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Red Lines in Snow: Chapter 3 (Winter Soldier x Reader)

Warnings, AO3 style: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Hydra Trash Party, there will be a warning before the awful stuff I promise, Torture, Rape/Non-con Elements, Dubious Consent, Blood and Injury, Sexual Violence, Parent/Child Incest, Incest, non-consensual incest, reader's parents are fucked up people, Misgendering [she/her pronouns used], Anal Sex, Penis In Vagina Sex, Gang Rape, Rape, Bucky is unfortunately involved against his will, Mind Control, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better

READ THE TAGS AND HEAD THE NOTED WARNING BEFORE THE HYDRA TRASH PARTY SECTION. You are in charge of your own media consumption!!

Word count: Nearly 4k words, half of which are a torture scene

Notes about this chapter: This is the first time I've ever written a torture scene. It could have been more detailed and visceral, but I couldn't stomach it. However, my beta readers @kayotical, @reykenobbi,and @forgetmenotsilly, said that it was good and dark as hell! So, here we go y'all. Buckle up if you're gonna read through it. Partially inspired by a side story in Toy Soldier by @vunblr (SO good!!).

Also, I'm SO SORRY for taking so long. I started this series right after my mom ended up in the hospital for a stroke and I had basically needed to recover from the intense burnout that tense 2 weeks caused... She ended up BACK in the hospital today and it kicked my ass in gear to finish the edits for it at least. :') She's okay I swear.

This will be uploaded on AO3 soon! I predict at least 2 more chapters after this one before it ends.

Chapter 2 | Masterlist | Chapter 4 (Coming soon)

Tags: @anneliw (dedicated to you since you pushed me to work on it ages ago <3) @acenuggets @paristheonewhoreads @lemonabouttodrop @lynnieluvsu

Divider details: Photo by Adam Chang on Unsplash. Edited for dividers by me.

The sun’s rays seemed to be out to get you again, but this time, they had an additional obstacle in the way:

Bucky Barnes.

You still found yourself waking up, your nose brushing against the warm skin of his chest. The night before drifted into your mind, hazy at first, until you shifted your body and remembered one teeny little fact:

You were both completely and utterly naked.

As it turned out, that wild moment where two red line soulmates felt that irresistible pull towards each other was real. Real! You doubted it at first, as you didn’t feel anything when he first read his name on your chest. His fingers had traced the lines of his identity, written in your skin in red ink like a tattoo, with a reverence you couldn’t put into words.

“Do I…” His voice trailed off, eyes flicking between you and his name on your chest. “...do I have your name on me?”

He did.

Seeing him shirtless would have already done something for you, in all honesty. He looked incredible, his body full of tight muscle, his skin laced with scars. You couldn’t resist touching him, your finger tips skirting just along the edge of his arm at first, then his abs, then his chest. When your hand reached your name on his chest, scars covering the area, you realized a sinking reality. H.Y.D.R.A. tried to erase you from his body. From his soul. They used blades driven by arrogance in their effort to maintain control over a man who never should have been caged. But fate would never let them win, it seemed.

You didn’t remember exactly when his lips touched your skin, just that it felt like the best feeling in the world. You remember craving more, more, and him responding in kind like a feedback loop you never wanted to end.

The night was a blur of sensation and relief. Hands explored bodies, eyes searched souls, and the act of two becoming one lasted the entire night. For just that moment, nothing else mattered. You both were driven, pulled, swept away in the sensation of your souls as if it was truly fate for that to happen that day.

And now, waking in this moment, the sun caressing the skin of his back like you did just hours ago, reality sank within your gut like a cold pit to hell.

The two of you weren’t free to just do whatever you wanted. You were trapped by circumstance, slaves beholden to men who viewed themselves as gods. Your connection wasn’t love, not yet, not really, but you knew that from then on, things wouldn’t be the same for either of you. You feared what that meant.

----

Breakfast went easier than any of your past meals had.

Bucky was dressed in his tactical gear once more, and you were dressed in traveling clothes. You had no orders yet, but you didn’t want to take chances, to be caught off guard. Your father loved doing such shit to you, loved finding new ways to throw you off balance and punish you for not being constantly prepared. Your soldier had dressed himself on autopilot, claiming that the clothes you helped him lose the night before felt foreign. You knew that wasn’t the case, but who were you to argue, when the two of you lived on borrowed time?

The next few days passed in relative silence.

You spent your days waking up in each other’s arms, tangled and sore and feeling warm. Your bond felt almost physical, a rope thickening around your souls with each passing day that you spent together. It felt safe, secure, and you couldn’t bear the thought of it having never been there before. Getting up felt like a greater chore than normal.

Next, each morning, you would separate from each other, the tangle of limbs pulling past each other as stiffly as felt, to prepare for a performance that would never come. A performance of action and movement, where you both were the dancers, and your father and H.Y.D.R.A. were the ringleaders, hidden in the shadows with unknown cues.

Every day, you prepared.

Every day passed without incident.

Until one day…it didn’t.

----

The sound of your phone ringing broke the peace between you and Bucky. You had been sitting on the couch, muttering things to each other like quiet secrets. Each sentence felt like a folded piece of paper snuck beneath school desks to a sweetheart. Each time the words reached your ears, you felt the giddy feeling of unfolding such a note, like secrets only the two of you would know. The ringing felt like a crack down the center of that moment, splitting your proverbial desks like a teacher stepping between you both.

Your voice stuck in your throat at the ringtone, and you rushed to answer on reflex. Your father hated when you waited to answer.

“Hello?” You didn’t recognize your own voice, the stiff coldness you reserved for your father and his “friends” automatically fitting around you like a well worn jacket. He didn’t care. He never did.

“Hello, my sweets,” he sang. There was a shift of fabric and a suspicious noise in the background. You felt your stomach twist at what he could possibly be doing while talking to you. He loved to do anything that made you feel uncomfortable. “The coast is all clear now-” He cut off with a grunt. “-you can take your new boy toy and head on out~”

You looked at Bucky. He nodded, silently slipping away from you to grab something you didn’t dare question.

“...got it.”

“Atta girl!”

You flinched.

You were not a girl. But, like many other things that didn’t suit him, your father never cared. He continued on, with a tone that said he knew what his statement did to you, and he was relishing the sick control he still held.

“Your mother will see you soon, then~”

The line went dead.

You stared at your phone, your reflection blurry from the smudges on your screen, trembling slightly.

Oh…you were shaking. Your mind spiraled, unfurling slowly at first, then more and more, like picking up speed while walking down steps. Your father always had this horrid effect on you, one where even with a sentence he could dismantle your calm, shake your soul, and crush your will. He spent three, careful, long decades doing it, and you couldn’t handle it any longer.

You desperately needed to leave his grip. But, even with the Winter Soldier bound to your soul, you had no idea how.

A firm hand brushed against your shoulder, turning you to face a firm chest beneath a bullet proof vest.

Bucky.

He didn’t say anything at first, choosing instead to give you the silence and space you needed to sink within his embrace. His warmth helped push the thoughts, the memories, the feelings away.

You didn’t notice that you had started crying within his embrace, not really. You sniffled, frustrated and stuck in your head. Your mind spiraled, thoughts of the horrors that awaited the two of you once you got to your destination. Your parents would no doubt make things horrible for both of you as “punishment” (or would they call it a reward? You could never tell) for being independent without them.

You wished you could run, escape them while you could. But, despite your hopes, you knew that even with Bucky by your side, at least right now, there wasn’t anything you could do.

You had no papers, no way of traveling where your parents and H.Y.D.R.A. wouldn’t almost immediately find you. Hell, you expected him to know about your little Google search the other day, and find a way to punish you for that, too.

You had to figure out a way to reach out to someone with outside influence. Wait…

Your sniffles paused for a moment as your brain slowly turned its gears. There was someone you could theoretically reach out to.

Steve Rogers was an American hero, and Bucky’s supposed best friend before H.Y.D.R.A. Being a public figure of hope meant having something like a P.R. team. It was a long shot, but if you could get to an unmonitored phone in the nearest town you had to pass through…you might be able to reach out to him. You knew the lab you were going to, and Bucky knew things about Steve that no one else did. It might be enough to shock America’s golden boy into action…but you had no idea if it was going to happen soon enough. Or at all, if the other Avengers didn’t agree with his desire to rescue his friend.

Still…you had to try.

It was the only hope the two of you had.

The drive to town was spent discussing your plan with Bucky, who hesitantly agreed. The day after that, when you had gotten out your Hail Mary message into the jaws of Fate, was spent praying to whatever god would hear you.

You hoped it was enough.

----

*CW: SEVERE DUB-CON, MISGENDERING [she/her pronouns used], NON-CON, INCEST, PARENTAL ABUSE, AND VIOLENCE AKIN TO HYRDA TRASH PARTY LEVELS*

----

The pain was burning, ripping, tearing.

You knew this memory would sink into your bones, plaster itself into your skin, and mark you for the rest of your life. But…you couldn’t let it end. Not yet. Not until your parents got bored of the horrific show they decided to put on for themselves and the sick soldiers standing around them, who had taken the liberty of jerking themselves off to show their appreciation for your parents “efforts”.

You cried too many tears to count, constantly muttering the pitiful words of “it’s okay, it’s okay” to the man blindly fucking you against the wall. You had to want this, had to will it into being okay, otherwise he would stop, and if he stopped, his pain would start.

And you couldn’t handle his pain. He couldn’t even fight for himself like this. So you had to do it for him.

You had no idea how long the two of you were stuck in this horrid dance. Bucky, reactivated by trigger words and pounding into you at a horrific, painful pace, and you, back crushed against the concrete wall of the cell, skin bruised and blood leaking down from places you didn’t dare name.

When you reached the lab, your parents had met the two of you outside. Your mother, draped in a black, velvet dress that was dreadfully unbefitting a lab setting, immediately read off Bucky’s trigger words the second he took his place beside you.

“You’ve had control over him long enough, darling,” her smooth voice had said, a wicked smile taking over her lips, “Playtime is over, now.”

You learned quickly that you were right about them “rewarding” you for your “independence” away from them. You also learned, very quickly, that they definitely knew about your soul bond to the Winter Soldier.

“It’s disgusting, really,” your father had said as he fitted a shock collar on your soulmate, “That you would be saddled with a tool. Oh well. Far be it from me to keep you from him~”

Those words had been the undoing of you and Bucky, truly.

Your parents thought it would be “fun” for the two of you to finally “be together”. However, what shocked all of you was that their command to him to fuck you fell underneath him not being able to hurt you. It took them a moment to realize why:

You didn’t want to have sex, not here, not now. And going against your wishes in such a violating way fell under the “can’t hurt soulmate” rule.

You’ll never be able to unhear his screams.

The first one was met with the scrape of metal across stone. Bucky had dropped violently to the ground on his left side, his arm spasming as he tried, and failed, to remove the collar. Grooves carved into the ground as he fought, and your parents, full of fascination, upped the power of the shocks to the point of sizzling. Your stomach lurched as you realized something horrible; it smelled good. If you weren’t witness to the cruelty before you, you would have wondered if there was something different happening.

Blood trailed onto the concrete, smoke filled the air, and over the next few minutes, Bucky’s face went pale, the fingers of death slowly creeping around him. A soldier, at the wave of your mom’s hand, stepped forward the moment the shocks ended and injected him with…something. You couldn’t fully see the damage with the clunky collar in the way, but given the location, you figured it was some sort of healing injection to keep him alive.

Right now, as you blinked wearily against the wall, you could see the burns on his neck from the shock collar. Your parents tried to shock him into compliance, but even as trails of blood trickled down his chest from his neck and his flesh burned and cooked, his body still refused to move to fulfill the order. Even through the haze of mind control, his eyes showed a painful amount of awareness. The bond was stronger than your parents thought, and that angered them.

“You won’t do it? Such a pity. Maybe you don’t know how,” your father had snarled, his words punctuated by the sound of clinking metal and shuffling fabric. Your stomach sank as you tried to move as far away as possible in the small room, blood running cold. Of all the things he had done, this was never one of them. But, it seemed like his patience had worn out. “How about I teach you? After all, you’re nothing more than a beast, now aren’t you? An otherwise obedient beast~”

You remember your soul seizing within you as his hand grabbed your wrist, practically throwing you within a circle of soldiers who leered at you next to your father. The next few moments were more of a blur, your mind trying to protect you in real time. There were more hands than you could count, but the sharp pain in your ass jolted you back to the reality at hand:

Your father was raping you, his dick shoving its way into your body with a sick groan and the barest aid of spit as lube. And he wasn’t alone.

There was a lieutenant, one whose voice and face you recognize as one of your father’s “friends”, currently making himself very familiar with your throat, spit and more sputtering out past your lips with each gag. Another soldier, whom you couldn’t see but could hear, crudely grabbing parts of your body and tearing fabric to get his hands on flesh. His grip was horrid, damaging, and you felt things pop and break beneath your skin with each grab. You wanted to scream, but the cock in your throat turned it into another violent gag, bile and acid burning the tears forming within your throat.

There were more, so many more, taking turns, swapping out, talking to each other in a language you couldn’t understand, but you couldn’t process much of anything at the moment. Bucky was still screaming, your mother entertaining herself by turning the shock collar on and off at random intervals. At some point, you heard what may have been a moan from her direction, but you couldn’t see exactly what caused it.

“Oh, look at you~” she cooed in English, running a hand down his chest out of your blurry periphery before a loud crack reached your ears. You distinctly recognized the color of flesh where her dress was supposed to be, and the realization made you gasp. Well, try to gasp. Instead, you gagged on the cock in your mouth, only to feel a slap across your face. It muffled her next words to Bucky, keeping them from reaching your ears as your eyes were forced upwards by a rough hand on your head.

“Eyes on me, bitch,” the soldier snarled, shoving himself deeper into your mouth. You felt something burn deep in your throat. You tasted copper, bitter, and lingering.

The memory of what happened barely a few hours before your current situation now helped distract you, oddly enough. It was far easier for you to think about strangers and monsters violating you than it was to think about how your soulmate was forced to hurt you. You couldn’t think about it too long, otherwise Bucky’s hips would stutter, his breath would shake, and your parents…

A sharp stab in your side pulled a ragged breath out of your lungs. You were too exhausted to scream, but the fire overtook your bones and mind as your head lolled to the side to see what had happened.

Your mother wasn’t even looking at you, her delicate fingers lightly twisting a thin knife pressing into your ribs. With each twist, the blade struggled deeper, one millimeter at a time, slowly making its home between the bones. Your body trembled, and you realized why she had done it.

You had nearly passed out earlier. Whether from fatigue or blood loss, you couldn’t tell. And they didn’t like that.

“It’s a pity, love,” your mother murmured, inspecting the nails on her other hand, “It seems she’s at her limit. I suppose I owe you money for the bet.” You vaguely heard a groan and shuffle of fabric behind Bucky. The knife paused, its blade twisted just enough to scrape against the bones that kept it from going deeper.

“I-...ahhh…mmm, fuck….I told you she wouldn’t last 3 hours.” Your father’s voice was laced with pleasure, but it was too far away for you to understand why. Or were you too far away? You couldn’t think. Your brain felt like it was crying separately from your body, the nerves detaching one by one from your limbs, your bones, your skin.

Words filtered in and out.

You felt so cold.

Cold…

Pain.

…

The pain wasn’t enough anymore.

You couldn’t keep your head up, even as your mom mindlessly pushed the knife into you, purposefully scraping your ribs raw to try and force it further into you. You wondered, somehow, whether you were even bleeding. Looking back, you doubted that you even had enough blood left to bleed at that moment.

By the time your father and his friends had finished with you, you had thrown up so much blood it made you dizzy, your thighs heavily slick with blood and sweat and spit and cum. Your blood and spit was on his dick by the time he grabbed your jaw and forced you to look at him, a horrid smirk on his lips that told you how long he had fantasized about that moment. You wished you had the strength to say anything, but your throat, and spirit, felt broken.

Your head tilted forward off the wall, landing haphazardly against Bucky’s shoulder, your neck no longer working to keep it upright. There wasn’t much room on his shoulder for you, the shock collar bulky and utilitarian against his skin. The smell of sweat, blood, and burnt flesh seared your nose, but it wasn’t enough to keep your eyes open. Distantly, you heard his grunts, a sound you preferred over his screams. They felt warped, different from the ones he graced you with just two days ago. Back then, Bucky’s sounds were warmer, softer. They were for you, each gasp and moan whispered across your skin as he embraced you and your new beginning.

Now, each sound felt hollow, forced, mechanical. They weren’t his, no matter if they slipped from his lips.

They weren’t his.

His rhythm hadn’t stopped, hadn’t slowed, and the area between your legs had started to go numb. There was no doubt nerve damage from the tears that were there even before he was forced to slide his cock into you, but his strength and speed made things worse. So much worse. Blood, cum, and more dripped onto the floor beneath you, mixing around Bucky’s boots in an unholy blend that would stain the concrete floor forever. Your hips against the wall had been scraped completely raw by his earlier thrusts, bone scraping painfully with each impact.

You never came. Not once.

But, many others in the room had.

…

Cold…

You were…

…so cold…

----

*BAD STUFF OVER*

----

The world came back to you in waves.

First, it was muffled sound.

Voices like bubbles underwater would filter to your ears. Back and forth they would flow, like lazy waves breaking across the beach. They never lingered long enough for you to understand, each sentence feeling like it was broken in half and pieced with one completely unrelated.

Then, it was touch. Or rather, pain.

Pain in your groin, pain deeper, further in. Pain in your ribs, your arms, your throat, your back. Pain that would stun you, sharp and gripping, before rapidly melting away to a fuzzy, numb, hot-cold comfort. You never understood it. You just knew that not long after you sensed the pain, something always came and took it away.

Finally, it was sight.

You never understood what you saw. Not really. But sometimes, you would see things. Bright lights, blurry figures. Sometimes those figures were accompanied by sound, murmured and muffled like your ears were filled with water.

One day, something else changed.

It wasn’t in your world, but rather, inside.

You felt something, someone, press themselves warmly against your soul. You couldn’t explain what it was, only that you couldn’t feel them anywhere other than around your heart. The warmth helped push the pain away at times. Helped coax you to the surface. You didn’t have the presence of mind to understand it.

Even still, you clung to that feeling. Mentally, you kept yourself wrapped around that warmth, clinging to it when the pain grew to be too much, when the mumbles around you were too loud, when your eyes blinked up and the world was too bright.

Still, you clung.

----

It took several weeks to recover.

You didn’t properly wake up before then, not really, and when you did, you saw Bucky sitting near you, gripping your hand almost like in a prayer. The image would slip away, replacing itself with him again, but in different lighting. Over and over, your feeling of time took the form of him, whether pacing the room or holding your hand, or barely asleep in a bed next to you.

One day, you woke up to your head resting on something much more solid and warm than your pillow. The sunlight streaming through the window reminded you of the cabin, the dust motes dancing through the beams. Beneath your head, you felt the steady rise and fall of breathing.

“...Bucky?”

Your voice was dry, unused for far too long. That single, broken word might as well have been a gunshot in the quiet room. He froze, shifting slightly beneath you. Delicate fingers on your chin nudged your head up, slowly, carefully, until your eyes locked with familiar steel blue ones.

“You’re awake,” he said, his voice a small whisper between the two of you.

“Yeah.” You smiled as best as you could. “How long have I been out?” Bucky glanced away, an almost guilty look on his face. It took a few seconds for him to reply, though whether it was because he was thinking or because he had to swallow down emotion, you weren’t sure. His eyes, locked onto the ceiling above you, seemed to glisten.

“Months,” he answered. His fingers slid from your chin to the curve of your jaw as he turned to look at you. Pain. All you could see in his eyes were pain, guilt, regret. “It’s been…months.”

#winter soldier x reader #the winter soldier x reader #bucky barnes x reader

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