#brock rumlow au

[sjsmith56]

The Flame Burns From Within, Part 1 - Negotiations

Summary: The arrival of three strangers at the castle of Ser Anthony of House Stark, signals the start of negotiations for the hand of his niece, Lady Arden Worth.

Length: 5.2 K

Characters: Lady Arden (OFC, described), Lord James Barnes, Ser Anthony Stark, Lady Stark, His Highness, the Duke of Long Isle, Steven Rogers, Ser Samuel Wilson.

Warnings: Age gap (OFC is 21 while Lord Barnes is 32. She would be considered old for her first marriage during this time period). Description of the status of women in the 15th century as property, description of the death of Lady Arden’s parents, arranged marriage.

Author notes: Set in the 15th century AU where America is a sovereign kingdom. Spain has only recently returned to Catholic control after some time of being a part of the Moors empire (they were Islamic). It would take some time for the remaining Muslims to leave or convert to Catholicism. AI image in banner created by author using MS Copilot app in Designer mode. Borders found at vecteezy.com.

Part 1 - Negotiations

Lady Arden

The gates to the courtyard opened and the delegation from the Citadel were welcomed into the keep of my uncle's castle. I watched their arrival from the window of my chambers, as my presence wouldn't be needed until later, after the three men who rode in were formally welcomed by my uncle and legal guardian, Ser Anthony of House Stark. Ever since my parents died of the wasting disease when I was still a child, he had overseen my preparation for life as the lady of a great lord. Unlike some of the fathers and guardians of other young women of my ilk, he had been rather progressive towards my education. Where others had been taught to walk and speak with grace, while learning the arts of needlework, music and art, my uncle had made sure I could do all of those, plus ride a horse, handle a sword, learn foreign languages, read and write more than just my name, and above all else, to carry myself as one who was as capable as any man. It was certainly not the usual life of a young woman.

My uncle had his reasons for my unusual upbringing; some of which he shared with me. Where other young women of my stature were being married off to whomever was politically in favour, in addition to receiving a generous dowry, my uncle was more interested in a particular man to become my husband. Lord James Barnes of the Citadel was his goal; a consummate warrior, well educated, able to speak several languages due to his travels, and the most powerful lord of our region. He had already been sought as husband for any number of simpering brides that didn't interest him. Rumours circulated by the unsuccessful families seeking to install their daughters as his lady said that he was a lover of men, or was damaged in body and spirit by his travels in dangerous lands, but my uncle had heard through unofficial sources that he preferred an accomplished woman to become his consort, as he saw value in intelligence above all else. By promoting my unconventional education, my uncle was certain that word of me would eventually reach the ears of those at the Citadel whose task it was to find a suitable mate for the great lord. That day had finally come.

That's not to say there weren't bumps in the road to this occasion. There are always men who want what they see as different or even exotic. Before I turned 14 my uncle was being offered great wealth for the promise of an engagement with any number of eligible sons. Several great houses in our land, Walker, Rumlow, Pierce, even Dreykov in the Russian region far to the east across the sea, had amped up the pressure for my uncle to accept one of their own as my future husband, but he wouldn't even entertain the offers that came over the years. It was some time before he shared that his goal was to align his house with the Citadel, and nothing less would interest him.

As I approached my 21st birthday, an age considered old for marriage, rumours began of my own shortcomings as a prospective bride. It was said I was vain, unattractive, too heavy, too thin, too unhealthy, defective in mind and spirit, even that I was barren due to the wasting disease that had killed my parents but had spared me. Knowing I was none of those, I always held my head high. At public occasions I was visible, open, and friendly with those around me. I acted as I had been taught; that I had a place in society, and it would be one of influence no matter if I were the wife of a great lord or not.

Thus, the arrival of the three men from the Citadel on that cool autumn afternoon was proof that my uncle had properly read the situation. It was clear that I was of interest to the most powerful lord, seen as an important counsellor for the next king himself. As the three men dismounted, they stood in their travelling cloaks, heads still covered, removing their gloves and, in the way of men of action, taking note of their surroundings. I could see that they assessed the guard complement in the keep, while searching the walls of the castle itself to see if their arrival had been noted. That is when one of them pulled his hood back, revealing a bearded man of dark-hair and eyes of blue like the ocean. He made eye contact with me from his place in the courtyard. A hint of a smile crossed his face then I stepped away from the window when he turned to his companions. His looks matched the description of Lord Barnes, but it was unusual for the head of a great house to personally attend the negotiations for a marriage. Until I was summoned for dinner, I wouldn't find out who he actually was.

My aunt, a strong and confident woman in her own right, sought entry to my chambers shortly after the arrival of the three men. She entered with a complement of maidservants, intent on preparing and dressing me in a way that emphasized my best features. With my tall build and red hair, that I was born with, the colour of which had only deepened over the years of my existence, there wasn't much else to be done to make me more visible. I had drawn attention from many sources my whole life. Even my name, Arden, was different as it meant "little and fiery." Although I was no longer little, I was often referred to as the Flame of the Forest, for I usually took my daily ride there with my hair unencumbered by coverings.

After much fussing over the various dresses, they chose a blue one, trimmed with lace and a brocade border. Its full sleeves ended at a wide brocade cuff. My hair, left long, was brushed until it gleamed, then a portion was twisted and fastened at the back of my head. My colouring was usually high, so no additional applications of powder, charcoal or berries were needed to accentuate my features. By all the accounts of my uncle's inquiries, Lord Barnes was known to prefer a natural appearance. Regardless, as my aunt regarded my appearance she smiled in approval.

"If they don't acknowledge your physical appearance, they are blind," she said, with authority. "You are a vision, Arden."

"Did you see their arrival?" I asked. "There were three and one fit Lord Barnes' description."

"Yes, but I was not presented to them when they entered so I cannot confirm that gentleman was him," she answered. "I will be presented to them in the great hall then you will be sent for."

"May I wait in the library?"

It was my favourite place in the castle. When my uncle first discovered me in there after taking me into his care, he could have sent me away but apparently, I offered him a book and asked that he read it to me. Seeing the title, Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, my uncle took it as a sign of my innate intelligence and determined then that I would be educated in the same manner as any young man of high standing. In that sanctuary, I spent many hours reading of far-off lands, great heroes, and tragic loves.

With my aunt's approval, I relocated to the library and pulled out the copy of The Canterbury Tales, one of less than a hundred in existence according to the Bishop, as they were hand lettered and illuminated by monks who spent weeks or even months creating them. The time and effort it took to create a book meant the possession of more than a handful was a sign of great wealth. Our library had hundreds. This book was a favourite of mine and I sat down at a table in the late afternoon sun. I had only been there a brief time when I heard the door open. Assuming it was my aunt, I closed the book and stood up to return it to its proper place. Instead, it was the dark-haired man who entered, dressed in richly brocaded clothing. At his discovery of my presence, he bowed his head briefly.

"I beg your pardon, my Lady." He spoke in a voice that was deep and rich. "Ser Anthony did not say anyone would be in here."

I curtsied to acknowledge him. "He was unaware of my presence here," I answered. "I sought some comfort from Chaucer."

He approached and extended his hand to receive the book, looking fondly at the title.

"Which one is your favourite?" he asked.

"The Wife of Bath's Tale, of course," I smiled then spoke freely. "I have been raised to believe that I am equal to any man but not all men believe the same. It is my hope to be blessed with a husband who freely gives me my sovereignty."

He smiled warmly. "It is one that I enjoy reading as well, although I am not meek, or submissive. I take it that you are the Lady Arden. I am James Barnes, Lord of the Citadel. I am at your service, my Lady. It was you in the window overlooking the courtyard, was it not?"

"It was, sir," I replied. "I was curious about you accompanying your courtiers for the negotiations. That is why you are here, is it not?"

He seemed amused. "You are correct that my travelling companions will undertake the negotiations on my behalf. I accompanied them to meet the Flame of the Forest herself. Word of your beauty has travelled far and contrary to the rumours which swirl around us both, I am pleased to find that the positive reports are quite true." He opened the book and glanced inside. "Your education appears to be superior to other women of your status if you find comfort in a library. Your skills on a horse and with a sword are also based on truth, according to my sources."

I could have been elevated by his declarations, but I wasn't, not completely. Even though it was proof of my uncle's contention that I would be of interest to this handsome and powerful man, there was still a part of me that remained wary. At that moment, the door opened, and a servant announced to Lord Barnes that Ser Anthony wished to present his wife and niece. He then announced that I was to present myself in the Great Hall. Looking at the shelf, Barnes immediately spotted the place where the book belonged and returned it to its spot. Then he bowed graciously to me and left. With a breath to calm myself I exited the space and stood at the top of the stairs for a moment before descending.

Lord Barnes was already at the bottom of the large staircase, with his travelling companions, a man with dark blond hair and a darker beard, and a man of Moorish descent, both dressed as he was, in fine clothing as befit their stations. Although I didn't know who the blond man was, the other was well known as one befriended by Barnes on his journeys in the Spanish peninsula. Taking the Christian name of Samuel Wilson, he had become famous throughout our kingdom for his chivalry. All three men watched me closely as I descended alone down the great stone staircase, no doubt to assess the grace of my movements. As the wife of a powerful lord, I would constantly be looked upon as a symbol of his house. My comportment would be seen as either a benefit to his stature or a hindrance to it. When I reached the bottom, my uncle smiled and extended his hand to me.

"May I present my niece, Lady Arden Worth," he said simply. "Lady Arden, may I introduce you to Lord James Barnes, of the Citadel, his Highness, Steven Rogers, the Duke of Long Isle, and their trusted friend, Ser Samuel Wilson."

The blond man was Steven Rogers, the Duke, grandson of the king and third in line for the throne. No wonder Barnes seemed amused when I described him as a courtier. That alone required a deeper curtsy than what I gave Lord Barnes in the library.

"My Lady," said Barnes, taking my hand to raise me from my lowered position. "The Duke is here as my closest friend and has agreed to act as a negotiator for the marriage arrangement. May I escort you to the dining hall?"

To refuse would have been considered rude so I placed my hand on his forearm and allowed him to lead me to the dining hall. The Duke escorted my aunt, which was puzzling, since he should have led us all, considering he was of the higher echelon of nobility. My uncle and Ser Samuel brought up the rear of the party. Footmen pulled our chairs out, then assisted in pushing them closer to the table as we settled. I noticed the arrangement of cutlery in our places, a knife and fork, specifically. Although I had been exposed to using them it was still surprising as most of the nobility thought that forks were an affectation of the Italians; a sign of hubris that they were too proud to dirty their fingers as they ate. In our nation most of the nobility dispensed with any utensils, other than using a knife to spear a portion of fowl, or roast, then bite into it with their teeth and allow the juices to run over their faces and onto their clothing. It was obvious by how our guests used their utensils to cut the meat into smaller bites, that they were well used to eating in the new fashion.

"You were successful in finding my library, Lord Barnes?" asked my uncle.

"I was Ser Anthony," he replied. "A fine library at that. You must spend many pleasant hours there."

"When I have the time. Lady Arden is there often. She has likely read everything in there at least once, even the texts in French or Latin."

"Is that true?" he asked me in French. "You are fluent in those two languages?"

I answered him in French. "Yes, in Spanish and Italian, also. My uncle invested a lot of money in language tutors."

He said nothing about our meeting in the library, but he looked at my uncle with a degree of surprise and approval. Apparently, four additional languages were more than he was expecting. The look exchanged between Lord Barnes, the Duke, and Ser Samuel was subtle but telling. I had the feeling that even with the reports they had commissioned about my attributes I was still something of a mystery.

After dinner, my uncle disappeared into the library with the Duke and Ser Samuel with the intent of beginning the negotiations. My aunt went up to help settle my cousins for bed. That left me and Lord Barnes alone.

"Is there a garden where we can walk before it gets dark?"

"There is."

I led him out to the formal gardens, walking along the gravelled path between the displays of hyacinths and mums which were still blooming. The trees, which were casting off their green colour, were displaying some yellow, red, and orange hues. As the sun approached the horizon, the golden light it projected lent a soft glow to everything. We stopped at a pond briefly, then the wind came up and I shivered. Although it had warmed slightly since Lord Barnes arrival, I wore only a shawl over my dress, not enough to stay warm as it darkened.

"We should return to the castle," he said. "I wouldn't want you to catch a chill on my account."

"As you wish, my Lord," I answered, mindful of his superior status. "There is a small conservatory in the castle, with a fireplace where we can keep warm and still enjoy the plants around us."

He agreed to go there and by the time we arrived a fire had been lit, and a tray with a decanter of wine and two metal goblets were on a table. As I sat, he poured out some for each of us, then joined me on a padded bench built into the wall near the fireplace.

"To your good health," he said, before sipping his drink

"And to yours," I replied, sipping my own. "You know this is unusual. Allowing us to be alone."

"I requested it. Too many of my peers have arranged their marriages through intermediaries without meeting until the wedding day. Both parties experienced disappointment more often than not. I vowed never to make that mistake." He gazed steadily at me. "If there is anything you wish to ask me, I am open to your inquiries."

"Where have you travelled?" It was something I was genuinely interested in, having never left the country myself.

"I have been as far east as Greece, to the northern shore of Africa, Italy, Spain, France and Brittania. There have been journeys north of our kingdom, but it is still mostly wilderness and those who have lived there for eons are not the friendliest, with reason considering how our ancestors first treated them. The Northmen still have settlements there and have a truce with the original inhabitants. We do have trading relationships with the Northmen, as you know. Most of my travels was accompanying the Duke as his Majesty desired to know those who have the closest relationships with our country. We met Ser Samuel in the portion of Spain that had recently thrown off Moorish control. He agreed to stay with us as we found each other's company engaging. Since his Arabic name of Saqr Sama Allayl or Falcon of the Night Sky, was often mispronounced by those who were unfamiliar saying it, he asked for a Christian name to go by while he travelled our lands. The name Samuel in Arabic means prophet and seer. Wilson was suggested as a common last name. It has made his travels here easier. When he returns ... if he returns, he will revert to his given name."

There was a lot of information in his answer, but he obviously found value in knowing about the people in other realms. Placing his goblet down, he picked up the poker and adjusted the wood in the fireplace, as if he were used to taking care of such things himself. He sat next to me again.

"Have you travelled?"

"Alas, no, although I have read many accounts of different journeys, such as those of Marco Polo, The Travels of John Mandeville, and others. I have great admiration for the women who journeyed with Eleanor of Aquitaine to the Holy Lands. I wish someone had thought to document their journey."

"As my wife I would request that you accompany me on my travels," he mentioned. "It would be your choice but the alternative would be spending a significant amount of time apart, which is not conducive to marital harmony."

"What about children? Travelling with an infant would be an issue, wouldn't it?"

"Depends on the destination."

We were quiet again, with only the crackle of the fire to listen to. When the moon's glow appeared through the window, Lord Barnes stood up and turned to me.

"I believe I will retire now. May I request the honour of riding with you tomorrow?"

I stood up. "Of course. I usually ride in the morning an hour after breakfast. If that is acceptable to you."

"It is."

He bowed to me and left, leaving me puzzled to his sudden and arbitrary departure. My aunt arrived shortly after, and we returned to my chambers where she questioned me on what Lord Barnes and I spoke about.

Lord Barnes

As I walked to my chambers, I reflected on the time spent with Lady Arden. Her beauty was unmatched by any other woman I had ever seen. How Ser Anthony had managed to keep her isolated enough to avoid a kidnapping and forced marriage I will never know but it was imperative that we formalize our marriage as soon as possible. Since I first glimpsed her in the window, then spoke with her in the library, I had been unable to think rationally of anything or anyone else. Steven and Samuel were already in my chambers on my arrival, having ceased the negotiations at moonrise, which prompted my departure from the conservatory. They both turned to me as I entered and bolted the door, then checked the hidden passageway for listening servants. Steven handed me a goblet of wine.

"Well?" I looked at both expectantly. Steven answered.

"She is the only survivor of the House of Forrest. Ser Anthony confirmed it. She was brought to him by the housekeeper of the House Forrest, after they were attacked by the forces of House Pierce. Of course, they were not wearing the insignia, but she recognized several faces as Pierce's men. Lady Forrest pressed her daughter into the care of that woman, and they escaped via a secret passage that let them out a mile away. Even in the passageway she could hear as Pierce's men slaughtered the entire family. You know he would have taken her to keep for one of his sons, or his nephews and cement his acquisition of their lands."

"It was he who said he made a social call the following day and found the family dead of the wasting disease. Then he burned their castle to purify it and took their lands for himself, although he calls it a stewardship until the missing heir is found." I was angry at such villainy. "She doesn't know the truth, does she?"

"No, upon the housekeeper's arrival, Stark swore her to secrecy and claimed the child was his orphaned niece. She believes she is the daughter of his sister, Lady Worth and Ser Louis of House Worth from a sudden bout of the wasting disease. His position as godfather to Lady Arden guided him in her upbringing. It was her father's wish she be given every opportunity to be as educated as well as possible. He is aware of the betrothal document which is why he indicated his preference for your favour. That was late in being made known as he was under the impression for some time that you were aligned with House Pierce."

I looked at Samuel for his opinion. "That is understandable. You feel his vow of fealty to House Barnes is now honestly offered?"

"I do. Ser Anthony is a rare individual. He is a man of truth and honour, and both he and Lady Stark love the young woman as much as one of their own. His dowry request is for her benefit, not his, so that she is independently wealthy in the event of your death. Otherwise, he only requests an alliance with the Citadel. It may be that he fears reprisals if Pierce realizes the true identity of Lady Arden so would require the strength of your garrison to protect him and his family."

"Accept his terms. We'll read the banns as soon as possible, then I will apply for a marriage license so that the normal time period can be waived. As soon as it is approved, I will send for her to come to the Citadel for the marriage ceremony. With luck, we can be married after a fortnight. If there are any objections, then I can produce the original betrothal contract between our parents."

Steven placed a hand on my arm. "It will come to pass, Buck. I have faith."

"I hope you're right," I replied, draining my goblet. "Now that I have seen her, I cannot think of ever marrying another woman. By the way, we're going riding tomorrow, so we'll have to stay another night since you'll be engaged in negotiations during the day."

"Alone?" Steven and Samuel smirked at each other. "Is that wise?"

"We were alone this evening when we walked in the garden and when we sat in the conservatory, drinking wine. I'm a changed man. No more brothels or courtesans for me. A woman of her quality deserves a husband who will remain steadfast and faithful. It is my intention to be that type of husband for her."

"If you say so," remarked Steven, draining his wine. "Come Samuel, let's leave Lord Barnes to have sweet dreams of the Lady Arden."

I gave him a rude gesture then locked the door behind them. As I disrobed, I felt encouraged by their report. When our spy in Pierce's castle brought us proof of his part in the death of Lady Arden's parents, I knew the day was coming for the man's part in many similar incidents. He amassed his wealth and power by undermining the rule of law we were all supposed to live under. Even if it wasn't his men who performed all his suspected crimes, his alliances with the Walker and Rumlow houses meant he had them as his accomplices and co-conspirators. With his end game believed to be an attempt on the throne, we needed to be careful not to tip our hand too soon.

The following morning, we took breakfast with the Stark family, and I met the younger children, three daughters. The oldest was dark, like her father, while the other two resembled their mother with their fairer features. They were very well behaved, and I observed Lady Arden's interaction with them, curious about her suitability as a mother. They seemed fond of each other, and it was obvious that they were also being raised in the same manner as Lady Arden had been, for they spoke extensively of stories they wrote for each other's pleasure. They spoke French and Italian easily, making each other laugh. Their commentary was enjoyable, even bringing grins to Steven and Samuel's faces. The oldest child, Morgan, dared to ask Samuel about his childhood in Spain, then listened with rapt attention as he told her about his first time hunting with a falcon under his control.

When the meal was finished, Ser Anthony and my two friends repaired to the library to continue the marriage negotiations. Lady Arden excused herself to prepare for her daily horseback ride, agreeing to meet me in the courtyard of the keep. With the order given to prepare both of our horses I returned to my chambers to change into something more suitable for riding. I went out to check my horse, and found the care given to Soldier since our arrival the day before was exemplary. His coat gleamed in the warm sunlight. As always, he greeted me with affection, brushing his head against mine, then searching for the apple I usually gave him. The stable master offered me one and I broke it in two, feeding the pieces to him separately.

"He is a fine stallion," said Lady Arden's voice, behind me. "It is rare to find a fully black horse without a white patch somewhere on his body. Have you bred him yet?"

"Aye, he has sired a dozen foals in the past two years," I answered, before turning to look at her. For a moment, no words came out of my mouth as I took in what she was wearing. "This is your usual riding attire?"

She grinned and looked down at the short knee length skirt, and knee-high leather boots she wore. On her upper body she wore a tunic under a jacket that was styled in the same manner as a man's. It was scandalous but it also allowed her to have greater control over her horse. Her hair was loose and flowing down her back, brilliant in its colour that reminded me of a sunset or a smouldering flame.

"Do you disapprove?" she asked, almost daring me to forbid her from leaving the keep.

"No, it suits you," I answered, truthfully. I gestured to her horse, a beautiful grey mare. "Do you require assistance to get on?"

"A hand up, please," she answered.

Lacing my hands together, I boosted her up after she put her boot into them. She easily mounted the rest of the way, and I realized the many folds of her skirt hid the fact they were cut like trousers. It gave her as much control over her horse as a man would have. I mounted my horse and signalled to her to lead the way. With a nod to the stable master, we left the keep and began with an easy canter towards a wooded area. She slowed up once we were well out of eyesight. Looking back at me, she waited for me to ride beside her.

"You go out on your own?" I asked. "Are you not afraid of being accosted?"

"I can defend myself," she answered, then reached into her boot and pulled out a long knife, flipping it over in her hand before reinserting it. "Minerva is fast and can outrun almost any horse in the area."

I wondered if she would be so unconcerned with her personal safety if she knew who she really was, but it wouldn't be my place to tell her until we were married, so I kept my observation to myself. As we rode, I took time to scan our surroundings. It was evident why she chose this area. There were many trees already covered in the finery of autumn. The reds, golds, and oranges were everywhere. Whenever a breeze came up, we were showered with the leaves pulled from the branches. It was peaceful and, in her company, I found myself relaxing just enough to forget the affairs of state.

At one point, she glanced at me then nudged her horse into a gallop. I watched with admiration as her hair flew behind her, proving the moniker Flame of the Forest. She was beautiful and magnificent, and if I had my way, she would be my wife in just over a fortnight. Perhaps, just perhaps, she would be safe from those who wanted her for their own purposes.

Note about The Wife of Bath’s Tale. It recounts the story of a knight who is accused of rape. He is given a year to find out what it is women most desire, in order to spare his life. An old crone says she will tell him if he agrees to her request. He agrees and she tells him that women desire sovereignty over their own lives more than anything. When he offers the answer to the courts he is spared and he returns to the old crone to fulfill her request. She demands that he marries her. Since he is a knight and is bound by his oath he agrees. In bed on their wedding night she asks if he would like an old ugly wife who is faithful or a beautiful one who is faithless. He leaves the decision to her, declaring himself bound to it. For his honesty and concession to her she becomes beautiful and faithful, and they live happily as husband and wife.

Saqr Sama Allayl or Falcon of the Night Sky - From Google Translate

Part 2>>

Series masterlist

Please support the author by reblogging.

[darkmasterlistyouneveraskedfor]

The Baby Trappers AU Masterlist

Stories including some devious men with a breeding kink.

Wicked Games | Steve Rogers | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13

So I | Bucky Barnes | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8

Crash and Burn | Tony Stark | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9

No Sugar Tonight | Brock Rumlow | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6

Long Snake Moan | Loki | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10

Bittersweet Symphony | Thor | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 |

[lokiswifeduh]

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

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

No Sugar Tonight 1

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Brock Rumlow

Summary: A regular customer becomes more than just a familiar face.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

The evening shift is quiet. You don’t mind the low din of the atrium. The cafe offers the only light to the empty lobby. Hours ago, it was a rush of bodies and voices, now, the shops have closed down and the sign above you remains lit as the sole beacon in the business plaza. 

The slower hours are more routine than the frantic mornings filled with early risers desperate for their first dose of caffeine. You did a few weeks of that before you hopped on the evening’s rota. It gives you time to read between baking and cleaning. 

The front doors open and close, echoing through the space. It’s eerie this late at night but you it doesn’t bother you as much as it once does. The footsteps that follow add to the unease of their approach. You recognise the man by his silhouette. 

The marquee glow limns his harsh features, the stubble on his jaw adding to the sharp angles, his dark hair and brows give him a sinister slant. You smile as you stand from the stool and pour him a black coffee. You ring him up before he even gets to the counter. 

“Evening, sir,” you greet him. You still don’t know his name. All your other regulars like to chat. He doesn’t. “Black.” 

He flicks a card up between his index and middle fingers. The stamps across the rows add up to a free drink. You take it, brushing his calloused fingertips as you do. 

“Oh, a free drink. Exciting.” You cancel the transaction and slide his cup forward, “enjoy.” 

He grumbles and takes the cup. He moves to the other end of the kiosk and grabs a lid and sleeve. As he walks away, you bid him a good night. He never says much, if anything. 

You go back to sanitizing the frother. The work isn’t so dull when you have nothing else to do. The night wears on as the sky softens through the glass walls of the atrium   

Dayani arrives just before five to take over. You hand her the keys and balance the till before you go. She sends you off with the dread of the shift ahead. 

Out on the street, the lull remains. Not for much longer. The bus routes will pick up and the daily commuters will clog the streets. Your trek home is five blocks but not too bad considering. You share a loft with two other girls but you rarely run into them. You all work different shifts in different borroughs. 

Your room is at the rear of the old brick building. The legislated fire escape crosses your window and casts a shadow through the sheer curtains. You undress and unwind in your single bed. The room is small and not exactly worth the cost but it’s a roof over your head. 

You sleep until just after one. The city had you waking in spurts at the honk of an angry driver or the shouts of rowdy pedestrians. You eat the stale scone you claimed from work and have instant coffee to wash it down. 

You go through the usual. You wake up little by little and drag yourself out to the shower. You catch a glimpse of one of your roommates. Lottie barely seems to notice you as she carries a basket out the door. 

When you’re done washing up, you pull on your sweats and a loose tee. You waste some time watching TV on your phone then plug it in so you have some juice left when you leave. You eat a microwaved tray of pasta and change into your uniform. You do up your hair and face, nothing too much, and count the minutes until you’re due to leave. 

As exciting as the city can be, you can’t afford that part of it. You work, you sleep, you get by. 

Xander has an hour overlap with you before he goes. He tells you about all his midterms and the party he wants to ditch his studying for. It’s only an elective course anyway. He leaves in indecision. 

You never finished school. You did one year and dropped out. You did well enough but you couldn’t afford it. Not even the local community college in your hometown. Funny, you still came all the way out here to scrape pennies. 

The last rush of the day passes through. Those on the way to their own overnight shifts; security guards, hotel clerks, and all others. 

The silence sets in. You play around on your phone. The battery dies a lot quicker lately so you make yourself quiet the matching game and put it in your pocket. You pull out the novel you keep hidden behind the till and read until the door opens and closes. 

Same time, same man. His black hair swallows up the light of the sign above as you pour his coffee. You get him a new card and stamp it, handing it over with your usual smiling nicety. Still no response. He goes to grab his lid and sleeve. 

You wait patiently. He doesn’t march off like usual. You peek over as he strides along the counter. He drops a bill in the tip jar. You thank him. Still no answer. 

He walks off and you look in the cup. You can’t believe it. You snatch up the bill and push through the door at the side of the kiosk. You hurry after his shadow. 

“Sir, sir, I think you made some mistake--” the door closes heavily and his figure passes outside the glass panels. You can’t go that far without locking up. Oh well, he’ll be back tomorrow and you can let him know. 

You walk back to the cafe stand and dip back behind. You unfold the hundred dollar bill. Maybe it’s not real. Maybe it’s a joke. Looks pretty real when you hold it up to the light. 

[e-dubbc11]

Summer Sleepover request 😊

How about a tiny reader drabble based on

'Can I kill him now?'

with Brock and Frank, whatever way around takes your fancy!

Thank you! 😘

Stef!! Thank you so so much for sending in this ask and participating in my summer sleepover! I hope you like what I ended up doing. It was fun to write! ♥️

Can I Buy You a Drink?

Photos are not mine. They are courtesy of Pinterest/Google.

Pairing: Brock Rumlow x F! Reader with Bartender! Frank Castle

Warnings: Couple of sexual references, maybe a swear word or two, SHIELD agent being a creep, fluff, drinking.

Word Count: 1.9K-ish

Summary: Reader works in a bar with Frank that he owns and manages. A very handsome SHIELD agent and the rest of his team come in for a drink after a long training session at Anvil.

As always, thank you for reading!  I appreciate it so much and comments, reblogs are welcome and encouraged. Don’t be shy to tell me your favorite part. 💕💕 💕

The strong scent of citrus floated past your nose as you removed all of the glasses from the dishwasher. Frank was on the other side of you cutting up fresh limes, prepping for the Friday after work crowd that usually poured into the bar around three o’clock.

The beer glasses went into the freezer and the remaining glassware was placed on the shelves although most of your clientele stuck to beer. The Watering Hole wasn’t exactly an upscale place with its old neon signs, dim lighting, and dated décor but it was a fun place to work.

It was small and didn’t require a lot of staff or actual bartending skills which was good for you because you didn’t have any, you just needed a job. And even though it was a small place, it brought in a decent amount of money.

The tips you made, Frank let you keep all of them. He was a great boss, owned the bar, and he looked out for you. The bar was your second job and with the money you brought home, you were able to live comfortably and get back on your feet after a bad breakup with an ex who left you with nothing. You promised yourself you wouldn’t make that mistake again.

“Bill said he was sending some people over after their training today. He said they were just looking for a place to grab a couple beers. They’re in town from D.C.” Said Frank.

A look of disgust washed over your face.

“Ugh, they’re not politicians, are they Frank? Because I don’t know that I wanna deal with that tonight.” You replied.

Draping a dish towel over his shoulder, Frank chuckled as he continued to cut up limes and said, “Nah, they’re not politicians, sweetheart. Bill said they’re from a group called SHIELD.”

“Ooooh, well that sounds very clandestine, doesn’t it?” You asked, biting back a smile. “Did Billy say around what time they would be in?”

A few of your regulars were already there but as soon as the words escaped your lips, the door opened and in walked a bunch of men and a few women with their suit jackets off, ties undone, and looking pretty worn out from their training day at Anvil with Billy.

Frank glanced at you with raised eyebrows, moved closer to you, and said, “This must be them, go get ‘em kid. Bat those pretty eyes at ‘em and bring us some money, yeah? I’d do it but I don’t have pretty eyes.”

That made you laugh and when you did, you caught the eye of one of the men in the pack with dark brown hair and amber colored eyes. His dress shirt was unbuttoned and his tie was balled up in his hand. He was very handsome but had a scowl on his face, lips pressed together in a straight line and a furrowed brow.

You were a little shy when it came to larger crowds of people but you sucked it up and walked over, ready to make some money.

“Afternoon everyone! Thank you for coming in today, I’m y/n. What can I get for you?” You paused for a minute and then asked, “Oh, I’m assuming Billy told you what the deal is here? Yeah? Beer and liquor only. Cash tips, you got it?!”

“Yes ma’am.” Said the handsome man. He also had a raspy voice which was incredibly sexy.

Dammit.

You walked back to the bar after taking their order. While prepping their drinks, you glanced over again at your crush and you heard one of them say to him, “She’s hot, huh Rumlow?! I’ll give her a good tip.” He said as he hi-fived one of the other guys in the group.

“You’re such a pig, Rollins.” Said one of the women.

Frank was helping you when he said, “He’s got his eye on you, doesn’t he.”

“Which one?” You asked.

“Well, all of them actually but the older guy with the dark hair. He hasn’t taken his eyes off you since he walked in here, ya know.” Said Frank.

“He can’t be that old, Frank. Have you seen him? He’s in really good shape. And I ain’t no spring chicken either.” You said.

“Watchful eye, sweetheart. Watchful eye. You know I’m ready if you need backup.” Frank said with a smirk.

It did get a little rowdy at times but you could handle it for the most part. Frank was great backup though. He had a reputation around town. They called him “The Punisher” because of what he would do to out of control patrons and he made sure they never caused trouble in his bar again. Frank didn’t need to hire any bouncers; he was his own.

Watching from behind the bar, you noticed that this group could drink. It was round after round of beer and shots with the exception of the one they called Rumlow.

He was drinking but not nearly as much as the others and none of them were drinking more than the one named Rollins.

You and Frank were talking and cleaning when Rumlow started walking toward the bar.

“Lemme know if you need the bat, yeah?” Said Frank with a sly grin.

Shaking your head, you glared at him. He knew you could handle yourself. You couldn’t work for an ex-marine and NOT know a thing or two on how to take care of business.

Your heart started to beat faster as Rumlow approached the bar. Warmth spread across your cheeks and you glanced down at the floor so he wouldn’t see you blushing. He hadn’t even spoken to you yet and he had your stomach in knots.

Rollins was making a lot of drunken noises so Rumlow had to speak loudly for you to hear him.

“Hey, sorry about Jack. We all had a long day. I’m Brock, by the way.” He said, extending his hand for you to shake.

Slowly reaching forward, you took his hand to shake it. His thick fingers wrapped around your hand and you could feel the calluses on his palm as you couldn’t help but gaze into his golden colored eyes.

The warmth from his hand traveled quickly up your arm and spread across your chest and you felt yourself struggling to figure out how to respond.

You were finally able to arrange the words you wanted to say in your head before they fell out of your mouth.

“It’s ok, we all need to blow off steam after a long day. It’s nice to meet you, Brock.” You said with a shy smile. “Can I get you another beer?”

“Thank you, sweetheart. That would be great.” He replied.

You were sure he wasn’t aware of the face he was making, but Frank’s eyes were narrowed and he had pressed his lips together in a straight line as his eyes were fixated on Brock, not knowing exactly what his intentions were.

Frank knew how hard you worked every day to be able to provide for yourself. The last thing he wanted was some guy showing up and taking advantage of how sweet and kind you were, giving men more chances than they deserved like the last guy that broke your heart.

He just wanted to see you with someone nice for a change which is why he was carefully checking out Brock.

After pouring a beer for Brock, you told Frank you needed a bathroom break and you’d be back in a minute. You encountered Rollins in the hallway after emerging from the bathroom.

“H-hey! Th-there she is! I-I was j-just coming to tell youuuuu that I could use another beeeeeer.” He said sloppily.

“You might have reached your limit there, big guy.” You tried to say with a smile.

Rollins had stepped in front of you, not letting you pass by him.

“Excuse me, Jack. I have to get back to work.” You said with a trembling voice.

With the strong scent of beer and liquor on his breath, he had pinned you against the wall with his lower body and growled into your ear, “I don’t have any cash, pretty girl but you can take your tip from my tip if ya know what I mean.”

Jack was tall and heavy so it was difficult to try and push him off of you. His words chilled you to the bone, you were frozen in place, and couldn’t reach the knife in your back pocket.

“Let me go, Jack.” You said, coldly.

Jack continued to press into you with his crotch while you frantically kept looking down the hallway for someone to help. He was just too strong for you.

Just as you started to panic slightly, you heard a deep booming voice coming from the other end of the hallway.

“HEY!! Take your hands off of her, Rollins!” Shouted Frank.

Frank distracted Jack just long enough for you to push him away and retrieve your knife from your back pocket all in one swift motion.

Holding the knife down by his crotch, you whispered with a devilish grin on your face, “Don’t make any sudden movements, Jack. You wouldn’t want me to cut it off now, would ya?”

Brock appeared at the end of the hallway and stood next to Frank. They looked at each other, thoroughly impressed with your knife wielding skills and they both gave you a nod of approval before Frank walked toward you, grabbed Jack by the collar, and asked “Can I kill him now?”

Brock answered with bitterness in his tone before you could.

“Let me do it. It should be me.” Brock then turned to you and calmly asked, “You alright, doll? Did he hurt ya?”

Frank, still holding Jack’s shirt collar, repeated Brock’s question, “Yeah, did he hurt ya?”

“I’m fine, guys. I’m fine…really, I am.” You stumbled to get the words out.

Frank turned toward Brock and while looking at you, said, “I’ll let your team take care of him but lemme just say, if you break her heart, I’ll break your neck, got it?”

“Frank!” You interrupted and couldn’t help but smile.

Brock chuckled, “I got it…I promise, Castle.”

“Good…because they don’t call me the Punisher for nothin’.” Said Frank.

Slightly embarrassed, you rolled your eyes and replied, “Oh my god, ok, ok can you guys just get him outta my sight? My stomach is starting to turn.”

Frank tossed Jack to the rest of the SHIELD team and walked back behind the bar. Brock slowly inched closer to you, his eyes locked on yours before he leaned in and planted a gentle kiss on your cheek.

His lips were warm and soft against your skin and you felt a slight tingle in your core as you closed your eyes and pictured his lips being somewhere else.

Maybe you were getting ahead of yourself.

Before your mind could wander any further, he asked, “Can I buy you a drink?”

Frank had a strict rule about no drinking on the job. So with sad puppy dog eyes, you looked over at him, and silently begged for him to let you break the rules this one time.

Folding your hands together, you mouthed the word “Please?!!”

He rolled his eyes and began to pour two beers.

“Alright, kid. I’ll let you break the rules just this once, yeah?” He said, holding up one finger.

Biting back a sweet smile, you replied, “Yes! Thank you, Frank! You won’t regret it.”

Already seeing how smitten Brock was with you and the smile stretched across your lips, Frank gave Brock a nod and replied, “Just…this…once.”

Tag List: @munsonownsmyass @gijos @k-marzolf @nekoannie-chan @nutmeg17

Others that might enjoy: @fluffyprettykitty @jvanilly @randomlittleimp

If I tagged you and you didn’t want to be, just let me know and I’ll never do it again. As always, thank you again for reading!

[sarahowritesostucky]

📖"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

[saoirseserenade]

Tw // abuse, htp, kidnapping, implied s/a, daddy kink, puppy play, dead dove

Au idea where Brock Rumlow having a ‘service dog’ who he trained (kidnapped) himself >_< and Bucky is just a good boy that sucks cock when his Daddy wants nd helps ‘service’ him in other ways nd he nd Rumlow go to this annual secret club for dogs like Bucky.

And there’s a newcomer - blond and shy nd so clumsy. Rumlow likes his owner who’s name is Jack Rollins nd they hit it off and Bucky is just looking at the new dog curiously and Steve is just kinda scared nd terrified (‘service dog in training’) nd then idk the two make their boys fuck

[justarandomreaderxoxo]

Series Title: "Shadows of the Heart"

Summary: In the bustling underbelly of New York City, where shadows hold secrets and power dynamics shift like the tides, Y/N Fury stands at the intersection of loyalty and ambition. The adopted daughter of Nick Fury, Y/N is a brilliant strategist for the Avengers, a powerful crime syndicate formed by the original six superheroes (not really super in this AU) who navigate the complexities of organized crime.

Y/N discovers an unexpected spark of romance when she encounters Wanda Maximoff, a charming cafe owner oblivious to the crime-ridden world surrounding her. Drawn to Wanda’s warmth and beauty, Y/N finds herself caught between her dangerous life as an enforcer and the desire for a genuine connection. Each meeting with Wanda pulls Y/N deeper into a world of emotions she had long kept at bay, challenging her to reconsider her priorities and what it truly means to protect those she loves.

Starting from 28/10/2024

Chapters:

Chapter 1

[tikus-library]

"Opposite Directions"

Avengers AU - Work Drabble

Characters: Brock Rumlow, John Walker, Reader

Posted: Sept 12th

WARNINGS: none

A/N: since this is a work drabble I am posting it here as well.

Like, Comments, & Reblogs are always appreciated and loved. 

**Please Do Not Repost or 'Fix' My Work** 

Brock froze.

He should have known.

He had been stupid to think it wouldn't happen.

He had trusted you too much. Had allowed you to get too close. So close he had a taste of your lips…

“You want her to be happy right?” He didn't wait for a response, “she's there, waiting, see? All I had to do was ask her to meet me here, just like that. Don't you think it would be better for her to be seen with me or – “ he shrugged, sucking his teeth and taking a step forwards in the hall. “You know your reputation right? Former HYDRA, reformed, that means you got eyes on you at all times. That means she'll have eyes on her at all times. Think of the amount of times they'll look over her once they realize your name is attached to her. Even if it is just as friends.”

Brock's head was buzzing. He unfurled his fists, hadn't even realized he had clenched them. Stupid fucking Walker was a pain in the ass and it was rumored that he was up next for the SHIELD. He didn't think that fucking idiot would really give it up, but just the rumor alone was enough to catapult this fucker up the ladder and Brock? Brock was fucking in the dark, he would get no where good and drag you down under with him if he let it happen.

You? You deserved so much more.

More than he could give.

Walker stepped back but Brock was quicker, he had after all gone head to head with the ACTUAL fucking Captain America. “If you fucking hurt her…” he warned.

Walker huffed, “she's waiting.”

He couldn't watch.

He took one last look, still in uniform. Gloved hands clutched in front of you, eyes jumping from one face to another, searching. He had at one point come to count on having your gaze fall on him and a small smile he thought reserved just for him would find its place on your lips when you saw him.

Now? Now he couldn't watch to see you smile for him.

Brock turned and walked in the opposite direction.

Leave Kudos on Ao3

[nixies-creations]

For @kalika999, Who won one of my @marveltrumpshate Auctions. This the second of the three aesthetics I made for Kali, for MTH 2022!

Brock/Jack- Hallmark But With A Twist.

Read on Ao3.

[ex0rin]

Interview Prep (E)

Head of Security Rumlow/ (not quite) Intern Torres

Dubious Consent, Past Underage, Power Imbalance, Bullying, Pet Names, Groping, Grinding, Coming In Pants, Torres' White Shoes, What If? (Marvel Comics), Alternate Universe, Intern Torres, Head of Security Rumlow, Secretary Bucky

He’s not paying attention behind him which is why he nearly jumps out of his skin when a rough voice fills the quiet before the elevator has even started moving – “I got it from here.” Torres turns slowly, something about the voice sending a chill down along his spine like he’s heard it before - like he’s been hearing an echo of it for the last five years and there’s no way, there’s no –

OR: Torres gets an interview at his dream internship, runs into someone familiar in the elevator.

READ ON AO3 HERE

[sjsmith56]

The Flame Burns From Within - new short fiction series starting soon

Summary: A late medieval / early Renaissance AU told in six parts. Lord Barnes comes to the home of Ser Anthony Stark to formally claim the hand of his niece, the woman he has been betrothed to since her birth. Other suitors object to his claim setting off a series of events.

Updates every Wednesday.

Snippet from Part 1:

As I walked to my chambers, I reflected on the time spent with Lady Arden. Her beauty was unmatched by any other woman I had ever seen. How Ser Anthony had managed to keep her isolated enough to avoid a kidnapping and forced marriage I will never know but it was imperative that we formalize our marriage as soon as possible. Since I first glimpsed her in the window, then spoke with her in the library, I had been unable to think rationally of anything or anyone else. Steven and Samuel were already in my chambers on my arrival, having ceased the negotiations at moonrise, which prompted my departure from the conservatory. They both turned to me as I entered and bolted the door, then checked the hidden passageway for listening servants. Steven handed me a goblet of wine.

"Well?" I looked at both expectantly.

[ramp-it-up]

Taste

Pairing: Mob Boss! Sam Wilson x Rumlow! Reader; Bucky Barnes x Reader (platonic); Steve Rogers x Reader (platonic); Brock Rumlow x Reader (platonic)

Word Count: around 4K

Warnings: 18+ As always, MINORS DNI, Not Beta’d. All mistakes my own. Childhood hoods, childhood crush, childhood nicknames based upon appearance, young Brock, Steve, Bucky and Sam, skinny Stevie Rogers, sibings being sibings, bratty behavior, Angst, allusion to underage drinking and crime, toxic parents, protective bothers, allusions to underaged drinking, bratty behavior, a punch in the nose (accidental), bloody nose, shirtless Sam, kind of innocent reader, fingering, oral sex (female receiving) loss of virginity, pain during sex, p in v, raw sex (wrap it or don’t tap it), praise kink, after care. This entire fic is comprised of two flashbacks.

A/N: This is in the same AU Try a Little Tenderness and The Representative, and comes directly after Addicted To You. The AU is called This Thing of Ours.

I no longer operate a taglist. Follow @rampitupandread to be notified when I post.

I Do NOT consent to my work being reposted, translated or presented on any other blog or site other than by myself.

You were ten years old, it was 2002, and you were spending the summer in Brooklyn at your father’s house. 

It was long before the mob war that he created which separated your brother Brock from his best friends. 

And it was a time that would change you forever.

The July afternoon was hot and so was the block. Music was blaring from the speakers of someone’s radio and there was a buzz in the air: adolescence, ambition and a potential for violence. 

You a slave to a page in my rhyme book/Gettin' big money, playboy, your time's up/Where them gangstas at?/ Where them dimes at?/They shootin'! Aw, made you look

They called you Bunny because of your teeth and your size. But you were a scrapper and could stand up for yourself. Your father taught you that. 

You also had a smart mouth, and roasted anyone who dared talk about you or your family. 

Your mother taught you that. 

When you came to your father’s house while your mother took her annual girls trip that summer, you found that your big brother was suddenly different. Gone was the quiet gangly 12 year old who drew up plans for world domination in composition books in his room; a wiry 13 year old who had friends who were just as scrappy and hungry as he was had taken his place.

Little Stevie Rogers never backed down from a fight. That’s where his best friend Bucky Barnes came in, backing him up when Stevie was against the wall. Brock was the kid with vision, the one who had a plan to get them where they wanted to be.

In power.

Your brother tried to ignore you, but you trailed after him because there was nothing better to do. One day, you sat in the stoop and watched him and his friends working to open the fire hydrant across the street from your dad’s house.

Your brother felt your eyes on them as you hugged your knees.You were a sight, bushy hair, glasses, braces, and an intense look on your face. He felt bad. 

For a second.

“Why don’t you go on over there and play dolls with Shandy and “n’em, Bunny?”

You glanced over at the girls playing on the next stoop, their braids wilting in the sun. They were playing with stiff dolls with stiff plastic hair and legs that didn’t bend. Not your scene.

You just poked your tongue out at him and moved to stand in the water now dripping out of the hydrant, your strawberry sneakers with the bows getting drenched. You smiled down at them, thinking of how mad your mother would be.

“Aw, c’mon Brock. She ain’t hurtin’ nobody. Let her have some fun.”

Bucky’s blue eyes shone down at you and you pushed up your glasses and looked up at him, squinting in the sun. Stevie’s bony elbow bumped into yours as you hopped to avoid the bruising gush of water along the pavement as they succeeded in their quest.

“Sorry.”

Stevie smiled at you. He really was a nice boy, even though he was pugnacious. Bucky was a smart ass, however.

“You don’t want her to melt, do ya? Your old man would skin you alive.” 

Stevie and Bucky laughed as Brock scowled. He didn’t have time for benevolence or little sisters. He had plans. He shook his head.

“Focus. We gotta stick with the plan. Sammy Wilson is coming over to talk about what’s happening tonight, and she doesn’t need to be around.”

You flipped Brock off behind Bucky and Stevie’s back, and he just scowled harder at you. No matter what you did, he didn’t engage with you like you wanted him to. How boring.

Bucky whistled. 

“Wilson is fast. That dude can run his ass off.”

Sam was on the track team at the high school down the block.

“I can beat him.”

Stevie puffed his bird chest out and Brock and Bucky laughed at him. You felt bad. 

“I believe you Stevie.”

He grinned at you and ducked his head.

Brock rolled his eyes and you flipped him off.

He pointed back at you.

“I’m sick of you. I’m telling Dad.”

You thrilled at the attention.

“Go ahead, I’ll tell him what you’re up to.”

Brock grabbed you by the shirt, snarling.

“You better not say a fucking word.”

You pulled away and landed on the pavement, your knee skinned. You kneeled, bending over to look at it, and to keep your tears inside, when you heard the voice of an angel.

“Need some help?”

You looked up into a face haloed by the sun. You reached for the hand that was offered and stood up to look into the face of 14 year old Sammy Wilson. And you were done for.

That gap tooth smile, those eyes. That skin.

You stared at him as you registered laughter around you. Sam spoke again.

“You okay?”

He seemed like he really wanted to know how you were.

“Y-yeah.”

He chuckled.

“You better clean that off.”

Sam took your hand and led you back over to the hydrant. He kneeled down, cupped water in his hand and cleaned off your knee.

“Sssssss!” 

It stung.

“Sorry. But it’s for your own good.”

You felt warm, and not just from the heat, as you let him take care of you.

You stared at him as he finished.

“That’s the best I can do. You need to get a band-aid.”

“Okay.” 

You would do anything he said. Sam looked up at you and it was like the air was sucked out of your body. You didn’t know what this feeling was, but it intrigued you.

“No problem. I got a little sister at home. Sarah. Just looking out. You gotta be careful.”

He smiled as he stood up and walked away. 

You watched him move over to the other boys, forever changed because that’s when you fell in love with Sammy Wilson.

You spent that last summer in Brooklyn as the unofficial mascot of the Savage Crims, the newest gang on the block. Steve, Bucky, and Sam adopted you and you became scout, lookout, and spy. It was the best summer of your life.

Your mother moved to Los Angeles that fall and took you with her. She started dating more legitimate businessmen, meaning the same type of men as your father, just with generational wealth and privilege.

It was a different world than New York. You went to fancy private schools and learned how to play the game. You were now a “friendly black hottie,” sidekick to the main character in every scene. 

But you were smart. 

As you grew older, you watched and learned and played the part, and soon, you were running the game. By the time you graduated from high school, you were the center of attention, just the way you liked it. 

Your mother was engaged, and you and she were on the cusp of something she’d dreamed of her entire life: being iconic.

You started your first two years in college at UCLA, but you convinced your mother that fashion was how you would enable yourself to meet the best type of men, and that Parsons School of design in New York was the place to be. 

You acted as if you were uninterested in reconnecting with Brock, who your mom thought hadn’t contacted you in eight years aside from telling you that your father had died.

You convinced your mother that you wouldn’t venture off the island of Manhattan, and she believed you because she was in the midst of applying the full court press on her man.

The truth was, you and Brock kept in touch regularly, and you were eager to see your brother again. 

And his friends.

So you flew back East in 2012, 10 years after you left, butterflies threatening to fly out of your mouth as you landed at Laguardia. 

After a few weeks in the city establishing your dominance, you showed up at the boys’offices unannounced. He knew you were in town, and told you about how successful he was now, with the help of Bucky and Steve. 

And Sam. 

You were going to go see just how successful everyone was. 

And how lucky you could get.

“Who the hell is that?”

Bucky peered at the camera about the buzzer to the brownstone. Steve came over to look as well.

“It can’t be… Brock, c’mere.”

“What is it? We’re trying to work out this next shipment…”

Brock looked at the camera as Sam watched his jaw drop from the table.

“Who is it?”

“Fuck! That’s Bunny!”

Brock backed up as Steve pressed the buzzer. He opened the door to wait for you to climb the stairs.

“Stevie!?” 

Your excited shriek was muffled as the now beefy blonde picked you up immediately to twirl you around into the loft space.

You stood back, feeling his muscles through his shirt.

“Wow! You have filled out.”

“I must have learned from you…” 

Steve looked you up and down when you heard a roar in your ear.

“Bunny!”

Bucky gave you a bear hug to where you couldn’t breathe. You pounded his back and punched him in the pecs when he let go. You caught your breath and then turned to Brock, whose eyes were shining.

“God, you’re grown up. You’re not my little Bunny anymore.”

“Shut up, stupid.”

You embraced your brother, surprised at your emotion. You were choking up, about to sob in his arms.

“I missed you.”

You whispered into his shirt.

“Missed you too, kid.”

You let him go and you dabbed at your eyes. You heard someone clear their throat and looked over to see Sam standing next to you.

“Hey Sammy!”

You tried to make your voice light, so as not to betray your feelings. You’d replayed this moment in your mind a million times.

He was a man now. And damn. What a man. Tall, dark and handsome. But with that same smile. 

Sam tried to be cool. Brock was right. You weren’t little any more. A full grown woman. He tried to not check you out because he knew Brock was watching, but damn. You were beautiful. All over.

“Well? Can I get a hug?”

Sam unfroze himself.

“Of course.”

You seemed to melt into him, your breasts pressed against his chest, his lats seeming to mold around you. He could do this all day. 

When Sam opened his eyes, he saw Bucky’s raised eyebrow and he released you, stepping back and over to the table to try and pretend that all of his senses were not tuned on you.

“How’s Sarah?”

Sam smiled.

“Good. You should call her.”

You smiled back

“I will.”

Bucky interrupted.

“Tell me all about your socialite world, Ms.Y/L/N.”

You rolled your eyes.

“Rumlow ‘til I die.”

You locked eyes with Sam.

“Who does a girl have to screw to get a drink around here?”

You joked and the room fell silent.

“No one.” Brock deadpanned. “And you’ll wait another year until you’re legal.” 

You rolled your eyes.

“Yes, like everything is legal up in here.”

It was just like old times: you giving them all hell. Although Sam’s hell was different now. 

Bucky handed you a bottle of water.

“Thanks Buck!” 

You sat and crossed your legs across from Sam and Brock.

“So. How’s things?”

You four talked for hours, ordering pizza from Sal’s and shooting the shit. It was almost midnight when they drew straws to see who would take you home. Sam drew the short straw. 

Lucky him.

You rode in the passenger seat of Sam’s BMW, arms folded across your chest, an adorable bratty pout on your delectable lips. He’d been watching that mouth all night, torturing himself with visions of those in various places on his body. He was getting hard. 

Sam stifled a moan which he tried to play off.

You jumped a little when he growled at you.

“What the hell is wrong with you, little girl?”

You turned toward him, mad.

“First of all, I’m not a little girl any more.”

“Yeah, Right.”

It sounded dismissive, but Sam was really just agreeing with you.

“Second of all, y’all really drew straws to take me home?”

You glared at him as he laughed at your outrage.

“I’m not the little tagalong from years ago. I didn’t even need you to take me home. I could call anyone to come get me. To come get this.”

You held up your flip phone and indicated your body. Sam’s dark eyes took you in and felt possessive. Holy shit, he was in deep. 

“I’m sure you got lots of hardheads after you.” 

Sam clenched his jaw and looked back at the road as he drove to The Village.

“We’re busy men, Bunny. We got important work to do. Brock will be working for a couple more hours, Bucky is running the streets, and Steve probably has a date right now…”

“At 1 am? You mean a booty call.”

Sam continued, ignoring you.

“But what will never change is us protecting you. We’re family, Bunny.”

You pushed his head and he glared at you.

“Same little boys is all I see. Important crimes, you mean.”

You huffed back into your seat, your breasts bouncing in your spandex dress. Sam fought to keep his eyes on the road.

“I’ll show you a little boy. Don’t try me, Bunny.”

You turned back to him, batting your eyes, but your attitude on 1000.

“I’d love to try you Sammy.”

Sam had the urge to take you by the throat and slide you up and down his dick, but he just squeezed the steering wheel harder, trying to ignore you. 

“Hey Sammy.”

He sideyed you. Your voice was too sweet.

“Let’s go get a drink.”

“Fuck no!”

“C’mon, don’t be a prude. I drank all the time in Europe this summer.”

“In case you haven’t noticed, this isn’t Europe, and I don’t give a fuck.”

You sat back in your seat, grumbling and frustrated. He would never see you as anything but little Bunny. By the time you got to campus, you didn’t even wait for Sam to park before you jumped out. He caught up with you, long legs gaining ground quickly. He grabbed your arm.

“Hey!”

“Let me go!”

You turned around and popped him in the nose by reflex.

“Shit!” 

Sam held his face and doubled over.

“Oh, my damn! I’m sorry Sammy. Let me see.”

“Stop…”

Sam pulled away from you and as his hands moved, blood spattered all over his shirt and the concrete below him.

“Oh no. Oh no. I’m so sorry.”

Sam was moving away.

“Just.. leave me alone. I’m okay…”

“No you’re not. I’m sorry Sammy. Come up to my place. Please. I’ll clean you up.”

Sam opened his watery eyes to see your remorseful face and let you lead him up to your apartment, up three flights of stairs. You took him immediately to the bathroom and you washed him up, giving him a wet washcloth and telling him to lean his head forward, indicating the toilet.

Sam sat down and did as he was told, pinching the bridge of his nose.

You sat on the floor below him and stared up at him, hugging your knees.

“I’m so so so so sorry Sammy…”

He looked at you, silent, and continuing to pinch his nose.

You stayed with him for 15 minutes until he stopped bleeding and stood up again, cleaning up a bit more. You felt so bad.

You stared at his shirt as he stood.

“Jeez, Sammy, take that shirt off, let me soak it.”

Sam remained silent, but took off his shirt.

You bent over to get some hydrogen peroxide from the cabinet, scrubbed the shirt a little, then soaked it in cold water.

Sam was watching your ass, almost feral at the fact that you were such a brat. You needed to be tamed. But you were Brock’s kid sister. He was so torn. 

“You can grab a sweatshirt out of my –” 

You turned around toward and stopped mid thought, mind blank at the sight of Sam’s shirtless form.

“Holy shit.”

Sam gave you a lopsided grin.

“You keep sweatshirts in your holy shit?”

You didn’t even hear the tease, just licked your lips as you stepped toward him.

“Sammy?”

Sam gulped and tried to calm down. But the look on your face was everything at the moment. He knew he probably should have, but he didn’t stop you as you entered his space. You reached your hand up to his nose.

“Are you ok?”

“I think so.” 

Sam reached up and manually shifted his nose. 

“Probably just broken for the third time. Been in a couple of scraps.”

Your fingers entwined with his and you brought them to your lips. Tears started to slide down your face.

“I’m sorry.”

Sam wiped the tears from your face with his thumbs.

“Don’t cry. I’m ok.”

He pulled you in for a hug, and then leaned back.

As you looked up at him, he whispered, “So damn beautiful, Bunny…” 

Suddenly, he was kissing your face, collecting your salt water with his lips. Then, he pulled away.

“What are we doing?” 

You began to nuzzle his palm, while your hands reached for his pecs.

“Stop thinking so much, Sammy…”

“Thinking’s what got us into this..”

You nodded.

“D’you know how long I’ve been thinking about this?”

Your eyes followed your hands as they traced his chest, then his sternum down to his happy trail. His stomach clenched at the sensation. He was too far gone.

“How long?”

“From the first time someone tried to be with me sexually. I never really wanted to, I mean I’ve messed around, I can suck your soul out, but I’ve never wanted anyone inside of me.”

You were tracing his hard on outside of his pants, your face upturned now.

“Are you trying to say that…you’re…”

You nodded again.

“You were always in the back of my mind, Sam. I only want you.”

Sam tilted his head downward and captured your lips in a kiss, as though it were inevitable.

You both drew back and then your lips crashed together again, your bodies pressed up against each other urgently.

The kiss was everything you ever imagined and everything Sam didn't know that he wanted. Your hands went for his belt buckle. At that moment, Sam placed his hands on your arms and pushed you away from him.

“We can’t do this.”

You nodded, stepped back and took a deep breath.

“You’re right. You’re one of my brother’s best friends. No need for you to pop my cherry or anything.”

You two stared at each other. Then you licked your lips. Sam cocked his eyebrow, trying to restrain himself from the animalistic urges your filthy mouth gave him.

“You little brat.”

Sam grabbed your neck to pull you close to him. He reached down to pull your skirt up and he rubbed your ass like he was trying to shine it. He then put both hands on you to spread your cheeks apart. Your wetness was evident in the sound. You buried your face in his chest, embarrassed.

“Sounds like you really want this.”

For once in your life, you were speechless, and Sam reached down and angled your head up so he could look at you.

“I need you tonight Sam.”

You kissed him again and tried to get on your knees. But Sam stopped you and led you over to your bed.

“You’re the queen right now.”

You pulled off your dress and stood there in your bra and panties as Sam pulled you toward your bed to lay beside him, his hand caressing down the side of your body. 

He moved his fingers over the lace of your bra to find your nipple, and when it was discovered, he pinched it to see your reaction. The way your eyes closed halfway and your mouth opened was everything. He reached behind you to expertly unhook your bra and looked down on you.

“You're so beautiful.”

And he dipped his head running his tongue around the edges of your areola, making your nipple rock hard against his breath. Then, he started sucking in earnest, his huge hand going to tweak and play with the other. You threw your head back in earnest, the feeling in your cunt growing with each pull of his mouth. You started moaning.

“You mean to tell me…. That no one has ever… had the pleasure…”

Sam asked the important question between having his mouth on you. He couldn’t get enough.

You shook your head and furrowed your brow. It was taking you out of the moment. Sex was just a means to an end for you up until now.

“I suck them off, and they’re satisfied. S’not a big deal….. Ahhhhh.”

Sam stopped what he was doing to look into your eyes. 

“It is a big deal, Bunny. You deserve everything.”

Sam tenderly kissed your lips as he pulled your panties off, and then returned to your breasts. Tears slipped down your face to the pillow beneath your head as he finally parted your legs. His hand, led by his long middle finger slid down your wet, wet folds to play in your slick. 

“Mmmmmm. That’s that shit I like.” 

Sam rumbled in his chest, and the vibrations reached your nipple, causing you to arch into his mouth and hand. Sam’s fingers worked your clit and you could feel it get hard and plucky. You heard the sloshing wetness of your arousal. So did Sam. He pulled off to look at you again.

“You ever play with yourself?”

The look on his face was part possession and part genuine concern.

“Of course. But not this goooddddd…. Shit Sam. I just hit it and quit it…. Fuckkkk that feels good.”

Sam was plucking your nipple with one hand and rubbing your clit in expert circles with the other, watching the ecstasy on your face as you neared your peak. 

“C’mon for me now. Cum. right here in my hand…Yes…. That’s a girl…”

It hit you like a ton of bricks.

“Holy mother of……ssshhhhhhiiiiittttt! Sam! Fuckkkk fuck fuck fuck!”

You tried to grab his hand to move it away, but he was strong. Oh so strong. He didn’t stop.

“Sam… I… Sam stop..I can't…”

“You can, and you will. Take it. You’re tough. You can take it.” 

You convulsed as your pulses slowed down and you tried to relax.

“That’s a girl. Just give it to me. Let me have it. Love that shit. You’re beautiful right now, you know that?”

You calmed under his praise and got into the groove of his pleasure.

Sam’s fingers started exploring you, one of them sliding easily inside you, so he added another, but when he reached the second knuckle, you clamped down hard.

“Shit, Bunny. You’re so so tight.”

Sam looked at you with lust and you could feel his cock throbbing against your thigh, his precum making a mess.

“Thought that first one would have loosened you up. Looks like you need at least one more.”

Your eyes grew wide as he slid down your body, fingers still inside you, but now his mouth clamping around your clit, which was still sensitive. Your knees closed around his head and he pried them off with one hand.

“Take it Bunny. You deserve.”

It was the last thing he said before he destroyed your soul with his mouth. He licked and sucked and lapped, and his fingers slid inside you and curled the spark of pain muted by the fireworks behind your eyes as you came harder than you ever had in your life, including a few minutes earlier.

“Hnnnnh, hunnnnnnhh. Sam…”

He was kneeling up now, grabbing for his pants and a condom. When you saw the foil packet, you stopped him.

“No Sammy. Wanna feel you.”

Sam raised his eyebrow.

“Mom put me on the pill when I was 13. It’s like a vitamin now. I’m good.”

Sam nodded and his thumb went to your still vibrating clit as he swiped his head in your viscous slit. He managed to pop his thicker-than-you-thought head inside you, but you yelped in pain as he tried to slide in.

He leaned down, arms on either side of your head as you clutched his shoulders.

“You good?”

You nodded, tears in your eyes as you smiled.

“I want it, I need it. Give it to me.”

Sam looked at you, shook his head and smiled.

He slid inside you slowly, seeming to grow wider and longer with each inch that he gave you. The burning between your legs was soothed by his praise and tender kisses on your forehead.

“There you go.  Feels so so good for me Bunny. You’re doing so good. I can’t believe this… Make me wanna cum already. This pussy is so tight. And so good. Better than I’ve ever had…”

Sam relaxed you, and you began to enjoy that he was taking you apart. When your moans matched his thrusts was when he started to give it to you, his will power waning.

You were the epitome of desire.

He hiked your leg above his hip so that he could dig deeper and his thumb found your clit again.

“One more Bunny. Just one more…”

He felt you flutter around him and he gripped the base of his cock. 

“Sammy….”

“Yes… oh… fuck yes….”

“Ohhh! Ah!”

Your cream gushed around him as you came and Sam grunted and let go inside you.

“Fuuuuucckkkkkkkk aahhhhhhh ahhhh. Fuck!”

Sam felt like he his balls would never empty and he slumped on top of you, feeling your arms snake around him to hold him.

“Mmmm… Sammy.”

He could hear the smile in your voice. He leaned up off of you and kissed your nose, looking into your eyes.

“Are you okay?”

You smiled at him and Sam’s heart was gone. You had it locked up.

“Better than okay.”

He kissed you again.

“Stay right here.”

He went to the bathroom, coming backwith a washcloth and tenderly cleaned you up. You heard the bath running.

“You’re going to be sore.”

“Yes. I’m going to feel you for a week.”

Sam grinned and you saw his cock come to life. You smirked and gingerly moved ot get out of bed.

“Join me in the bathtub Sammy. Wanna try the wet and wild….”

Sam was hypnotized by the sway of your ass.

He didn’t think of the implications of what just happened. He’d had a taste, and his hunger was voracious. He just wanted you.

And that would become a problem.

Reblogging is always a good thing if you liked it.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

No Sugar Tonight 3

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Brock Rumlow

Summary: A regular customer becomes more than just a familiar face.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

Your shifts are often tedious. Slow and dull. You like the night shift because it’s not as stressful. Or was.

That night you spend looking out the windows in expectation. For each customer that walks across the tiles with echoing footfalls, you wait in expectation. They come and get their treats and go. None of them are him. That stranger. The one who looms like a shadow in your mind as he had that day on the street.

Dayani is late. You give her the keys with a yawn. You get a day off and you’re more than eager for it. You’re relieved to leave shy of the dreaded encounter.

You head off through the front doors and turn down the street. The tree planted between the sidewalk blocks splits in too and as a figure emerges from the shade. Oh no.

You make to walk past the dark-haired man who prefers his coffee black. He simply turns and walks parallel to you.

You glance over at him warily. He doesn’t look back. He keeps walking, only reaching blindly to take your hand in his. You go rigid but don’t pull away. You’re jittering in terror.

“What are you--””

“You think anyone’s gonna mess with me?” He says flatly.

“No, sir, but--”

“Brock,” he says, then recites your name. “Now we know each other.”

Your mouth opens and closes. His hand is hot and a woodsy cologne wafts from his jacket. His skin is rough against yours. He squeezes as if he can sense your reticence.

“Brock,” you repeat. “Okay.”

“You got a day off.”

It’s a statement. It’s without a sliver of doubt. How does he know that?

“I told you, you’re easy to follow. You need to look around more.” He reprimands. “Too late to see me. I’m here.”

His tone is eerie. It makes your skin tingle. He drags you on but not towards your usual route. He also told you not to take the alleyways.

“Sir, er, Brock?” You murmur.

“Those muffins are too sugary. You need a full breakfast.” He insists.

“Right, that’s... okay. Erm...”

“It’s a nice place. You’ll like it,” he says bluntly.

You don’t know what to say, or do. You want to run away but can’t. His hand is a snare and you’re a helpless rabbit caught in it. You look down at his thick fingers. You don’t understand. He was always so silent. You were sure he hated you.

He takes you into a diner. You’ve never noticed it before. It’s quiet this early. He brings you to a booth and sits across from you. You fold your hands in your lap as you sit on the bench and wait. You could try then to escape but you wouldn’t want to make a scene.

“Coffee, black,” he orders as the waitress comes by. He looks at you for the first time and as you ask politely for a green tea, he doesn’t look away. His eyes bore into you. The waitress goes to get your drinks.

“Quit.” He says.

You frown, “huh? What am I doing?”

“Your job.”

“My job?” You utter.

“No need for it.” He says.

“Sir, Brock. I... I have to pay my rent.”

“No. You don’t.” He lifts his menu and drops his eyes to the laminated list. “You have to eat.”

You follow his lead, only to have something to do. You take the menu and read it. The waitress returns and puts down your drinks. He gets sausage, bacon, and eggs. You get a waffle. She goes and you’re alone again.

“Good.” He says.

Your confusion tautens in your cheeks. Good what?

“Call your boss.” He says, “then we can enjoy our meal.”

“I really can't afford to quit–”

“I didn't ask. In fact, I didn't ask a single question. I'm telling you.” He sneers.

Your heart flips and you bit your lip.

“I'm more than happy to tell him myself. He pays you shit. I'll take care of you.”

“I don't… what do you want from me?” You croak.

He snickers, the most humour you've seen in him. He reaches for his cup and drink. He grimaces at the taste. “That's dog shit.”

You sigh impatiently. You're getting frustrated by his terse way. Somehow he is straight to the point but you're completely missing it.

“You. Just you. That's what I want.” He sits back and pushes his shoulders wide.

“Me?”

He stares at you and nods.

“Are you asking me out?” You wonder.

“I don't ask,” he jabs his finger into the table with each word.

“I… I don't know you, I–”

“You're too old for roommates. The place is shit anyway. Those old wires will start a fire and the sprinkled are rusted.” He overrides you. Again.

“No.”

“No,” he echoes with a snort. “Again, no question marks here.”

“You can't do this.”

“Can't do what? It's done.”

“No.”

“Give me your phone,” he demands.

“No, you can't–”

“Give me the damn phone. Now. Or I'll burn down that box you call a home myself.” His eyes are black pools that threaten to drown you.

You reach into your purse and take out your phone. He snatches it before you can react. His thumb taps and drags quickly across the screen. He puts it to his esr as the waitress returns with your food.

You thank her quietly as he ignores her.

“Yeah, I'm calling on her behalf. She quits.” He doesn't wait for a response. He hangs up and dials again. “She's tendering notice. Moving out. Fill the lease.”

In a few fell swoops, he's cut every string holding your life up. It all comes crashing as he hands the phone back and turns his attention to his food. You're not very hungry. A glance from him changes that. You lfit your fork to ease the edge in his jaw.

“Good girl,” he says as he cuts into the sausage.

[magicalqueennightmare]

Familiar Stranger

Brock Rumlow X Reader

Yall I found this abandoned in an OLD folder so 🤷‍♀️

When Rick's group is cornered by the saviors you offer yourself as the pound of flesh Negan is owed to save your people but a familiar face is amongst your enemies

You had no clue who these assholes were nor what their plan was for all of you. They had the upperhand, your crew was outmanned and outgunned. That knowledge mixed with looking down the line up at Maggie who was pregant and in pain, Daryl who had visibily been injured and Carl who still had so much life ahead of him even in this world was the only thing that made you go along with being told to get on your knees.

You chanced a look around trying to get some sort of an idea just how many were surrounding all of you. Your stomach felt as heavy as if a slab of concrete was settled in the pit of it. There were so many bodies, men far enough back from the headlights of the trucks parked throughout the clearing that all you could see of them were their silhouettes. Too many to count and far too many to fight.

One stepped in front of the line up leering at you before turning his attention to Rick. You watched his demeanour, how everything from his hair which was greased to the out of date mustache screamed pervert. If you knew you wouldn't cause harm to become of anyone else you would've been tempted to kill him for the hell of it. "Alright we got a full boat lets meet the man" He announced and that got your attention.

Your eyes followed him across the clearing to where the RV had been parked. He knocked on the side of it then walked back over to stand with some of the men obviously awaiting whoever was about to make their presence known. The door opened and a man walked slowly down onto the dirt. He was around Ricks height wearing a leather jacket and carrying a wicked looking bat over his shoulder that had been meticulously wrapped in barbed wire under other circumstances you would've called him attractive but at the moment your aunt's voice saying how lucifer was the best looking in the garrison rang through your ears as if she was sitting right next to you. "Pissing our pants yet?" He asked with a smile that you ached to knock off his face.

"Boy do I have a feeling we're getting close" he continued as he started to cover the ground between where he stood and where all of you had been lined up for the picking. "Yup. Gonna be piss pants city here real soon" you knew all of this was an intimidation factor but you refused to cower when he met your eyes. "Which one of you pricks is the leader?" He asked skimming his eyes across your faces. "Its this one. He's the guy" Perv revealed pointing to Rick. Baseball bat stopped in front of Rick and smiled "Hi. You're Rick right? I'm Negan and I do not appreciate you killing my men" Negan took a breath then added "Also when I sent my people to kill your people for killing my people. You killed more of my people. Not cool. You have no idea how not cool that shit is"

Negan looked over all of you again before his eyes went back to Rick "but I think you're gonna be up to speed shortly. Yeah. You are so gonna regret crossing me in a few minutes" you felt bile threatening to come up into your throat. Negans words held an unspoke threat you knew was going to be horrible and bloody.

He smiled and took a step away from Rick "See Rick no matter what you do. You don't mess with the new world order. The new world order is this and it's really very simple so even if you're stupid which you very well may be. You can understand it. Ya ready?" He looked around then smiled "Here goes. Pay attention. Give me your shit or I will kill you"

He moved to walk down the line making sure to look all of you who raised your faces in the eye "Today was career day. We invested a lot so you would know who I am and what I can do. You work for me now" you felt your mouth fall open in shock when he continued "You have shit. You give it to me. That's your job. Now I know that is a mighty big nasty pill to swallow but swallow it you must"

You met Michonnes eyes when Negan stopped in front of Rick again. She was scared "You rule the roost. You built something. You thought you were safe I get it but the word is out. You are not safe. Not even close. In fact you are pegged more so if you don't do what I want and what I want is half your shit and if that is too much you can make, find or steal more and it will all even out sooner or later"

He stepped back to look over all of you again and you tried to see Daryls face but he was looking down. Negan continued to walk back and forth down the line as he talked "This is your life now. The more you try to fight back the harder it'll be. So someone knocks on your door. You let us in. We own that door" he was in front of Daryl and you were finally able to see how pale your friend was.

Negan moved to be back in front of Rick "You try to stop us and we will knock it down. You understand?" He moved closer to Rick cupping his ear as if he couldn't hear when Rick refused to respond "What? No answer?"

He stepped back to address all of you again and by now his voice was grating I n everything inside of you. "You all didn't think you were gonna get through this without getting punished now did ya? I don't wanna kill you people. I want you to work for me. Can't do that if you're dead now can you?" You cut your eyes up hoping maybe there was someone you could at least insure the injured made it out alive until he added "But you killed a whole damn lot of my people. More than I'm comfortable with. And for that you're gonna pay. So now I'm gonna beat the holy hell out of one of you"

Your eyes flew from Rick to Glenn to Carl to Daryl then finally Maggie and Michonne. When you'd had no group they'd taken you in and had become so much more.

Negan held up his bat "This is Lucille and she is awesome" you took a breath preparing to get his attention on you should it come down to it. Then he said the words that you had already put together. This entire cat and mouse game was for him to pick who to kill.

He stared down Glenn then Maggie and Abraham before pointing to Carl "You've got one of our guns. You've got a whole bunch of our guns" he crouched down in front of Carl and you allowed yourself a moment of pride to see Carl was staring him down. "Shit kid. Lighten up. At least cry a little" "If you wanna kill someone get on with it. Hell I'm to the verge of volunteering to not hear you talk anymore" your mouth moved on its own over ridden by the aunt like bond you had with Carl.

Negan stood tucking the gun he'd taken from Carl into his waistband then walked over to be standing in front of you. Out the corner of your eye you saw the crowd of his men moving as someone worked their way through but you couldn't allow your attention to be split. Negan crouched in front of you and smiled "You are a god damn live wire ya know that? If looks could've killed from you I would've been dead the minute i stepped out. What's your name?" "Y/N" you all but growled and once again noticed his men moving around. He licked his lips slowly then nodded "Y/N darling it'd be too much of a waste to kill you"

He stood up and moved down the line and you suddenly had an urge to bathe. Someone holding basically everyone you cared about hostage flirting with you felt just dirty.

When he stopped in front of Maggie and said "Damn you look shitty. I should put you out of your misery now" Glenn hollered "NO" and jumped out of line only to be dragged back by the man with a half burnt face.

You fought every urge in your body to make a move towards Negan but you didn't for fear of harm becoming someone else. "Get him back in line" he spoke about Glenn then looked around "Don't any of you try that shit again. I will shut it the fuck down. It's an emotional time I get it so first one's free"

He looked at Rick who the gravity of the situation had appeared to have fully hit "Sucks don't it? The moment you realize you don't know shit" a realization hit Negan as he pointed to Carl "This your kid right?" Then laughed "This is definitely your kid"

You knew Negan was trying to force a reaction from Rick who broke and hollered "Stop this" he turned to Rick and shook his head "Do Not make me kill the little future serial killer. Don't make it easy on me. I gotta pick somebody. Everyone's at the table waiting for me to order"

He glanced back towards you and smiled "I got an idea" your felt your hands start to shake either from fear or adrenaline as he started "eeny meanie miney mo" pointing lucille at everyone in turn. You were praying for the first time in years. When he stopped in front of Abraham a small part of you felt a strange mixture of relief and guilt. "Looks like you're it"

He looked around before turning back to Abraham "You can breathe, you can blink, you can cry. Hell you're all gonna be doing that"

When he raised Lucille you screamed "NEGAN WAIT" He froze and looked back at you "Y/N would you like to address the class?" You met Carl's gaze then said "You want your pound of flesh. I get it. I've got plenty. Take it from me" he grinned in a way that was more predator than man "What are you offering darling?" You stood up ignoring hands grabbing at you "me for my people"

"Hell no" you heard someone say from behind you and froze in your tracks. You hadn't heard that voice since about six months before the world as you knew it came to a screeching halt. You turned slowly forgetting even Negan and the situation at hand momentarily. He looked almost the same as he had the day you said your goodbyes. His dark hair was a little shaggier but everything else was the same. He even still had that same chain peeking out his shirt collar, handsome enough it hurt and made you question your morals. "Brock?"

"Hey Doll" He spoke as if the world hadn't ended, as if he hadn't tore your heart out your chest and as if he wasn't on the crew of the men holding your people at gun point. "Hold up..Rumlow how do you know our little live wire here?" Negan asked his attention having been drawn from the prospect of bashing in Abrahams head to the drama clearly threatening to unfold.

"She was my girl before the world went to shit" his eyes never left yours as he spoke. Negan let out a low whistle which made you look back at him "Well shit..Y/N darling you're just full of surprises aren't ya?" Your head was spinning. All of this was simply too much. You could feel soo many eyes on you at that moment. Your entire group and half of Negans was staring you down. You knew his men were sizing you up while your group was probably just as thrown as you were.

"Well Brock seems your girl here has a set of brass ones. She's offered herself up to save her people" you spoke without thinking and flinched at your own voice when you said "I'm not his. He left me before the dead started walking. These people here? They're the reason I'm alive. My life is my bargaining chip and mine alone" you felt more than heard Brock move behind you and took a step to the side before he could touch you because at that moment you were certain just the barest brush of his hand would cause you to crumple and you had to stay strong.

"Rick what do you say? I mean I can kill Y/N but god damn a woman like that would be a fucking waste indeed or I can kill carrot top and take her as collateral to insure all of you hold up your side of the deal" dying you'd agreed to but there was no way you were being taken prisoner. You had seen what this group was capable of and from Brock being with them you knew he'd changed since he was yours.

Every one spoke at once. "I'm not a fucking trophy. You want me dead bash my head in but this ain't turning into capture the flag with me being the star role" you spoke staring Negan down you were sure it was a dying man's last hurrah but at least you wouldn't be on your knees. "He ain't fucking killing you Y/N" Brock sounding so protective over you made you fight the urge to close your eyes from the flood of emotions threatening to pull you under. You'd gladly trade it back in for the fear and disgust you'd simply been feeling.

"I ain't letting her trade her Iife for mine" you felt guilt flood through you for the moment of relief at Abraham being chosen over Carl or Glenn. "Kill me. These are my people. I'm supposed to protect them" Ricks voice was steady when he spoke but you could see the horror in Michonnes and Carls eyes.

"Enough of this shit" you all but growled and snatched the knife from the top of your boot seeing the flash of recognition in Brocks eyes. You put the sharp blade to your throat and leveled your gaze at Rick. "He wants one of us dead so I'll oblige him" Negan gave a sharp nod of his head and a shot rang out a half second before Brock was on you easily over powering you and getting the knife out your hand. You screamed in horror as Abrahams lifeless eyes stared across the clearing, a single bullet hole between his eyes.

Brock tucked your knife into his waist with one hand holding you against his chest despite your struggles. When your knees gave away he went down with you. "Here's the deal to all you shit heads take it or no one will leave here alive. Daryl and Y/N come with us. I like their spunk. All of you get to work and we will come to Alexandria next week for our first batch of goodies"

"Leave her and Daryl alone" Rick warned as was met with Negan pointing a gun at his head "Did I god damn stutter?" "Rick it's alright" Daryl finally spoke meeting your eyes and you nodded ceasing your fight against Brock. "We'll be ok" you managed and Negan smiled and clamped his hands together. "Well this has been a fruitful night indeed"

He looked at the guy with a half burnt face "Dwight take Daryl to the van" then looked at you "I'm guessing you'll wanna ride with Rumlow" you let Brock pull you to your feet and glanced back at Rick who barely nodded. They would fight somehow you knew they would fight.

Brock pulled you towards a dark blue truck and opened the drivers door "get in" you climbed in almost mechanically. Too much had happened in too short of a time from being hijacked by Negan and his so called saviors to the only man you'd ever truly loved coming back seemingly from the dead.

"Here" Brock speaking broke you out your own head and you realized he was holding your knife out hilt first. "Was yours first" your voice cracked as you took the ka-bar and slid in into place in your boot. He watched your movements before turning the engine over in the truck and starting to drive. A long silence stretched between the two of you befire he broke it by saying "Whyd you keep it?" You could feel tears prickling your eyes but didn't dare close them for fear of seeing Abrahams lifeless body staring back at you again. "It was the one thing I had left of you" you answered honestly feeling the tears flow down your face.

Brock opened his mouth as if to say something but closed it right back. You knew he was watching you with those eyes that were the color of whiskey. Just as warm and just as addictive. You had loved his eyes from the moment you met him. You leaned your head back staring up at the roof of his truck. After a moment his hand brushed against your leg and when you flinched away from him he let out a breath "I'm sorry about your friend but honestly I would've seen them all dead before you. I thought you were dead once already and I'm not reliving that"

"Too bad I wasn't" you replied and got a warped sense of accomplishment at seeing his jaw tighten at your words. "You'll be staying in my quarters. Was Negans idea to bring you because it's clear what those people mean to you and you to them but even if you hate me I'm going to protect you as much as I can"

There was so much you wanted to say. You wanted to scream, to cuss, to hit him hell even jump out the truck but if your presence bought time it was worth it and you'd be lying to yourself if you said you didn't still have some sort of love for the man sitting across from you even if he was a virtual stranger. "I won't fight" you said and saw him relax a bit until you added "for now"

[braveclementine]

Siberia

Warnings: None

Copyright: I do not own any Marvel characters or locations. However, I do own my OC Elizabeth Lightwood. I do not condone any copying of this.

Steve landed the Quinjet in the snowy tundra and turned the jet off. Bucky meanwhile found the weapons and grabbed a gun. The two of them stood next to each other while they waited for the ramp to go down.

"You remember that time we had to ride back from Rockaway Beach in the back of that freezer truck?" Steve asked, looking over at Bucky.

"Was that the time we used our train money to buy hot dogs?" Bucky asked, smiling.

"You blew three bucks trying to win that stuffed bear for a redhead." Steve smirked.

"What was her name again?" Bucky chuckled.

"Dolores. You call her Dot."

"She's gotta be a hundred years old right now." Bucky sighed.

"So are we, pal." Steve smirked, clapping Bucky on the shoulder. Bucky leaned in and kissed Steve's cheek tentatively. Steve felt his cheeks grow hot.

"Just in case." Bucky smirked and went to walk down the ramp. Steve grabbed his arm and spun him around, kissing him passionately on the lips. "No." Steve breathed as he pulled away. "That's how you do it."

"Guess you're the lead now." Bucky chuckled, pecking Steve's lips one more time and then they walked off the ramp.

"He can't have been here more than a few hours." Steve said, looking around. It was bitter cold, the snow and wind blowing around them fiercely.

"Long enough to wake them up." Bucky replied.

They headed downstairs through the elevator and then started to make their way through the hallways. Bucky kept his new gun lifted up as he walked, leading and checking every corner he passed.

They started up the stairs, before they heard a loud thud behind them. They both turned immediately. Steve lifted his shield up so he could see it just over the edge.

"You ready?"

"Yeah."

To their surprise, it was Tony, who stepped out and let his face plate down, "You seem a little defensive."

"It's been a long day." Steve said, walking forward slowly with his shield.

"At ease Soldier. I'm not currently after you." Tony shouted up at Bucky who hadn't moved.

"Then why are you here?" Steve asked.

"Could be your story's not so crazy." Tony said. "Maybe. Ross has no idea I'm here. I'd like to keep it that way. Otherwise, I gotta arrest myself."

"Well, that sounds like a lot of paperwork." Steve replied. Tony scoffed and Steve finally relaxed, "It's good to see you Tony."

"You too, Cap." Tony looked up, "Hey, Manchurian Candidate, you're killing me. There's a truce here. You can drop-"

Steve motioned to Bucky and Bucky slowly lowered the gun.

"I got heat signatures." Tony said as they rounded a corner into a larger, slightly more open room.

"How many?" Steve asked.

Tony took a second and then said, "Uh, one."

Suddenly, the lights lit up in the cylinders. They glowed yellow and steam hissed from them, moving around inside. Steve walked forwards slowly and then stopped again when a voice spoke.

"If it's any comfort, they died in their sleep." Steve continued to walk forwards again and Tony matched his steps. He could see now that the soldiers all had bullet wounds in their foreheads, blood frozen to those spots. Steve worried for how Bucky would feel.

"Did you really think I wanted more of you?" The man asked.

"What the hell?" Steve heard Bucky whisper.

"I'm grateful to them, though. They brought you here." Steve noticed Bucky had wandered to look into the cylinders, so he was further away from him and Tony. More lights turned on. Tony immediately shot at where the man was and Steve threw his shield, but it bounced back to him.

"Please, Captain. The Soviets built this chamber to withstand the launch blast of UR- 100 rockets."

"I'm betting I could beat that." Tony boasted as they all moved closer to the bunker.

"Oh, I'm sure you could, Mr. Stark. Given time. But then you'd never know why you came."

"You killed innocent people in Vienna just to bring us here?" Steve asked angrily. He walked so he was face to face with Zemo, only separated by the glass.

"I've thought about nothing else for over a year. I studied you. I followed you. But now that you're standing here, I just realized. . . there's a bit of green in the blue of your eyes" He chuckled, "How nice to find a flaw."

"They're pretty eyes." A voice interrupted and Steve turned to see Elizabeth had somehow joined them, striding forward, planting herself next to Steve.

Zemo scoffed.

"You're Sokovian. Is that what this is about?" Steve asked, grateful suddenly for her presence.

"Sokovia was a failed state long before you blew it to hell. No. I'm here because I made a promise."

"You lost someone?"

"I lost everyone. And so will you." He pressed a button inside and a screen came up on the computer behind Steve. "An empire toppled by its enemies can rise again. But one which crumbles from within? That's dead. Forever."

Steve looked at the computer again, with Elizabeth and Tony joining him. Tony looked at the computer and then glanced at it again, "I know that road." Tony said, frowning a little, recognition coming to his eyes.

"What is this?" Tony shouted.

Steve realized what it was when he saw the car crash and a motorcycle go shooting past. The car caught on fire and the motorcycle came back. Bucky got off the back of the motorcycle, opening up the trunk and grabbing whatever was in the back. Knowing the entire story now, it was probably super serum that Howard had made to create the super soldiers here.

Bucky was looking at the ground and Elizabeth was too.

Steve watched Howard get out of the car. "Please. Help my wife." Bucky grabbed Howards head and jerked it backwards. "Sergeant Barnes?"

"Howard!" Maria shouted.

Elizabeth left the computer side and Steve looked up to see her touch Bucky's arm. Bucky was looked traumatized. Steve glanced over and saw the Zemo had gone.

To watch an empire fall. Fall from within. To make them fight each other. And die killing each other.

Tony breathed in deeply and then punched the screen. He breathed out. "I already knew!" he screamed, but he too realized Zemo was gone then.

"Give me a second." Tony shuddered. "It's. . . different seeing it then hearing it."

"You knew?" Bucky asked quietly.

"Y/N told him the minute she found out. Good thing too." Elizabeth said.

"I'm sorry." Bucky said. "From the bottom of my heart I wish I could take everything back. All of it."

"I know." Tony snapped. "I know. Now let's go hunt the mother fucker down."

🎃 :::::  🧡  ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━  🧡  ::::: 🎃

T'Challa put his helmet down carefully in the snow as he approached the man sitting on the rock. "I almost killed the wrong man."

"Hardly an innocent one." The man scoffed.

"This is all you wanted?" T'Challa asked, "To see them rip each other apart?"

"My father lived outside the city. I thought we would be safe there. My son was excited. He could see the Iron Man from the car window. I told my wife, 'Don't worry. They're fighting in the city. We're miles from harm'. When the dust cleared. . . and the screaming stopped. . . it took me two days until I found their bodies. My father. . . still holding my wife and son in his arms. And the Avengers? They went home. I knew I couldn't kill them. More powerful men than me have tried. But, if I could get them to kill each other. . . I'm sorry about your father. He seemed a good man. With a dutiful son."

"Vengeance has consumed you." T'Challa spoke slowly. "It's consuming them. I am done letting it consume me."

He let his claws slide back into his paws. His father would not have wanted him to kill either man in the first place in response to his death.

"Justice will come soon enough."

"Tell that to the dead." Zemo scoffed. He went to point his gun under his chin, and T'Challa put his hand over it, the vibranium stopping the bullet from penetrating his skin and killing him. He pulled Zemo back into the snow, wrapping an arm around his neck.

"The living are not done with you, yet."

🎃 :::::  🧡  ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━  🧡  ::::: 🎃

Elizabeth was gone. She had stepped out and once the four of them had seen Zemo in the hands of T'Challa, she had hugged Tony, kissed both Steve and Bucky on the cheeks, and then let Heimdall take her back up to Asgard.

Steve and Bucky had left with T'Challa, who offered to take Barnes to Wakanda to see if his sister Shuri could do anything with medicine. And Tony took Zemo to Ross.

He stepped into the Avengers Compound. It felt emptier than it had before.

Vision seemed to be the only one there, sitting on the couch, rolling a chess piece between his fingers.

Rhodey was there as well. His physical therapy was going well. He still had to wear some braces, which Tony had designed himself, but other than that, he was fine. He wouldn't even need the braces after a few months.

He was helping Rhodey with the physical therapy when there was a knock on the window and he turned to see a mail man there. "Are you. . . Tony Stank?"

"Yes, this is Tony Stank. You're in the right place." Rhodey called out. "Thank you for that! Never, dropping that, by the way. 'Table for one, Mr. Stank. Right by the bathroom'."

Tony laughed, then took the package to open it.

Inside was a letter from Steve and Tony felt a little apprehensive. He knew that what Zemo had wanted was for them to fight. To kill each other. That he would be so angry that Barnes had been the one to kill his parents that he would try and kill Bucky. And inevitably, Steve would fight Tony as well.

Tony didn't know who would win. Probably the three of them. Elizabeth would never have let any harm come to the super soldiers. Or maybe she would have tried to mitigate it so they didn't fight.

Yes, Steve probably would've tried to just get them to safety. Steve was to close with Y/N to kill him.

Everleigh came into the room, crawling into Tony's lap. He hugged her tightly and opened up the letter.

Tony, I'm glad you're back at the Compound. I don't like the idea of you rattling around a mansion by yourself. We all need family. The Avengers are yours. Maybe more so than mine. I've been on my own since I was eighteen. I never really fit in anywhere, even in the Army. My faith's in people, I guess. Individuals. And I'm happy to say that, for the most part, they haven't let me down. Which is why I can't let them down either. Locks can be replaced, but maybe they shouldn't. I know I hurt you, Tony. I wish we agreed on the Accords. I really do. I know you're doing what you believe in, and that's all any of us can do. That's all any of us should. So no matter what, I promise you, if you need us. . . if you need me. . . I'll be there.

"Priority call from Secretary Ross." F.R.I.D.A.Y. said as Tony found the cell phone Steve had left for him. A flip phone, how typical. "There's been a breach at the Raft prison."

"Yeah, put him through."

"Tony, we have a problem." Ross said.

"Uh! Please hold." Tony said.

"No, don't." Tony put him on hold and then picked up his daughter to go and take her to bed. "Guess what sweetie? Mommy's coming home."

🎃 :::::  🧡  ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━  🧡  ::::: 🎃

You sat in your prison cell, waiting. It was freezing in the cell as well, goosebumps had broken out on your skin. You shuddered a little, wishing there was a blanket or something.

You didn't want to look at the others. They all looked so defeated and it was so hard to look at Wanda in her straight jacket. Pietro kept running circles in his cage like a locked up animal.

You didn't blame Tony. You had read the Accords and nothing about breaking the law said they would put you in the top security prison in the world. Underwater and everything.

Suddenly, you heard people gasping and you looked up. You half expected Steve to be here, breaking you free, but instead there was a mangled, half-burned almost walking corpse of a person.

Rumlow?

You stood up in shock. What was he doing here? Why was he here? How in the world was he still even alive? He certainly didn't look like he should be alive. He looked like he should be very, very dead.

"How the hell are you alive?" Sam asked, but Rumlow didn't answer, not stopping until he reached your cell. He smirked, opening up your cell.

You knew he had an obsession with you. He'd constantly asked you into his bed when S.H.I.E.L.D. had still been a thing. But still, why in the world had he tracked you all the way down here, did who knows what with the security, just to get to you?

You readied yourself for a fight, dodging his quick punches and kicking him in the chest. You ducked as he flung the metal stool in your room at you. You blocked his next punch, then cried out in pain as electrical shocks radiated throughout your body.

"LEAVE HER ALONE!" Clint, Sam, and Pietro all shouted at him as he ripped the prison shirt off your body. You punched him across the face, before feeling the electrical spasms again.

You couldn't move your body, but you could feel his hands on your breasts. Hands attempting to pull the rest of the clothes off.

You came down from the shocks, but he slammed your head against the ground and you felt dazed, black spots forming in front of your eyes.

Suddenly, Rumlow grunted in pain and you heard the sounds of someone punching him. Huh. Maybe Clint had broken out of his cell or something.

There was the sound of Rumlow's body falling to the ground. Large hands lifted you up into someone's arms. You just barely caught a glimpse of Steve's face, before you blacked out completely.

🎃 :::::  🧡  ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━  🧡  ::::: 🎃

You came too in a very white room. It was definitely medical and there was a young black woman standing over you.

"Please stay still, I'll be right back." She said in a heavily accented voice and then hurried from the room.

You groaned, turning your head side to side. It didn't look like any hospital wing that you had ever seen.

"Hey." Steve came into the room, carrying a bottle of water. "How are you feeling?"

"My head aches." You said hoarsely. "This raging pain inside of my head. It's that sort of headache where it feels like it's in different spots? Ya know? The kind that feels like it's in your nose or your eye?"

"Sorry." Steve said gently, handing you the water. "The water should help and they wanted you to wake up before they put you on any heavy pain killers. You want anything to eat?"

"No, I want a blanket." You mumbled, "It's freezing."

"Well, we are in Africa. The buildings are definitely air conditioned." Steve said lightly, grabbing you a blanket and covering you with it.

"Africa?"

"Wakanda, to be exact. I was already taking Bucky here because they have some advanced technology. Shuri, T'Challa's sister, thinks she can remove his trigger words."

"That's great." You said hoarsely, lifting the water bottle to your head. "Does um, Tony-"

"T'Challa called him and he knows you're okay. But he can't get here. I told him once you were better, T'Challa and him could arrange a meet up. He says Everleigh misses you."

"How was Rumlow alive?" You asked, shifting onto your side. Why was it so cold?

"I have no idea. No one does." Steve sighed. "Nor does anyone know how he got into the Raft to get to you."

You sighed. "But he's dead now?"

"Yes." Steve nodded. It was quiet for a moment and he smiled as your eyes fluttered tiredly. "Get some sleep Y/N. You're safe here."

You smiled at the idea, and drifted off to sleep slowly.