Andrea By @withoutashadowofhope

Andrea By @withoutashadowofhope

withoutashadowofhope: My version of Andrea

Omg!!!!! I love it!!! I love it soo much! she is cute!! ♥♥♥♥♥♥ ~Cass

Believer || Part I

Words: 1910

Warnings: none at all

SUMMARY: MCU Crossover With Tomb Raider 2013

Request by: Anonymous

Author: Rouge

“Come here, boys! We have fresh meat over here!”

The man had appeared out of the foliage with barely a rustle of his announcement. His clothing was weather worn and threadbare, a suggestion of a harsh life. He could see stains of questionable and queasy origins spattered here and there, dark like ink but not with the same texture, not at all. His hair was dark and greasy, his scratchy beard thick. The leer in his eyes and the crooked smirk weren’t welcoming either. He had a gun. Bucky recognized it simply because he had grown accustomed to their sight over the many years.

He was alarmed when he began to pick out more bodies emerging into sight from the darkness of the forest, some up high on overhanging precipices; several were in trees, and the rest on the ground, flanking the first man. Some had rifles. Others, pistols. He even noticed, oddly enough, some were armed with bows and arrows.

All were aimed at him.

“If this is your welcoming committee, then I shudder to think about the reception of guests you fail to successfully entertain. This is rather poor in taste, if you ask me.”

The first man, the leader of the ragtag bunch, scowled and spat out a curse at him. It took Bucky a moment to realize he had spoken Russian, the dialect heavy as the syllables growled over one another. It took him another to realize what the man had said.

“Fucking smart ass. I’ve shot men for less insult.”

He jerked the gun in his hand, pointing a vague direction for Bucky to move. Bucky didn’t. Instead, he addressed the man in his apparent native tongue. “Where are you taking me?”

The Russian was unimpressed at being addressed in his mother tongue, even if he did give pause.

“Move!”

The weapon’s hammer was cocked back for emphasis, a loud and unsettling click that cleaved the very air with its sound. He startled when one of the men suddenly pitched forward with barely a grunt and hiss of air issuing from his mouth. He fell forward, his weapon—a rifle—clattering to the forest floor with a loud clatter, tangling in the undergrowth. An arrow protruded from the Bucky man’s backside.

The Russian barked at his men, stirring them into action and they scrambled into organized chaos. The Russian turned on him, the barrel of the gun reestablished on him. He hissed away, stalking forward to close the gap between him and Bucky.

“She’s come for you, boy,” he growled, a dark light sparking in his eyes. “I’ll kill you before she gets a chance to even see your face.”

The gut punch had the taller man doubling over, wheezing heavily at the strike. Bucky wasn’t aiming to kill or maim the man, simply disarm him and relocate. The Russian’s grip on his gun hadn’t broken, but he was too busy catching his breath to notice. He never got the chance to, either.

Another arrow whizzed out from the dark and struck the Russian’s neck, punching through from back to front, an arrowhead sprouting out of his throat. The gun fell from abruptly limp fingers, and then the Russian followed suite with a strangled gurgle. Bucky stumbled back, in horror and shock. The light in the Russian’s eyes went out and he wheezed his last breath, blood bubbling from the oozing wound as he collapsed on his face.

The forest fell silent and it was in that moment he realized all the men that had appeared from nowhere were dead.

All of them.

An unsettling silence had Bucky over the forest, and the shadows around him seemed to grow darker, longer, reaching for him. The hairs on the back of his neck rose up and stood at attention while an icy shudder snaked its way down his spine.

His metal arm reached his vest's pocket and pulled out a handy knife. The dark blade was gleaming in what little light the moon above provided. The familiar weight of a tactic vest settled around his shoulders, providing a comforting sense of security and protection as it did.

He felt eyes on him, but how many and from where, he wasn’t too sure. He just knew that whoever killed the men, they were still here. Bucky didn’t have long to wait. He whirled at the first sign of movement, but he stopped short of himself in surprise at what he faced.

It was a slip of a young woman, much smaller than he was. She was dressed sensibly enough to move fast and not allow herself to be caught up by snagged clothing. It was all form fitting without being too tight on her, she had grey tight cargo pants, a striped shirt which probably was white in the past, pair of a hiking boots. There was a bulk to her build and Bucky saw why. The silhouette of knives strapped at her sides, a rifle on a sling over her shoulder, a quiver of arrows belted at her hip, and a bow held casually in one hand, a pistol in the other. She cleared the area with the pistol, watching for any unwanted movement before holstering it at her back when she deemed it safe.

She had beautiful, big brown eyes and smooth skin. Bucky noticed a little bruise at her cheek. Her little nose was adding kind of a charm to her figure. She slowly rised her brow, glaring at him.

The woman ventured closer, her posture still tense but it had relaxed greatly in comparison to the few steps she had taken when she arrived. She was showing she wasn’t an enemy by holstering her weapons, but she would still ready at the drop of a hat to jump into action if things went south. He could sense all of that just by the way she held herself.

She slowly reached to sling the bow on a holster on her back, leaving her hands open and free. Her eyes never left him.

“These men would have killed you if I hadn’t intervened. The Solarii aren’t known for their kindness and mercy. Negotiating with them is impossible when they’ve been trained to kill without hesitation. Especially if it looks like you’re going to fight back.” She started in way of greeting. The woman tilted her head to the side. “Surprised they delayed so long in shooting you. Good thing they did. Gave me time to get here.”

He was still tongue-tied at the suddenness of the events that had transcended within the span of a few sparse minutes.

She turned, motioning for him to follow.

He trailed after her with uncertainty in his steps. “Wait... wait! Where am I? Who are these Solarii? And what’s your name?”

The woman craned her head to peer over her shoulder at him. Her gaze was steady and even, unfaltering as she studied him. They passed through the undergrowth for several minutes in silence before she answered him.

“You’re on an island called Yamatai. It’s in the Dragon’s Triangle, west of Japan. The Solarii are…shipwreck survivors. They’re a band of murderers that have laid claim to the island, killing or recruiting any men who wash up on shore. They burn any women they come across.”

A sour taste coated the back of his throat and his stomach turned uneasily at that. He didn’t remember how he’d gotten here, and he wondered if he was alone.

I think I am, but…no. Please don’t let the others be here.Steve. Sam. Natasha.

“Have…have there been any others…?” He couldn’t finish. The woman seemed to take that as a cue.

“Like you? No. You’re the only one I’ve come across, dressed as you are.”

There was little relief in her answer. It only meant he was the first, and that the others might very well be here.

The woman unclipped something from her belt and waggled the item. It was an oval-shaped device, black and ringed with perhaps a white or yellow stripe. A thin tube stuck out from its top.

“The Solarii get riled up when others are spotted on the island. No doubt they’ve already gotten on the horn and started bleating like the mindless sheep they are to others on their radios about you.” She continued as they began climbing up a small incline. The trees were thinning, and there was a path up ahead, and it looked like there was an old bridge they could cross. “You’re the only one right now. If there were others, I would have heard about them on this.”

He didn’t feel very reassured, even with that statement. A thought occurred to him.

“You never told me your name.”

They came across the bridge. It might have once been painted a pleasing, imperial crimson red, but time had taken its toll on it. Still, it was intact and spanned over the length of a small pond. The night critters had begun their hushed chorus and he had barely noticed until then.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“But then, what do I call you? My name’s James Barnes, but more often I'm called Bucky.”

When she walked, she was quiet. She moved with the purpose to be as quiet as possible. He sought to do the same, in case they ran into any more of those Solarii men. He didn’t fancy having another dozen guns pointed at his person, thank you very much.

“Lara. Lara Croft.”

He stopped halfway across the bridge, startled.

“There’s a way off?”

She paused at the end of the bridge and turned a little to view him more properly. “Yes. There’s a boat. I’ll have to fix it, but I need to take care of a few things first.”

“Anything I can help with?”

“No. I mean..” She hesitated. “Not by now at least.  have a safe place where you can stay” she offered, shrugging slightly.

She eyed him a little more critically, her mouth pulling into a shrewd, thin line. “Trained fighter or not, I’m not risking a stray bullet hitting you in the head.” Lara crossed her arms at her chest, rolling her eyes. “Besides.” She took a look at his metal hand. “It shoulkd be useful to defend yourself. But you were just standing there, like a child lost in the mist” a sad smile crawled at her rosy lips as she was speaking.

Lara gave a small nod and turned, motioning him to keep following.

“I can help” he pressed insistently. “Please. At least lemme help with something. You saved me.”

“No, you can’t by now.” She said it in such a matter-of-fact tone, it grated on his nerves. He started after her, silence be damned if it meant catching up.

“And how do you know? You don’t know me, or what I can or can’t do. I can do quite a lot. I killed a lot of people..” Bucky growled loudly, streatching his metal fingers.

She glanced at him as he dropped back, his steps faltering until he stopped. “If you could kill, then you would have done so back there. Those men would have been dead before I met up with you. That’s how I know you can’t do what I need to be done by now to get us out of here. It’s kill or be killed on this island. But for now,” she looked around, sighng, “let's get to the hideout. It's gonna rain.”

Little letters

WORD COUNT: 1680

SUMMARY: Some letters Tony and Steve exchanged between each other.

WARNINGS: none

AUTHOR: Killer raccoon

Capcicle:

This phone is embarrassing. I’m embarrassed to have it anywhere near my person. Pretty sure you must have recovered it from an archeological dig of a Neanderthal cave. Which would be fitting for you, them being your people and all. Still pissed by the way, haven’t reached that ‘understanding’ yet.

Unsincerely,

T.S.

 Dear Tony,

I know. Both about the phone and the understanding. I must admit that I did get slightly amused imagining your reaction to it. The phone that is, not the other thing. I think it portent that older phones don’t have tracking chips in them, and they aren’t being monitored by the NSA. Kind of thinking that says something about modern society and not really in a good way. Trading privacy for security. It’s devastating. As for the other thing… I know you're upset. You have reason to be. I get that, I do. I should have told you about your parents. I wish I could go back in time and do things different. But I can’t. So the only thing I can do is to repeat that I am sorry.

As for the ever so subtle dig, how did the party-line go? Fire bad, tree pretty? Or, you know, ooga-booga. Or whatever it is that Neanderthals like me say.

Yours most sincerely,

Steve

 Spangles,

I have been ‘tracking’ you since they found you on the ice. Trust me sweetums, the NSA is the least of your worries. Also, did you just crack a joke at me? And used pop culture at that? I am shocked. Shocked I tell you! Kindly cease destroying my world view, I’m too busy being livid at you to be amused (at how bad you are at it). Thank you.

Also, why? And don’t give me that ‘protecting me, protecting you’ bullshit. Details. All of it.

T.S.

P.S. Paper letters are so undignified.

Dear Tony,

Not sure how to react to the tracking thing or how to take it. In a weird way it’s good to know? I don’t know. When I first came off the ice I would have done anything to get back in it. The grief of losing Bucky was still fresh, and on top of that everyone I had ever known was either dead or only experienced occasional moments of lucidity, like Peggy. I didn’t recognize anyone, or anything and when I went down, I was a soldier. I slept on the ground, for the most part. The Commandos and I used to take shifts so no one would creep up on us in the middle of the night and capture or kill us. I still heard the ring of gunfire and bombs going off in my head. To go from that back to civilian life and not just civilian life but civilian life in a completely unrecognizable world… I wasn’t in a good place.

I sat outside your tower once, at a little cafe near the tower, hoping to get a glimpse of you. I don’t know what I would have said or done if that had happened. But SHIELD gave me a file on you and I knew that you were Iron Man, so I thought maybe if anyone would understand what it was like to wake-up in this strange world that sort of turned you into this impossible legend while you slept it would be you, being a legend yourself. There are days when I still wonder how the Captain America thing became so rampart. Trading cards?! But after we met I didn’t think you liked me much, so it’s strangely touching to hear that you tracked me, as messed up as that probably sounds. I mean, I know that our first meeting was under the worst possible conditions. We were stressed, I was so lost, and we had Loki’s scepter bringing out the absolute worst in both of us, but I always got the feeling that I annoyed you a bit.That my old fashioned ways, my ethics, my confusion... I just always felt that it kind of rubbed you the wrong way, even after we became friends and teammates.

At least I know why now. Howard. Would you believe me if I told that I was surprised to find out that Howard spoke so fondly of me to you? Don’t get me wrong, I admired Howard a lot. He was brilliant, he was funny and very charming. Not nearly as charming as you, of course, but he did have it. And I will always be forever grateful for what he did for me, flying me into enemy territory so that I could save the 107th. Without Howard there would be no Howling Commandos. But the truth of the matter is that while Howard was generous and brilliant, he sort of talked to me like I was a kid, you know? He didn’t act like he was all that impressed by me the entire time we knew each other.

I regret how he died. And your mother. I do grieve for them and for what happened. You want answers and I’ll try my best to give them to you but in all honesty I’m not sure I understand it entirely myself. First and foremost I feared for Bucky. You have to understand, Bucky and my Mom were all I had as a kid. I was sick, and weak, and picked on like you wouldn’t believe. Bucky always stood up for me, protected me. Without him my childhood would have been a completely different story and I probably wouldn’t have made it out of it. And when my mom died he was there for me again. I actually crashed on his couch for months afterwards. No one knew Bucky like I did, and no one left alive but me had seen him at his best, so full of life.

He is a good man, he didn’t deserve what happened to him. And it’s my fault - what happened to Bucky - it was all my fault. I recruited him into the Howling Commandos even though he could have left the army. He had been captured and tortured by Zola, the army was ready to release him. But he followed me back into war because I asked. He was so loyal. So honorable. Maybe too loyal and honorable. I was concerned that because there was no one but me left who had known Bucky pre-Hydra programming, that no one but me would believe him redeemable. And so I wanted to protect him and I thought that if I told you about your parents that you would be just one more person gunning for him. I mean, even Sam had his doubts that Bucky was still Bucky deep down and Sam is a former soldier, a VA counselor and a good friend. If Sam didn’t fully believe Bucky could be reached, what hope did I have that you would?

Still though, I realize that whether you would have reacted poorly or not, and whether you would have become just one more person I’d have to race to get to Bucky first, I shouldn’t have kept Hydra’s involvement in your parent's’ death from you. You had a right to know, a right that didn’t supercede my drive to save my best friend, and I was wrong to keep it from you.

This letter is long. Longer than I intended. But you asked for answers and I hope I gave them to you.

Sincerely,

Steve

 P.S. I don’t know, call me old-fashioned (you do anyway) but I like paper letters. They just seem more… personable. Besides not only are email accounts trackable, but they’re also annoying. No matter how many firewalls you put on my accounts, I’m still getting emails from some guy in Nigeria who is most eager to inform me that I’ve magically inherited millions of dollars.

 Stars and Stripes,

Of course I am more charming than my father.

Tony

 Dear Tony,

Not that I’m complaining here, it’s always great to hear from you and I know I have no right to ask... but is that really all you took from my last letter? It’s just you didn’t insult me, my parentage, or my honor at all in in your response, so I’m concerned.

Love,

Steve

 Cap,

I am processing. I need time. I’ll be in touch.

Tony

 Steve,

Okay, so I’ve processed. Sort of. It’s ongoing. James Buchanan Barnes has been cleared of the U.N. bombing in Vienna. Officially. As such you, Wilson  and the others have also been cleared of the aiding and abetting charge, and a financial donation from yours truly went a long way in clearing up the property damage charges. I know Barnes is in cryo in Wakanda, I may be able to help with the de-programming.

Meanwhile I need you to get your (admittedly fine) ass home. Bring your big boy pants, you and I are going to have a very long conversation. We’re going to put it all on the table.

Love,

Tony

 Dear Tony,

I’m on my way (and by the time you receive this I’ll probably already be there).

Love,

Steve

 Dearest Steven,

Well that conversation, after hours of deliberation, ended rather smashingly, I thought. And by smash I mean that I was quite impressed that you managed to break a solid oak, steel bar reinforced desk while I fucked you on it following said conversation. The Hulk himself couldn’t have done better. Good job. I told you we would put it all on the table. No worries, I’ll buy sturdier for next time.

Love Always,

Tony

 Dear Tony,

I’m looking forward to it. Now can you come to bed? I want to snuggle.

With love,

Steve

 P.S. In my day we built furniture that lasts (while we walked uphill to school both ways)… Couldn’t resist. Oh come on, it was right there!

 P.S.S. You’re sending texts in letter form now. Admit it, you liked the letters.

 Steve, dearest,

The sarcasm. I’m almost proud. Almost. And I admit nothing. Love, He who is heading to you right now...

The chronicles of the winter || Part XII - The End

Part II  || Part III || Part IV || Part V || Part VI || Part VII|| Parta VIII || Part IX || Part X || Part XI  continuation of imagine

Word Count: 13559

Warnings: none 

Author: Beast

Habit and impulse were so easy to fall back on, thinking being a costly and dangerous liability. The Asset had learned that early on, it having been forced into his program, carved into his skin among the patchwork of scars so it became a part of him. This time, however, this time it was different. This time when he woke up on that familiar cold table, seeing white-coated techs hovering over him and his wounds like vultures, he didn't feel the programming trying to lull him into docility. Oh no, this time a latent instinct, old and raw and powerful, bubbled through the cracks in HYDRA's conditioning and screamed in his subconscious, spurring him to act.

Fight.

Find.

Protect.

A snarl worthy of a predator tore its way out of his throat as he shoved the nearest tech away, the force of it throwing him clear into the opposite wall. The rest of them scattered like insects, shouting in varied languages as he pulled himself into a sitting position, glaring at them from behind the mess of his hair. A half-dozen IVs were laced into his veins, a likely but ultimately unsuccessful attempt to keep him asleep. The stiffness along his shoulder told him they had likely closed the sniper's wound, and he quickly realized his dislocated joint had been pushed back into place and immobilized with thick medical tape. They'd replaced his blood-soaked shirt with a dark grey one, and as if to mock him, it bore the SHIELD logo embossed in shiny blue thread over his heart.

"где." The soldier demanded, forcing himself to his feet, the drip-lines tugged free of his arms. The HYDRA agents and techs skittered in panic, yowling like panicked animals in a hunter's trap. When he didn't get a response did he bark the word out again, this time in English. "Where." If he wasn't told, he wouldn't hesitate to tear the place to shreds to find out. Before any of the cowardly technicians could answer, however, several HYDRA agents in full combat gear poured into the room, armed to the teeth.

One moved too close, holding a syringe, and the assassin lunged without hesitation. His metal arm felt sluggish and heavy, having been in the middle of being repaired when he woke, but that didn't hinder his deadliness any as he swung with all the force he could muster at the man's jaw. A grim sort of smirk appeared on his features, feeling bone crack and give under his fist, the soldier dropping into a crumpled heap at his feet. He crushed the dropped syringe under his boot, the sound of the glass shattering morbidly satisfying.

Something was shouted in a language he couldn't catch, but he didn't give the soldiers the luxury of time to coordinate themselves. A scalpel, lifted from the near table that held the medical supplies, in his capable hands slit the throat of one of the agents before he even realized what had happened, the bleeding man roughly kicked away into another soldier. Another's throat was caught in his metal fingers when he went to prod him with a stunstick, the vertebra crunching loudly with a single squeeze. The body was casually tossed aside, a mere afterthought. Chaos erupted, which was exactly what the Asset had wanted, as he was able to easily dispatch agent after agent, until in the confusion he was able to slip out into the hall. He slammed the door shut behind him, bending the metal frame enough that the soldiers inside weren't getting out anytime soon.

Alarms began to blare, and he knew he didn't have much time. He needed to find where they were keeping Steve, needed to find out if he was alive, needed to get him out. The layout of the building was familiar, and he soon found himself tracing mental maps that he couldn't consciously remember. Identical doors in identical halls, yet somehow he knew the way, ending up in a neglected corner of whatever backwater HYDRA base this was. Detention level. He knew these rooms all too well. Broken memories of conditioning, of training and discipline flashed through his mind. It was enough to sour his stomach.

Only one of the rooms had light filtering through the dingy door window, and he just knew that had to be where they were keeping Steve. The door was thick steel, reinforced and heavy and bolted with more locks than he cared to count. It could have been made of vibranium and it wouldn't have been enough to keep him out. The Asset tore through the locks he could, picking the others he couldn't, using every skill in his considerable arsenal but his patience only lasted so long. Normally he could wait for days, one of a sniper's greatest attributes, but this was Steve and he needed inside now.

The sound of metal rending and groaning filled the level, the soldier slamming his metallic fist into the door over and over, bending and deforming the surface bit by bit. The servos and artificial tendons in his arm screamed in protest but he scarcely cared, eventually making a dent deep enough he could get his fingers inside the stop. He braced himself and pulled with all his weight, the fatigued and aged metal shredding in his hand. That just fed his ambition, and soon enough he was tearing through the door with both hands, unfeeling to the shards that sliced through his flesh and bone hand, and to the hot slickness of blood as it poured from his palm.

Desperation was beginning to claw at his mind. He knew agents would find out where he was soon enough, and he couldn't let them take him away. Not before he knew if Steve was still alive. Standing back, the assassin kicked the door with every ounce of strength he had. The metal gave way with a great resounding shudder, the hinges failing and door swinging open violently. He was inside before the door even had the chance to hit the wall when it swung wide.

Relief isn't anywhere near strong enough a word to convey the emotion the soldier felt when he saw Steve, battered and broken and still as he was, breathing and alive. At his side in an instant, the assassin assessed the Captain's condition and wounds within moments. The man was unconscious, the worst of his wounds hidden under layers and layers of pink-tinged gauze. Smaller injuries had been ignored, his skin was pallor and in some distant part of his mind the soldier recognized this. Recognized a tiny kid with a rattling cough and pale skin who always scared him half to death with the fact that he might not make it through winter.

Medical supplies still covered the table to the side of the cot he was placed on, and without a second thought or any concern for being captured, the former Soviet started to pick through the contents. He wrapped a quick bandage around the cuts to his hand to stem the bleeding, not wanting to risk getting it on Steve when who knew what had been pumped into his system. Clean gauze was soaked in disinfectant, the excess wrung out before it was pressed to a shallow cut that burned an angry red across the Captain's cheek. The serum had already begun healing his body, the wound already mostly closed, but for some reason he found himself fussing over it regardless.

The soldier hadn't patched anyone up save himself for decades. He remembered, very dimly, bandaging someone with crimson hair that glowed like a dying fire, but the memory was so hazy and distorted that it might as well have been a dream. He was used to sewing himself up, to prying bullets out of his body and mending jagged pieces of flesh back together. As a result, delicateness was not something he was intimately familiar with, yet it seemed his body remembered better than his brain, as he cleaned the man's wounds with an unfamiliar tender gentleness.

A crackle of memory fizzled in his mind, of him sitting in a muddy, snow-filled trench, tearing a scarf free of his neck and brandishing it as if to threaten some other person. He dimly recalled blood, from a wound of some kind to the arm of someone dressed in blue, and angrily muttering something about not signing up to be a mother as he wrapped his scarf around the limb. He remembered laughter from people he didn't know, or couldn't remember, and being called a jerk. The memory faded as quickly as it appeared, and within a second of its passing it was all but forgotten in favor of focusing on the task at hand.

"Well, seems like the dosage of sedative we gave you was a bit off." A calm voice suddenly broke the silence, the assassin's muscles seizing up in remembered fear as familiarity crashed over him like a wave. He didn't move for a long moment, bloody fingers hovering over another cut to the Avenger's chin, as if his stillness could be taken as a sign of submission.

There was an amused hum from behind him, one that faded into a dark, twisted sort of laugh. "At attention, воин." The order was issued sternly, and the soldier found himself turning around to face the man, posture stiff with unease and the beginnings of fear. The man, he knew him, the name Aiden provided by the bits of memory that survived each successive wipe. A crooked grin spread across the General's face and it caused the Asset's stomach to churn.

"They warned me that you were far more… damaged than we would have liked." Black spoke with all the casualness as if they were merely speaking about the weather, "It would have been easier just to put you down, but since we have Captain America in addition to our Winter Soldier…" he trailed off, malevolent smile spreading further across his face as he approached with a proud air to his movements. Once he was close enough, the suited man regarded him with all the affection one might have for a fine weapon, eyes appraising but cold and calculating, seeking only value.

"Why, I think what's left of SHIELD would do just about anything to get their hands on him, and you as well. Oh, the secrets they think you have… they'd do anything to wring them out of you, воин, but I'm never going to let that happen, don't you worry." The acidic sweetness to his voice made the soldier's blood run as cold as the river that haunted his nightmares. It was a tone all too familiar, yet for what felt like lifetimes that tone had been the closest semblance to kindness he'd ever experienced, and he'd latched onto it desperately. Now it made him sick.

Aiden brushed past him, leaning over the cot to look at the Captain's wounds. One of his hands reached out, and the soldier let out a growl that faded into a whine at the glare he received. The man's hand remained raised with a hint of threatening intent, and the assassin felt his muscles tense in the expectation of a blow. His programming might have degraded greatly due to being so long out of cryostasis, but enough of the framework was intact for him to not attack the man or outwardly resist his commands. He could only watch as he withdrew his hand, walking back towards the shattered door, his back to him.

"I see you have some… attachment to the Captain." The General's tone held the slightest hint of bitterness, something he knew was very dangerous, "That will not be tolerated. However…" his voice went quiet, that knowing smirk once again firmly planted on his features as he spun on his heel to face the soldier, "If you cooperate and let us fix all that damage Captain Rogers and his SHIELD allies have done to your mind, we might let him live. If you don't have any more of those outbursts, we might even let you see him." It was a ruse, he knew it for sure, but he had no choice but to nod in silent agreement. Arguing would signal that HYDRA's control had faltered dangerously, and he couldn't risk Steve's safety. For the first time in his memory, he found himself putting the well-being of another before his own.

"Good, good. In that case I expect you to return to medical immediately and let the doctors finish up their work. We need you in working order as soon as possible. I expect an update on your condition in three hours." With that, Aiden Black left the room. The soldier's hearing could pick up on the sound of footsteps running down the hall to retrieve him, likely signaled by the General, and he only had a few seconds. He couldn't run, couldn't try to fight or escape, as that would get Steve killed and he couldn't bring himself to even consider that possibility.

He'd have to play this game, even fall back under HYDRA's command if it meant keeping the other man alive. It was a sacrifice he was willing to make. The soldiers crowded the room a half-second later, surrounding him and shepherding him out and away from the room, away from Steve. One of them fit the muzzle-mask over his face, and with its acquainted confines the soldier felt a foreign sense of revulsion budding in his chest. The familiarity of it all, and the horror that he found himself so easily slipping back into the mannerisms and routine, made the new fear that he might lose what little fragments of himself he'd managed to gain back seem very, very real.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

The soft, rhythmic pattern of water drops pulled Steve out of the fog of unconsciousness, cutting through the static that seemed to fill his mind. He didn't feel any pain, not yet, but he felt heavy and weak and so very tired. Stagnant, stale air coated his throat, thick with a sharp, sanitized scent that settled on his tongue with a faintly bitter, familiar taste. The air itself felt dense, as if he was breathing through cotton shoved down his throat; if he hadn't known better, he would have thought he was having an asthma attack. There was a rattling, ghastly wheeze every handful of seconds in addition to the dripping that had woken him, and it took a long, sobering moment before he realized that he was hearing his own breathing.

Drip.

Drip.

His torso felt constricted, tight and immobile under what felt like a cocoon of gauze and medical tape. As uncomfortable as it was it assured him that his wounds had been tended to, but by whom the Captain had no idea. An experimental twitch of his fingers assured him that he wasn't paralyzed and could move, however difficult it may have been. Everything felt fuzzy, it was the only way to describe it, unable to feel or hear anything clearly. Everything was blurred into a mess of muffled noises and sweeping sensations, nothing distinct.

Drip.

A slight shift of his head told him just how stiff and sore his neck was. How long was I out? The thought struck him suddenly, followed immediately by the cold electricity of fear. Where am I? His eyes were forced open, but shut immediately due to the blinding light of the room. Steve groaned and squeezed his eyes shut tighter, tilting his head trying to block out every bit of that painful brightness. The movement made him aware that his head was propped up slightly, a pillow tucked behind it. It reminded him of when he'd have respiratory infections in winter and Bucky would give him all the pillows to keep his head and shoulders lifted so he could breathe easier—

Bucky. Emily.

The panic that gripped him was all-consuming, shredding through the muddled fog in his mind like iron claws. "B-Buck… Em..." the words barely left his throat, voice hoarse and rasping and lungs suddenly alight with crackling fire at the effort. The words brought the taste of copper to his lips, blood he was sure, but he scarcely cared. "B… Bucky! Emily!" His eyes shot open again, ignoring the pain of the light and he looked frantically for any sign of the soldier. Everything came crashing back in a tangle of bloody memories—the fight, the sniper, Bucky collapsing in front of him, felled by the commander—and in horror he realized they had been captured. His own pain was ignored as he tried to push himself up, the room spinning as he did so, his own weakness now undeniably apparent.

A strong, cold hand gripped his shoulder, pushing him back down onto the cot before he could even think of trying to search. Moments later a figure moved into his vision, leaning over him with a face obscured by a curtain of dark, unruly hair. He heard a hushed word of Russian, tone soft, reassuring in its sound although he didn't understand it. The Captain's vision was too blurry to see many details, but then again, he didn't need any details to recognize him.

A dozen words tried to spill out of him at once—you're alright, you're here, I was so scared for you, Buck, where's Em — but nothing left him save a wheezy exhale as he smiled in relief. He wanted to stand, to make sure Bucky was alright, to tend to any wounds he had, but he was all too aware that he couldn't do a damned thing in this state. Bucky was here and in the end that was the most important thing. Everything else could be confronted and dealt with later.

Without another thought Steve had raised his left arm, hesitantly brushing a few stray strands of hair out of the way before cupping his cheek. He wanted to make sure he was really there, that this wasn't some horrible HYDRA trick, that it wasn't the blood loss and whatever medicines he was full of making him see things. Bucky's skin was cold, rough against his fingers, but very much alive and very much real. He didn't even try to stop his smile from spreading a bit when he saw how the soldier leaned into the touch a bit instead of shying away or swatting at his hand.

"… about time you woke up." Bucky's voice was quiet and scratchy, just the barest hint of a Brooklyn accent shining through as he moved away, turning to look at what Steve guessed was the door. He let his hand fall back to his side, cringing a bit when he felt a tug at the crook of his arm. IV line; must have been what the dripping was. He tried to ask how long he'd been out but only managed to cough, tacky blood rattling in his aching lungs. The soldier glanced down to him at the sound, but quickly went back to his vigil.

"Three days" of course he'd have been able to know what he was trying to say, they'd been able to finish each other sentences in the past, "you were hurt bad, Steve, real bad. Still hurt bad, but I won't let them touch you." His voice trailed off, words carrying an edge as sharp as any blade, but also the barest hint of sadness. It was the most Bucky had spoken to him since he found him sleeping seemingly lifetimes ago, and in some distant part of the Captain his soul practically sung. He sounded more like Bucky, more like the cocky jerk he'd grown up with in Brooklyn than he ever had since he'd become the Winter Soldier. A second later just what he had said sunk in, and his optimism wavered.

"… w-who?" the Avenger just barely croaked it out, a sense of dread sitting heavy in his heart. He knew who had captured them, knew where they were, but maybe he could deny it all away. After all, Bucky was here with him, right? They would have separated them for sure...

"HYDRA." The name was spat out, deadly venom saturating his voice. Steve's blood ran cold in his veins, the room falling silent with only the constant drip drip of the isotonic IV bag keeping time between them with its ceaseless rhythm. That little bit of hope that he had been clinging to wavered, knowing just how bad a situation they were in, but it didn't go out. Emily and Sam were still out there, and he knew they wouldn't give up on him. They'd find them, somehow; Emily was clever and resourceful, she'd pick up the trail and find them, and Sam was loyal and wouldn't stop until he was found.

His lungs hurt too much to try and continue the conversation, and as his eyes adjusted he tried to make sense of his surroundings. The measly cot he was lying on was pushed against a stone wall that just seemed to exude a wet chill, meaning they were likely somewhere underground. Light buzzed blearily from a thin fluorescent fixture in the ceiling, a pitchy and irritating hum occasionally creeping over the drip drop of the IV. The walls were dingy and ill-kempt, but a glance to the door surprised him. Door was a loose term as it looked like it had been holding back a tiger, shattered glass and broken old steel littering the floor, but the door itself was made of new shiny metal. Judging from the debris, the damaged door he was currently looking at was a replacement and the first one made up the scraps on the floor. It took a few seconds before Steve realized it wasn't from Bucky attempting to break out, but from him breaking in.

That realization made his chest tighten, breath hitching slightly as he tried to breathe around the lump that built in his throat. His last hazy moments of consciousness in that alleyway, of Bucky crouched in front of him teary-eyed with gentling hands pressed to his wounds, he'd thought he had dreamed them. Thought that in his pained delirium he'd imagined hearing the soldier's meek voice saying "I'm not leaving you behind". Thought that maybe he'd mistaken seeing Bucky breaking through for those precious few minutes, and it looks like he just might have. He'd clearly torn his way out of wherever HYDRA had tried to lock him up, but instead of making an escape, he found him and broke in and stayed right by his side.

"Y-you… stayed with m-me…" Steve's voice was hardly above a raspy whisper, vision distorting as tears welled up. He wasn't sure if it was the pain or medicine or just a moment of vulnerability that brought them out, but he didn't make any attempts to hide them. Bucky protected me. He'd fought to keep HYDRA away from him instead of saving himself. Even if Buck didn't remember much of his past he had still fought to keep him safe like all those years ago. The Avenger breathed heavily, choking on his own words as he tried to say too many things at once. He knew this man wasn't the Bucky he knew so well from his past, but he was bits and pieces of him and he wasn't going to stop helping him even if the suave jerk he had spent his life with never really came back.

"Quit that" Bucky's voice was gruff, but the fingers that hesitantly ruffled his hair a moment later were gentle and familiar. "You're gonna tear that lung again if you keep talking. Get some more sleep, I'll be here when you wake up." It wasn't a command from the Winter Soldier, it was spoken too softly for that, instead it sounded more like back in their apartment in the old days, when Bucky would try to wrangle him to bed when he was sick and not cooperating. He couldn't count how many times Buck had just picked up all coughing hundred and ten pounds of him and put him to bed under every moth-eaten blanket they owned, no matter how much Steve protested. He never admitted it to him, but after his mom had died, Bucky's sometimes over-protective mollycoddling had meant the world to him. “Buck... Where's Emily?” suddenly Steve blinked, narrowing his eyebrows. “Where's she?”

Winter Soldier let out a quiet sigh, turning his eyesight away.

“Buck...” Steve felt like his heart stopped within second. “I have to know.” “She's probably dead” Bucky shrughed slightly, without a shadow of emotions on his face. “I haven't heard from her since many days.”

Bucky continued to run his fingers through Steve's hair, something he'd done countless times when the artist had been sick and confined to Buck's bed. The radiator in Steve's old room had always had piss-poor timing when it came to breaking, so whenever he had shown the slightest sign of illness Buck had surrendered his much-warmer room and they both slept curled up on that ratty old bed to try and keep warm. He wasn't sure if Bucky remembered any of that or if he was just acting on instinct or something else, but just like it had back then in their apartment, it put the Captain to sleep in only a few minutes.

With him lulled back into sleep so quickly, he hadn't had the time to notice that Bucky was dressed back into his combat gear, or see the troubled, guilty expression that he wore. Bucky hadn't wanted him to see either.

The passing of days no longer registered, the only timestamps he recalled being changes in the Captain's condition. Some days he was awake when he was bidden time to spend in the cell, most times he was unconscious or in a restorative sleep as the serum tried to patch his body back together. The tainted, imperfect serum that flowed in his own veins was doing much the same, skin and bones mending beneath his clothing. It burned with a throbbing sort of heat and sometimes hours passed as he passively observed the healing, watching his own flesh knitting back together until only scars remained.

His body was healthier, the Asset noticed dimly, his new handlers eager to get him back to working conditions as soon as possible. The constant IV drips, the strange injections, the foodstuffs he was prodded to eat, they'd all filled him out so he didn't look quite so emaciated. He halfheartedly guessed that the serum had busied itself rebuilding his muscles with the amble nutrients he was getting as much as it was healing his wounds.

With his shoulder healing up, the white-coated techs had taken to repairing the extensive damage to his prosthetic. It now moved fluidly, easily, the burn that gnashed its teeth into his artificial nerves now abated and calmed. The plates had been smoothed and repaired, the blood and grime cleaned away, although the red star he had tried to scratch off with his own fingernails and anything within reach those first few weeks remained marred and damaged. The techs didn't try to reapply it; now that he was no longer tied to the Red Room and the Soviets, they had no need to flaunt their emblem.

He knew it was only a matter of time before they'd try to deploy him, to test his programing, but he knew it was mostly due to their eagerness to try and patch the damage that had been caused by the exposing of SHIELD as HYDRA. Pierce was dead, but the saying still held true; cut off one head, two more will take its place. Aiden Black was not the new leader, but he had fallen in as his new handler, and that bit of his programming was still sound enough to prevent him from refusing orders from the man.

Today, however, he'd been granted time with the Captain after preforming well in training. He knew that Black wanted to wipe him, to rebuild the programming and perhaps even try the same with the healing Captain, but he knew that the man couldn't. This facility lacked the proper equipment to carry out that procedure safely, or to rewrite and build the programming back into his mind. It was likely why they were even letting him see the other man. It was a way to keep him under control, giving him time with him like a dog being trained and rewarded with scraps. He ought to have been offended but honestly he didn't care; any time with Steve was worth whatever hell they put him through.

His earlier thoughts were all pushed aside as soon as he entered the room they were keeping Steve in. The soldiers always left them alone, Black convinced in his control over the Asset, and he preferred it this way. He knew he was always under surveillance, but the illusion of peace he had with the Captain was enough. Despite his few hours of reprieve here he never allowed his guard to lower, never spoke out of turn or gave any indication that the programming had slipped. He couldn't allow that knowledge to fall into Black's hands. He could find some way to wipe him clean and order him to kill the man he'd fought so hard to defend. The thought alone made his breathing falter.

"… Bucky?" blinking, his focus was pulled back to the present, to the Captain laid out on the cot. The Asset straightened himself, shoved down all his disjointed thoughts, padded over to the bedside to look down at him. He might have the perfected serum but he had been wounded horrifically; he was still all but bedridden with the injuries he'd sustained. He was half convinced the only reason he survived at all was because the Captain was just too damn stubborn to die. Dim memories of back alley fights, bright blond hair matted with blood and halfhearted smiles mired by bruising and dirt flitted across his mind for a brief moment.

The Asset didn't reply with words, merely humming in response as he sat down in the empty chair next to the cot. Some distant part of him was glad to see that Steve was awake and aware, as the last few visits he'd been groggy and barely able to speak, mumbling in a drug and pain-induced haze about things the Soldier didn't remember. It was stressful, but he would rather spend his time here, questioned over things he didn't understand or know, than be primed and molded to fall back into HYDRA's command.

"… you're in gear." Steve's voice was quiet, but he could still hear the apprehension and resignation in his tone. It bothered the Asset greatly. Black had hinted at possibly sending him out on some sort of simple assignment so he'd dressed himself in his heavy Kevlar vest and armor, hiding his healing wounds and returning build. The less Steve knew about how long he'd been trapped here the better. The last thing he needed was him hatching some idiotic scheme to escape that would get him killed.

"… d'you get your orders?" the words came out of his mouth slurred and soft, his mind obviously still a bit hazed from whatever drugs they had to have pumped him full of to keep him manageable. It set the Soldier's teeth on edge, the thought of them doing something like that to Steve, but he couldn't protest or else run the risk of being separated fully. The statement did, however, fire some distant, disjointed memory. He could almost smell the musty air of some damp alleyway, blood in the mouth of his friend as he spoke and looked at him in a strange mix of admiration and sadness. It made his heart ache in a way he wasn't familiar with, even without any further context to bolster it.

"… yeah, Steve." His voice was still rough with disuse, awkward and stiff and lacking in the emotion Steve held when he talked. The last time he'd been here the other man had panicked, remembering their capture, tried to fight his way free of the web of IV line that held him. At least this way, with him lost in his own sleepy awareness, he was easy to convince all was well although every lie he told tasted bitter on his tongue.

"Be careful, Buck." Steve mumbled a bit when the Asset stood and began to pick at his wound wrappings, drawing his eyes from his work to meet his. They were hazy from pain and sleep, greyed and sick looking in a way that made the Soldier's stomach knot up. He swallowed thickly and focused on checking all of Steve's wounds, not trusting any of the HYDRA medics or their work. Most of his wounds had closed, the deepest pink with new-grown scar tissue and the lesser wounds already silvered and faded into his skin.

"I will." The response was automatic, not looking away from his task now. He was replacing the packing in Steve's side, where the sniper round had ripped his chest cavity open. Even the serum was having trouble with the wound, and if it hadn't been for that (and his damn fool stubbornness) he surely would have bled out right there in the street.

Steve made a noise halfway between a whimper and groan when he started to pull the bloodied, coagulated mess of packing out of the wound, obviously feeling it even through the fog of painkillers. He squirmed enough to make his task difficult, but at the same time it lifted his spirits somewhat. His strength was coming back, slowly, but it was a good sign. His body was starting to heal enough for his system to begin filtering the medicines in his body more efficiently; a hazy memory bubbled up of Steve complaining about Morita's morphine shot not taking the edge off a bullet wound he'd gotten in the calf. This had to be a good sign. It just had to be.

The wound still looked horrific, and he knew he couldn't chance an escape with Steve in this state. The ragged tear was having trouble healing over due to just how much tissue loss and damage he'd sustained, despite the serum flowing in his veins. Even with Steve still moving around he was able to place more sterile packing into the wound and wrap it tight with gauze and medical tape, after treating it with a potent antibacterial wash that he made sure to carry on his person at all times. That hadn't been fun. Steve had gasped hoarsely and it'd hurt him to hear, but it needed to be done. He still didn't trust these HYDRA doctors to treat the wounds correctly, even though he had little formal medical training himself. It didn't matter in his mind; his body and muscle memory knew Steve and how to treat him better than anyone else and like hell he was going to just sit passively by and let someone who didn't know the first thing about Steve Rogers try to patch his wounds.

With his work finished and Black no doubt waiting on him, the Soldier knew he had to cut his visit short. The man had mentioned something about a cleanup mission, to take care of some SHIELD holdouts that had grouped up near where he and Steve had been picked up. It would be a quick and clean mission. They'd likely pair him with the surviving members of the Strike unit to keep him under observation, but he could easily use their fear of him to make them keep their distance. He had a feeling these 'SHIELD holdouts' might be whoever Steve had alerted the night they were captured. If that was the case this mission was going to go very poorly.

"I'm leaving, don't get into any trouble while I'm gone." The Soldier mumbled a bit, not wanting to leave but knowing he couldn't stay. He gently smoothed down Steve's unruly hair with his right hand, always the right, something he felt like he'd done countless times a hundred lifetimes ago. When he was around the other man it felt like he went on autopilot, doing things he had no clear conscious memory of ever knowing how to do, yet with the ease and familiarity as if he'd been doing them all his life. He knew how to calm him down, how he liked his pillows just so, how he had an awful habit of kicking the blankets off in his sleep, things he had no business knowing yet he did.

"No promises, Buck." Steve breathed out heavily, eyes already half-lidded with drowsy exhaustion but with a crooked grin on his face. The Soldier felt a near overwhelming urge to roll his eyes and swat his shoulder but he held back, knowing he was still badly wounded and not wanting any sign of playfulness to be seen by the cameras. He merely brushed a few dirty blond strands of hair out of Steve's face instead, hiding the action by pretending to hold his palm there to check his temperature. It was a poor ruse, with his fingers lingering a moment too long, body too loose with the feeling of safety, but he didn't think it would be caught.

This mission had him nervous. It sat low in his stomach like a weight of molten lead, burning and heavy and disorienting. It felt familiar in some distant way; he remembered feeling it before, while sitting in the snow at the edge of some high cliff, the snow kept off him with a shield held above his head by the man he was leaning heavily against for warmth. The memory was pushed down as he closed the door behind him, lock clicking softly at his back before he allowed himself to be pushed by the decayed programming to report to the command center. The sooner he completed his assignment the sooner he could return to Steve's side, and that was the only thought that kept his body in motion.

"Have you heard anything back from Jarvis, Stark? We've got to narrow down our search parameters."

The past few weeks had been complete and utter hell. Without SHIELD, running a rescue mission for one Steven Grant Rogers and one possibly-hostile Winter Soldier had been, to put it mildly, completely fucking exhausting. But, this was hardly enough to make Emily Vandom crack. She'd done more with less resources and less time, and this time she had friends to help her. She poured herself another mug of coffee, glancing over to Stark tapping away at one of his fancy tablets and to Wilson and his makeshift workstation on the floor with his wingpack.

After last time when they got separated, Emily didn't know what to do and how to help Bucky and Steve, so she did the last thing that remained – she had to contact with Sam Wilson, who was (as she knew) a closest friend of Steve.

Sam, although she had known him not too long, had slotted himself into the ragtag group as easily as clockwork, as if he'd been crafted to be a part of their unit. For the first week he'd housed both herself and Barton, who'd come as soon as Emily had filled him in on the situation. It was reassuring having her partner in crime back at her side. Stark, for all his crassness and bluster, had dropped everything when she informed him of Steve's capture. As difficult as he was to work with some days, he really could be an invaluable ally as long as he kept himself occupied.

"Jarvis is going as fast as he can but there's a lot of data to go through," Tony's voice was heavy with lost sleep, as if the dark patches under his eyes and the hot coffee mug held tight in his hand weren't enough of a giveaway, "HYDRA's hiding themselves pretty well, or what's left of it anyway. They're probably disguising their shipments and covering their tracks more than usual. I doubt they'd take them out of the city yet, it'd draw too much attention, but, it is HYDRA so who knows."

Tony must have repeated that a hundred times in a hundred different ways, and she knew that the tension was getting to them all, but it didn't make her any less anxious. They'd moved into Steve's apartment and the empty next door apartment after contacting Sharon, who provided her keys to the locks which had yet to be changed. She was doing what she could to aid in the search, but with her new job in the FBI and Emily still in hot political water, she didn't want to add any fuel to that fire with her presence. If word got lose in the government that Captain America had been captured while housing the Winter Soldier, well, the repercussions were something none of them wanted to deal with.

"I'm going up to check the perimeter with Clint. Let me know if you find anything, and while Jarvis works maybe you could give Sam a hand." Sitting idle and waiting just wasn't in her nature. Sam was working on his damaged wingpack, which Tony had started to repair but had to drop to prep Jarvis for the scan of the city's information apparatus. They'd need Sam's help once the AI located whatever HYDRA hellhole Steve and the Winter Soldier had been taken to. Even though Steve seemed to trust him, there was still a wary part of her that couldn't dismiss the possibility that maybe the Winter Soldier had lead Steve into a trap, that he'd been a Trojan horse or some form of bait to lure him into HYDRA's clutches. It was a grim and farfetched possibility, but one that was all too real.

The cool air outside once she reached the roof was a welcome source of sobriety, washing away her muddled thoughts and letting her release her own tensions with a soft exhale. The last week had damn near run her ragged. To have something like this happen so soon after the fall of SHIELD, before she'd had a chance to really recover, was just not something she had ever expected to happen. She'd thought she would have had a bit more time before she'd have to pay her debt back to Steve for saving her life.

"Lower levels secure, how're things up here?" she sat down heavily near the archer, just in case he had his hearing aids turned down. He was perched on the corner of the building, goggled eyes on the building entrance and the surrounding streets. His bow was held in loose fingers, eyes never stopping their scan of the streets when he replied.

"Well, there's been an awful lot of owls around but no, haven't seen any HYDRA agents or anything unusual." Clint replied, voice a bit hoarse from not having spoken in several hours. Emily roughly shoved her half-empty coffee mug into his side, nudging him until he sighed loudly and took it with his free hand.

"You've been on watch for hours, take a few minutes." She knew he was as tense and eager to find the Captain, but with nothing to do but stand watch it had to be bothering him a good deal. "Stark has Jarvis checking shipping records and anything else we can think of to try and narrow down a few spots. We don't think they're out of the city. Sam's getting his wings ready and if we have some locales by the end of the night we can move out as early as the morning."

"Good." Clint mumbled through a mouthful of coffee, having nearly chugged the whole cup while Emily had been talking. "I've got Soviet cooties now but thanks for the coffee, 'Tasha." With an exasperated sigh Emily punched his side, which made him jump and the coffee mug to slip out of his hand and down to the street below with a muffled shattering of ceramic. "Aw, mug no."

Emily laughed, a true laugh, the kind that ended with her snorting into her sleeve. Maybe it was the tension of the night but it felt good to just laugh, and she heard Clint huff out a laugh as well. The last few days have weighed on her so much that it was nice to let off a little of the steam. She turned to make a witty comment but Clint frantically signed "quiet" at her, eyes locked down where the mug had fallen. She was up and looking over the ledge of the building in an instant, keeping low so she wouldn't be seen.

She heard him notch an arrow and draw, his breathing evening out the way it did when he aimed. She spotted in the street below within a few seconds; a shadow out of place, a brief flash of reflected light off of metal. Emily didn't hesitate to stop the archer, hand over his as he prepared to let the arrow fly, hissing out a breath between her teeth as she struggled to choose what to do. Downing him was likely the wisest option, but, if he was here, there was a chance Steve was too.

"Don't," she knew that Clint wouldn't, but speaking her thoughts couldn't hurt any, "This isn't right. If he was going to try and pick us off he would have while we were distracted. Something's going on." Clint kept his bow at half-pull, and she didn't blame him; she was cautious and untrusting herself, but as she watched the Winter Soldier looked right at them yet didn't duck behind cover. He just looked right at them.

"He could have agents all around the building we can't just sit here," he whispered harshly, pulling the bow to full-draw when the Soldier advanced until he was standing just a couple yards from the building. He was masked but lacked the goggles, dressed full in HYDRA gear with a rifle slung at his back, but hands empty.

"This isn't right, Clint." As if on cue, the Winter Soldier raised his hands, empty palms towards them. A show of submission. Emily bit her lip, not knowing what was going on in the man's head but knowing that this wasn't one of HYDRA's normal tactics. Either this was the man that had grown up with Steve or a twisted HYDRA trap, or something in-between. "… I'm going down there. Cover me."

"Emily you can't be..." she didn't give him the chance to try and talk her out of it, jumping onto the fire escape two floors down. It rattled so loud in the otherwise silent alleyway that she was sure HYDRA agents would be all over her, but seconds ticked by and there wasn't any movement, not even from the assassin in the street below. She was far from unarmed, with a pistol in her pockets, but she would never underestimate the Winter Soldier.

Being on the ground, mere feet away from the man that had shot her just a few months ago, is… tense, to say the least. Her shoulder aches. He looks different now in a way she can't really place; he's thinner than he was in her memories, eyes dark with lost sleep and weary in a way she never thought was possible from so menacing a man. He looked ragged and downtrodden and every bit as awful as Steve had described. Beneath the layers of caution and defensiveness, she admitted she felt a twinge of, pity was too strong a word but something like it, for her former mentor.

"What do you want, James." The words came out more bitter than she had intended, but then again maybe it was better to put up that façade. The man standing before her wasn't the same anymore, but hell, she changed also...

"Vitani." His voice was muffled under the muzzle-mask but that didn't diminish their effect. Vitani. Emily hadn't heard her old nickname in what felt like lifetimes. It told her that he remembered at least fragments of their past, much like her. "… I need your help." That definitely wasn't what she expected to hear him say next.

"My help?" Emily repeated the statement softly, "… Steve. How can I help?" she watched his eyes light up the dimmest bit. James slowly lowered his right hand, pulling something small and flat from his pocket. An arrow cut the tense air between them, embedding itself into the pavement a few inches from the man's foot; a clear, grim warning not to test his luck. It gave the Soldier pause before he completed his action, a small, scuffed moleskin sketchbook clutched in his hand.

"They have him." James's voice was rough and so tired, the book gently placed in her hands with his fingers lingering on her own for the briefest moment, "They think I'm on their leash still, Emily. Steve is hurt, I can't get him out on my own." His tone was almost pleading and it painfully twisted something up inside of her, "They sent me here to kill you all with the Strike team, you're not safe here any longer." Even without it being said, she knew that he had killed his own team to prevent them from hurting them.

"Where did they take him? Where are you based?" she got no clear answer, the Soldier merely tilting his head towards the thin sketchpad in her hands. When she opened the cover she realized there was a roughly drawn map, made of taken streets and turns that he must have taken to reach the building. It could lead them right to them.

"Emily, listen to me" his voice was suddenly soft, shot through with remorse, "they're trying to get me under control again. If they manage to, I need you to put me down. Steve won't be able to, and you're the only person I can trust to do it right. They might not even need to do it, I might try and hurt him if I'm not in my right mind. Please, I need you to promise." Without even seeing his reaction she knew her façade fell for the briefest of moments, blindsided by the request. She'd expected him to be hostile, to be defiant at the least, but not this.

She couldn't form the words but nodded, setting her jaw and straightening her back. The look of relief that filled his eyes was almost as heartbreaking as the whole damn situation. He started to turn but she stopped him, slipping a small object into his palm, curling his calloused fingers around it with her own hands. It was her necklace she used to wear everyday, in a shape of swan with outstretched wings. Seconds ticked by before he broke eye contact with her, looking down to his hand that she still held and then to the arrow by his boot.

"… thank you, моя любовь." She almost missed it, that softly mumbled bit of Russian that solidified in her mind that this was really James talking, and not the Winter Soldier.  She never thought she would ever hear that from him again. Emily gave his hand a gentle squeeze before she backed away, the Soldier doing the same, storing the thin metal object she had given him into one of his pockets.

"Be careful, James." Emily spoke softly, "… дорогой.." She watched him stiffen at the word, scanning her eyes for a long moment before he turned his head, breath exhaled loudly through the mask. She allowed her gaze to return to the roof, where Clint was still perched watchfully, another arrow at the ready. When she turned back to the Winter Soldier he was gone, just like the ghost he was. Her grip on the sketchbook tightened as resolve settled in. As it stood, HYDRA was holding two men from her, and they would soon come to regret that action.

His mind had always been too loud. Too loud, too busy, too full of things he had no context for. He could see them in bright flashes of vivid experience; the smell of a Brooklyn alley after a midnight rain, the feel of a stray cat's fur under his palm as it arched into his touch, the sound of a train's wheels far too close, he could remember small bits in crisp clarity but the whole picture was broken. He held the shattered pieces of a great mosaic with no blueprint, no frame of reference; the grand work it once was lost, leaving him with only a hundred million broken fragments and no way to tell how they fit together.

At least, it had been that way for the decades under HYDRA's command. He'd been out of cryo so long, his mind let go to mend without the wipes and supplied with small threads to stitch the patchwork of memories together, that now he was slowly piecing that mosaic of his former life back together. His memories were less flashes of disjointed fragments and now short contingencies; instead of just an isolated sound of pencils scratching at paper he now had a tentative picture of a skinny boy hunched dutifully over a thin sketchpad as he drew, or how a Russian lullaby now reminded him of a dozen young faces in a dim military compound.

With the tentative return of his memories came the emotions attached to them. He remembered the fluttery lightness in his stomach when he laughed loud and long around a campfire with Steve and soldiers just on this edge of familiarity, or how the fear had felt like tendrils of ice snaking up his spine when he heard a door slam shut over the rattling of train wheels. He remembered what fondness felt like, how it had bloomed with a fragile warmth behind his ribs for the first time in decades when he heard the first few unsure English words leave Emily's mouth, how she'd smiled like the sun after she held her first conversation in it with him. He remembered how it felt to have the emotions, but what he lacked entirely was how it felt to receive them, to give them freely and openly.

The strings that HYDRA had cut and mangled were slowly reconnecting, threading through the holes in the decaying programming and forming stronger bonds with each day. He hid it, he hid it deep and he hid it well. If Black knew he would be isolated, probably even forcibly wiped with what little equipment the base had even if it had a high chance of killing him. He knew how Black operated, his worth was only measured by his effectiveness in the field, and he knew as soon as that was permanently diminished he was obsolete. Just another loose end to be cleaned up, a broken machine to be discarded, a toothless wolf to be tied down and shot.

A week had passed since his meeting with Emily, since he'd given her every bit of information he could to help them find Steve. He could feel the programming responding to his HYDRA handlers, feel himself falling easier and easier into old ways and habits, found it harder to recall the broken shards of his memories. It scared him, it honestly scared him. What if tomorrow he woke up and all of the progress he had made was undone? What if tomorrow he looked at Steve and didn't see him, and saw only a target or mission or body to be disposed of? If he lost Steve, if he lost him and Emily, then he knew there'd be no saving him from HYDRA; they were the only ones who stood even the slightest chance of picking up his shattered pieces. This act of putting faith and trust in others was so foreign to him it was almost terrifying but he knew he couldn't do this on his own.

The soft sound of exhaled breath brought him back to reality, eyes cutting down to where Steve was resting his head on his thigh. The wound to his right side had healed enough for him to move around somewhat, although his definition of moving was rather singular. Steve had rolled onto his left side, using the Soldier's lap as a pillow, the thin white blanket he was wrapped in streaked with rust red from the most recent change of bandages. The Asset had deemed him well enough to chance providing him with a shirt, bright SHIELD logo across the chest of it, the sight of which made him feel sick. Steve was curled up somewhat, back mostly to the Asset, trying to shrink into himself but twisting himself up in the blanket and his own limbs in the process. Wide open to attack. The thought stung in his mind, eyes narrowing a fraction behind the thick protective goggles, and was dispelled quickly. Steve Rogers was not a target, threat or mark to him, but his programming deemed otherwise.

Even with the serum Steve's wounds were taking too long to heal for the Asset to be comfortable. The horrific gunshot to his side had only just closed up, a stark red swath of raw muscle stretched taunt over mending bones. The wound to his collarbone had healed much quicker, now a silvery patch of scarred skin that was fading with every passing day. His breathing had evened out to a wheezy constant, no longer sputtering and fluid-filled. It was a small comfort to the Asset.

The HYDRA doctors kept him sedated heavily most days now, preventing him from attempting to fight back or flee. The Asset knew the drugs well enough, as they had been used on him in the past when he woke up from cryo. It had kept him docile and pliant and it made him sick to see Steve reduced to the same state. He was burning through the dosage much quicker than he ever had, sometimes snapping to awareness with a feral sort of desperation to escape. Black made an awful point to make him be the one to administer the syrette, make him stand and watch as Steve collapsed and wheezed and tried to fight the drug, always to fail. Black couldn't wipe him, but he was trying his damnedest to break him through other means.

He'd been given less and less time with the Captain, forced into training exercise after training exercise, with little rest in between. The goggles hid how cloudy from exhaustion his eyes had gotten, how dark the patches under them had become, rendering him less and less able to fight back against orders. He wanted to gnash his teeth and lash out at every turn but he didn't have near the strength to keep doing so. He was so tired. He was never going to stop fighting but the programming was much stronger in his depleted state, the feeling of it guiding his movements almost second nature after decades under its control.

Stress sat heavy on the Soldier's shoulders, weighing him down and filling him with dread. His right hand was gently carding through Steve's hair, curling through golden strands that had grown during their captivity. He had orders from Black himself, an ultimate test for his programming, and he could feel it straining in his mind, the cogs and gears of HYDRA's control creaking and screeching in protest against his unwillingness to comply. He'd known this order was coming since his capture, known since they let Steve recover, known since they let him visit him as a reward.

The possibility of it had eaten at his mind since his first agreement to comply with Black's wishes, but now that the command had been given the reality of it all had crashed down on him. It was punishment, he knew it, punishment for not killing Emily and the small group she had gathered, for killing his own team to protect them. Black wanted him to know that he wasn't to make decisions and couldn't think for himself, and Black's sick sense of humor had been summed up in his simple order. He wanted balance; since he couldn't kill Emily and her group, he had to take another's life.

He held a knife in his metal hand.

"Kill the Captain, Soldier."

Even hours later the words still rang in his ears, a roar that threatened to drown out his own thoughts. He couldn't reject a direct command from a handler such as Black, yet he'd managed to hold out this long, kept his blade from marring the unblemished skin of the blond's neck. He could feel the press of it bearing down on his mind, burning behind his temples and tugging at his limbs, but he fought it. He gritted his teeth under the muzzle-mask and hissed out his breath, trying to will himself to throw the knife away from them but his arm wouldn't respond. He couldn't disarm himself but he found he could keep himself from moving to attack; he was at a grim stalemate with the programming.

"Slit his throat, Soldier. I want you to watch him die."

A strangled sort of noise choked in the Asset's throat, swallowed down thickly as he struggled to keep from showing his distress outwardly. He didn't even realize his hands were shaking until Steve made a confused sound, tilting his head to look up at him with one medicine-fogged eye in silent question. It just made the Soldier's hands tremble more. He'd done everything he could to try and protect the few people he knew with certainty and it was being warped into Steve's own death; everything he'd done was going to kill the man he'd tried so hard to protect.

"… Bucky?"

The Asset's whole body shuddered at the other's voice, shaking so much he could hardly sit. He pulled his hand away and watched the other's face, thankful for the first time in decades for the mask that covered his expression. Steve couldn't see the pained look on his face, see how panicked and wild his eyes were through the goggles. Black's agents had locked him in here and he could see the shadows of them through the small square window on the door; he knew that they would keep him in here until he completed his mission. He'd lasted this long, he just had to keep telling himself he just had to hang on a little longer.

He had to look away. He couldn't look at Steve without the programming screaming to lunge, to hold him down and slash the blade across his open throat. The inner mechanisms of his metal arm whirled and purred, plates calibrating and lying flat and repeating, unfeeling fingers tight around the handle of the knife that he could hear cracks forming on the resin grip. He felt like some sort of predator, a monster; Steve had done nothing but try to protect and aid him and when he needed him to return the favor here he was, holding the knife that would kill him.

Muffled voices from the HYDRA agents outside, combined with their restlessly shifting shadows through the window, set off alarms in the Asset's mind. Something was going on. It was likely Black coming to inspect his progress and the thought of it was enough to worsen his shaking. He was being pulled in a dozen different directions; Black's words tugged at him to attack, his own mind screamed at him to get Steve out of this hellhole and protect him, while the programming whispered encouragements to complete his mission and be rewarded with the quiet sleep of cryo.

The weight in his lap vanished and he didn't dare look to see; he could hear Steve straining to sit up, breath wheezing out of his still-healing lungs from the effort. The programming lurched at the opportunity like a starving animal presented with a meal, teeth bared and desperate for blood. It'd be so easy to just turn and plunge the knife into his back; the blade was long enough to reach his heart through his ribs if he aimed right, he'd bleed out if it didn't outright kill him..

"Buck."

His grip on the knife tightened, servos in his arm whirring into readiness. If he completed his mission Black would put him in cryo, would stop all the noise of the broken memories in his head and let him rest; he was so tired, he'd run and fought for so long that even the horrors of his captivity seemed like a sweet relief from the pain of remembering. The fragments of his memories had always just been background noise before, but now with time and healing they were loud, intrusive, overwhelming and smothering. He couldn't handle it on his own.

"Buck, something's going on, we need to get out of here..."

He was so far lost in his own mind, moving without knowing, drowning inside his own thoughts and broken memories. There was only so long one could fight before it all collapsed, until one gives in under the pressure. With his memories a jumbled heap, struggling to stitch together, the pain of it all was overpowering. He felt trapped inside a cage like a wild animal, desperate to get out and escape from all the noise.

The soft touch of warm fingers on his right arm triggered an immediate response, twisting and clamping his hand onto a still-healing shoulder, knife edge pressed to soft skin. He was instantly still, muscles wound tight like a spring, blade biting into his throat just enough to draw a single trickle of blood. Steve, this is Steve, stop. He was horrified, wanting nothing more than to bolt out the door before he could do something to hurt him more, but he couldn't move. He could only watch as Steve swallowed, eyes staring into his featureless goggles, confused and frightened but, God, still so bright.

"Bucky, put it down… please…"

A sound that could have been a whimper escaped him, stomach turning in disgusted horror at himself. Yet he still couldn't move the weapon away. He couldn't just ignore his mission but he could try and fight it, try to delay it, give Steve enough time to try and get away but unless he got a new command he had to complete it. It was the worst part of the programming.

"You don't have to listen to them anymore, Bucky.."

Steve sounded more lucid than he had in weeks, even with his eyes still fogged from medication and pain. He knew Steve, he'd made the connection between him and the boy with the sparrow-thin bones and bloodied knuckles from his memories, but seventy years of forced obedience and programming and control were impossible to just shrug off. Steve must have sensed it, but then again even the broken fragments of his memories told him that he had always been able to read him like a book.

He didn't show an ounce of fear as he slowly raised his hand, hovering it over his metal wrist, never breaking eye contact. He reasoned he wanted him to make sure he saw what he was doing. He remained tense and stiff, ready to slash the blade the inch it'd take to kill the man, but he waited. Steve seemed to take it as permission, lightly laying his hand over his own metal one, trying to gently push it away from his throat. He resisted at first, artificial muscles clicking and flexing before he slowly relaxed, letting his arm be guided away and down.

"You're okay, Bucky," he started, keeping his voice low and even, not even blinking at the impossibly loud sound of the knife clattering to the floor as it slipped from the Asset's grip, "you're my friend, you don't have to make it on your own."

Thank you Buck, but I can make it on my own.

The thing is, you don't have to.

Something about those string of words sparked something, a bright image flashing in his mind. He remembered Steve, so much smaller with red-ringed eyes. He remembered his hand gripping his shoulder tightly; he realized dimly that he was doing much the same now, a twisted sort of parody of a gesture that no doubt had once been based in comfort. Steve lifted his free hand, the other still cradling the metal wrist that a moment ago had been poised to slit his throat, reaching slowly towards his face. The memory was so vivid he didn't even react until he felt his goggles being gently tugged away, dropping discarded into his lap.

The Asset tried to suck in a breath through the muzzle mask but his lungs hitched as his whole body began to shake, arms dropping into his lap, limp. He had no idea what was happening. The programming had faltered, leaving him unable to complete the mission; the conflict between his programming and the memories was just too much. Panic filled every bit of him, heart hammering against his ribs and stomach threatening to retch. He'd never felt like this in any of the memories he had and it terrified him. He couldn't get enough air and he felt entirely out of control of his own body, his breathing loud and ragged and desperate under the mask.

He felt Steve's hand on his left shoulder, thumb just barely tracing the ragged seam where metal met flesh, his eyes focused on his own as he spoke although he didn't hear a word he said. Normally he flinched or reacted violently to contact but he didn't this time, merely shrinking into himself in an attempt to hide from the storm that was his mind. It was oddly assuring, the feeling of his firm grip on his shoulder, although it didn't immediately register that he was touching his left arm. He couldn't touch him with his left arm, he couldn't, he couldn't. He was dimly aware of a loud noise outside the room, an electric sort of noise that sent the panic coiling in his belly shooting straight up his spine. He needed to get away. Electricity meant pain, meant the wipe that would steal Emily and Steve and his fragile memories away again.

His legs felt boneless when he tried to jump up but he didn't make it any farther than that, Steve's grip on his shoulder turning strong as steel, pulling him back down. The Asset dimly heard him yelling at him; he heard Bucky and he heard its okay but everything in between was lost in the blur that was the panic swirling in his mind. The electric noise was right outside, it was too close. Too close.

"S-Steve, I..."

The door was blown off its hinges with a bolt of blue, slamming into the wall, and all thoughts screeched to a halt and screamed attack.

Steve flinched violently when the door exploded to his right, shards of hot metal bouncing off his side. The air was full of the acrid stench of charred metal and sharp electricity, a scent he knew like the back of his hand. Stark. Thank God, Emily had gotten help and somehow found them. They just might get out of this mess after all. He had his visor flipped open and grinned when he saw him, motioning to the two of them broadly. He didn't have enough time to warn him about Bucky, to warn him about the sound the repulsors made, to warn him about anything.

"Tony, turn off your Repulsors!" he shouted but by the time the words left his lips Bucky had already sprung, producing a knife from somewhere on his person and lunging at Tony like a bird of prey, blade like a talon aiming straight for the suit's Arc Reactor. Tony didn't even have enough time to flip down his visor before Bucky barreled into him, sending them both to the floor. Steve tried to jump up to pry Bucky off but the drugs were still in his system, making his limbs feel a hundred pounds heavier and the room spin with any sudden movement. It felt like when his blood sugar used to dip before the serum.

The screech of metal against metal was nearly ear-splitting, the knife glancing off an armored gauntlet when Tony threw his arms up to deflect the strike. Bucky jammed the blade into one of the seams, Tony actually letting out a yelp before he jerked his arm back, the knife catching and snapping from the torque. The useless hilt was discarded, fingers curling into a fist and slamming into the Arc Reactor, cracking the protective covering. Steve's heart skipped and he screamed at Bucky to stop but he watched as he raised his fist again, aiming to break the Reactor which would trap Tony in the powerless suit.

A brilliant flash of blue filled the room and Bucky was thrown off, the sleeve of his uniform disintegrating and exposing the metal underneath. The Repulsor blast had been drastically dialed back, only enough power behind it to knock him away, but it still nearly blew him into the far wall. He landed on his feet like some sort of cat and skidded back, tattered sleeve smoking and the plating of his arm mired with superficial electricity burns. His breathing was far too fast and he was still shaking, hardly able to stand on his own two feet.

"Bucky, calm down!" Steve pulled himself free of the IV drips, using the wall to steady himself as he moved closer to Tony; he was hedging his bets on the fact that Bucky hopefully wouldn't attack with him so close to his target. "Tony is a friend, he's not going to hurt you!" he could only watch helplessly as Bucky tensed himself up again, coiling in on himself like a snake about to strike. "Bucky, don't! I promise he's not going to hurt you!" he placed himself between the two, holding his hands up submissively. Tony quickly did the same, powering down his Repulsors completely.

Bucky remained crouched and ready to lunge, another much larger blade in his right hand. His eyes darted between Steve and behind him to Tony as if he was trying to judge his distance; it made Steve's stomach drop. He edged forward slowly, closing the distance hesitantly even though he heard Tony's concerned hiss of Steve be careful behind him.

"Buck, its okay, I promise. Its fine, Tony's not going to hurt you or me." he assured, reaching out and slowly taking hold of his hand with the knife. Bucky didn't let go, keeping his eyes locked on Tony over Steve's shoulder as if daring him to try and take another step closer even though he was now shaking so badly he could barely keep his stance. His eyes were still unfocused and wild, nothing like they were the last few times he'd visited him in his cell.

"Cap, I think he's having a panic attack" Tony said suddenly, visor flipping up, "try and get him calmed down so we can get you both out of here. Emily is coming down the hallway, I'm going to make sure our path out is clear but we need to leave before more HYDRA agents show up." Steve nodded back at him before turning his attention back to Bucky, hand still on the hilt of the knife to try and keep him from lunging around him at Tony.

"Buck, Bucky, I need you to look at me" Steve spoke sternly, Bucky's gaze snapping back to him in an instant, "please try and calm down. You're breathing too hard, just, try and focus on slowing it down." He'd talked Tony through his panic attacks in the last few months when something triggered them but Tony had never had a penchant to try and kill him during them.

The knife came loose from his grip a moment later, Steve quickly tossing it out of reach onto the abandoned cot. Bucky was shuddering so much he looked like he was about to shake apart, breath heaving in and out. He wanted to get the mask off of him but he didn't think it was a good idea with him still so flighty. He could easily end up hurting him or himself.

"James, теперь ты в безопасности."

He felt Bucky jolt to look over at the remains of the door where Emily was now standing silently, the shield strapped to one arm. Steve would have spun around himself but he didn't dare make any sudden moves with Bucky in his state, knowing he was teetering on the edge of attacking him or attacking anyone who so much as came within three feet of him with a weapon.

"E-Emily." Bucky's voice was painfully weak, hardly audible over his breathing. Steve heard her walk over, she deliberately making enough noise so not to startle him, reaching out to lay her hand on his arm gently. It seemed to ease his shaking a bit, having two grounding points, but they didn't have the time to get him completely calmed down. They still had to get out of this nightmarish place and get to safety.

"You're going to be fine." She reassured him soothingly, her voice softer than he'd ever heard it before, "we're going to take you and Steve somewhere safe." Bucky seemed to calm a bit at her words, tentatively nodding in agreement as his tremors subsided. He still looked pale and nervous but he didn't seem to be on the verge of passing out anymore. "Steve, Stark has the hallway clear but we need to go now. More agents are inbound and we don't have the head of the base pinned down. Do you think he's good for extraction?" Steve turned to look at the Soldier at her words, and he mirrored the action.

"Do you think you can make it out of the building, Buck? We need to go." Steve asked and was relieved when he saw the slight nod he got in response.

"Good. Clint and Bruce are outside in a Quinjet. Let's get you both home." Emily whispered with a little smile in the corner of her lips.

FOUR YEARS LATER

 “Mommy!? Mommy, mommy, mommy!!!” a squeaky voice has spreaded its echo around a cottage.

Little girl ran through upper floor, heading towards stairs leading at the ground floor. She ran into the living room, looking around, but there was no one, so she ran further. Girl spotted the black chow-chow, who was laying at the dog bedding near the main door.

“Hey! Xena! Have you seen Ma?” girl, laughing loudly, went to the dog and pet dog's head playfully. The animal only barked lazly, so girl shook her head and decided to ran to the garden.

But at the door a pair of strong hands had caught her and she had been picked up. She was laughing and squeaking. “Uncle! Put me down, put me down!!!” she giggled, looking up into pair of familiar, huge blue eyes. Steve smirked and made an offended face. “Nah, I don't think so, I like to have you close, besides, now I hope I'll have better deal with your mother if it comes to a dessert!” Captain tickled little belly of the girl, causing a bunch of giggles and squeaks. “Uncle! Unfair!” little girl nuzzled to his neck. “Well, I'll help ya with a dessert if you'll help me to look for my Ma! I can't find her.” Steve laughed briefly and gave a slight nod, then stepped outside t the garden, holding girl in his arms.

Emily was sitting at the wide swing with Bucky, they were catching sunrays of the late summer, cuddling and talking. When little girl noticed her parents, she squeaked once again, tugging Steve's sleve. “Mommy! Daddy!” she yelled loudly and as soon as her little feet touched the ground, she ran towards them, jumping at Bucky's lap. “Mommy! I was looking for you everywhere!!! I draw something for you!!” little girl held a dawing in her hand and she passed it over to Emily. Redhead woman took a piece of the paper in her hand and whistled shortly. “James, look, I bet our girl's gonna be an artist in the future!” she giggled. Bucky took the drawing in his metal palm and took a look on that, letting Steve to watch it also. “I bet she'll” Bucky took girl into his arms and hugged her tight, smiling proudly. “My beautiful Marika.” “I'm sorry to interrupt, but what's with that dessert you had promissed me?” Steve poked Emily's shoulder and woman rolled her eyes. “Captain is hungry as always. I told James before, they should've been calling you Captain Hunger instead of America” Emily summed up, smiling sweetly.

All four talked for a while, then headed back to the house. They were living in peace, filling their lives with love and hope. Hope for better world.

Whatever they had missed, they possessed together the precious, the incommunicable past.

                                                      The End

Chasing the shadow || Part II

Summary: Your quiet life quickly get complicated Words: 1712 Warnings: none Author: Cass

It was a month since you met Ezio again and you two were together now.

You were happy. You finally felt alive.

Taking care of assassins was something good for you. You were busy but never alone, assassins appreciated your work.

Your duty was to take care of every Ezio’s assassin. Sometimes assassins were coming to you, they were sick or hurt. You were patching their wounds or you were making sure they will recover really quick from any sickness. It was hard, some assassins were stubborn as hell,sicknessa tough task to keep them in bed.

The nicest work was when assassins were coming to you to get something to eat. It was nice to cook for more than one person. You were cooking for everyone, for sick and hurt assassins and of course for hungry assassins

Sometimes it was hard. Some nights you had to stay awake. Just like one night when you peacefully slept in your bed, dressed only in your [Y/F/C] nightgown. Suddenly your arm was grabbed and sshakd.

“[Y/N] wake up… please…” You good knew this voice, it was Ezio.

You looked at him.

“What is it…?” You muttered and sat up, rubbing your eyes.

“We need your help..” He said and looked over his shoulder, shoulde same and looked behind him. Two of his assassins were holding the third man. He was badly hurt… really really badly. You blinked in shock and looked back at Ezio. “Something has went wrong? Take him to free room, undress him, Ezio, take my bag and go with them… I will dress up and join you really quickly.” You only said and everyone listened to you. Taking care of assassin's wounds took you many hours.

You spend whole night, sitting on bed next to the hurt man, making sure everything is okay.

Ezio walked into room.

“Tesoro… come to bed, you need some rest.”

You only shook your head.

“I will be fine. I need to make sure… that he won’t die.”

Man only sighed and walked to you, he kissed your forehead, stroking your cheek.

“Bene, but please as soon as he will be fine. You have to take care of yourself. Buona note.”

“Buona note, my love.” You said quietly.

It was the worst night ever but you loved this work, many assassins were thankful because you saved their lives. You often talked with your friend who was a doctor, he was teaching you new stuff what made you only better in your work.

You also felt happy from different reason and it was because you were with Ezio, you two were together and this made you really happy. He was always making sure you are safe. No matter what it was, a walk, small trip for shopping, meeting with friends, always two assassins were somewhere close, keeping their eyes on you.

Ezio even made sure, that you got your choker. Simple black ribbon with silver assassin’s emblem.

This was your life now. No matter how hard it was sometimes, you loved it in the way it was.

You were walking around your living room, reading book. Nothing interesting, some medical stuff from your friend. You were just walking and repeating words from pages, you were trying your best to memorize them.

Suddenly someone grabbed your waist and picked you up, you let out a loud, scared whimper and you were scared until you saw who it was.

It was Ezio with happy smile on his face, you looked at him and laughed. “Ezio... Don’t scare me like this, please.”

“Scusami.” He said simply and kissed you.

You kissed him back and slowly took off his hood. “I missed you...” You said quietly.

Ezio put you back onto floor and hugged you tightly. “I missed you too so much.” He tried to hug you even tighter but he only hissed.

You blinked surprised, than you looked at him, frowning. “What did you do?” You asked angrily.

“Me? Nothing!” He said and smiled at you, “alright, alright... I just got stabbed few time.”

You rolled your eyes annoyed. “Sit.” You growled and went to find your bag.

Ezio sat down on your bed. “Don’t be mad, mi amore.” He said and started undress himself.

“Il mio bel, idiota.” You growled and stared dressing his wounds.

“They started looking for you...” Ezio looked at you, he seemed to be worried.

You were gently cleaning his woubes, you looked at him. “For me...?”

“Well... Not particulary but they know that there is someone in the city. Someone who helps us, they slowly try to look for this person...”

You shivered. “But... what I will do now..” You said deeply scared. You were brave, but not brave enough to stand still about possibility of being captured.

“Don’t worry, you will be safe. I premise.”

~~ Few days later~~

You took your basket and left your house. You walked trough calm streets of Rome, looking around at houses, people, at the whole world which was surrounding you.

You felt a bit weird. Ezio left you again to take care of some ‘important stuff’, you hated it because he was always leaving you under care of his assassins and the truth was you needed him the most.

You looked around, this weird feeling on the back of your neck was still presence. No one, only two assassins on the roof, but around you... no one. No suspicious people. You took deep scared breath and continued your walk, no matter how fast you were walking this feeling didn’t left you. For sure it wasn’t because of assassins, you were already used to their presence, it was something different and you could felt it in your bones. You only shook your head and walked even faster to do shopping and go back to home as quick as it was possible. Was it paranoia or you just lost the habit of feeling good around normal people, knowing your position now?

You got everything that you needed, Some food, medicines and fabrics. You were looking around whole time. But no one was after you, all you could see were people, normal people and guards that were walking around the streets. Everything was extraordinary.

“I think it’s paranoia..” You muttered to yourself when you opened door to your house. It was when you saw both of your “protectors” on the ground, they were probably dead, but this wasn’t the thing that scared you the most.

There was five heavily armoured soldiers and their captain. Man looked at you hardly. “As I can see, we were right. This place really is an assassin’s hideout, and you need to be their “famous” slut.”

Man growled, walking closer to you. “You are arrested. As a traitor!” man ripped off necklace from your neck.

You wanted to fight, oh so badly, but you know you had no chance. If you would start a fight, you would die. Being arrested was ‘better’ option in your situation. You only looked at man, growling under your breath.

He smiled and grabbed your cheek. “You won’t try be so strong later.” Man said. “Take her!” He ordered to his men and left your house.

Soldiers were really harsh with you. They put tight rough ropes on your hands and pushed you out of the house.

The walk to the prison... was terrible, every person, no matter if you know these people or not. They were looking at you, frowning, whispering between each others, turning their back to you.

You felt bad but, you also knew you were doing the right thing. No matter what people were thinking.

People in prison tried to pull out information from you. Cold water, beating up, intimidation... nothing made you talk. Maybe it was a mistake for you not to talk, but you knew you had to stay loyal to Assassins.

By the end of the day you were threw into a small cell, filled with mud and old hay. Your once beautiful dress was destroyed, your hair was a mess, your face was completely devastated, just like the rest of your body.

You whimpered, when you tried to got up from floor, but all you could do was getting onto your knees and hands. You looked around and saw an old matters, stained with blood and with other fluids you didn’t want to know about.

You forced yourself to move. You slowly laid down on your new ‘bed’ thinking about what will happen next. Will Ezio return on time? Or maybe his assassins will make him go back... or maybe they will help you? Maybe you will die here? What will happen tomorrow? What they will do to you next time?

All those questions filled your head, you were scared, but also full of faith, even when strong pain was filling your body.

Next day everything has been repeated: tortures, questions, tortures, questions... over and over again.

In the end of the day, you were just laying on your bed, listening to screams and guard’s talks. The thing that you heard frizzed your blood.

“What with that assassin’s woman. The one that was helping them?” “You didn’t heard. She don’t want to talk. She will be hanged  tomorrow.” “Why so quick?” “Captain is mad. I think he has a plan. I have no idea.”

You could feel tears in your eyes you didn’t want to break down, especially not now...

“Where is she?!” Ezio yelled loudly. His voice was full of fear and anger, his eyes were full of rage. “How could you let something like this happen to her!?”

Assassins that were supposed to protect you looked at each other, one of them started to talk.

“We... We tried, but...”

“They were awaiting...” The other one finished. “We didn't have any chances..”

“Imbecilli! You two have to find her. And tell me where is she. Understand?” He asked frowning.

Both man nodded and quickly ran out of house.

Ezio sighed heavily and looked around your devastated house. He felt so bad now, just every place reminded him about every single good moment with you.

He slowly sat down and rubbed his face.

“I will find you... I promise.” He said quietly to himself, clenching his hands into a fists.

A/N: Hey guys. I just wanna say that writing of next part... may take a while... Reason: 

I’m really sorry guys but I want finish game when I still have too much of free time but I promise I will try write as fast as I will be able to ;) 

When I Take Over Control || Bucky Barnes x reader smut drabble

Words: 3959

Warnings: SMUT!

Author: Rouge

I hated Bucky Barnes. He was ruining me. He sent absolutely filthy texts to me at work, making my face flush and the afternoons long and miserable. I had to painstakingly pick tops and accessories that covered the bruises and love marks scattered across my neck and shoulders. My muscles were nearly always in delightful agony from our rough sessions together. He took any opportunity that presented itself to strip off his shirt in front of me. The pleasure he derived from watching me blush and try to tear my eyes away far outweighed any reservations he still had about his metal arm. He owned me and he knew it. Although HYDRA had tried their best to snuff out James Buchanan Barnes, the charming, cocky little shit he had been in the 40s had gradually reemerged. Bucky and I made a habit of going to the Tower’s gym together just about every day. He would work his body and fight his demons. He never voiced it, but I knew he appreciated my presence. He spotted me lifting weights, pushed me on runs and had insisted on teaching me self defense. It gave him a little peace of mind knowing I was strong and could take care of myself. He was also greatly amused when I constantly told him “Fight me.” after we spent a week on hand to hand combat. Bucky was usually all business while working out, but he was in rare form today. He spent the entire elevator ride up standing behind me, sliding his palms up my sides and groping my ass. When we reached the gym floor I stepped out ahead of him, dodging a very sweaty and tired looking Clint. Bucky nodded to Clint and followed me out of the elevator, landing a resounding slap onto my ass as he passed me. An hour later I had collapsed to the gym floor in a puddle of sweat. Bucky was lying on a bench across the room, pressing a bar that weighed more than two of me. As I lay there trying to breathe normally again, I took the opportunity to admire him. His bare chest and abdomen glistened with sweat and heaved with exertion. His gym shorts had ridden up slightly, and the brawny muscles in his thighs bunched as he dug his feet into the floor. His metal arm shone in the fluorescent light. The quiet whirring sound it emitted and the delicious grunt he huffed out with every rep made catching my breath more difficult. I was enthralled with every move his tantalizing body made. I pushed myself up off the floor and sauntered toward him as his bar clattered back onto the rack. He sat up and I bit the inside of my cheek as I leaned against the machine next to him. The veins in his forearms were bulging as he pulled his arm across his face, swiping away sweat. A stray strand of dark brown hair had fallen from his loose bun and was plastered to his damp neck. The sweat that had pooled in the dip of his collarbone rolled slowly down his chest. My eyes followed as it trickled its way to the waistband of his sweats. I swallowed heavily at the almost overwhelming impulse to follow the wet trail with my tongue. “Enjoyin’ the view?” I ran my tongue over the indention my teeth had left in my lip, still ogling him shamelessly. “Its the only enjoyable thing about coming here.” Bucky huffed out a short laugh and unscrewed the cap off his water bottle. “Better quit lookin’ at me like that, doll,” he took a long gulp of water, letting a droplet escape the corner of his mouth and trickle down his chin. “That door doesn’t lock and I’d hate to accidentally give somebody a show.” He sat the bottle down, fixing me with his clear blue gaze. “You know, I’ve always been a bit of an exhibitionist” I purred, brazenly meeting his intense stare. His stubbled jaw tightened. “But I think you have one more set left,” I smirked as I bent to grab his water bottle, giving him a up close look at my sweat-sheened chest. I straightened, removed the lid and took several long sips, being sure to let a significant amount of water escape and rush down my neck and through the valley between my breasts. Bucky blinked. I made a show of deeply swallowing and let out a satisfied and slightly sensuous sigh. I noticed Bucky’s flesh hand twitch and I relished in giving the teasing bastard a taste of his own medicine. I winked cockily as I pivoted and strutted across the gym to retrieve my bag, feeling proud of myself for finally gaining one small victory in this game we played. As I reached the treadmill where I had haphazardly dropped my bag, I heard the weights rattle as Bucky began to press the bar again. Bucky was always a silent worker in the gym. Heavy huffs were the only noises he had ever made. But the bastard was now grunting with every press. Husky, lustful sounds that made my core flutter. They were sounds I had only heard in moments of fiery passion. Blurred images of hot skin, gripping hands, rolling hips and euphoric cries flashed through my mind. I slowly turned back to face him as he brought the bar down for his last rep. He pressed it from his chest. Bare, shining skin, every muscle straining, a pornographic sight… and then he moaned. The fucker unabashedly moaned. Bucky deposited the bar back onto the rack and let his arms flail to his sides. As I stared, captivated with his immense, muscular form, his ribcage began to bounce as he chuckled. “What the hell are you laughing at?” I hitched my gym bag strap onto my shoulder and glared at him. Bucky just swung one powerful leg over the bench and stood. Pinning me with his lecherous gaze, he crossed the room in a few long strides. He stopped close enough for me to feel the heat radiating off his body, and the sweet musk of sweat, soap and leather surrounded me. The combination was potent. I fixed my eyes on his and tried to ignore the intoxicating effect he had on me. I inhaled shakily as his metal hand snuck its way to my skin. “You can try teasin' me doll,” his words dripped from his mouth like honey, smooth and decadent. He drew his cool metal finger down my side. “But it's a game you just won’t win.” The fog clouding my brain grew thicker the lower his hand drifted. The tip of his finger lightly curled just under the hem of my shorts just as his tongue dragged a short path from just below my ear to my lobe, which he delicately caught between his teeth. I involuntarily shuddered and he instantly stepped away. I blinked blankly into his face and exhaled sharply, my mind a muddled mess. Bucky winked. “See you upstairs.” He then spun on his heel and strutted out of the gym. I gaped at his broad back until he disappeared. The door slammed behind him, jolting me from my dazed state. Damn him. I knew what he wanted. He expected me to fly after him, a quivering mess of need and want, begging him to take me in every possible way. While there is absolutely nothing wrong with being taken every which way by Bucky Barnes, I was not going to do it this time. I was going to win a round once. I knew he would be in the shower, waiting for me to fling the glass door open and pull him under the water, throwing myself onto his wet skin, skimming my hands over every reachable inch of his chiseled form, tangling my fingers in his dripping hair… as I always did. But not this time. I stomped toward the gym shower, thankful that I had a tiny travel bottle of body wash and an extra t-shirt buried in my bag. I stripped and stepped under the near scalding spray. The water flowed through my hair and over my skin, the steam enveloping me for the next 10 minutes as I imagined all the indulgently dirty things I was going to do to Bucky Barnes. I knew I didn’t have long before Bucky would come back looking for me, so I hurriedly swept a towel over myself before shrugging on the oversized shirt. It stuck to my still damp skin and my hair left wet spots on my shoulders. I decided to forgo my sweaty underwear and shorts, making sure my shirt covered my ass and held the bag strategically placed over my front. I dashed for the elevator and prayed everyone else was otherwise engaged in the Tower. I breathed a small sigh of relief when I arrived at Bucky’s room without encountering any of the others. As I tapped the code to open the door, I bit my lip, shivering at the thrill of what was about to come. I let the door close with a bang behind me as I sauntered into the apartment, tossing my bag onto the couch. The bedroom door flew open and a very irritated looking Bucky stepped out. He had obviously just finished his shower. The ends of his hair were still shedding tiny droplets of water and several small strands stuck to his forehead. He glared at me, clearly disgruntled after being left to shower alone. He was also naked from the waist up, only wearing low-slung black sweatpants. Damn, if he wasn’t the most sinful looking piece of heaven I had ever seen. “Where did you go? Why do you look like you've already showe-…” He trailed off mid sentence, noting my appearance. His eyes roved over my figure, assessing my half dressed state. “What are you wearing?” he asked in a low voice. “A shirt,” I replied flippantly as I leaned over the couch, rummaging through my bag for my water. I exaggerated the stretch, making sure he got a glimpse of my bare ass. “Yours, actually.” I thought I heard him growl. “Tell me you did not come all the way up here in that.” His tone was menacingly calm. I straightened and faced him, tossing the cap from my bottle over my shoulder. “I came all the way up here in this.” Bucky’s eyes darkened. I took long swallows of water and stared back insolently. “What if someone had seen you? What if Tony had happened to step in with you?” I drained the bottle. “So what?” His jaw clenched and I grinned audaciously. “You’re mine.” I crossed my arms. “You don’t own me. I don't belong to anyone” Bucky took one slow step toward me. “You’re mine.” Then another. “You’re my girl.” Another step. “You’re my dirty little girl. It's my cock fillin’ your mouth and your tight cunt. It's my name you scream every night. No one else’s.” He was now so close that my breasts, bare under the thin shirt, grazed his massive chest. His soft breath in my ear contrasted with the rough stubble scraping my cheek. I wanted to give in. To fall into him, let him ravage me and indulge every lustful craving. But this time, even if it was just this once, he would fall apart under me. “You can’t resist me.” I tilted my chin, smiling defiantly up at him. My fingertips slithered up the inside of his right thigh and I squeezed his hardening erection. Raising up on my toes, I giggled airily, pressing against him until my lips brushed his as I spoke. “You’re so right.” Bucky’s breath hitched. I nibbled on his full bottom lip before sucking it between my teeth. And then I abruptly pulled away, pushing past him toward the bedroom door. “What the hell?” he rasped behind me. I bit back my smirk. Got him. “Is there something you need?” I inquired sweetly as I turned to blink innocently up at him. Bucky growled, his metal hand lashing out to grasp the back of my neck. I stopped its advance, clutching his forearm in front of my face. His eyes flashed beneath his dark brow. “I said, is there something you need?” I asked again forcefully, letting my gaze wander from his eyes, to his inviting mouth and back up. “You know what I need,” he whispered hoarsely. “Tell me. “I need you.” Say it,” I murmured. Bucky flexed his jaw. He loved being in control. “Say please, Bucky,” I breathed alluringly, releasing his arm and running my fingers over his stubble. “Say it and I can give you everything you want.” He sighed softly, his crystal eyes peering into mine. “Please… I want it.” “Tell me you need me,” I whispered against his lips. “I need you.” With his throaty plea, the desire consumed me. “Well, since you asked so nicely,” I teased as I kneeled in front of him. I slid my palms up his powerful thighs and hooked my fingers in the waistband of his sweats. My tongue skimmed along the line where fabric met skin from one hip to the other. As I gently tugged them down, I placed feathery kisses on every inch of newly revealed skin. When the pants dropped to his ankles I let my eyes travel up his frame. He was a solid wall of taut muscle. His hungry eyes were smoldering at me behind wisps of dark hair. He was the most gorgeous thing I had ever seen. I kept my eyes locked on his as I took the tip in my mouth and whimpered when the sweet taste of his precum coated my tongue. Bucky’s eyes dilated, dark pupils nearly blacking out sky blue. He brought up both hands to grasp my head, but I and snatched them away. “I didn’t say you could touch me.” Bucky arched a brow, bemused. I licked a long stripe from base to tip, still firmly squeezing his wrists. He sucked in a tight breath. “No touching” I ordered, dragging my lips along the underside of his cock. I released his hands and engulfed him in my mouth. Sliding my head up and down, slicking him and taking more and more of his length. Soon the head was hitting the back of my throat, producing a wet, choking sound. I took in a long gasp of air through my nose before pushing my head down, until he was fully sheathed in my throat and my nose had almost reached the short, black curls at his base. I swallowed around him, the walls of my throat massaging his girth. I gagged once and sat back. Bucky was clenching and unclenching his fists, his abs tightening with each gasping breath. I slipped a hand up the hard ridges and dragged my nails back down. His cock muffled my mewl. My other hand wrapped around his shaft and I began to jerk him as I sucked on the head. My tongue circled the tip with each pull of my hand and mouth. Bucky’s head fell back. His fingers flexed at his sides, battling the impulse to roughly grip my neck and fuck my throat as he so often did. Frenzied gagging sounds and guttural grunts filled the air. Saliva, forced out of the corners of my mouth with every plunge, rolled from my chin and slid down my throat. It was all so vulgar and everything I craved. Bucky tipped over the edge with a hoarse cry, swelling in my mouth. “Ah… fuck… ssshit…” He convulsed above me as pleasure wracked his body. I pressed my palm against him, and his warm, calloused hand gripped my wrist for support as he panted. The other came to rest on the back of my head, thumb stroking through my hair as I eagerly drank his load. I moaned around him, shamelessly begging him for every last drop. He was looking down at me as I slowly released him from my mouth. Chest heaving, pupils blown, eyes glazed over from his high. “Now.. Lay down.” Bucky blinked. “What?” I almost felt bad for impeding on his post-orgasmic bliss. Almost. “On the couch. Lay down. Now.” He took two steps back and lowered himself onto the couch, still looking slightly disoriented. “Don’t move” I murmured. I stepped up next to him, so close my knees brushed his shoulder. I lifted the hem of his shirt over my head, revealing my naked form underneath. The cool air raised chill bumps on my newly exposed skin. I let the shirt drop to the floor beside me. Bucky’s eyes never left mine as I brought one knee to rest between his head and the back of the couch. I placed the other on the sofa’s edge and my hands on the arm rest behind him. I could have come solely from the sight beneath me. Bucky was gazing up at me from between my legs, his eyes blazing with desire. His cool breath caressed my slick folds. I shoved a hand through his soft hair and tugged his face up to my pussy. “Make me come, Bucky.” He didn’t have to be asked twice, immediately running his tongue from my entrance to my clit. His hands came up to clutch my ass, burying his face in my cunt. The harsh scraping of his stubbled jaw on my inner thighs would be well worth it. He enclosed my bundle of nerves in his lips and began to flick his tongue over it while sucking gently. “Buck… Bucky, shhhit, oh god…” My high pitched whimpers and breathy curses filled the room. Both of my hands were twisted in his hair as I rode his pretty mouth. His fingers dug into the flesh of my ass and he matched my rhythm, tongue stroking from my dripping entrance to massage my clit with every roll of my hips. “Oh fuck… don’t stop… I’m so close, baby” I panted breathlessly. Bucky groaned against my sex and my legs trembled. His rough flesh hand stretched up and tangled in the hair at the nape of my neck. He wrenched my head down, arching my body back over him. His cybernetic arm wound around my waist, firmly holding my pussy to his lips, working my cunt for all he was worth. Alternating between delicately nibbling and sucking my clit, he landed a sharp slap to the back of my thigh that sent me spiraling into bliss. I trapped his head with my legs as I shuddered in pleasure. His unyielding hold on my hair kept me bent backward, broken and raspy screams falling from my throat. Eventually my muscles slackened and my cries faded to elated gasps. Bucky’s mouth lingered against my glistening folds, the tip of his tongue lazily lapped at my pulsing clit. His swollen lips kissed gingerly, and gentle tremors shook my body as I floated back to earth. I crawled down his body until I was straddling his waist, clasping the back of his neck with one hand and splaying the other through his long hair. He sighed at the sensation and I pressed my lips to his full mouth. His face was soaked with my orgasm. The taste of my arousal on his hot tongue drove me wild, and the moan that surged from my throat was swallowed by his fervid kisses. I was on fire, burning with the need to be surrounded by him, filled by him. I tugged his hair, yanking his head back and exposing his neck to my wandering lips. “Do you want me, baby?” I whispered, my tongue gliding out to taste his skin. “You want to fuck me into this couch?” A low moan rumbled in Bucky’s chest as he sat upright. He wrapped his cool metal arm around my hips, crushing my soft frame to his hard body. His other hand skimmed up my side and clamped onto the back of my neck. My palms grabbed at his shoulders as he stood from the couch, his massive strength sweeping me up as if I was weightless. He turned, delving his tongue into my mouth. I captured it between my lips and sucked lightly. “Put your mouth on me.” He obeyed instantly, dipping his head to slide his lips up the column of my throat. “Yes, baby… so good,” I whimpered as Bucky ventured lower, sealing his mouth onto my nipple, biting softly. “So good for me.” “Take me, James,” I purred. “I want you inside me.” Bracing one hand against the arm of the couch, Bucky guided himself to my opening, swiping his length back and forth through my wetness. “Now, Bucky,” I pushed, digging my fingertips into his ribs and wrapping my legs around the back of his thighs. With a throaty groan, he plunged forward, burying himself fully in one thrust. With both hands grasping the armrest, he ground his hips against mine, driving as deep as he could. All the air flew from my lungs as slammed into me with all the power behind his hips and arms. With each punishing snap of his hips, he hit a spot that made my head spin and my walls seize around his thick cock. “Yes, god… oh fuck, Bucky!” I screamed, clinging to him for dear life. Blinding ecstasy swept my body. His breaths came in irregular heaves and every muscle was trembling. I knew he was close to coming undone all over again. “No. Not yet.” “What?” he grated out. “You’re not done yet,” I gasped, reaching down to the firm flesh of his ass, jerking him flush against me. “I want more. Give me one more.” Bucky growled harshly and pulled himself from me. His hair was falling around his face, casting dark shadows across his glinting eyes. Sitting back on his knees, he towered above me, making a ferocious sight. Snatching my ankle, he hoist my right leg onto his metal shoulder. As he sank himself once more into my pulsating cunt, he tossed my left leg over the other. He planted his palms on either side of my head, his bulk forcing me into the cushions. Slipping completely from me before ramming his length deep into my center, he desperately drove me toward my undoing. My knees were pinned against my shoulders, and with every unforgiving thrust, Bucky reached a place within me he had never been. “Don’t forget to breathe, darlin’.” His voice was strained, betraying his struggle to keep his own end at bay. He held my gaze as our bodies, slick with sweat, fused together again and again. Hair wisped against my face and each breath he took fanned across my skin. I choked for air and clung to his immovable arms. His name was the only word I knew and it fell from my lips in broken gasps and moans, over and over with each euphoric surge that wrecked my body. As I writhed below him, Bucky lost control over his climax. “Shit baby, I can’t… fuck, I’m gonna come. I’m gonna come..” His body went rigid and his cock throbbed inside me. I felt the rush of warmth spread through my core. Prayers, pleas and profanities spilled from his mouth. With one final rough cry, Bucky collapsed on top of me. His forehead rested on my breastbone as he struggled for breath. My eyes drifted closed and I tenderly carded my fingers through his hair as we basked in paradise together. “Look at me.” His cerulean eyes peered into mine, so trusting and vulnerable. “I’m yours, Mr Barnes. Always.”