ready to comply
Sep. 4th, 2022 12:45 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
semi_stable[cw: descriptions of a panic attack, mentions of PTSD]
Things have been going very well for Bucky as of late, so it's no real surprise when he's suddenly knocked on his ass again. That's how it goes, after all. That's his story. That's how it always goes.
This time, all he's doing is walking down the street. He's smiling, almost even laughing, sipping at an iced coffee. He's talking with a friend, gesturing with his prosthetic hand, ungloved and visible to anyone who looks at him, and anyone who did wouldn't even be able to tell how broken he is.
Because he is broken. He always will be in some way or another. His brain was taken apart and put back together over and over again, scrambled and reformed, and he'll never be healed from that, not completely. Not to mention all the trauma and abuse, decades of it, and he can have a few good months but he'll never be totally free.
This is proven to him as he's walking past some sort of street fair out in front of his building. It's noisy, with people milling about and several different radios tuned to different stations drowning each other out. They suddenly all go quiet, music and talking replaced with an eerie, quiet static.
Longing.
The word makes Bucky go still, face draining of color. It's a low, commanding male voice speaking in Russian, and Bucky feels a little like he might throw up.
Rusted.
It's coming from every radio, even one from a car passing by, windows rolled down to take advantage of the nice day. It's coming from everywhere and Bucky's coffee falls from his hand, plastic cracking as it breaks against the pavement. "No."
Furnace.
"No, no, no, please," Bucky pleads in Russian, reaching up to put his hands over his ears. It's so unexpected to hear his trigger words that he forgets for a moment that he's supposed to have been cured of them, rewired during his time in Wakanda. But then he remembers, and it doesn't help. Whoever is behind this place has proven how powerful they are, and who's to say that they didn't undo that, too?
Daybreak.
It's getting louder now, more forceful, and Bucky lets out a panicked shout as he stumbles backwards, breathing heavily and shaking his head. He's flooded so suddenly with adrenaline, like ice water being dumped over his head, and he can hear his heart beating. Air gets stuck in his chest and he can't breathe, and while he recognizes the signs of a panic attack, he can't seem to make it stop. He's too terrified of what might be about to happen to do anything but panic.
Seventeen.
"No, no, not again," he chokes out, turning to run into the lobby of his building to try and get away from it, only to find that they're playing in there too, pumping tinnily out of a speaker in the corner. He chokes out a sob and sinks to the floor, pushing himself back into a corner and covering his ears. Someone follows after him and Bucky holds out his hand. "Stop! Stay back."
Benign.
There are four more. Only four more words until Bucky finds out of the switch in his brain will be flipped, if he'll climb to his feet and stand at attention. Four more words until this city finds out if the Winter Soldier is ready to comply.
[Help him. Have your pup be the person he was walking with and/or the one who finds him in the lobby. Despite his fears, the trigger words will not do anything because he's still cured, but he's still going through one hell of a PTSD episode.]
Things have been going very well for Bucky as of late, so it's no real surprise when he's suddenly knocked on his ass again. That's how it goes, after all. That's his story. That's how it always goes.
This time, all he's doing is walking down the street. He's smiling, almost even laughing, sipping at an iced coffee. He's talking with a friend, gesturing with his prosthetic hand, ungloved and visible to anyone who looks at him, and anyone who did wouldn't even be able to tell how broken he is.
Because he is broken. He always will be in some way or another. His brain was taken apart and put back together over and over again, scrambled and reformed, and he'll never be healed from that, not completely. Not to mention all the trauma and abuse, decades of it, and he can have a few good months but he'll never be totally free.
This is proven to him as he's walking past some sort of street fair out in front of his building. It's noisy, with people milling about and several different radios tuned to different stations drowning each other out. They suddenly all go quiet, music and talking replaced with an eerie, quiet static.
Longing.
The word makes Bucky go still, face draining of color. It's a low, commanding male voice speaking in Russian, and Bucky feels a little like he might throw up.
Rusted.
It's coming from every radio, even one from a car passing by, windows rolled down to take advantage of the nice day. It's coming from everywhere and Bucky's coffee falls from his hand, plastic cracking as it breaks against the pavement. "No."
Furnace.
"No, no, no, please," Bucky pleads in Russian, reaching up to put his hands over his ears. It's so unexpected to hear his trigger words that he forgets for a moment that he's supposed to have been cured of them, rewired during his time in Wakanda. But then he remembers, and it doesn't help. Whoever is behind this place has proven how powerful they are, and who's to say that they didn't undo that, too?
Daybreak.
It's getting louder now, more forceful, and Bucky lets out a panicked shout as he stumbles backwards, breathing heavily and shaking his head. He's flooded so suddenly with adrenaline, like ice water being dumped over his head, and he can hear his heart beating. Air gets stuck in his chest and he can't breathe, and while he recognizes the signs of a panic attack, he can't seem to make it stop. He's too terrified of what might be about to happen to do anything but panic.
Seventeen.
"No, no, not again," he chokes out, turning to run into the lobby of his building to try and get away from it, only to find that they're playing in there too, pumping tinnily out of a speaker in the corner. He chokes out a sob and sinks to the floor, pushing himself back into a corner and covering his ears. Someone follows after him and Bucky holds out his hand. "Stop! Stay back."
Benign.
There are four more. Only four more words until Bucky finds out of the switch in his brain will be flipped, if he'll climb to his feet and stand at attention. Four more words until this city finds out if the Winter Soldier is ready to comply.
[Help him. Have your pup be the person he was walking with and/or the one who finds him in the lobby. Despite his fears, the trigger words will not do anything because he's still cured, but he's still going through one hell of a PTSD episode.]
no subject
Date: 2022-12-09 11:51 pm (UTC)He’s too inpatient too get all the way undressed, in too much of a hurry to do anything but cover Sylvie’s body with his own, grabbing under her thigh to tug her closer, spreading her legs wider as he positions himself between them.
“You taste so fucking good,” he pants out, leaning down to give her a messy kiss as if to try and prove her point. He licks at her tongue as he fists his cock and presses the head against her slick cunt. His hips snap forward and he buries his cock inside of her with one smooth thrust, whimpering against her mouth as he plants one hand into the ground next to her head. “You feel even better.”
no subject
Date: 2022-12-13 01:01 am (UTC)For some reason, he chose her.
"Fuck," she says as he pushes inside of her and she braces herself on the ground, using her elbow to lift herself up so she can meet him. Their mouths clash, tongues and lips and she can taste herself on him, moaning with the sensation of it. Bucky feels like he's absolutely everywhere.
She gets one arm around him, nails pressing into his skin beneath his shirt, and it's only now she realizes he's still mostly dressed. They're too desperate, too hungry for each other and she bites down lightly on his lower lip, tugging.
no subject
Date: 2022-12-14 07:33 pm (UTC)But they are not soft people, are they?
Sylvie seems to have unlocked something in Bucky during their first encounter, some primal thing that, before her, he always kept at bay. Or maybe it wasn’t there at all when he was young and normal. Maybe it’s something that’s been building since his life was stolen from him.
Whatever it is, it feels like freedom. With Sylvie, Bucky doesn’t have to hold himself back. He can let go entirely, give into every animal instinct and Sylvie not only tolerates it, but responds in kind. She bites and scratches at him and he pounds into her with deep, hard thrusts, groaning against her mouth.
Her hands go under his shirt, nails leaving scratches that sting, and he pulls away from her mouth only long enough to rip his shirt over his head one-handed, leaving the material bunched around his other hand where it’s still planted into the ground. His dog tags fall and land in the valley between her breasts, bouncing in time with them as he fucks her, and Bucky buries his face in the curve of her neck, biting hard enough to leave behind an indent of his teeth.
“I can’t get enough of you,” he pants out, grunting as he adjusts the angle of his hips to make sure he’s hitting just the right spot inside of her, over and over again. “I love you so fucking much, Sylvie.”
no subject
Date: 2022-12-16 04:52 pm (UTC)She doesn’t ask it. She wouldn’t, even if he wasn’t fucking her like this, each hard snap of his hips making her body clench and roil with pleasure. It’s too much, too vulnerable, and she can’t ask it. Why either of them love her is utterly beyond her, but she’s selfish and she’ll take it and she’ll destroy anyone who tries to take it away from her.
His teeth press into her skin hard enough to hurt and she moans, wanting to encourage him. She’ll take his marks, any he wants to leave on her.
“I love you.”
The words still feel strange, as if her mouth isn’t make to shape them. But she says them anyway, whispers them, clinging to Bucky and letting him entirely take the lead.