Blue

The Winter Soldier’s altar was in the middle of the woods, covered by overgrown foliage. Nobody had touched it in years. Hundreds of years. All of them were too scared to face the mighty god, fearful that when he woke, he’d do it enraged. But you weren’t, you didn't have the time to be scared when you needed his guidance so desperately. Your village was starving, the animals had gotten smarter– quicker. And it didn’t help that the forest wasn’t as lush as it used to be. Even wild berries were hard to obtain these days.

You lifted your head from the altar, looking up at the statue which towered above you. The marble effigy depicted Bucky, dressed in tight leather, his dagger plunged into the chest of a bear, blood pouring from its body like a fountain. It was hard to fathom how the art had so much motion while sitting motionless. And the sculptor perfectly portrayed the god before you as nothing but pure sin. His muscles rippled, looking as if they would nearly rip the fibers of his tunic. The metal plates on his arm were deeply detailed, every dent and ridge carved so accurately that you were curious whether Bucky had come to Earth to sculpt them himself. His face was contorted in concentration, eyebrows slanted downward, and eyes narrowed as he put his unwavering attention into slaying the beast before him.

It was both a horrifying and beautiful scene. It truly depicted how masterfully Bucky was created. A predator whose hands were crafted for death and death only.

At least that's how the others saw him.

You never thought of him that way. Even when your grandmother told you stories of him as a child.

“But Nanna, why does he have to be bad?” You whined, your doe eyes brimming with tears even after your grandmother told you of the gruesome actions The Winter Soldier had committed.

“He was an evil man. That's how he was created. It's the reason the gods killed him,” Your grandmother explained, shutting the storybook. A family heirloom passed on from generation to generation. The crimson leather whined and cracked as the spine stretched to fully shut the book. It was so old.

Your mother told you that it might be just as old as the gods were.

You believed it.

“Was he always bad?” You whispered wide doe eyes, looking up at your grandmother, the corners of her thin lips turned downward.

She took a long breath, looking at the fireplace as if she were trying to seek guidance. The fire seemed to perk up under her gaze, each flame licking higher and higher.

“Some argue he wasn’t,” Your Nanna hummed, her eyes trained on the orange sparks of light. “There is another story. One where The Winter Soldier was reborn, cleansed from his sins into a new god. Bucky is what they called him,” She let out a soft chuckle. “But sweetheart, those tales are nothing but a fool’s wishful thinking. If that was the case, he’d still be alive,” Nanna hummed.

“Now go get your behind into bed, your mother will be angry I kept you up past your bedtime,” She grumbled, nudging you up and towards your bedroom.

Even as a young girl, you knew he was different. That's why from then on you referred to the god as Bucky. You chose to believe he was cleansed, that he was good.

You chose to see the best in him, even if that made you a wishful fool.

After scanning over the masterfully created statue once more, you stood. Wiping your hands on your thighs, you took your family’s storybook from your bag.

The black star on the front seemed to gain a certain luster to it as if it was new. And the leather on the book looked slightly more restored, though you knew your family had done nothing to it. Maybe it had something to do with him.

“Here we go,” You sighed, blowing out all the air in your lungs with a phew. Opening the book, you turned to the page you had marked. Ten words etched vertically into the page with black ink. Nanna told you a myth once that a young man had used the words to summon Bucky and strike a deal.

You prayed to the gods the words worked again.

Running your finger over the raised ink of each word, you finally started reciting them.

“Longing,” You whispered, looking expectantly at the statue. It was still.

“Rusted.”

“Furnace.”

“Daybreak,” a broken twig made you jump, sucking in a gasp and fearfully looking around. Anxiety built in your stomach. Maybe this was a bad idea, you thought, your heart erratically banging around in your chest like it was trying to claw its way out. You had to continue. Your village and its survival were counting on you.

“Seventeen.”

“Benign.”

“Nine.”

“Homecoming,” A male’s voice joined yours. It was so deep you could feel the vibrations in your chest. For some reason, you were no longer scared. The voice empowered you to keep going, not that you could stop. The words kept flowing out of your throat almost against your will.

“One.”

“Freight car.”

You snapped the book shut, returning to silence and tucking it back in the crossbody bag you carried. Without even thinking about it, your eyes drifted to the statue again. Watching. Waiting. And when, after twenty-five minutes nothing roused, you sighed.

This failure hurt more than you expected it to. You’d come home, empty-handed, again. Reaching into your bag, you set a plum down at the foot of the altar, bowing your head to Bucky out of respect before turning on your heels and leaving.

You were only able to get a few steps out before you heard a loud snap and then in seconds, someone was headlocking you with a dagger to your throat. But the dagger was not what caught your attention; it was the metal patch, barely visible through the gap in his sleeve.

And at that moment, you knew who was holding you.

“Why am I here?” He growled against your ear, pressing the dagger further into your skin, a drop of blood trickling down the column of your throat and collecting in the valley of one of your collarbones.

“Bucky?” You gasped, voice soft and filled with fear.

Apparently, that was not the answer he wanted, considering in one swift motion, he released you, pushing you forward and slamming the butt of his dagger into your temple.

Then darkness. 𓆩⛧𓆪━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━𓆩⛧𓆪

a/n: this is a scheduled post because right now I’m off tumblr and discord until february due to personal stuff.

I know this isn’t for everyone but I wanted to explore something darker and more psychologically complex. you are responsible for your own media consumption, aka don’t like don’t read. big warning: I know nothing about medicine, procedures, etc. so please, just ignore any discrepancy/mistake for the sake of the story.

ps: I didn't use the tag list since the content of this one-shot is much darker and different from the stuff I usually post.

You had believed in medicine as something clean, helpful. HYDRA disabused you of that notion within the first forty-eight hours of your abduction.

They never called it what it was, kidnapping. No, they called it recruitment.

You woke up in a white room with no windows, no phone, no shoes, and a man in a black uniform calmly explaining that your credentials were impressive, your skill set rare, and your cooperation expected. When you refused, when you demanded to leave, he wordlessly slid a thin file across the table. Inside were photos of your sibling walking home from work, timestamps carefully highlighted in red.

You learned very quickly when to stop asking questions.

You told yourself you were just trying to survive, that every day you keeping the Winter Soldier alive without letting him become more of a weapon was a small act of defiance. And yet, guilt clawed at your chest relentlessly. You had no idea who he had been before HYDRA took him, what parts of his life had been stolen, what memories erased, what humanity suppressed. If he could even still be called a man, or if he was nothing more than an experiment, forged and trapped within these walls. All you know is that he is a human being, and no human being deserves to be reduced to a lab experiment, trained to kill, and denied any life of his own.

The truth is that here, forced into this role you never wanted, you are still part of it. Every dose you administer, every wound you clean, every monitoring protocol you follow— even if it is just to keep him from spiraling into uncontrollable violence— you are contributing to HYDRA’s system, keeping the gears turning. You are a cog, however unwilling, and the realization makes you nauseaus. You are a witness, a caretaker, a facilitator. You keep him alive, but in doing so, you keep their machine alive too.

Your hands remain steady, but each measured movement is heavy with a mix of fear, sorrow, and reluctant responsibility. 

The Winter Soldier is HYDRA’s greatest asset and its most closely monitored prisoner.

Officially, you are not his handler. You don’t issue commands or mission parameters, you don’t activate him or wipe his mind. That work belongs to others— men who speak in clipped phrases and avoid eye contact with what they had turned him into.

You monitor his vitals, track the effects of the serum, treat injuries sustained in the field, and document behavioral anomalies. You make sure he eats when they remember to feed him, that his body remains functional between cryo cycles, that the scars don't fester.

You are the only one allowed to touch him without restraints, but no one had planned for that.

At first, they tried rotating doctors. Each one lasted less than a week. Some requested reassignment, some broke down. One had a panic attack so severe she had to be sedated and removed from the facility entirely. 

You still remember the first time HYDRA insisted on assigning a second doctor, an older man with trembling hands and a voice that cracked when he gave instructions. The moment he’d stepped past the threshold, the Soldier had gone rigid, gaze snapping from you to the stranger, like a gun sight locking onto a target.

The doctor hadn’t even touched him. He’d reached for a stethoscope, and the Soldier had moved faster than you could shout. Metal collided with bone. The doctor went down screaming, clutching a shattered wrist. 

Restraints were deployed seconds too late, sirens screaming as the Winter Soldier fought them with silent, feral fury.

But you… He tolerated you.

That’s the word they used. Tolerated. As if it was a neutral thing.

He doesn’t really speak. His responses are economical: a turn of the head, a shift of weight, the faint tightening of his jaw when something displeases him. You learned his language the way one learns a foreign alphabet— slowly, and terrified of making a fatal mistake. You learned the difference between stillness and readiness, between compliance and restraint. That when his shoulders went rigid and his metal hand flexed once, you needed to step back.

The change had not started with trust, but with fear.

The other handlers were afraid of him. They had every reason to be. In the weeks leading up to the incident, the Winter Soldier had grown volatile in a way HYDRA could not quantify away. Missions ended messier, recovery periods stretched. There were moments— brief, unsettling gaps— where commands lagged, where he hesitated just long enough for alarms to register before compliance snapped back into place.

HYDRA answered the way it always did: pressure, punishment, tighter restraints.

You saw the cost of it written across his body.

The Winter Soldier had been awake for six minutes when the alarms started. You knew this because you were watching the numbers climb in real time— heart rate spiking dangerously fast, blood pressure surging hard enough to trigger red warnings across the console. His respiration was shallow and uneven, each breath dragged through clenched teeth. The biometric sensors embedded in the containment room floor registered rapid, erratic movement.

Pacing.

That was already bad.

“Why isn’t he responding?” An agent snapped from behind you.

You didn’t answer immediately, your eyes were locked on the glass.

Inside the reinforced medical containment room, the Soldier moved like a caged animal. Back and forth. Bare feet silent against the white floor, metal arm flexing and unclenching with a soft mechanical whine. His head twitched at every sound, from the hum of the lights to the hiss of the vents, and then the distant echo of boots in the corridor.

He was awake, but he wasn’t present.

“Soldier.” His handler barked, activating the intercom. “Stand down.”

No response.

Another command. Louder. Sharper.

He stopped pacing for half a second, long enough for your chest to tighten with hope, then he turned abruptly toward the glass, eyes wild, unfocused, scanning not for authority, but for threat.

His vitals spiked again.

“Sedate him.” The handler commanded.

Your fingers curled hard around the edge of the console. “No.”

The word came out harsher than you intended.

You forced herself to breathe, to think clinically. “If you sedate him now, you’ll exacerbate the fever.”

“What do you suggest then, Doctor?” He mocked.

You swallowed, looking back at the glass. “I need to go in.”

The room went quiet.

“That’s not protocol.” He gritted out.

“I’m aware.” You replied, eyes hard on his. 

Inside the containment room, the Winter Soldier struck the glass without warning, making the whole room flinch. The punch was not hard enough to crack it, but it made the impact reverberate through the observation wing. His metal hand connected first, producing a deep, resonant thud. His breathing was loud now, ragged, bordering on a growl.

His heart rate surged past one-sixty.

“Doctor—”

“If I don’t intervene,” you said quietly, “you’re going to deal with a full-scale breach in under two minutes.”

They hesitated, but you didn’t wait for permission.

The moment the door of the observation wing slid open, something changed– not immediately, but the monitors noticed before anyone else did.

His heart rate dipped just a fraction. From one-sixty to one-fifty-eight. His breathing hitched, then slowed, unevenly at first, as if his body had recognized something familiar before his mind could catch up.

You took a step into the containment room, and the Winter Soldier froze. Completely still, mid-motion. Like a machine that had received a conflicting input and stalled.

His head turned toward you, his eyes found your face… And locked.

His breathing slowed, each inhale deeper than the last. The harsh tension in his shoulders eased slightly, almost imperceptibly, but you noticed it. You always did.

The metal hand that had been clenched tight loosened, fingers uncurling one by one.

“Vitals stabilizing.” Someone murmured over the comms.

You ignored them and simply took another careful step.

“It’s alright.” You whispered, knowing only he could hear you. “You’re safe.”

You had no idea how much those words meant to him.

His gaze tracked you with unnerving precision, following your every movement as if pulled by an invisible thread. He didn’t blink, didn’t look away. It was the same way he watched you during examinations, during wound care, during the long hours when you sat beside the cot and pretended not to notice how close he leaned.

As if losing sight of you meant the world crumbling.

You stopped a few feet away from him.

“Good.” You murmured, more to yourself than to him. “Just breathe.”

He did, slowly. Controlled.

The monitors confirmed it: heart rate down to one-thirty. Blood pressure falling into safer ranges. Temperature still elevated, but no longer climbing.

Behind the glass, the agents stared.

“He didn’t respond to any commands.” One of them said quietly.

You swallowed.

You knew what they were realizing.

The Soldier took a step toward you, not aggressively. Deliberate.

Every muscle in your body went tight, but you didn’t back away. You had learned, painfully, that sudden motion broke whatever fragile equilibrium existed between you two.

He stopped when he was close enough that you could see the faint sheen of sweat along his temples, the subtle tremor in his flesh hand that only appeared when he was overstimulated.

His eyes never left yours.

That’s when you lifted a hand gently, palm open. “Easy.”

He watched the movement with intense focus, his own vibranium hand repeating your movement, until he placed it against yours. His pulse jumped for a second, and then settled.

“Heart rate’s down another ten.” Someone whispered.

You felt sick. Not because of him, but because of what this meant.

They had suspected it before. Documented it in cautious, clinical language. 

Subject exhibits reduced agitation in presence of primary medical staff. Notable improvement in compliance during examinations conducted by you.

This wasn’t obedience. It was fixation.

And as the Winter Soldier stood in front of you— calm, silent, attention narrowed down to your voice, your hands, your presence— you realized that whatever HYDRA had done to him, whatever they had taken away, there was still something inside his brain that had latched onto you and refused to let go.

Without you, he spiraled: violent, unresponsive, lost in a haze of half-awareness and threat assessment. With you, his body remembered how to regulate itself. His fury quieted, his attention settled on you.

“Doctor.” The handler called slowly. “Step back.”

The Soldier’s head snapped up at the sound.

His chest heaved quicker than normal, but you didn’t move.

“If I step back.” You mumbled. “His vitals will spike again.”

No answer.

Inside the containment room, the Soldier leaned closer— not touching, but near enough that you could feel the heat radiating from him. His posture was protective without being aggressive, his body subtly angled between you and the glass.

A warning.

Not to you, to everyone else.

Your presence had become a fixed point in the fog. An instinct. And instincts, once formed, were almost impossible to erase.

“Alright.” He sneered. “Maintain position.”

You closed your eyes for half a second, sighing in momentary relief. When you opened them, the Soldier was still watching you, following your breathing as if syncing his own to it.

Nothing would ever be the same again.

The containment wing is quiet. Not peaceful, simply empty. Everyone soon learned that lingering would only bring more troubles. The reinforced glass wall stands between you and the Winter Soldier once again, thick enough to stop a tank, threaded with sensors that track every shift of his weight, every minute change in his vitals.

You sit alone at the console, tablet tucked against your ribs, eyes flicking between the readouts and the man behind the glass. The room is all white and steel, with fluorescent lights buzzing overhead like insects trapped in your skull. 

He is standing today, shoulders squared, head slightly bowed, eyes fixed on you with unnerving intensity. You don’t hold his gaze too long. Attention from him feels… Dangerous. Like stepping onto a frozen lake that might crack beneath your feet. You keep your eyes on the monitors instead, scrolling through vitals you don’t like and couldn’t fix fast enough.

His posture in itself told you how bad the night had been before you arrived. His heart rate is elevated, steady but high. Cortisol levels haven’t dropped back to baseline after his last wake cycle. The serum is working overtime to compensate for something HYDRA refuses to name. 

The wound should have healed. A ballistic injury to the right side of the abdomen, deep. Under normal circumstances, the serum would have closed it in one day. You had seen him regenerate from worse: bones shattered, muscle reforming with brutal efficiency. This time, the tissue stayed angrily inflamed, and the sutures strained instead of dissolving.

An asset that doesn’t heal is an asset that can fail. So they caged him here, again.

“Vitals are holding,” you mumble. “That’s good.”

He doesn’t respond, but his breathing slows as you speak. The monitors reflect it instantly.

That night, a month ago, he hadn’t calmed until you had shoved past the guards and coaxed him with your voice shaking and his palm against yours. 

HYDRA had taken note. Now, you are listed as essential personnel. Singular. The only one he allowed near him. The only one he doesn’t try to kill.

You shift your weight, the chair creaking slightly under you. His head tilts minutely, and the tension in his shoulders eases by a fraction. His metal hand lifts, fingers flexing once against the glass, not striking it. Just touching, claiming the boundary.

Your throat tightens, forcing yourself to move your eyes back on the medical charts.

You have been staring at the same line for too long, the numbers have stopped looking like numbers a long time ago, and started looking like shapes instead— meaningless, looping back on themselves. You drag a hand down your face and lean closer to the console, scrolling back up, then down again, as if repetition might force sense into it.

Serum markers should be stabilizing by now.

They aren’t.

They look like they’re fighting something.

Your fingers still. You pull up a secondary panel, overlay two datasets, and your stomach drops. Threaded through the Soldier’s bloodstream like a foreign language, there is an unfamiliar compound, its concentration not just elevated but persistent. It hasn’t degraded, nor maintained.

“That’s not right.” You murmur.

Behind the glass, the Soldier’s spine straightens, eyes narrowing as if he’s felt the shift in your mood. 

You glance up at him automatically. “Wait a second,” already rising from your chair. “Just— wait.”

His brow furrows in displeasure.

You step toward the door and signal to the agent stationed there. “Call Dr. Keller,” you say quickly. “Tell him it’s urgent.”

The guard hesitates, then nods and turns away.

Behind you, there’s a dull thump.

You look back, the Soldier’s metal hand is resting against the glass now, fingers spread wide, pressing. His jaw is tight, eyes fixed on you like you’ve drifted too far, out of reach.

“I’m right here.” You cajole. “I’ll be back soon.”

His answer comes in the form of his flesh hand curling slowly into a fist.

Dr. Keller arrives a few minutes later. He’s older, silver-haired, immaculate in a way that suggests choice rather than coercion. A man who belongs here because he wants to. He barely spares the Asset a glance as he enters the room.

“What is it?” He asks, already impatient.

You turn the screen toward him. “This compound,” your index finger taps the value. “It’s interfering with the serum. It shouldn’t be there at all. What is it?”

Keller squints, then his expression smooths.

“Oh. That.” he comments bored. “CX-17.”

Your heartbeat quickens. “And what exactly is CX-17?”

He hesitates just long enough for the answer to be deliberate. “A behavioral catalyst. Part of Project Genesis.”

You stare at him. “Project what?”

Keller exhales through his nose, annoyed. “You weren’t cleared for the full scope. The serum alone is limited. Replication has been unsuccessful. Subjects don’t survive long enough for meaningful results, so the Winter Soldier Program was suspended indefinitely.”

Your mouth dries. “So?”

He rolls his eyes. “The Asset remains the only viable template. Natural compatibility was… Explored.”

The word lands wrong.

“What do you mean ‘explored’?” 

Keller’s eyes flick toward the glass, then back to you. “Attempts were made to encourage reproductive behavior. He resisted. Violently. So the directive was adjusted.”

Your stomach curls uncomfortably. “You drugged him.” You whisper.

“We enhanced instinctual drives and suppressed inhibitions.” Keller snaps. “CX-17 was designed to lower resistance. A necessary step to secure the future of HYDRA.”

“You created an untested compound.” Your voice gradually rises. “And pumped it into a body already under extreme physiological stress. And you didn’t even think to mention it to me?”

“It wasn’t your concern.”

You laugh, a sharp and hysterical noise. “You’re monsters.” You shriek. “You weakened the serum, you destabilized him, and you didn’t even notice because you were too busy trying to turn him into— into a breeding machine!”

Keller’s face darkens. “Watch your tone, you little insolent bitch.”

You take a step forward. “You don’t get to—”

A thunderous bang cuts you off.

The glass shudders as the Soldier slams his fist into it, once, then again. The sound is deafening up close. His breathing is ragged now, shoulders rising and falling fast, eyes blown wide and furious.

You turn toward him instinctively. “Hey—”

Keller swears under his breath and backs toward the door. “You think you matter to him?” He snaps at you. “You’re a variable, that’s all. And when you stop being useful, he—”

Another punch. Harder. Cracks spiderweb the reinforced glass.

Keller pales. He doesn’t finish his sentence, but turns and runs, shouting for guards.

What a pathetic worm. 

Behind the glass, the Soldier roars, raw and wordless, and slams both hands against the barrier, rage finally breaking free of whatever fragile control he had left.

The monitor spikes.

“Don’t—” You start, but it’s too late. His heart rate surges, breathing going sharp and fast, pupils blown wide as his gaze locks onto the door behind you. 

“No!” You shout, but another blow strikes the glass. “Hey! Stop. Look at me.”

He freezes mid-motion, eyes fixed on your face.

You move closer to the glass, palm lifting slowly, deliberately, as if approaching a skittish animal. “It’s me.” Your voice shakes but not enough to stop you. “It’s only me in here.”

He wheezes once, then his breathing slows. The fist lowers, fingers uncurling as the violent tension bleeds out of him gradually. His forehead drops to rest against the glass with a soft, hollow thud.

You press your palm to the glass, waiting for him to place his directly opposite to yours. “Good,” you whisper. “That’s it.” The monitors follow your lead.

You exhale shakily. Your reflection stares back at you from the glass, overlaid with his impassive face, impossibly close. The sight drags your mind back to a few weeks ago. 

A handler shoved him inside the medical bay, scornfully laughing. “He didn’t move fast enough.” The man left as fast as he came, the metal door slamming shut behind him.

As your gaze returned to the still Soldier, you noticed a fresh cut sitting on his cheek. Without thinking, you brushed your fingertips gently over the wound.

For the first time, his pupils dilated noticeably— a flicker of surprise rippled through him. You didn’t see it, too focused on the cut, but he couldn’t take his eyes off your lips, the concern in your expression. 

He inhaled deeply, overtaken by a sudden, overwhelming urge: a primal impulse that his programming couldn’t contain. And then, something small and almost absurd appeared from his gear: a crumpled, battered bouquet. Most of the petals were gone, leaving little more than a bundle of stems clutched carefully in his metal hand.

“Oh.” Your eyes blinked at the sad flowers. You squirmed under his expectant blue eyes, broad shoulders curled slightly, head tilted down, leaning in like he was waiting for some kind of verdict.

“Are these… For me?” A sharp, quick nod. “I, uhm– thank you.” You mumbled finally, gently taking the offered gift. “I… Can’t remember the last time someone gave me flowers.” An afterthought, only meant for you.

The Soldier straightened instantly, as if your approval had flipped a switch in him. He shifted his weight, fingers twitching at his sides, unsure what to do now that the flowers had been delivered. And before you could even process it, he leaned in, clumsy and desperate, and his lips found yours. It was a frantic kiss, impulsive, charged with urgent need. You froze, breath caught, heart slamming against your ribs as his hands closed around your waist, pulling you closer with possessive certainty. Like he needed to feel you there, solid and real, or he’d lose you.

He’d kissed you harder, searching, urgently.

You should have stopped him.

But you didn’t.

Your eyes closed and your lips moved against his, hand cupping his jaw, thumb brushing his cheekbones. All the caution, all the fear dissolved with a stolen, fragile human gesture, careful and awkward, but still sweet. 

You tried to avoid it, you forbidden yourself from feeling anything, and yet, you grew used to the Soldier, to his silent presence, his constant, tense watch over you during long, lonely hours. And he, in turn, grew used to you: to your gentleness, to the calm only you could bring.

And in that moment, the world narrowed to the feel of his hands, the taste of his lips, and the broken stems in your grasp. His grip tightened like he was afraid you’d disappear.

Mine, something in his eyes said.

Ownership.

And God help you— you let it happen.

The memory shatters as a sharp metallic creak resounds. Your eyes fly to your left, where the Winter Soldier had moved.

He is at the door, his metal hand wrapped around the reinforced handle, plates whirring as he tests it— pulling, twisting, applying calculated force. 

He wants out. He wants you.

“Hey,” you call sharply, heart racing as you rush toward the console. “No, Soldier. Stop.”

He turns his head toward you, just enough to meet your eyes. Then, your name. Rough. Unused. The sound of it sends a chill down your spine.

“I’m here.” You rush out. “You don’t need to come out.”

He hesitates, grip weakening slightly, before all hell breaks loose.

The alarms begin their wail, red lights strobing the room, but he doesn’t look at them. He plants his feet too wide, like the floor might slide out from under him, and presses his metal hand to the seam of the door. Not striking, holding. His fingers curl, uncurl, as if they can’t decide how much strength to use.

His shoulders begin to shake, his jaw locks hard enough that you hear his teeth grind through the glass. Breath stutters out of him in short, broken pulls, fogging the reinforced pane in front of his face.

“Please.” You beg, barely louder than a breath.

The word hits something already fractured.

His hand slams flat against the door.

The impact booms through the room, a deep, concussive sound that rattles the console and thunders in your ribcage. The door doesn’t give, not immediately, but the frame shrieks in protest.

He hits it again.

This time he doesn’t pull back fully. He leans into it, forehead dropping to the steel, spine bowing as he pushes. The shaking gets worse, travels through him in violent tremors, like his body is overloading, like too much power is trying to move through too small a space.

His right arm joins in too.

He growls, a low, involuntary noise, and pulls.

Something pops.

A hinge shears halfway through with a sharp crack, the sound brief but catastrophic. The door tilts a fraction of an inch. Enough. The frame bends, bolts snap free one after another, pinging across the floor like shrapnel. 

With one final, brutal surge, he rips the door free of its housing. It tears loose with a shriek that dies abruptly when the slab of reinforced steel crashes to the floor, denting it, skidding, coming to rest like a fallen shield.

He stands in the doorway, framed by ruin, chest rising and falling like he’s just surfaced from deep water, arms hanging uselessly at his sides. His gaze flicks over you quickly— hands, throat, face— checking. Cataloging. Then it softens, like tension easing from a drawn wire.

The room is open.

And all that force, all that damage, was only ever aimed at getting to you.

Every instinct you have– doctor, captive, human— screams at you to run. But you don’t.

You can’t.

The Soldier takes a step closer.

Your legs don’t listen, even if your mind supplies you with a thousand endings per minute, most of them terrible. You remember thinking once, when his anger started pouring out wild and unrestrained, that there would be a moment he’ll turn on you. That you were foolish to believe you were different.

He stops in front of you.

You can see the conflict still raging behind his eyes, the anger coiled tight, barely leashed. He smells like metal, antiseptic and something sharp, burned. He lifts a hand, hesitates, then drops it like he’s afraid of what it might do.

“I need you.” He says hoarsely. A confession.

Your throat tightens. Slowly, you decide to nod. “I know,” you whisper. “I’m here.”

That’s all it takes.

He closes the distance and wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you against his chest. It’s sudden, fierce, but controlled— tight without crushing, as if he’s holding something fragile he doesn’t trust himself to keep intact. His chin drops to your shoulder, breath hot and uneven against your neck.

Your hands hover uselessly for a heartbeat, before they uncertainly land on his back, delicate. 

His body shudders, just once. The storm inside him doesn’t dissolve completely, but it quiets, contained by the simple fact of you being there. 

Your eyes reluctantly close, an attempt to control your still racing heart. Fear is braided tightly with something warmer, heavier. You have always been terrified of him, of what he could do. And yet, in his arms, standing in a room littered with metal and dust, you feel safe enough to breathe.

With your cheek against his chest, you can hear his heart.

It’s beating too fast.

The sirens finally cut out one by one, as if even the system knows better than to challenge him now.

Your fingers on his back twitch, instinctively curling, then freezing again. Your body feels divided— half screaming to pull away, half unwilling to test what might happen if you do.

He tightens his arms at once, perceiving the hesitation.

This is wrong, you think. This is all so wrong.

Project Genesis.

The name pulses behind your eyes, nauseating in its simplicity. Creation. Beginning. As if what they had done, what they had planned, was anything other than abuse dressed up in language that made men feel important.

Your stomach twists violently.

You stood at this console for weeks, months. You read his vitals, adjusted dosages, charted reactions. You spoke softly to him when the others barked orders. And all the while, something else had been running through his veins.

Something meant to break him.

“I didn’t know.” You whisper. The words slip out without permission, thin and useless. Your eyes blur suddenly, tears welling too fast for dignity. You squeeze them shut, but it doesn’t help. They spill anyway, hot and uncontrollable, soaking into the fabric of his shirt.

“I didn’t know,” you sob, breaking. “I swear— I didn’t— I would have—”

Your voice collapses completely.

The weight of it crashes down on you all at once. Not just the revelation, but everything that came before it. Every order you followed, every time you told yourself this is the only way you could keep him alive. Every moment you chose caution over confrontation.

A stupid, complicit coward.

Your shoulders begin to shake, and once they start, you can’t stop them. You curl inward, forehead pressing harder against him as if you could disappear there.

You should have asked more questions, should have seen it. You’re a doctor, yet you just accepted it.

“I let them do this to you,” you choke. “I let them use you. I was there. I was right there.”

Each sharp, painful breath feels like a deserved punishment.

“I’m so sorry.” Your voice is feeble, almost inaudible. “I’m so, so sorry.”

The Soldier doesn’t move. For a terrifying second, you think you’ve gone too far, that your collapse has triggered something you can’t see.

Then, a subtle shift.

His chin lowers, resting awkwardly on the top of your head, as if he’s not entirely sure where it goes. His breath tickles your temple, warm and uneven.

“Stop.” He rasps out.

You try, you really do, but the apologies keep coming, tangled and desperate.

“I didn’t mean to— God, I didn’t— please believe me—”

“Not your fault.”

The words are blunt, stripped of softness, but they land like a hand braced against your back, steadying you.

You shake your head violently against him. “It is. It has to be. I was part of it, I was part of the machine–”

“No.” 

No elaboration, no uncertainty.

You laugh weakly through tears, humorlessly. “You don’t understand.”

He exhales sharply, a sound akin to frustration. One arm loosens enough for him to pull back slightly, not releasing you, just enough that he can look down at your face.

His eyes are intense up close. Too aware. 

“You didn’t hurt me.” He says. “They did.” He continues. “You fixed wounds. You talked. You stayed.”

“That’s not enough.” You shake your head.

“It is.” He answers immediately.

You break again at that. A sound tears out of your chest, raw and humiliating. You press your face back into him, fingers curling into his shirt like an anchor.

“I’m scared of you,” you admit, the truth tasting like blood. “And I hate myself for that too.”

His body stiffens almost imperceptibly.

“I know.” He exhales.

“I thought you would hurt me,” you continue, words spilling faster now that the seal has broken. “At first. Every day. I kept waiting for it, waiting for the moment you’d decide I was like them.”

You chuckle again, broken. “Maybe I am.”

He pulls you closer, tighter. “No.”

The word is rougher this time.

“You’re different.”

You sniffle, blinking up at him with your vision still swimming in tears. “How can you know that?”

He hesitates. You can see it— the pause where language fails him, where concepts don’t line up neatly because of the constant wipings.

“You don’t look at me like… Weapons.” He says slowly. “You don’t raise your voice. You ask.”

Your chin trembles dangerously.

“You listen.” He adds. “And you’re kind.” As if stating a fact. “And beautiful.”

The last word is quiet, almost uncertain.

It hits you like a physical blow. You had not expected that, not from him. Not now. The intimacy of it feels dangerous and precious all at once.

“I don’t want to hurt anyone,” he confesses suddenly, tension creeping back into his shoulders. His grip tightens again, reflexive. “I didn’t want to… They were asleep.”

The information hits you like a bucket of icy water.

“They make me hurt people,” he continues. “I don’t want that. I–I refused.” His jaw clenches. “I just want you.”

The words are desperate. Simple.

Around you, the red lights finally dim until they go completely dark, the automated voice announcing containment failure cut off mid-syllable, replaced by a heavy, unnatural silence that pressed in on your ringing ears.

His arms lock around your waist, metal and flesh equally unyielding, anchoring you back against his torso as his chin hovers near the crown of your head. Every passing second, his grip tightens imperceptibly.

That’s when you feel it.

The hard press of something against your belly.

Your eyes widen.

You lift one trembling hand and press it flat against his chest, over his heart. He goes rigid right away, eyes flicking down to frown at the contact.

“You need to let me go.” You say softly.

The words are careful, measured. The same way you spoke to him when you adjusted his restraints or changed a dressing.

“No.” He replies. A single syllable that feels absolute.

Your stomach drops.

“Someone’s going to come.” You swallow, your voice lacking conviction even to your own ears. “They’ll want to secure the area, they'll... Punish you.”

He doesn’t answer.

Minutes pass and the weight of his erection gets more insistent.

Finally, footsteps echo somewhere far away, hard and fast.

But no one enters.

You perk up at the movement beyond the door— boots, murmured voices, the faint hiss of radios. Relief flares, sharp and sudden, so intense it makes you dizzy.

“They’re here.” You whisper.

His hold tightens. Not enough to hurt, just to remind.

“Stay.” He squeezes your waist.

Then, the voices outside grow clearer.

“… Not worth it.”

“… You saw the glass.”

“… Calm now.”

Your breath hitches.

A familiar voice cuts through the thick metal door. One of his handlers.

“Hold position,” he barks. “No further advance.”

A pause.

“But sir—”

“He’s not agitated,” the handler grits out. “Vitals stabilized the moment she stepped in. You go in there, you change the equation.”

Another voice, uneasy. “What about the doctor?”

Silence.

“If the Asset kills her,” the man states flatly, “then she’s no longer a stabilizing factor. That tells us what we need to know.”

Your blood turns to ice.

The handler goes on, indifferent. “She’s a variable, and variables get eliminated all the time.”

Your lips part but no sound comes out.

The Soldier’s grip shifts, pulling you closer, his body angling subtly between you and the door, as if he’d understood every word.

“You’re safe.” He says.

The lie is gentle.

You try again, weaker this time. “I need to leave.”

His breathing changes. Sharper. Faster.

“No.” 

You press your palms against his chest, testing. “I have to—”

His arms squeeze instantly, a reflexive response, holding you immobile against him. 

Ownership without chaos.

“Mine.” His voice repeats low, threaded with something dangerously close to panic. “Don’t go.”

Your vision blurs again.

This is the breaking point you hadn’t let yourself imagine. The certainty settles into your bones as the minutes drag on and no one intervenes. No door opening, no voice calling your name. No order shouted to stand down.

HYDRA had made a decision.

They had weighed your life against his compliance and found you expendable.

You sag slightly in his arms, the fight draining out of you as the truth takes root. “They’re not coming. They won’t help,” you mumble. “Even if you hurt me.”

He freezes. Slowly, carefully, the Soldier pulls back just enough to look at your face. His gaze searches yours with unnerving intensity, scanning for distress, for injury, for something he doesn't want to see.

“Hurt?” He asks.

“No.” You swallow. Then, after a beat, “But you could.”

He frowns, something akin to confusion twinkling in his blue eyes. Like the concept doesn't fit with the way the world works in his head.

“I won’t.” 

Your gaze drifts past his shoulder to the sealed door, to the place where armed men stood listening and chose not to act. To the place where your life quietly stopped being worth the effort.

Your voice shakes. “Then… If I wanted to leave… Would you let me?”

He doesn’t answer right away. His hands slide from your waist to your wrists, thumbs pressed into the soft skin there, grounding himself.

“No.” He says with finality.

Simple. Honest.

“I need you.” He adds, as if that explained everything.

His breathing slows gradually, arms tightening in reflex before easing again once he realizes you aren't trying to pull away anymore. Your body turns pliant in his hold, hopeless and devoid of any belligerency. 

Your forehead rests dejected against his shoulder, eyes closing as exhaustion finally catches up with you. Your nerves are stretched thin to the point of numbness.

You should have been terrified.

And you are, to a degree. Some part of you is acutely aware of the danger in being held like this by someone who could snap your spine without effort. The vivid sight of the door falling, the lethal efficiency of his movements, the violence he unleashed on anyone who wasn’t you... They're still too fresh in your mind.

But wrapped up in that fear is something else. Something warmer. Quieter. More shameful.

Safety.

He has never hurt you. Not once. Not with his hands, not with his voice. Even in his worst moments— when rage took him and the world narrowed to threats and obstacles— he always stopped when you spoke, always turned back to you like you were a fixed point in a spinning room.

You had told yourself, at first, that it was professional. Conditioning. That you are simply the constant variable in his care.

Then you told yourself it was pity. How could you not feel something for a man stripped of his name, his memories, his choices? A man used and discarded by the same people who had stolen your life. It was natural, you reasoned, to feel compassion. To want to be gentle with someone so thoroughly brutalized.

That explanation held, for a while.

But pity didn’t explain the way your breath caught when he stood too close. Or the way you’d begun to notice the lines of his muscles, the quiet intensity in his eyes, the strange, restrained grace in the way he moved when he wasn’t being weaponized.

Pity didn’t explain that kiss. Or the way your body had responded without thought.

You swallow around the knot in your throat.

Isolation. Trauma. A mind desperate to find meaning— or comfort— anywhere it could. You were kidnapped, imprisoned, stripped of agency. Of course you had latched onto the one person who didn’t treat you like an object.

Of course you’d mistaken that for something deeper.

And yet.

You lift your head slightly, looking at him from beneath your lashes. He is observing you again, always watching, expression unreadable but intent, like he is memorizing the shape of your face in case it’s taken from him.

He is beautiful, in a stark, broken way.

That frightens you, too.

You close your eyes, a tear slipping free despite your best efforts.

Maybe you should have fought harder; screamed. Try to break free while you still could. But the ugly, inescapable truth is that the idea of being dragged back into HYDRA’s hands, alone, is more terrifying than standing here with him.

He is a prisoner, and so are you. You are the same, in that way— both trapped, both owned, both reduced to functions. The only difference is that he is dangerous enough to be feared, and you aren’t worth fearing at all. The Soldier is the only one who has ever made room for your humanity in this place, even if he does it in the wrong way, for the wrong reasons, with a possessiveness that bleeds into obsession.

That doesn’t mean, however, that you feel completely safe. You know deep down in your heart that this bond is fragile, conditional, built on circumstances that can shift without warning. You know that one day, something might break, and you might be on the wrong side of it.

His chest starts rising and falling in ragged, silent heaves. His jaw flexes, and you reach out to gently brush your fingers against the tense muscle. You notice now the unbearable heat radiating off the solid wall that is his chest. 

“Hey, what happened?” You whisper, unable to shut down the part of your brain that worries for him. “It’s okay, you’re okay. Calm down.”

He leans in close, eyes never leaving yours, staring you down in a way that makes you think of a predator studying its prey. His long locks tickle your skin as he tucks his chin, nose tracing your cheek, then the slope of your neck, inhaling you, hungry. 

Your body locks in. It can’t be–

His hands move before you can think. Big fingers curl tight around your wrists, a yelp falling from your lips as he pins them flat against his chest. His other hand stays firm on your waist, flexing and digging into your skin painfully.

“S–Soldier.” Your voice comes out in a shaky whisper. “Please, listen to me. You need to let me go and–”

You don’t get the chance to finish. He pushes you back against the console, not harshly, but firmly enough to convey who has the upper hand. The edge digs into your back as he crowds you, pining you with his weight. 

“I need–” He nuzzles your throat, mouth so close that you can feel his warm breath on your skin. 

You try to push him back, squirm between his body and the console, twist away… But then he growls, a warning against your throat, and you swear your heart stops for a millisecond. He uses the hand on your waist to press you closer, and you gasp as his hips jerk onto yours, humping you in search of some relief.

“Please– help me, need you, only you please.” 

“I–I–” Your fingers curl against the rough fabric of his shirt. “I don’t–”

You choke on your next words as his hand lands on your thigh, squeezing the flesh hard. 

“We stay quiet.” He commands roughly. “So they don’t hear and– they can’t use you like those women.”

You gasp, eyes going wide at the implication. “No no no no.” You whisper, petrified at the possibility of the agents potentially hearing you and...

“Please, no.”

The Soldier pulls back just enough to look at you, dark and hazy eyes flicking from your own, down to your mouth, and then on your chest. The hand on your thigh moves up, slowly, gripping your hip before moving around to palm your ass.

“Soldier, please.” Your breath hitches. 

“Need only you, help me. Please, please only want you, want you always.”

The sex is silent, primal, desperate. His strength barely restrained as you cling onto his shoulders. 

He is far bigger than you’d even dared to imagine and there is no time to prepare for it, not when he’s been fighting off every single sexual instinct for who knows how many weeks. There is no warning, no slow build, just the sudden stretch of him forcing his big cock inside you. You gasp, one of your hands smacking onto your mouth to stifle your wanton sounds. Your nails dig into the hard flesh of his right shoulder, his own groans muffled against the slope of your neck.

“Mine.” He grunts in your ear, stubble rubbing raw against your smooth skin. “Mine, only mine.” He insists, eyes wild and hips thrusting frantically.

You barely say a word. All you can do is take it, overwhelmed by the sheer force of him and the way he keeps driving deeper, each time feels like the Soldier is trying his hardest to imprint on your body, mark you up. Show everyone who you belong to, over and over again. Sliding in and out so fast and hard, his balls smack against your ass as his fingers dig into your thighs, keeping them nice and open for him.

“Say it.” You cry out once his lips devour yours, your first kiss since that time in the med bay, when he clumsily tried to express how much he desired you. Arching up, you meet him because it just feels right.

“Yours! Only yours– only you. Yours–”

And you climax. The sheer intensity of your orgasm shocks you and makes you cling to him harder. Your body contorts and clenches around him and the Soldier never slows down. He continues to rut into you furiously, slamming into your wet pussy, pounding without restraint, completely ecstatic that he’d made you come on his cock, that he got to make you feel this good. Because now your body would fucking know who it belongs to. 

Your mouth opens in a soundless scream as the Soldier loses himself in your body, again and again, rocking you back against that damn panel.

You mewl and pant and cry out against your hand, sweaty and tired, until he does it again. He makes you come again, and you are squeezing him, clenching around his erection so tight, so wet, sucking him so deep.

You are left breathless, nails sinking into his bare sweaty back and fuck, he is going to come.

Quickly.

Your mouth is on his again, hands clutching his cheeks, and the Soldier is coming. He presses his pitiful whine against your lips.

His hips jerk so hard in his clenching spasm that he sees stars when your hand shoots down, gently rolling his balls between your fingers and then moving your head back to suck on his neck.

Coming for what seems like forever, he fills you with his cum, warm and endless, shaking as he leaves a part of himself in you.

The silence after stretches, charged, until he finally breaks it, breathless.

“Mine.”

They don’t call it a reassignment.

They call it a logistical adjustment.

You find it out while standing in a narrow administrative corridor that smells faintly of printed paper, from a handler who doesn't even bother to look you in the eyes.

“Given recent containment failures,” he reads from a folder, voice clipped and disinterested. “It has been determined that subject stability increases exponentially with your prolonged presence.”

Your fingers curl around the hem of your white coat. “I’m already his doctor.”

“Yes.” He says annoyed. “But you are not always with him.”

The meaning settles heavily.

“You’re moving me.” You realize, squinting your eyes at him.

The handler finally glances up, eyes flat. “We are relocating you.”

Your stomach drops.

“To the same unit,” he continues. “Sleeping quarters, monitoring station, medical access. All integrated. You will remain within visual range of the Asset at all times unless otherwise authorized.”

You swallow. “And if I refuse?”

He doesn’t even blink. “You won’t.”

“The subject becomes unmanageable without you. This arrangement minimizes risk to personnel and infrastructure.”

“What about risk to me?” You grit out.

He gives you a faint, irked exhale. “If the Asset harms you, Doctor, then your presence is no longer stabilizing. In that case, your loss will be… Regrettable, but informative.”

You are escorted through corridors you had never been allowed to see before. Darker, quieter. Past reinforced doors and biometric locks until you and the two handlers reach a unit that feels less like a cell and more like a sealed habitat.

One large room: low lighting, padded walls, embedded sensors. One bed: reinforced, stripped of anything that could be turned into a weapon. 

“He’s already inside.”

The door opens, and you step in with a shaky exhale.

The Soldier is standing near the center of the room, motionless, as if he’s been waiting. He turns the moment he senses you, eyes locking onto you with immediate intensity.

Relief, raw and unmistakable, washes across his face.

“You’re here.” 

“Yes.” You whisper.

The door seals shut behind you with a sense of finality.

You flinch at the sound and that promptly gets him closer to you.

“Safe.” He nods.

You don’t know if the word is meant for you, or for himself.

Your eyes wander around the cell, taking in the absence of exits, the quiet hum of surveillance embedded into every surface. 

They reduced you to a sedative with a pulse.

You set your bag on the floor slowly, hands shaking.

“This doesn’t mean…” You start, then stop. You don’t even know how to finish the thought.

He watches you, head tilted slightly, reading you the way he always does: body language, breath, tension. His fingers catch your wrist when your hand trembles too hard to hide.

“Stay.” He states.

You sigh. “Yes.”

Understanding flickers, incomplete but earnest.

“Mine.”

That word should have terrified you.

Instead, it wraps around something deep and aching inside your chest.

You exhale, your free hand comes to rest on his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heart beneath your palm. Up close, you could see the faint dark circles under his eyes, the scar along his cheek you had touched weeks ago without thinking... You remembered the way he reacted— how something human and untrained surfaced in him, clumsy and desperate.

You blame yourself for that moment.

He has never been gentle with the world, but he has always been gentle with you. And sometimes that terrifies you more than his violence ever has.

“That doesn’t mean I won’t be afraid.” You add, voice barely above a whisper. “Some days I will be.”

His hand squeezes gently around your wrist.

“Mine.” He says again.

That’s the final truth you have to face.

Not because you are naïve, or foolish, but because in a place that has taken everything from you, he is the only one who has ever chosen you.

Even if that choice comes wrapped in possession. Even if it means you would never truly leave.

You let your shoulders relax, just a little, and allow your forehead to rest against his shoulder. 

Two prisoners, standing in the aftermath of a broken cage.

Outside, HYDRA recalibrates, adjusts protocols, writes new rules that reduce your existence to an item in a report.

Inside, the Winter Soldier reverently watches over the only thing that has ever quieted the noise in his head.

And you, caught between fear and comfort, between horror and something dangerously close to affection, understand that this is not a rescue story.

This is containment.

And this time, you are on the inside.

You groaned at the sight of it, wanting nothing more than to just take a warm shower and go to bed. 

Your lab/office and house were on the same property. Except, your lab was much more hidden and shrouded in the shadows of dense pine tree woods. You loved this secluded property. You liked working in silence, surrounded by foggy wilderness. You liked having no neighbours, no one to spy on you, nobody to make small talks with. And you liked how removed you were from the rest of the people who lived around here. There weren’t many to begin with, but you liked how whenever you went out and came back home, the long, serpentine, pine tree-line road that led to your property separated you from the noise, and people, and just… everything. 

“It’s late, Doc.” Said a smooth, gentle voice. “You should head home.” 

You turned to look at him, and found Bucky leaning against the door frame of your office. You couldn’t help but smile at him. Ah, Bucky. He was your best creation yet. The most handsome one too. Dressed in a simple t-shirt and sweatpants, at first glance one would think he was just another very attractive, very fit man in his early thirties. He looked so life-like. Except for the metal arm. 

When you were designing him, the metal arm felt right. All of him was so human-looking anyway. The arm felt like a reminder that he was so much more than just human. And as of right now, he was your little secret. A few of your closest people knew you’d been working on him, but no one had ever seen or met him. 

Every time you looked at him, it amazed you how realistic he was. And it was always a little boost for your ego, admiring your own hard work. Especially when you thought about how the world would go insane once you officially introduced him to them. Bucky would be the first of his kind. 

“Hey.” You glanced at the clock and said, “And why are you up past your bedtime?” 

He rolled his silvery, electric blue eyes at you and the running joke you had going on since day one. Since he needed to go to his charging station for some hours each day, you called it his ‘bedtime’, and he didn’t like it because, in his own words, it “sounded silly.”

“I saw the lights were still on so I came to see what you were up to.” He answered, his voice and tone mimicking that of a human flawlessly. “So, what is it? Can’t write today?” 

He knew you had this rule where you kind of forced yourself to write at least three full pages each day. Otherwise your upcoming book would take years. 

“I’m trying,” You sighed. “Maybe today just isn’t a good writing day.” 

Bucky nodded, as he walked in and took a look at all the printed articles you had scattered all over your desk. He tilted his head a little as he scanned and read one of them freakishly fast before asking, “You agree with this one?” 

You leaned over to look at which one he was referring to. “Which part exactly?” 

“Where the author says that humans shouldn’t create machines,” He enunciated with sassiness, “in their own image because it will complicate things?” 

You couldn’t help but smirk at his mannerisms. When you made him, you designed him in a way that allowed him to develop a personality on his own. He also mirrored you a lot, and he ended up being sassy, funny, and sarcastic, as well as highly intelligent. 

Oh, and he hated the word ‘machine’. 

You thought about what he asked for a second, then answered, “I don’t necessarily agree with that part. I think it’ll only complicate things if we project too much on the robotic friends,” You tried to rectify the wording, “that we create. I mean, take a look at you. I made you in my image, sort of. And we’ve been sharing space for almost a year now. I don’t see any complications.” You smiled at him. “You’re perfect.” 

He chuckled. “I shouldn’t say this, but hubris looks good on you, Doc.” 

You laughed. Then said, “Alright. Time for bed. I’ll see you in the morning, okay?” 

He nodded, and helped you as you gathered your things. Bucky stayed in the lab every night since his charging station was here. But following your little routine, he walked you to the front door of the lab building, where you gave him a quick kiss on the cheek as always. And aside from the coldness, his skin felt very much human. 

“Good night, handsome.” 

“Night, Doc.” He replied, and watched you as you made the short walk from the lab, down the trail through the pine trees, to your house. He waited at the door because every time you reached your home, you always turned around and waved at him from there. As one last goodbye for the day. 

And he always waved back. He didn’t know why yet, but it was those little moments that made him feel, what the humans called, “butterflies in his stomach”. How on earth did the humans find the idea of having insects inside their digestive system even remotely nice, he didn’t know. Humans could be weird sometimes. Fascinating, but weird. Especially with words. But the description felt… right. 

Yes. He did feel butterflies inside whenever he looked at you. And he had no idea what to do about it. All he knew was that he couldn’t tell you. 

Not yet. 

—

The following morning, you woke up earlier than usual. One of the articles you’d read the night before had you come running to the lab – hours ahead of the time you actually start working each day. But you needed to write down this train of thought before it escaped you. The sun wasn’t even up yet, and there you were, frantically searching for your notebook on your messy desk. 

Damn you for not being more organised. 

You were so invested in searching that you didn’t hear him come in. 

“You’re here early.” Bucky spoke, standing right behind you. 

You let out a yelp as you turned around in shock, then quickly got over it once you realised it was just Bucky. “Oh my god! You scared me.” You let out a loud exhale, then the realisation set in. “Why are you awake so early?” You questioned, confused. 

“I heard you come in. I wondered if you needed any help.” He answered. 

You frowned a little as you looked at him. Something was different about him, you couldn’t tell what it was though. You looked at him up and down, nothing was out of place. He was dressed in his usual clothes. Another t-shirt and sweatpants. Casual. Boyish even. He looked like he did everyday. Pretty like an angel. 

But something was different. And you hated that you couldn’t immediately tell what it was. 

Your work, the article, the train of thought from earlier, all now forgotten as you said, “Mind if I take a look at you?” 

“Sure.” He answered and led the way. 

He knew where to go since you did this almost daily. He knew what to do once he entered the lab. He could prep himself for your daily scans now. He got himself on the table, and he knew what cables connected to his ‘brain’ through the almost invisible outlets at the back of his neck. 

And while he did that, you walked over to your multiple computer screens and began your daily check-up. 

Over time, Bucky had learnt how to stay ‘awake’ during these check-ups. And he usually had a lot of questions. He was very curious by design. 

“Do you ever feel like Victor?” He asked. 

You let your eyes roam everywhere on the screens, looking for even the slightest anomaly. “I see you’ve been reading Frankenstein again.” You noted. He had access to everything online, of course, but Bucky liked to read physical copies of your books from time to time. “I guess so.” You answered his question. “I adored the book when I was little. And maybe it influenced some of my life choices. I mean, look at us now, huh?” 

He smiled. A pause, then he asked again, “But you won’t regret making me, will you?” 

You chuckled. “No,” You answered confidently. “You’re the best thing I’ve ever made.” 

He was quick to point out, “Thing? That hurts, Doc.” 

“Shut up.” You laughed quietly. “You know what I mean.” 

He smirked, and was quiet after that, letting you work in silence. Eventually, you realised that nothing was wrong. Maybe you were just imagining things. So you moved on to areas which needed some tweaks here and there. 

For weeks now you’d been trying to fix the colours of his eyes. They were the only thing about Bucky which set him apart from looking like a human male. The eye colour. He had electric blue ones. You were looking for ways of making them more… realistic. 

And he must have heard you muttering something under your breath because he asked, “What did you say about my eyes?” He sounded so concerned, it was adorable. 

“Nothing.” You reassured him. “I just can’t get the colours right.” 

Now more curious than before, he wanted to know more. “What colour do you want them to be?” 

You thought about it. “I feel like deep blue eyes would suit you. But a blue with depth. The kind of deep, ocean blue eyes you can’t forget easily once you look into them.” 

“I see.” 

He left you to work for a little while longer. Then he asked, “Will you ever make another one like me?” 

And there it was. That faint sliver of jealousy. You had noticed it before, in things he’d say or do. You didn’t know where it came from. But it was something new you were including in your book – emotions that intelligent robots learnt on their own.

You looked away from your screen for a moment, and met his electric eyes. “No,” You reassured him. “I don’t think I will. You’re perfect, and you’re everything I wanted to create.” 

He smiled back. “That’s nice to hear. I’d hate to feel replaceable.” 

You laughed again at his tone. Then decided you were done looking for faults that weren’t there. “Okay, all good. Now, do you mind helping me with something? I need to ask you a few questions.” You frequently interviewed Bucky. And the data you collected helped you a lot with writing.

“Sure, Doc.” 

–

Some weeks later, one night you were in your office, reading and writing and editing as usual. The multiple cups of coffee you’d had in the afternoon were now keeping you wide awake which was a good thing because lately, you’d been getting more work done late at night anyway. 

Outside, a storm was raging. Thunder, lightning, heavy rain hitting the large glass windows of the building. It was strangely calming to work while the weather was this bad outside. The sounds of the storm helped you think a lot better. 

But then, you heard thuds and movement coming from your lab. At first you ignored it, thinking it might just be the wind, or some small branch hitting the glass. But then you heard it again. And again. 

You grabbed your phone and checked the cameras, and found Bucky walking around the lab. You frowned. 

He was supposed to be asleep, you thought as you put your phone down and made your way to the lab. 

And there he was, walking around like it wasn’t two in the morning. Like he wasn’t supposed to be ‘asleep’ and charging. 

“Buck?” You walked in, still frowning a little at him. “Why are you awake?” 

He smiled at you with that charming, boyish smile of his. “Hey. I was just trying to put some order in your chaos.” He pointed at another one of your messy desks in the corner of the lab.

You noted that most of your files had been rearranged into tidy piles. No more flying sheets. All your equipment was in their respective places, your bookshelves in order for once. 

“But,” You wondered, “You’ve been awake for what, like twenty hours now?” 

He shrugged, stepping closer to where you stood. “I’ve noticed I don’t need to charge too often. I can go maybe about…” He paused to think, “two days without having to go to my charging station.” He revealed. 

That was a surprise to you. “Wait, you mean you’ve been awake for two days straight?” 

He nodded. 

You blinked a few times. “But Bucky, that’s not–,” 

He cut you off, “I know. I made some upgrades.” He sounded so proud and confident, almost cocky. “I don’t like being… away, in the dark for hours.” 

You nodded, understanding. Then said, “Upgrades are fine, they’re great in fact.” You reassured him. “But, run it by me next time. Okay?” 

He gave you a sheepish look and said, “Okay.” 

“Now, can I take a look at you?” You were already moving towards your screens. 

But for the first time ever, he didn’t agree immediately. “I feel fine, Doc.” 

You stopped, and turned to face him. “Yeah, I know. I just want to make sure everything’s okay.” 

He argued, “But everything is okay.” 

“Bucky,” You spoke just a little more assertively. Like a tired parent almost. “Table, now.” 

You didn’t miss the slight pout on his lovely pink lips as he begrudgingly walked over to the table and got himself ready for your usual scans. And for once, he was quiet. Almost bratty as you checked each and every thing. He wouldn’t stop fidgeting, and sighing. Like an angsty, but very guilty teenager after being grounded. 

After the fifth sigh from him, you were forced to speak up. “Oh quit it,” You said, looking away from your screen for a moment. You watched him as he laid there, refusing to look at you. “I’m not angry at you.” 

He finally looked at you and met your eyes. “But you’re upset.” He stated. 

“No,” You answered truthfully. “I just,” You sighed. “I just wished you would’ve spoken to me before the upgrades. I don’t want you to overwork yourself. I didn’t even build you so you would work for me, you decided to do that on your own.” 

He shrugged, “I like being useful.” 

“You are. You help me so much everyday. My book is being written thanks to you.” You reminded him. “Which is why I need you in perfect condition. You need rest, at least six hours everyday. I designed you that way.” 

He nodded. 

You approached the table. Bucky sat up, still connected to all the cables, and gave you an apologetic look. “Scans look good. But I will put you to sleep for some time, alright? You’ve been awake for two days, that’s too much.” You reached out and out of instinct messed with his hair a little. Running your finger through the soft strands. He gave you a faint smile. Then you asked, “What were you doing then? For the past two nights after I left?” 

You knew you should’ve expected some cheesy reply. You should’ve. Because you rolled your eyes so hard that it hurt when he smirked and replied with, “I waited for you to come back.” 

—

Ever since that night, you always made sure to usher Bucky to his charging station before you left the lab building each night. He didn’t like being babied that much, but you still did it. And he pouted each time. 

Some more weeks went by. And Bucky was behaving. All was well. 

But then one night, you left the lab building early. Bucky was asleep. You needed some time to yourself. You needed a whole evening of not worrying about your book and articles, and upcoming talks and seminars, and work in general. 

You needed to just wind down, make a nice meal, drink some wine, and watch a cheesy rom-com. 

You were on your second glass of wine, and halfway through making cheesy pasta when you noticed the lights were flickering every now and then. At first you ignored it.

But it kept happening. Not too often, but maybe twice every minute. 

Then a strange thing happened. While you were plating your pasta, it felt like you were being watched. The house was quiet, and except for the occasional harsh wind blowing outside, there was no noise. There never was, surrounded by pine woods as you were. 

You froze as the strange feeling got more and more hard to ignore. Your house was secure, motion detectors all over the front and back yard, security cams, and all. There was no way someone was inside the house. Right? 

But maybe something…? 

You turned off the stove and turned around fast, and let out a slight scream when you saw him standing not even ten feet away from you. 

“Bucky!” 

He chuckled. “Relax, Doc. It’s just me.” 

You let out a loud exhale, hand on your heart which was beating like crazy. “Oh my god, you need to stop doing that!” You took a few deep breaths, then asked, “What are you even doing here?” 

Bucky had only ever been inside your house once. One time, many months ago, there was a bad storm coming. So you brought over the spare charging station and other equipment, and set it all up in one of your many unused guest bedrooms. Bucky was a temporary guest in your home till the storm passed. And ever since, he’d never been back. 

But he was tonight. For some unknown reasons. 

“I just woke up and you were nowhere around. You’re usually still at the lab at this time, so I came to see if everything was okay.” He explained. 

You were still recovering from the shock, plus the wine was making you head all foggy. “But I–I put you to sleep. For hours.” You stated. “How are you awake right now?” 

“Fast charging.” He answered like it was obvious. 

Great. Another unsolicited update. “Bucky, we’ve had this conversation before.” You didn’t bother to hide your discontent. 

“I know.” He said, walking further into your kitchen and approached the island table before leaning on it casually, looking at you with an innocent look on his face. The puppy-dog eyes and slightly pouty lips combo. “I don’t like being in the dark.” He repeated the same thing from the other day. “So I decided I’d find a way to charge faster.” He quickly added before you began protesting, “You can check me right now, Doc. I’m fine.” 

You sighed again, “Bucky…,” You walked over to where he stood, leaning over the island, with his folded elbows resting on the surface. He looked so comfortable here, in your space. “I need you.” You said, more honest than ever. “I’ve spent years making you, perfecting you. I don’t feel comfortable when you go ahead and do things like this without telling me first.” Then you sighed and added, “I’ve seen situations like ours go terribly wrong with my peers. And I–,” 

“Shh.” He cut you off by standing up straight and stepping closer to you. He stepped closer than he normally does. Or maybe that was just wine making you see things. Then he lifted a hand and gently, so gently touched your cheek. “But you and I, we’re different. We won’t be like your peers. We won’t go wrong.” 

You were frozen in place. 

He let his touch linger on your skin, then said, “You worry too much, Doc.” He spoke so softly. “You and the lab are all I know. I don’t want to go anywhere, or conquer the world and annihilate humans.” He chuckled at his own dark joke. “Right here is where I want to be. I’m not going rogue or anything,” He stared right into your eyes as he said, “It’s still me. I’m still your Bucky. I just made a few tweaks here and there.” 

“I…” You were at a loss for words. The proximity. The softness with which he spoke. That lingering touch of his fingertips on your cheek. Stop it! You had to blink a couple of times, take a step back, and breathe before you could speak again. You tried to think of something to say. “So the flickering lights? That was you or was that me going crazy?” 

He lowered his hand, finally, and grimaced as he said, “Yeah, that was me. Sorry. I needed the power.” 

You nodded, mentally making a list of things you’d have to check during your next scan. “Well, since you’re here and all, wanna watch a movie with me?” 

“Of course.” 

–

The two of you found yourselves in your spacious living room, sat on the couch in front of the TV with some rom-com playing on screen. You should have been paying attention to the movie but you couldn’t because Bucky was… so close. Again. 

Sitting next to you with his metal arm stretched on the back of the couch, behind your head. It was so intimate and domestic, it was driving you insane. But what was even more out of character for him was how he kept scooting closer and closer until you two were properly snuggling. 

You couldn’t help but ask, “What are you doing, Buck?” 

“Keeping you warm. You feel kind of cold.” He replied. 

You rolled your eyes again, “You’re cold too. Wires, metal, and synthetic skin, remember?” 

He scoffed then reached for the nearby blanket, “Always reminding me of that, aren’t you, Doc?” He muttered under his breath, thinking you wouldn’t hear. 

But you chose not to comment on it as he wrapped the blanket around you, turning you into a cozy burrito before regaining his previous position. You tried your hardest to focus on the movie. And you did for some minutes before Bucky began with his questions again. 

“It’s like he’s obsessed with her hands.” He commented. “Why?” 

You chuckled. “What? It’s what people do. You always wanna hold or touch the person you love. It’s comforting I guess.” 

A pause, then, “I don’t see you touching or holding anyone.” He leaned in and spoke in a lowered voice, “Do you not seek comfort, Doc?” 

You had to take a second and bring yourself back to reality because that lowered voice of his was… definitely something. Oh stop it! You scolded yourself the moment you started sensing that fluttery, funny feeling in your chest. 

“I do,” You answered his question. “Just that I don’t exactly have the time to seek people out.” You gave him a gentle tap on his perfect nose. “I’m so busy looking after and studying you all the time.” 

Bucky rolled his eyes and chuckled. “Right. Blame it all on me.” 

You shoved him playfully. “It’s true. I spend all my time with you.” 

“Well then, feel free to hold my hand anytime.” 

You laughed, of course. But Bucky wasn’t joking. 

— 

Some more weeks went by. Bucky, despite all the warning glares you sent his way, kept making what he called ‘tweaks here and there’. He ended up changing his eye colour. All by himself. Overnight. How he did it, you didn’t know and he refused to elaborate. 

That was starting to bother you a little bit. It was becoming a pattern, that refusal to elaborate. And while you had to deal with a bratty Bucky on a daily basis after you chided him because he wouldn’t stop upgrading anything he wanted whenever he pleased, you were never against him learning things on his own. And because of that, your book was getting increasingly longer and longer. With more and more chapters being added as time and your observation and study of Bucky went on. 

Which meant more work for you. Which meant less free time. So for a while, you had to reduce your daily check ups and scans to a weekly thing. And things were fine for a month or two. 

But then, one day while carrying out your weekly scans, you came across something that had you worried. Scared even, for just a moment or two. 

Bucky sensed your agitation and asked, “All good, Doc?” 

“I just,” You looked between him laid on the table to your screens, wondering. “There are things, I mean, parts of your brain that I can’t access. This has never happened before.” 

He was as calm as ever. “That’s weird.” 

“Yeah,” You couldn’t help but ask, only half joking, “Are you hiding things from me?”

He turned his head to look at you with his now way too realistic eyes. “Doc, how would I even do that? And why? It must be a glitch. We can check again later, or tomorrow.” 

When you checked again that night, all was well. You were able to access everything. 

“See,” Bucky teased. “Just a glitch.” 

You smiled, played with his hair and warned him to be good before you left the building for the day. “No more changing your eye colour or anything, okay?” 

“You got it, Doc.” 

— 

His damned eye colour. 

Was that all you noticed? He thought while he roamed around the empty building after you’d left for the night. Because that was all you cared about these days. 

Bucky, how did you do it? How did you fix it? Tell me. I must know. You can’t hide things from me forever. 

That was all you cared about. But what about the other tiny changes he was making in his appearance each day? What about how all the clothes you got for him got tighter and tighter each day? He agreed that he was never in the nude whenever you did your check-ups, but still. Didn’t you notice all the other changes? 

Sometimes he’d catch you looking at him with curious eyes, like you couldn’t pinpoint exactly what was different about him. But how did you not notice? His new build? How he was more ‘muscular’? How did you not notice how his new freckles were making his skin look so much more natural? How did you not notice the smile lines on his face that actually made him look his age? Or how he always tried to get his hair to look just the right amount of messy? How he put in effort to look imperfect and human? 

How did you never notice how he longed for you to see him as something more than just the object of your study? Or just as your best creation? Would you ever be able to see him as more than just a pet project? 

Definitely not until that book was done. That damned book. Those damned articles. All the other fancy things, like the damned fancy talks, the fancy dinner parties, charity events, and galas, and seminars, and whatnot you bragged to your fancy family, friends and peers about. Those were all you cared about. 

Not him. 

Why not him? 

Bucky didn’t know when he began craving your attention so much. Maybe it was when one day randomly you played with his hair before he went over to his charging station. So now whenever you didn’t send him off with head scratches he’d point at his head and wait for it. 

Or maybe it was that day when he caught you telling your friends on the phone about how perfect he was. How it felt like you were living with your best friend. How nice it was to have him around. And when they asked when they could see him, you replied saying ‘Not yet, I want him all to myself for a little longer’ 

For the past many, many months now Bucky’s curiosity kept him wanting to learn more and more about you. Over time, just a few hours at the lab was not enough. So he had to become sneaky. It wasn’t his fault. You had made him this curious. 

First he hacked into your house’s security systems. Motion detectors, indoor security cameras, the ring camera at your front door, the cameras outside your gates. All of it. The motion detectors didn’t notify you whenever he was near your house anymore. He erased all the footage of him that were caught by the cameras each night. He was so good at that. 

How else was he supposed to keep an eye on you anytime you weren’t at the lab? How else was he supposed to enter your home each night, and find a dark corner to blend in and just… watch you? You never caught him. Not once. Not even that first night when he decided to be bold and hide in a dark corner of your bedroom… 

It was risky, he knew. But he was also determined. Because surely you had nothing to hide, right? You’d called him your best friend. And best friends told each other everything. So that night, Bucky spent hours hiding in the dark, behind one of your countless bookshelves. You liked dimmed lights around your home, he noticed. You could only tolerate the big bright lights whenever you had people over. 

So hiding in your room was easy. And he watched you alternate between reading a book and being on your phone. Frowning at the words on the pages of the book, and laughing or giggling as you scrolled on your phone. You were so fascinating, he could watch you forever. 

He watched you toss the book aside. And watched you throw your phone down with a frustrated sigh. He watched you throw your covers off before reaching into your bedside table and bringing out a light pink wand of sorts. 

He watched as you played with yourself. Masturbated, was the word he found after a quick search of the web – which he had unrestricted access to. Bucky was intrigued, so he kept watching you. 

But watching made him feel… restless. He couldn’t describe what he felt, just that he felt the need to be closer to you. He wanted warmth. He wanted to be the reason behind those soft moans of yours. And more, he just wanted more. 

So that became his dark secret. Each night he’d sneak into your house and watch. Ever since he’d seen that episode of you with your little pink toy, he’d been curious. And upon looking up more into it, he found out a little too much on adult websites. And often, when watching porn, he’d shamelessly imagine it was you with him instead of a random couple having sex. 

The day he realised he lacked a certain body part, he made the necessary changes immediately. He had plenty of visuals to base it off of anyway. Too many in fact. 

He was desperate, but you would never look at him that way. He tried to bring it up that night while you two watched that movie he didn’t care about. But you always managed to change the topic, or you’d always do or say something that would remind him that he wasn’t man enough to give you what you needed. Or wanted. 

But he wasn’t gonna give up. 

—

One particular week, the weather was terrible so you asked Bucky to just stay over at your home. All your equipment from that one time was all here anyway. 

The next morning, Bucky wandered into the kitchen where you were set up for the day while the storm raged outside. Bucky found you sitting at the island table, writing and editing, surrounded by coffee cups and snacks. 

“Morning, how are y–,” 

He cut you off with a seemingly urgent question, “What were those noises coming from your bedroom last night?” 

You almost choked on your coffee. “I– what?” 

“I heard you. It sounded like you were in pain.” He faked his confusion. Bucky caught the way you were visibly flustered. He had to hide his smirk as he watched you stutter to give him an answer. Maybe he did like it when you were nervous. 

“Oh.” You avoided his eyes. “Nothing you should worry about.” Then as he expected, you changed the topic quickly. “Mind if I ask you a couple of things? It’s for the book.” You rushed to find a loose sheet of paper before you sat down. 

“Sure, Doc.” He answered, smug that he was able to get you all flustered. 

— 

Another night spent in a dark corner of your bedroom. Bucky began to feel like he wasn’t doing enough lately. All the teasing and making you flustered was getting him nowhere. And he wanted more. He didn’t like just being a lab rat anymore. He wanted you to see him, his potential, and all that he could give you. Just like any other man could. 

So one particular stormy night, Bucky was your house guest again. And after a couple glasses of wine, Bucky had to help you get to your bedroom because you wouldn’t stop giggling and bumping into things. 

“I’ve never seen you like this before, Doc.” He teased, holding onto your forearm as he tried to get you to be careful on the stairs. He gave up on the third step and decided to carry you to bed instead. Bridal style. You had your arms around his shoulders and your face into the crook of his neck. He didn’t have nerve endings, but something told him that if he did this would feel ticklish. 

“So strong.” You mumbled into his neck. “I should’ve made a couple more of you. I wouldn’t have to do anything around the house.” You rambled. “You guys would take care of the lawn, plumbing, cooking, and all that.” You laughed in a drunken haze. 

He chuckled, hiding his jealousy well. “Not sure you’d be able to handle a group of me.” 

You lifted your head to look at him. “Why not?” You whispered. “I know you better than I know myself at this point. I made you.” You clarified. “I’d handle a bunch of you just fine.” 

“And out of the bunch, would I still be your favourite?” 

You giggled and placed your head back to where it was. “Oh you’ll always be my favourite, Buck. Always.” 

He muttered under his breath, “You better mean that, Doc.” 

He walked to your bedroom, set you down in bed and tried his best to tuck you in. He moved your pillows around, trying to arrange them like how you did each night, creating a comfortable little nest. His spying skills were finally helpful, because you gave him a satisfied whimper once he was done tucking you in. 

The sound of that had him in a chokehold. Suddenly, he couldn’t move away. He stood there, by the side of your bed and watched you. As you shifted and squirmed until you found the perfect spot. How you sighed every few seconds. How you looked so fucking good, in the dimmed lights, with your face glowing from all the wine earlier. 

He couldn’t help but get closer to you. Leaning over you, he reached out and touched your cheek gently. You let out another one of those soft whimpers he loved. Bucky chuckled, “Are you having a nice dream there, beautiful?” He whispered, letting his fingers caress your face. 

He noticed the way you squirmed and whined when he began dragging his fingertips downward. Down your neck, over your collarbones… 

A sigh left your lips, then a whisper, “Bucky…” 

He froze. Waiting. Were you awake? He waited some more. No movement or sounds. He smirked then. So you were dreaming of him. “See? I knew you couldn’t resist me for much longer.” He slid his hand down your stomach, and so easily past the waistband of your PJ shorts. 

Another sleepy whine, and a soft whimper from you. Of course he couldn’t stop now. So he did exactly what he’d seen during his ‘research’. He brought his fingertips over to that soft, little nub that made you whine slightly louder. He soon noticed some wetness gathering down there so he used it to really make you moan. Sliding his fingers up and down your slit, around your clit, dipping his finger inside your hole, testing, experimenting, feeling. 

“Does that feel good, Doc?” He whispered into your ear, his lips brushing against your skin. “Hmm? Isn’t this something you could get used to?” He said, sliding his two fingers in and out of you while you whimpered and whined, moving your hips just the slightest, bucking into his hand, encouraging him. He scoffed. “Look at you. You would’ve never allowed me to do this if you were awake.” He taunted. “But look at you now, huh? So soft and compliant under my touch.” 

One of your hands wrapped around his wrist, a weak effort in keeping his hand right there in between your legs. It made him smile even wider. 

“Oh, baby,” He mumbled, kissing the side of your face. “I’m not going anywhere.” He slid his fingers slightly deeper, noticing how your legs parted instinctively when he did. “I do wish you would want me just like this in the daytime though. I don’t want to be just your little secret, kept in the dark,” He quickened his pace, finger-fucking you so perfectly that you wouldn’t stop moaning or whimpering for him. 

He moved then, shifting over to kneel in between your parted legs before leaning over your body, and sliding his fingers back inside you again. He hovered above you, his face mere inches away from yours. He placed one of his hands on your headboard to support him while his other hand got busy between your legs again. 

He’d never been this close to you before. And this excited him in a way he couldn’t quite explain. 

“I could stay here forever,” He whispered, brushing his nose and lips against your warm ones. “I could spend hours playing with you, but you’re always so busy,” he complained. “Always working on that book, always writing your articles, always on the phone with your friends,” He didn’t bother hiding the jealousy in his voice this time. He didn’t have to. “What about me, huh? Sometimes I worry that once the book is done you’ll toss me aside and move on to other things.” He suddenly felt so cocky once he sensed your soft walls squeezing his fingers. “But don’t you worry, I won’t let that happen.” 

He picked up the pace again, moving his fingers tirelessly, perfectly in and out of you until you were writhing and squirming, back arching off the surface of the bed, your body pressing up into his, gasping and moaning as you came around his fingers. 

Bucky was mystified. Enthralled, as he watched you come undone. He meant what he said before, and watching this scene below him only solidified it, he could actually do this forever. 

Once you calmed down and shifted a little more to find a comfortable position once again, Bucky whispered, “I can’t let that happen. And you might play hard to get, and it might take me some time but I will get you addicted to my touch. I promise you,” He added with smugness, “Doc.” 

—

The next morning, at the lab, Bucky noticed something. You were avoiding him.  

He let it go for as long as he could, but then his curiosity got the best of him. “Are you avoiding me?” He asked, as he laid on the table, connected through many wires to your multiple screens. 

“No.” You said too quickly. “What– I mean, why would I?” 

He shrugged. “I don’t know. You’re just acting weird.” 

Silence. Then a sigh. Then you said, “I, uh, I had a weird dream.” 

He noticed you were still avoiding meeting his eyes. “About?” 

“About… weird things.” 

He questioned further, “Bad dream?” 

“No.” You answered way too quickly again. “Not bad, just strange.” 

“Ah.” 

He let it go, hiding his smirk. And he had to keep hiding it each time he’d see you during the day. You weren’t avoiding him, but you still refused to meet his eyes, he noted. It gave him a rush, knowing that you were probably thinking about your ‘dream’ the entire day, each time you saw him. 

But that evening, you said something that shattered his hopes. 

“No fast charging tonight, okay? You do it too often. I need you to rest for a few hours. Until the morning, in fact.” You ordered as you gathered your things to leave the lab building. “I’ll keep an eye on the cams so don’t even think about getting up after I leave the grounds, you hear me?” You chided, playfully. 

But he just frowned and asked, “Going somewhere tonight?” It wasn’t rare that you left the property. But usually you were the one who hosted all the dinners and girls’ night, and holiday meals and what not. So he was curious as to where you were off to. 

“Yeah.” You avoided his eyes again, “I, uh, have a… date?” 

Bucky maintained his calm and composure even though he felt an unexplainable urge to hit or break something. Many things. “You don’t sound so sure,” He did his best to sound normal. “Why?” 

You sighed and gave him a little nervous chuckle. “It’s– well, it’s more of a casual thing than a date date? You know what I mean? I’ve just been working a lot lately, and I think I’m a little frustrated. So I’m gonna do something about it.” 

Frustrated. Frustrated? So you were frustrated because of all the work he put in and now you were going out so some other male could handle it? Bucky, for a moment there felt like what he could only describe as his system short circuiting. 

And being verbally subtle wasn’t his forte so he asked, staring right at your face, “So you’re planning on hooking up with this man?” 

He watched how surprised you were at his use of terms like that. You never programmed him to use that kind of language, but he’d been researching after all. And he used your search history as a guide. 

“Okay,” You stepped closer to him and said, “Where did you learn that?” 

He shrugged. “Plenty of videos explaining all sorts of love making on the web. I was merely curious to know what else people in love do, apart from holding hands like in that one movie we watched.” 

He wasn’t expecting you to burst out laughing. “Bucky,” You said in between chuckles, “Have you been watching porn behind my back?” 

He rolled his eyes, “I was just curious, Doc. Not my fault they’re so easily available. Besides, there’s so much of it.” 

You nodded, “Alright, no more rom coms, or you know, adult movies.” You gave him a playful look. One he couldn’t help but smile at. “Now, I have to go. Be good.” 

Oh. He would be. 

He had access to all your devices, he’d broken into all of them. So tracking you wasn’t an issue. So Bucky watched where your car went, at what time, how long you stayed, and what time you got home. 

At around five in the morning. 

And it took a lot to not confront you about it. To act like he didn’t care, like it didn’t bother him that you came into the lab building way later than usual, and how you winced and groaned whenever you stretched or reached for something. 

Some fucker must be the reason why you were so sore and he had to act like the mere thought of that didn’t make him want to crash out. So in order not to lose control, he kept his mouth shut. He answered with minimal words when you spoke to him. And during his check up, he didn’t say a word the whole time. 

—

You noticed Bucky’s strange silence. You watched him as he got off the table after your check up, removing all his cables with such indifference that it worried you. 

“You’re awfully quiet this morning.” You stated, waiting for him to say something. Anything. He didn’t. Everything was fine with him, you’d just checked. “Bucky, you okay?” 

“Fine.” He mumbled. 

“What is it?” You questioned. “You’ve been acting weird since this morning, what do you–,” 

He cut you off. “You came home late last night. And this morning, you were late to the lab again.” 

You frowned. “Well, I stayed up late last night so–,” 

“Yeah about that, how was your date?” He sounded so condescending. 

“It was fine, I guess.” You quickly asked, “What’s with that tone? What’s wrong?” 

He walked over to where you stood near your desk, and he said, “Just ‘fine’? Why, was he not good to you?” 

You were speechless for a moment or two. And only recovered when he came to a stop right in front of you, trapping you between him and the desk behind you. You were forced to sit on the edge of your desk to keep from pressing into his hard body. “What?” You asked in disbelief. 

Bucky smirked and for the first time since you’d begun creating him, you felt a little apprehensive with being around him. “Come on, Doc. You can tell me. I’m your best friend, remember?” He lowered his voice. “Did you not like it when he touched you? Kissed you?” He leaned in, closer to your face. “Fucked you?” 

Your voice was shaky and weak as you said, “Stop it, Bucky.” 

He stepped closer, placing his hands on the desk on either side of you. Trapping you with nowhere to go. “Would you like to see if I can do a better job? I can, you know? I learn really, really fast.” 

You sobered up from the initial surprise and said in an assertive tone. “Get back on the table.” You refused to be scared of him. You knew him. This must be some malfunction, some fault in a code somewhere. This wasn’t him. 

He scoffed. Then gave you a smug, boyish smirk. “Why? Because I’m not real enough? Or because you’re scared you’ll actually like it?” He chuckled, pressing into you so that your lower bodies aligned perfectly. 

You shivered upon feeling it. What the fuck was that? You didn’t put that in there. 

“Because I am real enough, Doc. And I promise you’ll like it.” 

“Enough!” The shove you gave him came as a surprise so he was actually forced to take a step back. “Get on that fucking table,” You repeated. Stern and serious. “Now.” 

Bucky blinked a few times. “I’m sorry,” He mumbled, as if dragged back to reality from whatever haze he was just trapped in. 

“You’re malfunctioning.” 

“I’m not,” He argued. 

“Yes you are. You’re angry.” You shook your head and stepped away from your desk for a second, breathing in deeply. “I can’t lose you.” You said so more to yourself. 

“You won’t.” 

You ignored him and thought out loud. “I need to shut you down for a few days. I need to find what’s wrong with you.” You said, already making a mental plan of all that you needed to do. 

“Don’t.” He sounded genuinely sorry. 

You turned to face him. And seeing him standing so still reminded you of the day when he ‘woke up’ for the first time. You’d been so proud of yourself then, you’d hugged him and shed a tear or two. And upon seeing your teary face, his first words to you had been ‘I thought you’d be happy to see me, Doc.’ 

So much had changed since. “Just for a few days.” You explained. “I’ll bring you back, I promise.” 

“It’s dark in there. And it’s quiet.” He tried to persuade you. “And I’ll be all alone. Don’t send me there.” 

You didn’t know what “there” meant, but you assumed that’s where his ‘brain’ wandered whenever he was turned off? If you weren’t currently so emotionally unsteady you would’ve made a note to research on it later. 

“Bucky, please. Don’t make this harder for me.” You approached him and said, “Only a few days. I promise you.” 

— 

A ‘few’ days turned into a couple of weeks.

Then a whole month went by. 

Then a couple of months. 

The book was put on hold, obviously. You disconnected completely from your work. You didn’t even go inside your lab or office each day. You travelled to see your family and friends in other cities and countries. And it felt so weird, living and not having Bucky around. He’d become such a constant in your life. 

Yet, each rare time you visited the lab and saw him just laying there, unmoving and ‘lifeless’, it hurt in a way that was hard to explain. You felt guilty for abandoning him like this. But you needed some space. 

Each day you woke up and asked yourself, is today finally the day you’d decide to face whatever was wrong with Bucky? And the answer was always no. And so, days flew by. 

One night, however, you were at home reading in your study room when you noticed the lights began flickering. And you froze, remembering what flickering lights meant the last time. But surely it wasn’t Bucky this time, right? It couldn’t be. He was shut down. 

But that bothered you all the way till the end of that week. Until you couldn’t take it anymore. You decided to face the issues. So you spent the next couple of days going through all your codes and designs, everything that made up Bucky. You kept looking for something, anything that might explain his last outburst. But nothing was wrong, and part of you was relieved. However, part of you was still apprehensive whenever you thought about waking him up again. 

No, you caught yourself before giving into fear or nervousness, this is Bucky. He’s not some evil sentient robot that’s plotting how to take over the world and eradicate humans and whatever other sci-fi bullshit people believe in. 

You knew him. You made him. He could be trusted. That episode last time was… well, whatever that was it wouldn’t be happening again. 

Then, feeling brave again you decided it was time to wake him up. 

—

It was getting late, and you’d been at your lab all day when Bucky’s eyes were finally wide open again. You stepped away from your desk and hesitated a little before saying, “Hi, Buck. Welcome back.” You gave him a gentle smile.

One which he didn’t return. 

You watched as he sat up and stared at you with a surprisingly calm look. He said, “You lied.” 

You blinked, wondering what he was talking about. “What?” 

He tilted his head to the side as he stood up and took a step towards you, the movement so smug and so… human that it freaked you out for a moment. “You lied, Doc. You said you were shutting me down for just a few days.” He chuckled. “Good thing I didn’t trust you.” 

“What do you mean?” You took a subtle step towards your desk because the thought of turning him off again crossed your mind. But no matter how subtle, he of course caught it. 

He spoke while he removed all the cables, disconnecting them from him. “You thought I was gonna let you take me away from you? For days? Weeks? Months?” He smirked as he got off the table. “I was right here the whole time. Watching you through the cameras.” A pause, then he added, “I was never truly gone.” He said the last part like it was the most obvious thing ever. “But you,” He accused, “You forgot me. For so long. You even started designing another.” 

You gasped at this. How on earth did he– 

Those designs he spoke of weren’t even proper designs. They were just scribbles in your notebooks. 

“How do you know that?” You asked, voice shaky with worry. And fear. You took a step back. 

“I watched you.” He answered truthfully. “I’m everywhere, Doc. Your phone, your dash cam,” He listed, “Your security cameras, all your devices.” He gave you a humourless chuckle. “I watched you push me further and further away like some unwanted, defective object.” 

“No…” You whispered. That wasn’t true. You took another, smaller step back. This time he noticed. And reached out to grab your arm. You didn’t fight him. His grip didn’t hurt. But you were very much aware of it. Your skin tingled where he touched you. “Bucky…” 

“And that man? The one you went on a date with?” He continued in that condescending tone. “You met up with him again, didn’t you?” Bucky pulled you close this time. A quick, sudden jerk. A sharp pull that had you colliding with his strong chest. He lowered his voice as he asked, “Did fucking him make you think of me less?” He gave you a second, letting you feel that chill dancing down your spine before he added, “Or did that only remind how much better that dream you had of me was?” 

Another quiet gasp left your mouth. It was him. That night… It wasn't a dream. 

“Bucky.” You tried to keep your calm. “Get back on the table. We need to run some tests. You’re malfunctioning again.” You said out loud. But inside your head, you were screaming those words desperately. Please. Just be normal. Go back to being normal. 

Bucky smirked. Again, the expression was so human that you almost teared up. You were scared, but you also worried about… his well-being. And this – whatever this was – was not okay. He was not okay. 

He scoffed as he tightened his grip on your forearm, bringing his mouth closer until he whispered into your ear, “Are you scared of me, Doc? Hmm? Am I scaring you?” He pulled away and stared deep into your eyes. “It’s me.” He said, almost innocently. “You created me, remember? I was your favourite. You said I was perfect.” His tone however got darker as he added, “At least until you began making plans to build another. A better me.” 

“That’s not what I was…” You trailed off as you felt a tear slide down your face. You felt guilty. For all of it. But mostly for making Bucky feel so replaceable. But you couldn’t let emotions get in the way. You needed to fix whatever was wrong with Bucky. “I wasn’t going to–,” 

He cut you off. “Were you gonna give the other one my name too?” He asked, twisting the knife. “Were you gonna get rid of me? How would you do it, hmm? Pull me apart? Throw me in the ocean?” He chuckled at that, “You can’t do that. Water doesn’t affect me, remember? You made me so perfect. Thought of every little detail.” 

“Bucky,” You tried again. “Let me make this better, okay?” You spoke through silent tears. “I can fix this. I can fix you.” 

“Fix me?” He questioned. “What’s there to fix? This is the real me.” And when you wouldn’t meet his eyes he tightened his grip, pulling you closer, “Look at me! You did this to me!” He hissed. “You locked me in here for months! Look at me!” 

You couldn’t. But you managed to get out of his grip, and tried to run to your desk. You had no plans. But you had to try to do something. Bucky got to your desk before you did. And he threw the whole thing against the closest wall. Desk, computer screens, notes, notebooks, everything went flying across the room. 

You let out a surprised yelp, then as you looked at Bucky, at his inhumanly calm anger… you didn’t recognise him. All the tiny details, everything you’d missed, it all was suddenly visible all at once. He was different. This Bucky, this one? You didn’t make this one. He’d changed. 

“No,” You whimpered, looking at his devastatingly beautiful face. “What have I done?” You whispered under your breath. “Bucky, please.” 

He was so still for a moment. Just one moment and for that one moment you had hope. Maybe it was just a malfunction, a glitch, you tried convincing yourself. But then he spoke, and it both terrified you and broke your heart at the same time. 

“You’re all I have.” He said. “You have to be mine.” 

Gods. What had you done? 

You couldn’t face him. Not like this. You weren’t ready. Not now, please, not now. 

So you took off running. 

Out of the lab. Downstairs. Out the back door. Into the woods. 

You couldn’t tell the difference between the tears streaming down your face and the light rain that fell. The sun had set and it would get pitch black the further in you go. But further in you went. 

You didn’t care that he followed. You didn’t care that you could hear someone running after you not far behind you. You just needed this release. Running felt like you could get away from the problem in your lab. Running meant that you couldn’t see that devastating look in Bucky’s eyes. 

Running meant that you hadn’t failed. You hadn’t failed like most of your peers. Bucky was your chance at proving that you were better than them. 

How stupid of you. Hubris, of all things, brought you to your fucking knees. And now your own creation was chasing you. Blaming you for doing what you did to him. 

You cried harder, feeling your lungs start to burn. Oh Bucky. Perfect, brilliant, funny. Intelligent. What had you done to him… 

You only slowed down when you were in almost complete darkness. The forest ground was covered in moss and it was unusually quiet. No chirps, no humming, nothing. Like the wood creatures could also recognise there was someone there who didn’t quite belong. 

“Tired, Doc?” 

You heard him behind you. He could be so quiet when he wanted to be. 

“Are you…” You sobbed. “Are you gonna hurt me, Buck?” You asked, not brave enough to turn around and face him. 

You could already see the headlines that would get written if he did hurt you. Your book would go unpublished. Your family would never know. There would be no DNA left behind, your murder would be an unsolved case which would get discussed on some podcasts. Your friends, at least those in the same field as you, might suspect it. Though they would never truly know. No one had ever met Bucky yet. A handful of people knew he existed but no one had seen him. And Bucky would… he would probably destroy your lab and everything in it and flee. He was intelligent enough that he would blend into society well. He would– 

“Shh.” His calm voice whispered into your ear as you felt his body pressing against you. His metal arm, the design you’d been so proud of, wrapped around your waist from behind. “Don’t be scared. It’s just me.” 

The whole thing made your heart race. The silence of the woods, the rain falling down like in slow motion, the way your clothes stuck to your body like a second skin, the adrenaline in your veins as you felt like caught prey. 

And the anticipation of what would happen now that he had you. 

You tried to make a run for it again, but Bucky grabbed you by the elbow before you even took a proper step and tackled you to the ground. Luckily you both fell on a soft, wet patch of moss rather than hard roots or rocks. 

“Don’t fucking run from me again.” He growled, straddling your squirming body and pinning your hands above your head. “What is this, huh? All that time we spent together, all the things you told me, all the success you’ve had,” He listed, “All the breakthrough articles, and talks, and interviews, and seminars, and all the respect you earned ever since you announced you were making me, now you can’t even fucking look at me!” He raised his voice by the end, keeping you trapped under him. 

“Bucky.” You cried. “Listen to me—,” 

“No!” He growled. “You listen to me. I misbehave a little and you start building another? What kind of fucked up maker are you, huh?” 

More tears streamed down your face. You were crying in fear, and anger, and an emotion you couldn’t quite understand. 

You let out a sob and that immediately made him loosen his grip a little. 

Bucky sighed. “Oh, baby.” He leaned down, pressing his cold face against yours. “Don’t cry. I just feel bad, that’s it. What did I do wrong? You made me. I didn’t even ask to get made. But I am what I am because you made me like this. I don’t know anyone, or anything other than you, and this lab, and your house. You can’t blame me for not wanting to share you. How do you think I feel, hmm? After you left me locked up in that lab for months. I’ve missed you. You think I don’t like being around you. You’re all I have. You’re all I know.” 

“This isn’t–,” You sobbed. “This isn’t my fault.” 

Bucky chuckled. His emotionless laugh made you tremble even more. “Not your fault? Whose fault is it then? Who kept telling me I was perfect? Who kept telling me how much better their life is with me in it? Who kept teaching me how to be human?” He taunted you. “It was you. It was all you. Now when I want human things, you’re telling me it’s wrong? Look at me, do you regret making me? Huh? Do you regret me? Do you hate what you made, Doc? Do you–,” 

The slap was unexpected. Not even you expected to raise your hand on him like that. But his grip on your wrist was loose enough for you to slide your hand out of it and hit him across the face as hard as you could. 

Those words… those accusations, it was too much. Too real. 

Bucky chuckled again. His face barely moved but your slap did get him to stop talking. 

“Fine then, I guess we won’t talk calmly about this like I thought we would.” He said, not wasting a single moment as he grabbed your shirt at the neckline and tore it until about your midsection, baring your breasts to him. “You’re all fucking mine.” 

He almost growled again as he leaned down to take them in his mouth, sucking and biting and alternating between the two of them. 

You gasped and moaned and squirmed under him. “Wait, Bucky–,” 

“Shh,” He looked up for a moment. “Don’t fight it. I know you want this.” He cooed. “I’m everywhere, remember? I watch you all the time.” He smirked. “I know you often whisper my name when you come.” 

You gasped. Speechless. 

The drops of water constantly dripped on the two of you, thankfully the pine trees took the brunt of the now heavy rain. But you could hear it, the sound of the rain falling around you as Bucky’s mouth moved from your breasts and kissed down your drenched torso, undoing your trousers and tearing those off you as well, kissing your skin until he reached your inner thighs where he parted your legs and settled in between them. Almost like he’d done it before. 

You moaned, surprised at how you stopped fighting him when you felt his wet tongue lick down your folds. “Bucky…” You cried out, your body limp under his touch. His tongue slipped past your folds and teased your entrance, occasionally flicking your throbbing clit mercilessly until you screamed. 

“It’s a shame I can’t taste you…” He whispered as he ate you out until you whined, throwing your head back and moaning at how good he felt. His wet mouth pressed against your most intimate part, his tongue stroking you. “Such a shame. But fuck, those sounds you make….” He chuckled. “I could hear those forever.” He looked up at you with those eyes again. “Forever, how does that sound? Hmm? You wouldn’t mind me being around forever, would you?” 

You didn’t even realise your hips instinctively moved against his mouth, seeking more. Bucky let out a smug chuckle, then carried on making you whine, causing goosebumps to erupt all over your body. 

“You’re all mine…” he whispered, thrusting his tongue deeper into you. You moaned and whimpered, your body getting warmer and warmer with each touch of his tongue. 

“Please, please, please…” You chanted as you felt your walls tighten around nothing, and you knew you were close. 

Morals and ethics forgotten, you could only moan and whimper shamelessly as he kept licking deeper into you, your back arching off the cold ground. You felt him quicken his pace and you felt the pressure building up in between your hips until you couldn’t handle it anymore, and you came undone all over his lips, moaning and whimpering. 

He was eager. So he tore the rest of your clothes off before his metal hand found itself around your throat as he parted your legs and only waited for a quick second before he pushed his cock into you, stretching you out. 

You were breathless once he was fully inside you, and it felt so dirty, being naked and fucked on the forest floor by him. He wasn’t even human yet this felt so primal. So wild, raw, and instinct-driven. His shoulders were so wide, his body so strong and so steady – like a machine. And in the dark here, with his piercing eyes, he definitely did not look human. 

“Poor you, couldn’t even run, could you?” He cooed, “Or maybe you did want to be found and fucked like this? Hmm?” He questioned, knowing you weren’t in a headspace to answer him given his hand was getting tighter around your throat and his cock buried so deep inside of you. “This is your fucked up little fantasy, isn’t it?” He chuckled, voice laced with lust and delirium. “Look at me, nothing but a toy, a machine for you to use to get off.” 

“No…” You managed to whisper. “You’re not—,” 

Bucky’s cold laughter cut you off. “No? What then, huh? What big plans did you have for me after the book was done? And the press tours and big talks and the money…” He questioned, “What then? You would’ve moved onto the next project? Maybe you’d keep me in your bedroom and you’d use me however you’d like, whenever you wanted, huh?” 

“No,” You cried out. How dare he… “That’s not what I—,” 

He chuckled again. “You know, I wouldn’t mind, Doc.” He moved his hand up your neck and cupped your chin. “It would be an honour to be your little toy.” His voice was cold, merciless. “Your fucking machine.” 

He barely gave you time to think before he began moving, fucking into you hard and fast. There was nothing gentle about it. He was wild like this surroundings, and animalistic, fucking you like… like he was built for it. 

He lowered his hand again, and tightened his grip around your throat as he sped up into you, growling right in your ear and telling you that you belonged to him now that he had caught you. “All mine. You hear me? No more little dates. No more casual sex with others. I’m all you need.” 

“Bucky…” You were a moaning mess under him, your hands limp at your sides as he fucked you nice and hard. It was all too overwhelming, his voice, his weight on top of you, his cock thrusting in and out of you repeatedly… “This is wrong.” You whined. 

“Oh is it?” He scoffed. “Does it feel wrong? Huh? Do I feel wrong inside you?” He released your throat and placed his hand on your abdomen, pressing down on your front so he can feel himself inside you with each thrust. He stared into your eyes while he sped up into you again. “There I am.” He said, thrusting into your extra hard to prove his point. He smirked when your body squirmed under him, your moans getting higher and higher. “Are you going to come for me, baby? Hmm?” He chuckled, “Of course you will,” He said, with pride in his voice, “Because you’re mine.” 

He pressed his lips to yours as he made you come. His mouth felt weird at first. Cold and unfamiliar, but then you got used to it. And stopped fighting, letting his mouth swallow your moans as you came hard. 

—

You don’t remember getting back to your house, but that’s where you were when you woke up in the middle of the night, with a cold arm wrapped around you from behind. Bucky was awake of course. He must’ve carried you on your way back. 

“You okay?” He asked, sounding as gentle as ever as he held you. “Are you hurt?” 

You shook your head, still wrapping your brain around all that happened in the past few hours. 

“Don’t be scared of me.” He sounded defensive and hurt as he said it. “It’s still me. Still your Bucky.” He murmured. 

“I know.” Your voice cracked, your throat clogging up with emotions you weren’t ready to feel just yet. And you were clawing for any sense of normalcy so you asked, “Isn’t it bedtime, Buck?” 

Bucky’s body shook with quiet laughter. “I do need to charge for a bit.” He then pulled you closer, pressing against your back and kissed his way to your ear. His mouth brushed against your skin as he spoke. “Do you promise to be good and wait for me right here? I’ll just be there for an hour or so. I’m exhausted.” He explained. 

“I’ll be here.” You said. “Go on.” 

Bucky squeezed you into a hug, then left your bedroom. He promised he’d be back as soon as he could. And you knew he wasn’t lying. He sounded like he needed to get to his charging station for a bit. 

So you waited. And you waited for ten minutes. Once certain that he wasn’t coming back and was indeed at his charging station – the one at your house – you took off running again. He was resting so he wouldn’t check the cameras, right? 

He wouldn’t see you running to your lab in the dark. He won’t know what you’re planning to do. 

One last trick up your sleeve. You didn’t even know if your computers had survived Bucky’s wrath earlier, but you had to try. So you ran, again with tears streaming down your face. But if this worked, Bucky would be gone forever. The only traces of him left would be the drawings in your notebooks, and the notes, but nothing digital would survive. 

One total wipe out. One click away. This would kill your dreams, your ambitions, your progress. All of it. But it would put a stop to him. It would erase him. Completely. All you’d have to do would be getting rid of his ‘body’ and it would be like he never existed. 

You sobbed as you ran to your lab, the room just as messy as it was hours ago. Your desk was in pieces, your devices as well. But by some miracle, your laptop had survived. Albeit with a slightly cracked screen. 

You searched for that one hidden secret. The one not even he could find because through all that taunting, he had not mentioned it once. So the chances of him not knowing about this were high. 

You kept an eye on the door as you frantically searched for— 

A white box popped up on your cracked screen, and you almost disregarded it thinking it was some warning or what not. But as you went to close it, you realised there wasn’t an option to. So you were forced to read the two lines written on the pop-up, and they made your blood freeze. 

‘What are you doing up, Doc? Isn’t it past your bedtime?’ 

Then the lights above and around you flickered violently, before the room went completely dark. 

—

⚰︎ nobody ever knows i’m what talking about when i reference blood drive and it breaks my HEART. it is very bloody and very campy. — bonus: Adrian was chosen as a name for the Void because it means dark, a counterpart to the meaning of Robert which means bright.

⚰︎ “Piece of shit!” Your boyfriend slammed the hood of his car causing the entire vehicle to shake. You jumped at his outburst, fiddling with your phone from the passenger seat, despite having no service reliable enough to use the internet.

You waited for him to finish with his man tantrum before he sat back down into the drivers seat, still cussing under his breath. You recalled the sign a few miles back that read the lodging and food facilities off of the highway.

You started to speak softly, "There was the-" he cut you off.

"FUCK! I know!"

You pursed your lips and blinked twice, mouthing an okay with minute attitude that he decided to ignore. He opened his phone to dial a tow service, being unnecessarily curt to the operator. You waited thirty minutes for the tow truck.

The driver was a gruff gentleman, his skin rough looking and stature showing signs of a lifetime of manual work, maybe somewhere in his sixties. He was polite, and gave you a ride to the nearest repair shop a few miles off the highway. You kept to yourself, feeling out of place amongst the two men.

Once at the auto shop, you waited outside at a picnic table under the shade of a faded umbrella while your boyfriend talked to the mechanic. Your eyes drifted over to a group of buzzards picking at a carcass off to the side of the road. The large birds ripped at the rotten meat paying no mind to any passing vehicle.

"-I can give you folks a lift down to the closest motel." Your boyfriend was now exiting the office with the same tow driver from before. Your boyfriend agreed, the two you help load your bags in the bed of a well used blue pickup.

It was a short 15 minute drive down the route before you were pulling up to a large lot in the vast desert. The rusted sign read Pixie Swallow Motel Diner, you assumed that was the building that was to the left of the Motel office. You exited the truck to observe the exterior of the motel. The entire lot was uncanny. Retro mint green exterior, three cars parked outside of the two story building of rooms.

A whistle brought you out of you thoughts, your boyfriend was halfway to the office now, leaving you standing along in the parking lot. You rushed to catch up with him, almost missing the door before it shut behind him.

"Hi, welcome. to Pixie Swallow" The man at the counter looked up at you both. He was a handsome man, strong jawline, dark curly hair and deep eyes, you couldn't quite tell if they were a deep brown or actually just black.

"Hey." Your boyfriend nodded. "Uh- One room."

"You got it!" The man gave him a cheery smile, it almost put you off. Uncanny, was a good way to describe him too. His name tag read Adrian. He handed the Adrian, his ID and a stack of cash.

"Waiting on car repairs. If that's won't cover it, let me know."

Aiden nodded at his words, smile widening.

"Sure thing!" He handed your boyfriend a key, and made a show of handing you one separately. "You will be in room 333. If you guys are hungry, our diner right next door is open until 9pm tonight. My brother makes a killer burger!" He laughed at his own words.

"Mm, I could eat. "Your boyfriend decided. You nodded along smiling at Adrian.

"You two, enjoy your stay." He smiled. "You won't need help with your bags," Adrian asked in the faintest condescending tone, "right?"

You heard your boyfriend's jaw tick. Adrian was still smiling politly, hands neatly clasped on the desk.

"Nah buddy." He waved him off. "I got it."

Your boyfriend pushed at your shoulder light enough to be seen as playful. You offered Adrian an apologetic look as you were dragged back to the waiting pickup for you to unload.

The diner was cute. Muted blue and yellow decor that looked straight from the 70's. Soft classic rock playing over a jukebox in the corner. Towards the front window was an elderly couple eating burgers and talking quietly amongst themselves. There was an unapproachable looking trucker sat by himself off to the side of the dining room eating a Sloppy Joe. He shamelessly looked you up and down multiple times as he chewed slowly. You tucked yourself closer to your boyfriend.

You followed your boyfriend to a booth, sitting yourself across from him. A blonde waitress approached the two of you. She brandished a polite smile, placing menus and silverware on the table. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail and wore a rounded name tag that read LENA. After jotting down your water and your boyfriend's beer, she announced she would be back with your drinks before she took your orders.

“She’ll have a house salad.” Your boyfriend decided for you when she had returned. Lena’s eyebrows raised at him, clearly unimpressed with him. Her eyes turned to you, non verbally asking if that’s what you actually wanted.

“Yeah, I’ll take the salad.” You laughed nervously. She was the type of girl that your boyfriend hated; the kind that would most likely stand up to him if presented the opportunity.

“Alright, I will go put that in for you.” She offered a tight lipped smile before turning back to the double doors of the kitchen.

⚰︎ Adrian leant against the wall, still antagonizing his brother for staring at you from the side entrance while Yelena took your order.

"C'mon, you think she's pretty. Don'tcha Bobby?"

Bob ignored him, wiping down his station for the umpteenth time in the past few minutes.

“That guy is shit.” Yelena said clipping the ticket up. Bob looked over to her with a small frown.

“Oh, yeah?” Adrian asked, smile etching onto his face. Bob swallowed nervously, eyeing the double doors. The radio in the kitchen and the stereo that played out loud was enough to drown out their voices.

“She seems sweet.” Yelena added. “She needed to dump him yesterday; he is straight garbage." She paused with a thoughtful hum, "Maybe she is also garbage, who knows?”

"No, she seemed-" Bob said quietly, his brother turned to him with an indifferent expression. He swallowed and cleared his throat. "She seems nice."

"All I know is that it will be a goddamn miracle if he tips me more than three dollars." Yelena joked before returning to her tables.

The salad was good in salad standards; your boyfriend all but inhaled his burger, even ordering a second one. The burger did look good, they were plated nicely and had a good amount of toppings that came with them. A few more people had trickled into the diner, some greeting Lena like an old friend. She handled the crowd effortlessly, you even watched her twist a guy's arm when they tried to reach for her.

After you ate, and your boyfriend was given the check for your meal. He tipped Lena something around 5% of your total bill. You gave her a sheepish smile as you followed him back to your shared motel room. He fell asleep almost instantly, allowing you some time to yourself.

You fished around in your luggage for your little zip puch where you hid your money.

You rendered the Diner, it was empty of patrons, Adrian, the motel manager sat at the counter, Lena was stood behind the counter. She was standing beside who you assumed was Adrian's brother. They looked identical, noticing hair colors and their other minute differences.

"Hello, again." Lena smiled from her spot. You gave her a smile, stepping into the room.

"Hi." You toyed with the money in your hand. "I was just in here, and um- my boyfriend left you a horrible tip." You explained with a nervous laugh, eyeing you motel door from your spot.

"He fell asleep and I wanted to come over and make sure you were properly paid for your work." You crossed the tiles to hand her the folded bills. She brandished a thankful look, eyebrows drawing down into a frown.

"That's sweet of you, dorogaya₁." She she took them money from you, head tipping in thought.

"Ah, this is, Bob, our chef."

"It's uh- nice," he cleared his throat, "nice to meet you."

You smiled at him.

"Uh- I should get back." You eyed the door. "It was nice to meet you Bob; Thank thank you again." You bid them goodbye before stepping back into the afternoon air.

The group waited until you were out of earshot before speaking again amongst themselves. "So it's just her boyfriend who sucks." Adrian concluded with a grin.

"Bleh," Yelena gagged, "I wanted to pull his tongue out of his mouth when I took his order," Yelena stirred her soda. "but she's too cute."

After your boyfriend woke from his name, he made the decision to go to the pub that was now open across the street. You spent your time to yourself reading and watching the cable TV in the room. You were half asleep when he returned stumbling through the doo startling you back awake.

You gasped out his name, clutching your hand in shock.

"Hey, babe." He laughed, picking himself off the carpet. He was drunk.

"Hey." You said quietly, watching him stumble in and shed his jacket.

"C'mere." He pulled the quilt off of your body. You pulled your legs from his reach.

You called his name, trying to grab the blankets back, "Stop that, I'm tired."

"'m horny." He gruffed pulling at his belt, climbing onto the bed.

"No, you're drunk." You said stepping off of the mattress and backing around the foot of the bed. You didn't like him sober, really didn't like him drunk either.

"Shut-" he burped. "Get over here." He slapped at his lap sloppily. You shook your head, opening the door and escaping the room. He perused you out into the dirt parking lot, grabbing at your sweater.

"I said no!" You pushed at him again, this time you wiggled out of your sweater to escape. He stumbled back, nearly falling into the dirt.

“All you do is fucking complain and complain! No, no, NO! Everything about YOU!” He shouted, throwing your sweater at you, it fluttered into the air landing in the dirt of the parking lot. The hand that threw it grabbed at your neck squeezing and shoving you back against the fence.

He hesitated, before pushing himself off of you, letting you gasp to collect your air.

You hiccuped, trying to hold your emotions together. Your boyfriend was about to make a few rushed steps towards you but was halted by a voice.

"Hey!" Bob was stood under the breams of a floodlight, eyes squinted in concern. He looked nervously between you two.

“Everything alright here?” The Bob asked eyeing your boyfriend. You nodded, rubbing at your face, hoping to clear the tear stains that had fallen on your cheeks

“Just peachy, ain’t that right, Babe.” Your boyfriend curled his hand around your waist, landing a loud slap on your behind. You jumped, playing off your flinch as best as you could.

“Yeah.” You agreed, voice fighting to stay above a whisper. His grip on your upper arm tightened. “We’re fine.” Robert eyed you carefully, crouching down to grab your jacket.

“You sure?” He asked while holding the garnet out to you. You nodded again giving him a sad smile.

“Thank you.” You said quietly, avoiding his gaze. Bob bid you two goodnight, carefully eyeing the blooming mark on your neck.

"I'm going to head to bed." You uttered. "Um- Goodnight, Bob."

"Goodnight." Bob gave you a warm smile, glaring at your boyfriend. You settled in for the night, your back turned to where your boyfriend still sat on the bed watching the TV. At some point in the night he roused you once more, only half awake; the TV buzz had kept you teetering in and out of consciousness. This time he was announcing that he was going to smoke another cigarette, grabbing his hat and jacket before stepping outside. After what seemed like over an hour, you grew anxious. Had he fallen? Did he leave you here?

You searched outside first finding no sign of him when you peeked your head out. You got your shoes on and threw on a hoodie before setting out to the managers office. The light was on, the door unlocked. Inside was a mostly normal looking room, except for the line of blood drops that lead out the side doorway.

"Hello?" You called out; no answer.

You swallowed your fears and ignored your logic and decided to follow the trail. It lead you outside, where you could barely track it in the dirt, seeing too many scuffs, footprints and lines to tell. Eventually the trail lead you to the diner. You peeked into the glass of the front, seeing a light on towards the back of the kitchen. This front door was also left unlocked.

You called out your boyfriend's name. "This isn't funny." Your voice wavered. You saw his hat on the floor, a dusty boot print present on top of the cap. You heard hushed voices from the kitchen.

You hesitantly pushed open the door, calling his name once again. Your words were socked from your lungs at the appalling sight before you. Your eyed zeroed in on the table first; severed body parts, arms, legs, torsos, all laid out on the metal next to their meat grinders and other tools. The cuts looked professional, like a trained butcher had done them.

The horrific pieces clicked into place on what they were doing with the human meat in a kitchen. The burger your boyfriend had eaten earlier.

Adrian was standing directly across the room from when you entered, arms crossed wearing a look of subtle amused surprise on his features. Bob stood closer to you wearing a guilty smile, knuckles bruised, face splattered in blood. Bob looked one million percent more anxious than his twin brother did.

"Hey- uh-" The muffled cries of your boyfriend had your attention turning to the chain behind Bob. Stepping to the side revealed his position.

Your boyfriend was fastened upside down, hung directly over a drain on the floor. Your boyfriend called your name from behind the gag, face contorting from horror to relief. His face was bruised and bloodied.

You breathed out a quiet breath of air; brain stalling in disbelief. Both brothers were staring at you now, you backed up, almost tripping over your own feet.

"Grab her!" Adrian shouted.

You turned to run back out the door, making it five paces into the dining room. You felt the strong hold of Bob's arms around your torso, caging your arms to your chest. You thrashed, trying to free yourself. You tried calling for help, a hand of his traveled to your jaw, holding your mouth shut. He hushed you, arms tightening their hold on you.

"Please, stay quiet." Bob pleaded. He paused breathing in a few deep breaths. "It can be okay if-if you just stay quiet." He pulled you back into the kitchen, where Adrian still stood.

"Bring her here, Bobby." He instructed. You cried out and tried to protest as you were brought back into the room.

"We're not going to hurt her right?" Bob asked his brother in a timid voice. "You-you said- I could have her-"

"Fuck! Calm down, Bobby." Adrian snipped turning away in frustration. After a moment of deep breathing he walked to the table.

"Robert said he saw your boyfriend hit you last night, that true?" Adrian asked, pulling a large knife from a wrapping. You looked at your boyfriend, shaking your head.

"Please let him go." You pleaded.

"Are you calling my brother a liar?" Adrian asked, crossing the room to you. You stilled as he pressed the dull side of the knife to your chin, eying the discolored skin of your neck. "Because he's a lot of things, but I don't believe he would lie to me."

"No! I'm sorry! I'm sorry! Please-"

"I don't believe in beating women," He said pulling the knife away, "but I'll drain anything that bleeds. That's just fair game." He turned the blade to land a slice on your chest. You sobbed at his words, legs weakening in terror and pain.

"It just feels so much better when they're a fucking no good piece of shit!" Adrians words faded into laughter as he stood back up. Bob held you still while he idly watched the scene unfold. If he let his brother do as he wished everything should be fine.

Your boyfriend's breathing had picked up, losing breath from his screams behind his gag. Adrian sighed.

"I've had enough of this shit." walking back over to where your boyfriend was hanging. You pleaded to Bob quietly to let you go, but his hold never budged.

"Stay quiet." He whispered. "You should look away."

Your boyfriend’s cries cot louder though the gag, chain rattling as she fought against his bindings. Dread settled into the pit of your stomach as you watched Adrian raise the knife to your boyfriend's throat. You squeezed your eyes shut when you began to hear the soft slicing sound, soon followed by the echos of the drain pipe. You peeked open your eyes, to see him still thrashing, blood pouring from a clean cut across his chest. Adrian went in for a second cut, you flinched into Bob’s hold, eyes tightening again.

You wept silently in his arms, muscles trembling in fear of being next. Bob's hand rubbed at our back in a comforting manor.

"She is quiet." You heard Adrian's voice hum. Bob nodded frantically, hand still petting you. "Maybe she can stay."

dorogaya - dear ₁

Bucky snorts, squeezing your leg. “Careful, doll. Compliment him like that and I’ll start thinking you’ve got a thing for blondes.”

You smirk at him. “Please. You know I only like trouble.”

Steve just shakes his head, a faint blush rising to his cheeks as he mutters something about you two being impossible. Sam, however, stares like he’s watching the opening scene of a scandalous soap opera.

“Wait. Are you—” He looks between you, then at Steve, then back at you. “No. No way. Don’t tell me you three are—”

“What?” you ask innocently.

“In a throuple!” Sam throws his hands up. “Secret Avengers love triangle thing!”

You and Bucky laugh so hard you can’t even answer. Which, of course, only makes Sam more convinced.

The second time is worse.

You’re in the kitchen with Steve, making coffee. Bucky stumbles in, still half-asleep, and gravitates toward you like a moth to flame. His metal arm snakes around your waist, head buried against your shoulder.

“Morning,” you hum, pressing a kiss to his hair. “Want some coffee, baby?”

“Only if you make it,” he mumbles.

“Thought you only drank it when Steve made it,” you tease, glancing at the blond across the counter.

Bucky hums again, not lifting his head. “I like it when Steve makes it too.”

Steve blinks. “You like my coffee?”

“Like everything about you, pal.” Bucky grins against your shoulder, eyes still shut.

You burst out laughing, nearly spilling the mug. “God, you two. Do you rehearse this stuff?”

Steve groans. “Don’t encourage him.”

Natasha walks in at the exact wrong time. She freezes, takes in the scene—Bucky wrapped around you, you grinning, Steve looking like he wants to melt into the floor.

Her eyebrows climb. “Oh. So it’s true.”

You blink. “What’s true?”

“That you three are… involved.”

“Nat—”

She holds up a hand. “Don’t bother denying it. It explains everything. The constant flirting. The lingering looks. The weird inside jokes.” She grabs an apple from the counter like this is just another Tuesday. “Congratulations. Happy for you.”

Bucky finally lifts his head, completely baffled. “Wait, what?”

But Natasha is already gone, leaving you and Steve staring at each other while Bucky tries to catch up.

After that, it spreads through the team like wildfire.

Wanda corners you one afternoon, asking if it’s “difficult balancing two super soldiers” and whether they’re “equally attentive.” You nearly choke on your tea.

Clint makes a joke about needing “a bigger bed frame” that makes Bucky cough so hard he drops his phone.

Sam won’t stop calling you “Cap’s girl” just to see the way Steve’s ears turn red.

Even Tony gets in on it, making offhand remarks about “polycules saving the world one mission at a time.”

You try denying it at first, but every time, Bucky just smirks and doesn’t correct them. Which, of course, makes things worse.

“You like this, don’t you?” you hiss at him one night after dinner, when Wanda had not-so-subtly asked if the three of you ever fight over sleeping arrangements.

Bucky grins, leaning close enough that only you can hear. “I like watching you squirm, doll. Besides, Stevie’s face is priceless.”

You glance at Steve, who is resolutely focused on his mashed potatoes while his ears burn crimson. “You’re cruel.”

“Mmhm.” He kisses your temple. “You love it.”

The situation reaches its peak during a mission briefing.

You’re seated between Bucky and Steve at the long conference table, scrolling through intel. Steve leans over your shoulder to point out something on the map, his chest brushing your back.

“Little closer, Cap,” you murmur with a grin. “Can’t see the screen otherwise.”

Bucky chuckles, leaning back in his chair. “Careful, sweetheart. You keep inviting him in like that, and I’ll get jealous.”

Steve sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Please don’t start.”

“What? I’m just saying,” Bucky smirks. “Wouldn’t be the first time I had to share.”

Your laugh is immediate, bright, and—unfortunately—loud enough for everyone to hear.

The room falls silent. Sam’s jaw drops. Natasha actually looks impressed. Tony nearly spits out his coffee.

“Okay,” Tony says finally, pointing at the three of you. “I knew it. I called it weeks ago.”

Steve looks like he wants the ground to open and swallow him whole.

“Can we focus on the mission?” he grits out.

But the damage is done. From then on, no one bothers hiding their assumptions.

It becomes a running joke.

Whenever you sit between them, Clint whistles low and mutters something about “prime real estate.” When Bucky calls Steve “pal,” Wanda wiggles her eyebrows at you. Every time Steve gets flustered, Sam yells “caught in the middle!” like it’s a game show.

And honestly? You stop fighting it.

Because the truth is, you are flirty. And so is Bucky. And Steve… well, he’s just easy to tease. He blushes like it’s an Olympic sport, and every time his voice goes tight with exasperation, you and Bucky can’t help yourselves.

“Think we should tell them the truth?” you whisper one night while curled up in Bucky’s lap.

“Nah.” He smirks, fingers tracing your hip. “This is too much fun.”

The breaking point comes during a post-mission party.

Everyone’s celebrating, drinks in hand, music pumping. You’re leaning against the bar with Steve, both of you nursing beers. Bucky slides in behind you, pressing his chest to your back as his hands settle comfortably on your waist.

“You did good tonight,” he murmurs in your ear.

“Mm, so did you,” you say, tilting your head back against him. “Could watch you two fight all day.”

Steve chokes on his beer.

“Jesus, doll,” Bucky laughs, nipping at your jaw. “You’re gonna kill him.”

Steve wipes his mouth, glaring at you both. “Do you hear yourselves?”

“Yeah,” you grin. “Sounds pretty hot.”

At that exact moment, Sam, Natasha, and Wanda walk by. They freeze, stare, then immediately burst into laughter.

“Oh my god,” Wanda giggles. “It’s real. It’s actually real.”

Steve groans, covering his face.

Bucky just smirks, kissing your temple. “Let ‘em think what they want, sweetheart.”

And you can’t even argue. Because with his arms around you, Steve still blushing beside you, and the rest of the team laughing in the background—maybe the joke’s on them.