#Dark!brock rumlow | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

highonmarvel · 25 days ago

Note

thank you SO much for answering my question (the one with Brock Rumlow). I just think his character is VERY underrated and his darkness and gruffness is just...wonderful, especially in Infinity War (when Steve goes back in time) and in The Winter Soldier.

If you don't want to write for him, it is totally fine.

If you are willing to write for him, here is my request:

Reader grew up in an (mentally) abusive household. Her self-worth is very low, but she manages to go to college. During college, she meets Brock. He, of course, works for S.H.I.E.L.D.S, and let's say he's a very important agent, not just the STRIKE leader. Reader gets together with him (ofc, he manipulates her into that), but he gets abusive, like...really abusive. Being raised in that household, she thinks she deserves that and she stays.

One day, her friend calls the police, and reader wants to go with them, but when the police arrives at their house, right then Brock arrives home and he sends the police away (abuse of power) and then he beats reader again and noncon maybe..

THANK U SO MUCH for reading my shit...idk if you are comfortable with age-gap and everything else, but thank you again.

Stay safe! Have a great day and remember: you are loved!

oh, i especially like the ending here, with him arriving home just as she’s right about to get away. love it! i’m cool with age gap, i like it. if you wanna be super sure, make sure to check out my requesting guidelines here! but in general, i’m pretty much okay with anything. sorry it took so long, i really, really hope you enjoy. alright. let’s go:

Breaking Point

Brock Rumlow: Brock seems too good to be true at first, and when that’s revealed to be a farce, some bad timing really pushes things over the edge.

especially for the beautiful @thehydraethereal, please enjoy. seriously, please do. i tried my best.

additional content warnings here!

CONTENT WARNING, PLEASE READ: This piece includes graphic depictions of violence. Seriously, this is really dark; do not proceed if you are uncomfortable with explicit descriptions of physical abuse and rape. This is your warning. This is fucking dark. I am going to hell.

Non Con Warning!

There were very few things your parents did right—in fact, nothing they did benefitted you in anyway: the constant belittling, sometimes yelling, but when they weren’t making sure you knew just how much of a burden you were, just how much your mother regretted not having an abortion and your father regretted that night, how much pain and exhaustion your existence causes them, not to mention the ridiculous amount of money they have to spend on an oxygen thief, they ignored you and your needs. Sometimes they got tired of dealing with you, and would resort to complete neglect, going as far as locking you out of their bedroom so you couldn’t ask for food or even just a hug. You learnt to take care of yourself pretty early on in life, and you always knew you were your best shot at getting out of this alive.

Surprisingly, you found yourself to be brilliant when you started school—all your teachers (which your parents would never meet with on parent-teacher night) praised your intelligence and creativity, but when you went home with this supposedly good news, your parents either didn’t care or straight up told a six year old to fuck off and die. Your entire schooling career had been straight As and perfect attendance—despite the days where your mother was blackout drunk and couldn’t drive and your father refused to take you to school, you made a plan, always worked around their abusive behaviour. Very early on you knew your parents would never pay a dime for university, and so you worked hard to get a scholarship, and you got it! Here, is where their negligence may have paid off—the only time your mother ever smiled at you was when you said you were leaving for college and you wouldn’t be living with them anymore.

But even now, being on your own, you can never really shake the nearly two decades of constant harassment they subjected you to. Even though your teachers all through grade school assured you you were bright and had so much to offer the world, it didn’t make much of a difference when the two people who were supposed to love you guaranteed and unconditionally just constantly drilled into your head that you were, at best, good for nothing and, at worst, a huge burden no one could ever love or even appreciate. If you were worthless to them despite eighteen years of what you thought was good behaviour (you never snuck out, never drank or did drugs, never did anything but your schoolwork and clean the house) what good would you be to literally anyone else?

It’s chilly when you step out of your dorm building, making you wrap your cardigan tighter around yourself as you adjust the tote bag on your shoulder, the heavy books weighing you down slightly. The walk to the other end of campus for your next lecture is dreary as the grey sky is above: you had tried to call your mother—even through all these years, part of you hoped that maybe if she sobered up she’d apologise for everything she’s said (you knew your dad was a lost cause)—but she didn’t pick up. To make matters worse, she texted you telling you to leave her alone, and you’re pretty sure she blocked your number because the message you sent begging for just five minutes of her time never went through.

You slow down as you enter the corridor where a few of your classmates are gathered behind a pillar, looking curiously towards the doors of the lecture hall. Ducking behind them, you ask one of the girls what’s going on.

“Like, ten guys in black went in there,” she whispers, “We think they had, like, guns and stuff, too. But it’s been quiet.”

“Is Professor Brown in there?” you ask with wide eyes.

She hums in confirmation and nods towards the entrance. “We saw him go in and then these guys appeared out of nowhere! Like they’re ninjas or something,” she mumbles, and you furrow your brows as you straighten up.

Just then, there’s a bang! and the small group jumps. But it’s only the doors bursting open, revealing two guys holding Professor Brown by each arm and practically dragging him across the courtyard.

A tall man steps out, and by his confident stance and firm tone you can tell he’s in charge here. “Nothing to see here,” he says, quickly side-eying the students you’re huddled in with. “Lecture’s cancelled. Take a nap or go to the bar or somethin’.”

The group disperses and leaves you standing there. And from where the small amount of bravery comes, you don’t know, but you muster up enough courage to walk over to the man that stands much taller than you. He has his back turned to you and is talking to two of whatever task force just dragged your favourite professor out of here, who eye you suspiciously as you approach. The man dismisses them and turns to you with what is initially an unimpressed look, before he looks you up and down and something lights up in his eyes. You shift nervously under his gaze and clear your throat.

“Excuse me, sir, I— I’m sure you can’t tell me what he’s done but, do you— do you know if Professor Brown is gonna be back?”

“No, sweetheart, he’s lucky he ain’t dead,” he deadpans, making your stomach drop. He takes a step closer to you and you instinctively take a step back. “What’s your name, darlin’?” he asks in a sweet tone, but the gruffness in his voice counteracts the easiness you guess this is supposed to bring.

You stutter out a response and he smiles, reaching out a hand for you to shake. “Brock,” he gives his name in response. “Brock Rumlow.” You tentatively shake his hand with a nod, slightly intimidated by his grip that’s just a little too strong. He lets go and crosses his arms over his broad chest, looking down at you. “What’re you studying?”

You want to answer him but you check your watch and come to the conclusion you could probably get some of your dissertation going if you hurry back now, or even just take a nap, get a few more hours of sleep seeing as you spent the night crying after your mother’s cruel behaviour.

“I— I’m gonna run now,” you say, adjusting your bag on your shoulder. “I could fit in some work seeing as I— I don’t have anything now so—”

“How about getting a drink with me instead?”

Your eyes go wide and you’re sure you’ve misheard him. “Excuse me?”

“Can just be coffee,” he shrugs, and unfolds his arms to tuck his hands into his pockets. “I won’t keep you too long, promise.”

You stammer nervously around your words as he looks down at you expectantly. “Th— Thank you but— but I really should get back to, um, to my dorm and—”

“That work’s not going anywhere, come on. Maybe a caffeine boost will help you in the long run—half an hour, 45 minutes tops.”

You chew your bottom lip and let your eyes dart around your surroundings. There’s no one here except these police or military or secret service guys, and you have a feeling if you leave alone he’s gonna follow you and wear you down either way.

“O— Okay,” you reply, to which he smiles warmly at you in response. Surprisingly, he offers his arm, and you loop yours through his and let him guide you.

Brock is definitely a dangerous guy, and you two attract stares as you walk off campus, obviously, because he’s a muscular guy in black tactical gear and you’re clearly a little anxious on his arm and regretting your decision to wear sundress today. Despite whatever security force he’s got going on, though, you can’t help but feel a little safer with him nearby—he’s more than equipped to protect you, and he’s being nice, taking you out for coffee, maybe he’s trying to help calm your nerves, or take your mind off the weird scene you saw earlier that he definitely can’t explain yet.

When you finally get to sit down in a quiet corner of a cafe that’s got a few students scattered around, all immersed in their books, and some people with laptops undoubtedly writing screenplays they think are genius, Brock again asks you what you’re studying. You’re a little confused at first, and tell him Professor Brown’s your chemistry teacher (which makes you surmise he was busted for cooking up a couple Breaking Bads), assuming this is some kind of informal interrogation, because why else would he be interested in you? But he shakes his head.

“No, I mean your course. Is this your first year? Are you enjoying it so far?”

You offer a weak smile and give a brief outline, but he presses you for more details, seeming to have a genuine interest in what you have to say, and smiling when you get excited about certain topics, listening—really listening—to you, and for the first time in your life, you feel seen by someone, and not just someone payed to educate you.

“Oh!” you eventually exclaim when you remember to check your watch. “I’m gonna be late! God, it’s been an hour already! I’ve got to go,” you say, and hastily stand up, but Brock puts his hand over yours and looks up at you with pleading eyes.

“No, stay,” he encourages. “It’s not a big deal if you miss one class, is it?”

You look to the door and then back to him, taking your bottom lip between your teeth as you consider his words. He must be right, right? It’s not a big deal. You’ve worked hard all your life, and it’s not like it’ll be difficult for you to catch up, you’re just missing one lecture.

“Um, yeah,” you nod as you sit down again. “All right. It’s… it’s not a big deal.”

“That’s right.” He smiles as he flags down a waitress to get two more coffees.

***

Staring at your busted lip in the mirror, you wonder how on Earth it got to this point. You knew Brock had the potential to be violent because that’s his job, but when did it get to the point where you couldn’t even say “I’m leaving the house” without bleeding? You think back to that first day, and how he had convinced you to stay with him for coffee, and you can’t help but curse yourself. If only you had just listened to your instincts, just gone to class like you would under any other circumstance. Why did he have that power over you? How did he convince you to stay? You know why, but you don’t really want to think about it. You know it’s pathetic but that was the first time in your life you were asked to keep talking, the first time you had spoken about yourself without being told to go away, that your voice is grating and whatever you have to say isn’t worth the strain on their ears.

But this is how it works, right? You can only pick one—be heard and deal with physical abuse, or be ignored and deal with psychological damage. And besides, Brock isn’t abusive, is he? Yes, he’s rough, but that’s just in his nature, and he is a SHIELD agent, after all—this violent instinct just comes from his training, his commitment to keeping people safe, and that just misdirects sometimes, it’s not like he can turn it off. And you have to admit, you do feel safer when you walk down the street at night with him or go to bed and not make certain all the doors are locked. His toughness is protective.

You sigh as you wipe the last of the blood off and gather cold water in your palms. You splash your face and let the cool liquid drip down into the basin, along with a little bit of blood. You need to look on the brightside: Brock’s letting you go to school again! You hadn’t been dating him long before you joined a study group at your university, excited to meet some new people, make new friends, and just learning in general made you gleeful, like a little dork (the one degrading name you’d wear proudly) but Brock was suspicious. You brushed it off, thought he was only being protective, of course, but when you were sitting at his kitchen island, eating dinner and telling him the news, his appetite disappeared and was replaced with something like anger.

“You’re not doing that,” he said, firmly, jaw clenched and forearm resting on the table with his hand balled into a fist.

“What?” you had asked with a frown, genuinely confused, “Why not?”

“You really shouldn’t be hanging around kids, baby.” His voice had dropped, gravelly tone making your body stand on alert, ready to bolt for the door if the way he was looking at you was any indication of danger. “They won’t treat you right.”

He stood up and slowly stalked over to the kitchen door, casually turning the key to lock it.

“Well, it’s— I’m not really hanging out with them, we’re just studying.”

“But you don’t need it,” he says softly, walking back into you to cup your face with his calloused hands. “You’re bright, you’re brilliant, they’ll only slow you down. You could be five years ahead of them, you know that?” The stark contrast between his bruised knuckles and his soft eyes makes your mind swirl in confusion.

“In fact,” he continues, “You really don’t need school anyway. You’ll live with me.”

You could tell that wasn’t a question. And though you were hesitant, you accepted, because how nice would it be for once in your worthless life to live with someone who actually cared. But eventually, he started getting bolder with his claims about the people around you, until he declared it wasn’t safe for you to go back to campus at all, that it wasn’t even safe for you to leave the house, and any time you questioned him, a good bruise reminded you of your place, that you were only to listen to him, because he wants what’s best for you. Right?

You had been good the last few weeks, so when you begged him to let you go back to school, promising you’d keep your head down, wouldn’t say a word to anyone and come straight back to him the second you could, he smiled and allowed it. He also gave you your phone back, he took it when he noticed reading world news was only upsetting you, and there’s no reason to worry about that stuff—that’s the stuff he takes care of everyday on the job.

After more or less making yourself look presentable, you return back to school. You haven’t heard anything from the school or your professors about your four month absence, but you’re sure it’s because Brock took care of it for you. How thoughtful, you think.

When you hear a feminine voice call your name, you want to turn around, but you remember what you promised. You pull your hoodie over your head and walk a little bit faster, but she easily catches up to you.

Wanda joins you in step and smiles at you, and though you raise your eyes to meet hers, you don’t smile back.

“Are you okay?” she asks, hesitantly bowing so she can better see your face. When you don’t respond, she reaches over and pulls your hood back, casting you into light.

“Hey!” you yell, and she gasps, taking your face in her hands before you can cover up again.

“What happened?” she whispers, ghosting her thumb over the cut on your lip.

“Nothing,” you reply, a little too quickly, making her raise an eyebrow. “I’m fine.”

Before you can process it, she’s grabbing your hand and leading you into the nearest bathroom, which is thankfully empty.

“Sit,” she instructs, pointing at the counter lined with sinks, and you obey her without a second thought, hopping up with your back facing the mirror and letting her examine you. She’s quiet for a moment before she asks, “Anything else?”

You hesitate, but the look she gives you is of serious and genuine concern. You don’t know her well, only that she’s the one who invited you to the study group, and she lives on the same floor as you did in the dorms, so you spoke to her occasionally. The fact that this woman knows nothing about you but is clearly determined to help, it makes you tear up. You roll up your sweatpants to reveal your shin and thighs stained with ugly shades of yellow and blue and brown, at which she winces.

The room is silent for a few minutes, and it feels like you’re holding your breath waiting for her to say something.

“We’ve got to get you out of there.”

You want to sigh in relief, but you also know that you can’t get out of there, that he will always find you. Nearly immediately you regret showing this to her. Neither of you said anything about Brock (in fact, you’re not even sure if she knows his name) but both of you have the same idea of him.

“N— no, Wanda, really, that’s okay. I— I need to get going,” you hurriedly stammer out as you adjust your clothes and pick up your book bag.

“Do you have your phone?” she asks, moving to block the door when you try to leave.

“Uh, yeah, yeah, I do, I need to go—I shouldn’t have even come, Brock’s not gonna be home tonight so I’ve gotta prepare dinner for myself and—”

“He’s not going to be home tonight?” she interrupts with a sad yet hopeful look in her eyes.

You look away from her and decide to just push past her, regretting you said anything at all. This time, she lets you go, but not without yelling from behind you, “Keep your phone on!”

***

Later that night, it’s approaching 20h00–Brock has left but you haven’t eaten anything, and though you tell yourself it’s from the nerves of being left alone, you know you’re anxiously waiting for Wanda’s call, your heart pounding against your chest, leg tapping furiously as you stare at your cellphone sitting across the table. When it rings, you all but jump out of your seat as your heart nearly leaps out of your chest. You almost forget to press Accept before raising the phone to your ear, breathing uneven and voice shaky as you answer, “H— hello?”

“Is he gone?” Wanda’s comforting voice comes through on the other end—she’s clearly in an anticipatory state, but just hearing the care her voice carries makes you feel a little lighter.

“Yeah,” you croak before clearly your throat and mentally reprimanding yourself for being so paranoid. “Yeah. He’s… he’s out. For the night, I think. He’s not gonna be back until I think tomorrow morning, or maybe even the day after.”

“What’s your address?”

You give her Brock’s address as you make your way over to the window, peaking out into the front yard, afraid he’ll just materialise and barge him.

“Okay,” she responds after scribbling it down. “I’m calling the cops.”

“What? Wanda, no!”

“He’ll kill you if I don’t.”

Part of you wants to argue with her, say he’d never do that but… he might. You’ve never been on the receiving end of 100% of his strength but you know you’ll never make it out alive if it gets to that point.

“Please,” she pleads, desperation so evident in her voice you cup your hand over your mouth to stop the sob that threatens to come out. “I’ll come with them, I’ll be there, you won’t be alone, I can keep you safe.”

Safe. Safety: the one thing you’ve wanted all your life.

With a few hiccups you nod, forgetting she can’t see you through the phone. When she asks, “Are you there?” you reply, “Yeah. C— call them, but please come, too.”

She assures you she will before hanging up, and you’re left in silence once again. It could have been a minute or an hour before they showed up at the door, you have no way of knowing because of your nervous pacing and your mind racing a million miles a minute. When the doorbell rings, you swear your soul must have leapt out of your body for a second, that you momentarily had a heart attack but that human survival instinct brought you back to life.

Your hands are trembling so hard you wonder how you haven’t dropped the key as you slowly unlock the door and crack it open just enough to peer out into the dark. Wanda is standing behind two tall police officers, and she gives you an encouraging smile that makes you want to cry for the third time today.

“Ma’am, are you okay?” asks one of the policemen, carefully watching your movements. “We have reason to believe domestic assault may be taking place in this residence. If you could come with us—”

His words are cut short by the crunching of gravel as a car pulls into the driveway and all four heads turn to face the black SUV coming to a stop. It’s like you’re paralysed, completely still as you watch his heavy boots hit the ground and hear the door slam shut. When he circles to the other side of the car and towards the door, a brief flash of confusion crosses his features, but he quickly regains his composure, and it was a subtle display, so subtle you doubt anyone else in the world could’ve spotted it but you. Your eyes dart nervously from Brock to Wanda, who is glaring at him so hard you’re sure she’s willing daggers to pierce straight through his nonexistent heart.

“Evening, officers,” he greets, casually as he takes the few steps up to the door. “Can I help you?”

He joins you in the doorway, standing just a little bit in front of you to discreetly hide your terrified features from the two men.

“Agent Rumlow,” Officer Two greets with what’s clearly deep admiration, and you see Wanda resist the urge to roll her eyes. “It’s an honour to meet you, sir.”

“Pleasure’s all mine,” he responds, changing his stance to lean against the doorway and crossing his arms over his chest. “Is there a problem?”

The two officers give each other nervous looks before the first speaks up again. “We were,” he clears his throat, then continues, “We were responding to reports of domestic assault, sir. Would you happen to know anything about that?”

Though you can’t see him, based on his faux sympathetic tone, you can imagine an exaggerated display of his brows furrowed in confusion. “Can’t say I do. Do you know anything, sweetie?” he turns to you and gives you an ugly grin, a face you know all too well—that look he displays when you piss him off and he’s got an excuse to punch you this time.

You gulp and shake your head, looking down at your shoes.

“Well then—”

“Bullshit!” Wanda suddenly calls, stepping up to Brock. “You,” she begins, pointing a finger at him, her voice trembling with anger. “You are a fucking maniac! You—”

Before she can finish, Brock waves his hand and the officers grab Wanda by a shoulder each, snapping her out of her rage and into a bit of panic for a second.

“Sorry to bother, sir,” is the last word one of them gives before turning back to the car.

“Wanda!” you call out, not taking a step forward before you’re blocked by Brock’s large body. Between him and the doorway you’ve got a gap to see them dragging her away. You watch with horror as she repeatedly calls your name, unrelenting in her kicking and screaming, calling out to you, and you’re… useless. You can’t help her. She did all this for you and you can’t do a single thing for her.

In shame and fear, you take a step back, breathing heavily. You jump when the door is shut and the click of the lock makes you queasy. There’s a rattle as Brock drops his keys into the bowl near the door and sighs as he turns to face you.

“What was all that about?” he questions, in between a laugh, and you can do nothing but stare at him in horror as tears spill from your eyes.

“Well?” he asks, taking a menacing step towards you, becoming bigger and bigger before you as you cower in paralysing fear. Before you can process it, he wraps a hand around your neck and nearly lifts you off the floor as he pulls you towards him. “Fucking answer me, you cunt!”

You claw desperately at his forearm to get him to relent as his breath hits you in harsh puffs through his flared nostrils—he’s seething, practically to the point you can feel his body temperature rise and rise. When your attempts become feeble and he can feel you struggling to keep consciousness, he lets go and you fall to the ground, gasping for air as your nails dig into the weathered floorboards. You cough a few times to regain feeling in your lungs before a swift kick to your chest knocks the wind right back out of you. You go sliding a few metres across the floor, splinters poking under your fingernails making your eyes water, wrapping your hands around your neck as if that’s gonna help.

“Brock” you try, but your voice comes out as barely more than wheeze, “Please—”

“You gonna answer me?” Another kick sends you backwards, sprawling onto your belly. When you attempt to crawl forward, he presses his boot down harshly on your lower back, making you cry out as you reach an arm behind you to try and pry him off. “What was all that about, sweetheart?” he seethes through gritted teeth before delivering a kick to the side of your head, sending a warm trickle of blood running down from your temple.

“I didn’t— I didn’t call them—”

“But your little friend did.” He grabs a fistful of your hair and you whimper. Leaning down to meet you halfway with your head pulled up off the ground, he drops his gruff voice to an almost animalistic growl. “Big mistake.”

If you didn’t turn when he did, you might have broken your spine in half, still trying to claw at him as he drags you by your hair to the bottom of the staircase and tosses you carelessly onto the steps—they’re carpeted, but that doesn’t soften the blow, and a ringing sound echoes through your skull as black spots dot your vision, disorienting you for long enough to let Brock tug down your pants.

“Maybe you need a reminder of what you are, and who you belong to.”

As he’s unbuckling his belt, you take the chance to push yourself up and run up the stairs, but you trip on your pants he hadn’t even bothered to take halfway off and he easily catches your ankle, pulling you down again and making your chin hit the stairs. Your teeth clatter together painfully and you’re sure you would’ve bitten straight through your tongue if it were in the way.

Finally rid of his belt, he grabs the end of it and whips so the metal buckle slashes against your face, making a deep gash down your cheek and nearly clawing your eye out in the process. You sob as your skin is ripped and reach a hand up to cup your injured cheek. Brock takes the opportunity to to press your other hand behind your back and practically crush your wrist with the impact of his boot to keep your arm pinned down.

He tries to finger you before quickly giving up and spitting into his hand, the lewd sound making you let out another sob as you try to wriggle free, a feeble fight which he effortlessly ignores.

When you feel his tip line up with your entrance, you let your head fall in defeat. Maybe it’s better this way, to just go limp and accept whatever comes your way. You’ve been worthless all your life, maybe this will make him think you’re worth something, if you just let him do what he wants, stop fighting him, because every single time you express opposition, you get hurt. You thought Brock was the only person to listen, but he’s not listening to your pleas for him to stop.

Eventually, he grows bored of your crying and grunts in frustration, turns your head to smush your face against the dusty carpet, somewhat effectively silencing you as you try to stop crying to preserve oxygen, taking shallow breaths as if that will have much of an effect. His slow pace makes it more painful, somehow, like he’s saving this memory, taking his time and making sure every one of his thrusts hits deep enough to make you jerk forward before pulling out of you almost entirely, and doing this over and over again. Gradually, your cries die out, voice slowly disappearing and throat hoarse and as painfully dry as your cunt. You taste blood in your mouth and can feel that the blood from your tearing walls is the only thing slick enough to keep him going. Now, it’s only his groans and the sound of skin on skin when he slams into you, but when he starts to lose focus, his rhythm hesitant, he lets go of your arm in favour of gripping your hips, his nails indenting your skin, like a tattoo of his name that’s impossible to erase even if you sliced the skin off, like it’ll just grow back if you ever heal, like the scars are a reminder of your breaking point.

The very moment you decided to stop fighting, to give in, just allow yourself to be worthwhile to someone, whatever it takes.

⊗

my beloved taglist: @cjand10, @cowboysnbugs

#dark!brock rumlow #dark brock rumlow #dark!brock rumlow x reader #dark brock rumlow x reader #dark!brock rumlow x you #dark brock rumlow x you #dark!brock rumlow x y/n #dark brock rumlow x y/n #dark avengers #dark!avengers #request

23 notes · View notes

lokiswifeduh · 5 months ago

Text

Don't leave me

Pairings- Mob!Bucky x Fem!Reader

Summary- The aftermath of the shootout was here. And Bucky has to come to terms with the results of the life he introduced you to, and what revenge he would ensue.

notes- this is a part two to Doll, please. I hope you guys enjoy the ending!! Please let me know your thoughts!! Thank you for reading loves!!

Warnings- angst, talk of guns, drugs, kidnapping, abuse, torture. major gore. sad Bucky, hurt reader, hurt/comfort, gunshot wounds, medical talk, revenge.

WC- 3k

catch up here (part one)

masterlist

"Doll, please."

I saw her look up at me with those doe eyes. Those big beautiful eyes painfully gazing into mine. I wanted to touch her. I wanted to turn her away from the bullets that were sure to fly our way, but I couldn't move my hands. In this moment I couldn't protect her.

I felt the sob rip from her throat. There were only ten seconds left.

"I vowed to stand by your side, Buck." She looked back to the ten guns pointed in mine and her direction. I could see a stray tear slip down her cheek as her hands shook, her nails digging into her palm as she tried her hardest to release my wrists from the painful wire digging into them.

Suddenly she dropped the knife, jumping into my lap. Her hands wrapped around my neck as her legs surrounded the back of the chair, encasing my upper body. "NO! Doll, please!!" I felt her hit the knife in my thigh with hers, but I ignored the pain focusing on what in the world she thought she was doing.

The men cocked their guns. But in that moment all I could think about was how to get her off of me. I needed her to run, to fight back to do something. Not to protect my body with hers. I couldn't let her.

"Doll!! Stop!! Get up!!" But my protests fell on deaf ears as she tucked my head into her chest, wrapping her arms tighter around my neck, not letting me move a muscle below her. She shook her head, my tears soaking her shirt, mixing with mine and her blood. "I won't let you die." She attempted to shout but at that moment her voice was the quietest I'd ever heard it.

I tried to whisper back when suddenly shots rang out through the warehouse. My head popped up, prepared to die with the love of my life. I wouldn't let her do it herself. I would not live without her. Not if I had a choice.

But in that split second, I realized the first bullets that went flying weren't from Rumlow's men, it was from Steve, Sam, and my men, shooting at the ones who threatened us.

"Doll, we're gonna be oka-" But my words were cut short as two bullets flew into her. She screamed. Her vocal cords grinding together in the most painful way I'd ever heard. I felt my heart rip in two as her body shook against mine, arching her back as if that would stop the pain.

But she kept her head down, arms shaking yet still holding onto me. I would have cut my hands off if I had the strength to rip through the restraints. A sob tore from my throat, "Don't do this to me."

She finally lifted her head, my beautiful wife looking at me with such care and tenderness. As if she hadn't just been shot twice, and wasn't using all of her strength to hold onto me for dear life.

A small drop of blood trickled down the side of her mouth as her teeth were painted red. "I love you, James Barnes." She cupped my face in her hands, tucking me back into her chest as her grip seemed to loosen, "Till forever and always."

The words we both said to each other on our wedding day. "Doll, please." Her hold on me finally failed as she fell, but thankfully into the arms of Steve, before her head would've slammed into the concrete.

My second in command looked at both of us. Tortured and bloody. I held in my tears as I looked at Sam, leading a pair of medics through the door.

"Rumlow will pay." The wire from my wrists was snapped in half thanks to Peter, a new, very terrified recruit. I shot down immediately onto my knees, holding her head in my hands as the paramedics loaded my wife onto the stretcher. "Don't leave me."

I made eye contact with Steve, "I will have him and that traitor's head."

_________________

You lay in the hospital bed, your whole body practically wrapped in soft white bandages.

You could feel the pressure of something on your thigh as you tried to open your eyes. It wasn't working. Why couldn't you just open them?!

Try something else, you thought.

You moved your hands, the feeling of someone else's palm in yours made your heart start to race. You could remember little parts over the last three days.

Bucky was kidnapped.

Steve was put in charge.

You were kidnapped.

Natasha was working with Rumlow.

The torture.

The pain.

Your husband's face as you used yourself as a human shield.

Being shot.

Suddenly you heard screaming and saw bright lights. A heart monitor was beeping louder and faster at each passing second.

Realizing the screaming was in fact your own, you started to breathe harder. You finally could open your eyes!

Your surroundings were blurry at first. There was a familiar figure in front of you. Sounds were muffled but began to come back into focus.

"Doll?! Sweetheart, you're okay."

You shook your head, looking around in panic before realizing you were in fact back at home, in your bed. Bucky beside you. Your husband, holding your face in his hands.

"B-Bucky?" Your voice was raspy and your throat felt like sandpaper, rubbing together from underuse.

Involuntarily you started to cough, holding a hand up to your throat which only caused more pain in your back to bloom. "Ah," You groaned, swallowing before resting your head back on the pillow.

You felt Bucky's hands leave your body, but only for a second as he held a straw to your lips. "It's just water doll. I need you to drink this for me." You nodded, feeling a pounding in your head as you sucked down the refreshing liquid. The coolness soothing your throat like rain in the desert.

"Good girl." Bucky gave you a soft smile, taking the straw away from your mouth as you finished the water.

Closing your eyes for a moment, you regained your vision, looking around.

Monitors, medical equipment, and an abundance of flowers and cards filled your and Bucky's bedroom. Light shone through the window as you squinted, shooting over to look at Bucky who just gazed down at you worryingly.

You looked him over, seeing the cuts and bruises that adorned his face. His lip was split in multiple places. His thigh was wrapped in gauze and his wrists were bandaged. Looking down, so were yours. Actually, it seemed your entire body was.

"Are yo-," You swallowed, "Are you okay?"

Bucky took a moment before letting out a laugh. "You're asking me if I'm okay, doll?" You nodded, confused.

"Sweetheart you're the one who's been unconscious for three weeks and has two bullet wounds."

You twisted your hips a little, feeling the agonizing, shooting pain of the very real bullet wounds. Groaning, you whispered, "So that definitely happened, good to know."

Bucky ran his hand down the side of your face, sitting in the chair that was placed beside your shared bed. "I'm the one who's supposed to protect you, doll." You gulped, "I- I couldn't let you die, James."

Bucky closed his eyes, laying his head down on your thigh as he gripped your hand in his. "I would've rather die than see you in this state, sweetheart."

You lifted your other hand, running it through his untamed hair. "Don't say that, Buck." But his head lifted, making you notice his bloodshot eyes and the way tears streamed down his face in harsh lines. "I won't live without you, doll." He shook his head, a tear dripping onto the hospital blanket "I would rather die a thousand times over and over in the same painful way than see you in such agony, my love."

You held back tears, closing your eyes as you tried to steady your breath. "I couldn't- no. I wouldn't let you die like that, Buck." You looked at him once again, "Not at the hands of Rumlow. Not because of me." "This wasn't because of you, doll-" "But it was!" You shouted, making you cough slightly, not used to using your voice for this long yet. "Rumlow took you because he wanted to hurt us- because he wanted me." You cupped Bucky's jaw in your hand, "Because I chose you." Bucky gulped, "I've never been so scared." You softly laughed, thinking of all the shootouts, drug deals, and interrogations Bucky went through on a day-to-day basis.

But he shook his head, hearing your chuckle. "Seeing him hurt you and torture you the way he did." Bucky's eyes went dark, "I've never wanted to hurt someone so bad just to ensure you made it out of there safely." You tried to speak up but Bucky kept going. "And look at you now. You're laying here, with two gunshot wounds, fingernails ripped apart, and a busted-up face."

Tilting your head, you looked at the mirror that stood in front of your and Bucky's bed; genuinely taking in your appearance. You in fact did have a busted-in face. Your lip was split. Your eyebrow was stitched as well as your nose. You had bruises covering every inch of your skin and your hair was in the worst shape you had ever seen.

Gulping, you looked away from the mirror, making Bucky take your chin in his hands, guiding you to look him in the eyes. "But you're still the prettiest doll I've ever seen." He moved, bringing his lips to yours in a soft yet long-awaited kiss. "My best girl."

It hurt to smile but you did, bringing your hand to his face, gently rubbing over the matching bruises that mirrored yours. "I love you, James."

"I love you, doll."

________________________

The next few days were agonizing.

You could finally stand up on the third day. But not without terrible pain shooting in every nerve ending of your body.

Bucky helped you with everything. From showering to cleaning your wounds. He was quite the nurse when it came to you.

But unfortunately about a week after you woke up, the violence hadn't ended. There were still some loose ends to tie up.

Slowly walking down the stairs and into one of the main rooms, everyone's attention went to your hobbling frame. "Doll?" Bucky sped over, Steve immediately pulling up a chair so you could take a seat.

As you sat down you noticed a large bruise on Steve's jaw. You knew Bucky would eventually be mad at him for not properly making sure you stayed out of the mess and violence of it all. But you were hoping it would've been a stern lecture, not a punch.

"What are you doing out of bed?" Bucky whispered. The room stayed completely silent as Steve, Sam, and the rest of Bucky's men kept their backs turned, giving you two some privacy.

"I know you're planning to retaliate against, Rumlow."

Bucky nodded, taking your face in his hands as you fidgeted with the string of your sweatpants. Well, Bucky's sweatpants.

"I don't want you involved again, doll." He glanced back at Steve for a moment, "Not after what happened."

You shook your head, "I need him to pay for this, Buck." Your body shook with anger, "I want his fucking blood." Bucky was slightly startled, never seeing this much hatred in your eyes. You were always his sweet wife. You made the men cookies, and you organized charity events for the homeless shelter down the street.

Sure, you knew how to use a gun and fight if you had to. But seeing this much agonizing resentment on your face, scared him. But he knew you wouldn't let it go. He sure as hell wasn't.

So he let you know the plan, and what was going down.

______________

"Steve? We good?" Bucky touched the earpiece, hearing an affirmative. The mob had infiltrated Rumlow's mansion only one week later, killing every single man who stood in their way. Shoot on site. Was your husband's order as you and he waited to enter the mansion, making sure only Rumlow and Natasha were left.

Two of Bucky's men opened the doors to the mansion. The sight of the place made you cringe slightly. Soldiers were dead on the ground everywhere. Blood painted the floors and staircases like a stain.

"Top floor, back left bedroom."

You heard Steve's voice echo through the earpiece as you and Bucky made your way up.

His hand never left the small of your back, making sure you were covered at all angles with men following behind and in front of you, rifles pinned for every aspect of an attack.

"You alright, doll?" Bucky whispered, his hand on the door that would lead you to Rumlow. You nodded, ignoring the dull pain in your back. "I need this to be over with." Your husband kissed the crown of your head, nodding to his men as they busted down the door, guns held high.

But the sight in front of you made you smile.

Rumlow was beaten down, cowering in the corner of the room as Natasha stood in the corner, you could see the fear in her eyes. The same fear she caused you as she ripped your fingernails to pieces.

"Brock Rumlow," Bucky spoke in a deep voice, pulling on a pair of black gloves, before handing you a matching pair.

You slipped them on, hand placed on the knife that was strapped onto your thigh, just above the black jeans you had on.

Steve and Sam patted Bucky on the back, looking toward you with respect. "Have fun, you two." The blonde spoke, before exiting and closing the doors behind them.

"P-please, Barnes." Rumlow pleaded, "Have mercy."

Bucky was about to laugh before Natasha beat him to it. "Oh, please. You two really think he was the mastermind behind all this?" You looked over at the redhead in the corner, your former friend.

"If he's not, does that mean you are?" Your voice carried through the room, a newfound confidence making you raise your head high.

Natasha grinned, "And here I thought you never would've survived." You tilted your head, "Two bullet shots and I'm walking four weeks later." You pulled the gun from your other holster, "I can't say the same for you after this." You pointed it right at her forehead.

"Come here," Bucky moved forward, knowing you had Natasha pinned with the intent to shoot; dragging Rumlow up as two of his men held him on his knees.

"Nat, please. Do something." Rumlow begged, making you let out a laugh under your breath. "Do you think she's really in the position to?" You saw her move forward slightly, making you cock your gun, "One more step and I blow your fucking brains all over these white sheets."

Bucky grinned, loving this color on you.

"You really thought you could take my girl from me?" Your husband kneels in front of Brock, pulling out a knife from his belt. "What did you call her after breaking her nose? Oh, that's right, a 'lovely specimen."

Bucky's smirk dropped, nodding at the two men holding Brock down as they forced his mouth open. Brock shouted and yelled as Bucky gripped the end of his tongue, pulling it from his mouth and slicing it clean off from the base with his knife.

Brock wailed and cried as another soldier brought over a jar filled with a yellow liquid, opening the top so Bucky could drop the tongue in. He closed the lid, holding it up high as he watched Brock's mouth fill with blood. "What a lovely specimen."

"You two are fucking sick." Natasha, sneered, making you grip the knife from your own holster, throwing it and landing it right in her hand that was held in the air. She screamed, falling to the ground and back up until her back hit the wall.

You kneeled down, gun still pointed in her face, "Talk again and next time your tongue will join his in the jar." Your former friend gulped, nodding as you smirked.

Bucky gripped the front of Brock's shirt, making his back touch Bucky's chest as he held a knife to his throat. "Anything you wanna say before I kill you in front of your girlfriend, Rumlow?"

You laughed, slightly, making Bucky huff in humor. "Oh, that's right. You can't" He whispered the last part before slicing a clean and deep cut across his neck, blood pouring out as he collapsed to the ground, whimpering and sputtering in pain as he bled out, his eyes on you in fear as he eventually stopped moving.

Natasha looked back at you, still clutching her bleeding hand into her chest. You kneeled down, "Why, Natasha?" She shook with terror, hardly being able to force the words out. "Why did he have to pick you?!"

Your brows furrowed in confusion, "What?" Natasha scoffed, looking over at your husband, then back to you.

"Before you came along I thought he could love me. But then you showed up, taking all Bucky's attention. I never stood a fucking chance." You laughed, sighing before standing and walking over to Bucky, placing a hand on the back of his head before smashing your lips against his in a heated kiss. He groaned, biting your lip and making you moan into his mouth.

You chuckled, still holding the back of his head in your hand. You lifted your arm, perfect aim.

"No, Natasha. You never stood a fucking chance." One, two, then three shots rang out through the room as you planted two bullets in Natasha's head, and one in the chest.

Dropping the gun, you saw her body slump to the ground. Dead.

Bucky turned you away from the scene, bringing your face into his hands as both of you had unshed tears in your eyes. "It's over, doll."

You nodded, holding onto his hands as they held your face. "Can we go home, Buck?" He nodded, bringing your face into his chest as he walked you back through the house and into the car. "We're going home, doll. I'm never leaving you."

End

__________________

part one (read first)

masterlist

Taglist:

@yeahyeahyeah23-blog @rinniereads123 @shortnloud @julvrs @unaxv @sapphirebarnes

387 notes · View notes

sarahowritesostucky · 6 months ago

Text

📖"Breeding the Winter Soldier"

Rated: Explicit

Word Count: 7893

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes

Tags: a/b/o, Omega Bucky, Alpha Steve, Hydra wins, dark AU, forced mating, breeding program, coerced sex, restraints, heats/ruts, forced to fuck, past Bucky x Brock, HTP adjacent, mind control, anal sex, hurt/comfort (mostly comfort)

A.N.: this was written all the way back in 2017!

Breeding the Winter Soldier

“Looks like they gave Cap his assignment,” Rollins chuckles from where he’s sitting, boots propped up on the observation room’s control panel. “Doesn’t seem too happy about being told he’s gotta breed ‘im.”

Brock scoffs lightly, unable to help himself from lighting up out of frustration as he stares through the one-way glass window at their prisoner. Smoking isn’t allowed inside the facility, but that’s never stopped Brock. “This is bullshit,” he complains around the cigarette between his lips, tossing the spent match to the floor as he gets a good first lungful of nicotine. Beyond the window, Captain fucking America—or what used to be Captain America— is pacing, pacing, pacing, distressed at the news. Brock seethes quietly. “Project Genesis is mine. He was supposed to be mine.”

And now Steven Grant Rogers is the one they want instead. The superior choice, apparently, for siring little super-soldiers. Brock had broken whatever he’d been holding when he’d first heard the order come down—a coffee mug, he thinks it was. The order strictly reassigned him as handler only to the asset, the one to supervise the project. Supervise. Brock cringes at the restriction of the word. He’s been the asset’s commanding officer for going on five years now. Unofficially, he’s been his alpha for two. He’s the one who knows the asset, understands him. He’s the only one who knows how to make him work right, how to get through to him. He’s the one who cares about him, who satisfies him through his heats. And now Hydra is forcing him to give that all away?

His mate is going to be so confused.

Rollins tells him to chill. “I’m sure they’ll still let you fuck around with him once he’s pupped a few litters.”

“That’s not the fucking point!” Brock roars, angry but not at Rollins. Jack seems to know this, as he doesn’t move at all from his lazy posture in the chair. “He’s my omega. I’m perfectly capable of breeding him, if that’s what they want.”

Rollins shrugs. “You ain’t got that super soldier sperm.”

“Captain. Hail Hydra.”

Steve looks up from where he’s been eating his breakfast and frowns at the sight of Rumlow. It’s strange and upsetting to see people that he knew from before. People who he’d thought were the good guys. Brock looks the same as he did a year ago. Same haircut, same face, same tactical gear that he used to wear when he was on Shield’s Strike team, when he was Steve’s friend. Only now there is no Shield, and there are no friends. Now they all belong to Hydra whether they want to or not.

“Hail Hydra,” Steve mumbles into the cold milk of his cereal.

“Gotta come with me, Cap,” Rumlow tells him. “Today’s the day.”

Steve looks up at him, eyes angry and tired. “I’m not doing it,” he says. He’s fucking not doing it. They can’t make him.

“I’m not in the mood for this today.” Rumlow calls in the four guards that he’s brought with him and has them stand there with their stun batons as a warning for Steve. Before, they never would’ve been enough to keep him subdued. But that was before. Steve knows it’ll be no use trying to fight them off. He lets his spoon drop into the cereal bowl.

They take him down to the wing where they keep Bucky, to a room with a bed, a minifridge and an exam chair. It’s a heat suite, where they intend to force him to do this, Steve supposes. Bucky’s not there. There’s a tech waiting for them and when Steve lays eyes on the prepped syringes he tenses, tries to turn around. He winds up with a stun baton jammed to his neck and the next thing he knows he’s restrained in the chair. The tech is bringing a needle over and Steve pulls with all his might against the mag restraints. They don’t budge. “Relax,” Rumlow says. He’s standing beside Steve. “It’s just something to help you.”

“Help me how?” Steve asks, afraid. He’s already drugged up six ways to Sunday. Drugs to keep him weak, drugs to keep him dazed, drugs to keep him calm. If he didn’t heal so rapidly his inner arms would look like pincushions by now. The injections erase who he is, erase any possibility of a fight, let alone an escape. He doesn’t want any more injections.

“Something to kickstart your rut,” Brock says. He points to the other needles, one by one. “An aphrodisiac. A benzo to lower your inhibitions. Hormones to increase the chances of conceiving.”

Steve sneers. “I’m not doing it. I’m not hurting him.”

“You sure as hell better not,” Brock tells him, and there’s something about the way that he says it that has Steve paying closer attention. Steve takes notice of how tense Rumlow seems, upset almost. He smells the sour tint of possessiveness rolling off of him. “He’s mine,” Brock says. It’s obvious he’s not talking about his role as Bucky’s handler.

Steve squints for a moment. “…No,” he says, eyes widening. Rumlow smirks when he sees that Steve is finally figuring it out. “You’ve had him.”

“Wow. Took you long enough Cap. Thought you would’ve at least smelled him on me, all the times I fucked him before passing you in the hall.”

Steve grits his teeth, fury building in him in a way that he didn’t think was possible, not with all of the mood stabilizers Hydra’s got him on. “You fucking raped him?!” The tech comes over and jabs Steve while he’s distracted, not that he can move much in the restraints anyway. The needle stings going in, but the anger coursing through him is worse than the cold flush of medicine through his veins.

Brock looks at Steve with contempt. “I’m his handler. He hasn’t been raped since I started caring for him.”

Steve pants in his seat, feeling his temperature start to climb as the drugs work into his system. “Is that what you call it?” he sneers. “You think you’re taking care of him?”

“I know you’re not happy about this,” Brock tells him. “But let me tell you something: neither am I.”

“What are you talking about?”

Brock tells the tech to get out of the room. He orders the AI system that they stole from Stark Industries to stop monitoring them. Once they’re all alone he tells Steve, “He’s mine, Rogers.” Steve growls at him and that makes Rumlow roll his eyes. He drags a stool over to sit right in front of where Steve is restrained. “What you’re participating in? It’s called Project Genesis.”

“Yeah, trying to make baby supersoldiers, I get it,” Steve snaps. “I’m not doing it.”

“It’s the only fucking reason you’re alive right now,” Brock tells him. “And it’s the only reason he’s not gathering dust in some cryo vault.”

Steve can’t suppress his frown. “What?”

Brock sighs. “You’ve both been decommissioned. Hydra is a major world power now. One or two enhanced assets aren’t worth our time anymore. An army of supersoldiers, however, is. That’s what he’s still useful for.”

“You son of a bitch.”

“Yeah? How do you think I feel?” Brock snaps. “I was the one who was supposed to breed him. Was working on it just fine till they brought you in. I’m sure you think he’ll be happy to see you but let me tell you, he won’t.” Brock can smell the change coming over the other alpha, can smell his body ramping up for a rut. Beneath the scent of sex hormones is the sour tinge of chemicals. It makes Brock want to curl his nose and bare his teeth in a challenge, or maybe turn away to escape the smell altogether. “He doesn’t know you Cap, and you’re just going to scare him if you come at him acting like he should be glad to see you.”

Steve glares at him. “He does remember me. He knew me on the helicarrier.” Bucky had known him. He had.

But Brock shakes his head. “No. He only has bits and pieces Rogers. He’s my omega. I bonded to him years ago.”

Steve growls and pulls at his restraints again. “No!”

“Calm the fuck down!” Brock leans in closer. He looks mad. Smells mad too. “This isn’t about you or me. It’s not up to us. Do you think I’d let you touch him if it was?”

“He’s not yours,” Steve grits out. “And I’m not going to touch him.”

Brock huffs. “You wait till those drugs kick in, you’ll be singing a different tune.” He looks at Steve seriously. “And just so you know, he’s already in heat.”

Steve’s eyes widen at that. “What?”

“Yeah. He’s hot and aching and he knows what his mission is. He’s not going to fight it,” Brock says. “But he’s expecting me. He’s expecting someone that he knows to help him feel better. And he’s going to be confused when I bring him in here and tell him that he has to let another alpha fuck him. A stranger. So I need for you to calm down. I don’t want him scared. You and I are going to talk to him together and you’re going to be gentle with him.”

Steve can feel arousal building in himself, and it’s strange to feel that while he’s sitting there next to Rumlow, being told all of this. The chemically-induced rut is coming on fast. “Shit,” he curses, head falling back to the chair behind him. He can feel himself firming up beneath the thin cotton of his sleep pants and he hates that he can’t hide it from Rumlow. “I can’t do this. Please don’t make me do this.”

“Get it together Cap,” Rumlow snaps, unhappy.

“Fuck you!” Steve spits.

Brock sighs. “I was hoping you’d shut up but I can see that’s not going to happen. He crosses the room only to return with a gag in his hands. He forces Steve’s jaw open and presses the ball gag in, saying nothing about the fight Steve puts up. Once it’s secured and Steve is heaving angry breaths at him, Brock says, “I’m going to get him now. If you care about him at all you won’t make this worse for him than it has to be.” He gets up and leaves through the room’s only door and Steve is forced to wait long minutes, panting and sweating at the oncoming rush of a forced rut.

The asset is relieved when its handler comes to retrieve it. It entered its heat hours ago and has had to wait, alone and aching, in the little room. “Come on James,” the handler says when the asset stands from its little cot, and the asset remembers that this is supposed to be its name. He’s never heard it before—not from anyone besides his handler. It's probably invented, but he likes that he uses it. Even if it’s made up, it’s something special between just the two of them.

Now they’ll go to the other room, the one where they always go when he is to be bred. James looks forward to it because he knows it’ll make him feel better. Brock (that’s his handler’s name. He’s allowed to use it when they’re alone) will give him everything he needs, will knot him and hopefully fill him with pups. That’s their mission. So far they’ve been unsuccessful but the asset thinks it’s because his heats used to be so unpredictable. Now he’s been out of cryo long enough that he’s cycling regularly again, his body ready for a pregnancy.

The asset has never thought about reproducing. An assassin doesn’t think of such things, a weapon certainly doesn’t. But James does. James doesn’t mind his new mission. He hasn’t told his handler, but he secretly prefers serving Hydra this way over what he used to do. This way he doesn’t have to go into the cold. And they don’t wipe him. And there’s someone who cares for him—his alpha. Deep down, he secretly likes the idea of having a baby, something that’s his that isn’t garbage or government-issued. Something that’s all his. He doesn’t tell his handler about this either.

They enter the other room and there is someone else there. It’s a man, an alpha. He’s restrained and in rut, that much is clear right away. The asset is nearly knocked back by the abrupt smell of him. Brock notices and laughs, reaching to grab him by the arm and pull him closer. “Easy babe.”

The asset scans his eyes over the man on the chair. He’s big. Tall and muscled, with blond hair and handsome features. He’s clearly upset. He struggles against his bonds as they approach, making useless sounds through the gag in his mouth. The asset looks questioningly at Brock. “Who is he?” He’s not really supposed to ask questions unprompted, but over time he’s learned that it’s okay with his handler, with Brock.

“His name is Captain Rogers,” Brock says. “Former SHIELD operative. He’s an enhanced like you are.”

The asset nods. He was unaware that there were others like himself. There used to be a program, but it had failed. He can remember helping, being tasked with training a group of men and women to make them stronger, better. But they’d gone wild and had been eliminated. The mission had failed.

“We have new orders,” Brock tells him, and this is when he takes his hand, squeezes it reassuringly. James purrs at the contact, moves to begin removing his clothes as is expected of him. But Brock stops him. “Wait, babe.”

The man in the chair growls at the pet name and James whines. He doesn’t want the other alpha to be there. He wants to be naked, in a bed, under his mate. “I’m hot,” he points out. “I need to get undressed.”

“You can,” Brock tells him. He pets the side of James’ face. “But I’m not going to be here with you.”

The asset frowns in confusion. “What?” He doesn’t understand. This is the breeding room. James is in heat. It’s their mission—they’ll be punished if they don’t complete it. The asset tilts his head, baring his neck, trying to show his alpha how ready he is. “Alpha please,” he whines. He’d hit the floor and present if not for the other alpha in the room. “I’m in heat. I need it.”

Brock shushes him, gentles a hand down his side. It feels good but it’s not nearly enough. “I know baby, I know. You’ll get a knot, just not mine.” The asset is confused again, but only for a second. His eyes dart over to where the other alpha is bound. Brock sees this and he nods, “Yeah baby, you’re going to mate with him.”

“What?” A low noise of distress leaves James’ throat, unbidden. He’s not supposed to make noises like that. But Brock never punishes him for such mistakes, not when it’s just the two of them. “No. You’re supposed to do it. You’re my mate,” he says, feeling scared. He’s not supposed to argue with directions. “Alpha?” he says, trying to press his nose into Brock’s neck, trying to ignore the other man in the room. “The mission,” he urges. “Breed me. Put pups in me.”

But Brock just kisses his temple and sets him back firmly. “Sorry babe,” he says. “It’s orders.”

Steve tries to speak through the gag but of course it’s no use.

He is forced to sit there and watch as Rumlow comes into the room with Bucky, holding his hand, for Christ’s sake. Bucky doesn’t seem to mind at all. He makes a pleased sound whenever Brock touches him, and when he calls him pet names. Steve feels his guts lurch at the obvious show of affection between them. He feels jealously flare up in his core like a rabid animal, wanting to kill the other alpha for touching Bucky, for trying to claim the omega that should be his.

That, he knows, is his rut talking. It’s gotten worse in the past ten minutes since Brock left him here, tied to the exam chair and gagged. Steve’s skin itches and his pulse throbs. Between his legs, he’s hard. And now that Bucky has come into the room, now that Steve can smell him, it’s so much worse. Bucky smells like damp, cloying earth. He smells like dark, cramped spaces and tangled up bodies. He smells like something Steve wants to bury his face in and not come up for air from. Steve takes one look at him and feels the urge to chase him, catch him, pin him down come unbidden. All he can do is wiggle ineffectively in his bonds.

In front of him, Brock is telling Bucky that he has to mate with Steve. Steve’s heart clenches when Bucky looks over to him, tense and afraid. His eyes do not hold recognition. Steve listens as Bucky pleads and whines to Brock, calling him his alpha, begging him to breed him instead. And Brock fucking comforts him, pets him and gives him a kiss and tells him it’s okay. Bucky looks like he never wants to leave Brock’s side. Steve clenches his eyes shut at the sight.

“Rogers.”

Steve’s eyes open. Brock is standing right in front of him. Bucky is still hanging back, looking unsure. “You see?” Brock says, and he’s not bragging or gloating or anything. He’s just trying to get Steve to listen. “He’s used to being with me, Cap. He doesn’t know you. Now are you gonna behave if I take that gag out? Not going to upset him?”

Steve glares at Rumlow, but after a moment manages a terse nod. The gag gets removed, and Steve takes a moment to swallow the spit in his mouth, lick his lips and crack his jaw. “Thanks,” he grunts, not feeling at all thankful.

Rumlow nods, chucks the gag away. “I’m not going to let you up from that chair yet,” he tells Steve. “That I’ll do remotely, once I’m out of the room.”

Steve sneers. “What? You afraid to be alone with me?”

Brock raises his eyebrows. “First of all, I’m not alone.” He nods back to Bucky. “I’ve got him. Don’t let his role in our breeding program fool you; he’s still perfectly capable of ending a man with his bare hands. If I give him the order to, that is. Secondly, I’m not going to let you out of that chair while I’m in the room because you’re in rut. A rut that we chemically engineered to match his heat. You’re geared up to attack any alpha that comes near him.”

Steve scoffs. “I’ve got better control than you, animal.”

Brock looks back at Bucky and calls him over, but he calls him James, and that rankles Steve more than anything else yet. “Come here James,” Rumlow says. He holds out his arm and Bucky comes over obediently. “This is Steve. He’s not a big fan of mine, I’m sure you can tell.”

“Bucky,” Steve says urgently. “Bucky I’m not going to hurt you. Okay? Don’t worry.”

“Who the hell is Bucky?” Bucky murmurs to Brock.

Brock glares at Steve. “I told you Cap. He doesn’t know any of that.” Brock pulls Bucky closer, encourages him to go up and touch Steve where he’s restrained to the chair. “Go ahead babe. You heard him: he won’t hurt you. Have a look at him.”

Bucky does. He inches closer until his leg hits the side of the chair. He reaches forward with careful fingers, as if Steve is a wild animal that might bite. Bucky’s eyes are cold and calculating as they pass over Steve, no recognition to them. Not like Steve wants. “He’s healthy,” Bucky murmurs, almost as if he’s afraid to say it. “Strong.” Behind, Brock chuckles a little.

“Yeah he is. Don’t worry though. He won’t be rough on you.” Brock meets Steve’s eyes over Bucky’s head. “I have it on good authority. He’s going to be real gentle.”

Bucky doesn’t react to this, and Steve feels as if he can hardly breathe as Bucky continues to examine him. He touches Steve’s arms, his legs, his chest. Steve is still clothed, but the touches ramp up the desire that the drugs have kickstarted. In his pants, he’s hard as a rock. Bucky leans down and sticks his nose into Steve’s neck, scenting at the glands there. It’s all Steve can do not to moan where he’s sitting, all he can do not to try and thrust his hips up the way his body wants to. After a long inspection, Bucky seems to make up his mind about Steve. He stands back and away, looks to Brock. “He’ll sire good pups. I understand why he’s been chosen.” He nods once to show his obedience in the matter. “I’ll complete the mission.”

Brock smiles at him. “Good boy.”

“Buck you don’t have to do anything these sacks of shit tell you to—”

“Cap,” Rumlow warns, “That ain’t the way. He WILL do what we tell him to. And if you’re resisting, he’ll take you by force. That how you want this to go?”

Steve grimaces at the threat, imagining the absurdity of Bucky raping him. “He should have a choice,” Steve tells Rumlow darkly, hating the man with every fiber of his being. “Does this make you proud?” he asks. “Treating him like a thing? Violating him?” Steve forces himself to meet Rumlow’s eyes in an imploring manner. “You said that you mated him. If that’s true, is this really what you want for him?”

Rumlow shakes his head, looks at Steve as if he’s incredibly thickheaded. “You just don’t get it, do ya Cap?” He walks over, takes a hold of Bucky’s neck and pulls him in for a deep kiss. Steve watches the display with horror, especially once Bucky brings both of his hands up to cradle Rumlow’s jaw. Brock pulls away from Bucky, their lips separating with a pop, and he glares at Steve. “This isn’t about ‘want’. It’s about following orders.” With that he pushes Bucky up to stand close to Steve, turning away before either man can stop him. “Now just shut up, lay back, and get him pregnant,” he throws over his shoulder as he walks out the door.

James tries not to feel anything when his mate leaves the room. He tries to slip back into the mindset of the Asset, a place where feelings are irrelevant. Brock has explained the parameters of the mission, has given the soldier his orders. Now James will execute. He tips his ear towards the door, his enhanced hearing helping him to pick up on the sounds of many intricate locking mechanisms being set. He flicks his gaze back up to the body of the other man—the man they’ve chosen to sire his pups.

James wants to sneer, feels like maybe he does. He shuffles uncomfortably in place, wetness already growing sticky and cool where it’s seeped into the back of his pants. He wonders if Captain Rogers can smell it. Stepping close to the chair where he’s restrained, James examines the mag cuffs that hold him in place. They’re similar to the ones that his handlers use on him. It makes James wonder just how strong this man is. Brock had said he was enhanced. He tilts his head in curiosity.

“… Bucky—”

“Directive clarification,” James calls out to the room, ignoring whatever the Captain had been about to say to him. James doesn’t wait for a response; he knows they’re being watched. “Am I to mount him like this?” he asks, not particularly caring either way. He shouldn’t care about this stranger’s comfort during the act—he’s not Brock. The soldier has his orders and James has no choice. He has to do it. A quick glance shows him what he can already smell: Captain Rogers is fully erect beneath his clothing. On the chair or in a bed, he’ll be easy enough for James to take inside of his body. But a crackle comes through the speakers in the ceiling, echoing Brock’s voice into the room:

“Use the bed if you want. He’s been chemically subdued so he shouldn’t be able to put up much a fight. Releasing mag cuffs in three, two...”

In the next second the restraints on the chair click open, and James turns back in time to see Captain Rogers pulling his arms away from the chair. He sits up, swinging his legs over the side. His bare feet touch the floor but he remains perched on the chair’s edge. For the first time, James realizes that the Captain is dressed in sleeping clothes. A standard issue tee shirt and cotton pants are all he wears. “Bucky,” he says again, holding out an arm in James’ direction. It is unclear if the gesture is meant to beckon James closer or to keep him at bay. James is not unaware that, omega or not, he presents a threatening image to most men. With this in mind he narrows his stance, draws his shoulders down to seem as small and nonthreatening as possible. Hopefully this will keep the Captain from trying to do something as counterproductive as running, or fighting.

“I realize you don’t recognize me, but don’t be scared. I’m not going to hurt you. My name’s Steve.

James blinks at him. He takes stock of the situation. Captain Rogers—Steve—has been made aware of his role in the breeding program. He’s been given his orders just like James has, but he’s resisting. James can smell it on him, the warring scents of desire and disgust. James steps closer, tilting his head to the side once he’s just in front of him. “Smell that?” he asks, being sure to keep his eyes cast down. The Captain’s hands are clenched tightly by his sides as James bares his neck in a submissive gesture. “Come on,” he says as gently as he can. “Alpha?”

“Don’t,” Steve bites out. He sounds pained. “Don’t call me that Buck.”

James bites his cheek, thinking he may just have to use physical force if this man won’t listen. “You’re in forced rut,” he says, trying again. “That can’t feel good.”

Steve huffs an abortive laugh. “Yeah.”

“You’re flushed,” James tells him. There is perspiration all along the collar of Steve’s tee. “And you’re hot. Burning-up-inside hot. Believe me I know how it feels. When you’re so desperate that you’re miserable?” He reaches for the hem of his own shirt, pulls it quickly over his head. He knows that the movement makes his scent burst into the air. Now his top half is exposed and James has to hold in the sigh that wants to come at the relief of having that much less clothing on his body. He tosses his shirt aside. In front of him, Steve’s nostrils are flaring. “It doesn’t have to be like that,” he tells him, “You can have me. It’ll help.”

Steve’s fingers sink into the chair’s cushion, little bits of foam padding ripping out and falling to the floor. His scent is soaring—a deep, rich scent like copper and burnt wood. James grits his teeth at the sudden urge to drop and present. He slowly reaches out with his flesh hand and touches Steve’s thigh. “Why are you afraid?” he asks. It’d be nice to know. Everyone always seems to know more than he does…

“I can’t hurt you like this Buck. I just can’t.”

James shushes him, ignores the continued use of that nonsensical name, Bucky. “You won’t,” he soothes, pulling lightly at the fabric of Steve’s pants in an effort to get him to slide off the chair. “I’m in heat. I’m ready. It won’t hurt.”

Steve scoffs, but he does allow himself to be moved. Standing barefoot, they come eye to eye. “That’s not the kind of hurt I meant.”

James ignores the clench his heart gives as he thinks of Brock. He wonders if his alpha is watching from another room, observing them through a little camera. He hopes not. “Come here,” James says, pulling Steve forward. Steve’s hands find their way to his hips, and James feels more slick rush out of his body at the contact. He whimpers without meaning to. “Scent me,” he says, tilting his head again. He’s pressing up against Steve, their bodies connected from thigh to chest. He can feel the alpha’s erection and he’s certain that Steve can feel his. But that hardly matters as Steve releases an answering growl somewhere in his throat. His head dips down and he buries his nose in the crook of James’ neck. James’ breath leaves him in a satisfied puff. He’s been in heat for nearly twenty-four hours with no relief until now. He’d been expecting Brock, his mate, but the mission has changed.

His body has already decided for him, he realizes. It doesn’t matter that this isn’t Brock. Doesn’t matter that it’s a stranger who’s been selected to put pups in him. James’ body recognizes this Steve for what he is; a strong, virile alpha.

The Asset grabs Steve with his metal hand, pushing him towards the bed before the other man can protest.

Steve stumbles over his own feet, not having been prepared for the rough grab and push of Bucky’s metal arm. He falls gracelessly back onto the room’s bed with a grunt. Bucky doesn’t give him time to recover. He’s there in a flash, one hand planted in the center of Steve’s chest and the other yanking down his pants. Bucky tosses them to the floor and reaches for Steve’s shirt. But Steve isn’t having it. He grabs Bucky’s arms and attempts to fight him. They grapple for all of three seconds before Bucky has him pinned, and Steve is panting furiously. The drugs make him so much weaker than before. With Bucky’s metal arm in play he doesn’t stand a chance. Begging is all he’s got left, it seems. “Please,” he says, staring imploringly. “You don’t want to do this.”

Bucky ignores him completely. He rips Steve’s tee shirt down the front like it’s paper, pulls it off of him and throws it somewhere in the general vicinity of where the pants had gone. Leaning forward over Steve’s now-naked body, he gives a very un-omega like growl. “Stay down.” He stands up and divests himself of the boots he’s wearing, then his pants.

Of course Steve doesn’t listen. He manages to prop himself up by the time Bucky’s taking his underwear off, and the scent that hits Steve then is so strong it makes him clench his eyes shut. “Fuck.” He can’t look at Bucky, he can’t or he’ll lose his shit. The bed dips and Steve jerks as Bucky pulls him to lie down again, too much naked skin pressed up along his own. “Bucky, don’t—” He’s cut off by lips crashing down on his own. Bucky wastes no time in forcing his way, mouthing and biting at Steve to make him open up. His hands pull at Steve’s hair and he fucks his tongue lewdly into his mouth. A garbled noise that probably would have been a moan had it been allowed to form leaves Steve, his hands grabbing the first part of Bucky they can find—his hips. Steve pulls on Bucky, whether to bring him closer or push him away he’s not sure, but he winds up tugging the other man fully atop him, and the second Steve feels him start rolling his hips downwards, he’s lost.

Bucky breaks the kiss, pulling away. Steve opens his eyes to see the omega staring at him, eyes a hard grey. He’s still fucking downwards, rubbing himself off against the crest of Steve’s groin, and his breath has become harsh. “This is our mission,” he breathes, sounding rough and desperate. “We have to. You have to.”

Steve feels sickness rise up and mingle with the desperation of his rut again. “No.”

“Yes.”

Steve repeats the ‘no’ several times more as Bucky continues to writhe against him, but his hands don’t loosen their hold on Bucky’s hips, and he doesn’t try to push Bucky off of him. “I can’t.”

Bucky makes an angry sound in his throat and yanks Steve’s head back with the grip he has on his hair. It’s his metal hand and it hurts. “You don’t have a choice,” he says. Steve growls at the dominant gesture, his hindbrain urging him to put the omega in his place. But Bucky leans closer again. For a second Steve thinks he’s going to kiss him, but he doesn’t. He puts his lips to Steve’s ear, the dark length of his hair falling around them. “Don’t make me take it,” he whispers, sounding desperate. His hips have not stopped moving. “Please. Alpha. You’re supposed to give it to me. Take me. Don’t make me do it.”

Steve groans. There’s nothing worse that Bucky could have said. He’s in heat, and Steve’s in rut, and now he’s calling Steve Alpha and begging Steve to mate with him the way that he wants it; to take him the way an alpha should take their omega. Steve opens his eyes to find Bucky staring at him once again, only this time his eyes are soft and his brow is pinched—pleading. He looks more like the Bucky that Steve remembers, and Steve can’t ignore the urge within himself to make that pleading look go away, to satisfy.

He flips them over. The only reason he’s able to do it is because he takes Bucky completely by surprise. Bucky’s eyes go wide for a moment, assessing a threat, before he realizes the move for what it is and he relaxes and purrs. Steve doubts himself immediately. He brings his hands to Bucky’s face, pleased when he’s not pushed away and Bucky fucking bends his neck to expose himself. “Alpha,” Bucky whines, but Steve’s not having it.

“You listen to me,” he says angrily, using the last goddamn piece of himself that he has left to convey seriousness in his tone. Bucky stares at him obediently and Steve swallows. “They don’t wipe my memory, got it? You may not remember me, but I remember you. And I won’t hurt you. I hurt you, you have to tell me. If you want to stop, you tell me. Got it?”

James frowns, even in his lust-ridden brain he knows he does. This stranger—no, some distant and unreachable part of his mind corrects, not a stranger—Steve—is referencing the wipes, is telling him that they’ve met before. James can’t disprove such a claim. He wonders if this Captain Rogers was once his handler, or possibly a target. He wonders if “Bucky” was his call sign then. Steve is still staring intently at him, waiting for his answer, and James shakes his head to get the thoughts to go away. They’re not important, not relevant to the mission. If his promise is all the Captain needs, then it means nothing to James to give it. “You won’t hurt me,” he says again, thinking that the alpha above him is stupid to imagine that he could, but adds, “I’ll tell you if you do.”

That seems to settle it for Steve. He comes down and kisses James’ forehead, leaves his lips to linger there in a manner that makes James distinctly uncomfortable—as if they are old friends, or family even. “Okay,” he says quietly. “Turn over.”

James flips, never having obeyed an order so quickly. He tries to push himself up to present but with Steve’s heavy weight at his back he can’t do it. Behind, he can feel the alpha’s hardness pressing between his cheeks and it makes him whine needily. This may be a mission, but he’s still been left wanting and unfulfilled for close to going on twenty four hours now. There are no feelings of doubt or discontent with the situation that James needs to force down to be a good soldier. He’s allowed to want this, and he does. “Alpha,” he urges when Steve doesn’t move to penetrate him. “Please. Now, please.”

He can feel the exact moment when Steve gives in. His hands are clamped tightly on James’ wrists to keep him still, but when James nearly begs to be fucked it seems to push the alpha off whatever edge of hesitance he’s still managing to hang onto. James can feel Steve’s cock on his ass as he allows himself to thrust at last. The teasing slide is made easier by the slick that’s gathered there. James groans in frustration, rubbing his face into the bed and fairly suffocating himself as he waits for the other man to get on with it and get inside of him. He’s aching for it, for the stretch and pressure of an alpha’s cock, for a knot. He knows he’ll start yelling in a moment if Steve doesn’t DO SOMETHING.

But he does, and James doesn’t have to yell at him after all. Steve presses up onto his arms, the sweaty warmth of his chest leaving James’ back. He positions himself, bumping against James’ hole, and it’s a relief that he forgoes the unnecessary gesture of using fingers first—James is sure he would snap at him if he tried. Steve presses inside, entering him slowly but never stopping until he’s fully seated, his hips flush with James’ ass. It’s not hard to take him in. James’ body is slick and ready for it and he groans lowly into the bed at the sheer relief of it. “Yesss,” he hisses, and turns his head as much as he can to look back at Steve. The man looks about as gone for it as James feels, and a dark thrill shoots through him at the thought that he’s about to be taken just the way he wants to be. Fucked and bred just the way his body is crying out for. It may not be Brock, but James has decided not to think about that. All he can think about in his current state is Steve; the smell of him, the feel of him, even the sounds he makes, it all feels too perfectly satisfying. Maybe it has something to do with the barrage of drugs the techs had shot him up with yesterday. Maybe. He’s not supposed to care though, and he doesn’t. He tries to thrust his hips backwards, wanting movement and having no idea how the other man can bear to hold so still now that they’re connected. There’s nowhere to go with Steve pinning him down at the hips, but he knows the Alpha feels him squirming, recognizes it for the request that it is. “Move,” James says, sounding more demanding than a good omega should. “God just…”

Steve has a hand in his hair and his nose in his neck before James can finish the sentence. A very low growl, almost a feeling more than a sound, is coming out steadily from his chest. It makes goosebumps break out on James’ arms. “Are you telling me what to do?” Steve asks.

Against the bed, Bucky’s mouth splits in a smug grin. This is what he wanted, what Brock would’ve done. At the height of his heats, all the asset wants, all James wants, is to be taken. To be held down and owned. James strains to look back over his shoulder. The angle is awkward but he ignores it, fixing Steve with what he hopes is a challenging stare. If he has to goad the alpha into a more feral headspace to get things done, then by god that’s exactly what he’ll do. “I came here to get fucked, so yeah, I am. Move,” he bites out, hoping that it will spur Steve into action. It does. He pulls out, ignoring James’ cry of protest. His big hands slide down to his hips and he gets onto his knees behind him. James follows, pressing back and presenting. He can feel Steve’s hands pulling him apart, baring his hole. There is silence and James knows without having to look that Steve is just staring at him. The thought of it makes him shudder. He presses his face into the bedding and whines.

“God,” Steve exclaims softly, dragging a thumb across his leaking hole. “You’re soaked.”

James cannot stop whining low, needy omega sounds. Then he feels the blunt head of Steve’s cock at his entrance and he moans. “Yes,” he hisses, though it’s muffled against the sheets. He presses his ass back harder, and that causes Steve to pop inside of him. The alpha grunts in surprise, but then he’s right back to thrusting, this time faster. Just as deep though, and god, if that isn’t exactly what James wants. “Oh, hugn—oh!” The noises he’s making are obscene but James hardly notices. They seem to drive Steve on, his hips slapping harder each time he moans particularly loud.

It goes on like this until James reaches for his own cock. He only gets a couple of strokes in before Steve is knocking his hand away. James cries out indignantly but then Steve pulls out, flips him over and pushes right back in. He wraps his hand around James’ cock, hips working at the same pace as his hand. He’s staring down at James with a burning intensity, breath heavy with his efforts. “Mine,” he growls, giving a calculated twist on the upstroke.

James’ eyes roll back in his head. “Ugh, fuuck.” It’s incredible and nothing he’s used to. No alpha has ever done this for him before, always leaving it to him to take care of. He can hardly thrust into the grip very well when he’s being fucked as hard as he is, but damn if he doesn’t try. “Please,” he groans, grappling at Steve’s shoulders for something to hold onto. He hardly knows what he’s asking for. The alpha is sweaty above him and James’ hands glide over the muscles in his back. “Please, Steve,”

Steve’s eyes shoot to his at the use of his name. Something raw and more intense than what they’re doing now passes through them, and before James knows what’s happening he’s being kissed. It’s not gentle. It’s plying, and insistent, and needy. God, is it needy. Steve is kissing him like it’s the answer to something and all James can do is go along for the ride.

“Bucky,” Steve is grunting at him when he finally parts enough to speak. James knows he’s speaking to him, so he opens his eyes to the nonsensical name. He doesn’t really care what this man calls him, so long as he never stops. “Buck I’m gonna,” Steve tells him, brow sweaty and pinched. “I have to.”

James groans, feeling how true the alpha’s words are. His knot is growing, tugging more insistently with every thrust. When it feels like Steve might pull away at the last second, James wraps his arms and legs around him in a fierce hold. “No,” he begs. “Inside me. I need it.” He’s not thinking even a little bit about the mission now, only the ache inside him. It’s an ache only a knot will fix, and he whimpers this to Steve as he holds him. “Knot me. Alpha, please. Want to feel it. Fill me up. Breed me.”

Steve makes a filthy sound and shoves forward, groaning long and low into James’ ear. His knot catches, fully blown as he climaxes. His hand has stopped moving over James’ cock but it hardly matters now. He’s rocking his hips shallowly, pulling his knot taut against James’ rim, pulsating it over his prostate again and again and again. James doesn’t need anything else to make him come spectacularly.

“Why do you torture yourself like this?”

Brock doesn’t turn around from the observation window. He figures Rollins is just here to taunt him anyway. “Nobody asked you to come in here,” he says quietly, attention still fixed on the pair in the next room.

“Yeah well…” Rollins comes up and stands right next to Brock, eyes taking in the same sight. “I was curious.” When Brock says nothing, he adds, “Looks like they’re finished.”

Brock scoffs and turns abruptly from the window, putting his back to it. “They’re not fucking finished.” Idiot, he wants to add. He scrubs his hands over his face and it occurs to him that he needs to shave. “That was just round one.” Brock doesn’t know about Rogers, but he is intimately familiar with his own omega’s stamina during a heat. “They’ll be in there for a good two days at least.”

“And you’re just going to stand here and watch?” Rollins rolls his eyes. “Stupid.”

“I can’t do anything else,” Brock snaps, irritated at his friend. “You’ve never been bonded. You wouldn’t understand.”

“No?”

“No.” He sighs. “You think what? It’s just jealousy?” He shakes his head. “I could handle that. But this… It’s like a physical ache.” He turns slightly to glance through the window again, thinks better of it, and turns back around. “Can’t stand it.”

“Can’t do anything to change it.” Rollins points out. “You never should’ve gotten so close. He’s just a thing, and at the end of the day he’s Hydra’s thing, not yours.”

“Yeah.” Brock really doesn’t have it in him to argue that point. He wants to, but he doesn’t. It isn’t like he doesn’t wish he could set the poor SOB free. But that’s never going to happen, and playing house with his bonded for the last six months has just been wishful thinking. “They still going at it?” he asks, unwilling to turn around and look again. He wasn’t exactly getting off on the sight before.

Rollins looks. “Naw. Resting.”

Brock grits his teeth, can’t keep the image of that goddamn super soldier, tied to his mate, out of his head.

“You think it’ll take?”

“Christ Rollins, you just don’t quit. Of course it will.” Pretty soon he’ll have to see the soldier, heavy with a litter of his pups. He hates it. Hates it more than anything.

Rollins shrugs and claps a hand onto Brock’s shoulder. “Don’t stay in here.” Another glance back. “He’s obviously not going to hurt ‘im. Leave them to it. Come and have a drink with me.”

Brock looks at Rollins then and really considers him. He calls him his friend, but the truth is the two of them are just the same as the Winter Soldier—property of Hydra. It’s taken years for him to realize it, but it’s true. Still, Rollins is offering him a drink now, and even more than that, a temporary escape. It’s the closest thing to friendly Brock’s ever gotten from the other man, and he figures it’s the best he’s going to get for a while. He might as well go. Because Rollins is right; he never should have gotten so close.

Brock sighs and nods at Rollins. Tells him, “Yeah. Yeah I think I will.”

Masterlist

🍵Extra funds? Consider tipping your local starving artist smut author!

💖To be added to any of my tag lists, please use This form (it's easy!)

✍🏻Commissions: reach out via Tumblr DM or contact here

@scottishrosefury, @not-that-syndrigast, @lolitsbuckybarnes, @kathy-2005, @stuckysgal, @thenewmissescullen, @sapphirebarnes, @Yoruse, @autumnrose40, @alexakeyloveloki

99 notes · View notes

thehydraethereal · 20 days ago

Text

ও hesh | she/her ⋆ 18 ⋆ fictional older men lover

⋆ DISCLAIMER ❥ THIS BLOG CONTAINS DARK PIECES OF WORK SO IF MY WARNINGS MAKE YOU UNCONFORTABLE, DO NOT INTERACT WITH THIS BLOG.

⋆ TALK TO ME/ASK ME QUESTIONS ABOUT MY WORK OR MYSELF BUT PLEASE, DO IT VIA INBOX NOT DMs. IF YOU'RE ANON, PLEASE, CHOOSE AN EMOJI AND COME BACK AT ME.

⋆ I REALLY ENCOURAGE CHATTING/ SENDING ME REQUESTS. SHOW YOUR BABY BLOG SOME LOVE.

★ REQUESTS: OPENED. PLEASE NOTE THAT I WRITE ONLY DARK CONTENT, SO IF YOU SEND ME FLUFF REQUESTS, I WON'T WRITE THEM (i suck at that). ✻IF YOU SENT ME A REQUEST, PLEASE COME BACK AFTER I WROTE IT AND TELL ME WHAT YOU THOUGHT OF IT. BEFORE YOU REQUEST, READ THIS.

⋆ CHOSEN EMOJI s: 🌏; 🌙

ও 𝓘 𝐍𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝓐 𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝓜 𝐘 𝓦 𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆

𝓣 he themes i'll write from now on are mostly dark, which will include: manipulation, lying, violence (choking, hair pulling, etc.), domestic violence (slapping, etc.), abducting, captivity, restraints, depression, stalking, fear, crying, sexual harassment and nonconsensual touching/ kissing but nothing more than that !!! basically i'm exploring any dark theme. I WRITE ONLY THESE ELEMENTS, NO OTHER KINK. so, i would like to get some inspiration and you sending me requests would enormously help. please, don't hold back. i know how hard it may be to find a fic that has everything you'd fancy, and I'm so down to fulfill that for you. if you request a series, i'll make it happen, but please, if you're anon, choose an emoji for yourself so i know you. characters i will be writing for:

ও 𝓡 afe 𝓒 ameron ও chris evans: ari levinson, ransom drysdale, lloyd hansen, steve rogers, johhny storm, andy barber, curtis everett ও sebastian stan: lee bodecker, bucky barnes, lance tucker, nick fowler ও chris hemsworth: thor, tyler rake, steve abnesti, dementus, stone crandall, billy lee, the huntsman ও tom hiddleston: loki, jonathan pine, cpt. james conrad (kong), cpt, nichols (warhorse)

ও henry cavill: clark kent (superman), geralt (the witcher), sherlock holmes, melot (tristan and isolde), august walker, walter marshall

ও others: logan howlett (wolverine), wade wilson (deadpool), brock rumlow, any brad pitt character, patroclus (troy 2004), achilles (troy 2004) p.s: thank you for being so supportive. i am looking forward for your requests, i am so excited for this new chaper, so please, if you have ANY request, send it to me. (i am desperate lol)

27 notes · View notes

sleeplessmidnight26 · 7 months ago

Text

Masterlist

List of all my stories available on my AO3 account

I also have a discord server The Writers Den, feel free to join.

My Love Is True Series (Stony, Superfamily)

Before He Cheats - Rating: E, 50 Chapters, Warnings: Rape/Non-con

Our Love Grows Stronger - Rating: E, 46 Chapters, Warnings: N/A

This Is Me Trying - Rating E, 45 Chapters, Warnings: Rape/Non-con

Before He Cheats: What If - Rating: E, 17 Chapters, Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Rape/Non-Con

The Break Up One Shot Series (Stony)

I Can Do This With A Broken Heart - Rating: E, Warnings: N/A

Down Bad - Rating: E, Warnings: N/A

So High School - Rating: E, Warnings: N/A

One Shots

Bananas Practice Safe Sex - Rating: E, Warnings: Underage, (Stony, SamBucky)

Breathe - Rating: G, Warnings: N/A (Stony)

Catching Feelings - Rating: M, Warnings: N/A (SamBucky)

Chasing the Dopamine - Rating: G, Warnings: N/A (Stony, Superfamily)

Chasing The Sun - Rating: G, Warnings: N/A

Driving Lessons - Rating: T, Warnings: N/A (Stony, SamBucky)

Everything Burger - Rating: E, Warnings: N/A (Stony)

Gone Gone Gone - Rating: E, Warnings: N/A (Stony, Peter/Bucky)

I Can See You - Rating: G, Warnings: N/A (Stony)

Isn't It Obvious - Rating: G, Warnings: N/A (Stony)

Just Pretend - Rating: E, Warnings: N/A (Stony)

Lego House - Rating G, Warnings: N/A (Stucky)

Like Father Like Son - Rating: E, Warnings: N/A (Stony, SteveXHoward)

One More Light - Rating: M, Warnings: Suicide topic

Pancake Surprise - Rating: G, Warnings: N/A (Stony) co-author: @snazzyerin

Perfect - Rating: E, Warnings: Underage (Stony)

Pregnancy Hobby - Rating: G, Warnings: N/A (Stony)

Sober - Rating: T, Warnings: N/A (Stony)

Survive The Night - Rating: E, Warnings: Graphic Depiction of Violence (Stony, SamBucky)

The Tape - Rating: E, Warnings: N/A (Stony)

Three Years - Rating: T, Warnings: N/A

With Arms Wide Open - Rating: G, Warnings: N/A (stony, winterspider)

You Took My Breath Away - Rating: M, Warnings: N/A (Stony)

Multi Chapter

A Litte Bit Longer - Rating: T, 8 Chapters, Warnings: N/A (Stony)

All Things Lost - Rating: E, 20 Chapters, Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage (Stony)

As Long As You Love Me - Rating: E, 27 Chapter, Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage (Stony, WinterWidow)

Beautiful Soul - Rating: M, 10 Chapters, Warnings: N/A (Stony)

Beautiful Things - Rating E, current WIP, Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage, Graphic Depictions of Violence. (Stony, Peter/Bucky)

Beautiful Trauma - Rating: E, 50 Chapters, Warnings: Rape/Non-con, Underage (Stony)

Criminal - Rating: E, 32 Chapters, Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Rape/Non-Con (Stony, WinterHawk)

Family Portrait - Rating: E, current WIP, Warnings: N/A (Stony, SamBucky)

Gimme Shelter - Rating: E, 9 Chapters, Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage (Stony, SamBucky)

I Kissed a Boy - Rating: E, current WIP, Warnings: N/A (Stony, Pepperony, Sharon x Steve)

Illicit Affairs - Rating: E, 25 Chapters, Warnings: N/A (Stony, SamBucky)

Jericho - Rating: E, 4 Chapters, Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage (Stony, Superfamily)

Lose You To Love Me - Rating: E, current WIP, Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence (Stony)

Never Gonna Be Alone - Rating: M, current WIP, Warnings: N/A (ShieldBones, Stony)

Never Too Late - Rating: E, 17 Chapters, Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Rape/Non-Con (Stony)

Prepare You - Rating: E, 5 Chapters, Warnings: MCD (Stony, Superfamily)

Skin and Bones - Rating: E, 10 Chapters, Warnings: N/A (Stony)

Spotlight - Rating M, current WIP, Warnings: N/A (SamBucky, Stony)

They Don’t Know About Us - Rating: E, 17 Chapters, Warnings: N/A (Bucky/Peter, Stony)

Unexpected True Mates - Rating: E, 12 Chapters, Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage (Stony)

You Make It Feel Like Christmas - Rating: M, 25 Chapters, Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence (Stony)

You're Safe Now - Rating: E, 95 Chapters, Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Graphic Depictions of Violence (ShieldBones, Stony)

You Shook Me All Night Long - Rating: E, 10 Chapters, Warnings: N/A (Stuckony)

42 notes · View notes

holylulusworld · 2 months ago

Text

Deep Abyss (6)

Summary: The Winter Soldier smelled something divine, and no one would stop him from having his omega.

Pairing: Alpha!Bucky Barnes x Omega!Brock Rumlow

Warnings: a/b/o, a/b/o dynamics, angst, true mates, male omega, hostage situation, fluff (kinda), forced cuddling, scenting

Deep Abyss masterlist

Deep Abyss (5)

Brock wakes from a restless slumber. He couldn’t sleep all night. Not with the alpha everyone fears the most holding him in his arms. More than once, he tried to break out of Bucky’s embrace, but the alpha didn’t let go of him.

He gave up fighting eventually and closed his eyes. There was nothing he could do about his situation at that moment. Brock lay awake at night, thinking about a plan to escape the soldier.

Bucky could tell him whatever he wanted; he wouldn’t believe a single word coming out of the asset’s mouth. Hydra’s blunt tool was nothing but a stone-cold killer to him Brock couldn’t and wouldn’t trust the alpha.

“You’re awake,” Bucky murmurs in his omega’s neck. He sniffs at Brock, humming happily because the omega’s scent got stronger. “We are going to leave this place tonight. I found a better place for us to hide from now on.”

Brock didn’t dare to move when Bucky purred in his neck. His teeth graze Brock’s untouched mating gland, making his intention clear. The alpha wanted to claim his omega sooner rather than later.

“When did you find a new place? You’ve been here all night,” Brock asks, wondering when the alpha had the time to find a new hideout.

“While you were sleeping peacefully, I left to explore the area further. I found an old car and repaired it,” Bucky explains while nosing his way up and down Brock’s neck. He can hardly wait to show Brock the home he found for them. “I’ll show you our new home soon, Brockie. Now, we should get up. I brought food and new clothes. It’s cold out there, omega.”

“Brock!” The omega grunts. “My name is Brock. Not Omega, or Brockie. Stop acting like I’m a doll you can play with.”

“You’re my sweet omega.” Bucky nuzzles his face in Brock’s neck. He knew his mate was strong-headed and a wild one. The alpha smirks, already imagining how he’ll tame his omega. “Now get up. We have a long day of planning our next steps ahead of us. Take a shower and wear the clothes I placed on the chair. There’s a wig too, and make-up.”

“A wig?” Brock huffs. “You know that I’m not a girl, right? Whatever you are fantasizing about in your fried brain; it’s not going to happen. Alphas tried to dominate me before, they all ended up in the hospital.”

“I only want to make sure my omega is safe,” Bucky says. He reluctantly released Brock to prepare breakfast and check on the few supplies he was able to gather. “Get up and get dressed. You need to eat too. I need you strong, and healthy.”

Brock chews slowly. He tries once again to buy himself time to come up with a plan. He wants to escape his kidnapper without getting hurt or killed.

The skilled handler watches his kidnapper stuff clothes into a backpack. He doesn’t know where Bucky got all the things. He assumes Bucky must’ve found a house or a small town nearby.

“You need to dress soon,” Bucky points at the clothes on the chair. “We cannot waste more time. We’ve stayed here for too long. Hydra won’t give up so easily.”

“Why don’t you leave me here? You’re faster without me,” Brock tries again to convince the alpha to just leave him behind. “I’ll come up with a lie. Maybe if you knock me out, it’s more convincing. I can tell them you needed a hostage and left me behind because.”

“They will kill you, omega,” Bucky frowns deeply. “I could never leave you behind. You’ve been the only person who didn’t treat me like an animal.”

Brock huffs. Great. The Winter Soldier only took him because he showed an ounce of decency and didn’t treat the asset like a piece of meat. “Just let me go.”

“No—” Bucky growls low in his throat. He uses his alpha voice, forcing Brock’s body to go stiff. “You’ll eat up, get dressed, and come with me, omega.”

The omega nods. For now, he must give up. There’s no escaping the soldier. Brock must sit and wait. One way or another, he’ll get out of Bucky’s clutches. He’s sure about it. Brock Rumlow survived worse…

Part 7

Tags in reblog.

#brock rumlow #bucky barnes #alpha!bucky barnes #winterbones #a/b/o #bucky barnes x brock rumlow #a/b/o dynamics #dark!fic #tw: kidnapping

16 notes · View notes

talia-rumlow · 1 month ago

Text

Bound & Brockened (DARK Brock Rumlow/OFC)

WORDCOUNT: 2235

TRIGGERS: Human Trafficing, drinking, religion, working the street, runaway from home, some sex talk

This is a dark story. DO NOT READ IF YOU'RE UNDER 18, OR IF YOU GET TRIGGERED BY ANYTHING BDSM, TORTURE, DARK MATERIAL!

HAPPY READING!

CHAPTER ONE - GRACE!

“You can still back out,’ Sasha's voice rings out beside her. Grace keeps looking down on the slick black tiles on the floor. They could be used as a mirror, they were that shiny and well taken care of. “Grace?” Sasha tries again.

Grace shifts her attention from the floor and over to Sasha. “No,” she replies. “I don’t want to go back out there again. I don’t want to sleep on cardboard boxes in parking garages anymore,” she continues.

“Good,” Sasha continues. “Because this is a once in a lifetime opportunity,” she adds. “My friend got through last year, and now she lives in a mansion, a mansion I'm not kidding,” she delivers the information with an enthusiasm that Grace can't quite understand. “Although she still does the ‘work’ and the guy is like really old,” Sasha's enthusiasm dies off a bit along with the really old part, but it doesn't take long before her enthusiasm is back with renewed force. “But aaa, she lives in a mansion, a mansion,” she continues, clapping her hands together and her eyes take on this dreamy look, as if she can see the mansion in front of her.

Grace can't understand the enthusiasm at all. Yeah, a bed to sleep in would be great; and a lot better than cardboard boxes, parking garages and angry cops following them. And, yeah, a mansion with a fireplace and a working kitchen sounds amazing after about ten years on the street. But the price to pay for all of it; it seems a bit steep for her liking. Not that she wasn't used to it. She had been living on the street since she was sixteen, and you know, selling oneself was an easy and quick way to get her hands on some money. But, even if she saw the price as steep, the price to pay for her other option was steeper. It was like choosing between bad and worse, and she already knew what worse looked and felt like. Sasha had given her a chance to get off the street, and she was going to take it; no matter how steep the price was.

“They're not all old,” Sasha opens her mouth again. “Some of them are business men, or mafia guys just looking for someone to own,” she tries; not succeeding to ease Grace's nerves.

“Someone to use, you mean?” Grace cuts her off. She was used to that too. When you sold yourself, like she did, the norm was sorta to be used. To be honest, she didn't know what was worse; to be owned and used by one person, every day for the rest of her life. Or, to have to go out and search for a new one who could use her every night for the rest of her life. At least with the one person option, she would have a roof over her head.

Sasha shrugs. “Poteto, potato,” she says, and Grace knows she's right. And if someone were to actually pay a fair amount of money for her, they wouldn't ruin her in any way; she hoped.

🖤⛓🔪🖤⛓🔪🖤⛓🔪🖤⛓🔪🖤⛓🔪🖤⛓🔪

Every year in April, Xander Feldbank Investments held their annual underground auction. It was renowned in the underworld, getting attention from Mafia leaders, shady casino owners, filthy rich and powerful businessmen and other people with way too much money and a narcissistic personality disorder. The entry fee alone was $500, and the starting bid was always somewhere around $100.000 to $150.000; meaning you had to have deep pockets to even get a foot in the door.

The screening process was just as strict for the girls as it was for the participants. It was an honor to even get into the first round of auditions, and to advance from that was an even bigger honor. Grace had almost felt like she was a part of Miss United States during the whole thing. And now she was here, at the Feldbank Hotel & Conference center; indulging in the comforting luxury.

Situated in the heart of New York City, the Feldbank Hotel & Conference Center presented a facade of luxury and opulence. Unaware of the hotel's shady business dealings, guests were treated to a lavish experience, with 350 rooms, many boasting stunning views of the city skyline. Tourists from around the globe flocked to the Feldbank, drawn by its promise of comfortable and indulgent accommodations.

The hotel lobby was an extraordinary experience. It cocooned visitors in a world of luxury and relaxation, far removed from the hustle and bustle outside. Sleek black tiles lined the floor, meticulously crafted and complemented by the dark natural wood of the walls. Carefully chosen plants and Chinese flower trees added to the ambiance, making the space feel like a separate, tranquil world. A majestic fountain nestled in the center, creating a soothing environment that welcomed guests to relax and leave the outside behind.

Grace, who was about to leave her former life behind, was sitting in one of the dark gray leather couches, sipping her martini while watching all the ‘normal’ people walking around. If someone had told her four months ago that she would be here now, she would've laughed at them. Every girl working the streets in New York knew about Feldbank and his annual auction. Hundreds of girls tried to get through every year, most of which were not successful. But she had marveled at all the nice things they got to keep, even if they didn't go through. Prada bags with tons of expensive makeup and nice clothes,most of the girls sold it of course to pay for their addictions. Drugs were strictly forbidden, if any girl at any point during the audition rounds delivered a positive drug test, they were out. Grace had thankfully managed to stay away from that part of the life she led, though she understood why some of the girls did resolve to that kind of numbing themselfs. Working the street wasn't easy on the mind.

“Ladies,” a voice sounds from the other side of the table. “Your room is ready,” the voice continues. Grace looks up, the man on the other side of the table is well dressed in a black suit, accompanied by a white shirt underneath and a black tie with a gold pin on. He's slightly older, probably one of Feldbank's right hand guys. One of the ones who accompanies guests for his shady business, such as the annual auction. “I am sure you'll be very pleased with your room,” he continues as they follow him to one of the elevators. “It's on the fifth floor, and it has a stunning view over Central Park,” he adds, clinical like he's talking from a script. Grace can't figure out if the clinical part is because he looks down on them, or if this is the way he talks to all the guests.

The soothing elevator music calms her nerves a bit, she watches the elevators display as the numbers go up, indicating that they're climbing. She shouldn't feel nervous, though she didn't know what she was about to walk into. Every night for the past ten years has been like that. New cars, new customers, new places, new kinks. She was used to that, the only difference now was that what she was walking into was most likely for the rest of her life. Oh, and yeah it wasn't like she sold herself this time, she had agreed to be auctioned off at the Feldbank annual auction.

🖤⛓🔪🖤⛓🔪🖤⛓🔪🖤⛓🔪🖤⛓🔪🖤⛓🔪

The concierge's glowing description of their room was entirely accurate. Two plush queen-sized beds with soft, high-quality linens occupied one wall, while the well-maintained carpet beneath their feet featured a striking black and gold pattern that echoed the hotel's decor. Expansive floor-to-ceiling windows flooded the space with natural light and framed a breathtaking view of Central Park. Grace couldn't recall ever before experiencing such lavish accommodations, and the sense of privilege it evoked was one she had long forgotten.

The bathroom was a stunning, luxurious oasis. Black and gold accents adorned the walls and floors, creating a cohesive, high-end aesthetic. A jacuzzi tub was anchored against the wall by a large picture window, offering a breathtaking view of the park outside. Gleaming gold faucets stood in contrast to the dark bathroom interior. Overhead, a sparkling chandelier bathed the room in a soft, diamond-like glow.

Grace paused in the doorway, taking it all in with awe. She couldn't wait to indulge in a long, relaxing soak, readying herself for whatever the next day had in store - even if she wasn't quite sure what that might be. One thing was certain, she would need to look her absolute best.

Sasha's voice rang out from the other room, "Champagne!" A pop followed as she opened a bottle. "He said we could help ourselves to anything in the minibar," she continued, pouring the sparkling liquid into two flutes. "And we should definitely celebrate," she finished, draining her glass in one gulp before refilling it.

"Sure," Grace replied, slowly walking over and sitting down next to Sasha. "What exactly are we celebrating?" she asked, lifting her flute to taste the expensive champagne. While she understood that indulging in the luxury was worth celebrating their presence here, she wasn't convinced the celebration was warranted just yet. She could be fortunate, but she could also be disappointed. And she wasn't sure how people who could afford the $500 entry fee typically behaved.

Grace decided not to dwell on those concerns. Instead, she would enjoy this night, which was likely the last she'd spend with Sasha. They could get lucky and be bought by the same client, but Grace saw that as highly improbable. She had to come to terms with the fact that after tomorrow, she would probably never see Sasha again - a prospect that saddened her.

Filled with a sudden pang of regret, she stood up, taking her flute with her over to the window. Standing there, marveling at the amazing view, listening to Sasha laughing and cheering as she pops yet another champagne bottle, Grace thinks back. Memories wash over her as she contemplates how on earth she ended up here.

🖤⛓🔪🖤⛓🔪🖤⛓🔪🖤⛓🔪🖤⛓🔪🖤⛓🔪

Grace Shepherd was born and raised in Lake Charles, located in Calcasieu Parish, Louisiana. Her mother, Leah Shepherd was a stay at home mom, devoted to taking care of her family. And her father, Christian Shepherd was a reverend for the local congregation.

Grace grew up in a well-kept white farmhouse, surrounded by a lush lawn, meticulously crafted flower beds, and apple trees enclosed by a white picket fence. To the outside world, her family appeared to be the picture of piety and devotion, with an unwavering commitment to God and their local congregation. However, behind closed doors, the reality was far from the idyllic facade.

From a young age, Grace had been a challenging child. As soon as she could speak, profanities poured forth, much to the frustration of her parents, especially her mother. Her disruptive behavior extended to church, where she regularly misbehaved, only avoiding expulsion from Sunday school due to her father's position as the reverend.

While Grace performed adequately in school, neither excelling nor struggling, her parents constantly pressured her to do better, to be better, and to wholeheartedly embrace the Christian faith - a path she steadfastly refused to follow.

As Grace entered her teenage years, her acting out escalated, resulting in multiple suspensions from school. At one point, her parents were convinced that the devil had taken hold of their daughter, a belief that Grace herself began to share, though by then, she had simply stopped caring.

At sixteen, she'd had enough of the constant fighting with her mother. One day, after a particularly heated argument, she hastily packed a bag with her phone, toothbrush, some clothes, and the little money she had - everything her teenage self deemed essential. As she opened the door to leave, her mother's words echoed in her mind: "If you walk out that door, don't even think about coming back!" Determined, she never returned home.

After wandering in the rain for a while, she made the decision to hitchhike from one of the truck stops along I-81, her sights set on New York City - back then, she thought the bustling metropolis was the place to start anew. How wrong she was.

Desperate for a ride, she spent her last few dollars on a pink dildo with a black handle. In the truck stop bathroom, she used it to break her own hymen, figuring a lonely trucker would likely want some form of payment for the journey. Afterward, she discarded the dildo, drawing a parallel to how she felt she'd be treated - used and then discarded, though at least this way she maintained a sense of control.

She had no idea if her parents had ever searched for her. After a decade, the state had likely declared her deceased and buried an empty casket. Yet she felt indifferent - whether her parents cared or not was inconsequential. This was the first time in years she had even contemplated them.

So her journey had begun. Once a child of God, she had fallen under the devil's sway. Perhaps her parents were right about the wrath of God punishing her defiance. But nothing could be worse than the cardboard boxes and parking garages that had become her existence. Right?

@nekoannie-chan @ladysif8 @the-ero-writer @saiyanprincessswanie @late-to-the-party-81 @rip1009 @here4thefanfics

#brock fanfic #brockrumlow #brock rumlow #rumlow #rumlowfiction #rumlowsmut #fanfiction #original female character #dark story

8 notes · View notes

sjsmith56 · 7 months ago

Text

The Fae Elements, Part 4 - Hidden

Summary: Hidden together by magic in a forest sanctuary, Buck reveals more of Sage’s powers and his long-held interest in her. He also tells her more of his own past.

Length: 7.1 K

Characters: Buck, Sage, Dark Overlord (briefly)

Warnings: Some frank talk of sexuality and a brief moment of consensual sex (not descriptive except in a poetic sense?), feelings of shame from Buck at his own struggles.

Author notes: The images of fae Bucky above were created by the author using Microsoft Copilot app, in Designer mode. I wish there was a way to tell the app to build upon a specific image but it kept bringing up different variations so that’s been written into the story.

<<Part 3

🌳 🪓 🏡

My first thought when I entered the cottage was that it was bigger on the inside. My second thought was why was there only one bed? An enigmatic smile appeared on Buck’s face as those thoughts entered my mind.

“Can you read my mind?” I asked, unsure whether I should be angry and more guarded with myself.

He shrugged. “I try not to, but sometimes your thoughts are very transparent and insert themselves into mine. It’s bigger on the inside because of magic. The outside, because it was built by my hands, never changes. There's only one bed now because it is a sanctuary for one, me. Hope originally lived with me until her 18th year then chose to live in the stronghold. When my children have been here since, they have used their own magic to construct their own structure. I can make one for you, if you wish, but it would be a basic hut as I’m at the limit of my own magic with everything here and some things outside. You’re my guest so you get the bed. The sofa isn’t that comfortable, but I meant what I said about respecting you.” My next thought must have been transparent because he grinned. “I have four children. Hope is the second youngest. She’s 335 years old. My youngest, a half-fae, Richard, is 78. He is the result of a night where my loneliness and the loneliness of a kind mortal woman coincided. He chose to live in the mortal world, and I respect his decision. I have two more sons, twins Arthur and John, who are 357 years old. Twins are a rarity in the fae world. They were the first children Daere and I had.”

“You had no others with your other wives?”

“No, Daere was mortal, like you,” he said, looking me in the eye. “She chose to undergo the ritual when we married and became more fertile than the others.” He grimaced a little, I guess he didn’t want to reveal that, then gestured with his hand. “Come, I’ll show you the bedroom.”

He led me up a set of stairs that was more of a ladder into the attic of the cottage. A window at each end provided light from the outside but as soon as we stepped into the space a host of candles lit up, showing a rustic bedroom with a large bed in front of one of the windows. There was living greenery hanging from the rafters and corners, giving the space a feeling of being in a greenhouse sanctuary. A doorway set in one side of the sloped roof led to a large dormer with a stunning bathroom containing a tub and separate shower. The thought of there being running water out here made me giggle and he looked at me with a questioning glance.

“Just the thought of having such a beautiful bathroom in such a rustic cottage made me wonder about how you would get running water out here. It’s magic, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it’s magic,” he replied. “When I first built it, I used an outhouse and washed at the pump by the kitchen sink, but as personal hygiene improved over the centuries, I made improvements here as well. The addition was built by me, but the furnishings are all magic.”

“Were you always fae?” For a moment, I regretted my choice of words, but he must have sensed it because he smiled. “Sorry to be so nosy but you seem to like doing things by hand.”

“It’s a fair question to ask, since I admitted to building the structure manually, an unusual thing for my kind,” he answered. He breathed out. “I was half-fae, the result of a love affair between a mortal man and my fae mother, a descendant of Lilith. I lived with him for a time when I was searching for my own truth. He was a learned man who was a carpenter and taught me his trade. When it became evident that I had inherited my mother’s powers of longevity, and eternal youth, he encouraged me to join the world of the fae. It was the Middle Ages, and the plague took him in 1349 when I was away for a short time. I mourned him for he taught me much of how mortals live. It was a surprise to myself and to many when I was chosen as a candidate to be fae king. I became full fae upon my coronation.” He stepped towards the doorway. “I’m going to change and cut some wood for the fireplace and stove. There’s nothing like a fire to warm one’s soul. You can have the far dresser and closet in the room. Excuse me.”

He left me there in the bathroom, so I put my toiletries in the cabinet then ventured out to the bedroom, knocking before I came through. Buck was already gone so I put my clothes away and went down the ladder, noticing the candles in the bedroom went out behind me as I descended. I could hear the sound of an ax outside. Seeming to have found a steady rhythm of swinging and hitting the wood, I could hear it when he tossed the pieces into piles. While he did that, I looked around the main room of the cottage. There was a kitchen area, with a wood stove, sink with a pump beside it, shelves with plates, bowls, and drinking vessels. A cupboard was full of basic staples like sugar, salt, coffee, tea and the like. There was no refrigerator, although there was a pantry that seemed to have canned and dried foods. The fireplace area had two large armchairs facing it with a sofa behind them against the wall. There were bookshelves in many of the open spaces, full of many titles, both classic and modern.

When I finally made my way outside, I stopped in my tracks at the sight before me. Buck had taken his shirt off, displaying a broad muscular chest and shoulders. His biceps were impressive leading to powerful forearms with noticeable veins. On his left shoulder and chest was a large tattoo of a leafless tree, it’s branches seemingly splitting into infinity, with roots that went deep. It was very much in keeping with his presence in this forest. He turned towards me as I stepped out, smiling slightly at my sudden interest in his body.

“You up to some foraging? With your camping experience I would think you could tell edible mushrooms and berries from poisonous ones. There’s a basket with a handle in the kitchen. There should also be wild lettuce greens or fiddlehead greens near the trees. I would rather not fish or hunt for meat just yet. When we’ve been here a while, I’ll have a better idea of which animals are ready to leave their existence.”

He didn’t elaborate, returning to cutting the wood. Since our lunch had been interrupted, I was actually quite hungry. I found the basket and set out on a hunt for berries, finding strawberries mostly, and some fiddle head greens. I even found some asparagus, biting into one of the smaller stalks raw, enjoying the delicate taste. The mushrooms were another matter, and I brought a cloth to put the ones that looked closely like those I bought in the store, not wishing to contaminate the other food if they proved to be a poisonous variety. By the time I found my way back, which wasn’t hard, as all paths seemed to lead back to the cottage, Buck had finished cutting wood and started up the stove. He also put a shirt on, albeit one that seemed to display those impressive muscles quite well. He looked at the basket I was carrying.

“Well done,” he said. “Asparagus is still in season.” He lifted up the cloth to view the mushrooms, breathing their scent in. “They’re good, all of them. I should be able to make something quite tasty for us.”

He pulled some onions and garlic out of the pantry, chopping the former coarsely and the latter finely. Putting the onions on a low heat to sweat their juices out, he lightly sautéed the mushrooms whole, then took them out and added some chopped potatoes, which must have been hiding in the pantry as well, although I didn’t see them. After salting and peppering them he let them cook for a time while he used a gentle brush to clean the asparagus and fiddlehead greens. He did have some olive oil and poured some in a second pan, tossing the asparagus around first then removing it, and doing the same to the fiddlehead greens. Arranging everything on a platter he went into the pantry, coming out with a small jar with a round shaped dark brown mass inside. The mass glowed when he rested his hand on the jar for a moment, then he opened it and an earthy smell wafted out. He shaved several flakes of it off onto the food, then returned it to the jar, placing it under an enchantment again.

“Truffles,” he said. “Their smell and flavour are quite intense, so I just shave a little bit on. Since I don’t have a refrigerator, I have to use magic to preserve them.” He looked over at a cabinet. “There is some red wine inside there. The top row has some that don’t require a lot of airing. Any one of them should go with this little feast.”

I went to the cabinet, opening it to see a large selection inside and pulled a bottle from the top row. Bringing it over to the table as he brought the food and some dishes, as well as a couple of wine glasses, he opened the bottle with a corkscrew and poured it out into the glasses.

“No music, I’m afraid, except for the sound of the birds and the breeze outside.” He waited for me to sit, then sat across from me. “I don’t know what to say. It’s been a while since I cooked for anyone, fae or mortal. All we have to decide is what to do with the time given us. I think that fits.”

“Lord of the Rings,” I said, after we both sipped our wine, which was very very good. “Gandalf said that to Frodo.”

“I personally believe Tolkien knew a few fae,” replied Buck. “He certainly understood much of our world. Some mortals were capable of that.”

I cut one of the mushrooms in half and brought it up to my mouth. It was quite a difference tasting a freshly harvested mushroom from one that had sat on a store display for a time. The fiddlehead green was tender, as was the asparagus, while the potatoes seemed to be there to fill up our bellies with goodness. It was modest fare, but it was satisfying, and I thanked Buck for the tasty meal.

“Oh dear, you’ve said something you never should to a fae,” sighed Buck. “A mortal shouldn’t say thank you to a fae as it implies that you’re in their debt, in a contract you didn’t agree to. Instead, say I’m grateful. I’m worldly enough to know there is no obligation but certain fae would take advantage of your thanks.”

“Well then, I’m grateful for the meal and for everything you’ve done for me,” I stated. “I know I wasn’t the most understanding person in the Washington home but when Hope made it clear I’ve been under your protection for a long time I began to see things differently.”

“She shouldn’t have told you. What I said about not taking advantage is mostly true, but I am fae and there are times I let my own desires rule my actions.”

He picked up the dishes, taking them over to the sink. After filling a large pot with water, he set it on the wood stove to heat up, not making eye contact with me. At first, I watched, then I went over to where he stood, his back still to me, as he looked out the window to the early evening scene. Touching his arm gently brought a small smile to his face.

“Why don’t you tell me about it?”

“Because you might not like me after I tell you,” he answered, turning his gaze on me, “and I do like you very much. I have for a long time and have struggled not to let my personal feelings rule my decisions.”

Those blue eyes seemed uncertain, and I was intuitive enough to know that meant he had a hard truth to share. In my line of work there were many occasions when I needed to hear a hard truth. Sometimes we put people on a pedestal expecting a level of behaviour from them that is unrealistic, then are angry at them when they show they are human after all. Fae, or fairy people, in the stories I read were tiny creatures flitting about from flower to flower. Like Tinkerbell in Peter Pan, they could be capricious, jealous creatures, sometimes doing something spiteful just so they could have their way, regardless of who it hurt.

The reality of meeting not just one fae but several had shown them to be physically attractive, although Buck had admitted his appearance wasn’t completely true. I had seen the wings and thought they were incredibly majestic. Physically he was a beautiful man with a poet’s soul. He startled me slightly, when I felt the touch of his fingertips on my cheek. His gaze was soft, seeming to stoke a response deep inside me, something I hadn’t really felt before.

“Let’s wash the dishes and relax for the evening,” he suggested. “Tomorrow, when we’ve both slept and had a chance to unwind from the events of today, I will tell you some things.”

When the water in the pot boiled, he poured it into the sink, adding a few pumps of cold water into it to make it manageable. Just like at the healing pond shower, there was a small sponge that lathered up as he wet it and rubbed it over the dishes. While he washed, I dried and put things back. When the pots were done, he pulled the sink plug and the water drained out to whatever magic septic tank system he had created in his sanctuary. The remaining wine was stoppered for consumption at another time.

With that agreed upon Buck picked a book out from a shelf and began reading. As it darkened outside, candles on the inside lit up, casting the space in a soft light. With a fire going in the fireplace, it was warm and cozy, as I settled in front of it, content to watch the flickering flames for my entertainment. I was tired and a lot of things had happened that I wanted to mull over in my own mind. Eventually, I could feel my head dropping as it became heavier.

“Sage,” said Buck, gently, kneeling beside the chair where I sat. “I think you should go to bed. I’m coming up to wash myself and grab some night clothes, but I’ll be out of your way quickly.”

With a nod, I stood up, then climbed the ladder ahead of him. As he disappeared into the bathroom, I chose some sleeping clothes then waited for my turn to wash up. As he exited, we said goodnight to each other and I washed, changed, then slipped under the covers of the bed, immediately feeling like I was sinking into something soft and warm.

I did wake up once and looked out the window. In the moonlight I could see a figure, who I assumed was Buck, but he was just far enough away that I couldn’t be sure. He faced the full light of the moon barefoot, wearing only a pair of cloth bottoms. His top was unclothed, and his arms were outstretched in the pale beams as if he was taking in its light for sustenance. His wings were also outstretched, almost straining to lift him up into the night sky. A bird swooped in close then landed and transformed into a dark-skinned man, his dark brown wings spreading apart. When he turned to face the moon’s light it seemed to be Sam Wilson, but he was too far away for me to be sure. After several long moments of them standing there, side by side, they faced each other, having an earnest conversation. Several times they both looked in my direction, but I didn’t know if they were aware I was watching. Eventually, I fell asleep and didn’t wake up until morning.

The sounds of food preparation in the kitchen area reached my ears in the bedroom, making me open my eyes. Sunlight shone through the window at the other end, and I sat up. Almost on cue a head appeared at the top of the ladder.

“Good morning,” said Buck. “I hope you slept well. I’m making some breakfast if you want to freshen up and join me. It’s going to be a beautiful day.”

When I descended, he had everything ready, omelettes with a soft cheese filling, toasted bread, and coffee, along with more berries. It was basic fare, but filling and I felt satisfied. We cleaned up the dishes together, then Buck left to get changed. When he returned, he looked like he was dressed for a hike.

“Do you feel up for a walk?” he said. “I’ll show you my little private corner of the world and we’ll talk.”

After giving me a moment to take care of some personal needs, I found him waiting outside for me. We headed into the forest, walking without talking for some time until we came to a sunlit glade. The morning dew was still on the blades of grass, making them look like they had diamonds on them. Even the spider webs strung between some of the taller grasses and brambles glistened in the morning light. We walked some more until we came out to a spot overlooking a broad valley. A split log rested between two boulders, and he gestured to me to sit on it.

“All this land, as far as the eye can see is under an enchantment,” he said quietly. “There are trees here that are older than a thousand years. It’s all so precious but even it is in danger. When I leave this life, my magic will no longer protect it and it will be as much at risk of exploitation as any other place in the world.”

“What of the next fae king?” I asked. “Won’t his magic protect it?”

“He could be a fae aligned with another element or be one of those who clings to the old ways, harassing mortal folk and kidnapping their children to be his servants. It’s not something I have control over.”

There was something sad about how he said that, as if he didn’t have much hope. Without even thinking I reached out my hand to his and squeezed it. He smiled and kept our hands together.

“Sam came to see me in the night. I know you saw us together. It’s safer for them to visit then as it’s harder to be tracked here. The person who betrayed our presence was a half-fae. Not Maria.” He noticed my look of concern. “They kidnapped her, used dark magic to get the location out of her. My people repelled the attack on the safe house but a couple of the dark fae broke through the barrier. The one who followed us was one of them. Thank goodness Loki saw him and followed him to the beach. He slew him and identified him as one of Rumlow’s Horde. It’s almost certain Rumlow is the Dark Overlord. His appearance in the court where you were is no coincidence.”

“So, he was trying to take me on the street?” I asked. “How would he know about me, if I’ve been under your protection?”

A distressed look appeared on his face, and he turned to me.

“What I’m about to tell you isn’t really known, not in its entirety,” he answered. “I’ve told differing versions of it even to my own people because I haven’t always acted in an honourable manner. But I promised you the truth. What I said about meeting your parents on their honeymoon camping trip was true. What I didn’t say was that somehow, as they hiked the back country they breached the boundary of my hidden haven. It was only when I confronted them that I realized your mother was a descendant of Lilith. My first instinct was to slay your father and take her for my own, which was well within my rights as fae king, but I realized your father also had fae in him, not as strongly evident as your mother but it was definitely there. In fact, his fae bloodline is an ancient one. That stayed my hand, but I did fall in love with both of them, so I led them back to the cottage and allowed them to set up their tent outside. I originally offered them the bedroom, but I think instinctively they knew they would be obligated to me in a way they weren’t comfortable with.”

“You wanted a threesome?” That wasn’t something I expected to ask about my parents. “I thought you were still in mourning.”

He shrugged. “So did I, but fae can be gender fluid and I’m not immune to the pleasures of the flesh, at the right moment. It’s how my youngest child was conceived when his mother’s needs required my attentions in a very basic way. Yes, I admit a threesome would have been my expectation if they accepted my offer, but I read their reluctance accurately, quickly realizing their love was only for each other as they took the promise of fidelity in their marriage seriously. I tempered my desires, but I realized your mother’s bloodline was so strong that any other fae might not be so understanding and would slay your father outright. The Dark Overlord would definitely have taken Fern for his own.”

“A desire to protect your parents grew in me during their stay as my guests. I dampened your mother’s gift, with her knowledge and permission, for she had always known she was sensitive to otherworldly beings. Your father’s profession was one that could be bolstered by fae interests, and he agreed to help manage our financial assets. Even though he was a free spirit in many ways, he understood our need to be independent financially, especially in these modern times. It was his suggestion to invest in ethical operations, making them stronger, while making us wealthier. Gaia Life was his idea, a non-profit organization that strove to undo the damage done to the environment by encouraging sustainable development and ecologically sound practices. He was well ahead of his time and his association with Gaia Life meant it was easier for me to keep your family safe.”

It explained a lot of things. My parents were quite liberal in their love of music, art and culture, while voting progressively, openly pro-choice, and displaying a lot of empathy for social issues. My mother was a teacher, and my father a financial consultant who rarely talked about his clients. We lived a privileged life, yet we always spent time working in soup kitchens, going out on highway cleanup events and other things that involved us physically helping someone or something. I was surprised that he never mentioned Gaia Life to me, especially since I became an environmental lawyer, and I would have met Buck at some point.

“Why did I never meet you until my father’s funeral?” I asked. “You said you saw me as I grew up. If you met my father regularly you would have known that I went into environmental law.”

“I did know,” he sighed. “It was a promise I made to your father to stay out of your life as much as possible.” He was quiet again, making me wonder if this was the part where I might not like him. “Can I touch your forehead and temples? I want to share some memories with you. It will help provide context to many things.”

It was a strange request but in the last 5 ½ weeks I had been exposed to many new things that I never knew existed before. I agreed and we faced each other. With the lightest of touches, he spread his fingertips from both hands over my forehead and temples, then gazed at me intently before closing his eyes. Instinctively I closed mine as well and felt like I was being drawn through a swirling mass of images and voices until we ended up at a lake, a lake I remembered very well, as we went there every summer when my brothers and I were kids. It was the best of times, full of laughter and good memories. Then my father’s face appeared, and I realized it was a memory of him, my mother, and Buck talking as us kids played in the water.

“You have two choices,” said Buck, his voice sounding ominous. “Do nothing and the Dark Overlord will sense her. He will come for her and take her for his own, adding her fae powers to his. Or you can give her to me, and I can take her to our stronghold. She will be raised as fae royalty, given training to counter the dark fae magic, and most of all, she will be safe.”

My mother spoke then, and her face appeared in Buck’s view. “No, I refuse to believe there isn’t a third option. I know you fae don’t love your children quite the same way we mortals do but you can’t expect us to give her up. Will you use magic to make her forget us? She deserves to choose the life she wants. Whether that is to live as mortal or as a fae should be up to her, no one else.”

“I agree with Fern,” added my father. “You told us on our honeymoon that any daughter we had would have strong fae powers and we accepted that. We’ve encouraged her to read all sorts of fantasy and mythology-based books and to be open to other beings living hidden in this world. When she’s older we can reveal the truth to her, and she can decide then. But I’m not about to let you take her when she’s only eleven years old. She’s a child.”

“She’s about to enter puberty and her powers will shine like a beacon after her first bleed,” answered Buck. “Although the light fae would still see her as a child and allow her to mature at her own pace, the dark fae will consider her an adult at that point. The Dark Overlord will take her for his bride and will not be gentle with her.” His view went to the children in the lake, focusing on Sage, then back at her parents. “Do not ever accuse me of not loving my children the way mortals do. Even though we don’t raise them as humans raise their own, they are still loved and cared for. I have a half-fae son who chose to give up his powers and live a mortal life in the human world. His safety and wellbeing are important to me. Sage’s are just as important.”

“Can’t you dampen her gift like you did mine?” asked my mother. “Can’t you keep her hidden that way?”

Buck sighed. “It will take a lot out of me and there will be times I might not be able to maintain it, opening her to danger during those times. If she lived in the stronghold the combined powers of the fae there would be able to protect her when I cannot. Even I have my limits.”

“Please,” begged my father. “If you take her, it will destroy us.”

There was silence then Buck looked at me again before looking at my parents. “I can give her a gift. If she accepts it, then she binds herself to me. It is a promise that at some point I will collect on, but I can wait until she is an adult, when it will become my duty to enlighten her to her powers. The bond created by the gift will make it easier for me to dampen her powers so that the Dark Overlord doesn’t sense her.”

My parents looked at each other, then at me, their faces showing the dilemma of the decision they had to make.

“Promise, you’ll allow her to live as a mortal until she’s of age by fae standards.” My father was emphatic.

“For as long as it’s possible,” agreed Buck. “If she turns 30 and doesn’t manifest her powers I will wait even longer. You have my word.”

They both nodded their heads then Buck made them say it out loud, essentially creating the contract between them. He reached around his neck and took a silver necklace off, a necklace with a pendant of a tree showing its bare branches and roots.

Automatically, my hand went to my neck, touching the necklace that in my memory had been given to me by my parents. I had worn it ever since, never taking it off. Although it was silver, it had never tarnished. Now, I knew why. Buck removed his fingertips from my face and sat on the bench, looking off into the distance. He said nothing, whether because he was ashamed or if whatever he said was irrelevant now didn’t seem to matter. Regardless, Buck waited.

“The orchid, that was a gift as well,” I said. “Was that also to bind me to you?”

“No, it was a talisman to provide extra protection after I met you at your father’s funeral. I thought it prudent to provide you with as much protection as I could. It still hurt when I saw it destroyed. The Dark Overlord would see it as something binding us and that was a message to me that he wouldn’t respect it. He didn’t know about the necklace but the man who choked you was burned by its power. He would certainly have reported it.”

“Were you lying to my parents?”

“No! I respected them too much and I respect you. I omitted to tell you things, hoping it wouldn’t be necessary. It was a false hope. But with my own powers stretched to the limit even then without any sort of binding agreement or contract there had to be something that could strengthen the protection I gave you. I didn’t intend to collect for a long time, as long as you were still protected. When you saw me at the funeral, I realized your powers were becoming stronger than the dampening spell and it was only a matter of time before the dark fae became aware of you. That proved to be very accurate.” He stood up. “There is more but I think you’ve heard enough for the day. I need to be alone for a while. Return to the cottage and stay close to it.”

His wings appeared and he took off, quickly fading into the distant sky. I remembered the day my parents seemed to have an intense discussion with a person while we were on holidays at the lake, but I still couldn’t picture who the third person was, realizing Buck had shielded himself from my memory. Perhaps it was him that made it seem the necklace given to me was from my parents, an acknowledgement that he wouldn’t reveal himself to me until he collected on the debt. He hadn’t revealed himself at the funeral either; that was my own magic doing it. I stood up to return to the cottage, seeing the path there was marked ahead of me with rocks. It was evident that Buck couldn’t waste any magic, making me wonder how much of the fae world needed his magic to protect it, yet he was using it on me, a mortal.

Maybe that is when I realized I was running away from what I really was. I had been hidden almost my entire life. Yes, it was for my own protection, but it also hid the real me. I was fae and even if I chose not to mate, losing powers that I didn’t know I had, nothing would change that. My mother’s bloodline extended to the first woman to say no to what was expected of her, Lilith. My father’s bloodline had fae in it as well, enough that Bucky didn’t kill him and take my mother as his prize. That left Bucky, the fae king who had offered me marriage, long life, eternal youth, power, and children, all of it on my terms.

Hope said he had feelings for me. Had he started to developed feelings for me when he gifted the necklace? Did he suppress those feelings about me as I grew older, became an adult, then a lawyer? By my reckoning it was 20 years between the time I received the necklace and my father’s death. I was 31, not a child anymore and any disgust he had possibly felt in himself about taking a child bride could no longer apply to me. Perhaps to a roughly 700-year-old fae I was still very young, yet he had been very much restrained in all of our meetings. It was always my choice; he made that very clear from the start.

When I arrived back at the cottage, I felt like staying busy, so I searched nearby for some greens and picked them along with some nuts that I found and more berries. Leaving them in the kitchen I returned outside and laid in a hammock, looking up at the sky. Letting my mind wander, I listened to the sound of the trees and the birds, letting them wash over me. It was calming and relaxing and soon I drowsed off. It was dusk when I felt a hand on my shoulder, startling me.

“I’m sorry I was gone for so long,” said Buck. He raised a hand, showing a couple of fish, hanging from a hook. “I had much to think about. At least, I caught us some dinner.”

Carefully getting out of the hammock I stood up and looked at him, at the last golden rays of the sun, making his dark hair look lighter. The forest was definitely his element. In a suit and tie, he looked elegant but here he looked like he belonged.

“I thought about what you said and showed me,” I began. “How much of your powers are being used to protect me?”

“A considerable amount,” he admitted. “Once the Solstice has passed a ritual can strip your powers and you can live as a mortal without fear. My powers will no longer be needed.”

“What if I wish to embrace my fae heritage? What if I decide to agree to the marriage and the Solstice ritual? Will you teach me how to be fae? Will that take more of your powers away from you?”

“No, I have no more to give. It would just be redirected into your education into the fae world. It means you would be open to attack although we should be safe here and you would learn how to defend yourself. The stronghold would also be safe with the combined powers of all the fae protecting you.” He swallowed. “Have you decided?”

“I think I have.” I touched my necklace. “I was always meant to be your queen, wasn’t I? You were looking for the right descendant of Lilith and the fact my mother was already taken meant her daughter was the next best candidate.” He looked uncomfortable as there was a bit of weirdness about it, by mortal standards anyways. “I’m not accusing you of anything nefarious. You’ve admitted your faults and haven’t lied outright about anything. You’ve told me what I needed to hear. So, my answer to your question is another question. If I say yes, will you allow yourself to love me, openly and without reservation? I can’t accept anything less.”

A softness came over Buck’s face then, making him seem younger and less burdened with the worries of his position. He laid the fish on a bench, then rubbed his hands through a nearby plant, releasing the scent of lemon. Placing his hands on my cheeks, he gazed into my eyes.

“I already love you, Sage. Telling you I was incapable of it was the only actual lie I spoke, as I didn’t want to pressure you into something you didn’t fully understand. If we marry, it is truly for life. I am 715 years of age, old for most fae, but a fae king can live for 1500 or more years. You are 31, barely out of childhood by fae standards but there are some who married younger than you. After the ritual your life span can extend to as long as that of a fae king, provided you truly wish it. I could say the words right now that I want to say when we marry but I want to wait.”

I started to protest as I was ready, but he placed his hands on mine, raising them to his lips.

“It is a life-changing commitment and asks you to sacrifice much. If you are truly ready, then a week will not change anything. In that week, I will tell you everything that I didn’t tell you earlier and show you my true self. You deserve that much before you make your final decision. If you still agree to marry me, I will advise my court of the decision and they can prepare for the Summer Solstice ceremony. You must understand that your family cannot be there, as it is not open to those not of the fae world, other than the bride. Plus, there is the matter that your mother no longer remembers me. There are ways around it, but it is something we need to talk about.”

He was right. There were still things that had to be said and done before I could make that final commitment. Leaving the real world to live in a mystical one was going to be a big adjustment, even if I would still have a presence in the human world. Reluctantly, I agreed, and he hugged me then began to release me. As I looked up at him, a change came over his face and he lowered his lips to mine, hesitating briefly before touching my lips with his. The kiss started out soft and sweet, then deepened, as our lips opened to each other. I could feel a heat stirring deep inside my body, an urgency unlike anything I had ever felt before. Pulling away, I breathed heavily, noticing Buck was also affected.

“We have to wait for the Solstice, right?”

He smiled in a way that sent a thrill through me. “No, we don’t. We can have all the sex we want until the day of the wedding.” His fingertips reached for my hair, and he ran his hand down my shoulder to my hand, pulling me closer. “The consummation requirements of the ceremony require us to make love when the sun is at its highest and the moon is at its lowest, in the sacred places where we’ll be. Until then, we can do what we damn well please.”

It was like a switch had been flipped as we threw ourselves at each other. Using magic, he sent the fish to the kitchen then he picked me up and carried me into the house, up the ladder into the bedroom, the candles coming on as we entered. As our clothes came off, I noticed his tattoo had changed, pointing it out to him. He laughed, a sound that was just as sexy now as the first time I heard him.

“My body is a living breathing canvas in constant flux,” he explained, as he pressed his lips into my neck, mouthing the pulse point under my ear. “The forest is always changing, and my tattoos reflect that. I am fae and my ties to the natural world involve my whole body.”

As he laid me down on the bed, removing the rest of our clothes effortlessly I couldn’t stop watching the way the markings on his body shifted and rippled as the level of our excitement rose. I forgot about all of that the moment we joined, yielding to the pleasure I was feeling. As my mind drifted towards the inevitable climax that was building it seemed I was on another plane of existence. When it happened, I could feel it all, the touch of the breeze in the night, the rustling of the leaves in that breeze, the scent of the flowers that bloom in the glow of the moon, ending with the sound of his wings unfurling and beating at the moment we both came, before enclosing us in their soft but protective embrace. It was profound and I never wanted to feel the touch of anyone else ever again.

“Amica mea,” whispered Buck. “At last, I found you.” His lips were on mine again as we both came down from the high of our union, then he gazed at me. “It means my love in Latin, the most sacred language of the fae.”

“Is it always like that?” I gazed right back at him, amazed that this beautiful man was mine.

“Always. When you transform, you will be part of the life of this planet and will feel it in your veins.” He interlaced his fingers with mine. “Together we will heal the scars that blight the land.”

That’s when I saw him. I saw a vision of the Dark Overlord in his human and fae form. He was wearing a suit, looking like he did that day in court when I failed to prove HYDRA Mining had polluted the waterways. As his gaze turned to see me, I stiffened in response. Then Brock Rumlow sneered at me.

“There you are,” he grinned. “I’ve been looking for you. It won’t take me long to find you, my treasure, my precious Sage. Tell Barnes I’ll find a way into his haven. When I do, I will slay him and take what is mine.”

He began to transform into his fae form, and I cried out as it was horrible, his red eyes and dark grey skin displaying the image of a demon, full of venom and fury. As I closed my eyes to rid myself of that image, Buck’s voice came through, calling my name, as he stroked my face and head. He didn’t need words to know what I had seen but wasn’t surprised when I told him who it was. There was a history there, that much was obvious. This vision was Rumlow’s shot across the bow, his revelation of his plans. It was a taunt and a promise, and I was very much afraid.

Part 5>>

Series Masterlist

Please support the author by reblogging. Comments are appreciated.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #buckybarnes original female character #bucky barnes au #james buchanan barnes au #fae bucky #fae #fae king #dark fae #brock rumlow au #bucky barnes short fiction #buckybarnesshortfic #short fiction

13 notes · View notes