Yn getting punched in the face after defending Wanda from someone in the street who disrespects her. Wanda is angry at first but then appreciates how much yn cares about her.
Knuckle Sandwich
warnings: supersoldier!reader, assault I guess?, men, language
a/n: I’ve got really bad writers block rn so I appreciate that this is absolute ass
word count: 453
-
“Just ignore them”
“I’m trying but they’re being pretty fucking loud”
“I know, just try-“
“Hey, witch! Got any more buildings you wanna drop on people? huh?”
There wasn't a cell in your body that didn’t want to give that lowlife a piece of your mind. Fuck it, several pieces. But the team was already on thin ice without another media story about you verbally abusing a citizen on the streets of New York.
“I hate that they talk to you like that. Fuck, if they only knew what we could do to them with just our bare fucking hands”
“They’re just trying to get under our skin”
“Yeah, and it’s fucking working”
“Getting killed was the best thing that’s ever happened to him. Fucking murderers”
Whatever restraint you had finally snapped. Gone. What was left was a burning red flame of anger ready to be unleashed. And Wanda knew it too. The way you ripped your arm out of her grip made her wince with anxious anticipation.
You stormed towards the source of insults in fury. Fists clenched at your sides, twitching intermittently as they itched to hit someone.
“Hey you!” You shouted. The balding, overweight man and his group of merry men smirked at you as you approached. Obviously not phased by who was angrily walking towards them, and what they were capable of.
“Oh look who it is. The witches whore. I bet they only dusted you off to keep that bitch,” a pudgy finger pointed in Wanda’s direction, “in line. Didn’t work though did it? You outdated war tactic”
“Say that again. Go on, I dare you”
“We’re just getting started, sweetheart,” another one said. Spitting his words at you. “At least that Banner guy knows he’s a savage. Serum’s made you a beast and that damn science experiment over-“
The sound of your knuckles making contact with his jaw echoed off of the asphalt. You heard Wanda suck in a breath behind you. Then what must’ve been several teeth hitting the concrete with a hollow rattle.
The guy doubled over instantly. Falling in slow motion towards the ground. You released a long overdue breath. You felt calm knowing you’d served justice today. Even the familiar honking of cars and hissing of manholes mellowed to a low hum.
You couldn’t help but smirk when a sweaty fist hit your jaw too. Sure you could have fought back, but you didn’t mind. Watching their faces as they kicked you into the floor and not making a dent was treat enough.
Anyway, the headlines wouldn’t look as bad if you took a hit or two yourself. And having Wanda stand between your legs as she patched you up herself? Worth it.
Bucky Barnes x Super Soldier!Reader, Steve Rogers, Sam Wilson, Natasha Romanoff, Tony Stark, James Rhodes, Vision, Wanda Maximoff, Sharon Carter, mention of Peggy Carter
Word Count: ~2.5k
Warnings: swearing, flashbacks, mention of nightmares, mention of past torture, mention of background character death (canon)
Chapter 2
2 years later (2016)
(Y/N) woke with a start, tumbling out of her bed and landing on the floor with a shout. Panting, she stared up at the ceiling, the real world slowly coming back into focus as her nightmare faded into a dull memory again. The echoes of Bucky’s screams and the pain of phantom fists still haunted her dreams, leaving her more exhausted than when she fell into bed the night before. On top of the constant nightmares plaguing her sleep, chasing down tips of Bucky’s location that lead nowhere haunted her waking hours. God, she was tired. (Y/N) sucked in a pained breath, opening her eyes, immediately squinting at the blinding sunlight washing over her face. She barely had a second to roll to her knees when she felt the vibrations on pounding footsteps under her back.
“Hey!” Steve burst through her bedroom door, frantically searching each corner of the room before his eyes settled on her. (Y/N) slumped forward, bracing herself on her knees, letting out the breath she’d been holding.
“Damnit, Steve,” she panted, pushing the stray pieces of hair from her face.
“Sorry, sorry,” Steve mumbled, relaxing his stance. “I heard a yell and got worried.”
“Nightmares” was all (Y/N) offered before using the edge of her bed to climb to her feet. Steve hummed in acknowledgment, leaning against the doorframe and scratching at his bare chest.
“I, uh, actually was going to come wake you. Nat called, and we’re needed at the compound,” Steve yawned, rubbing a fist in his eye, stumbling back a step.
“I’m not an Avenger,” (Y/N) countered, dropping back onto her bed with a grunt as she tugged the scrunchie from her hair.
“Doesn’t matter, apparently,” Steve sighed, aggressively rubbing his sleep mushed hair. (Y/N) bit down on the scrunchie between her teeth a little too hard, her hands freezing with half of her hair pulled back. It was only a glimpse of the memory, but that was enough to force her to choke back a sob.
Steve mumbled about taking a shower as he disappeared up the steps and (Y/N) watched him go with a pained look before she faced Bucky again. He had pulled his hat off, aggressively rubbing his hair, trying to get rid of the inevitable hat hair he was sporting, as he wandered towards the couch.
(Y/N) swallowed down the pain, feeling the empty hole in her chest grow a tiny bit more; Steve hadn’t noticed her faraway look, and she thanked whoever was watching over her. She quickly finished gathering her hair into a bun, haphazardly wrapping her scrunchie around it, and dropped her arms.
“Do I really have to go,” (Y/N) whined, tilting her head back, pouting her lips.
“Yes.” Steve’s word was final, his tone leaving no room for argument, and (Y/N) couldn’t help the smile that spread across her face.
“Aw, Stevie, are you using your Captain voice with me,” (Y/N) giggled, biting her lip to stifle a smile.
“Have I ever told you how much I didn’t miss you being an asshole,” Steve huffed, rolling his eyes playfully. A laugh burst from (Y/N)’s lips sending her tumbling back onto her pillows, clutching her stomach, and it felt good to laugh like that again. Steve stayed in the doorway, a soft smile forming as he watched her laugh for what felt like the first time since the ’40s.
“Oh, shit,” (Y/N) wheezed, sitting up again, wiping at the corners of her eyes. “I needed that.”
“Get dressed,” Steve snorted, disappearing down the hall. (Y/N) sat staring at the empty doorway for a few minutes, trying to hold onto her improving mood before slipping out of bed to find clothes.
The entire table watched Secretary Ross’ figure disappear down the hall, plunging the room into silence.
“No,” Steve snapped, pointing at (Y/N) without looking up from the booklet in his hand.
“I didn’t even open my mouth,” (Y/N) replied, her voice pitching up as she glanced around the table.
“I could feel you waiting to,” Steve huffed, his eyes still scanning the small print. (Y/N) threw her arms up, letting them fall against the table with a thud but stayed quiet, waiting for something to happen. Tony was the first to move, his chair scarping against the floor, and immediately, the rest of the table shared looks before slowly getting to their feet and following. Tony pulled his jacket off, throwing it with little care before flopping down on a nearby couch. (Y/N), Vision, Wanda, and Natasha hesitantly settled on the free couches while Steve dropped into a chair facing them, Sam and Rhodey lingering over his shoulders. (Y/N) stared down at the floor, feeling out of place among the group, still wondering why she was even there; Sam and Rhodey’s arguing fading into an annoying buzz in the background.
“I have an equation,” Vision spoke up, drawing everyone’s attention.
“Oh, this’ll clear it up,” Sam snarked, crossing his arms.
“In the eight years since Mr. Stark announced himself as Iron Man, the number of known enhanced persons has grown exponentially. And during the same period, the number of potentially world-ending events has risen at a commensurate rate.” Vision glanced around the room as he finished, his mechanical eyes never lingering on any one person for too long.
Steve looked up from the booklet for the first time, his forehead wrinkling as his eyebrows moved towards his hairline. “Are you saying these are our fault?”
“I’m saying there may be a causality,” Vision clarified, meeting Steve’s eyes. “Our very strength invites challenge. Challenge incites conflict. Conflict…breeds catastrophe. Oversight,” Vision paused, glancing down at his lap. “Oversight is not an idea that can be dismissed out of hand.”
“Boom,” Rhodey cut in, turning a challenging look on Sam. (Y/N) looked around the room, watching the expression on everyone’s face, feeling even more out of place the longer this went on. Her eyes landed on Steve last, sucking in a deep breath, already anticipating Steve’s choice and knowing where that left her.
“Tony,” Natasha tried, raising a brow at him, “you’re being uncharacteristically nonhyper verbal.”
“It’s cause he already made up his mind,” Steve added calmly, tilting his head.
“Oh, you know me so well,” Tony replied, sitting up again.
“Steve, I think this is a conversation I should step away from,” (Y/N) cut in, drawing the entire room’s attention.
“Stay,” Steve hissed, narrowing his eyes.
“No,” (Y/N) challenged, baring her teeth. “I’m not a hero. I’m a liability that the Avengers keep tabs on for your sanity.” (Y/N) got to her feet, twisting her head side to side, sighing when her neck cracked and turned her eyes on Tony. “Lump me in with whatever Steve decides.” Tony blinked at her, his jaw twitching before he gave her a curt nod.
“(Y/N),” Steve started, reaching for her as she walked past him.
“You know where to find me, Cap,” she called over her shoulder. Once she rounded the corner, she could hear Tony’s muffled voice again, but she didn’t care to listen closely to what he was saying; she just kept walking. (Y/N) made it to the first floor before she heard footsteps behind her; she stopped, rolling her eyes, already knowing who she’d find. “Steve…” she trailed off when she saw him.
“She’s gone,” he whispered, his eyes taking on a stormy gray color as tears welled up. It took (Y/N) a few seconds to bounce back from the mood change and realize who ‘she’ was.
“Oh god,” she whispered, closing the gap between them, catching Steve in a tight hug as his knees gave out.
(Y/N) stood at Natasha’s side as she watched Steve walk off with Sharon, his shoulders sagging under another layer of grief.
“Peggy was a good woman,” Natasha sighed, looking over at (Y/N), a frown creasing her face.
“She was. I didn’t know her that well, but she made a trip to see me after Bucky fell. That meant a lot to me,” (Y/N) sighed, her lips pulling into a thin line. It felt like her chest was being cracked open, the sting of new cuts over her heart making her want to throw up and she needed to change the subject. “So, you’re going to the UN?”
“I am,” Natasha admitted, huffing out a quiet laugh. “He should go too.”
“I know,” is all (Y/N) could say as she stared at the door her best friend disappeared through.
Sam and (Y/N) wandered down the street, the dreary London weather bringing down their already sour moods. (Y/N) shivered, her legs covered in goosebumps as the damp air moved over her exposed calves; Sam raised a brow before pulling his hands out of his pockets, shrugging his jacket off, and settling it around her shoulders.
“Thanks, Sam,” she beamed, tugging the jacket tighter around her.
“Course,” he hummed, glancing around the busy street. “Wanna grab a coffee or something while we wait for Steve?”
“Samuel, are you asking me on a date? My heart belongs to another,” (Y/N) teased, resting a hand over her heart. Sam bent forward under the force of his laugh, clutching his stomach, his laughter echoing off the buildings surrounding them, drawing the attention of bystanders.
“I see why Steve likes having you around,” Sam chuckled, bumping shoulders with her.
“I’m a joy to be around,” (Y/N) giggled, smirking at Sam. “But I could go for some coffee.”
“Then shall we,” Sam offered, presenting his arm to her. (Y/N) looped her arm with Sam’s, smiling up at him and letting him guide her down the quiet street. After walking a few blocks, they found a small coffee shop, and (Y/N) sighed as the warmth settled on her skin. Sam pulled her towards the barista, who was leaning against the counter watching the TV mounted above her.
“One moment,” the barista hummed, never taking her eyes off the TV.
“What’s so important?” Sam grumbled in (Y/N)’s ear, rolling his eyes. She shrugged but looked up at the TV, squinting as she caught the tail-end of the headline, and her heart sank when the breaking news headline flashed across the screen again.
“S-Sam,” she stammered, smacking his chest blindly.
“What?” Sam hummed, looking down at her. (Y/N) pointed at the TV, still unable to take her eyes off the name in bold letters across the bottom of the screen. “We gotta go.” Sam pulled her out of the coffee shop, holding her on her feet as she stumbled after him, her eyes locked onto the news report until she couldn’t see it anymore.
“They think Bucky did it,” was only a broken whisper as Sam pulled her along.
The three stood behind Sharon’s couch, their eyes glued to the news report; (Y/N) was reeling, her mind still not accepting the information.
“Damnit,” Steve hissed, wiping a hand over his face.
“It couldn’t be him” (Y/N) argued, fidgeting with the collar of her dress.
“I hate to break it to you, but he isn’t the man you think he is,” Sam argued, crossing his arms.
“That’s the thing, you don’t know him. I know the kind of man he is,” (Y/N) snapped, turning blazing eyes on Sam.
“Sorry, but I’m not convinced. He’s a broken, confused man that’s been torn down for 70 years. You have no idea what we’re dealing with.” Sam raised a brow at her, daring her to challenge his logic, and oh, it lit a fire in her that she thought had been snuffed out a long time ago.
“You know nothing about him, Sam,” (Y/N) growled, taking slow, calculated steps towards him. “Bucky is one of the best men I’ve ever met, and if he’s really behind this, it’s the Winter Soldier. I don’t care how many times he’s been taken apart and rebuilt; James Barnes would never hurt innocent people.”
“Guys, that’s enough,” Steve tried, attempting to pull (Y/N) back.
“How can you be so sure?” Sam pressed, his brows pinched together, pity written all over his face.
“Because I watched Hydra tear him apart time and time again,” she choked out, resting a hand over her throat, taking a shaky breath, “watching him lose himself until nothing was left and up until the end, he never wanted to hurt anyone.”
“Alright, enough,” Steve snapped, stepping in front of (Y/N), blocking her view of Sam. “We need to get to Vienna.”
“Yeah,” (Y/N) breathed, wiping a hand over her mouth, shaking away the memories threatening to rear their ugly heads.
Sam and (Y/N) sat at the café’s counter, sipping coffee as they waited for Steve to get back from looking for Natasha.
“I’m sorry,” Sam mumbled, glancing over at (Y/N).
“It’s fine,” she sighed, massaging the bridge of her nose. “I can’t blame you; I’m biased.” (Y/N) gave him a weak smile that only lasted a few seconds before her face fell again, not having the energy to keep up the act.
“You still love him,” Sam stated over the lip of his mug.
“Never stopped,” she whispered, tracing the woodgrains in the counter.
“Alright,” Steve cut in, appearing between (Y/N) and Sam, nearly sending (Y/N) flying off her stool.
“Fuck, Steve, did the serum turn you into an assassin too,” (Y/N) scolded, resting a hand over her pounding heart.
“Sorry,” he mumbled, looking at her over the top of his sunglasses.
“Whatcha got?” Sam probed, turning to get a better look at Steve.
“Well, (Y/N), you’re going with Nat,” Steve started, pulling his sunglasses off and resting them on the bill of his hat.
“And where am I going with Nat?” (Y/N) twisted around on her stool, leaning against the counter, staring up at Steve, raising a questioning brow.
“Wherever she takes you,” Steve replied cryptically, glancing around the coffee shop.
“Don’t pull that shit with me, Rogers,” (Y/N) hissed, pinning him with a dirty look, crossing her arms.
Steve met her eyes, holding her gaze before looking down at his shoes, sucking in a ragged sigh. “You know they’re going to find him. Nat said she’d try to get you in to see him when they have him.”
“What about you?” Steve shifted nervously, keeping his eyes glued to his shoes and refusing to meet (Y/N)’s eyes, and Sam snorted, shaking his head.
“I can’t,” Steve hummed, scratching at the back of his neck, glancing up through his lashes.
“Bullshit,” (Y/N) scoffed, shaking her head.
“I need you to trust me,” Steve begged, bringing his huge hands up to rest on her shoulders. (Y/N) met his pleading eyes and felt her resolve faltering when the chance to see Bucky again was within reach.
“Please be careful,” she sighed, letting her shoulders fall.
“Thank you,” Steve beamed, surging forward to press a quick kiss to her cheek. “Go find Nat; she should still be wandering around near the front of the building.” (Y/N) took a deep breath and nodded, sliding off her chair and resting a hand over one of Steve’s and squeezing it before stepping away. She looked over her shoulder when she reached the door, watching Steve whisper to Sam and praying he wasn’t going to do something stupid, even though she knew it was pointless because there was a good chance that’s exactly what he was planning.
i loved your recent natasha x super soldier!reader story!! do more supersoldier ones pleaseeee
I’ve had a few messages like this and there might be something in the works … still time for suggestions and requests that people might want to see so feel free to drop me a message!
Is it alright to ask this from steve and ss reader i love that one 🥹
If she has nightmares she hides somewhere and screams in pain first one to go to her is steve
Purgatory (immediate follow-up to this)
Warnings for light angst, hurt/comfort, and only being 1.1k
Steve remembers how Bucky woke from brainwashing vividly. It was violent. It was tortured. He was wrecked.
You’re…glowing with possibility, stunned but smiling softly.
Natasha is the one who notices how you peek at the windows more than look at them and offers to take you outside.
You shrink. That happy smile dies, but you nod.
Even though you’ve hugged Steve, Bucky’s the brave one to touch you at the shoulder and lead you to the exit.
Steve can only see your back while you look up to the sky and walk to the edge of the grass. He can’t tell what you’re thinking or feeling, but after a minute or so, you fall to your knees and plunge your hands into the mulch and dirt below. The shake across your spine means you’re sobbing.
“Maybe give her a sec,” Bucky shrugs, watching with protective focus.
Nat and Bruce go back inside first. Bucky has to meet Steve’s eye and tick his head away to dismiss him.
Steve looks at you one last time to watch you press your forehead to the ground.
He’s interested. How could he not be? You’re the new, curious creature in the building, doubly so because you are now different than the you that was here before.
Steve went through a version of this with Bucky, so he feels like the second-most qualified person on the team to handle you.
He can’t get close though.
Having too many people around overwhelms you, which is to be expected, but it means you’re still glued to Bucky the whole day. He’s been texting the team updates and tidbits you remember that may help track any more Hydra operatives.
That’s all Steve gets.
Bucky confirms that as a precaution you’ll still be housed in the interrogation room you’ve been in since your rescue. Although you were following Buck’s orders while awake as the Autumn Soldier, in case that changed without warning, you slept in a room you couldn’t get out of (easily).
Steve tries to put that aside and get his work done.
Restless, he does a late-night workout in the middle of completing a shameful amount of overdue paperwork, and again, just as a precaution, he keeps the feed of your room up on his tablet. That’s not the reason the paperwork is progressing slowly. Can’t be.
You sleep for a bit, but then you get up and cross to the opposite wall. Steve waits to see if you flag down someone by waving at the camera you know is there, but when you don’t, he minimizes your video feed to send off the completed files so far. He needs to stop hovering. He's not a voyeur.
He gets back to it. He manages to focus for about ten minutes until his curiosity gets the better of him.
And then he’s running.
You’re punching and beating at the door to your cell, arms visibly dripping with blood by the time Steve checks again, and he flings the door open without a second thought, gripping your wrists to stop you from hurting yourself further.
Your eyes are still closed, but you fight anyway.
This is the violence, torture, and wreckage that was missing earlier, buried deeper than Bucky’s, waiting to lash out in the calm.
In his best (mediocre) Russian, Steve yells “Soldat” and tells you to stop. If you can’t see that it’s Steve, you might listen.
You do. Sort of.
Your eyes snap open in utter terror. You’re screaming at him before you register that Steve’s even in the room, and then you shove him away with surprising force only to cower in a corner, muttering…what is that? Latin?
He tries your name. You don’t turn to him, tucking farther into the ball of your body and the wedge of concrete.
“Autumn,” he tries again.
The blood from your arms now covers your pants and smears on the far walls. He knows they’ll heal by morning. Steve also knows they still hurt.
He presses his shoulder to one wall, about four feet from you, and lets himself slide down to your level.
“Autumn, let me help.”
The shake of your back has returned. The sobbing starts anew. He doesn’t know how Bucky soothed you outside. He should have asked, but he’s here now and wants to help. That has to count for something.
“Steve.”
Did he actually hear it or did his hope get the better of him?
Slowly, face low and shadowed, you turn glistening, teary eyes toward him and repeat.
“Steve?”
He’s two feet closer instantly but not all the way by your side.
Shakily, sniffling hard and surpassing what ragged breaths you can, you ask, “what did I do?”
You think the blood isn’t yours. You think you’ve been ordered to do a horrible thing and enacted it without question, without remembering.
“Nothing, doll. Just a nightmare.” Steve’s dying to stop your pain.
Your hands shake when you release the grip on your knees.
“I can help.” He stretches out his arm like an olive branch. “Is that ok?”
Back and forth from his nearing fingers to his steady face, your eyes dart. “I won’t hurt you?”
Steve’s heart seizes knowing that no one can answer that question, but he lies anyway.
“No, you won’t.”
It’s the most convincing lie Steve Rogers has ever told, a bluff with tiny consequences in the grand scheme of things, but he knows it’s the difference between life and death for you, for your soul.
“You won’t hurt me, and I won’t hurt you.”
The transition starts with your fingertips touching his, and then he gets to hold your hand. Steve resigns himself to either no movement forward or only mimicking the small shifts you make. The entire twenty minutes it takes for you to inch into his embrace again is excruciating, but finally, finally, after pressing you to his chest and resting his head overtop yours, you calm down.
He can tell you’re getting sleepy again. You must be exhausted, but every time you start to nod off, you snap back awake.
You’re afraid to fall asleep.
“I can stay here,” he offers. “I can stay and make sure you don’t hurt anyone. I promise.”
The sharper, worried breaths escaping your open mouth catch a few times before you whisper, “please.”
Steve’s on a mission suddenly. He gets you a glass of water, wipes down your arms and hands, settles you back onto your cot, and smooths one big hand over your forehead and down your hair.
He wipes the tears from your face, but your eyes are still glassy when they find his once more.
“You won’t leave?”
“Doll,” Steve smiles weakly, “don’t worry. I could do this all night.”
[Stay tuned for more from Cap and Autumn during Flufftober '22]
dividers by @silkholland and @firefly-graphics
The new series masterlist for this--Autumn Is Healing--is posted for easy navigation.
Thank you for reading, and if you liked this work, please consider reblogging and/or commenting! It's wonderful to hear from you guys. :)
The team found her in hydras hide out suspected of mass experimentation all they found are rows of cryo chambers most were shot so the experiments are dead and one is intact breathing and kept as back up after bucky escape . She has been brain wash like bucky and still retains memories .
I'm Your Mission
That's what Buck said to him in that falling helicarrier.
You're my mission.
But Bucky was also Steve's friend, a lifelong true love that knew him through and through.
You do not. The only thing you know is that Steve Rogers is your enemy and you have to kill him.
Natasha tries several 'cognitive resets,' pistol-whipping you across the temple to knock you out when the cryo tube opens, shocking you with her batons when you wake strapped down in the quinjet, and just good ol' fashioned punching you during the first interrogation.
She means well. Nat knows what Bucky went through, and she's trying to shortcut to you waking up as you. It's not working.
Each time your eyes land on Steve, you go completely feral, and you're almost strong enough to get to him, to get through people to him.
Then Buck tries.
It's immediate--the change in your demeanor--and a bit sickening for Steve to watch his friend lock himself in the room with you in clear Winter Soldier mode.
Bucky speaks in Russian, which Steve can't understand, and Natasha doesn't translate.
Steve's confused when Bucky slaps you across the face, and you just take it. The Winter Soldier was your predecessor and your superior obviously. You can't lift a finger against him. You have to follow his orders.
That's when Bucky nods at the camera, and Nat goes in to finish the interrogation--again, all in Russian.
Steve walks away from observation but links the camera feed to his tablet, checking in every so often for hours while they are in there.
Not one move. Not even to scratch or wipe your face. You've sat in a chair, ramrod straight, for half a day by the time Nat leaves your room and Bucky follows.
Hydra never retrained you against Bucky as a traitor, so they've gotten lucky there. His friend is so confident in that level of programmed obedience that Buck even says you could probably be let out and wouldn't go after Steve.
Steve's not so sure.
Hydra stole a photostatic veil from SHIELD a long time ago, and from the research video acquired at the site where they found you, Hydra used the mask--with Steve's face--to punish you. Every brain wipe, every beating, every surgery, you saw Steve do it to you.
If you're not going to kill him, the best he can ever hope for is that you fear him.
Steve doesn't know why that makes him sad.
As some sort of sick joke, Hydra designated you 'Autumn,' but Steve hates to use that name when it clearly isn't who you really are. They've found no record of who you were before.
You're Bucky's shadow for weeks before Bruce can figure out a way to jolt your brain out of it. You only speak Russian (although you clearly comprehend everything said around you in almost any language), and you only speak to Bucky, unless he orders you to answer someone.
Still in Russian though.
Bucky's told him, too, that you've never mentioned Steve by name. He is always 'the target,' 'the mission,' and most disturbingly 'the prize.'
Steve gets a little nervous when he hears that term (after he looks it up, of course) fall from your lips while you stare directly at him.
He's more excited than he should be when the day comes for Bruce to test his equipment, and you obediently sit in the chair and bite down on the mouth guard, staring with that intense gaze at the ceiling.
They could be about to do anything to you, and you would just take it silently.
Steve shudders at the thought.
The headpiece retracts and you sit up, looking at your hands while squinting in confusion. It's the most facial expression Steve's ever seen on you, but does it mean you're not in Soldier mode anymore?
Everyone steps a little closer, hoping.
Buck and Nat are muttering what must be reassurances while you scan the room, face molding through a few emotions during the slow turn...
...until you see Steve.
And that's the first time he hears it. You breathe his name.
His heart stops, and his mouth goes bone dry.
You stand tentatively but rush toward him with purpose. The others shout warnings and some Russian orders to stop, but you don't. Your face looks relieved as your arms lift and encircle Steve's neck.
He's almost knocked back. Steve may as well be a feather, he's so shocked.
"Oh, ok," Bruce sighs, "that's a good sign."
Over your shoulder, Steve sees Bucky smile, and his friend gets closer.
"I told her all about who you are, to me, to the team. I knew she'd remember once..."
Nat crosses her arms over her chest. "Well, don't be rude, Rogers."
Your grip tightens. Whatever serum Hydra gave you is different from his and Bucky's because your strength is deceptive. You aren't chiseled and giant like they are, even though he's seen you spar with Bucky and been mildly terrified (combined with something else Steve's not willing to admit yet). You look more normal than they do.
His arms wrap your waist in response, and he can feel an oh-so-comfortable softness to your actual body. It takes only a few seconds to melt all the way into the hug, tucking his face into your shoulder gently.
"I'm sorry," you whisper into the air behind him.
"Nothing to be sorry for," Steve mumbles back. "It wasn't you." He squeezes a little more before finally getting to ask.
"What's your name?"
[Next Part]
oh NOOOOOO, gang. I love this. I may or may not be addicted to this idea. So many thots. So little space in my stupid series wip list...
Let me know what you think. You wanna see more of these two? I kinda do. Anyway, reblogs and comments always appreciated!
[Main Masterlist; Autumn Is Healing Masterlist; Ko-Fi]
Warnings for angst, a smutty dubcon/noncon situation, more angst, and a hearty portion of implied previous torture. Overall, this will be a healing story (as the series title suggests), but this tale deals with unresolved Hydra trauma. This is an entirely 18+ portion of their story. MINORS DNI. WC 1.7k
Summary: The Autumn Soldier is activated.
There’s chaos everywhere, the fight above so big it shakes the walls and foundation around them. Steve has to destroy the page.
He’s heard the words before, memorized them then locked them away, but here they are—your words, the ones that activate Hydra’s Autumn Soldier—written down for anyone to find. If he can read this, so can others. He has to destroy it. He has to stop anyone else from knowing, so Steve grabs the papers, runs to the nearest bit of debris on fire, and—
He jolts, eyes open to the dark and quiet of his bedroom, relieved it was only a dream.
Seems like he isn’t the only one having trouble tonight because you’re already sitting up.
“’S okay,” Steve groans, rolling over, “come back to bed.”
He’s so damn tired, arriving home—he looks at the clock—five hours ago from a two week mission of epically exhausting proportions, and he knows that you get restless when he isn’t here. He understands that you might be trying to ‘spend time’ with him even while he sleeps. You used to do that a lot. You’d watch over him, taking micro naps all day just to stay awake beside him all night.
Ridiculous.
“Maintenant?”
He doesn’t even catch it. He’s too tired. “What do you mean, now? You know what to do.” With that Steve punches his pillow up to the right level of fluff by his head and sinks back into the No Man’s Land of unconsciousness…
…until he feels you stroking him, firm and deliberate, skillfully working him up to full mast.
He groans for a different reason this time.
Steve half expected this. He’s been gone a while, and, of course, he missed you and your touch. Right now though? Right now he thinks he wants to sleep.
His body doesn’t care apparently. His cock truly does not care what he thinks.
Efficiently, your fingers tuck into the waistband of his boxers and peel them down his legs. While his feet are still tangled in the sheets, you push his hip until Steve’s on his back. You don’t tease or play around, and he is grateful that perhaps you can both simple get off quickly and go to bed.
He doesn’t like that that is his goal at this point, but it is. By the speed at which you slide him in and the pace you set, sharply bouncing atop him, keeping your back straight so he always has a perfect view of his length disappearing in your wet heat over and over, you seem set on releasing and relaxing just as fast.
Steve grabs your thighs first, fingers digging into the meat of your flesh, adding a forward and backward sway to your up and down movements.
You’re very quiet tonight. It’s a little weird, but you’re wet as ever and just as tight against him. He doesn’t think much of it.
His hands move to your hips and drag you against him harder. The tension in his abdomen starts converging lower and lower, white hot as he gets closer and closer to coming. When that tension snaps, Steve whines with the flood of endorphins that fills him in place of his cum rushing into you.
Maybe you had the right idea; he does feel better, even more ready for sleep than before.
Chest lowering flush to his, Steve thinks your about to kiss him. He pulls you close, but your mouth moves off to the side of his head.
“Mission accomplie,” you whisper in his ear.
His whole body goes completely rigid. “WHAT THE—“ He rushes to push you off him, looking at the clock again. Your dog, Maple, barks ferociously as she senses something wrong.
“Friday,” he shrieks, “play back audio from…fifteen minutes ago in this room.”
“Of course, Captain Rogers,” the AI chirps casually, and within seconds, there it is, his voice mumbling the seventh of your ten words. He activated you in his sleep without even noticing.
His stomach knots so hard, Steve thinks he might vomit.
You’re on your back on the bed, knees tucked to your chest. Maple whines and licks at your face, but you don’t touch her. He tries your name several times before your only response is “je suis la mère.”
Steve tries to stave off a complete meltdown, ordering Friday to call Bucky to his room. He has to demand you follow him into the bathroom, cleaning you up himself and begging you to dress while he does the same.
When Buck arrives, Steve only vaguely explains, unable to say everything that’s happened out loud.
Bucky takes you back down to the cell; there’s no other way unless they can use Banner’s machine immediately, but that’s down in some storage bunker who-knows-where in the enormous compound.
You follow Bucky’s every command without question, and that only makes Steve feel worse.
Forty hours later, the machine finally arrives. Steve will never understand why it was relocated to a different facility or who thought that was a sound decision, but it’s here now.
It feels like the first time and yet so much more important. You have a name and an identity, you have family here, and Steve believes that you have every right to kill him. He should be your target. You went through all this, trusting him to never, ever harm you, and then he did. Whether subconsciously or consciously, Steve Rogers knew something that would eventually hurt you, and he did nothing.
Each meal he brings you in your cell goes the exact same way.
He enters. He puts the food in front of you. You stare at him until he orders you to eat it. You eat every bite, continuing to stare forward, awaiting further instruction. He orders you to stay and rest. He leaves. His heart hurts more.
It wouldn’t matter if you didn’t like the food. It wouldn’t matter if he ordered you to look at him. That’s not you anymore. Steve has half a mind to order you to fight him and just take it until someone comes to stop you…or not.
Then the machine arrives.
It might be Steve’s imagination, but he swears you hesitate to sit even when Bucky tells you to. He might be projecting how much he wishes you had autonomy, but he thinks he sees a flicker of fear in your eyes when the mouth guard goes in.
Your swallow visibly rolls down your throat as Banner counts down over the sparking electric hum.
Steve is not imagining that your taut scream is louder and longer this time around. Before it was pained. Now it's blood-curdling.
The clamps slowly release your head, and your eyes fall closed. No one moves, not even you.
“Rosie?” Steve steps forward.
Your eyes still don’t open. Instead, you lift one leg up to the small seat under you, and then hug the other. You lean forward to bury your face between your knees, back spasming from silent sobs.
It shouldn’t feel so different since you did cry when you were last woken from the Autumn Soldier, but you were free and outside, enjoying the natural splendor of earth beneath your hands. This time, you’re closed off, unmoving, trapped in between two thinly-veiled hells.
The lump in Steve’s throat blocks any other words he chooses. Nothing comes out. Bruce excuses himself. Bucky stands perfectly still on the other side of you. Steve remains quiet.
“Make him go,” you whisper, bubbles popping with even that tiny force of composure.
Steve nods at Bucky who starts to step away.
“Yeah, doll, I’ll be ri—“
“No.” This time the command is solid and fiery, but your head stays low. “Him.”
Bucky looks at Steve with sympathy.
Steve remains quiet, not understanding. Even though he expected this, he can’t process it. He hoped. He hoped so deeply that it would never come to this.
You want him to leave you.
Steve’s never wanted anything less.
Suddenly, his body is the bull in the China shop. His movements will do damage, but his presence has already done damage.
It takes long, ever-lasting seconds for him to look back up at Bucky placing a hand on Steve’s shoulder.
“No,” he breathes. Steve can’t. He can’t leave.
Bucky begins to push, and Steve shakes his head, eyes wide and wild.
“No, I can—“
“She asked you to go.” Bucky leans in, easing him to the door.
Steve grabs at Buck’s elbow. He can’t be serious.
His best friend’s steel blue gaze betrays nothing. The jerk is going to follow his sister’s orders.
Steve digs his heels in and fights back, shoving at the unyielding soldier before him.
“Rosie, please,” he begs as Bucky’s grip changes to near lift Steve’s mass off the ground. “Let me help, sweetheart. Rosie, I want to help,” but he’s cut off by a vibranium hand on his throat in warning.
“Quit it, punk,” Bucky hisses through his teeth. “Just go.”
And then Steve really thinks about it. What is he going to do if he gets past Bucky? What is he going to say or offer as an excuse? How can he actually help you?
He stops fighting, door closed solidly in his face, cut off from you.
What can he do now?
Blank and beaten, Steve stands at the door for a long time, hearing nothing from the other side. It doesn’t open back up for him. He knows it won’t, not for a long while yet. For someone so dedicated to returning your autonomy, he sure wants to violate it and be with you anyway. This is a kind of trauma he can’t begin to understand though, so he calls the one person close by with the clearance to hear you out.
Steve pulls out his phone and pleads for Sam Wilson to come to the compound.
Only when he receives an affirmative does Steve turn away from your door. Still exhausted, no more consoled than forty-five hours ago, he begrudgingly leaves to walk Maple.
His mind is chaos. His foundation continues to shake beneath him. Steve has destroyed something he may not be able to repair.
I promise it gets better, but we will learn some worse things first...
