#captain hydra fanfic

[georgiapeach30513]

Mark My Territory

Summary: You evaded him. Again. This constant game was being played of him getting closer to you before you were ripped from his grasp. Again. He won’t miss this time you sly little fox. Your scent is etched in his brain more than anything else in the world. He won’t let his handlers stop him. He will have you. And he will make sure you stay put. You are his…

Pairings: Captain Hydra/Steve Rogers X Reader

Rating: dark!explicit

Warnings:  dark, explicit language, explicit sexual content, non con/dub con, kidnapping, throwing, choking, fingering, unprotected sex, PIV sex, creampie, 18+ ONLY

Word Count: 1.9K

Steve Rogers Masterlist

Captain’s dark blue eyes refocus as he removes his death glare of his next victim.  His fingers still cling to his neck, but they soften enough for a gurgling sound to emit from his disgusting throat.  Lifting his head fully up, the Captain gazes at his surroundings.  He felt it.  There was a shift.

“You fucking psycho,” the man in his grip screams, but the Captain squeezes as tight as he possibly can, cutting off all air to his lungs, before letting his lifeless body fall down to the pavement.  

Now he could focus.  Pulling his mask down, he takes a long sniff of air before his mouth turns up into an evil smirk, “Son of a bitch,” someone in the control center screams.  “He’s got that crazed look on his face.  He senses her.”

Popping his neck, he lifts his mask back up, and stalks down the road, while a team is sent in to retrieve him.  He was useless when he could feel you.  “Get someone in there now!” Nobody wanted to get in between you and the Captain.  There were always a few casualties.  A few soldiers were always lost.  Only one could ever get his focus away from you.

“He can’t find her.  We’re going to have to change her location again,” he takes a slow pause, seeing the Captain’s body cam.  “Too late,” he groans.

You stand up slowly out from under the table.  Trembling a bit, even if you had a feeling that he would never physically hurt you.  His height was vast and he was just as broad.  Terrifying and ways, and you weren’t sure what he wanted from you.  He always just stood there in front of you.  “Won’t you show me what you look like?” He shakes his head no, but extends his hand towards you.

“I don’t know what you want,” he wiggles his fingers, grunting a bit.  “Are you wanting me to hold your hand?” One nod, and another grunt.  Gulping, you step closer, tickling your fingers against his, and a shift happens to his eyes.

“Do I know you?” His free hand starts to pull down his mask as men surround you.  Jerking you away from him, and he releases an animalistic scream, throwing men aside.  And when someone grabs you from behind, dragging you his yells become growls.  

Lifting up grown men to toss onto the road.  His eyes hardly ever leave you.  You feel pity for him.  He was wanting to protect you.  He didn’t want their hands on you.  “NO!” He screams as a hand covers your mouth.  “MINE!” 

That was a turn of events.  He felt ownership over you.  Why?  Why did he feel connected to you?  He always found you.  Marching over to one man, the Captain’s fingers circle his neck as he turns back to you and your captor.  The man raises his gun pointing it at your head, and the tiniest little whimper squeaks out of your throat.

“NO!” He screams, cracking that man’s neck like it was a toothpick.  “NO hurt!” Tears drift down your cheeks, wetting the man’s knuckles.  There was something about his eyes.  “No,” he wasn’t yelling anymore he was pleading.  “Mine.”

“Soldier, we can’t take a civilian.  You have to go back,” he shakes his head no, a choked mine whispers at the man.  “She stays.”

Stays?  An option to take you wasn’t on the table.  You weren’t going anywhere.  “You might as well let him keep his little pet.  How many more missions are we going to have where he senses her?” Someone speaks into the ear of your captor.  “What’s the worst that could happen?  Might work out for our benefit if he knows he gets to go home to that piece of ass.”

“Soldier, at ease,” the soldier shakes his head no, repeating that you were his.  “At ease.  Get in the truck.  She’s coming with us.”

“No!” You wail, but the soldier walks over to you.  Lifting you up to throw you on his shoulder.  “No!  Let me go.  I am not yours!” 

“Mine!” 

Hitting him felt like he was made of bricks.  Solid and thick.  He makes no sound of distress, just keeps walking.  You could practically feel his smirk as he struts to the truck.  “Let me go!  Put me down!”

“No,” gone is the anger.  It was lighthearted.  This was sick.  This is not the way you wanted to die.  Become a play toy for this psycho that was going to do unthinkable forms of torture to you.  

——

The Captain grunts as he walks through the doors of the compound.  He had one thing on his mind, and it had nothing to do with taking his gear off, and being checked over.  A doctor comes over to his side, but he pushes him away.  

“You need to be cleaned, Captain.”

“Mmm,” he growls, continuing to his new mission.  It's what he deserved.

“Oh, let him have his fun,” an older man steps into the light, smiling at him.  “Having that stupid girl here is making things run so smoothly.  Let him pound into her tight twat.  Maybe eventually he’ll literally split her in half and we won’t have to worry about it again.  No more distractions.  Go ahead, Captain.  Fuck your girl.”

He grunts again.  He didn’t fuck you.  He owned you.  He loved you, and he could think of nothing more than sinking into your warmth.  Could already feel your velvety walls cling tight to his aching cock.  Getting out of his suit was going to be a bitch.  But you were worth it.  

He opens the door to your shared cell, and you hurl a shoe at him.  He catches it.  He always does.  Popping his neck, he curls his finger towards you, pointing at his suit, “Go to hell.”

Rolling his eyes, the Captain starts to take his suit off, with much more difficulty than if you would just do it for him.  “Just go ahead and kill me, you fucking asshole.”

“No.”

“Say something more than no or mine.”

“No.”

“Fucking brain dead asshole,” he charges towards you, slamming your body up against the wall.  Using his thick thigh to spread your own apart, he slips his hands between them, rubbing over your panty clad mound.  

“Creep.”

“Mmm,” your body betrayed you every fucking time.  If only you could see his face.  You never got to see it.  Hydra had him muzzled up like the feral dog he was.  

“Ahh,” he squeaks, pushing aside your panties.  Pushing in two fingers.  Your body hates you.  Told on you every time with its loud squelching.  “Mine.”

“It’s my pussy, you weirdo,” he pumps into you harder, hearing you whimper, and grunts at your pleasure.  “It’s mine.”

“Mine!” Slipping in a third finger in makes your eyes roll into the back of your head, and he presses his palm against your bundle of nerves.  Driving into you with such force, you couldn’t argue.  He was playing unfairly.  Your pussy didn’t have a brain.  And right now, your own brain couldn’t think.

His arm pinning you to the wall, drifts up higher.  Adding pressure to your neck as your body starts to tingle.  Pushing you further and further into euphoria before he pulls out of you, and tosses you onto the bed.

“My god!  You fucking asshole!  Quit doing that shit.  If you’re going to make me wet, let me come.”

“Mine,” he growls, pulling off his suit into shreds.  That glorious cock bounces up once free, and you have a giant urge to bite it, and also lick off every morsel of precum.  He didn’t require your mouth.  He just wanted to edge you until you passed out.  You swore he finally let your body come once your eyes closed.

“Bet you don’t even know how to make me come,” the Captain chuckles under his mask.  Stomping over to the bed.  Reaching his hand towards you, his thick fingers grab onto your ankle.  Dragging your body down, he flips you over to your knees.  Trying to get away, he smacks you hard on the ass.  “Prove it then.”

He gives your weeping cunt a few slaps before driving into your warmth.  Giving you no time to adjust.  It was an assault on your mind more than anything.  You hated him.  Hated being used as a cocksleeve, but damn if he didn’t stretch you out in the most beautiful fucking way.

Your walls hug tight to him, begging for his touch, and sucking him back into your depths every time he pulls out.  Your pussy needed him, and you hated her for it.  Hated that you knew he was close to returning because she was already pooling slick into your panties.  

As if your crooked panties were keeping you too far away from him, he rips your off own clothes, and never misses a thrust.  Grabbing onto your hips, the Captain uses you to fuck him.  You hoped you had pushed him enough to let you come because you were right there.  You are tired of his games, and just needed relief.  

Whimpering out nonsensical words when he pulls out, and flips you on your back, “Told ya, you fucking pussy.  Don’t even know how to make a woman come.  You piece of shit.”

He rips your legs apart, pinning them on the bed beside your ears and stabs into you.  His whole weight on you made you feel even more magical.  You hated him, and your body.  Hated that he was doing this to you.  You were going to die in this cell with someone who didn’t even talk.  

“You.  Don’t.  Know.  How.  To.  Make.  A.  Woman.  Come,” each word was drug out with every push into your wet heat.  You feel your juices leak down your ass and onto the bed behind you.  It was cruel.  You just hope taunting him was enough.  “Claim my pussy then.”

“Mine!” He growls, pushing into you hard.  “Mine!  Mine!��� You start to see stars.  This was it.  He was finally going to let you come.  It felt like years of no real satisfaction.  Spewing your arousal everywhere, speaking in tongues as you clench your eyes closed, but he keeps going harder.

“Mine!  All mine!” That was a new word.  He was getting somewhere.  “All.  Mine.  MINE!” You couldn’t see, but you could hear the squeak in his voice as he comes undone.  Thick ropes of his cum paint your walls, and you finally feel like you're floating.  

His thrusts slow down, and ever so gently, you reach up to pull off his mask.  Life flashes before your eyes as you stutter.  Trying to find your words.  It couldn’t be.  He had changed, and still had this weird love for you, “Steve?” 

He blinks hard, staring blankly at your face before the softest, “Princess,” whispers off his lips.

“St-St-Steve?  Steve?  Is that really you?” 

“Okay, that’s enough, soldier,” a man walks into your cell, literally pulling Steve out of you, and you sit up crying and shaking your head.  “Erase him.”

“Erase?  No!  No!” 

“Discard the girl.” 

“No!  Mine,” a needle to his neck, makes his eyes close before he’s dragged out of the room.

“I hope you finally enjoyed your orgasm.  He won’t be seeing you again,” the doctor backs out of the cell, leaving you screaming and crying.  You still felt him on every inch of his body, still had his seed dripping out of you.  What was going on.

“You bastards!  You fucking bastards!  Steve!  Steve Rogers, I love you!”

A shadow steps out of the darkness, and raises his finger to his mouth, “Shh,” and then….

Masterlist

Taglist: @tis-thedamn-season @marveloustaylortot @pono-pura-vida @sstan-hoe @missusbarnes-rogers @peaches1958 @seitmai @smile1318 @andydrysdalerogers @cjand10 @midnightramyeoncravings @kmc1989 @donutloverxo @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @bambamwolf87 @harrysthiccthighss 

[scandinavianfairytale]

Look at you

Pairing: Captain Hydra x Reader

Warnings: Dark fic, 18+, Steve is not a good guy in this, stalking, obsession, kidnapping, mentions of fighting, murder in self-defense, mentions of blood, stabbing, cursing, threats, intimidation, smut (non-con, unprotected sex (STDs are no joke, make sure you're using protection), rough sex, praising, degradation, multiple creampies, excessive cum, fingering, multiple rounds, passing out during sex). 😬

A/N: This is a VERY DARK work of FICTION, please DO NOT READ if any of the warnings trigger you, you are a minor or you find any of them disturbing. 🙏

Steve has been observing the scene from the shadows. He liked playing with his food first and you looked absolutely delicious. Prim and proper woman, with your perfectly pressed white shirt, now sporting crumpled sleeves from when his men grabbed you and brought you to him.

He loved seeing the fight-or-flight response live. There was something so satisfying seeing all thoughts running through his victims’ head as if they didn't know they were so transparent. In most cases everyone's first instinct was to flee from seven potential assailants, but then there was you.

It was almost liberating to see you scanning the room for something. Everyone's eyes stopped at the door, but yours skipped through it as if you knew escape wasn't an option.

Steve was surprised when your eyes stopped at the corner of the room where the pool sticks were neatly put away after yesterday's game of pool. Shoving one of the men away you made a beeline for the sticks, kicking back at another man as he grabbed at your hips to stop you and grabbing one of the sticks before breaking it over your knee.

After that it was like watching a play at the opera. His men fell one by one, some were stabbed, some were unconscious and the last one was pinned to the wall. You thought you had won. If you could call killing people a win...Your victory was short-lived as clapping pulled you out of your trans.

"Well well well, look at you." Steve's voice was low, tainted in amusement as he circled you. Specs of blood littered your face and your previously pristine white shirt. Your grip on the broken wooden pool stick tightened as something similar to panic started rising in your chest. You knew this man.

Steve Rogers.

Captain Hydra.

The man that everyone feared. And you knew at that moment that this was all for nothing. You were in the belly of the beast and even if you managed to run away, you wouldn't get far.

"Come on, Gorgeous, this isn't the time to give up. Show me that fire again. I loved the show you just put on for me." Steve gripped your chin, making you meet his cold blue eyes. He could see how you were trying to decipher his words, trying to understand if he was serious. Your hands pushed him away the next second and for the sake of being dramatic Steve stumbled a few steps back, as if you actually had the strength to match a super soldier.

"Why am I here?" You demanded, but your voice betrayed you. You both knew you were scared, but too proud to actually just stand there and surrender. And that's what Steve liked about you. He found another one that will put up a fight and it made his whole body tremble in anticipation of what's to come.

"I got bored of my previous toy and I needed a new one." He said nonchalantly. Your face contorted in disgust.

"Why me?"

"I liked the fire in you." He cocked his head to the side, observing you and you shifted your stance as his eyes wondered down your body. You have never felt more exposed while fully clothed as you did in this moment. "When you slapped your date when he went in to grab your ass." A shudder ran down your spine. He has been watching you.

"What? Did you think I picked you at random?" He let out a chuckle. "Oh, Sweetheart, I've been watching you for weeks. I saw all those little dances in your underwear when you thought no one was paying attention even though you never closed the curtains." Steve took a step towards you and your legs trembled, but still you took a step back. "And I heard all those phone calls to your friends and home visits. I heard all the songs you sang in the shower. And all those little moans you let out in your bedroom." He was standing in front of you, your back against the wall and his breath tickled your ear, making you shiver. There was nowhere to run or hide anymore. He consumed everything in your field of vision. "Oh, Doll, you have no idea what you did to me." He reveled in the paralyzing fear you exhumed.

"P-People will know I'm gone." You tried challenging.

"No they won't. You just took a sabbatical and are volunteering in Colombia." His hand caressed you face in a loving matter. "And depending on how long I'll find you interesting, that's how long your volunteering trip is going to last as well as your time alive on this Earth."

You turned away from him as tears stung your eyes. He kissed the top of your head, making you shut your eyes and tears fall down your cheeks. Clenching your teeth, you refused to sob for the man in front of you.

"It'll be alright, Doll. I can make it good for you, make you enjoy the last moments of your life." His hands wandered over your pulse point and gripping your hips, pulling you to him. "But only if you behave."

Panic started consuming you, more tears blurred your vision as the situation he described sunk into your soul.

What are you going to do to escape this monster? There has to be something - anything. The promises he made, made you nauseous.

Your vision focused on the knife that was poking out of one of the unconscious men. If you could just get your hands on the knife...maybe you could do some damage. Or at least piss him off so much that he kills you on the spot. Anything was better than the insinuation Captain Hydra made.

"What do you want from me?" You finally asked, still refusing to look at him.

"Giving up so soon?" Steve mocked. "I want you to keep me company, especially after missions." He smirked as he thought of all the scenarios of when and how he's going to play with you. Bile rose in your throat as you imagined it, but sensing that Steve relaxed for a second, you dove for the knife, grabbing it just in time as he grabbed your ankle to pull you back to him. You let yourself be dragged towards him, before slashing across his arm and scrambling to your feet, running around the pool table stationed in the middle of the room.

"Bitch." Steve smirked and licked at his wound. He could see how fast your chest was raising and falling. He knew you were scared and panicking, seeking an exit. Like a cornered animal faced with a predator. He liked games like this.

"What's the plan, Doll?" He asked as you rotated around the table.

"I'm improvising." You bit back.

"There's no escape. Even if you manage to kill me, by some miracle, we are so far underground that you will never come back to surface again. But if you play nice...I might even let you see the sun and breathe some fresh air again." Steve offered, but you shook your head. You weren't delusional, overpowering a super soldier was never going to happen but...he could at least put you out of your own misery and just kill you. As you walked around the pool table again, you quickly tried running at the bar, to grab some alcohol to throw at him, making the wound sting. Steve jumped over the pool table grabbing at the knife to pull it out of your hand, but you turned just in the right second and stabbed his calf, making him yell out in pain. Your victory was short-lived as he grabbed you by the neck, twisting you around and slamming you on the pool table, keeping you pinned by the neck. Your hands searched the pool table for something to grip or throw or hit him with, but all they encountered was the soft surface.

"I was going to play nice, Doll, but fuck this little stunt just cost you that privilege." He pulled the knife out of his wound and cut through your jeans, pulling them apart, exposing your ass to his eyes. He ran his fingers over your slit, making you squirm, wanting to get away from him, but he kept you in one place with his strength.

"Relax, I'm not going in without at least a bit of prep. I don't want to ruin you for the rest of our time together." Steve whispered into your ear as his fingers entered you and started exploring the dry hole. He went deep, deeper than you could ever reach alone and he found your spot that always made your eyes roll to the back of your head.

"Ah there it is." He smirked as he started massaging that spot and juices started collecting around your entrance. Your body started responding on its own and your hips started meeting his invading fingers.

"There we go, nice and wet." Steve pulled his fingers out of you and licked them clean, before you could hear his pants coming off. Warning bells sounded in your head and you tried lifting yourself up, gathering all your strength, but you were immediately slammed back down and a sharp slap landed over your pussy, making you whimper.

"Be a good little girl and take this cock." Was all he said before he slammed into you. Steve groaned as his tip kissed your cervix and he saw your hands balling into fists. He knew he just broke you. You weren't broken yet, but he'll get you there soon.

"You fit like a glove." He commented with a smile and pulled almost completely out before slamming in again. Your poor pussy took his assault as he unleashed his stress and punishment. And he unleashed it over and over again. He kept fucking you for the next few hours, making both of you cum too many times. Pain turned to pleasure and then back to pain as he pulled orgasm after orgasm out of you. You were completely spent, barely hanging on to consciousness, your abused overstuffed pussy leaked his cum and it oozed onto the pool table and the floor. But Steve was still hard.

"Come on, I'm ready for another round." He slapped your pussy again and your knees buckled, too sensitive from all the rough treatment you received from the super soldier. Steve was unbothered by your state, grabbing one of your legs, he put it on top of the pool table, exposing your messy pussy to him.

"Did my little hole had enough?" He chuckled as he gripped his cock and ran it through your pussy lips, making you whimper.

"Please. Too much." You begged, barely above a whisper. Clenching your pussy, you tried with the last ounce of strength to make him stop, be he just chuckled at your futile attempt.

"I'm not done with you. You only rest when I say so." The super soldier said before he slammed into you again. You yelled out in pain as your walls were met with another intrusion. Your vision blurred as his hand pressed your clit harshly, trying to make you cum again. You couldn't fight him anymore and your eyes closed, as you chased unconsciousness and the last thing that crossed your mind as Steve made you cum, was how much of this you'll be able to take if this was going to continue.

Thank you for reading! 🙏💙

The picture was taken off Pinterest (though I think it's actually from DeviantArt) so all credit for the picture goes to the artist! 😊🙏

I think this is the darkest thing I have ever written 😬 trifect of abuse - physical, mental and sexual abuse...sorry about that 😬😅

[ourghoststories]

Apologies [Bucky Barnes x Reader]

"James, seriously! We're gonna get married and you can't stop getting in harm's way, you said the Winter Sol- White Wolf thing was in your past. I'm not saying you can't do anything, save the day, go chase after who you want, but please just think about how much danger you're putting yourself in and the repercussions. The government are already monitoring you closely. I don't want them to hurt you, like that flag-smasher chick or Zemo- what if they'd decided you're next?" I rambled anxiously.

"Zemo doesn't like super soldiers Buck, I don't trust him and even though you did everything right, doesn't mean he won't decide to target you, or us. I'm much more concerned about you".

"(Printcessa) принцесса, I love you but I can't do this... I need to keep going, the nightmares only lessen when I do it. I promise I won't get into stuff that doesn't involve me but I need to work through my book, I have my demons and you have yours" he said glaringly, taking a tone of frustration and concern, before letting the signature frown plaster his features.

"I can't do this either Bucky, maybe we should have a break" I sniffled.

--

I was out driving and I couldn't stop thinking about it, Bucky and I had an argument and this time it was bad.

Leaving was the only thing I could think of doing after we had the conversation, I cared about him more than anyone knew, even Bucky.

He had gotten back after everything happened with Zemo and I had no idea what was happening, he did everything by the books, despite charging into the situation most times with impulse taking over.

I loved him but I was so unsure about this, that's why we argued, Sharon was the Power Broker and had sustained injuries and it was so close to being him.

Plus I didn't like Sharon hanging around Bucky, I knew she didn't have any intentions but she killed someone without hesitation and James really didn't like that, either did Sam.

He would be steadfast and run into situations and come back to me and I'd have to deal with the injuries, the repercussions and damage, time after time and it never stopped, it was getting exponentially worse and that's why I cared, I cared because I loved him and he didn't seem to get it... Or more like he did but was being too stubborn to realise.

Even Sam was telling him to be careful to no avail, he wasn't always this brash, when Steve passed, he didn't know what to do anymore, he was lost and therefore I too, was lost- I hated seeing Bucky this way and nothing was helping, I've been happily dealing with it but I couldn't see him hurting or getting hurt without any consideration, anymore.

I drove around for a bit aimlessly, before I decided that it had been long enough and I wasn't trying to torture him, so I headed back home, the place we owned together.

"Y/n?" He said shocked, but had a smile on his face.

"Yeah I know I've fucked up, y/n, let's talk about it inside" he said apologetically.

I followed him through the front door and into the lounge room.

"I just don't know how you can keep doing it Bucky, you know how much I love and care for you, I know it's part of you and who you are but we're an us now and I need you around... Especially if we're going to have a family" I sniffled, trying not to let tears escape my eyes.

"Y/n I know, I know baby" he said sweetly, placing his metal hand on my back and rubbing it affectionately.

"We've always gotta be prepared, I'm trying to minimise threats to us, I'm going to be more careful I promise. Everything will be okay" he sympathised.

"Okay Buck I trust you, I just get scared" I sighed as he pulled me into a big hug.

He placed a kiss on my cheek, before he took my hand in his and squeezed it reassuringly.

"I love you" he smiled gently.

"I love you too, actually i love you more" I chuckled, poking my tongue out.

"Never doll, you know that I would never let anything happen to you, and when we decide to have a family, I'm going to be more responsible because having little mini versions of you and I would be a dream " he chuckled, caressing my face gently and putting his face close to mine so he could stare straight into my eyes.

"Bucky" I smiled happily, letting out an exhale, feeling the pressure of the situation dissipate.

"Mm?" He hummed.

"I love you so much, thank you for making me feel better" I replied as he kissed my hand lovingly.

"I'll always love you and I'll always try to do better for us, never forget that y/n, you're my first priority, not Zemo or anyone else, they'll never get between us, I pinky promise" he said soothingly.

[lizamango]

Cruel World 1/? (Brainwashed HYDRA!Reader x Steve Rogers)

summary: A war between SHIELD and HYDRA rages on in the shadows of the world. You live for the kill as a Black Widow until you discover Steve Rogers, the weapon for the opposing side who makes you question the side you’ve been fighting for. (inspired by Underworld, just go with the lore on this fit pls)

warnings: smut later, cussing, canon typical violence

Wanna join my taglist?

wc: 4384 (ik my first chaps are always insane)

The war between SHIELD and HYDRA had ended when SHIELD’S prize was defeated by Johann Schmidt, the leader of the faction at the time. The prize was killed in a blaze of fire and ice, hope was lost for SHIELD, causing them to scatter into hiding.

Now, HYDRA puppets the world’s leaders, in charge behind closed doors, everyone in their pockets. The superior faction. Made up of Assets and Widows.

7 Decades have passed since the day SHIELD’s beloved prize was defeated and yet pockets of SHIELD would stubbornly attempt to put up a fight against HYDRA. Weapons have evolved since then, as did technology. However, our purpose remains.

Hunt them down and kill them off. A once tireless crusade, now approaching its end as SHIELD nears extinction. A pity for those like me, a Black Widow, who lived for the hunt.

“Sestra, I have eyes on the entrance,” Oksana announces through the radio. “One guard.”

“One guard? Sloppy,” Yelena remarks.

“Terpeniye,” I order. Patience. “I’m going in. Watch my six.” I jump down from my perch on a tree, my legs feeling the jolt of my landing. Our suits are white to blend into the snowy environment.

“Show off.” I know Yelena is rolling her eyes.

“You’re just jealous,” I tease. I always was stronger, faster and more agile than other Widows. Perhaps that’s why Dreykov favours me.

“We got the same training, suka.”

I smirk and pull out a knife from my sleeve. I approach from the side of the entrance and slit the throat of the guard. I use his keycard to unlock the doors.

“Clear,” I announce into my radio. In no time Oksana and Yelena are at my side. Our orders are simple; kill all SHIELD agents and report any new intel.

The facility is surprisingly large for a faction that has been driven to near extinction but I assume it’s an older facility back from when they had larger numbers…

There are floor plans on the wall next to the elevator. This place isn’t heavily guarded at all. “Yelena, take the ground floor, Oksana clear subfloor one then meet me by the north staircase of subfloor two and we rendezvous by the helipad. Clear?”

“Crystal,” they reply.

We split up, following the orders I gave. There were no guards manning the staircases and besides the entrance, no other doors I approach require a keycard.

I enter a room that looks like an office space. I frown, SHIELD isn’t supposed to be this organised. There are files and maps of supposed HYDRA bases… some wrong assumptions while others were a little two close for comfort. I take pictures of the room and some files they have for intel. One file is particularly thick, stamped with a red Classified and is filled with the name Dr Erskine.

“Hey! Identify yourself!” I hear a yell and look up to see a SHIELD agent in full tac gear and a gun. I throw a widow’s bite at him which stuns him for a few seconds then slide towards him, wrapping my whip around his neck, using it as a garrote. With the snap of his neck I let go and pull him into the room, shutting the door to continue with my mission.

The last room I get to requires a keypad but there’s no time to guess a million combinations so I stab my knife into the side to expose the wiring.

“You are not clear yet?” Oksana teases. I roll my eyes.

“Shut up, I’m working.” I use my knife to strip the rubber casing of the thickest wire and short circuit it with one of my widow’s bites. The door opens to reveal a laboratory. We walk in, on guard. Suspiciously, the lab is empty save for a puddle of water on a gurney and a heart and vitals monitor in the centre.

“What was going on here?” Oksana wonders as she surveils the lab. I find more files, one with wet marks, indicating someone had flipped through the pages with wet hands recently.

Subject woken. Vitals normal. Natural suspended animation.

A photo of a man, a handsome one at that, is stapled to the report. Blonde hair, long lashes and chilled jawline. STEVEN GRANT ROGERS.

I frown.

I pull the photo from the staple and pocket it. I turn to Oksana and hear it before she does. Gunshots. I duck under the gurney and see a flash of black helmets and blonde hair rush toward another exit. I run to follow them, passing by Oksana’s lifeless body. Fuck.

“Yelena, Oksana is down, SHIELD agents headed down south.” I report while following them.

“Oksana?”

“Go through the lab at the end of the corridor and the back door!”

I see that two Agents seem to be protecting the blonde man. I frown and shoot at one of the uniformed agents. As I set eyes on who I assume is a civilian, he enters a submarine with the help of an agent before I shoot that one down too.

I feel Yelena arrive next to me and hear her fire off shots too.

“What the fuck happened?”

I shake my head. “We have to go back to headquarters.”

We run up the stairs to the line of trees where we left our snow mobiles and ride towards our rendezvous point; a helipad atop a now abandoned hospital.

I speak into our radio, “Tac team 12 requesting extraction, one Widow down, medical assistance not necessary, over.”

“Extraction order received, arrival in T minus 16 minutes. Out.” The other line briefly responds.

“What happened to Oksana?” Yelena asks again.

I shake my head. “Shield agents shot at us. I got both of them back but someone else was there. He got away.”

“A civilian?” Yelena raises a brow.

“I don’t think so.” I look through the classified files again. “An asset.”

“SHIELD has no assets.”

“We have to take it up with the council.”

“That means bringing it through Rumlow,” Yelena says.

I sigh. Rumlow. He’s, for lack of a better term, obsessed with me. And not in a good way. I don’t know who to trust. Johann Schmidt is the Hydra high command of the decade and he has claimed for 70 years that he had been the one to take down Steve Rogers. To take down SHIELD’s organisation. How could I possibly bring this conspiracy to the attention of my faction?

The sound of the chopper interrupts my thoughts.

“You could bring it to Melina?”

One of Dreykov’s older Widows and importantly, trusted.

The chopper lands and we enter. It takes us swiftly back to the Red Room.

To no one’s surprise, Rumlow is waiting for us. We walk right passed him.

“What happened? You lost a Widow?” A Widow hasn’t been lost to this war in 7 years. That’s how weak we believe SHIELD to be. Not anymore it seems. Having the prize back may just be the turning point they need to gain an advantage over us.

“Oksana was shot down by SHIELD agents,” Yelena answers.

“What?” Rumlow spits out. “How is that possible?”

“That’s what I’m going to find out,” I say, choosing to avoid telling him the whole story or whatever part of the story I have.

“Where are you going?”

I stop and turn to face him. “I’m going to Melina. We need better weapons if SHIELD is firing at us.”

“You’re not going back out on a hunt tonight.”

“That’s not for you to decide, is it? Your orders don’t extend to the Widows.”

“The succession is in two days, we need everyone of importance to be here, at the stronghold getting ready for the ceremony. Even this mission was a risk, clearly I should have trusted my gut because now a Widow is dead!” He’s lucky the Succession is for Pierce and not Dreykov who would go to the ends of the earth to avenge a fallen Widow. Coward. I almost say it out loud.

Rumlow scoffs at my silence and stops following me.

“Wow, you know how to rile him up,” Yelena comments.

“6 years of his obsession, I know how to handle it by now.”

“Yikes. I would have just killed him.”

I laugh but roll my eyes. “Did you find anything on your sweep?” I ask, realising I didn’t get a debrief from her.

“Just four agents but it didn’t look like they had any sort of planning, sure organisation because that was the most we’ve seen in such a big location but…” Yelena shrugs.

“No lab?”

“Nope.”

I nod. “How are you dealing with Oksana?”

“I’m fine,” she responds in the least convincing tone. “I’m going. There’s that gala tonight.”

“There’s a gala every night,” I scoff, not keeping up with the social calendar. I continue to make my way to Melina’s lab.

“Come in,” she says before I can knock, though the glass doors make it pointless. “What do I owe the pleasure, detka?”

“We have a problem.” I pull out the photo from my pocket.

Melina frowns. “What am I looking at? The newest supermodel? He’s a bit too muscular for fashion, isn’t he?”

“This is serious, Melina.”

“Elaborate, detka.”

“I found files on him at the SHIELD facility we were sent to. I think it’s the prize.”

Melina cackles. “That means nothing. The SHIELD faction were fanatics about their Captain America,” she says in a mocking tone. “Star spangled banner propaganda bullshit. Look at them now, rats just trying to survive a burning ship. What has their Captain America done for them?”

“Could it be possible that he is still be alive? Maybe-Maybe Schmidt missed something.”

“Izmena,” she scolds. Treason.

“I saw them protecting someone. The agents I killed. He got away.”

“The succession is days away. You can wait that long.”

No. Right now, who ever that blonde man is, he’s disoriented and that means careless. He must be the one in the picture, why else would they have his file in a lab if not to do research?

“You cannot confront the council with this. It is a death sentence to question Schmidt, even for you.”

“Dreykov would believe me.” I take the photo and go to my room. I wash off the grime and dirt from my hair and stand under the shower for a while, thinking. Where would this prize go? If I was believed to be dead all these years… home would be my first stop. I get chills just thinking about it. Home. The warmth I used to feel as my parents came home from work, surprising us with food or toys. My sister…

I turn the shower valve and dry off. I opt for a casual black leather suit, not the attire for the gala Rumlow will no doubt be hounding me about. All we know about SHIELD’s prize is that he was from New York.

I leave discretely as the decadence of the gala distracts everyone else. I make my way up to the hanger and get into a quinjet. They won’t miss one…

I’ve flown a jet before, just never alone and outside of a mission. It feels forbidden. I turn off tracking and communications before anyone can sense my disappearance. I land the jet in a clearing outside the city of New York and activate cloaking.

I walk into a library and find the American history section, also known as works of fiction with the lies they spread and infect their people with…

World War II. Captain America.

The text reads.

Captain Steven Grant Rogers grew up in Brooklyn, suffering from numerous health problems for which he was denied from enlisting five times before he was recruited by Dr Abraham Erskine’s Project Rebirth as the only person in the world to receive the Super Soldier Serum.

What made him so special? I think as I flip the pages, looking for a clue.

In 1943, Rogers single-handedly liberated 150 captured troops from a Nazi base in Austria.

A raid on a Nazi transport train led to the capture of Nazi scientist Arnim Zola and the unfortunate death of Howling Commando and best friend of Steve Rogers, James Barnes.

There is a passage on James Barnes and his relationship with the prize along with a photo of the two, dated at 1935. They were outside of a brownstone.

“Fan of Captain America?” a young boy asks.

I smile, “pretty awesome hero, huh?”

“My favourite.”

My smile turns into a smirk. A child. Easy to manipulate. “What do you know about his past? Y’know, before the serum and stuff?”

“Well, he was the best guy ever like the only reason he was picked to have the serum was coz he was such a good guy!” I smile and nod along. “His old apartment, in Brooklyn where that photo was taken was turned into a museum! Like that Anne Frank house in Amsterdam.”

“Oh really? Do ya mind telling me the address? I’d love to visit it.”

“Sure!” Did I mention kids were easy to manipulate?

I took a cab to the address and sure enough the apartment was there with a sign going on about America’s glorified hero. I refrain from rolling my eyes. It wasn’t busy, a passerby would pay it no mind if they were just going about their day. I walk up into the apartment. It isn’t anything too special, two bedrooms, a kitchenette, a couch and bookcase as the living room. There are plaques with fun facts about the items. I walk into the second bedroom, smaller than the first. This must’ve been his. There are comic books and photographs on the desk. The plaques explaining who were in the photos and that the comic books are replicas of what he would have entertained himself with because he was too sick to go outside and play with the neighbours. What a sad life. I think back to the space I had in my family home. A mansion, really. The outdoor playground my parents built for us.

An album of the Captain’s drawings is on the bedside table. I flip through it and there are portraits of everything, skyscrapers, people, a park with a bridge in it. Brooklyn Bridge. Next stop.

I spot him immediately. He seems to have acquired some new clothes as the Captain sports a brown worn leather jacket, a tight black shirt and loose fit jeans and boots. He’s sitting on the bench overlooking the bridge and park from the exact angle the sketch seemed to be from.

“You were at that base in Russia,” he says as I sit beside him.

“You weren’t supposed to be there.”

“You killed those agents.”

“They were my orders,” I state.

“Are you here to kill me?” he asks calmly.

“I’m not. I need you to come with me.”

“Oh now you’re asking nicely?”

“You don’t know this new world, I do.”

“I’m supposed to trust you?” he raises a brow.

“Do you see anyone else trying to help you, Captain?”

He chuckles. He’s too… confident. It makes me uneasy and I don’t get uneasy.

“Fine. But you should know, if it comes to a fight… you’ll lose.”

It’s my turn to chuckle. “A threat? Hardly golden boy material. Is this what the American dream entails?”

“There’s something I wanna grab from my apartment first.”

I look at him sharply.

“Just a couple photographs. Memories. I didn’t get a chance to stop by yet. It was full of people.”

“If you try anything…”

He doesn’t. He’s an honest enough man, I think as I watch him look through the photographs on his desk. What must it be like to visit his home after being away for so long? Having strangers pick through and dissect every little thing they find… Something comes into my peripheral vision and I duck as the bullet hits the wall behind me. That’s why you don’t stand in front of open doorways, tupitsa. I throw a widow’s bite at the assailant’s neck and then go down. Another charges towards me but I kick the desk chair towards him and as he topples over I knee him in the face.

“We have to go.” I grab his hand and lead him through the stairs but there are agents waiting for us. I jump up on the railing and kick one agent in the face then jump down to the flight below wrap my legs around another agent’s throat until they passed out. I look up to see the Captain fighting off another two agents. We make our way down, removing anyone from our paths. But as we do this I can’t help but wonder how SHIELD has enough troops for an attack like this?

We get to the alley but there are still agents of SHIELD in our way. One takes out a knife and attempts to slash at the Captain. I throw a widow’s bite at him.

I don’t feel it until the Captain reacts, picking up a trash can lid and throwing it at the shooter. I look down and see my suit darken with the wetness of blood. Fuck.

“Come on!” the Captain puts his arms around me as I press down on the shot to my side, the bullet went straight through. “Keep pressure on it.”

He walks me toward a black car, SHIELD’s. Putting me into the passenger’s seat he rushed to the driver’s side and hit wires the car to start.

“Where did Captain America learn to steal a car?”

“Shut up, we’ve got to take you to the hospital!”

“No. No hospitals. I don’t need-“

“Don’t need?! You’ve been shot!” he shouts frantically.

“I’ll be fine, just t-take me to the safe house.”

“Listen ma’am, you need medical att-“

I take out my hand gun and point it right at him. “Safe. House.”

I give him the address and he reluctantly agrees.

I’ve never actually been shot before… stabbed? Yes. An arrow? Yes. Throwing stars? Definitely.

But never a bullet. I guess I’m usually better at dodging them. Or I usually don’t go out of my way to look out for someone other than myself during battle.

“Captain?”

“Yes?” he answers quickly. Worriedly.

“Never call me ma’am again.”

His chuckling is the last thing I hear as I pass out.

***

Embarrassment is what I would feel if I was conscious enough to. Passing out? The other Widows would never let me hear the end of it.

“You’re awake,” the Captain says and I hear a smile behind his words. “We’re at your safe house… doesn’t look that safe to me.”

“It’s not exactly a safe house. It’s an old interrogation and research facility.”

He frowns. “How’s your wound? I cleaned and dressed it.” I notice that he changes the subject.

“How long has it been?”

“About 14 hours.”

“And you didn’t run out on me?” I ask, in shock.

“How could I when you’re hurt?” he asks back sincerely. This man. He’s supposed to be the enemy.

I straighten myself up and he rushes to my side.

“You’re not supposed to be moving.”

“I feel fine, trust me.”

“You said that then you passed out,” he scolds.

I roll my eyes. “Actually I told you not to call me ma’am before I passed out.” I sit up and he puts a hand on my back which sends a jolt through my spine. I ignore it and lift up my shirt to look at the bandage. “I don’t… I don’t feel anything,” I say slowly, trying to make sense of things.

“What do you mean?”

“When I got shot I was in pain but now it’s like…” I slowly unwrapped the bandage.

“That’s- that’s impossible, I saw it myself, I cleaned and wrapped it up myself. You had a hole in you. Straight through.”

“I don’t understand. I’ve never- I mean I heal fast but not like this.”

“So that’s not the reason you wanted to come here instead of a hospital?” I shake my head. “Have you ever been shot before? Major traumatic injuries?”

“No, I mean I’ve been stabbed and had an arrow hit me before but that still took a couple days.”

His brows furrow. “Now your healing… is like mine.”

I shake my head in disbelief. “Don’t be ridiculous.” I unravel the rest of the bandage from me and put it in the sink, lighting it on fire to get rid of any trace. “No one can know of this, okay?”

“So you’re just gonna deny that you’ve got the serum too?” he challenges.

“Captain, you don’t know what you’re talking about. I’ve never had the serum and I’m not some jacked up, glorified super soldier, understand?”

“Fine,” he relents. “And my name’s Steve by the way.”

I scoff. “Don’t get too familiar.”

He gives me a pointed look and I give him my name.

“Nice to meet you.”

“You’re too polite, you know that?”

Steve chuckles. “So, what are you planning on doing with me?”

I sigh. “I have to take you back… The people who had you, SHIELD… they want you for your abilities. My people, they can keep you safe.”

“And who are your people?” he challenges. It seems he doesn’t even know what SHIELD is, I realise. Odd because our history states that he was SHIELD’s weapon.

“I’m from the Red Room. We call ourselves Black Widows... We’re tasked with taking SHIELD down. Every last one of them.” I say with such malice I can tell he’s taken aback.

“Why do you hate them?”

“It’s a war, Steve. You would know about those, wouldn’t you?”

“I’ve had my fair share… But you’re avoiding my question. The way you said that… it was more than just a soldier following orders.”

I take him in. His face, his posture. His eyes. The most sincere eyes I’ve ever looked into. Eyes that make you feel safe because they’re on you. I see his jaw clench.

“Fine,” he goes to turn away.

“I had a nightmare that night.” He slowly turns back once I find my voice. “I went to go into my parents’ bedroom but they weren’t there. The bed was unmade, as if they’d gotten out in a hurry. I went to find my sister, she was older so she got the bigger room down stairs. I remember the thunder, it was so cold. The door was wide open, there was paper everywhere. Then I noticed all the blood.”

Steve whispers my name.

“I felt someone wrap their arms around me. At first I thought it was my father. But it was too late for that. The war had spilled into our home, they wanted something my father had but they couldn’t take it. So SHIELD decided that no one could have it. He killed the agents that they had been tracking and saved me.”

“Who did?”

“Dreykov. He founded the Black Widow program. That night, he made me what I am now. He gave me the strength to hunt down SHIELD and avenge my family.”

“He didn’t give you a serum?”

I shake my head. “He trained me. Taught me everything I know. Combat training, tactical knowledge. As he did all Widows.”

“But he treated you differently?” Smart.

I nod. “Like a daughter.”

I can tell he has more questions but he lets the silence hang as I shared the deepest part of myself with him. Essentially a stranger. No other Widows know my story. Most of them didn’t come from such tragedy. Many were given up by families without the means to raise them, others simply abandoned. They don’t know the love that they’ve missed out on. The Red Room is the only home they know.

“I um, I went out to get some food for us while you were passed out.” He’s really good at changing the subject, whether it’s for my comfort or his.

I smile softly. “What did you get?”

“Fruits - strawberries, apples. Stuff to make sandwiches from. I actually-“ he opens up the fridge. “I actually made you one already.”

I raise my brows in surprise. “Wow.”

“Yeah, wow. You should be grateful.” He pulls out a ham, lettuce and tomato sandwich.

“Oh, believe me I am.”

I sit at the counter and start to eat. I didn’t realise how hungry I was until now.

“Iced tea,” he rolls the bottle towards me. “Tried it. Tastes amazing. Think everything tastes good now… we used to boil everything.”

I scrunch my nose and he laughs.

For a moment it feels like there’s no mission, no responsibilities, no problems. Just this. Having lunch at 4am with a handsome, charming man.

“I saw the photos… read your history books. You had a best friend?”

Steve nods. “Bucky. He was all I had. He was my brother. We grew up together, both really hated bullies so we got along. I never had anyone believe in me like he did. He’s saved my life more times that he knows.” He looks solemnly at his hands which are restless. “We were on a mission on the alps and he saved me at the cost of his own life.”

“There’s nothing you could have done for him. You should know that.” I know the look on his face; the look of guilt and regret. The thoughts of I should’ve done more.

He nods though I know it’s still on his mind.

“You’d think after 70 years I’d be over it.”

“Well, it was only a couple of days for you. Technically.”

He smirks in amusement. “Technically.”

“Steve. We should get going…”

“Yeah, gotta follow through your mission, don’t ya?”

We leave the safe house and get into the car Steve stole.

“I have a quinjet in a clearing outside of New York. We can take it and get back to the Red Room.”

I start the engine and I can see the gears turning behind his eyes.

“Who started the war?”

“It’s a war for power so SHIELD did. They take everything. So we stop them. That’s all we know. Digging into the past is forbidden.”

“What will you do when we get to the Red Room?”

“I don’t trust the current powers in charge… Dreykov will know what to do.”

🖤🖤🖤

Was this too fast pace, pls lmk!!

part 2

[sarahowritesostucky]

📖"Breeding the Winter Soldier"

Rated: Explicit

Word Count: 7893

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes

Tags: a/b/o, Omega Bucky, Alpha Steve, Hydra wins, dark AU, forced mating, breeding program, coerced sex, restraints, heats/ruts, forced to fuck, past Bucky x Brock, HTP adjacent, mind control, anal sex, hurt/comfort (mostly comfort)

A.N.: this was written all the way back in 2017!

Breeding the Winter Soldier

“Looks like they gave Cap his assignment,” Rollins chuckles from where he’s sitting, boots propped up on the observation room’s control panel. “Doesn’t seem too happy about being told he’s gotta breed ‘im.”

Brock scoffs lightly, unable to help himself from lighting up out of frustration as he stares through the one-way glass window at their prisoner. Smoking isn’t allowed inside the facility, but that’s never stopped Brock. “This is bullshit,” he complains around the cigarette between his lips, tossing the spent match to the floor as he gets a good first lungful of nicotine. Beyond the window, Captain fucking America—or what used to be Captain America— is pacing, pacing, pacing, distressed at the news. Brock seethes quietly. “Project Genesis is mine. He was supposed to be mine.”

And now Steven Grant Rogers is the one they want instead. The superior choice, apparently, for siring little super-soldiers. Brock had broken whatever he’d been holding when he’d first heard the order come down—a coffee mug, he thinks it was. The order strictly reassigned him as handler only to the asset, the one to supervise the project. Supervise. Brock cringes at the restriction of the word. He’s been the asset’s commanding officer for going on five years now. Unofficially, he’s been his alpha for two. He’s the one who knows the asset, understands him. He’s the only one who knows how to make him work right, how to get through to him. He’s the one who cares about him, who satisfies him through his heats. And now Hydra is forcing him to give that all away?

His mate is going to be so confused.

Rollins tells him to chill. “I’m sure they’ll still let you fuck around with him once he’s pupped a few litters.”

“That’s not the fucking point!” Brock roars, angry but not at Rollins. Jack seems to know this, as he doesn’t move at all from his lazy posture in the chair. “He’s my omega. I’m perfectly capable of breeding him, if that’s what they want.”

Rollins shrugs. “You ain’t got that super soldier sperm.”

“Captain. Hail Hydra.”

Steve looks up from where he’s been eating his breakfast and frowns at the sight of Rumlow. It’s strange and upsetting to see people that he knew from before. People who he’d thought were the good guys. Brock looks the same as he did a year ago. Same haircut, same face, same tactical gear that he used to wear when he was on Shield’s Strike team, when he was Steve’s friend. Only now there is no Shield, and there are no friends. Now they all belong to Hydra whether they want to or not.

“Hail Hydra,” Steve mumbles into the cold milk of his cereal.

“Gotta come with me, Cap,” Rumlow tells him. “Today’s the day.”

Steve looks up at him, eyes angry and tired. “I’m not doing it,” he says. He’s fucking not doing it. They can’t make him.

“I’m not in the mood for this today.” Rumlow calls in the four guards that he’s brought with him and has them stand there with their stun batons as a warning for Steve. Before, they never would’ve been enough to keep him subdued. But that was before. Steve knows it’ll be no use trying to fight them off. He lets his spoon drop into the cereal bowl.

They take him down to the wing where they keep Bucky, to a room with a bed, a minifridge and an exam chair. It’s a heat suite, where they intend to force him to do this, Steve supposes. Bucky’s not there. There’s a tech waiting for them and when Steve lays eyes on the prepped syringes he tenses, tries to turn around. He winds up with a stun baton jammed to his neck and the next thing he knows he’s restrained in the chair. The tech is bringing a needle over and Steve pulls with all his might against the mag restraints. They don’t budge. “Relax,” Rumlow says. He’s standing beside Steve. “It’s just something to help you.”

“Help me how?” Steve asks, afraid. He’s already drugged up six ways to Sunday. Drugs to keep him weak, drugs to keep him dazed, drugs to keep him calm. If he didn’t heal so rapidly his inner arms would look like pincushions by now. The injections erase who he is, erase any possibility of a fight, let alone an escape. He doesn’t want any more injections.

“Something to kickstart your rut,” Brock says. He points to the other needles, one by one. “An aphrodisiac. A benzo to lower your inhibitions. Hormones to increase the chances of conceiving.”

Steve sneers. “I’m not doing it. I’m not hurting him.”

“You sure as hell better not,” Brock tells him, and there’s something about the way that he says it that has Steve paying closer attention. Steve takes notice of how tense Rumlow seems, upset almost. He smells the sour tint of possessiveness rolling off of him. “He’s mine,” Brock says. It’s obvious he’s not talking about his role as Bucky’s handler.

Steve squints for a moment. “…No,” he says, eyes widening. Rumlow smirks when he sees that Steve is finally figuring it out. “You’ve had him.”

“Wow. Took you long enough Cap. Thought you would’ve at least smelled him on me, all the times I fucked him before passing you in the hall.”

Steve grits his teeth, fury building in him in a way that he didn’t think was possible, not with all of the mood stabilizers Hydra’s got him on. “You fucking raped him?!” The tech comes over and jabs Steve while he’s distracted, not that he can move much in the restraints anyway. The needle stings going in, but the anger coursing through him is worse than the cold flush of medicine through his veins.

Brock looks at Steve with contempt. “I’m his handler. He hasn’t been raped since I started caring for him.”

Steve pants in his seat, feeling his temperature start to climb as the drugs work into his system. “Is that what you call it?” he sneers. “You think you’re taking care of him?”

“I know you’re not happy about this,” Brock tells him. “But let me tell you something: neither am I.”

“What are you talking about?”

Brock tells the tech to get out of the room. He orders the AI system that they stole from Stark Industries to stop monitoring them. Once they’re all alone he tells Steve, “He’s mine, Rogers.” Steve growls at him and that makes Rumlow roll his eyes. He drags a stool over to sit right in front of where Steve is restrained. “What you’re participating in? It’s called Project Genesis.”

“Yeah, trying to make baby supersoldiers, I get it,” Steve snaps. “I’m not doing it.”

“It’s the only fucking reason you’re alive right now,” Brock tells him. “And it’s the only reason he’s not gathering dust in some cryo vault.”

Steve can’t suppress his frown. “What?”

Brock sighs. “You’ve both been decommissioned. Hydra is a major world power now. One or two enhanced assets aren’t worth our time anymore. An army of supersoldiers, however, is. That’s what he’s still useful for.”

“You son of a bitch.”

“Yeah? How do you think I feel?” Brock snaps. “I was the one who was supposed to breed him. Was working on it just fine till they brought you in. I’m sure you think he’ll be happy to see you but let me tell you, he won’t.” Brock can smell the change coming over the other alpha, can smell his body ramping up for a rut. Beneath the scent of sex hormones is the sour tinge of chemicals. It makes Brock want to curl his nose and bare his teeth in a challenge, or maybe turn away to escape the smell altogether. “He doesn’t know you Cap, and you’re just going to scare him if you come at him acting like he should be glad to see you.”

Steve glares at him. “He does remember me. He knew me on the helicarrier.” Bucky had known him. He had.

But Brock shakes his head. “No. He only has bits and pieces Rogers. He’s my omega. I bonded to him years ago.”

Steve growls and pulls at his restraints again. “No!”

“Calm the fuck down!” Brock leans in closer. He looks mad. Smells mad too. “This isn’t about you or me. It’s not up to us. Do you think I’d let you touch him if it was?”

“He’s not yours,” Steve grits out. “And I’m not going to touch him.”

Brock huffs. “You wait till those drugs kick in, you’ll be singing a different tune.” He looks at Steve seriously. “And just so you know, he’s already in heat.”

Steve’s eyes widen at that. “What?”

“Yeah. He’s hot and aching and he knows what his mission is. He’s not going to fight it,” Brock says. “But he’s expecting me. He’s expecting someone that he knows to help him feel better. And he’s going to be confused when I bring him in here and tell him that he has to let another alpha fuck him. A stranger. So I need for you to calm down. I don’t want him scared. You and I are going to talk to him together and you’re going to be gentle with him.”

Steve can feel arousal building in himself, and it’s strange to feel that while he’s sitting there next to Rumlow, being told all of this. The chemically-induced rut is coming on fast. “Shit,” he curses, head falling back to the chair behind him. He can feel himself firming up beneath the thin cotton of his sleep pants and he hates that he can’t hide it from Rumlow. “I can’t do this. Please don’t make me do this.”

“Get it together Cap,” Rumlow snaps, unhappy.

“Fuck you!” Steve spits.

Brock sighs. “I was hoping you’d shut up but I can see that’s not going to happen. He crosses the room only to return with a gag in his hands. He forces Steve’s jaw open and presses the ball gag in, saying nothing about the fight Steve puts up. Once it’s secured and Steve is heaving angry breaths at him, Brock says, “I’m going to get him now. If you care about him at all you won’t make this worse for him than it has to be.” He gets up and leaves through the room’s only door and Steve is forced to wait long minutes, panting and sweating at the oncoming rush of a forced rut.

The asset is relieved when its handler comes to retrieve it. It entered its heat hours ago and has had to wait, alone and aching, in the little room. “Come on James,” the handler says when the asset stands from its little cot, and the asset remembers that this is supposed to be its name. He’s never heard it before—not from anyone besides his handler. It's probably invented, but he likes that he uses it. Even if it’s made up, it’s something special between just the two of them.

Now they’ll go to the other room, the one where they always go when he is to be bred. James looks forward to it because he knows it’ll make him feel better. Brock (that’s his handler’s name. He’s allowed to use it when they’re alone) will give him everything he needs, will knot him and hopefully fill him with pups. That’s their mission. So far they’ve been unsuccessful but the asset thinks it’s because his heats used to be so unpredictable. Now he’s been out of cryo long enough that he’s cycling regularly again, his body ready for a pregnancy.

The asset has never thought about reproducing. An assassin doesn’t think of such things, a weapon certainly doesn’t. But James does. James doesn’t mind his new mission. He hasn’t told his handler, but he secretly prefers serving Hydra this way over what he used to do. This way he doesn’t have to go into the cold. And they don’t wipe him. And there’s someone who cares for him—his alpha. Deep down, he secretly likes the idea of having a baby, something that’s his that isn’t garbage or government-issued. Something that’s all his. He doesn’t tell his handler about this either.

They enter the other room and there is someone else there. It’s a man, an alpha. He’s restrained and in rut, that much is clear right away. The asset is nearly knocked back by the abrupt smell of him. Brock notices and laughs, reaching to grab him by the arm and pull him closer. “Easy babe.”

The asset scans his eyes over the man on the chair. He’s big. Tall and muscled, with blond hair and handsome features. He’s clearly upset. He struggles against his bonds as they approach, making useless sounds through the gag in his mouth. The asset looks questioningly at Brock. “Who is he?” He’s not really supposed to ask questions unprompted, but over time he’s learned that it’s okay with his handler, with Brock.

“His name is Captain Rogers,” Brock says. “Former SHIELD operative. He’s an enhanced like you are.”

The asset nods. He was unaware that there were others like himself. There used to be a program, but it had failed. He can remember helping, being tasked with training a group of men and women to make them stronger, better. But they’d gone wild and had been eliminated. The mission had failed.

“We have new orders,” Brock tells him, and this is when he takes his hand, squeezes it reassuringly. James purrs at the contact, moves to begin removing his clothes as is expected of him. But Brock stops him. “Wait, babe.”

The man in the chair growls at the pet name and James whines. He doesn’t want the other alpha to be there. He wants to be naked, in a bed, under his mate. “I’m hot,” he points out. “I need to get undressed.”

“You can,” Brock tells him. He pets the side of James’ face. “But I’m not going to be here with you.”

The asset frowns in confusion. “What?” He doesn’t understand. This is the breeding room. James is in heat. It’s their mission—they’ll be punished if they don’t complete it. The asset tilts his head, baring his neck, trying to show his alpha how ready he is. “Alpha please,” he whines. He’d hit the floor and present if not for the other alpha in the room. “I’m in heat. I need it.”

Brock shushes him, gentles a hand down his side. It feels good but it’s not nearly enough. “I know baby, I know. You’ll get a knot, just not mine.” The asset is confused again, but only for a second. His eyes dart over to where the other alpha is bound. Brock sees this and he nods, “Yeah baby, you’re going to mate with him.”

“What?” A low noise of distress leaves James’ throat, unbidden. He’s not supposed to make noises like that. But Brock never punishes him for such mistakes, not when it’s just the two of them. “No. You’re supposed to do it. You’re my mate,” he says, feeling scared. He’s not supposed to argue with directions. “Alpha?” he says, trying to press his nose into Brock’s neck, trying to ignore the other man in the room. “The mission,” he urges. “Breed me. Put pups in me.”

But Brock just kisses his temple and sets him back firmly. “Sorry babe,” he says. “It’s orders.”

Steve tries to speak through the gag but of course it’s no use.

He is forced to sit there and watch as Rumlow comes into the room with Bucky, holding his hand, for Christ’s sake. Bucky doesn’t seem to mind at all. He makes a pleased sound whenever Brock touches him, and when he calls him pet names. Steve feels his guts lurch at the obvious show of affection between them. He feels jealously flare up in his core like a rabid animal, wanting to kill the other alpha for touching Bucky, for trying to claim the omega that should be his.

That, he knows, is his rut talking. It’s gotten worse in the past ten minutes since Brock left him here, tied to the exam chair and gagged. Steve’s skin itches and his pulse throbs. Between his legs, he’s hard. And now that Bucky has come into the room, now that Steve can smell him, it’s so much worse. Bucky smells like damp, cloying earth. He smells like dark, cramped spaces and tangled up bodies. He smells like something Steve wants to bury his face in and not come up for air from. Steve takes one look at him and feels the urge to chase him, catch him, pin him down come unbidden. All he can do is wiggle ineffectively in his bonds.

In front of him, Brock is telling Bucky that he has to mate with Steve. Steve’s heart clenches when Bucky looks over to him, tense and afraid. His eyes do not hold recognition. Steve listens as Bucky pleads and whines to Brock, calling him his alpha, begging him to breed him instead. And Brock fucking comforts him, pets him and gives him a kiss and tells him it’s okay. Bucky looks like he never wants to leave Brock’s side. Steve clenches his eyes shut at the sight.

“Rogers.”

Steve’s eyes open. Brock is standing right in front of him. Bucky is still hanging back, looking unsure. “You see?” Brock says, and he’s not bragging or gloating or anything. He’s just trying to get Steve to listen. “He’s used to being with me, Cap. He doesn’t know you. Now are you gonna behave if I take that gag out? Not going to upset him?”

Steve glares at Rumlow, but after a moment manages a terse nod. The gag gets removed, and Steve takes a moment to swallow the spit in his mouth, lick his lips and crack his jaw. “Thanks,” he grunts, not feeling at all thankful.

Rumlow nods, chucks the gag away. “I’m not going to let you up from that chair yet,” he tells Steve. “That I’ll do remotely, once I’m out of the room.”

Steve sneers. “What? You afraid to be alone with me?”

Brock raises his eyebrows. “First of all, I’m not alone.” He nods back to Bucky. “I’ve got him. Don’t let his role in our breeding program fool you; he’s still perfectly capable of ending a man with his bare hands. If I give him the order to, that is. Secondly, I’m not going to let you out of that chair while I’m in the room because you’re in rut. A rut that we chemically engineered to match his heat. You’re geared up to attack any alpha that comes near him.”

Steve scoffs. “I’ve got better control than you, animal.”

Brock looks back at Bucky and calls him over, but he calls him James, and that rankles Steve more than anything else yet. “Come here James,” Rumlow says. He holds out his arm and Bucky comes over obediently. “This is Steve. He’s not a big fan of mine, I’m sure you can tell.”

“Bucky,” Steve says urgently. “Bucky I’m not going to hurt you. Okay? Don’t worry.”

“Who the hell is Bucky?” Bucky murmurs to Brock.

Brock glares at Steve. “I told you Cap. He doesn’t know any of that.” Brock pulls Bucky closer, encourages him to go up and touch Steve where he’s restrained to the chair. “Go ahead babe. You heard him: he won’t hurt you. Have a look at him.”

Bucky does. He inches closer until his leg hits the side of the chair. He reaches forward with careful fingers, as if Steve is a wild animal that might bite. Bucky’s eyes are cold and calculating as they pass over Steve, no recognition to them. Not like Steve wants. “He’s healthy,” Bucky murmurs, almost as if he’s afraid to say it. “Strong.” Behind, Brock chuckles a little.

“Yeah he is. Don’t worry though. He won’t be rough on you.” Brock meets Steve’s eyes over Bucky’s head. “I have it on good authority. He’s going to be real gentle.”

Bucky doesn’t react to this, and Steve feels as if he can hardly breathe as Bucky continues to examine him. He touches Steve’s arms, his legs, his chest. Steve is still clothed, but the touches ramp up the desire that the drugs have kickstarted. In his pants, he’s hard as a rock. Bucky leans down and sticks his nose into Steve’s neck, scenting at the glands there. It’s all Steve can do not to moan where he’s sitting, all he can do not to try and thrust his hips up the way his body wants to. After a long inspection, Bucky seems to make up his mind about Steve. He stands back and away, looks to Brock. “He’ll sire good pups. I understand why he’s been chosen.” He nods once to show his obedience in the matter. “I’ll complete the mission.”

Brock smiles at him. “Good boy.”

“Buck you don’t have to do anything these sacks of shit tell you to—”

“Cap,” Rumlow warns, “That ain’t the way. He WILL do what we tell him to. And if you’re resisting, he’ll take you by force. That how you want this to go?”

Steve grimaces at the threat, imagining the absurdity of Bucky raping him. “He should have a choice,” Steve tells Rumlow darkly, hating the man with every fiber of his being. “Does this make you proud?” he asks. “Treating him like a thing? Violating him?” Steve forces himself to meet Rumlow’s eyes in an imploring manner. “You said that you mated him. If that’s true, is this really what you want for him?”

Rumlow shakes his head, looks at Steve as if he’s incredibly thickheaded. “You just don’t get it, do ya Cap?” He walks over, takes a hold of Bucky’s neck and pulls him in for a deep kiss. Steve watches the display with horror, especially once Bucky brings both of his hands up to cradle Rumlow’s jaw. Brock pulls away from Bucky, their lips separating with a pop, and he glares at Steve. “This isn’t about ‘want’. It’s about following orders.” With that he pushes Bucky up to stand close to Steve, turning away before either man can stop him. “Now just shut up, lay back, and get him pregnant,” he throws over his shoulder as he walks out the door.

James tries not to feel anything when his mate leaves the room. He tries to slip back into the mindset of the Asset, a place where feelings are irrelevant. Brock has explained the parameters of the mission, has given the soldier his orders. Now James will execute. He tips his ear towards the door, his enhanced hearing helping him to pick up on the sounds of many intricate locking mechanisms being set. He flicks his gaze back up to the body of the other man—the man they’ve chosen to sire his pups.

James wants to sneer, feels like maybe he does. He shuffles uncomfortably in place, wetness already growing sticky and cool where it’s seeped into the back of his pants. He wonders if Captain Rogers can smell it. Stepping close to the chair where he’s restrained, James examines the mag cuffs that hold him in place. They’re similar to the ones that his handlers use on him. It makes James wonder just how strong this man is. Brock had said he was enhanced. He tilts his head in curiosity.

“… Bucky—”

“Directive clarification,” James calls out to the room, ignoring whatever the Captain had been about to say to him. James doesn’t wait for a response; he knows they’re being watched. “Am I to mount him like this?” he asks, not particularly caring either way. He shouldn’t care about this stranger’s comfort during the act—he’s not Brock. The soldier has his orders and James has no choice. He has to do it. A quick glance shows him what he can already smell: Captain Rogers is fully erect beneath his clothing. On the chair or in a bed, he’ll be easy enough for James to take inside of his body. But a crackle comes through the speakers in the ceiling, echoing Brock’s voice into the room:

“Use the bed if you want. He’s been chemically subdued so he shouldn’t be able to put up much a fight. Releasing mag cuffs in three, two...”

In the next second the restraints on the chair click open, and James turns back in time to see Captain Rogers pulling his arms away from the chair. He sits up, swinging his legs over the side. His bare feet touch the floor but he remains perched on the chair’s edge. For the first time, James realizes that the Captain is dressed in sleeping clothes. A standard issue tee shirt and cotton pants are all he wears. “Bucky,” he says again, holding out an arm in James’ direction. It is unclear if the gesture is meant to beckon James closer or to keep him at bay. James is not unaware that, omega or not, he presents a threatening image to most men. With this in mind he narrows his stance, draws his shoulders down to seem as small and nonthreatening as possible. Hopefully this will keep the Captain from trying to do something as counterproductive as running, or fighting.

“I realize you don’t recognize me, but don’t be scared. I’m not going to hurt you. My name’s Steve.

James blinks at him. He takes stock of the situation. Captain Rogers—Steve—has been made aware of his role in the breeding program. He’s been given his orders just like James has, but he’s resisting. James can smell it on him, the warring scents of desire and disgust. James steps closer, tilting his head to the side once he’s just in front of him. “Smell that?” he asks, being sure to keep his eyes cast down. The Captain’s hands are clenched tightly by his sides as James bares his neck in a submissive gesture. “Come on,” he says as gently as he can. “Alpha?”

“Don’t,” Steve bites out. He sounds pained. “Don’t call me that Buck.”

James bites his cheek, thinking he may just have to use physical force if this man won’t listen. “You’re in forced rut,” he says, trying again. “That can’t feel good.”

Steve huffs an abortive laugh. “Yeah.”

“You’re flushed,” James tells him. There is perspiration all along the collar of Steve’s tee. “And you’re hot. Burning-up-inside hot. Believe me I know how it feels. When you’re so desperate that you’re miserable?” He reaches for the hem of his own shirt, pulls it quickly over his head. He knows that the movement makes his scent burst into the air. Now his top half is exposed and James has to hold in the sigh that wants to come at the relief of having that much less clothing on his body. He tosses his shirt aside. In front of him, Steve’s nostrils are flaring. “It doesn’t have to be like that,” he tells him, “You can have me. It’ll help.”

Steve’s fingers sink into the chair’s cushion, little bits of foam padding ripping out and falling to the floor. His scent is soaring—a deep, rich scent like copper and burnt wood. James grits his teeth at the sudden urge to drop and present. He slowly reaches out with his flesh hand and touches Steve’s thigh. “Why are you afraid?” he asks. It’d be nice to know. Everyone always seems to know more than he does…

“I can’t hurt you like this Buck. I just can’t.”

James shushes him, ignores the continued use of that nonsensical name, Bucky. “You won’t,” he soothes, pulling lightly at the fabric of Steve’s pants in an effort to get him to slide off the chair. “I’m in heat. I’m ready. It won’t hurt.”

Steve scoffs, but he does allow himself to be moved. Standing barefoot, they come eye to eye. “That’s not the kind of hurt I meant.”

James ignores the clench his heart gives as he thinks of Brock. He wonders if his alpha is watching from another room, observing them through a little camera. He hopes not. “Come here,” James says, pulling Steve forward. Steve’s hands find their way to his hips, and James feels more slick rush out of his body at the contact. He whimpers without meaning to. “Scent me,” he says, tilting his head again. He’s pressing up against Steve, their bodies connected from thigh to chest. He can feel the alpha’s erection and he’s certain that Steve can feel his. But that hardly matters as Steve releases an answering growl somewhere in his throat. His head dips down and he buries his nose in the crook of James’ neck. James’ breath leaves him in a satisfied puff. He’s been in heat for nearly twenty-four hours with no relief until now. He’d been expecting Brock, his mate, but the mission has changed.

His body has already decided for him, he realizes. It doesn’t matter that this isn’t Brock. Doesn’t matter that it’s a stranger who’s been selected to put pups in him. James’ body recognizes this Steve for what he is; a strong, virile alpha.

The Asset grabs Steve with his metal hand, pushing him towards the bed before the other man can protest.

Steve stumbles over his own feet, not having been prepared for the rough grab and push of Bucky’s metal arm. He falls gracelessly back onto the room’s bed with a grunt. Bucky doesn’t give him time to recover. He’s there in a flash, one hand planted in the center of Steve’s chest and the other yanking down his pants. Bucky tosses them to the floor and reaches for Steve’s shirt. But Steve isn’t having it. He grabs Bucky’s arms and attempts to fight him. They grapple for all of three seconds before Bucky has him pinned, and Steve is panting furiously. The drugs make him so much weaker than before. With Bucky’s metal arm in play he doesn’t stand a chance. Begging is all he’s got left, it seems. “Please,” he says, staring imploringly. “You don’t want to do this.”

Bucky ignores him completely. He rips Steve’s tee shirt down the front like it’s paper, pulls it off of him and throws it somewhere in the general vicinity of where the pants had gone. Leaning forward over Steve’s now-naked body, he gives a very un-omega like growl. “Stay down.” He stands up and divests himself of the boots he’s wearing, then his pants.

Of course Steve doesn’t listen. He manages to prop himself up by the time Bucky’s taking his underwear off, and the scent that hits Steve then is so strong it makes him clench his eyes shut. “Fuck.” He can’t look at Bucky, he can’t or he’ll lose his shit. The bed dips and Steve jerks as Bucky pulls him to lie down again, too much naked skin pressed up along his own. “Bucky, don’t—” He’s cut off by lips crashing down on his own. Bucky wastes no time in forcing his way, mouthing and biting at Steve to make him open up. His hands pull at Steve’s hair and he fucks his tongue lewdly into his mouth. A garbled noise that probably would have been a moan had it been allowed to form leaves Steve, his hands grabbing the first part of Bucky they can find—his hips. Steve pulls on Bucky, whether to bring him closer or push him away he’s not sure, but he winds up tugging the other man fully atop him, and the second Steve feels him start rolling his hips downwards, he’s lost.

Bucky breaks the kiss, pulling away. Steve opens his eyes to see the omega staring at him, eyes a hard grey. He’s still fucking downwards, rubbing himself off against the crest of Steve’s groin, and his breath has become harsh. “This is our mission,” he breathes, sounding rough and desperate. “We have to. You have to.”

Steve feels sickness rise up and mingle with the desperation of his rut again. “No.”

“Yes.”

Steve repeats the ‘no’ several times more as Bucky continues to writhe against him, but his hands don’t loosen their hold on Bucky’s hips, and he doesn’t try to push Bucky off of him. “I can’t.”

Bucky makes an angry sound in his throat and yanks Steve’s head back with the grip he has on his hair. It’s his metal hand and it hurts. “You don’t have a choice,” he says. Steve growls at the dominant gesture, his hindbrain urging him to put the omega in his place. But Bucky leans closer again. For a second Steve thinks he’s going to kiss him, but he doesn’t. He puts his lips to Steve’s ear, the dark length of his hair falling around them. “Don’t make me take it,” he whispers, sounding desperate. His hips have not stopped moving. “Please. Alpha. You’re supposed to give it to me. Take me. Don’t make me do it.”

Steve groans. There’s nothing worse that Bucky could have said. He’s in heat, and Steve’s in rut, and now he’s calling Steve Alpha and begging Steve to mate with him the way that he wants it; to take him the way an alpha should take their omega. Steve opens his eyes to find Bucky staring at him once again, only this time his eyes are soft and his brow is pinched—pleading. He looks more like the Bucky that Steve remembers, and Steve can’t ignore the urge within himself to make that pleading look go away, to satisfy.

He flips them over. The only reason he’s able to do it is because he takes Bucky completely by surprise. Bucky’s eyes go wide for a moment, assessing a threat, before he realizes the move for what it is and he relaxes and purrs. Steve doubts himself immediately. He brings his hands to Bucky’s face, pleased when he’s not pushed away and Bucky fucking bends his neck to expose himself. “Alpha,” Bucky whines, but Steve’s not having it.

“You listen to me,” he says angrily, using the last goddamn piece of himself that he has left to convey seriousness in his tone. Bucky stares at him obediently and Steve swallows. “They don’t wipe my memory, got it? You may not remember me, but I remember you. And I won’t hurt you. I hurt you, you have to tell me. If you want to stop, you tell me. Got it?”

James frowns, even in his lust-ridden brain he knows he does. This stranger—no, some distant and unreachable part of his mind corrects, not a stranger—Steve—is referencing the wipes, is telling him that they’ve met before. James can’t disprove such a claim. He wonders if this Captain Rogers was once his handler, or possibly a target. He wonders if “Bucky” was his call sign then. Steve is still staring intently at him, waiting for his answer, and James shakes his head to get the thoughts to go away. They’re not important, not relevant to the mission. If his promise is all the Captain needs, then it means nothing to James to give it. “You won’t hurt me,” he says again, thinking that the alpha above him is stupid to imagine that he could, but adds, “I’ll tell you if you do.”

That seems to settle it for Steve. He comes down and kisses James’ forehead, leaves his lips to linger there in a manner that makes James distinctly uncomfortable—as if they are old friends, or family even. “Okay,” he says quietly. “Turn over.”

James flips, never having obeyed an order so quickly. He tries to push himself up to present but with Steve’s heavy weight at his back he can’t do it. Behind, he can feel the alpha’s hardness pressing between his cheeks and it makes him whine needily. This may be a mission, but he’s still been left wanting and unfulfilled for close to going on twenty four hours now. There are no feelings of doubt or discontent with the situation that James needs to force down to be a good soldier. He’s allowed to want this, and he does. “Alpha,” he urges when Steve doesn’t move to penetrate him. “Please. Now, please.”

He can feel the exact moment when Steve gives in. His hands are clamped tightly on James’ wrists to keep him still, but when James nearly begs to be fucked it seems to push the alpha off whatever edge of hesitance he’s still managing to hang onto. James can feel Steve’s cock on his ass as he allows himself to thrust at last. The teasing slide is made easier by the slick that’s gathered there. James groans in frustration, rubbing his face into the bed and fairly suffocating himself as he waits for the other man to get on with it and get inside of him. He’s aching for it, for the stretch and pressure of an alpha’s cock, for a knot. He knows he’ll start yelling in a moment if Steve doesn’t DO SOMETHING.

But he does, and James doesn’t have to yell at him after all. Steve presses up onto his arms, the sweaty warmth of his chest leaving James’ back. He positions himself, bumping against James’ hole, and it’s a relief that he forgoes the unnecessary gesture of using fingers first—James is sure he would snap at him if he tried. Steve presses inside, entering him slowly but never stopping until he’s fully seated, his hips flush with James’ ass. It’s not hard to take him in. James’ body is slick and ready for it and he groans lowly into the bed at the sheer relief of it. “Yesss,” he hisses, and turns his head as much as he can to look back at Steve. The man looks about as gone for it as James feels, and a dark thrill shoots through him at the thought that he’s about to be taken just the way he wants to be. Fucked and bred just the way his body is crying out for. It may not be Brock, but James has decided not to think about that. All he can think about in his current state is Steve; the smell of him, the feel of him, even the sounds he makes, it all feels too perfectly satisfying. Maybe it has something to do with the barrage of drugs the techs had shot him up with yesterday. Maybe. He’s not supposed to care though, and he doesn’t. He tries to thrust his hips backwards, wanting movement and having no idea how the other man can bear to hold so still now that they’re connected. There’s nowhere to go with Steve pinning him down at the hips, but he knows the Alpha feels him squirming, recognizes it for the request that it is. “Move,” James says, sounding more demanding than a good omega should. “God just…”

Steve has a hand in his hair and his nose in his neck before James can finish the sentence. A very low growl, almost a feeling more than a sound, is coming out steadily from his chest. It makes goosebumps break out on James’ arms. “Are you telling me what to do?” Steve asks.

Against the bed, Bucky’s mouth splits in a smug grin. This is what he wanted, what Brock would’ve done. At the height of his heats, all the asset wants, all James wants, is to be taken. To be held down and owned. James strains to look back over his shoulder. The angle is awkward but he ignores it, fixing Steve with what he hopes is a challenging stare. If he has to goad the alpha into a more feral headspace to get things done, then by god that’s exactly what he’ll do. “I came here to get fucked, so yeah, I am. Move,” he bites out, hoping that it will spur Steve into action. It does. He pulls out, ignoring James’ cry of protest. His big hands slide down to his hips and he gets onto his knees behind him. James follows, pressing back and presenting. He can feel Steve’s hands pulling him apart, baring his hole. There is silence and James knows without having to look that Steve is just staring at him. The thought of it makes him shudder. He presses his face into the bedding and whines.

“God,” Steve exclaims softly, dragging a thumb across his leaking hole. “You’re soaked.”

James cannot stop whining low, needy omega sounds. Then he feels the blunt head of Steve’s cock at his entrance and he moans. “Yes,” he hisses, though it’s muffled against the sheets. He presses his ass back harder, and that causes Steve to pop inside of him. The alpha grunts in surprise, but then he’s right back to thrusting, this time faster. Just as deep though, and god, if that isn’t exactly what James wants. “Oh, hugn—oh!” The noises he’s making are obscene but James hardly notices. They seem to drive Steve on, his hips slapping harder each time he moans particularly loud.

It goes on like this until James reaches for his own cock. He only gets a couple of strokes in before Steve is knocking his hand away. James cries out indignantly but then Steve pulls out, flips him over and pushes right back in. He wraps his hand around James’ cock, hips working at the same pace as his hand. He’s staring down at James with a burning intensity, breath heavy with his efforts. “Mine,” he growls, giving a calculated twist on the upstroke.

James’ eyes roll back in his head. “Ugh, fuuck.” It’s incredible and nothing he’s used to. No alpha has ever done this for him before, always leaving it to him to take care of. He can hardly thrust into the grip very well when he’s being fucked as hard as he is, but damn if he doesn’t try. “Please,” he groans, grappling at Steve’s shoulders for something to hold onto. He hardly knows what he’s asking for. The alpha is sweaty above him and James’ hands glide over the muscles in his back. “Please, Steve,”

Steve’s eyes shoot to his at the use of his name. Something raw and more intense than what they’re doing now passes through them, and before James knows what’s happening he’s being kissed. It’s not gentle. It’s plying, and insistent, and needy. God, is it needy. Steve is kissing him like it’s the answer to something and all James can do is go along for the ride.

“Bucky,” Steve is grunting at him when he finally parts enough to speak. James knows he’s speaking to him, so he opens his eyes to the nonsensical name. He doesn’t really care what this man calls him, so long as he never stops. “Buck I’m gonna,” Steve tells him, brow sweaty and pinched. “I have to.”

James groans, feeling how true the alpha’s words are. His knot is growing, tugging more insistently with every thrust. When it feels like Steve might pull away at the last second, James wraps his arms and legs around him in a fierce hold. “No,” he begs. “Inside me. I need it.” He’s not thinking even a little bit about the mission now, only the ache inside him. It’s an ache only a knot will fix, and he whimpers this to Steve as he holds him. “Knot me. Alpha, please. Want to feel it. Fill me up. Breed me.”

Steve makes a filthy sound and shoves forward, groaning long and low into James’ ear. His knot catches, fully blown as he climaxes. His hand has stopped moving over James’ cock but it hardly matters now. He’s rocking his hips shallowly, pulling his knot taut against James’ rim, pulsating it over his prostate again and again and again. James doesn’t need anything else to make him come spectacularly.

“Why do you torture yourself like this?”

Brock doesn’t turn around from the observation window. He figures Rollins is just here to taunt him anyway. “Nobody asked you to come in here,” he says quietly, attention still fixed on the pair in the next room.

“Yeah well…” Rollins comes up and stands right next to Brock, eyes taking in the same sight. “I was curious.” When Brock says nothing, he adds, “Looks like they’re finished.”

Brock scoffs and turns abruptly from the window, putting his back to it. “They’re not fucking finished.” Idiot, he wants to add. He scrubs his hands over his face and it occurs to him that he needs to shave. “That was just round one.” Brock doesn’t know about Rogers, but he is intimately familiar with his own omega’s stamina during a heat. “They’ll be in there for a good two days at least.”

“And you’re just going to stand here and watch?” Rollins rolls his eyes. “Stupid.”

“I can’t do anything else,” Brock snaps, irritated at his friend. “You’ve never been bonded. You wouldn’t understand.”

“No?”

“No.” He sighs. “You think what? It’s just jealousy?” He shakes his head. “I could handle that. But this… It’s like a physical ache.” He turns slightly to glance through the window again, thinks better of it, and turns back around. “Can’t stand it.”

“Can’t do anything to change it.” Rollins points out. “You never should’ve gotten so close. He’s just a thing, and at the end of the day he’s Hydra’s thing, not yours.”

“Yeah.” Brock really doesn’t have it in him to argue that point. He wants to, but he doesn’t. It isn’t like he doesn’t wish he could set the poor SOB free. But that’s never going to happen, and playing house with his bonded for the last six months has just been wishful thinking. “They still going at it?” he asks, unwilling to turn around and look again. He wasn’t exactly getting off on the sight before.

Rollins looks. “Naw. Resting.”

Brock grits his teeth, can’t keep the image of that goddamn super soldier, tied to his mate, out of his head.

“You think it’ll take?”

“Christ Rollins, you just don’t quit. Of course it will.” Pretty soon he’ll have to see the soldier, heavy with a litter of his pups. He hates it. Hates it more than anything.

Rollins shrugs and claps a hand onto Brock’s shoulder. “Don’t stay in here.” Another glance back. “He’s obviously not going to hurt ‘im. Leave them to it. Come and have a drink with me.”

Brock looks at Rollins then and really considers him. He calls him his friend, but the truth is the two of them are just the same as the Winter Soldier—property of Hydra. It’s taken years for him to realize it, but it’s true. Still, Rollins is offering him a drink now, and even more than that, a temporary escape. It’s the closest thing to friendly Brock’s ever gotten from the other man, and he figures it’s the best he’s going to get for a while. He might as well go. Because Rollins is right; he never should have gotten so close.

Brock sighs and nods at Rollins. Tells him, “Yeah. Yeah I think I will.”

Masterlist

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[buckybarnesisdaddy]

Home

Summary: Getting settled at the compound starts with some uncomfortable conversations. And Bucky gives you the grand tour.

Pairing: Bucky X Reader

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Talks of nightmares, past trauma, talks of PTSD, talks of brainwashing and abuse, talks of death, flirting, fluff, smut but not graphic atm.

A/N: Enjoy and it leave a comment!

Previous

*Everyone is getting off the jet, getting their stuff inside and looking absolutely exhausted. Wanda walks over to you*

Wanda- So I feel I should let you know that I can kinda read minds. *She looks at you for a moment and you realize what she’s saying* If you ever need to talk, I'm here. *Wanda gives you a hug and walks inside. You look around the yard for Bucky, he walked off the jet after Steve and you haven’t seen him since. You walk off the jet ramp and you see him talking to Nat and Steve. Peter is standing there as well just listening. As you walk closer you can hear what they are saying*

Nat- She told me a couple months back that she was fine. *Steve gives her a look*

Steve- I was flying the jet and I could hear her- look, she's obviously not fine. Buck why didn't you wake her or something? Ya know, snap her out of it. *Bucky stares at Steve like he just said the stupidest thing he’s ever heard.*

Bucky- Because she is a highly skilled Super Soldier Assassin who could have killed all of us without breaking a sweat if I had woken her up while she was still in her dream- You've had the PTSD Dreams, Steve. You know it's not that simple. *Steve sighs and nods.*

Steve- I'm sorry Buck... I'm just worried is all *You take that moment and you into their conversation*

Y/N- I don't mean to interrupt *They all jump like they weren’t just talking about you.* but I feel I should let you know that was the first time I've had that dream in 5 years. *Peter interrupts*

Peter- Weren't you snapped 5 years ago? *You look at Peter and just shake your head.*

Y/N-....No... Look it was a combination of Bucky showing up out of the blue, Hydra trying to kill me, the Avengers showing up, and having to fly in a jet while conscious for the first time since- well- *You sigh and speak quickly* my express ticket to the ground. *Bucky mutters under his breath and look at you and Peter covers his mouth, appreciating your dark humor.* It was kind of a stressful day but I promise *You take Bucky’s hand* I'm fine. *You look at Nat and Steve, reassuring them both.* There is no need to worry. Now can we eat because I'm starving. *Bucky nods and turns you to direct you to the compound. Bucky nudges you and look up at him.*

Bucky- Express ticket to the ground... really?!? *You laugh and Blush as you explain.*

Y/N- look if I don't joke about it sometimes I'll just cry. *Bucky laughs and wraps his arm around you and you as you both walk inside. Before you get inside Bucky leans down and whispers, his lips brushing your ear.*

Bucky- How hungry are you really? Because we have a lot of catching up to do. *Bucky pulls back and winks. Your heart skips a beat at his suggestion*

Y/N- okay, I agree. *You take a breath as Bucky’s hand strokes up and down your back.* But I feel like there are other things we need to talk about before we get to that. *Bucky laughs and agrees.*

Bucky- okay, let's go eat and then we can talk. Yeah? *You nod and Bucky kisses your head as you walk inside.*

*While you are eating a quick dinner and getting to know everyone. A man in a wheelchair comes rolling through the door. You gasp and try to hide your shock when You realize it's Tony Stark. You think to yourself I thought he died Wanda leans over and whispers.*

Wanda- That's what we told the world. He and his family live here and the cabin. They move between the 2 to keep people from catching on. He now stays behind and directs all of our missions from here. *You are confused as to how she knew what you were thinking, you remember her comment from earlier. She read your thoughts.*

Y/N- oh. *You nod and look at Tony and then back at Wanda as you whisper.* but how did he survive?

Tony- Wakanda! They are pretty amazing. Kept the old ticker ticking and with time I'll fully recover. *He stops at the table* Now I'm able to watch my daughter grow up. And your name is? *you say your full name* See, thats funny because that's not the name I found in this file. *He holds up a thick file, the Hydra emblem on it tells you everything you need to know.* Tell me who is Odette? *Bucky tenses up, Stand and Nat look at you and you keep a straight face, not letting Tony know what that name does to you.*

Bucky- Tony, watch it. *Bucky warns. Tony holds his hand up*

Tony- Excuse me Manchurian Candidate I don't believe I was addressing you. *Bucky shakes his head and sighs. You rub his arm as you answer.*

Y/N- It's okay Buck. Why do you want to know about Odette? *You ask Tony*

Tony- Oh, I just want to know if your friend will be making any surprise visits because I've had my personal share of crazy and I'm not looking to add to it. *He says in normal Tony fashion. You assure him*

Y/N- No, she won't. *Peter whispers to Sam*

Peter- Who is Odette and should I be worried too? *Sam rolls his eyes*

Sam- Do you even look at the Mission Briefs we give you or do you just put them directly into the trash? *Peter just stares at Sam and Sam stares back in disbelief and annoyance. Bucky turns to everyone to explain.*

Bucky- Odette is Y/N's equivalent to my Winter Soldier. It's the name she used on assignments and what they called her when she was brainwashed. *Everyone one nods*

Thor- interesting choice *Thor comments*

Y/N- It's the name of the good swan in the Ballet Swan Lake... I just wanted something about my life to be good so I chose Odette. *Bucky looks at you and gives a little smile as he laughs to himself.* But I haven't been her *You look at everyone* or used that name in over 10 years. *you look at Tony* so are we good? *You ask. Tony thinks for a minute and then nods*

Tony- Yeah Tchaikovsky, we're good. *Tony pats you on the arm and rolls past you. You look at Bucky and Bucky laughs as he shrugs*

Bucky- he's got a thing about nicknames. That ones gonna follow you. *You follow Tony out of the room and Bucky can hear you yelling after Tony.*

Y/N- Tony we gotta talk about that nickname.

Tony- Sorry I can't hear you over my music *he starts blaring AC/DC. Bucky lightly laughs and waves to everyone as he quickly leaves the room to find you and Tony. Peter, Sam, Thor, Wanda, Steve, and Nat are left in the kitchen. Peter looks around and then asks*

Peter- what/who is Tchaikovsky? *Nat looks at Peter like she is offended. Steve looks at Nat and then explains when Nat doesn’t.*

Steve- He is a Russian composer. He wrote Swan Lake, the ballet y/n got her assassin name from.

Peter- oh, gotcha! *Peter nods* I love that movie, that's the one with Natalie Portman right? *Nat gets up and leaves the table and she grumbles under her breath*

Nat- He is a kid Nat, you can't kill a kid. *She yells* I'm taking a walk. *Peter looks around.*

Peter- Was it something I said?

*Bucky finds you and Tony right as your conversation is ending. He stands back and listens for a moment.*

Y/N- you understand where I'm coming from? *Tony nods*

Tony- yes I do. No hard feeling, chai! *Tony rolls away and you look at Bucky*

Y/N- Well, that's as good as it's gonna get I guess. *Bucky laughs and takes your hand.*

Bucky- follow me *He smirks and pulls you along.*

*Bucky shows you around the compound, showing you the gym, conference rooms, the weapon storage, he shows you where the bedrooms are.*

Bucky- Here is the last stop on the tour. *Bucky leans against the wall and crosses his arms.*

Y/N- what is it? *You smile as you ask, already knowing where this is going.*

Bucky- My room *he winks at you and opens the door. You walk through the door and Bucky follows. You start to remind Bucky that you just want to talk right now but he surprises you again.*

Bucky- So, let’s talk. *He sits on the edge of his bed and leans back a little, his palms flat on the bed behind him. You smile at Bucky as you are reminded of how considerate he always was*

Y/N- Well, about earlier, before we were blown up and everything, You asked me about that day on the Plane and I said I'd regret what I did till the day I die. *Bucky nods and sits back up, resting his hands on his knees.*

Bucky- yeah, what about it? *He looks up at you as you move closer.*

Y/N- I want you to know I will never regret choosing you. Yes, that day was horrible and I regret some of the choices we made. Like running and not fighting and free falling out of the plane, but *you put your hands on his chest as you move and stand between his spread knees.* I will never regret saying yes and I know this seems fast but if you choose to ask me again one day I will say yes, again. You are my forever, Bucky Barnes. *Bucky stands up and pulls you into his arms so there is no space between you two. He brushes his thumb over your cheek as he stares into your eyes.*

Bucky- I will love you till my dying breath *He caresses your face and gently pulls you in for a kiss. You melt into his embrace as things are starting to heat up. Suddenly someone is knocking on the door and it starts to open.*

Y/N- you didn't lock the door? *You ask.*

Bucky- No! *Bucky exclaims in a hushed whisper.*

Y/N- why not? *You ask, slightly irritated that this moment was ruined. Bucky rolls his eyes.*

Bucky- I was trying to be respectful. *He points out. Sam, Steve, and Peter walk in right as you two separate*

Steve- Hey Buck- oh sorry! *Steve lightly laughs. You blush and give Steve a look.*

Sam- Y'all know this door locks right. *Sam jokes and Steve laughs.*

Bucky- yeah yeah, you could've waited for an answer before walking in. *Bucky says as he crosses his arms.*

Steve- by the looks of it we probably wouldn't have gotten one. *Steve and Sam smile. Bucky rolls his eyes and pulls you close, standing behind you a little and wrapping his metal arm around your shoulders as you lean back against him.*

Bucky- Okay was there a reason for the intrusion or?!

Sam- oh, well Steve and I were-

Peter- and me! *Sam looks at Peter and glares before he looks back at you and answers.*

Sam- Steve, Peter, and I were- *Steve finishes the sentence.*

Steve-  We were going to offer to give Y/N a tour of the compound and let her pick her room-

Peter- but it looks like she's already had the grand tour. *Peter jokes*

Bucky- okay, really Peter? *Bucky is getting annoyed, even if they all mean well. You pat Bucky’s arm and move away from Bucky to handle this situation*

Y/N- that is so nice thank you! *You very innocently place you hand on Peter's shoulder but you know exactly what you are doing* And Peter I'm sure there are some pretty cool places around here that these old grumps don't know about. How about you make a list and you can show me tomorrow. *you smile at him and Peter beams.*

Peter- Yeah sure! *Peter runs off. Sam and Steve start laughing*

Y/N- and you two? *You start pushing them out of the room* You need to leave. *you push them out the door*

Sam/ Steve- hey, oh, what, why, can't we hang- *You see Steve smile a little and then wave as you shut and lock the door before they can finish what they were saying. You turn around and look at Bucky*

Y/N- where were we? *You smirk*

Bucky- I believe *he walks over and picks you up, takes you over to the bed and throws you down on it. You giggle, he jumps on the bed and lands right next to you. He settles on top of you.* We were right here. *You put your hands on his face and run your thumb over his lips and he kisses it*

Y/N- Bucky, I have been running away from so many things for so long... Hydra, the Red Room, you- I'm tired of running away. I'd rather be running towards someone. I thought you would have moved on by now- Thank you for never giving up on me.

Bucky- There was no way I was ever going to move on and I was never going to let anything happen to you. That's why I showed up today. I'm just glad you are okay. *He kisses you sweetly.*

Y/N- I'm really ready to give us a shot. *You whisper against his lips*

Bucky- Me too *He whispers back and then deepens the kiss. Bucky Kisses you with so much passion you can't contain your excitement and a moan escapes your lips. You say his name breathlessly.*

Y/N- Bucky *Moaning as your hands start to wonder. Within a mater of seconds there is nothing between your bodies. He starts kissing you all over and You're on fire with just the touch of his mouth and you can't take it anymore. You pull him in for a kiss. You breathe and move as one. He whispers in your ear.*

Bucky- say my name *He moans in your ear.*

Y/N- Bucky *You gasp and whimper. He kisses you again. It's just like you remembered, filled with passion but covered in gentleness and love. It was like you had never been apart and you know each other like the back of your hands*

Bucky-I love you so much, Y/N.

*You are laying on Bucky's chest, drawing patters along it and leaving kisses as you listen to his heat beat.*

Bucky- So much for just talking. *He jokes and you laugh as you kiss his chest.*

Y/N- I said all I needed to say. *You look up and meet his gaze. He reaches up and brushes his thumb over your lips. You give his thumb a kiss and then lay your head back down and you both drift off to sleep*

*When you wake up, Bucky is still asleep. You take this time to shower and get ready for the day. You go and sit down on Bucky's bed and look at him sleeping. He is so peaceful and he looks, happy. Really truly happy. You sit there for a few moments, running your fingers through his hair when You remember you were supposed to meet Peter. So you give Bucky a gentle kiss and go to leave. As you are getting up to head downstairs Bucky wakes up.*

Bucky- Good morning. *he gets up and walks over to you and give you a kiss* I'm sure they'll understand if the teacher doesn't show up today considering the school was blown up last night. *You remember what happen last night and you nod*

Y/N- oh yeah, I should probably give my two weeks. *You grimace and Bucky pulls you close*

Bucky- I think they have more to worry about than your letter of resignation. *You laugh and agree.*

Y/N- true! *Bucky kisses you and rubs your back.*

Bucky- So, you're going to stay? *Bucky asks, his eyes glowing with hope. You gently smile and nod.*

Y/N- I just got you back, why wouldn't I? *You ask and play with the hair at the nape of his neck as you gaze up at him.*

Bucky- You said you made a family and a life there. You said you weren't going to fight because you didn't want to leave and involve them. *You nod and lean forward to kiss his chest before looking back up at him.*

Y/N- I was reminded last night that you are my home, Bucky. You are my family. *you run your hand through his hair again.* And someone's trying to hurt you, hurt us. So I'm gonna fight like hell. Like you said this is still my fight and now I intend to end it. *Bucky kisses you and you smile against his lips. As you pull back you go to leave the room, Bucky stops you again.*

Bucky- where are you going? *He asks, a little glint in his eyes. You smile*

Y/N- remember last night-

Bucky- oh I remember last night *he smiles and pulls you closer, you giggle and roll your eyes.*

Y/N- Not that! Well, yes but before that. I made plans with Peter. *Bucky nods*

Bucky- oh yeah, okay well go make friends and play nice. *You lean in close enough that your lips will touch if you speak*

Y/N- I always do *you give him a little peck and walk out of the room. Bucky walks back and falls backwards on the bed with the biggest smile on his face* 

Next

Taglist: @hisredheadedgoddess28 @jessieasher1616 @janineb86 @cadencejames87 @cjand10 @theinheriteddutchess @slytherinqueen4life @rainydayandmondays @georgiapeach30513 @anastasiamariebarnes

[stargeode]

Music Box Memories

This is my first spicy fic I've written so I hope people like it. Feedback is appreciated. Thanks @walkingchemicalfire for beta reading and being a great friend.

This is a BuckyxReader fic with the reader intended to be female. Possibility of Stucky later. I do not intend to include r*pe or Dead Dove in this fic.

TW: Marvel, Hydra, memory loss, action (if I missed any warnings, please let me know so I can include them)

Reader's POV

Adrenaline rushes your veins as you find the empty house. Everything about the place feels familiar, but not. You can perfectly envision where pieces of furniture that live as vague imprints in your memory would have once stood. It hurts when the memories hit you like this, but you can’t stop chasing them, feeling like you’re missing something important. Something that is supposed to be yours, and once was, but is not anymore. Perhaps Hydra took it, like they took most everything else, but it is hard for you to tell. All you really know is the memories hurt, but they feel important, and you can’t stop chasing them.

A sound catches your attention, the advanced hearing gifted to you by Hydra and their motives allowing you to follow the noise that a normal person might not notice. You move mechanically as you pick your way through charred remains of what was a building you once knew, but do not know anymore. The headache returns as you enter the bedroom. Your room, though you have no recollection of ever sleeping anywhere but the frigid cells and random motel rooms. You somehow know, almost instinctively, that it is your room though. The soft sound of a music box floats through the room, tickling at your thoughts. You recognize the melody, and can almost summon the words that pair with it.

Opening a drawer to a charred dresser reveals the source of the sound. The music box looks pristine, untouched by the destruction around it that happened so long ago. It appears to have been cared for, however, you were not the one doing the caring. A prickle floods down your spine. Danger. You sense it now and curse your foolishness at being here, searching for answers to forgotten questions. It was a trap, that much is obvious to you now.

A floorboard creaks behind you as a weight greater than your own rests upon it. Your movements are instinctive as you whirl and reach for a holster that you no longer carry. You recover the mistake quickly and pull a pocket knife from your jeans. The blade is small, but sharp, and you have killed with less ideal weapons. You have been made to kill with less ideal weapons.

“Easy.” His voice is soft, and vaguely familiar. You focus on his form through the darkness, and sparks of recognition hit you as you take in the blond hair, the piercing blue eyes, the gaudy uniform of red, white, and blue. He is familiar to you, an enemy of Hydra, and by extension, an enemy to you. Captain America is his name, and being this close to him is dangerous.

He doesn't seem intent on attacking you at the moment, and you take the time to assess your options. You didn't come for a fight, you didn't expect anyone to even be here. His frame is blocking the door, but in the remains of a building that had been struck by fire and the elements, that's hardly a deterrent for escape. Thinking quickly, you grab the music box and dive through the hole in the wall that held a window at some point.

“Wait!” The Captain's voice calls after you. “I'm here to help!” His words do nothing to stop your fall from the second story however, and your roll cleanly to your feet on impact. Your advanced hearing picks up rustling nearby, and a faint voice through a com. She's made a run for it. You take off in a dead sprint, heading away from the house that was yours once, maybe, and towards the clearing where you left the stolen motorbike.

You're fast, your smaller body allowing for you to move through the foliage faster than the Captain can hope to you. You know this, and use your surroundings to your advantage, putting as many obstacles between you and him as possible. What you could not predict, however, is his companion.

Bucky's POV

“She's made a run for it.” Steve's voice crackles through the com in Bucky's ear. He can hear Tony, Sam, and Natasha acknowledge, but he keeps quiet as he hears the girl land near his hiding place.

She looks oddly familiar still, his botched memories telling him that he knows this rogue asset, but he cannot recall her name or if he ever worked with her. There's no time to dwell on it as the girl takes off running. He can get his answers after she's safely in their custody.

She knows she has a tail, that much is obvious as she applies evasive maneuvers. Bucky keeps as close as he can, following her doggedly. Memories flair in his skull as he catches sight of the tattoo on the nape of her neck. She was Hydra's Deadly Nightshade. And the Winter Soldier knew her code words.

⋘ » ☆ « ⋙

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[hainethehero]

Bucky shouldn'tve been in there. Steve's room.

But the idiot had been avoiding him for three months now. And so he thought he'd pay a visit. Unfortunately, Steve was off doing God knows what so, he thought he'd laze around by the time, wait for his pal. It had been about an hour, when he'd heard something clatter from inside Steve's bedroom.

He quickly put down the coffee he'd helped himself to and gingerly approached the location of the sound. Steve's room smelt of sweet vanilla and peppermint. It looked cosy, soft white walls, a king sized bed with baby blue quilts and even softer looking pillows. The walk-in closet door was slightly ajar, with the sleeve of a plaid shirt poking out and a pair of running shoes just on the threshold.

Must've been in a rush this morning, Bucky thinks with a fond huff.

He walks over to the side of the bed closest to the window where the curtains are billowing like sails in the wind. Steve must've really been in a rush to leave his window open. He reaches out to shut the window when something shimmering on the floor catches his eye.

It's a small book. Leather-bound and tan with gold script embossed on the front. Bucky's mind provides a memory of Sarah Rogers walking with it everywhere she went. Of tiny Steve reading from it while he waited at the hospital for his mother after her evening shifts. If memory served him correctly- and these days it occasionally did- they'd buried the prayer book with Sarah when she died. Steve had told him to.

He must've really searched for this one then, Bucky realizes wistfully. His chest twinges at the thought of Steve waking up from the ice, lost and confused and trying his best to find anything and anyone to reconnect with his past again. Then he frowns. If Steve was so desperate to reconnect with his past, he wouldn't be avoiding Bucky right now. It's a bitter thought that seems too harsh in the soft and peaceful aura of Steve's room, so he quickly picks up the book. He eyes the open Bible on Steve's nightstand, a blue-beaded rosary with a celtic cross resting atop crisp pages.

Steve had never been as religious as his mother, but perhaps the future had changed his mind. Bucky knows it had changed him. Maybe Steve thought that going back to his Irish catholic roots again would somehow bring some closure. The thought doesn't comfort Bucky nearly as much as it should, because he knows Steve's been avoiding him, the one person who could probably share in his despair and loneliness and grant him some closure.

He sighs, moving to rest the prayer book back on the nightstand when he notices a word just barely concealed beneath the raised cover of the small prayer book.

Bucky. It says Bucky.

He frowns, reaching for the book again, every voice in his head screaming at him to leave it alone. That this was Steve's private stuff and he shouldn't be prying like some crazy obsessed person. But a part of him- the part that sort of resented Steve for avoiding him like the plague- won out. He opened the book.

Bucky's Prayer, it said, written in Steve's semi-neat scrawl.

The next line is a subheading that reads, "Prayer for Forgiveness."

It goes, "Jesus, forgive my sins. Forgive the sins that I can remember, and also the sins I have forgotten. Forgive the wrong actions I have committed, and the right actions I have omitted. Forgive the times I have been weak in the face of temptation, and those when I have been stubborn in the face of correction. Forgive the times I have been proud of my own achievements, and those when I have failed to boast of your works. Forgive the harsh judgements I have made of others, and the leniency I have shown to myself. Forgive the lies I have told to others, and the truths I have avoided. Forgive me the pain I have caused others, and the indulgence I have shown to myself. Jesus have pity on me, and make me whole."

Bucky knows it from the many times he'd go to church with Steve. Prayers for forgiveness were particularly popular during war-times as many women, children and men who weren't able to join in the war effort were encouraged to pray for their soldiers on the front lines. Steve used to tell him how he knew his mother would go to confessional, to pray for her husband and her ailing son. She often asked for forgiveness. As if it was her fault the way things had turned out.

He reads a line from the prayer again, one that Steve had underlined in blue ink, an anger building within his chest.

"Forgive me for the pain I have caused others, and the indulgence I have shown to myself."

Did Steve feel that way? And why the hell was it called Bucky's Prayer?

He turns the page and sees another subheading, "Intercession." He knew that as the part where the preacher would ask the congregation to say specific prayers for certain things and people they'd wished to pray for, or intercede. The next few lines make him sick.

"For Bucky,

I pray that his mind is healed in totality,

I pray he feels whole again,

I pray he feels loved again,

I pray he never feels alone again,

I pray he never has nightmares again,

And I pray he forgives me for my transgressions, for the pain I've caused him, though I don't deserve it. Amen."

[thinkingaboutlifefornow]

The brave little ghost

Chapter 7

Bucky x reader

Warnings - swearing, themes around SA

(( I’ve sadly been busy the last couple days with a wedding and work. This chapter does involve some themes of SA, although there is no graphic details. But those who know, know. Again any likes on this post are really appreciated ))

………

“ Ready to comply Phantom?” Sir asked.

“Yes Sir” you replied back, emotionless. You were stood on what seemed to be the bow of a mega yacht, dressed in an almost see through summer dress blowing gently in the breeze.

“Good, I have some clientele that we need your persuasion for” he grinned, like that cat that got the cream.

He held out his arm for you to link yours through, and as you did you turned to walk toward the main salon. Winter met you both as he kept watch outside the door. He looked at you with sadness in his eyes, he knew what was coming. You didn’t. You had been wiped with no memories of the times before.

…..

“No! Don’t fucking touch me!” Your voiced screamed, but you were dreaming and these were memories.

You woke as a hand touched your shoulder, without thinking your muscle memory took over. You now realised as you flipped the man over and retrieved your knife from under your pillow that it was Steve.

“Don’t fucking touch me!” Another primal scream coming from your throat before your brain caught up with what your eyes could see.

“It’s just me, I’m not going to hurt you.” He was almost playing dead, like you were a bear ready to defend herself. “It’s Steve.”

Your hair stuck to your skin, your breath deep and fast. The fight response kicked in hard while you were dreaming.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry. I…I” your voice trailed off, caught in your throat unlike the tears you tried to stop rolling down your cheek.

“Hey, it’s okay. I’m here” Steve had caught your bad dreams a few times now. He didn’t know what you went through, but he had told you about his best friend, Bucky. He was captured by HYDRA during the war and that for the short time before he died he struggled with some nightmares from his time there.

You rolled over to the side of the bed while you sobbed. Steve just held you, letting you get out your emotions that so often you didn’t show anyone. Normally after your nightmares it allowed other memories in, like the ones that you and Steve were like brother and sister. Or the time you and Natasha drank 4 bottles of red wine in the kitchen.

……

When you woke Steve was already gone, that was the normal pattern. You’d have nightmares, Steve would comfort you back to sleep and then would disappear off. As far as you could tell no one else knew about your dreams and no one knew Steve was helping you through them.

You rise from your bed, walking out the door of your bedroom into your own personal living room and through to your bathroom. Warm showers still uncomfortable for you, reminding you of times when your only use was for those of clients. The cold showers reminded you of when your only use was for death of missions. You picked a cold shower this morning, not wanting to be reminded of last nights dream.

You stepped into the shower, shivering immediately from the icy cold water pricking your skin. You grabbed the soap and a wash cloth and began scrubbing your skin. You didn’t know how long you had been going at it, your skin now very red and in some very small places the top layer of skin coming off. You still didn’t feel clean. Tears escaped your eyes yet again.

You didn’t know if you’d ever feel clean again, neither from the hands of others or the blood you spilled from others yourself.

[lavenderpanic]

New chapter of I Am Ash From Your Fire up now!

[sunnysideprincess]

I've been in a writing slump since real life is being a massive bitch, so I wrote evil Steve to cheer myself—enjoy!

Steve/Tony, established relationship

...

On Monday, Steve arrived to a mess in his war room. Newspapers and clippings thrown about in haste. Boxes of reports upturned and dumped off their perch on the shelves. The table lying face down on the ground, the chair kicked off to the other side of the ten by ten room. The wall with the connections, carved with blades had been hit with something blunt, repeatedly. It was a wreck. A tornado hellbent on destruction. And in the middle of it all, Tony Stark stood with his shoulders heaving, wearing the shirt he was supposed to wear for their dinner reservation.

"How long?"

Steve didn't answer. Instead, he walked around the scattered information, taking care not to step on the shards of the ceramic bowl that once held candy for the "kids". Tony didn't turn, just stiffened when their fingers brushed. When Steve gently grabbed the hammer from his hand and set it aside.

"New York."

He often compared his lover's rage to an inferno. Rather poetic, that it would be aimed at him one day.

Tony stepped away and slipped. It was only Steve's hand grabbing him by his hip that kept him from falling on the floor. From hurting himself. And hurting Steve by extension.

"How—Why?" Tony snarled and backed away. Steve, magnanimously, let him go. Let him think he could get away. "Who else?"

"Natasha. Wanda. Bruce. Maria. Clint. Sometimes Pepper."

A blink, long and surprised. Hurt.

"Pepper?" His voice broke. Still. Better the truth than lie. And they really wouldn't have gotten anywhere without her. "My Pepper?"

"She wants to protect you."

"Protect-" Tony laughed, smacking his head with the back of his hand. He was stumbling a little. "Protection? You're killing people!"

"Only the ones who get in our way."

"Your way to where?"

Steve tilted his head and assessed the damage. Natasha often accused him of being too unfeeling. Too balanced. But losing control, losing his temper wouldn't make Tony trust him again.

"Justice. Accords were one way to get there. But it was wrong. Too..." He looked for the right word, while also looking at the loose buttons of Tony's collar. He looked ethereal under the dim glow of fluorescent lamps. In his rage and grief. "Restricting."

"And this is better how? How is killing Ross, Fury and god—T'Challa any closer to justice?"

"T'Challa was holding his nation back, Tony. All that tech. Knowledge. How many could they help?"

"Bullshit! The only thing you took from Wakanda is weapons!"

"To fight the war."

"You blew up the WSC! You killed hundreds, Steve!"

"They were necessary sacrifice, Tony. For the greater-"

"Don't!"

Just one word was enough. Steve gulped, a semblance of want rising in his chest at the way his voice echoed in their quiet, sombre getaway apartment. At the way it shook the foundations.

It's why he couldn't let go of Tony. Why he kept hoping he would find out. Why he would find his lover, drag him away to a secluded corner after their missions.

Steve was always accused of being as cold, hard and uncompromising as the ice he was found in. But Tony was the opposite. All fire and rage, blazing warmth of a thousand suns.

Steve wanted to feel that burn against his skin. Wanted Tony to melt the ice as well as his bones.

It was a morbid thought. But maybe also a romantic one.

"I'm leaving."

"Tony-"

"I'm leaving. I'm not coming back. You won't see me. You won't touch me with those hands."

He made a show of bracing himself, of his own stubborn determination. Later, Steve would laugh at it. The way he stumbled and yelped when Steve grabbed his arm.

When he spun him so his back was pressing against his chest. When the ice encircled the fire, to keep it imprisoned.

"No, Tony."

Tony shivered and struggled.

"Steve, what the hell?"

"You're not going anywhere. We're going to talk. You're going to tell me who told you about us. And then we will have our dinner-"

"Let me go. Steve, let me go right now!"

Steve smiled and sighed.

"No, sweetheart. Didn't you hear? Captain Hydra is one crazy bastard."

[unseededtoast]

Rectify | Bucky Barnes

Part 1/37 | Part Two

Summary: I've lived every day for the past five years looking over my shoulder. I knew they'd come for me, it was inevitable. I was foolish to think I could outrun my past. It's followed me everywhere I go, lurking in the shadows, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. Never would I have anticipated that the shadows would lead me to the light.

Bucky Barnes x OC

Series Warnings: Discussion of human trafficking, alcohol consumption, graphic depictions of violence, sexual content, discussion of suicidal thoughts.

a/n: Hi everyone, thank you for checking this out, I appreciate any and all support! This series is also posted on Ao3 and Wattpad if you prefer those formats/platforms! This is a completed series, and it's going to take some time for me to transfer it to Tumblr, so please bear with me!

Memory is fragile. It can be corrupted, suppressed, removed from the subconscious. Memory is what makes us, us, in a way. One day when you're old memories are all you will have left, if you're lucky. Sometimes people aren't fortunate enough to retain those memories, be it from disease, or trauma, or deliberation.

I look at the clock hanging on the wall in my office and close my laptop with a soft click. Tucking the laptop between my torso and arm, I grab my keys so I can lock my office behind me. My heels click on the polished tile floor as I head to my next class, the last one of the day. I should be relieved that the day is almost over with, but this is the class I dread the most. The majority of the students seem uninterested and it's discouraging because I believe it's one of the most fascinating topics.

Fighting back the pessimistic thoughts, I walk into the classroom and start setting up the lecture powerpoint as the students file in and take their seats. It's a Friday afternoon and I already know I don't want to be here any longer than my students, it'll be a short lecture today. I walk to the center of the room and look at my students. Half are looking back with tired expressions, others are clicking their pen, and very few look like they actually want to be here. I lick my lips and shift my weight to one foot.

"So, who actually did the reading I assigned on Wednesday?" Maybe five of the thirty students raise their hand. I nod and pick on one of them,

"Can you tell me, Sarah, which part of the brain is responsible for memory?" Sarah was always the quiet one of the class, yet she's so brilliant. I wish she had more confidence in herself, I've been trying all semester to show her how smart she is; yet she continues to shy away.

"Um, I believe the part of the brain responsible for memory is the prefrontal cortex?" She states as a question. I know she's capable of a deeper answer, an answer more well-rounded than the other students can provide. I nod with a smile on my face,

"Yes, you're right, the prefrontal cortex is one of the parts associated with memory. Can you tell the class the specific part that's associated with episodic and recognition memory?" I know she knows this.

"Is it the hippocampus?" I nod once again and turn my attention to the rest of the students.

"The hippocampus is right. There are four main areas of the brain that are related to memory. As Sarah said, the prefrontal cortex and hippocampus are two. The others are the amygdala, which is related to fear and fear memories and the cerebellum, which deals with routines or procedural memories." The students still look bored and uninterested. I bite the inside of my cheek in frustration. Why did they bother signing up for this class if they're not going to pay attention? I take a deep breath and push that thought away, wanting to get through this class and go home to drink a glass of wine on my couch and watch trashy reality tv.

"Memory is fragile. It can be corrupted, suppressed, removed from the subconscious. Memory is what makes us, us, in a way. One day when you're old memories are all you will have left, if you're lucky. Sometimes people aren't fortunate enough to retain those memories, be it from disease, or trauma, or deliberation." I click to the next slide which shows a brain afflicted with Alzheimer's. I watch as some students jot down what I'm saying, the few who are paying attention.

"There's current research being done trying to figure out if Alzheimer's is reversible if caught early enough. Alzheimer's is unique because as you can see, the disease destroys the brain, and takes the memories along with it. Unfortunately, at this time, people diagnosed with Alzheimer's typically only live four to eight years after their diagnosis. But we remain hopeful that a cure, or treatment, is found. With advancing technology it is likely that within the next decade some answer will be discovered. As you may know, I have received funding in order to research the possibility of a treatment, and I'm still hoping that one or two students will join, it will be phenomenal experience to add onto your resumé. " I click to the next slide and see the back door of the classroom open. A man sits down in the corner seat, he looks too old to be a student, and he didn't bring anything with him. I turn my focus back to the class and lose my train of thought.

"Does anyone have any questions at this point?" I ask, not remembering what I was going to say next. Someone's hand goes up and I nod for them to ask their question.

"How likely do you think it is for someone to regain their memory after a traumatic experience?" One of my students ask and I see the man in the corner lean forward in his seat, he seems to be intensely listening. His presence is unnerving for no particular reason, but I don't want to seem rude if he's a faculty member or a potential research sponsor.

"Well, it may take some therapy and counseling to unearth the suppressed memories. Typically when people are introduced to a traumatic experience at a young age their subconscious tends to bury that memory in order to protect them. I can't say with absolute certainty that someone with suppressed memories can ever get them back. I'm not sure they would want to remember what their mind deemed unfitting. But it's also not entirely impossible, this is usually a case-by-case basis." I answer the question in what I hope was a satisfactory way. The student nods, and once again the man in the back stirs in his seat. My stomach twists with anxiety and I feel like my shirt's collar is choking me. I tug at the collar to get it away from my skin and decide class is over.

"Okay, well, I think I'm going to cut it short here. Please if you didn't already read what I had assigned on Wednesday, do it. It will be on the quiz." I say and walk over to the podium and grab my laptop.

I hope my anxiety is acting up, and the man is merely an observer or potential sponsor. Maybe I was under evaluation. If that's the case I surely failed. But something just isn't sitting right with me about the man. I make a direct line for my car, fumbling with my keys. My palms are sweaty and I just need to get home.

"Where are you off to in such a hurry? Got a hot date or something?" A voice calls out to me. I look up and see the man from class walking towards me, hands in his pockets. I swallow and try to force a smile, hiding any signs of being anxious about his presence.

"Actually, I'm just headed out to meet my husband. He's expecting me for dinner." I say with false confidence, hoping he doesn't see through my lie. He reaches my car, looks me up and down and raises an eyebrow. I don't think he bought what I was selling him.

"A husband? Hm, I guess they forgot to mention that part to me. But I digress, that was a very insightful lecture, professor Averina." My heart freezes on the spot and I feel like my blood is running cold. My name isn't on the outside of the lecture hall, he knows I'm lying about my marital status. I push the anxiety back and continue with the aura of false confidence.

"Thank you, I'm very passionate about my work. And if you don't mind me inquiring, were you asking around about me?" I question him, looking around the empty parking lot for anyone else but seeing nobody. I don't have a weapon on me and I'm not confident that this man is here for my wellbeing. He laughs and shakes his head,

"Oh no I wasn't asking around about you. Some old friends who haven't seen you in a while told me all about you and what you're up to these days. They're curious if you're enjoying your vacation abroad. They miss you, they sent me to see if you're okay. Oh, and they also wanted me to tell you that you've got a one way plane ticket with your name on it. Hope you still have a winter coat." I adjust the keys in my hand, the pointy end sticking out from my palm. I nod my head as he finishes speaking,

"Well, you can tell those old friends that I'm not going back, and I got rid of my winter coat." Quickly, I slash the man's face with the key. He grunts and holds his hand to his cheek where there's now a jagged bleeding line. His eyes go dark with anger, and I know I have to get out of here fast.

I get in my car hastily and weave through traffic, needing to get home quickly. Of course the traffic is congested when I don't have the luxury of time to wait. I know the man is likely behind me, I just don't know where. I need to get home and pack, I need to get out of here. I'm no longer safe. I continue pushing my way through the traffic and pull into my driveway with a small squeal. I leave my car running as I rush to the house. Flinging the front door open, I head straight for my bedroom and grab the book from my nightstand. I find a bag underneath my bed and stuff the book in there. Rapidly, I pull open some drawers and shove handfuls of clothes in there as well and swing the bag onto my shoulder as I turn to leave. As I turn into the living room I freeze in my tracks, my breath catches in my throat.

The man is standing in the main doorway of the house, angrily staring at me with blood dripping down his jaw. I drop the bag, knowing he's not going to let me leave here without a fight. He lunges at me and I dodge it, thankfully. He's being fueled by adrenaline and rage. I grab a lamp from an accent table nearby and smash it against his head, disorienting him. I shove past him, grab the bag and go to my kitchen to get a knife. This is the only way I'm getting out of here. The man comes back to his senses and follows me to the kitchen, where I'm pointing the knife at him.

"You can't kill me. You need me alive." My voice wavers as he wipes blood from the hole in his cheek and smiles sinisterly. My hands are shaking and I know I'm not intimidating to this man.

"We don't need you, we are way past that point. However, we need what you have to finish our newest project." He says and eyes my bag. Any leverage I thought I had is gone. He lunges at me again, and I unskillfully thrust the knife forward. His weight knocks me over as he dodges the attack and we're both on the kitchen floor. My eyes dart around for the knife that flew from my hands, I know I have to act fast. I fumble for the knife and manage to grip the wooden handle as the man grabs my calf and pulls me toward him.

I kick my feet frantically and he loses his grip on my leg. I use the momentum from my kick and manage to stand. As the man tries to rise to his feet, I kick his ribs which sends him right back to the floor. I use my foot to roll him over so his back flush against the floor. In the blink of an eye, the man pulls a gun on me as I plunge the knife into his chest, just below his sternum. It's surprisingly easy to cut through the flesh.

With adrenaline coursing through my veins, I pull the knife out of his chest and stab the man in the neck which sends blood spurting everywhere. I stumble back from the dying man and push the hair from my face as I turn and grab the bag that slid across the floor and run to my car.

The blood on my hands makes it difficult to grip my door handle and the steering wheel, it's being smeared over everything. With shaking hands and a racing mind I pull back out onto the road and know I've run out of options. There's only one place I can think of that can offer me the level of protection I need. As I speed towards the only chance of safety I have, my breathing becomes erratic and I hold back sobs.

I just killed a man, I plunged a knife into his jugular. I feel sickness rise in my throat but manage to choke it down. I'm not even sure that the traffic lights are green as I speed down the metropolitan roads, but I don't care I just need to reach safety.

[endlesstwanted]

Magic On A Friday Night

I wrote two Jack/Brock fics for the summer round of Seasons of Drabbles! You can check out the other one here. (Ao3 link)

Fandom: Captain America (Movies)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Characters: Jack Rollins, Brock Rumlow, Natasha Romanov, Riley

Tags: Different First Meeting, Meddling Friends, Speed Dating

Summary: Jack and Brock are dragged to a speed dating night by their friends, who already have plans for the two of them.

Wordcount: 300

“Get dressed,” Riley shows up in the living room and interrupts Jack’s plans to find an already started movie on TV and spend his night in front of it until he falls asleep. “We’re going out tonight.”

Continue reading on Ao3!

[misschris1412]

Chyler Leigh : Julia Coulson (agent du shield)

[anonymousleekao3]

Attention to Detail.

This is filth. This has no redeeming qualities. This is porn without plot. I cannot tell you how decadent and glorious it felt to write no holds barred; not to worry about what anybody thought; and just to go to town on an unsuspecting, blank sheet of paper.

Brock does hold onto some bars, but only just.

Heed the tags, wastrels.

This has been up for a while now, and I honestly didn't think it would find an audience, but apparently it has, and I am forever grateful for the comments and kudos which keep me attempting to improve.

[cyberneticasset]

I made these years ago when I was actually into fic writing, just gonna toss them upppp All I Ask- A Phantom of the Opera / Avengers AU