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nyc-tophile · 4 days ago

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𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑’𝐒 𝐑𝐄𝐂𝐊𝐎𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 | Bucky Barnes/Winter Soldier x fem!reader

After Hydra held you captive and forced you to watch what Bucky endured as the Winter Soldier, you became determined to get him out. Despite Zola’s haunting words—“He doesn’t care about you”—you'd risk your life for him, even if he didn’t remember what happened between the two of you.

Warnings - ooc winter soldier, Google-translated Russian, fighting scenes.

Author’s Note: I’ll be honest—I’m not completely happy with how I wrote this, but I hope you all still enjoy it! Feedback and notes are greatly appreciated. Thank you for all the support and 53 followers!

Translations -

[обыщите здание; мы не можем позволить им сбежать - search the building; we can't let them escape.]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐈𝐄𝐑 𝐌𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 | 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝟐 | 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝟒

You sat in your cell at the Hydra base, eyes fixed on the cracked, gray ceiling, your mind racing with plans and desperate ideas. After witnessing what they did to Bucky earlier, you knew one thing for certain — you had to get out of there, and fast.

But it wasn’t that simple. It took you a long time to figure out how to escape alive — how to get Bucky out without him slipping back into the Winter Soldier, and how to find your way back to the S.H.I.E.L.D. Every answer led to more questions, and every plan felt like it could fall apart at any second.

You took a deep breath and closed your eyes, the words “I’ve got this” echoing in your mind like a promise.

By the next day, you had finally pieced together a plan. You didn’t know if it would work — but at this point, you’d rather die trying than rot in that cell, forced to listen to Zola’s twisted remarks for one more second.

The day began like all the others. Now you were in Zola’s office, lying on the cold metal chair, the harsh lights burning above you. Zola paced the room, droning on about something you didn’t bother to listen to — his voice had become background noise. Your eyes stayed sharp, scanning your surroundings, searching for anything, anything that could help you escape.

Then you spotted it—a bag tucked away in the corner of a cubby, packed with your original clothes. For a moment, you hesitated, daring to hope that your phone might still be inside. If it were, maybe you could power it on and send your location to S.H.I.E.L.D.

Scrapping your other plan completely, you started formulating a new one. Then Zola’s voice cut through your thoughts: “Alright, girl, you’re finished here.” You didn’t reply—just hummed softly and stood up. The guard was waiting at the edge of the bed.

Turning your back to the tray of medical tools, you slipped your hand behind you and quietly picked up the dental pick lying near the edge. You tucked it carefully up the sleeve of the sweater you were wearing.

Back in your cell, you sat on the cot, letting time slip by as you pieced together a new plan, one you hoped wouldn’t fall apart like the rest. When the halls finally fell silent, you rose, your leg still aching as it struggled to heal. Slowly, you crossed the room and gripped the cold metal rails, peering out. The guard stood to the left of the cell, gun in hand, staring straight ahead, still, alert, but unaware.

You turned back to the bed and reached beneath the thin mattress, fingers closing around the metal pick you’d hidden there. You’d taken the time to straighten it earlier. With quiet steps, you returned to the bars and crouched by the lock, heart pounding. Biting your lip to steady your breath, you slid the pick into the keyhole, feeling for the tumblers. Slowly, you worked it back and forth, listening for the soft clicks.

You froze as the soft click reached your ears — the lock had given way. A small smile tugged at your lips. Carefully, you eased the lock free and lowered it to the ground, doing your best not to make a sound.

Drawing a slow, steady breath, you reached for the latch. Your fingers moved with deliberate care, and you squeezed your eyes shut for a moment, as if that might help you will the silence to hold. Inch by inch, you shifted the latch, every muscle tense, praying it wouldn’t betray you with a single noise.

As you felt the latch softly click against the cover, signaling it could move no further, you exhaled the breath you’d been holding and opened your eyes. Bringing your hand back into the cell, you grabbed the pick and held it between your teeth. Rising to your feet, you moved slowly, easing the cell door open.

You took a deep breath and stepped out, crouching low. The cold floor against your bare feet as you crept forward, careful not to make a sound. Before the guard could register what was happening, you pulled the pick from your mouth and closed the distance, clamping a hand over his mouth. With a swift motion, you drove the pick into his neck, then yanked it free, watching as he slowly collapsed to the floor.

Letting out a sharp breath, you picked up his gun and slipped the pick into your pocket. A quick search of his body revealed a knife, which you tucked into your waistband before moving on. Clutching the gun to your chest, you moved swiftly through the cold, dimly lit halls of Hydra’s compound, glancing into each room as you passed, heart pounding, determined to find Bucky.

“Come on, Bucky, where are you…” You muttered under your breath as you hurried toward the lab where Zola kept your belongings. Slowing your pace, you came to a stop at the door, pressing your back against the cold wall. Heart racing, you took a steadying breath before carefully leaning forward, peering through the glass to scan the room.

Scanning the room carefully, you eased the door open and stepped inside, moving as quietly as you could. Only one light was on, casting a dim glow from behind a curtain at the far end of the lab. You took a deep breath, raising the gun, your hands steady despite the pounding of your heart. Step by step, you crept toward the curtain, then slowly drew it aside.

There he was — Bucky. He laid upright, eyes closed, his hands clenched tightly into fists, as if even in sleep he was waging some unseen battle. Slinging the gun across your back, you crept toward him, each step careful, your heart aching at the sight of him.

You stepped to his side, heart pounding, and slowly reached out, your fingertips brushing lightly against his right wrist. But before you could blink, before you could even draw your next breath, his hand shot up and clamped around your throat, squeezing hard.

Panic surged through you as your hands flew to his wrist, trying to pry him off. “Bucky— I-it’s me!” you gasped, your voice strained, nails digging into his skin. His eyes were wide with confusion, searching your face.

His grip didn’t loosen. His eyes, still wild, searched yours as he muttered, confused, “Who the hell is Bucky?”

Your vision blurred at the edges, the pressure on your throat making it harder to breathe. Desperate, you fumbled for the knife at your waistband and drew it, pressing the blade against his side. “L-let me go… please,” you gasped, voice strained and trembling. “I’ll explain everything.”

His lips pressed into a tight line as he loosened his grip, though his hand stayed on your neck, the weight of it a reminder of how close you’d come. His metal arm moved with lightning speed, grabbing the knife and tossing it aside, the blade clattering across the floor. His eyes raked over you, sharp and searching, until they landed on the gun at your side. The confusion in his gaze darkened, his face hardening with anger, distrust shadowing every feature.

You followed his gaze, understanding dawning. Slowly, you raised your hands.

“I’ll take it off,” you muttered, voice low, moving with deliberate care as you unbuckled the strap and lowered the weapon to the floor. You nudged it away with your foot.

“It’s gone. You can relax,” you said, arching a brow, hoping he’d loosen his grip.

He said nothing, but after a beat, his hand fell away. He straightened, towering over you as he moved to stand properly.

“We need to hurry,” you whispered, rubbing your neck where his hand had been. “We’ve only got a little time before they realize I’m out of my cell.”

“Hurry for what?” he asked, his voice low, wary.

“We’re getting out of here,” you said simply, already slipping past the curtain, eyes searching for the bag that held your things.

He didn’t say anything, just watched you, his expression clouded with unspoken questions.

“If I can find my phone, I can send out a location ping to the tower,” you muttered, scanning the room, your voice low and urgent.

You bit your lip, eyes locking on the bag. Snatching it up, you dug through it, silently praying your phone was still inside.

Your fingers closed around it. Relief flooded through you as you pulled it free, holding it up for a moment before exhaling quietly.

Without wasting another second, you slipped back behind the curtain. “Come on. We need to leave—now.”

You grabbed the knife, reaching for the gun, but his hand shot out, gripping your arm.

You turned your head, watching him. His face was unreadable. “Give me the gun,” was all he said.

You rolled your eyes but stepped back, letting him take it.

“Let’s go,” you said, turning toward the curtain as you tucked the phone into your shirt. “We need to be quick,” you added in a low whisper, moving toward the door.

You glanced back, just to be sure Bucky was right behind you.

You turned the door handle and eased it open, just wide enough to slip your head out. You scanned both directions—the hall was empty, silent except for the distant hum of machinery.

Slowly, you stepped into the corridor, waiting until Bucky moved in behind you before pulling the door shut with careful precision.

Every muscle in your body was coiled tight as you crept down the hall, the cold floor sharp against your bare feet. The knife stayed clenched in your hand, your pulse thrumming in your ears.

The dim lights flickered overhead as you moved, shadows stretching long along the walls. You glanced back, just once, to see Bucky following close, his steps silent, his expression still guarded but focused.

“We need to move fast,” you whispered, barely more than a breath, your eyes flicking toward the corner ahead.

You stopped, pressing yourself against the wall as you peered around the corner. Two guards stood quietly, one on either side of the hallway.

Before you could react, Bucky’s hand gripped your arm and tugged you back, pinning you gently against the wall.

“Stay here. I’ll do it,” he said, his voice low, steady.

Without waiting for a response, he slipped around the corner, moving like a shadow. You strained to listen as the guards spotted him.

“Soldier? Why are you out of the lab?” one of them asked, his voice laced with confusion.

The second question never came. The crack of a gunshot split the air, sharp and final, echoing down the hall.

“Fuck,” you hissed under your breath, heart pounding. That sound would draw attention—there was no way it hadn’t been heard.

Before you knew it, alarms blared—the once yellow lights now flashing an ominous red.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” you muttered, skidding around the corner, sprinting toward where Bucky stood over the bodies of the now-dead guards.

“You had to shoot them?!” you hissed, snatching up one of the guards’ guns before grabbing Bucky’s arm and yanking him forward.

“I got the job done,” he said, voice calm as ever.

“Yeah, well, now we’re done for if we get caught!” you snapped, feet pounding against the floor as the two of you ran down the corridor, alarms screaming around you.

Before you could round the corner, a voice crackled to life over the speaker system—Zola.

“Do you think you can escape here without being killed?” he taunted, amusement dripping from every word, as if he were on the verge of laughter.

You froze in place, heart hammering in your chest. Bucky nearly barreled into you, boots skidding, but he stopped just in time.

His eyes flicked to yours, jaw clenched, waiting.

The corridor ahead pulsed red with the alarm lights, the flickering glow casting jagged shadows on the walls.

Zola’s voice crackled through the speakers again, low and mocking, as if he relished every word.

“You have hundreds of guards surrounding this place, inside and out… and worse yet, you have the Winter Soldier with you.”

Bucky stiffened beside you, his expression darkening. His metal fist clenched at his side, the sound of the plates grinding together barely audible over the blaring alarms.

You swallowed hard, your pulse pounding in your ears as you fought to keep breathing, to think.

“Fucking hell…” You whispered, the words barely audible over the sound of the alarms.

Your eyes lifted to Bucky’s. His jaw was tight, his expression carved from pure fury—but beneath it, you saw it. The flicker of fear. The weight of what Zola’s words meant.

“All it takes is those phrases, and he could kill you within a second. You know this,” Zola hummed, his voice smooth, almost gentle, like he was sharing a secret.

Bucky’s metal fist flexed at his side, the sound of the metal groaning under the pressure. His breath came hard and fast, but his eyes stayed locked on yours.

Bucky grabbed your wrist. “We have to move.”

“Are you going to risk it? Risk your life for a man who’s killed more than two dozen people?” Zola demanded, his voice sharp. “The same man who snapped necks without even blinking?”

You blinked slowly, your gaze steady on him. For a fleeting moment, confusion and sorrow flickered in his eyes.

Still, you didn’t look away.

“He doesn’t know you. He doesn’t care about you,” Zola pressed on, his words like needles sinking deeper. “Stop fooling yourself into thinking you matter to him.”

You couldn’t stand to hear another word. Grabbing Bucky’s arm, you pulled him with you, breaking into a jog down the hall, the world around you blurring in your rush to escape.

But then, the sound of heavy footsteps pounded against the floor, growing louder, getting closer with every second. Before you could react, Bucky yanked you into a nearby room, pushing you down beneath the glass. His body shielded yours, his breath steady against your ear.

The soldiers stormed past. One barked out an order “Обыщите здание; мы не можем позволить им сбежать!”

Taking a chance, you pulled your phone from beneath your shirt, powered it on, and prayed it still had some battery left. Beside you, Bucky shifted, ready to move, but you grabbed his arm, pulling him back down.

“Not yet. I need to send the location,” you whispered, your voice low.

Your gaze lingered on his face—on the piercing blue of his eyes, on the scars that marked his forehead and cheeks, some old, some still fresh.

Your eyes flicked to his lips, then back to his—those blue eyes now faintly illuminated by the glow of your phone’s screensaver. The warmth in them made your chest tighten. You tore your gaze away, knowing that if you didn’t, you might lose control of yourself.

Forcing your focus back to the screen, you drew in a slow, steady breath, your fingers trembling slightly as you began tapping, trying to move as fast as you could.

"Alright, we can go now. But we have to be quick," you whispered, avoiding his gaze as you rose slowly. You peeked through the glass, slipping your phone back into your pocket.

You could feel Bucky’s body heat just behind you, a quiet presence that sent a shiver down your spine. Fingers tightening around the door handle, you eased it down and gently pushed the door open, cautiously scanning the outside.

The coast was clear. Moving quietly, you stepped out, the weight of the gun steady in your hand, Bucky following silently at your back.

You moved quickly but silently down the dim hallway, every sense on high alert. The air felt heavy, thick with tension. Just as you turned a corner, you came face-to-face with four armed men.

“Hey! Stop right there!” one of them yelled, raising his gun and aiming it straight at you and Bucky.

Time seemed to slow. Without hesitation, you dove to the side, narrowly avoiding the first shot that cracked through the air. Bucky lunged forward, grabbing the nearest man’s arm and twisting it until the gun clattered to the floor. A swift punch to the jaw sent him sprawling.

You rolled to your feet, gun in hand, and fired at the man who’d shouted, hitting him in the leg and dropping him with a pained yell. Another came at you fast, swinging the butt of his rifle, but you ducked beneath it and slammed your elbow into his ribs, feeling the breath rush out of him.

Behind you, Bucky was a blur — metal arm catching a fist mid-swing, driving his knee into an attacker’s stomach, then hurling him against the wall with a loud thud.

The last man hesitated, gun wavering as he took in the scene. His eyes darted between you and Bucky — fear creeping into his expression, but desperation keeping his finger on the trigger.

You saw the decision flash across his face a split second before he acted. He raised the gun, aiming straight at Bucky.

Before he could fire, you lunged forward, knocking his arm to the side as the shot rang out, the bullet sparking off the metal wall. The recoil threw him off balance, and you took advantage, driving your knee up hard into his stomach. He doubled over with a grunt, but didn’t go down.

He swung wildly at you, fist grazing your jaw, you caught his wrist, twisted, and shoved him back, straight into Bucky, who was already moving.

Bucky’s metal arm closed around the man’s throat, cutting off his air. The man thrashed, clawing at the unbreakable grip, but Bucky held firm, eyes cold, jaw tight.

“Enough,” Bucky growled, slamming him hard into the wall. The man crumpled to the floor, unconscious.

You stood there for a moment, catching your breath, heart racing. The sharp tang of gunpowder filled the air.

You picked up your gun, fingers tightening around the grip as you stepped forward. The hall stretched out before you.

Instinct made you glance back. Bucky followed close behind — hair frizzed and messy, strands clinging to his sweat-slicked face. His chest rose and fell with deep, steadying breaths, eyes sharp and alert.

Stop it, you told yourself, tearing your gaze away before your mind wandered where it shouldn’t. Not now. Not here.

You forced your focus forward, scanning every shadow, every doorway, your pulse still hammering from the fight. The air felt heavier with tension, the red lights pulsing, and the alarm’s blare pressing into your ears.

Bucky’s footsteps fell in quietly beside yours. He didn’t speak, but you felt his gaze.

“Follow me,” he muttered, taking the lead, his voice low but firm. Without waiting for your reply, Bucky moved ahead, guiding you toward a narrow hallway, slipping through first.

You fell in behind him, weapon raised, every sense on edge. The walls felt like they were closing in — the flicker of red emergency lights casting warped shadows that danced across Bucky’s broad back.

Bucky paused at an intersection, holding up a hand. You froze. He tilted his head, listening.

A voice echoed faintly down the next corridor. Footsteps. More than one set, moving fast.

Three men rounded the corner, moving fast, weapons raised — but the corridor was too tight for gunfire, and they realized it an instant too late.

Bucky surged forward, slamming his shoulder into the first man’s chest, knocking him hard into the wall. His gun clattered to the floor, and Bucky didn’t hesitate — his metal arm swung up, delivering a brutal backhand that sent the man crumpling.

The second man lunged at you, swinging the butt of his rifle like a club. You ducked beneath it, feeling the rush of air as it missed your head by inches. You drove your elbow up into his jaw, the crack of impact sharp and satisfying. He staggered back, dazed, and you grabbed his wrist, twisting hard until the weapon dropped.

He snarled, swinging at you with his free hand. You caught it mid-strike, using his momentum to flip him. He hit the floor with a thud.

The third came at Bucky with a knife, slashing wildly. Bucky sidestepped, metal hand shooting out to catch the man’s wrist. There was a brief struggle — then Bucky yanked the man forward and drove his knee into his gut, knocking the wind out of him. With a swift twist, the knife clattered to the floor. Bucky ended it with a clean, brutal punch that dropped the man cold.

Without wasting a heartbeat, both of you sprinted down the hall, your feet pounding against the cold concrete. The alarm blared relentlessly, its echo bouncing off the walls like a warning.

You burst through a side exit and into the biting Siberian night. The sharp, icy air burned your lungs, but you welcomed it. Anything was better than the stifling, suffocating atmosphere inside that base.

Snow whipped around you, driven by a ruthless wind that cut through your clothes as you and Bucky moved toward a nearby cluster of trees. You crouched low, eyes scanning the distance, while behind you, the dark silhouette of the base loomed against the gray sky.

Steve and Natasha were coming. They had to be. Because if they weren’t… well, you already knew how this nightmare would end.

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