"No, he's not on any flatbread."

"I love you. please, don't ever leave me. If i can't have you, no one else will."

The words flows through your mind like a distant echo. They should concern you, feel like a threat. But something inside you numbs those thoughts out. All you feel is him.

Din. Your beloved Mandalorian.

He brings you to the peak of pleasure, lifting you to new heights as your climaxes ripples through your body. His growls of pleasure vibrates through the room as he fills you with his love, his shaking voice whispering your name as his seed paints the inside of your womb.

A smile graces your lips as you embrace him, caressing the top of his head as he buries his face in your neck.

Your beautiful Mando.

A loving and passionate man who loves you beyond words and would move heaven and earth to protect you. To you, he is everything.

~

Seeing you beneath him, Din still can't comprehend the truth of it.

That you're his.

The first time he laid eyes on you, his soul felt connected to yours, your bodies and souls intertwined in a messy chaos. He was a part of you, and you were a part of him. You were one. His love for you seemed to have no limits, no boundaries. It grew and deepened and consumed him. Every inch of his body ached for you. Every thought in his mind pertained to you.

Din wish you could feel the way that you make his heart soar with a simple look. He wish you could comprehend the infinite times a day he thinks of you and smile. You tore down his walls like they were nothing and showed him what it meant to live. Really live.

How can he ever let you go?

When you are the one he wants to spend eternity with. His red string. His friend. His lover. The love of his life.

He just hums, dragging his free hand over your ass. “Need me, huh?”

You nod desperately. His mouth curves, and he finally puts his book down.

“You can need me, doll.” He mutters, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. “Just take what I give, alright?”

You can do that. Bucky doesn’t like to torture you, so at least it will be something.

Something close to torture, but also pure heaven.

Being pinned to Bucky’s chest and made to warm his cock.

He’s so hard inside of you. Pressing on every single right spot without any friction, lazily drawing patterns on your hips and thighs while still reading his damn book.

You toss your head back on his shoulder, your eyes going unfocused. The pleasure is almost too much to bear. You’re being made into a live wire that’s not allowed to spark. Approaching the best part of the most beautiful song in the world, but never allowed to hear tit

Begging does nothing. You know that.

It doesn’t stop you from shamelessly doing so, as your body becomes slick with sweat, your heartbeat pounding desperately in your ears.

“More.” You breathe out, twisting to kiss back over his neck. “More, Bucky, please-“

You’re rewarded—or punished—with Bucky’s thumb grazing over your clit. You moan, clenching around him, and get a soft slap on your thigh.

“Keep still.” He mutters, soothing over the hurt, and you nod a little stupidly.

You don’t know how long he expects you to last like this, but you know it’s far too long. All you can do is feel him in your throat, feel the slightly pressure whenever he takes a long breath, drive yourself insane trying not to flutter around him or grind down,

Your thoughts run wild. Fantasies brought on by your predicament, how easy it is to imagine Bucky’s thick cock driving in and out of you, how deep he can it, the drag of him inside you while his metal thumb would play with your clit.

The tight circles he’d draw, as he hit that spot inside of you and moaned in your ear. Hot, sticky skin slapped against yours, the wet sound filling the room, his cum leaking down your thigh as he kept going into round twod. The fever behind every kiss, sloppy and open-mouthed. Wandering hands leaving bruises, small love bites all over your neck, sensitive skin teased as he’d fill you up, over and over and over-

“You’re leaking, doll.” Bucky mutters, and you flush.

You are. You’re gushing around his cock, staining on his pants and he’s still just holding you to his chest.

You whimper, risking one wiggle for anything, but you’re too over stimulated. You almost scream, back arching, and Bucky yanks you back against his chest.

“Dirty girl.” He drags his thumb over your lower lip, and you moan. “All this and I’m not even fuckin’ you.”

Tears are pricking at your eyes, and you try to say something—even to just beg, until he spanks your clit and you get to scream again—but only babbling, hopeless sounds come out.

Bucky chuckles, and the sound vibrates in your abused, split open cunt.

You moan, eyes fluttering, and Bucky slips his thumb between your lips. You take it quickly, sucking like you know he likes, moaning every few seconds in an invitation.

He almost takes it. You feel his cock twitch inside you, when you flick your tongue against the pad of the finger. You moan again, and his hips shift, a low grunt leaving his chest.

But you won’t win this. Not against Bucky.

He presses his thumb deeper, and goes back to reading his book. You’re flushed and cock-drunk, ready for him to have however he wants, but this is how he likes you.

Blissed out and ready to snap, if he so much as flicks your clit. Sucking his thumb and moaning around him whenever he so much a whispers a low praise, putty in his arms and happier for it.

Later, when he takes mercy, you’re going to end up below him while he drills into you from behind, under him with hooded and adoring eyes while he paints your thighs white, over him as he fucks up into you, your hands shaking as you struggle to stay upright.

Right now, he just wants you right here.

“Just a little longer,” he murmurs, but you both know that’s a lie.

He’s going to keep you here all night. Even after he cums, you’ll just stayed pinned to his cock, his release mixing with your arousal, maybe being fed to you as you whine and wait for round two.

You’re going to let him.

Losing your mind is a small price to pay, when you’re trapped in paradise.   

You heard the hard boots on the concrete.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five.

You began counting the steps dividing the metal door from your cell. It started four months ago, when HYDRA kidnapped you and imprisoned here in this cell. Concrete was the only thing you could see. A metal door in front of you, probably the same one guards always use to reach the cell.

No windows and no forniture, just a hole in the floor with a little knob for some water, freezing cold of course, as bathroom. The metal door with the slightest ray of light entering from the bottom of it, completing the cell.

You saw some shadows, and then the door of your cell opened. A hard noise, metal on the concrete and brutal squeak.

“ENTER!” The guard barked.

You tried to be smaller, hiding in a corner. Face against the wall, knees up to your chest. You pressed your forehead against your knees and took a deep breath.

“I SAID ENTER.”

Shocked, you looked look up and you saw him.

The Winter Soldier.

You flinched looking at him. His hands, metal and flesh, straight on the sides of his body. He looked tense, like a violin string. One touch and he could have blown up. He stood there, in front of you, but he wasn’t looking at you. He looked straight ahead, an indefinite point on the wall. The guard behind him grunted and kicked the soldier, behind his knee, making him kneeling in front of you. He closed his eyes and tightened his lips.

“Patch him.” The guard said, as he threw a medical kit and some stale bread on the floor. He then closed the door. You were now alone with the Winter Soldier.

You didn’t know what to feel. It wasn’t fear or tension. You stayed in your corner, steady in your position but slightly trembling lost in your mind.

He noticed. “No fear.” He said. His voice deep but gentle woke you up from your daydream.

“What?”

“I said…” he took a breath. “No fear… to me.”

You frowned. “No fear with me, maybe?” You corrected him.

He nodded. “No fear with me.”

You weren’t sure if you got what he meant. You knew HYDRA’s technology could be invasive, and sometimes people forgot even how to speak. You shook your body and turned to him. He was still knelt in front of you, looking down. His hands both rested in his lap. Fingers twitching as he tried to concentrate on something else.

“You mean…” you tried to talk, but words got stuck in your throat. You swallowed and began again. “You mean… I shouldn’t be scared of you?” A whisper.

He nodded. “No target.” He said looking down again.

You looked at the medical kit, or what was resembling a medical kit. You took the bag in your hands and began looking inside. Some needle and thread, rubbing alcohol and sterile gauzes. A ball of cotton, not so clean, completing the kit.

“Uh,” you cleared your voice. “If you want… I could check.”

“Order.”

“Order? What do you mean?” He shushed himself again. “What do you mean?” You asked again, crawling a little toward him.

He remained there. A statue. Eyes down on the floor. Knuckles whitening in one hand and clenched in the metal one.

Suddenly, you realised. He worked with orders only. It made your heart heavy but you needed to help him.

“Shirt off, now.”

As you just had hypnotised him, he removed his shirt in a gesture. Smooth and precise, but revealing also a big cut on his abdomen. You blushed. You weren’t blind, you saw his face. His beautiful face. His incredible blue eyes and his massive shoulders. But you also saw how his eyes dropped down, as his knees touched the ground. How he tightened his lips when the guard put him down.

“Lay back.” He did. “It’s gonna burn a little,” you said as you picked the cotton and the rubbing alcohol. “But it’s gonna help you either.”

You cleaned his cut, quickly and efficiently. He winced. “Sorry,” you said, blowing some breath on his cut. “Should help with the sting.” You were glad he didn’t need stitches.

Once the cut was properly disinfected and clean, you rinsed your hand with the freezing cold water of the knob. Your hand was still wet when you moved toward him again. “It’s gonna be cold, but I’m gonna clean the area around the cut. Stay there.”

You pressed your fingers around the edges, cleaning the dried blood. You repeated it twice and applied the gauzes. You made his sit again, so you could wrapped the other gauzes around him, blocking the one covering the cut.

You both eat the stale bread in silence.

-------

It’s now three months after.

He never talked to you again. You stitched him some more times. He simply looked in your eyes and you did the best you could to make him healing better and faster.

He told you approximately less than ten words, but you already were missing him. His voice, his presence, the safety he gave to you unconsciously.

It happened one night, one of the rare night you could freely walk through the facility HYDRA used as base.

You found yourself in the external zone of the facility. Usually prisoners weren’t allowed, but in a kind of sickening manner one of the guard was infatuated by you and left you wandering. That night, a cold breeze came up from the sea. You tightened your arms around your body, trying to find a little more of heat. Suddenly, an alarm filled the facility and you felt your waist grabbed by a pair of hands.

“Y/L/N.” The guard said you, looking straight into your eyes. His hands kept grabbing your waist. His eyes, dark and raw, kept you locked there. You were so terrified, you didn’t even said a word. His hand went up, to your chest. He engulfed one of your breast in his hand and tightened it. “You familiarised with the soldier.”

It wasn’t a question. It was a statement.

“Makes me jealous, Y/L/N.”

“I-I don’t kn-know what are you talking about…”

“You do.” He smiled. “You always do.” He gripped your chest more, and you yelled hurtful.

“Leave me al-“ you tried to speak, but the other hand covered your mouth.

In a rush of adrenaline, you bit his palm. Once he removed both of his hands from you, you kicked him between his legs. He faltered, just for a second but immediately reacted.

You felt the sting of pain on your cheek. His hand, rough and calloused, hit your face. A bunch of seconds, red skin and eyes full of tears.

He gripped a strand of hair and yelled some of what you could interpreted as Russian's insults.

Your knees buckled down, and as you were on a leash, he guided you forcing you to the cell. You yelled again. Yelled some help you knew wasn’t about to arrive. Some help from people that would have easily traded you for their own freedom.

“Please… I’m sorry.”

“You’ll be soon.”

Once you were in the cell, your nightmare began to creep in front of you. The guard looked down at you, hand on his zip. An evil and distorted smile on his face.

That’s it, you thought.

Another alarm rang in the facility. The guard looked down again, and huffed. “That’s not the end, bitch.”

He left you there, on the floor crying. Your cheek burned and you knew a reddish shadow was just about to came out.

In all of that noise and chaos hell, the guard left the door opened. On the threshold appeared the only man you could trust in that facility.

Winter.

He stopped there looking down at you. Hands both on the rifle, legs slightly spread apart to balance and something into his eyes.

Fear? Disguise? No, anger.

“Hurt.” He said moving toward you. You flinched, he stopped. “No… fear.” He told you again, like the first time.

You looked up towards him, hovering over you.

“WHO. DID. THIS.” He grunted. Every single words spelled in a way you hope you’d never hear again. When you didn’t reply he nudged again. “Who… tell me.” He said, softly this time.

“Mikhail.”

Mikhail, one of the most dangerous guards there. 6 feet and something more tall. Dark eyes and thin lips. Calloused hands and rough skin. He had so much blood on his hand, his enemies’ blood, that people began to call him “316”.

316 as the number of his victims.

Winter went out of your cell in a second, you almost didn’t even notice him.

“No… Winter…” you began begging, standing up. “It’s dangerous-“

Mikhail always said that punishment was the only way to prevent insubordination, and Winter definitely would have punished later.

On your wobbling legs, you went out your cell.

Prisoners around the facility while you walking, looking for Winter. You called him, but got no responses. When people, the other prisoners, heard his name they silenced themself. They were all scared.

The Winter Soldier was a kind of a legend around there. The perfect machine, a magnificent weapon, a soldier so diligent that no one could defeat him.

Hopefully even Mikhail, you thought.

You run through the facility, until you heard someone begging to forgiveness.

“Please… I didn’t mean to hit her.”

Her.

Would it be possible that person was talking about you?

You moved closer to the cell, where the other person grunted. He seemed agitated. You peered into the cell and you realised immediately.

Winter had Mikhail pinned down. His tights on both sides of his torso. The rifle landed near them.

He doesn’t need it, he’s enough, you thought.

“Winter… please…”

He turned around, remaining on Mikhail’s chest.

“Listen to your bitch, soldat…”

“Enough.” Winter said. He stood up, bringing Mikhail up with him. He made him standing, holding him by his throat. Mikhail’s smile beginning to fade. His metal arm squeezed his neck. You were sure you wouldn’t been able to forget the sound. A packet of chips crushed. A car’s tire on the gravel.

Mikhail exhaled once last time, until he collapsed on the floor. Winter wasn’t satisfied, and kicked him in the stomach. Then he turned toward you. You should have felt other things than gratitude or admiration, but those were the only two things your brain could handle.

He moved toward you, and you remained there still waiting for him.

“You helped me. I helped you.” He said in a perfect yet unsure English.

You snorted a little. He looked down at you, confused. His enormous frame hoovered over yours and you felt immediately safe. He reached for your check with his metal hand. It was cold, but definitely not too cold as the water in your cell. It worked better than an ice pack for your bruise.