The soft glow of the NYC skyline filtered through the window, casting shadows in the apartment you shared with Bucky. After the chaos of Endgame, he had found a peculiar comfort in your companionship — a sense of normalcy he had long thought lost.

But there was a tension simmering beneath the surface: something unspoken yet palpable.

One evening, as rain tapped softly against the glass, you found Bucky staring out into the storm, lost in thought. His brow furrowed, and a flicker of vulnerability crossed his features.

"Bucky?" you called gently, stepping closer. "You okay?"

He turned, his eyes clouded with memories. "No," he admitted, his voice low. "Not really."

Concerned, you gestured for him to sit. After a long pause, he lowered himself next to you, running his metal hand through his hair — the weight of his past heavy on his shoulders. "HYDRA... they didn't just use me as a weapon. It was... worse than that."

You gave him a concerned, confused glance, waiting for him to continue. Your heart raced — Bucky had never opened up about the deeper side of his past before. You had no idea what to expect.

He exhaled shakily. "The command words. They weren't just triggers for violence. They were..." He swallowed hard, struggling with the implications. "They were designed to control me in every way. To turn me into something... someone else. It wasn't just about being an assassin."

The revelation hung between you, thick with unspoken emotions. Bucky's eyes darkened with pain as he continued. "I was made to follow orders without question, and sometimes those orders... they had other meanings. I was used for more than just fighting. For manipulation. For pleasure."