and gentlemen.” He raised the microphone to his lips. “The moment you have all been waiting for!”

She looked around nervously. Where the hell was Z-26?

“Please, give a warm welcome to our returning champion, The Frenchman we all know and fear, Vincent 'Unbreakable' Seine!” The announcer gestured to the left of the ring.

The crowd roared with excitement as a burly, hulking man strutted around with his arms raised, encouraging more cheers. Like Z-26, one of the Frenchman's arms was entirely made of metal.

“And now.” The announcer spoke again. “We have a newcomer, he is young and inexperienced, but he may blow us away just yet. Please welcome, The Winter Soldier!”

G-34 froze. Her eyes widened as she slowly turned to the ring. On the opposite side of the giant frenchman, stood Z-26. He had discarded his suit for his uniform combat boots and cargo pants. He was lean and on the thinner side in comparison to the Frenchman, and despite his height, was shorter. His lab dog tags hung loosely over his muscular, bare chest.

“Isn’t he pretty, ladies?” The announcer joked. The crowd cheered in response.

Z-26 was glaring at his opponent. G-34 recognized that look. The same one that was aimed at her the first time they met. Her hands shook nervously.

So this was what Jean Armand had meant by ‘tonight’s show’. She looked to him sitting giddy beside her. Sick man.

“Gentlemen. I wish to be entertained tonight.” The announcer said in a serious tone, looking from the left to the right. “So whatever you do in the next five rounds. You better keep it dirty.” He cackled after the last word.

The bell rang as the crowd roared, the two men took their first swings.

The Frenchman was growing tired after the third round had ended.

His moves were less sharp. His face was covered in fresh cuts and bruises. His breathing labored.

In contrast, Z-26 remained agile, circling the Frenchmen and dodging his blows, much to the crowd's amusement.

Suddenly, the large man landed a punch with his metal arm. Hard too. A cruel sound echoed as metal connected with Z-26’s lip.

Her hand shot up to her mouth. The crowd roared as Z-26 lost his balance, landing hard on his back before quickly rolling back and onto his hands and knees.

“Your boy is good, Arnim.” Pierre turned to give Zola a smug look. “But we shall see if conditioning can beat experience.”

Zola was undeterred. “We shall.”

Z-26 looked up slowly. His mouth dripped with hot blood.

Then he did something that made his opponent, and everyone in the room, falter.

He grinned.

The crowd erupted in cheers and roars, chanting. “Soldier! Soldier! Soldier!”

Sizing up his opponent. Z-26’s chest rose and fell in increasing speed. Reading his mind, she felt his adrenaline spike.

He wiped a hand across his bloody lip, leaving a crimson residue like a mask across his face, and flicked it, splattering his blood in droplets on the floor. What was before stoic indifference was now animalistic intimidation as he paced around his opponent in a slow circle.

The Frenchman lunged at him again, and Z-26 blocked his blow with impressive speed, grabbing the man's arm and twisting it hard behind his back. A loud crack was heard just as the opponent cried out in pain.

She shut her eyes. In Hydra’s lab she was exposed to many uncomfortable visuals - blood samples, sickness, pain. But nothing quite so depraved.

The hairs on her skin rose as she heard Z-26 cruel laughter ring out. Only, it sounded different. That wasn’t Z-26 anymore. That was the Winter Soldier.

She dared a glance, squinting as the soldier picked up his opponent by his throat with ease, before slamming him on the ground, then using his metal arm to pummel him with a volley of bone chilling punches.

She could hear his thoughts. “Break his jaw. Crush his throat. Tear him apart. Hurt him. Hurt him! HURT HIM!”

G-34 dared a glance at Dr. Zola. He watched with a look of pride, thinking: “My perfect creation, my masterpiece”

The winter soldier mercilessly threw punch after punch. His bloodstained dog tags swinging in front of his bare chest.

She desperately searched for the opponent’s thoughts, but there was nothing. No thoughts. No movement. No heartbeat.

Her breath caught in her throat. Incidentally, she hid her face in her hands and turned around, not wanting to see the kill. She didn't notice that she was leaning into Dr. Braun. She only understood that once his arms came to circle around her as a faux display of comfort and he cooed, “poor girl, this is no scene for such a lady.”

He didn't fool her.

Without having to read his mind, she knew he was terrified simply by the way his hands shook slightly. Peeking behind him, she also saw the rest of the audience was unsettled. The once-cheering spectators had gone silent, their faces pale.

She didn't feel bad for them. They paid to see a spectacle, and that's exactly what they got.

Four Months Later

“That song at the Gala yesterday... it was Glenn Miller, yes?” G-34 asked in a last ditch attempt to start up a conversation with Z-26.

Silence and a beat passed before she got his answer. “How do you know Glenn Miller?” He asked.

Sitting across from her, he was clad in a tweed suit - the counterpart to her long coat. The two looked the part of a body guard and a wealthy heiress.

Suppressing a satisfied smirk, she looked out the window of the train, watching the trees and snow covered fields pass them by. What a privilege it was to see the outside world, after having spent so long underground. “When the allied soldiers liberated our village, they had record player with them. And they played his music on V-day.”

Z-26’s gaze fell to his hands and he sighed. “I'm more of a Louis Armstrong man myself, but Miller's certainly better than the propaganda shit they listen to here.”

She liked him when he was like this. Sincere. When he let his guard down enough to engage in conversation. Offer his opinion. These moments were rare, and she suspected she was the only witness to them.

“Can I ask you something?” She rested her chin on her hand.

“You just did.”

Rolling her eyes, she gave him a look. “Do you still resent the fact that I volunteered as a test subject?”

“Do you?” He challenged, raising a brow.

“I do not know.” She admitted. “There was a clinic near our street. One day they put up a sign. 'Offering double rations in exchange for research.' I signed up and…” She lifted her hands, gesturing around herself as if to say, here we are.

His expression wasn't blank, but it still did not give much away.

“What are you thinking?” She prodded.

Pained blue eyes met her gaze. “You remind me of someone.”

“Who?”

“... I can't remember.”

But she knew. The person he was failing to remember. The one who she reminded him of was his best friend back in Brooklyn. A skinny blonde boy who had grown up on the same street as him. Who also volunteered for a sciencer experiment to defend his loved ones.

Some of the memories she'd seen of them in his subconscious were enough to fill her eyes with tears. Short, blurred fragments of laughter, scraped knees, joint bike rides, and sunny days.

“Ladies and gentlemen.” The voice of the conductor came over the announcement microphone. “We will be arriving at our destination shortly. Please have your bags ready. We thank you for traveling with us.”

Z-26 got up, pulling up their suitcases from the overhead compartment. As the train came to a stop at Brussels station, G-34 gathered her things, securing a fashionable beret on her styled wig.

The two had completed their training. They were on their own mission for the third time. Hydra deemed them a good team and she tended to agree.

Her alias was that she was an heiress, who was representing her wealthy father in Europe's elite gatherings while he was busy conducting business abroad in Asia. Z-26 was her bodyguard.

The chauffeur met them out front. Another Hydra agent. He took the suitcases and placed them in the trunk of his buggy.

“How was your trip, Madame?” He asked.

She smiled at him as he opened the car door for her to sit down. “You know how I love the gala season.”

Hearing the code words, the chauffeur nodded before closing the door and taking a seat behind the wheel.

Z-26 stood outside her car, holding a cigarette lit in his gloved hand. He eyed their surroundings under the guise of someone taking in scenery during a smoke break.

A moment later, he walked around the car and took a seat beside her, addressing the driver. “Don’t take the main road. Take the alleyway and park at the back entrance of the hotel.”

G-34 eyed him. Had he seen someone suspicious? She opened her mouth to ask him a question, but nothing came out as he wrapped his fingers around her wrist, giving her a squeeze. He turned and gave her a warning look. His favorite look. The ‘be quiet’ look. The meaning was clear. Not now.

That evening, the two of them had gone out for dinner, as they often did.

“It is beautiful at night,” she murmured, glancing up at the dimly lit street. Never having been to Brussels before, she wanted to take advantage of the rare free time they had to take in the city’s beauty.

“We should’ve taken a car,” He grumbled, but he let her pull him along.

“Hmm, is that why you are looking at me like you are Lenin I am bourgeoisie?”

He eyed you with a look of confusion. “I’ll never get used to your soviet expressions.”

She smirked. “Would you prefer I say ‘screwed the pooch’ like you Americans do?”

In a rare showcase of emotions, she saw the corner of his lips lift as he shook his head.

Then, he abruptly stopped walking. “Get behind me.”

Obeying instantly, G-34 looked out around them in alert as she grasped the back of his coat.

The cold evening was quiet. The air tense.

Then she saw what concerned him. The assassin suddenly moved - drawing a gun from his coat.

Z-26 moved before G-34 could react. A sharp twist, a sickening pop—the pistol clattered to the ground. The man barely had time to gasp before Z-26 shoved him down, his boot pressing hard against the attackers throat.

The assassin gasped, struggling.

She darted to Z-26’s side, breath shallow. “Who sent you?” She questioned the assassin.

Her mind latched onto his only to find nothing but pain as Z-26 applied more pressure. His boot pressing, relaxed, then pressing again, as he toyed with his victim.

She felt her own blood drain from her face. “That’s enough.”

Z-26 didn’t move. His grip remained steady, fingers twitching at his side as if deciding whether to finish it.

Eventually, the assassin stopped trashing. Stopped moving altogether.

Covering her mouth with her hand, she stammered. “He’s done.”

But her words fell on deaf ears. She read his mind to figure out why he wasn’t listening. Images of him crushing the enemy’s throat with his bare hands, or taking out his swiss army knife and twisting the blade deep into his side, continuing to strike even after the threat was gone.

“James!” She choked out his name.

G-34 finally released his hold. He wiped his boot on the rubble as if brushing off dirt and stepping away as the assassin lay limply, his body growing cold.

This was the part of the job she could never get used to. Though Z-26 seemed to have no problem with killing. What he did have a problem with was knowing when to stop.

She turned away from him, wiping away her tears as she clicked on her Hydra-issued communication hand radio. “We n-need a clean up crew on the Galeries Royale.”

“Copy. A crew is dispatched and heading to the location right now.”

“We need to go.” She said to her partner, swallowing down her bile as she eyed the dead man. Unaffected, he tugged at her until she finally began to move towards the road filled with taxis.

As they drove to the hotel, she couldn't help but glance at him sitting on the other side, a strange feeling settling in her stomach.

Even as they stepped into the grand ballroom the following Friday morning, the vision of Z-26’s bloodlust lingered on G-34’s mind.

Having just finished a conversation with a Chinese diplomat, she spotted a shiny movement to her right.

A striking woman in a sparkling flapper dress and headpiece to match, likely an homage to the prohibition era, was swaying close to Z-26. A half empty glass of champagne in her gloves hand couldn't have been her first drink of the day or even second.

With her telepathy, G-34 gathered that the woman, Rosa, was the wife of an arms dealer from Monaco. And that she was picturing Z-26 in all types of compromising positions.

The corner of our protagonist's mouth rose in distaste.

The woman stepped closer still, putting her glove on Z-26's arm. His jaw tensed as he looked down at her.

G-34 moved before she could fully calculate her plan. Putting herself between her partner and the Monegasque, she gave a light laugh to Z-26. “Darling, do you have room to breathe?” Before turning to give the woman who was touching him a forced smile. She wanted her gone. “Madam, please take a step back from my bodyguard.” She said with barely contained venom.

Something strange happened.

G-34 felt a pull in her chest like an invisible thread pulling her words out of her mouth.

As if she was pushed by an invisible force, the Monagasque took one full step back, her heels clicking the floor as she put distance between herself and the couple.

The drunken look of her eyes was replaced by one of surprise. As if she had not expected to move like that.

G-34 blinked in surprise as well, not expecting her requests to be taken so literally.

“No, not couldn’t be…” G-34’s stomach twisted with a realization. “I did that.”

She recalled the speculative discussions she had with the Hydra staff regarding her ability and its extent. Could it be that mind control was a component of her telepathic power?

She turned back to meet Z-26's gaze. He was eyeing her knowingly and she read the exact same question in his mind.

Her voice was odd when she said that to him. “I'd like to go home.”

He nodded and the two made their way out of the ballroom.

“Z-26, did you also see that back there?” She turned to him in the car. “That woman took exactly one step back like I told her–”

“Yes. I saw.”

“That was strange, right?”

“I suggest you drop it, G.” He gave a clipped response.

“But why did it happen?” She asked. “What caused it? Do you not think that it is worth testing?”

His gloved grip on the wheel tightened. “What part of the test process are you so eager to relive?” His voice was low, measured—dangerous. “The endless cycle of blood tests? The surveillance? The drug trials? Or maybe it's another puppet show?”

Ah yes, the ‘puppet show.’

Every time a test subject showed progress, they were brought to present their abilities in front of a crowd of Hydra’s biggest stakeholders.

Much like the time Z-26 was put in the boxing ring to show the effects of his super strength and conditioning to follow orders, the next year was G-34’s turn to showcase her telepathy.

No she wasn’t eager to relive that dread and embarrassment of being put on display.

She swallowed and turned back to look out the window.

A few minutes had passed when Z-26 spoke up. “I didn't need your protection back there. You could have exposed us.”

She turned to him in astonishment. “You did not know what that woman was thinking.”

In a rare showcase of emotion, Z-26 laughed quietly. “I knew exactly what she was thinking. I don't need you to keep women off me.”

She huffed and said nothing, turning back to watch the streets as they drove past.

When they returned to the hotel, she made a beeline for the shower, shutting the door behind her without a word. The heat washed away the tension of the day, but not the thoughts circling in her head.

By the time she emerged, towel-drying her hair, Z-26 had taken her place. He was quicker, stepping out minutes later, his waste wrapped in a towel as he ruffled a hand through damp locks.

Seated at the desk, she flipped open her notebook, pen scratching the pages as she recorded her findings from the gala—especially what happened with the woman. A single occurrence wasn't enough to confirm anything, but she wrote down ‘Mind control.’

The thought made her queasy. She needed more tests. Proof.

She glanced at Z-26, asleep on the bed, his bare chest rose and fell in steady rhythm.

She snapped the notebook shut and grabbed her coat.

By the time she returned, two oranges sat in her palm.

Z-26 stirred at the click of the door, messy hair falling over his forehead as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. His gaze flicked to the fruit, brows knitting together.

Oranges were out of season.

His voice was still rough from sleep when he asked, “Where’d you get those?”

She moved to the table, setting them down before offering him a sliced one, which he ate. “The only place to get oranges here at this time of year is from a greenhouse thirty minutes away.”

Throwing on a pair of loose-fitting pants, Z-26 stood, walking closer, picking up the fruit. He rolled it between his fingers before bringing it to his nose, inhaling deeply. The scent of citrus filled his nose. “What did you do?”

She swallowed, gripping the hem of her cardigan. “I asked a waiter in the café downstairs to bring me an orange.” A pause. “More accurately... I commanded him to.”

Z-26 said nothing, watching her.

She exhaled sharply. “And then he walked out of the café. Left the hotel entirely. It took him thirty-five minutes to return with these.”

The weight of her words settled between them.

When she met his gaze again, her heart was beating too fast. "I know. You said to drop it. But I think…" She hesitated, the words foreign even to her own ears. “I think I can harness mind control.”

The weight of her words settled. A realization, heavy and unspoken. Her heartbeat thrummed in her ears. "I can control people."

A humorless laugh escaped her. It sounded ridiculous.

But Z-26 wasn’t laughing. Instead, he was staring at her, something unreadable flickering behind his gaze.

“Say something,” she said.

He didn’t.

She took a breath, focusing on locating his thought-

“Don't read my mind." His voice was sharp.

She flinched. “I only wanted—”

“If you wanna know what I'm thinking, ask.”

She met his stare, lifting her chin. “Fine. What are you thinking?”

His response was immediate. “I'm disappointed in you for going off alone.”

She blinked, thrown off by the answer.

“Don't do that again.” He said.

She waved him off, knowing that’s not what he was mad about. “What about the power?” she asked. “Mind control. Do you think that—” she chose her words carefully, “that something good can come of this?”

His expression hardened. “Nothing good can come of this, G-34.”

She bristled. “What? Why not?”

“I don't wanna talk about this anymore.”

“Of course,” she muttered, frustrated. Asking herself rhetorically, “When do you ever?”

“Don't start,”

“You don’t let me read your mind, but you also refuse to talk to me.” Her arms crossed tightly over her chest. “How are we supposed to communicate as a team?”

His jaw tensed. The air in the room shifted.

She realized too late—she had pushed him too far.

Z-26 stepped forward.

Instinctively, she stepped back—her spine pressing against the cold wall.

The flicker of movement made something flash across his face. Not anger. Something else.

Her breath hitched. “Those f-fear tactics don’t work on me, Z-26.”

The rocky surface behind her felt rough through the soft fabric of her cardigan, but she barely noticed it.

“What?” His voice was lower now, unreadable. “What fear tactic-”

The question was genuine. Like it hadn’t even occurred to him that she might be afraid of him.

“I know what it means when you look at someone like that.” She swallowed hard. “It won’t work on me. I know you too well. So stop.”

His brows furrowed in genuine confusion. “Look at someone like what?”

She clenched her hands into fists to keep them from shaking. “Like you looked at the assassin the other day! Like, you would enjoy hurting me!”

His brows rose. “G-34,-”

“I know you enjoy hurting people, Z.” She exhaled shakily.

Silence.

She hesitated, then pushed forward. “I see it. It just... takes over your mind. I've seen how much you…”

“How much I…” He prodded.

Pressing her lips together, she spoke in a small voice. “How much you like it.”

He stiffened.

For a moment, she thought he would snap. But he didn’t. Instead, his next words were spoken calmly, but offered no less surprising value to her. “I can’t help but feel insulted that you think I’d be capable of hurting you of all people.”

The tension in the air was unbearable. He made another step towards her slowly. She pressed herself harder still against the wall.

Then, suddenly—he dropped to his knees.

Her breath hitched.

That was so unexpected, so unnatural, she froze, her body going rigid as he knelt before her.

His hands slid up her bare legs, fingers digging into her thighs. “I… feel a certain way about you. More protective than I’ve ever felt of anyone as far as I can remember.”

She gasped at the sharp press of his calloused—not gentle. Not soft.

Her pulse thundered. She had gone and done it again. Her and her big mouth. She knew that one day it would get her in real trouble.

Still, she couldn’t help herself. “Well you have a sadistic way of showing it.” Hissing at the way his fingers dug into her thigh, leaving marks.

Right. Super strength, he remembered. The fingers that dug into her flesh slightly let up, messaging the places they bruised. The sudden gentleness contrasted with the pain made her feel… twisted.

Under the heat of his hands holding her legs steady, she felt adrenaline rush through her own veins.

Slowly, he lifted her leg, resting it over his shoulder, his gaze never leaving her. Waiting. Not asking. Just giving her time to object. She didn’t.

His right hand, cold, metallic pressed into her thigh, and then she felt it—the barest graze of teeth. Her breath caught, her pulse hammering. She was at his mercy.

And then, he bit down.

A sharp sting bloomed through her nerves, deliberately cruel, but not enough to truly hurt.

A small, broken sound slipped from her lips, and his grip flexed against her skin.

His bite was deep enough to draw blood, and when he pulled back, he licked the sensitive skin where she now saw a fresh mark.

He assessed his work, allowing himself a small grin, before leaning back to plant another bite, this time, closer to her bare sex.

“You are a sadist, like I said. You enjoy hurting people.” She stuttered, breathless. “It is part of your conditioning.”

“I never said you were wrong.”

“And now when you’re angry. And you want to hurt me. It is like a reflex.”

His voice was low, even. “Did you get that by reading my mind?” His tone almost accusatory.

She shook her head. “You asked me not to.”

God was she tempted to though. She felt almost like she lost one of her senses. Exposed in a way she was unfamiliar with.

“Good.” He lowered his head under the hem of her cardigan.

She tensed, anticipating another painful bite on the most sensitive part of her body. Flattening herself against the wall when she felt his teeth grazed her folds, making her breath hitch.

She squeezed her eyes shut, she waited for the pain to come. He was slow and meticulous, his warm breath fanning her skin.

The pain didn't come. Instead, his tongue moved between her folds in a slow, torturous lick.

A choked gasp left her mouth. And her hand shot up to cover it.

His lip turned up in amusement as blue eyes challenged her. “You're drenched.”

She was. She didn't realize just how much this whole time he was teasing her had affected her.

Suddenly, there was a familiar, feminine voice echoing in his mind. Her voice. “He is clearly struggling to understand intimacy outside of his past trauma. That is why he behaves this way with me.”

Only she hadn’t spoken out loud.

It took him a moment to realize whose thoughts he was hearing. “If you won’t read my mind, why are you shoving your thoughts into it?”

She blinked. “huh?”

“I'm clearly struggling to understand intimacy outside of my past trauma?” He repeated her words, or rather, her thoughts, back to her. “So now your telepathy includes broadcasting your psych-evals?”

“I… I did not mean to!” Her eyes widened. “Are you saying you can hear my thoughts?”

He nodded.

She shook her head. “I did not even know I could do that.” Her voice was equal parts fascination and terror. “What triggered it? First, mind control, now this... is it heightened emotions? is it him?"

“You're still doing it.” He watched her with hidden amusement.

And then her thoughts turned paranoid.

“Oh no. Can anyone know what I'm thinking? Dr. Zola? Dr. Braun...?”

Z-26 was then witness to a series of moments from her point of view. Braun smirks at her, eyeing her inappropriately, calling her "pet", "dove", "kitten", and all other kinds of unwanted affectionate nicknames.

“No!” Her thoughts were panicked. “I have to learn to control this. No one can know about this–”

He growled in irritation. “Stop or I'll make you.”

“I cant!” She whined helplessly.

His finger drove into her entrance then, curling stroking the sensitive nerve endings inside.

She let out a gasp as her head rolled back against the wall and her hands grasped for his hair. Instantly, the paranoid thoughts stopped.

His finger was joined by another, along with his tongue and all three worked together to ‘distract’ her. A feeling deep in her belly rose and rose. She was squirming, straining herself to stay upright against the wall. “Gonna fall... Knees… weak.... Bed.”

He stood, picking her up with ease and carrying her to her bed. Feeling small and limp in his hold, she felt oddly safe in his arms, allowing herself to curl up into his warmth.

He lowered her onto her back on the bed covers. The mattress springs squeaking underneath their combined weight and he crawled on top of her, towering over her under his large, muscular frame. Before she could say anything, his hand wrapped around her neck and pulled her up to meet his lips in an harsh, merciless kiss. He bit down on her bottom lip, enough to draw blood again.

“Be gentle!” She choked out with quiet defiance when they pulled apart. “I am not as strong as you are.”

Her mind betrayed her though. "... the way you handle me... it shouldn't make me feel like this..."

“Do you feel guilty for enjoying yourself?” He asked, eyeing the glossy redness covering her bottom lip. He wanted to bite her again.

Then he realized. She was right. He was sadistic. He was conditioned to enjoy pain. And he enjoyed hers.

She pressed her lips together, hesitating to give him a response.

“I do.” her mind betrayed her again.

Something in her confirmation made him content. She was just as messed up as he was. They were the products of their reality. But that didn’t have to be a bad thing.

“Do you realize I want you to enjoy it?” He challenged.

The words made her freeze. She eyed him wearily. Not eager to believe his words.

“Read my mind. I give you permission.”

“Are you sure?” She whispered.

His hand wrapped around her calve squeezed hard, conveying the meaning clearly. Don't make me repeat myself.

“Okay,” she nodded, closing her eyes and focusing on reaching his mind.

“Intoxicating,” He thought. “Watching her dissolve under my hands. The way she tries to push back, only to collapse when I push her further. What I wouldn’t do to keep her safe. To keep her mine. Mine. Mine!” There was something raw, possessive in his voice. A part of him wanted to see how far she would let him go.

Her brows furrowed. “You want me to enjoy it? Or do you want to hurt me?” She blurted out. “Which is it?”

A sad smile appeared on his face. She couldn't tell if he was laughing at her or pitying her. “Naïve little thing. Why choose?”

With his metal arm, he easily flipped her onto her hands and knees, his hand curling around her throat to pull her up until she was flush against his chest. Her cardigan was unbuttoned and hanging loosely off her shoulders, exposing the peaks of her breasts. His fingers found her nipples and gave them a painful squeeze. She flinched and arched against him, pushing her breasts into his hold.

Her sleeves fell down to the tips of her fingers as her hands grasped to hold him.

He lined himself up at her entrance and slowly pushed in.

They both gasped at the deliciously painful sensation. He reached his other hand to her sex, finding her clit and rubbing it in circles in time with his gradual pumping.

Every brush of his fingers, every thrust, had her tensing. Her vision blurred as he pressed a particular spot on her throat with his thumb.

Overwhelming—too strong, too fast, too much—but she never felt safer than in his arms. He handled her like she was his, like she could take it, and she found herself sinking into that certainty. Handing over control.

"Z-26–" she grasped for him, her fingernails scratching the scarred skin of his forearms.

She turned her head and saw that his facial expression was one of agony. Furrowed brows and shut eyes. His hands gripped her as if he was afraid she’d disappear.

The sharp angles of his cheeks were dusted pink as he panted into her tasting faintly of oranges, before sinking his teeth into her skin. Every rough tug, everywhere his body pressed against hers, sent another shiver down her spine. Thought slipped away, leaving only the dizzying sensation of being handled by him.

The warmth built up in the core of her stomach and only grew stronger as his hips sped up against her.

The climax rolled over both of them – leaving her shaking and reaching for him desperately. “J-james!” she whimpered.

“’m here, darlin’” He rasped, laying kisses along her neck and shoulders as he continued fucking her into her orgasm.

It hit her all at once, making her shake and ride it out like a wave. Panting, she still maintained a steel grip on him, afraid to let him go.

He wasn't stopping. Wasn't slowing down either.

Her pulse thumped in her ears, breath coming in sharp, shallow gasps. He had her caged in, his body a wall of heat and strength, and her own was betraying her—arching into him again.

Breath hitching. Back arching. A slow, insistent ache built deep in her core again, curling low in her core, spreading warmth through her veins. Every touch, every squeeze, every press of his body against hers only increased the heat, making it harder to breathe. She felt vulnerable, exposed, every inch of her skin burning under his hands, desperate for more. “I can’t… it’s too much!”

“You can.” He responded to her out loud. “You and I are the same. We had no say in our own bodies for years, no control. But here we are, sweetheart. You, obedient, giving yourself over to me completely. Because you know I could take care of you. Because I know how to make you feel good. Because no one else knows what we’ve been through.”

“Yes!” She couldn’t help but moan.

“Read my mind, G-34.” He said. “Read how you make me feel.”

She read his mind.

“I have nothing.” He thought. “No past, no future, nothing that was really mine. But this? This is real. She’s mine. The way her body reacts to me without hesitation. The way we are at this moment. No one could take this from us.”

“Ah,” Her head rolled back as she felt her pleasure grow stronger and stronger. “James!"”

Suddenly there was a knock at the door. They froze. Panting.

The insistent knocking returned. “Miss?” A muffled male voice called behind the door. Likely belonging to a staff member

She called back breathily. "J-just a second!" before gathering her clothes and limping her way to the door on weak legs. She gathered the material around her, hoping to cover the marks and bruises and marks. Brushing her hair back, she got ready to open the door. Z-26 was behind the door in an instant, standing with a gun in his hand, and quiet anticipation.

Still flushed, she waited for his green light. He cocked his pistol and nodded. She twisted the door handle and cracked open the door an inch.

“A telegram for you, miss.” The bell boy standing outside of her door handed her a letter. “Mr. Zola is waiting for you at the restaurant downstairs.”

End of Part 1/2.

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