A Dark, Disturbing and Dystopian Fic

[sketch by otoimai

found here]

Safe From Harm by Odsbodkins

My Summary --

Hydra has won and rules the world. Any of the defeated Avengers who are still alive are auctioned off, including Captain America. Yasha the Winter Soldier doesn't have enough money to buy him, so he kidnaps and hides Steve in a secret super-soldier-proof cell in his home. In Hydra's brutal society where violence and punishment rule, the Winter Soldier makes Steve his sex slave, justifying his sexual, emotional and physical abuse as keeping Steve safe from even worse harm from Hydra. The Winter Soldier's only problem is this faraway, unknown "Bucky person's" voice in his head which keeps chastising him for how he is treating Steve.

Excerpt --

That night the faraway voice berates him for hurting Steve. He wishes it would shut up.

He sleeps badly and takes it out on Steve the next morning. He takes him hard, poorly stretched and poorly lubricated, makes him bleed, scratches his skin with the metal arm so he bleeds there as well. Then he jerks Steve off, makes sure he comes, because Steve’s humiliation at his own response is even better than causing him pain.

It makes him feel better for all of two minutes, but that damn voice is berating him again before he has even finished showering. He leaves food for Steve, but Steve doesn’t even look up when he comes into the room.

The healing factor does its work, and when Yasha returns that evening the only signs that he hurt Steve are the bloodstains on the quilt. He slides down the wall to sit facing Steve, just out of range if he chooses to lash out again.

“Do you get it yet?”

“You’re still Bucky.”

“He do that to you, then?”

This time Steve’s reaction is muted. He’s had time to think about it, control himself. “Natasha told me what they did to her. What they can do to people. I think you are what Bucky has become.”

“Is that important?”

“Why did you bring me here?”

“Perhaps I just want Captain America as my personal sex slave.”

Steve holds up his wrists, looks at the thick shackles around him. “It’s a lot of effort for a lay.”

“Perhaps you’re my trophy.”

“Locked in a windowless, soundproofed room, hidden from everyone? I’m not a trophy. I’m a secret.”

Yes, Steve is much cleverer than people credit. “Perhaps–”

“You don’t know, do you? You’ve done all this, and you don’t know why.”

“I don’t have to explain myself to you–”

“But you do have to explain it to yourself, and you can’t.”

“Is this supposed to talk me out of fucking you again? Because it won’t. You’re mine, Steve. Whenever I want you.”

He stands up and walks out. The faraway voice is a little quieter this evening, and he sleeps better. He still fucks Steve in the morning (and wonders if this is what addiction feels like), but is gentler, doesn’t hurt him.