Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader
Based on Captain America: The Winter Soldier
(Dark!Hydra AU, angst, enemies-to-lovers, slow burn)
Before reading: English is not my first language so sorry for the spelling mistakes, Everything that is written here is with the help of the translator.
Hydra. To most, a name that strikes fear — a terrorist organization shrouded in darkness and cruelty. But to you, who was born and bred within its cold, unforgiving walls, Hydra was more than an enemy. It was your life, your home, your family. Everything. You questioned if you were on the right side of history, only to realize, far too late, that you were not. Survival demanded sacrifices — unspeakable acts cloaked behind the excuse of becoming strong in a world ruled by weakness.
Growing up inside a Hydra base was a harsh existence — filled with cold steel, broken dreams, and shadows that whispered of despair. Your mother, Elizabeth, one of the brilliant minds behind the Super Soldier project, always knew the path she walked was dark. She tried to change, but in Hydra’s eyes, and in yours, she became a traitor. Imprisoned and forgotten, she was later used as a pawn — a means to an end for Hydra’s ruthless future.
Your childhood memories, if you could call them that, were mostly spent hooked up to needles in the medical bay, enduring brutal training sessions, and constant humiliation for being a “weak little brat.” Every broken moment was designed to forge a warrior — a Hydra special agent. Yet, despite mastering skills that could kill a dozen men, the Hydra leadership still saw you as weak. You weren’t trusted to operate solo on any mission.
That is, until the power shifted.
You sat at your desk, flipping through dossiers and writing your final reports on the last mission. Your eyes lingered on the photo of a man named Nicholas Joseph Fury — a known enemy of Hydra, director of S.H.I.E.L.D., now dead. You exhaled slowly, the weight of the world pressing down as you folded the file. The clock read 9:20. A mission was scheduled for 10:50, but fate had other plans.
An agent intercepted you with news — the mission had been moved forward. Hurry, get ready. The familiar rush of Hydra’s merciless pace surged through your veins. You barely paused, rushing to the locker room, slipping into your tactical gear, holstering your weapons, tying your hair back. Ready.
The team was assembled — half disguised as police officers, ready to ambush the target’s armored van. You and a soldier were paired for the assault. Your heart thudded, nervous but determined. This was your first time working alongside “him.”
Positions were taken. The black van appeared, and the assault began. Explosions rocked the night as the van flipped, engulfed in fire. You followed the soldier’s lead, but as you approached the wreckage, the target was gone. Escaped. You radioed the failure.
The mission had failed. Rumors whispered that the soldier had been reassigned. You were heading back to your bleak post when your phone rang. Pierce.
“You’re leading a new mission,” he said, voice cold but direct.
“What?” you asked, heart pounding.
“Captain America. You’re to execute him. Failure is not an option.”
Shock twisted in your gut. Stories of the Captain’s brutal takedown of Hydra soldiers in the ’40s echoed in your mind. He was a formidable enemy — and you welcomed the challenge.
“I accept,” you said, voice steady despite the storm inside.
You and Agent Rumlow hunted “Cap” through a crowded mall. You tracked a couple matching the description — a brief, awkward kiss, a silent connection. But they vanished before you could close in.
Later, at Lehigh camp, destruction greeted you. Evidence suggested Rogers and his companion were dead — but the hunt was far from over.
A black car. Targets inside. You ordered your team to stop and attack.
From their perspective:
Steve, Natasha, and Sam were in the car when chaos erupted — a figure leapt onto the hood, sending Agent Sitwell flying to a deadly end. The soldier’s relentless assault shattered the windshield, sending shockwaves through the team. Hydra’s agents fought back fiercely, refusing to fall easily.
Back with you, you handed the soldier a weapon, watching as he fought with lethal precision. You fired on Rogers with your partner, unaware of the red-haired shadow leaping from the bridge.
In close combat, you grappled with Rogers. Stronger than you expected, he slammed you to the ground. As you prepared to strike again, a gunshot halted you — the soldier had joined the fight.
Bleeding and exhausted, you stepped back, letting the soldier finish what you started. You heard his voice for the first time.
“Who are you calling Bucky?” he said, firing at Rogers, only for the shot to be blocked.
An explosion echoed as you turned away.
At Hydra’s hidden base.
Pain ripped through your body as you woke to screams. A metal shard pierced your abdomen. You couldn’t move. The mission “The Fall of S.H.I.E.L.D.” was underway. Defying orders, you had come aboard the Helicarrier, determined to end Rogers.
You witnessed the brutal fight between Rogers and the soldier — the soldier snatched a card from Rogers, and chaos ensued. You shot Rogers’ foot to free the soldier, but Rogers was relentless. You retreated, disarmed and vulnerable.
The Helicarrier began to fall apart. Debris crashed down, trapping the soldier beneath a massive metal beam. An instinct, inexplicable and fierce, pushed you to try and save him. The beam was too heavy, but then Rogers appeared — helping the soldier.
You were stunned.
“No fight,” Rogers said, clutching his wounded stomach, lowering his shield.
“You’re my friend,” he admitted.
The soldier’s fury exploded. “You’re my mission,” he growled, raining blows on Rogers.
“Finish it,” Rogers gasped, pain etched on his face.
The soldier paused.
“I’ll always be by your side,” he whispered. Then, the Helicarrier collapsed further, and Rogers fell.
You watched, torn between saving him or walking away. The soldier’s gaze met yours before the world went black.
When you woke, pain seared through your body. You were by the riverbank. The soldier gently removed the metal shard. You pleaded, tears in your eyes.
“Please don’t leave me,” you begged. “I don’t want to die here.”
His silence broke. He lifted you carefully, vanishing into the shadows of the forest. Together, you disappeared — lost to Hydra, lost to the world.
To be continued…
P.S.:
Hi loves! I’m so happy to be back writing again. Please forgive me if you find any spelling or grammar mistakes — English isn’t my first language, so I really appreciate your patience and understanding.
Thank you so much for all the love and support, always. The second part is already on its way, and I can’t wait to share it with you! 💖
— PAIRING: soft!dark!Winter Soldier x female!Reader
— SYNOPSIS: Reader is part of a small resistance group after Hydra has conquered the world. She is on the way to delivering supplies to their underground base, when she stops to look at the Winter Soldier in the middle of a raid. He sees her too, and when he catches her band of rebels later on, she offers herself to him in exchange for their lives. Part of the Hydra Victory AU series.
— CONTENTS: 18+ smut, noncon, manhandling, a bit of choking, body worship, oral sex (a little licc), size kink, sweet dirty talk, sort of cockwarming, creampie
— WORDCOUNT: 5.3k
— A/N: I wrote this as a birthday present for my dear friend, @offcast-plus1 💗💗💗 I hope you enjoy it, my dear! HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!🎉✨✨✨😍
It had been almost a year since Hydra took over their country — from the inside, with treason, with manufactured consent. Everything went wrong, it went from bad to worse with no end in sight, and each day was filled with nothing but defeat and despair for people like her. She had a few like-minded friends, some braver than others. The brave ones got together in places that were pushed deeper and deeper underground until they found themselves in the old sewers, like rats scurrying through the catacombs of the old life. But aboveground, they had to pretend like everything was fine and just carry on with life, with their jobs and families — those who were left.
She worked at a bakery by day, although her job was a little different since the owner was also with the Resistance. Between fresh hot baguettes and muffins, she carried bags of powders that the chemists could use to make explosives that they could one day plant all over the city and collapse the Hydra regime all at once. She was making one such delivery today, in her uniform with a wholesome brown basket flung over her shoulder, steaming in the autumn evening.
Walking down the street toward that end where she could safely sneak below, she slowed down at the sight of a commotion up ahead. Military trucks congested the street, and in the nearby building there was shouting, shooting, crying. By an open vehicle door, she saw him: the hero of this new regime, their most celebrated star, the Winter Soldier. He coordinated the strike team that was eliminating what seemed to be a tepid threat — even in his full black gear she could recognise him. Thick brutal boots, a leather jacket with straps all across, the breadth of him bejewelled with black weapons, a head of messy brown hair that looked on him strangely soft, and the cold silver of his arm. His mask and goggles covered most of his face, but whether from his frightful look or the way he carried himself, tilted slightly by the weight of that metal arm like a hulking fairytale beast, everyone knew the Asset when they saw him, and they cowered.
In a moment of mad forgetfulness, she didn't. The girl slowed down to a stop on the street opposite, and watched. She watched the militia take away a host of young men, some women, throwing them into the vans as the youths cursed and spat, watched the Hydra operatives square things over with the building administrator, and saw the neighbours gawking, but mostly she was looking at him. Big, strong, incredibly brave if misguided, she thought what a pity it was that he wasn't on their side… As a gust of evening wind picked up, she rushed away with a firm clutch to the strap around her shoulder, and ignored the feeling of being watched as the Soldier gazed at her leaving.
A pretty girl, he thought to himself, gentle-looking if a bit suspicious, she was braver in what she cared to see than most people and unflinching. He could feel her measure him, and was used to it from curious onlookers or the odd admirer, but it felt different with this one… Not a mad love there nor hatred, but a cold analysis. And it was then that he wondered to himself: would she not make a terrific agent?
Just in time for her delivery, the girl reached the street with their safe passage — but not so safe anymore, as there was a posse of militias around. They hadn't lifted the manhole, but it seemed as if they were waiting for something. Maybe it had nothing to do with her, but nevertheless she couldn't go that way now. So she took a detour, a long walk a few blocks over as the night picked up and it began to drizzle. By the time she was supposed to reach her group, she had barely made it to the sewers, but at least she was safe.
Then, she heard them. Boots sounding deep in the dark, cutting the cold stone with their unwelcome sound, and the rustling of armour. Before she took another step, the girl hid in an alcove and waited for the men to pass, but they never did. Instead, the sounds got fainter, further, until they disappeared. Like a rabbit coming out of its burrow, she snuck back out and looked around, but there was no one in sight. With a feeling of greater urgency, she rushed through the twists and turns until she found their base and, after the correct knock, the doorway opened for her. It was masked to seem like a cover of bricks, but it led into an old administrative office.
They'd made the best of it, repurposing the rotted out furniture and dirty plastic into things they could use. Old lamps cast a jaundiced glow around the place, as no electricity flowed, and a patchwork of lead plates was woven around the ceiling. At the back of the room stood one tall ladder like a dead tree, their emergency escape route that led to the central park.
"You're late." One of the men came to greet her.
"There were octs around the manhole, I couldn't go in the normal way," she huffed, handing him the package. "And… I think I heard some more. Down here?"
"What, around our base?" asked one of the women as she put the cupcakes to the side and picked up the explosives.
"Not close, but… I think they were in the sewers."
"Maybe those were just sanitation workers."
The girl bit her lip and didn't voice the nagging feeling in her heart, watching distractedly as the chemists made use of her delivery and added it to some of the contraptions they were making — small and a bit silly, they looked like toys, but she didn't want to think about that now.
She'd just went to help some of the other women put the cakes and pastries on big plates to serve the members, brushing the gunpowder off, when those sounds came again… Through the walls, an incessant thumping of steady boots that got closer, closer, until suddenly it stopped. Halfway turned toward the door, she and the whole group were standing stiff, breathless, waiting a wait that never seemed to end while, really, just a few minutes passed. One of them scarcely moved when suddenly a huge sound boomed across the room, so strong it shook the tables: it rang like metal hitting metal. Then another, and the door burst open.
Those who had the rifles around their shoulders pointed them, the others took theirs from nearby, but there was no use. Before they could blink, a small army grew from the shadows, the red of their night goggles glowing. The tips of their enormous weapons met the light before they did, black metal shining.
"Stand down," called a robotic sounding voice through a breathing filter. "You are guilty of conspiracy."
The rebels didn't make a move, nor did they give up. They looked at each other and found resilience there, and fear as well, but the girl only looked toward the Soldier. He was leading the contingent — or 'octs', as the rebels called them, in mockery of Hydra's symbol. Steady, large, confident and quiet, he surveyed the compromised base until his sight stopped on her, and it was at that point that she could admit it to herself: this was her fault, she had led them here, because she stopped too long to look at him.
"Surrender," came his low growl, spoken to the room but, somehow, just to her, "and we will be merciful."
"I don't think so, tin man," shouted one of the rebels as he stood above a crate, rifle in hand and pointed.
The Soldier turned toward the boy and he had just to cock his assault weapon for the room to go quiet. The men at his back reading theirs as well, waiting for his order. None of them seemed afraid of the pack of miscreants, their armour was more than suited to take a spray of old fashioned bullets compared to the rebels who were dressed in plain clothes.
As the feeling of imminent death lingered, the girl felt all the more hungry for it, and in a thoughtless moment she stared the Soldier down and shouted a cold, hissing curse.
"Murderer! You'll never win, however many innocent people you kill."
He turned his head to look again at her, seeming in equal parts bored and irritated from what little his face mask revealed.
"Is that what you think you are?" he asked her. "Innocent?"
It didn't seem to mean much for the others, but his question took her aback, and she remained quiet while the man turned fully to her and steadily approached. The women around her wanted so badly to cower but didn't, and neither did she, though the closer he got the more she understood the sheer size of him. He didn't even need the gun to kill them, all it would take is one grip in that metal hand and it would all be over.
"Do you think," the Soldier started, standing right in front of her, "that's what got you here?"
Further away, one of the men began to argue with a soldier, and it turned into a pack shouting at each other, but the sounds faded each time they bounced around the room and they washed right over her as she looked up, frowning, at the Asset. As if waiting for her honest answer, he took his goggles off. His eyes were smiling.
"Why don't you just punish me?" she said to him quietly, but those standing nearby still heard it.
The girl had understood his meaning: it was because of her that they found the hideout, she was guilty, and now all that she could hope was that she didn't antagonise the Soldier further.
"Kill me and let the others go."
"I can't do that."
"Just arrest them, then, but…"
"Sir!" called another from in the midst of the shouting match. "Your orders!" They wanted the liberty to fire.
The Soldier looked at him enough for the man to know that he should wait, but the standoff was dragging on too long for a room of people that meant to kill each other, and while the rebels were sure that they were all about to die, they seemed eager to get it done — though there were some that eyed that tall thin ladder less subtly than they thought.
"Why do you hate me, in particular?" she whispered.
"Because you're on the wrong side," the Asset sighed, turning back to her. "And why do you hate me?"
"Because you're a monster."
His body moved in something like a chuckle and he nodded — more in indifference than agreement, like trying to settle down a child. The girl's body stiffened and inched back when she saw him reaching for his weapon, certain that this was where he killed her, but he only moved the rifle back onto his shoulder and then gripped her elbow, dragging her in front.
"Arrest them," he muttered to one of his men in passing. "Kill any who resist."
"Yes sir!"
To the crying of the incredulous women, he pulled her with him to a sideways room, and she went along as if to her own death — because that what was going to happen, he was going to execute her just like she offered. Her elbow hurt in his hard metal grip and she struggles only enough to find some comfort, but with every step her stomach sunk. She almost begged him not to do it, to wait a little more, give her just one day, but a small sad voice in her head told her it would all end the same anyway.
As if she were a fist of flowers and he a careless gust, he shoved her in and shut the door, muffling the cries and shouting from outside. The Soldier locked it for good measure and tried the switch on the wall but, of course, no light came on. With a sigh he pulled out a stick and cracked it, a deathly phosphorescent glow in Hydra-green cutting through the darkness.
Moving backwards blindly, the girl hit upon a table of some sort. She didn't even care to look around, but had spotted some bottles, jars, and empty pots filled with dead earth. It wasn't a pretty place to die, but it was fitting. Yet as she thought these things, she heard the clatter of a weapon on the ground, and looking up she saw the Soldier taking off his guns.
"What are you doing?" she asked in a strangled voice.
"You surrendered?" he asked, watching her over his shoulder.
"Never. Kill me and be done with it."
That cold chuckle once again, sounding clearer as the man unclasped the mask over his face and pulled it off, letting it rest down with the weapons. For one hot flashing moment the fear of death left her as she watched him come, walking confidently and with that heavy lilt, messy head of hair coming down around his cheeks, but most of all that face, revealed, more striking than in any picture. His eyes seemed softer than they had any right to be, his lips were fleshy red and slightly smiling, and the gentle scruff of beard gave him an oddly domestic quality, as if he'd just woken up beside her and was coming close to —
No, she couldn't think it.
It was only when he touched her face that she realised she'd looked away, down to the ground as if she were ashamed. The flesh hand that caressed her chin was gentle, careful, as it moved her up until she gazed at him.
The girl was frightened but most of all confused, frowning with perhaps the question of why she wasn't dead yet, but he'd show her why... Soft enough to give her time to think, but holding her now firmly enough that she couldn't get away, the Soldier eclipsed her body and leaned down for a kiss. He felt her gasp, her freezing muscles, and her little moan echoed against his mouth, but he kept his lips on top of her to muffle them, tasting her as gently as a shy young lover.
When he felt her head start pulling backwards on his fingers, his other hand came up. Against the unyielding metal, her shirt gave way in seconds, tearing off her skin and leaving her to shiver in the sepulchral chamber.
"Surrender yet?" the man husked as he barely pulled away from her.
"Never," she hissed, realising now what his whole game was.
Her hands tried to cover her, but the Soldier's hand was still around her front, what threads were left there. His flesh hand came down to hold her by the neck while he finished undressing her, pulling the tatters away while the girl screamed and cursed at him, trying to claw away his fingers, kick him off or squirm away, but it wasn't any use. What was left of her clothes pooled around her feet, trapping her almost as much as he was.
"If only you knew how wasted you are on those people," he sighed as he took her in, eyes licking across her body even as she dressed herself in her folded hands. "Nevermind. You can be wasted on me, now."
"No! This wasn't —"
He cut her off with another kiss, angrier and more hungry than the last, and this one travelled lower. Metal fingers curled themselves in the girl's locks while the other held her by the neck, and leaning her back against the table the Soldier trailed his mouth lower: to her shoulder, giving it a little bite when she struggled a bit hard, then the top of her chest, the gentle curve of one breast, then the other, teasing her with kisses that went softer and softer the closer they got to her peaks, where they turned to the lightest, most superficial lappings of his tongue.
Her body shivered once again, but not in anger, as the man's laps and nibbles passed from one and to the other, teasing until both tips turned tight and blushing from all the attention they were getting. When a moan at last broke through her gritting teeth, he ended with a kiss upon her ribcage and enjoyed the thumping of her heart beneath.
The Soldier pulled her slightly up the table then, steadied her with both his elbows by her chest and clasped her feet between his thighs. Within the silence of the room, save for her please, he heard one little shoe fall down, and smiled. He took his time kissing down her stomach. Her scent was slightly stronger there, still sweet but with a more suggestive quality, and each time he sighed out from his own impatience he felt her shiver.
"Did you really think I was about to kill you?" he muttered to her skin. "That I would waste a thing like you?"
"I'm not a thing that can be wasted," hissed the girl, voice shaking with tears but still angrier than just afraid.
Muffled shouts broke through the door, the sound of gunfire, and some cries, but then the same chaotic silence settled back as the militia carted her friends away.
"You sure aren't," he smirked, reaching now what was her most guarded place.
"Please don't," she whispered, suddenly bargaining all sweetly. "I don't... I'm not..."
"You'll do as you're told," growled the Soldier, "and submit."
His kiss fell right above her mound, lips closed and dry but loving. The hand left her hair to move down to her hip and hold her still as he moved back onto his haunches and just looked at her, at what the faint green light revealed. The girl held her legs closed shut and so he moved his kisses to her thighs, tasting her where her skin was softest, nibbling now and then, then going up until his lips could bury themselves into hers and kiss them as he did her mouth: gently, generously, with a raving hunger underneath.
Distantly he felt her claws sink in the hand that gripped her neck, and right against her girlhood the Soldier smiled, moving his lips back to growl at his little wildcat before he moved back in with stronger kisses that parted for small laps at her clit, teasing it out of his protective hood until it too blushed hotly against his tongue, eager to come out to play.
"Stop it stop it, stop, stop, stop," she rambled.
Looking up, the Soldier saw her eyes were closed, head tilted back as if she could wish herself away. Beneath his chin and at his chest, he felt her legs trembling, tangling themselves even tighter in her ruined clothes the more she tried to move. He almost pitied her, but he wanted her too much; he'd wanted her since he saw her on the street, this brave mad girl that Hydra had their eyes on, he'd since read, for quite a while. Fearless, idealistic, and a little stupid, she'd do anything for something she believed in, jump into the jaws of death as soon as pull the trigger on a worthy enemy: in short, she was his favourite kind of woman. If she were by his side, in Hydra, she would be unstoppable.
His tongue reached out, almost shyly, and brushed against her lips, pulling out her gushing juices then tempering her hardened tip with them. Soon his moans were mixing with her own until neither knew which belonged to who, and it became harder to hold her legs still while his length grew painfully in its confines.
"Your lips are pretty swollen, doll," he moaned as he parted from her, grey eyes slitting up for a chance to see her face. He caught her looking down, all breathless, and instantly fell in love with that lost look in her eyes. "You sure you're not in pain?"
"W-what do you— Oh."
A blush grew from her neck to the tips of her ears, and if possible she closed up her legs even tighter. Her inner thighs were damp by now and a bit red, rubbed raw by his light scruff and dripping with her essence. As the Soldier held her eyes in his, he leaned again for a small lap against her womanhood, lips closing on the puffy flesh while his tongue slipped out for one last scrape from her twitching entrance all the way to her hardened tip. Her body trembled head to toe when he was done.
She bit her lip and swallowed a few whimpers, forgetting to even look away, too drunk on him to care by now: his lips were redder, eyes dark and glassy, and all about him was an air of hunger. He only let her go a fraction of a second and she fell back against the table, still with enough sense to brace back on her elbows while she watched him peel his clothes off. The Soldier's grey eyes held her still, pinned her like a captured thing while he let his jacket drop, the dark shit underneath come up and then fall too, leaving his hair even messier, but she didn't mind. He took one more step forward, panting and intent on her, as he unbuttoned his trousers and slightly pushed them down.
"I don't want it," she gasped, looking into his eyes rather than his body however much her gaze was drawn to his broad chest, those corded muscles, his soft chest, and the net of scars around the metal shoulder that made her, against her every ounce of hatred, pity him.
"Surrender to me," he asked once more, crowding her against the table and holding her hips down with one hand. "If you won't do it willingly, I'll make you."
"And what? What will happen with me if I do?"
He smiled at her and tilted his head slightly. "That's up to you."
"I won't do it," she shook her head. "I won't."
"Then I'll make you do it. Would you like that?" asked the Soldier, leaning in. The edges of his undone trousers scratched against her sensitive thighs. "Would you like me to get you to surrender?"
"No," she hissed through her gritted teeth, but sounded no more frightening than a petulant house pet.
"I think you would," he smirked, tilting his head in a teasing way, as if he wished to kiss her.
But the girl just shook her head, lips clasped together tightly even as tears slipped from the corners of her eyes.
"Yes, you would," the man breathed out, look now turned more pleading than the smugness that was there before.
"No—"
She barely got to say it when she felt him at her core. The metal hand held her down while his fingers carried his length to her, moving up and down as he blindly searched for that little hole. He spread her legs just far enough to fit himself, and spread his own to brace against the floor. Traitoriously, her body seeped for him, and right against her she could feel the precum bubble up from his tip too, warmer than what her body made though just as sticky. The girl tried to move up higher on the table, hoping that he couldn't reach her, but it was in vain, and though her legs were clasped almost together, and he seemed to have no mind to free her in that way, the Soldier kept pushing forward, desperate to be let in.
The tips of his fingers were a bit calloused, the skin around his member pulled back to reveal the blood-hot tip, and as it touched the fleshiest part of her he moaned and his head leaned forward, resting on her neck. His mouth busied itself with kissing her, biting groans into her straining throat, while between the hand around her hips and his love-starved manhood the Soldier tried to push himself inside.
"You can take me, sweet girl, you can take me..." he mumbled into her skin, sounding far from the confident and cold-blood killer she had met before.
As the tip of his cock just barely pressed beyond her entrance, he moaned as if in pain, then kissed her to distract himself. One of the girl's hands left the table to come up at his shoulder and claw there, scraping against the tough skin before losing her grip in the sweat, then coming up to steady herself onto him again. His scent filled her lungs, the sound of his sighs and panting swam around her, and right where she was the most sensitive she felt him trying to get in.
Through sheer force, he shoved himself inside until the tip was hugged by her convulsing entrance, finally breathing out a breath that tickled all the way down her chest, while she cried out and begged him. The Soldier rested there a while, feeling her lips like a hungry mouth try to settle around the flesh he pierced her with, warm with blood and his earlier attentions and softer than anything he'd felt.
The man let go of his shaft and used the hand to wrap around her hair again, fingers threading through her messy locks and petting her, in his own way, letting her tired head lean back while his lips rested on the centre of her throat to better feel her timid, frightened moans. The thumb of his metal hand moved up and down her hip, trying to calm the girl the further he went in. Her little hole swallowed him slowly, flexing and convulsing the deeper in he went, hugging his hot swollen flesh so strongly it strangled him.
Through the pain and the sharp fear, she could feel every ridge and vein, could feel him warm her from within, his body giving life to hers instead of taking it, though he took something else in turn.
"Please stop," she whimpered tearfully, "it hurts me."
He groaned as if in thought and raised his head enough to look at her. "Not a bad alternative to being dead, is it?" The Soldier's plush mouth smiled a lazy smile and his eyes were lidded, but even through the dark poor light she felt more seen, more known, than she ever had before. "Say that you're mine," he whispered, sounding serious if a little pleading.
It shocked her so much she couldn't even tell him 'no'. She only woke up from her daze when he shoved in a little deeper, length scraping her tight walls as he fought his way inside and stayed, letting her flex around him until she took it, then pushed in more.
"You'll be well taken care of if you're mine," the Soldier added, eyes drifting between hers and seeming open. The line between his forehead deepened as he tried to think of what to say to make her see it, and believe it, and take the offer that he made. "I'll let you leave if you don't like me, but give it a chance, doll..."
"I don't think I can..." she whispered back, fingers flexing around the muscled shoulder as if he were a lifeline.
"You can," he sighed, lips coming down to kiss her cheek then resting by her ear. "You can do anything you want, just let me... let me have you."
Mutely, the girl shook her head but felt too drunk on him to fight it anymore. Just as her legs relaxed from tiredness, she felt him shove the distance that was left and hit the end of her, pushing a pained cry from her lips. He cooed and tried to shush the girl, in between his own desirous moaning.
"There you go," he praised her, "my good girl. Took all of it... Can you open up a bit more?"
"No, I—"
"Can't you, doll? Can't you loosen this sweet body just a little more? You're almost hurting me, you're so tight."
"It's too much, please, s—"
"I know it is, doll. You're so afraid of me, aren't you? I don't want to hurt you, sweetheart."
The Soldier pet the hair out of her sweaty face and kissed all down her neck, sending shivers down her spine that helped her to relax. All along her stomach she felt his muscles flexing right against her, her breasts teasing themselves against his chest with every breath, and all across between them right to the point where he entered her their sweat mingled and tickled along down, together. Tiredly she let her head lean against his, their cheeks brushing, while her girlhood tried to settle around the thick length that forced it open. As calm and quiet filled the room, cut through only by their panting breaths, she focused on the feeling of her lower lips kissing the root of him, brushing now and then against his sac as they flexed to a heartbeat tune.
He either thought he'd given her enough time, or he was done with waiting, but soon the Soldier pulled back, slowly, dragging his hot throbbing length against her, then shoved back in with a muffled heave. The girl cried out and struggled in his arms, but took her punishment — because that's what this was, wasn't it? Her punishment for getting caught.
Her legs tensed whenever he pressed in, and went limp whenever he pulled out, but there was always at least the tip inside, holding her forcibly open for his taking. The pain inside her turned to a long, feverish pleasure, and all it took was for his thumb to travel to that spot above her entrance, and pull up the hood that hid her little nub, and then with every thrust he teased her to distraction.
"Stop!" she gasped with panting breath, shivering within his arms. "Stop it! It feels... it's too much! Please!"
"That's it, doll," he moaned as he moved faster. "I'll get you to surrender to me, won't I? Get you to take what I'm giving you," he cooed, pressing one long kiss against her neck.
His sac kept teasing at the very bottom of her entrance, slapping it as if it wanted to go inside her too, and as she dripped down all along his swollen flesh, with every shove their mixed up juices sprinkled down her thighs.
"You're mine, aren't you? All mine, my pretty doll, my good girl, with her sweet little girl parts all tight and swollen for me," the Soldier moaned, drunk on this newfound love and already obsessed with her, with her tight little body, her breakable bones, her cries and all of her surrender as he felt her muscles melting in his grip. "Say you're mine, say it."
"myours," she mumbled right against his neck.
"Again."
"I'm yours, I'm yours, I—"
Her surrender to him was cut off with a string of moans, entire body shaking as he brought her over. The man's thrusting never ceased, pleasuring her body with his hard, heavy flesh, holding himself back just for the joy of feeling her convulse around him.
"Good girl, good girl, come for me," the Soldier whispered, holding her still by the hips as he prolonged her pleasure, pulling back to just look at her face, her sapless lips now good for nothing but whines and whimpers, eyes seeing his but foggy.
She was still shivering when he let himself release, and he took care to push it deep, burying himself as far as he could go and pressing even further while his sac was flexing and pushed ropes of cum within his little prisoner. He could see her eyes widen at the feeling of his twitching manhood, feeling his blood-hot release spill inside and be plugged up. Her entrance was all relaxed now, taking him in but sated, closing up against the shaft that conquered it and made her part of him.
"You're mine now," he groaned, sounding equal parts smug and loving. "You see, doll? I made you surrender yourself to me after all."
i'm just so obsessed with this series i'm writing so here's a little snippet of the beginning of my hydra victory au <3
it's currently untitled sorry 💀
The first time you saw him, you thought he couldn't be real. You'd heard the stories, the legends, but they were just that. Stories. They had to be. His gaze could burn cities. It could sear through flesh.
But he's real, oh he's real. And as he drags you through what's left of the safehouse, reduced to rubble, you find a sense of peace. It washes over you like a river, cool and soft. You know that today is the day you will die, but you will have died fighting for what you believe in. You gave your last full measure of devotion to SHIELD, to the Avengers, to the people who will not just sit back and let their world turn to ashes.
please lmk if you'd like to be tagged :) this series will most likely be 18+!!
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 2/?
Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Falcon and the Winter Soldier (TV), Captain America (Movies)
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Riley/Sam Wilson, James "Bucky" Barnes/Sam Wilson, James "Bucky" Barnes/Brock Rumlow, James "Bucky" Barnes/Hydra Agents
Characters: Sam Wilson (Marvel), James "Bucky" Barnes, Riley (Captain America movies), Brock Rumlow, Jack Rollins, Hydra Agents, Original Male Character(s), Original Male Character(s) of Color
Additional Tags: Injury Recovery, Disabled Character, Permanent Injury, Body Modification, Alternate Universe, Hydra (Marvel), Ableism, Ableist Language, Abuse, Slow Burn, Falling In Love, Heartache, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Dehumanization, Pet Names, Hydra AU, Caretaking, Emotional Hurt, Suicidal Thoughts, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Racism, Homophobia, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt No Comfort, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Summary:
Sam Wilson was a young pararescue soldier in the airforce, testing out the new EXO-7 Falcon pack, he got married to the love of his life, Riley Mason, and only had a year left on his tour before he could go home to Delacroix, Louisiana and live as a civilian.
Life is cruel, though, and takes unfairly, leaves the wrong kind of people alive.
Sam Wilson's life gets turned upside down, backwards and inside out. He suffers a spinal cord injury on a standard rescue ops mission, falls from the sky and loses the one person that meant the world to him, loses the ability to feel and use his legs.
And sold to HYDRA to boot, who experiments on him, modifies his body and defies the laws of nature. Sam is forced to learn the horrors of how HYDRA operates and is given a choice; do as they say or become a mindless weapon.
Sam is a soldier, a good one at that. So he can follow orders and do as told until his time catches up to him.
He can only hope he doesn't get pulled into cruelties of HYDRA and be changed from the man Riley once knew, maybe with the help of a metal armed maniac, he can keep his humanity.
Only time will tell.
HYDRA VICTRIX ► [listen on spotify]
↳ A playlist for ravaged streets, the conquest of the strong, the defeat of the ordinary, strife and struggle, and quiet submission.
« Empire • Alpines ◆ Alternate Outcome • Henry Jackman, Dominic Lewis ◆ Blood // Water • grandson ◆ The Still, Cold World • Piotr Musiał ◆ Black Crown • Flesh, BΛNMΛSKIM ◆ The Deep, the Dark • Tamer ◆ Bloody City • Sam Tinnesz ◆ Nightmares • Henry Jackman ◆ After Dark • Mr.Kitty ◆ The Sexy Midnight Torture Show • The Mount Fuji Doomjazz Corporation ◆ Strangelove • Black Math ◆ Desire - Slowed • Hucci ◆ Industrial Landscapes • Olivier Deriviere ◆ Lost in the Fire • Gesaffelstein, The Weeknd ◆ Laudanum • Atrium Carceri ◆ Tag you're it • Melanie Martinez ◆ Inquisition • Olivier Deriviere ◆ Your Master is calling • Pink Turns Blue ◆ The Winter Soldier • Henry Jackman ◆ I Am Shell I Am Bone • Gazelle Twin ◆ Funeral March • 2WEI ◆ Lover. Fighter. • SVRCINA ◆ A Memory • Mohsen Sokard ◆ Without Me • Halsey, ILLENIUM ◆ A Sudden Cold • Winter Severity Index ◆ The Tower • Atrium Carceri ◆ Between Two Points • The Glitch Mob, Swan ◆ Fire into Darkness • Atrium Carceri ◆ Black No. 1 • Type O Negative ◆ Attack, Soldier! • Henry Jackman ◆ Cities In Dust • Siouxsie and the Banshees ◆ White Gate • The Agnes Circle ◆ Dark End • Atrium Carceri ◆ Vitriol • Hapax ◆ Rich Neighborhoods • Olivier Deriviere ◆ A Forest • Clan of Xymox ◆ .Goetia. • Peter Gundry ◆ Winter • Rebecca Dale, Voces8 ◆ Monoton • She Past Away ◆ Hydra • Henry Jackman »
One month.
There were no mere 3 days of torture. Sterling hadn't been rescued from the clutches of Merc and Merc... Merc had never stopped. Just enough food and water to keep him alive. Just enough sleep to keep him inches from but never touching death. Pain. Screaming. Words and phrases he would have never otherwise said.
And then silence. The day he finally gave in. The day he finally accepted they weren't coming for him.
Erikson Sterling had been broken. Wiped clean. He was no longer the man he once was. He was barely even a man. Barely human. The first steps he took when they had let him go, convinced he was theirs and theirs alone, he stumbled from lack of using his legs. His first shower in all that time had lasted hours and consisted of him standing or sitting completely still letting the water wash away the caked on blood, sweat, and tears from his body. All while humming Merc's song for him. He slept in a bed and was thankful for it. He ate their food and was grateful.
Quiet... Almost completely silent for days after they had ended his torture. His mind drifted in and out of reality but it had nowhere to escape to. There was nothing left of him. In time, as he healed physically and became stronger, he did as they said. He followed their orders without question or thought. He was the perfect little soldier. The only part of Sterling that still remained was his loyalty and obedience. The only problem was, it was to the wrong side.
He talked in his sleep, his subconscious repeating the phrases over and over. At first it was as if he had forgotten how to speak anything but those words. They had even been carved into his flesh. He could still feel the hot poker driving into him while he screamed. More blood. The hot and cold rooms where they would subject him to the extremes of temperatures to try and further break him were agony, but neither held a candle to the electrical torture. Those needles... The spark. The way his hair stood up from the static without even having touched them. The way his body convulsed and failed to function. The pain... The words saved him. The TRUTH saved him.
They had to make sure that he was completely unmade before they stopped. Before they gave him what he wanted. Silence. Freedom. Sleep. Food. Water.
They saved him from themselves. They rewarded him for obeying their orders. It wasn't them. No. They didn't want to do it. They were just trying to help him. Yes, of course. It was the only explanation. They needed to get rid of the loyalty to SHIELD.
Sterling hated SHIELD... He couldn't trust anyone within it. After all, they were a den of liars and murderers.
One month.
To strip him of everything he was and mold him into everything he promised never to become.
Erikson Sterling, Agent of SHIELD, was dead and buried. Only the shell remained.
