Marvel Imagines

Bucky

"(Y/N)." You hear your name echo through the hallway.

You are walking to your brother's experiment room. He is your step-brother. Your father died when you were in elementary school so your mother moved on, and married a man who already had Zola before they met. Then your mother died out of the blue. And you help your brother when your step-dad is away. You hug a clipboard, with a file of a man named James Buchanan Barnes, to your chest.
Your heels click on the mucky tile floor of a HYDRA base.

"(Y/N)!" You hear your name being yelled. You shiver from the nippiness of the air.

"I'm coming. Hold on. I can't run in heels y'know. Your dumb dress code..." You walk into the room and instantly pull the pencil skirt you are wearing down, seeing your brother's guards around the room, looking right... at... you.

You put on a smile. Your white teeth blinding the eye of any man.

"Welcome, (Y/N). You are just in Time for Mr. Barnes' daily treatment." Zola chuckles looking at the tired and ragged man.

His chest heaves up in down in heavy breaths. Blood trickling from the bionic arm you've installed to the stump of his left arm.

His greasy hair looming over his eyes. His eyes trained on you. You nod at him and his eyes avert to the ground.

You grunt. "Let me fix the arm. It's coming off."

Your brother messes with buttons on the silver machine ignoring you, mumbling, with a crazed look in his eyes.

You place the clipboard down on a stool you'd soon sit on. You slowly stride to the restrained man.

"Mr. Barnes..." You giggle as he looks up at you. His flesh hand balled into a fist.

You bend over in front of him to get into his face. You smile.

You hear grunts and groans from behind you. You instantly stand and tug at your skirt. You huff. You like teasing the metal man. But your brother's guards are all single, half way done with their lives, men. Disgusting, dirty, animals you like to call them.

You walk over to a cart with tools next to Mr. Barnes' left arm. "Let's get to work."

You bend over to get close to his arm and you grab a drill. You start drilling the metallic pieces together. Once you're done, you stand again. Your feet aching horribly. But you keep the act up.

You grab a bullet from the cart and bend down in front of him again. You whisper, "Mr. Barnes..."

He looks at you clenching his jaw. "Open up."

His eyes search your face, his expression softening and complying, tired. Once he opens his mouth a bit you place the bullet between his teeth. "This is gonna hurt."

You go back to your stool. You grab a molder, flame gun. And you mold the metal arm back onto his stump.

A yell is heard ripping through Mr. Barnes's throat. "I'm sorry..." You whisper into his ear and keep melding.

He slams his head back, choking on sobs. You finish and shove the cart away. You snatch the bullet from his mouth. "I'm going to test it now, OK?" He just nods at your words.

You move your hands around his arm and apply pressure to some places and move things around.

You hear your brother talk to himself, "What does this button do...?" He clicks it.

One of the wires that disconnected from Mr. Barnes, the one that you're holding to fix, sends electricity through your body.

You let out a scream. And a startled and petrified Mr. Barnes slashes around in his seat to look at you.