#brock rumlow one shot

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Professional Oversight

Masterlist

Warnings: this fic includes dark content including rape/noncon, power imbalance, blackmail, and other potential triggering elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You are noticed for all the wrong reasons. (plus sized reader)

Characters: Helmut Zemo, Brock Rumlow

A note on reader characters:

For clarity,  each reader will have a defined nickname when appearing in any installment not their own. This is Scribble.

Note: real life interrupted me

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. Thanks to everyone who reads this one and thank you for all your energy.<3

Love you all like Donkey love Waffles. Take care. 💖

You stare across the courtyard as you let the spoon stick out of your mouth. You hoped the spring would make the days seem less blurred, maybe bring some excitement to your dull life. You suck the last of the yogurt from the silver and scrape the side of the cup, scooping up the fruit bottom and cream. You savour the last bite, so overly sweet it makes your cheeks twitch. 

You tap the empty cup so it makes a hollow noise. You crush it in your hand and stand to toss it in the bin just across from the bench. You sit again and wipe the spoon before you tuck it away, folding it in the kleenex to sink to the bottom of your purse. You sigh and watch a long-necked goose honk at an oblivious pedestrian. 

You’re used to it. The sounds, the sights, the latent energy of the university green. You thought it would be better to eat there instead of the stuffy office break room but after a while, it’s just as boring and bleak as the old institutional walls. 

You zip up your purse and checked the slender watch on your wrist. Just a little longer before you have to drag yourself back to your shared desk to answer phones and redirect lost students. You don’t hate your job only that it’s all you have. Your life is as fruitless as the used yogurt cup you just tossed away. 

You wake up, eat, get ready for work, go to work, eat lunch by yourself amidst a sea of indifferent people, go back to your desk, then wait until it’s time for you to go home, and there, nothing. Just you and the evenings filled with lonely restlessness. You want to do something, anything, but you just can’t figure out what. 

You aren’t an interesting person. Plain, at best, with no discernible talent. Friends never flocked to you despite your effort, even as pathetic as those were. You’re always a fleeting thought to other people. You’re kept around so long as you are useful; a study buddy, a wing woman, and occasionally, a shoulder to cry on. But there was rarely any reciprocation in those roles and never anything meaningful enough to call friendship. 

You’re distracted from your existential daze by a shadow above you. You look up at the man as he smiles at you. It’s more akin to a leer. That’s odd. He’s odd. Men don’t smile at you, they barely even see you. And he surely doesn’t belong here. Too old to be a student and his jacket too casual to be a professor. 

“You mind if I sit?” he asks without greeting. His tone is brusque but unconcerned. 

You looked at the empty spot on the bench beside you. You hug your purse and sidle over. You shrug and mumble “sure,” but he's already sitting. 

He sits with his legs wide and pushes his shoulders back. He sighs as he stretches out his broad figure. He glances around nonchalantly and leans back with his elbows over the back of the bench. You look at your watch again. What’s a few minutes early? 

“You work here?” he asks before you can stand. 

You blink and furrow your brow at him then glance around at the green campus. You waver on the bench. You should just walk away but you hate to be rude.  

“Uh, yeah?” you answer awkwardly. 

“Not that you-- you don’t look young enough to be a student, you know? I had a hard time telling, which is why I asked,” he explains as he turned his palm up, “I wasn’t meaning-- heh, well, you look like a very nice lady, is all.” 

You poke your tongue out between your lips and quickly retract it. Your thoughts are racing. You should get back to work and away from this man. He gives you this creepy crawly feeling. 

“Brock,” he holds out his hand as your eyes graze the dark five o’clock shadow along his sharp jawline. 

You force out your own name and nervously shake his hand. You’re polite, perhaps overly so, but your customer service instinct can’t be repressed. His grip is firm and his hand big enough to cover yours entirely. He lets you go reluctantly and you hook your purse over your arm. 

“Sorry, I gotta get back to work--” you stand as the sirens in your head tell you to leave. His grips speckles in your hands, throbbing in the bones, tingling on your skin. 

“That’s too bad,” he says coolly, “maybe I’ll see you around.” 

You nod dumbly and step past him. You trod down the path, on your usual route, then stop as your suspicions tug at your mind. You turn back as he remains on the bench, his gaze stuck to you. 

“You work here too?” you call back. 

He shakes his head and smirks. He doesn’t say anything as you frown. He doesn’t move. He just watches. You turned back to your path and quickly stomp away. You’re unsettled by his presence alone but his assured calmness at being an intruder on campus is even more frightening. Not least of all, his interest in you; always an unexpected trait. 

🖊️

After work, you walk across campus without urgency. You fall into autopilot. Your departure trails over its usual route. There’s nothing special awaiting you at your destination; only your couch and a frozen pizza.  

Students still loiter and hop up the steps of the buildings on the way to evening classes. You envy them just as you had when you were in their shoes. You were never really one of them. You always felt like you were on the outside looking in. You didn’t find your niche, you just floated along untethered, still lost in the breeze. 

The lot you park in is mostly empty. You prefer that one even though it’s a ten minute walk from the building you work in. It’s far from the main row and so you didn’t get caught in a jam on your way out, not until you get to the roundabout near the east entrance. 

You stroll along behind the few other cars parked before yours and check your phone for the time. You don’t hear the footsteps as they approach and the dimming sky disguises his shadow. You don't notice any of it until you’re grappled from behind. You’re taken off your feet as a large hand covers your mouth. 

Your phone bounces against the tarmac and your bag is flung from your arm. You kick out and flail, whining into the calloused palm as your eyes prickle. You grasp at the thick arms as you’re spun around to face the open trunk. You kicked at the man’s feet as he bends you and shoves you headfirst into the trunk. You try to push yourself out but he’s too strong. 

The lid shuts and you roll over to beat on it as you holler. Your heart pounds in your ears and your lungs burned as your voice turns to horrible gasps. Panic drowns you as the engine turns over and the car backs out smoothly.

Oh no, no, no. This can’t be happening. 

The suddenness of it all has you dizzy. The man’s scent clings in your nose. You've smelled that before. Your eyes round in the darkness as the tires roll without stopping. No, no, no. That man! The same one on the bench. 

You didn’t forget him. You couldn’t. The abnormality, the absurdity of his introduction, was enough to stick in your head. It’s only that you didn’t let yourself believe it was anything but a strange encounter. You know who you are, you know you’re nothing special. Unlike him, you’re not interesting enough to remember. 

Or so you thought. 

You thump on the lid of the trunk, then the back, screaming. The car doesn’t stop. The man only muffles your voice with the radio. As you continue your assault on the walls of the trunk, he slams on the brakes so that you roll violently into the siding. He does the same several times until you’re quiet and stunned. 

Your adrenaline fades to fear as you can only lay in the dark and dread what comes next. The worst scenarios race through your mind but every now and then, your heartbeat spikes again. You have to get out.

Bang, bang, bang, ‘let me out!’ 

You’re shaken and exhausted but utterly and painfully awake. Whatever comes next, you can’t just put your head down and ignore it. Not like everything else in your life. This is the one thing you have to face, whether you like it or not. You can’t just brush it off, you can’t just forget. 

You wanted desperately for something to happen in your dull life but could never conjure a nightmare as real as this. 

🖊️

When the engine slows and the axle lurches to a stop, you’re not ready. How could you be ready for any of this? You don’t understand why this is happening to you. 

The car shuts off and your heart reaches its paramount. It’s beating so fast you can’t think. You can barely breathe. The car door slams shut and shakes the entire vehicle, making clear that you are overpowered. Footsteps tread over the ground towards the trunk and you steel yourself for the horror that awaits you. 

You know his face before you see it. Even as the shadows swallow up his features, you know him. He grabs you by the front of your blazer, hauling you out without a word. He handles you like a stray caught; rough and agitated. You claw helplessly at him and whine. 

“Please--” 

“Scream one more time,” he spins you and curls an arm around your neck, marching you forward with stunted steps, “and I’ll crush your throat.” 

You gurgle and clasp onto hit thick forearm. Your tears well over, though your face is already raw from the waves of terror that poured over in the black of the trunk. Lights wash over you and give some sense to the grounds around you. 

You expect an abandoned warehouse or some faraway cabin. Somewhere remote where you’ll never be found. Somewhere you’d be forgotten. Who is there to forget you? 

Instead, you make your way up a long walkway before a large mansion. At least compared to your box apartment, it seems as such. Your low heels clack shakingly as the man keeps you firmly hooked. He takes you up the front steps, between replicas of famous status, and lets himself in through the double doors, the brass knockers jiggling with his entrance. 

He doesn’t seem the type to live in a place like this. The thought is silly given your circumstance. Your sobs settle to hiccups as your mind wanders to the tedious and unimportant. Is that a genuine Rembrandt on the wall? 

“Can you walk on your own or do I keep the leash on?” He snarls. 

You gulp and try to nod against his burly muscle, “yes...” 

He lets go at the wisp of your agreement. You shudder and pull away from him, not far as you don’t want to instigate him. You cross your arms and look at him, pouting as tears roll to your chin. It is the man from the bench. You knew it but now you’re certain. 

“Up,” he points to the left branch of the double staircase. 

“Sir, please, why are you doing this--”  

“Sir?” He grimaces, “no questions. Just go.” 

You snivel and put your head down. You turn stiffly to the staircase and reach for the curled banister. You climb with dread heavy in your heels. Your shoe slips off and you stumble. He growls and lifts you under your shoulders, dragging you up the last few steps. 

“Left. Second door on your right,” he commands. 

You whimper and hug yourself again. You obey as peruse along the finely decorated walls. The details assure you that whoever’s home this is has a precise eye. There is some familiarity in the style; it reminds you of some of the offices nestled in the heart of the university. 

He reaches around you, crowding you against the door as he turns the handle. His breath scalds down your neck. Is he smelling you? 

He pushes the door open and snaps his fingers. You enter and look around for an answer. Why are you here? Who has brought you here?  

The leather chair behind the desk has its back to you. You can see a man’s dark hair above it. Like some sort of movie, he turns to face you slowly. You unwittingly step back against the other man as you’re struck by the reveal. 

“Ah, I was starting to think you got lost,” Helmut Zemo intones as his latent gaze meets your startled one. 

His soft brown hair with wisp of silver, the keen way his lips naturally curve, and his dark eyes. He's unmistakable. The vaunted dean of linguistics and language studies is the last face you expect to see.

“Dean?” You murmur dumbly and chuff out several shallow breaths. 

“Hello, darling,” he purrs as he sits forward, putting his elbows on his desk, “I trust you had a safe journey.” 

“I-- what?” You gasp. You turn to look at the man prowling behind you. “No, he--” you choke as he snarls at you.  

You face the dean again. It doesn’t make sense. Why are you here at the dean’s home? You only really know him by his likeness, pasted on every literary publication on campus and hung in the halls across his faculty. You’ve met him once at some lunch but it was that fleeting formal introduction you forget before you’ve even left the event. 

“Rumlow, I told you to be gentle with her,” he tuts and shakes his head, “allow me to apologise for my colleagues behaviour. He isn’t the type for sorries.” 

You mop your cheeks with your cuffs and sniffle. Your a shaking mess. The other man paces towards the other side of the room. He uncaps the decanter there and pours himself a glass of dark liquor. 

“Now, it is rude to serve oneself before a lady,” Zemo snips, “please, she would do well for it.” He turns to you after reproaching his associate; the man he calls Rumlow. “Sit, dear, let us speak civilly before things get... less civil.” 

You suck in a quaking breath, “I don’t understand--” 

“Sit and I shall explain,” he insists. 

You cross the large study and claim the seat across from him. The other man approaches and holds a glass of flat scotch under your nose. The roiling alcohol fumes and makes your eyes water anew. You accept it he loudly slurps his own. 

“Thank you, but I...” 

“Drink. I believe you will need it.” 

The dean’s words draw your attention back to him. You make yourself sip and scrunch up your nose at the taste. You don’t drink. It only gives you a headache. 

“Now, I’ve brought you hear because I would like to review your work,” he smirks and goosebumps raise on your skin. Rumlow looms close as Zemo’s tone puts you on edge. “I do enjoy when university staff are so eager to put their work out there.” 

You’re confused. What does he mean? You’re not a PhD, you’re no faculty spending hours writing papers on physics, you’re just a registrar’s assistant. 

“Ahem, let me just...” he pauses and unfolds a tablet on the desk. He props it up in the case and pulls his glasses down to his nose. He taps the screen and begins to read, “'You can hardly believe it’s real. That you’ve put yourself in this position. There’s no going back now. There is no escape from this man...'” he pauses and looks up at you, waiting for a reaction. Your spine tingles, “let me go on to my favourite passage,” he refocuses on the tablet, “’his rough hands grazed her soft skin, making her shiver, making her whine. He smothers her protests and her breath as he drowns her in a hungry kiss”.” 

Again he looks at you. You sink down in chair and turn your attention to the liquor. Oh no. You make yourself drink. You don’t stop until it’s empty. The other man laughs. 

“You have a way with prose,” Zemo praises. 

“Please,” you choke through the burn, “I... its just stories. They’re meant to be private. It’s...” you bite your lower lip. It still doesn’t make sense. “Why am I here?” 

Now both men laugh. You’re the joke. You look between then. Rumlow approaches and you shy away. He takes the empty glass and walks away with it. He clinks it down with his own on the oak bar. 

Zemo watches you intently. You rock in the chair. He could’ve fired you in the office, so what is all this? 

“I like your hypotheses,” he slithers, “I thought we might test them out. As is the academic way.” 

“What?” You pulses thumps in your temples, “what do you--” 

Rumlow startles you as he closes his hands around your neck from behind. He hushes you as he squeezes your yipe into a croak. He drags you up to your feet as you writhe and kick out. One of your shoes falls off in your struggle as he lurches you forward. 

“You know, fantasy can be such a good outlet for... self-discovery,” the dean stands as his chair rolls out behind him, “but it pales in comparison to the real thing.” 

“Please--” you crackle out of your throat as Rumlow squeezes your neck tighter. 

“And reality is a writer’s companion. Their work is always better when they have experience to draw on,” he comes around the desk as Rumlow brings you to face him. You can’t help but press yourself to the other man as the dean closes in. “And a creature like you, you’ve never felt desired. That much is clear. It drips from your words. These stories are a plea for more.” 

He runs his fingers up the lapel of your blazer and urges it down your shoulders and arms. You quiver as you’re trapped between the two men. You can only stare wide-eyed as you reach back weakly to claw at the bigger man’s jacket. He growls and you quickly retract. 

“Now, darling, the fear will only make it all the more... exciting,” he draws out the last word teasingly, “have you not written this one already?” 

You whimper as he unbuttons your blouse. You quake as he bares you plain white bra and you quivering stomach. The other man pushes his crotch to you, grinding with a snarl. 

“Ah, Rumlow, patience,” Zemo warns as he peels your blouse down your arms, “my colleague can be rather... impulsive.” 

Your head swells and spins. This can’t be real. You just can’t believe it. The humiliation of being found out is burned through by the fear coursing in your veins. 

“Please,” you eke out again. 

“Shhh,” he presses a finger to your lips and toys with the bottom one. “Mmm,” he turns his hand to frame your mouth, “how has no one ever noticed these pretty lips?” 

He leans in and kisses you. The other man moves a hand to the back of your neck, pinching so you squirm. Rumlow’s other hand hooks around to cover one side your chest, kneading through the unlined cup as you’re suffocated by Zemo’s mouth. 

Zemo purrs and draws back. He licks his lips and hums again. His fingertips crawl down your sides and across your stomach. You squeak and flinch as Rumlow squeezes your neck harder. 

“Darling, you can be good, can’t you? I fear you’ve been for too long,” Zemo taunts, “but can my associate let you go? Might we trust that you are to struck with lust that you cannot possibly flee?” 

You suck in air and babble. You only want the pain to stop. You nod, “yes...” 

“Yes, Dean,” he corrects and sends a look to Rumlow. 

The vice falls away from your neck, instead tugging at the hook of your bra. Zemo’s gaze falls to your tits and he purrs. He fondles you brazenly, running his thumbs over your nipples as the point through the thin fabric. 

“So plain one must appreciate the simple beauty,” he squeezes and leans in to kiss along your cleavage.  

You bra slackens and he lets go to let it slip down. Rumlow untangle it from your arm as Zemo gropes one side of your chest and seals his lips around your nipple. You moan and the air turns static at the vocal betrayal. 

Rumlow laughs and his hand spreads across the other side of your chest. He rolls your nipple harshly, tweaking as you whine. His hand falls down and he feels along your saft tummy. He growls as he slaps your ass with his other hand. You jolt and Zemo’s mouth pops off your tit. 

“Delectable,” he snarls and gives a nip to your flesh. 

Rumlow yanks down the elastic of your plain slacks. The cheap sort you order online. Your panties slip down halfway as he forces the fabric past your thighs. You reach to brace Zemo’s shoulder without thinking, feeling as if you might tip over. 

He touches your elbow as he bends to once more teethe and tease your tits. He bounces them then crushes his face between them. You stare down in shock, still paralysed in disbelief. 

Rumlow rolls your panties down your ass, your ankles bound up in the gathered wool and cotton. He shifts and lowers himself to his knees. He covers your ass with his large hands and you waver on your feet. He pulls your cheeks apart and snarls again. The man sounds like an animal. 

You yelp as he pushes his face into your ass and his tongue swipes along your tight hole. Oh god! Oh! Your muscles knot and coil and you hug Zemo’s head to keep from tipping between them. You reach one arm back as you arch your back and latch onto the other man’s shoulder. 

You drone out a startled but sultry moan. It’s unlike anything you’ve felt before. You haven’t felt this before. Another’s touch. Another’s hunger. You puff out shallow gasp as you’re caught in the storm of warring sensations. Your fear dissipates as you’re overcome by the slow build of please. 

You close your eyes as you try to pretend it’s just one of your stories. One of the many written fantasies you used to tamp down that need for desire. For this! Even alone, even your own touch, could not ease the longing that needles inside you. 

“Darling,” Zemo growls as he kneels in turn and grips your hips, doting on your stomach. He makes your imperfections feel perfect as he worships you with his mouth. 

Rumlow lets out another growl as he laps and his finger tickles up to meet his tongue. You squeal as he pokes his fingertip inside of you, the scalding intrusion tingling in your thighs. It hurts but in a way that you want more. Without a thought, you lean back, urging him deeper into your ass. 

Zemo traces along your pelvis and over the patch of curly hair. His fingers wander between your legs, nudge them apart and he toys with your clit. You quiver as he rolls over your bud, flicking and swirling as you slicken. You feel the blood swelling at his touch. 

He leans forward on the heel of one hand and tilts his head up, delving into your folds. He trails his hand down your thigh and sucks on your clit as he purrs. Rumlow pulls his finger in and out of your ass as you tighten around him, your walls pulse at their duality. 

Your stomach coils and your insides ripple. A tightness bounds you up as you puff out heavily and spasm through the sudden release of tension. You grip Zemo’s hair, forgetting the man has more than a physical hold over you, your other hand curling on Rumlow’s shoulder. You cum with a warbling yawl as you throw your head back. 

Neither man stops until you’re a shaking mess. Until your legs are so slack that you lean back on the man behind you and your whole body threatens to fold over. Rumlow slides his finger free and Zemo wipes his wet lips up your pelvis before he sits back on his heels. 

The move you as you pant loudly. You have no strength left to resist them. You’re strewn across the leather chaise that sits mirror to the desk at the other end of the room. The men circle you as your head lolls and you lay naked but for one heel still on your foot. 

They undress without a word between them. It’s clear this is planned. That they have every single second of the night calculated. You can only get through it. 

As Zemo reveals his furry chest, your cheeks raze with fire. You’re embarrassed more to see the dean like this than for him to see you. You turn your face away only as Rumlow stands even more bare.  

His chest is covered in coarse black hair that trails down to his pelvis. You gasp at the sight of his rigid length bobbing before him. His thighs are corded with thick muscle and his stomach tightens as he steps closer. 

Your turn your head again and nearly squeal at Zemo. Slighter than the other man he is no less eager to have you. As he nears, you curl into yourself. 

They don’t let you disappear or detach. Rumlow grabs you, lifting you off the leather, and takes your places across the chaise. 

Zemo guides you, something in his hand. You can’t keep up with any of it. He turns you to face the other man, nestling his chin into your shoulder as he holds himself flush with you. He sways you and he presses the shape between the top of your cheeks and squirts coolness down your ass. 

He tosses the bottle onto the chaise and it bounces to rest at the end. He rubs the lube around your hole and dips his fingers in, once, twice, three times. He nuzzles you and moves you closer to the leather bench. 

Rumlow reaches for you. Both men guide you over his prone body. You’re made to straddle him with your back to him. He grips his dick and taps the tip on your ass, sliding between your cheeks as he wets himself with the lube. Zemo grabs it and reaches around you. Another squirt adds to the wetness. 

Rumlow pushes his tip against your ring. You yelp and try to pull away. He grabs your shoulder and holds you in place, stretching you around him slowly. You shake at the deep and fervent agony that radiates up your back. 

Zemo coos at you as he strokes your cheek. He climbs up on the chaise as Rumlow drops his legs over the sides. He sits before you, coaxing you as the other man eases you onto his dick. You grit your teeth and cling to the dean’s wrists as he kisses your forehead. 

“It’s alright, darling, you’re doing good,” he praises and pets your head, “just a little more, mm?” You sink down another inch and whimper, “a little more,” he repeats. When at last you bottom out, tears spring fresh down your face. “Very good, darling.” 

“She’s tight,” Rumlow snarls and starts to rock you, “holy shit, she’s fucking--” 

“Language,” Zemo girds as he continues to stroke your face, “you hear that, darling? You are so good. Hm? He likes you.” 

“Weirdo,” Brock mutters but keeps you moving. 

Zemo runs a hand down your body. A tide rolls through you at the soft graze of flesh, and he once more finds your clit. You’re overly sensitive and so full already. He toys with you as you pout out shallow pants. He slowly lays you back as Rumlow takes you across his torso. 

Zemo dips his fingers into your cunt and out again, smearing around your slickness. As his eyes fixate on your cunt, you close your own, hiding beneath your lids. The other man continues to rock from beneath you, stretching you to your limit. 

As Zemo drags his hand from your cunt, the chaise shifts with his weight. He moves closer, draping your legs around him as he slides his tip along your entrance. He pushes along your folds, wetting himself as you quiver, then aligns himself again. He forces his tip inside, just the head, and lingers. 

He raises himself and bends over you as your muscles tug with tension. Rumlow grunts from below as Zemo bends over to kiss you and inches further inside. You nearly cough into his mouth as he gets deeper and deeper. Oh, god, you don’t know if you can take it. 

Rumlow brings his hands around to kneads your tits, his hips tilting as the other bottoms out in your cunt. They both groan as if they can fill your fullness. You throw your arms around Zemo and gnash your teeth, mewling and moaning as you sink your nails into his back. 

He kisses along your chin and cheeks as he starts to thrust. Long, languid, and calm. It has you on fire as the other man matches his tempo. A torturous teasing rhythm that has you writhing and whimpering. 

You’re crushed between them, bodies sweaty and sticking, the friction of hair and skin, of saliva and need. Your head lolls as Zemo nips and sucks as Zemo nips and sucks at your throat, a hand snaking under your ass, basking in the feel of you as nails graze tender flesh. 

A roughness from below as Rumlow bucks his hips harder, plunging deeper, breathing across your scalp as he grunts and growls. His pinches and gropes your chest as your spine curves wantingly. You succumb to your basest desires, to the fantasies you fall asleep to, the very same that you put to paper. It’s horrid but it’s oh so delightful, being used and bruised and tortured until you just can’t think. 

“That’s it, darling, you see how natural it is,” Zemo purrs as he quickens, “how you give yourself over to your purpose. You always knew you would...” he speaks between stolid groans, “those weren’t only stories...” he cradles your head and lifts it, looking deep into your eyes as he ruts into you, the man below you matching his time, “you were begging for this.” 

Your eyes roll back and you cum again. You feel something inside you snap, like a dam breaking with the pressure of a deluge, you gush out around the men, squeezing and twitching until you are hollow. Yet they don’t stop. They keep going. 

Rumlow sits up as Zemo moves with him, bringing you into his lap. The man behind grips your shoulder as his pelvis claps against your ass and the one before you sits back as you shake around him. He holds your head up as it threatens to wobble on your neck. 

You orgasm again. Your lashes flutter, your heart too. Every part of you is pulsing. Their gristling, grinding voices storm in your skull, almost maddening as their bodies sandwich yours. 

“Shittttt,” Rumlow drawls and bends his head forward, biting into your shoulder as he empties himself in you. He quakes as slows and sits back, twitching as he keeps you around him. 

Zemo sighs as you feel his own release. His hips rock subtly as he cums and holds you close, his eyes roving down to watch you tremble. When at last you’re still, the tremors do not fade. He grazes his knuckles down your stomach and you moan. 

“Shall we try that sweet mouth?” Zemo brushes long you lower lips. 

“Fuck yeah,” Rumlow growls, causing the other man’s eyes to glint.  

He might pretend to be proper but dean has proven himself just as sinister as any man; in reality or fiction alike. 

[nekoannie-chan]

Looking for fics

If have fanfics of the following characters:

Brock Rumlow.

Runaways.

Tandy Bowen.

Ororo Munroe.

Lorna Dane.

PRIDE.

Morgan le Fey.

Nico Minoru.

Clarice Fong/Ferguson.

Rogue.

John Proudstar.

Stepford Cuckoos.

Sinthea Schmidt.

Janet van Dyne.

Doctor Doom.

Mister Sinister.

Dottie Underwood.

Michael Morbius.

Ana/Satana Helstrom.

Daimon Helstrom.

Jack Rollins.

The divine pairing.

Tina Minoru.

But posted on Tumblr because I’m looking for add them to my recommend list on here as you know that’s the way I support writers on this platform. Let me know or tag me, please.

My reading guidelines here.

[lokiswifeduh]

Doll, please

Pairings- Mob!Bucky x Fem!reader

Summary- Bucky is taken by the reader's ex-boyfriend. You go to save him, not knowing it was a trap.

Warnings- crime, violence, mention of drugs, angst, minor fluff, character being shot, cussing, torture, graphic violence.

WC- 2.6k

masterlist

James was taken, that was definite. The reason was still unknown. Of course, many people had motives. He runs the city. Being the head of organized crime. He had eyes and ears everywhere. He moved drugs and was the owner of most clubs, restaurants, and companies.

His only weakness is you.

However, Rumlow didn't take you. He took Bucky. You knew that for sure.

"Steve, please tell me you know a location. Something, anything?" The blonde looks down at the computer, wanting to give you some form of information. But comes up with nothing.

"I'm sorry, we still don't have anything."

You groan, putting your head in your hands and groaning.

"Boss' tracker went dark before he made it across the bridge into Brooklyn." Sam walks in, throwing the last known location that was printed down onto the table.

Your head perked up, running over to look over the information. "So let's go check it out." But Steve shakes his head, "No." "Why not?!"

He moves forward, getting slightly in your face. "Because that bridge has over five thousand people on it hourly." He throws the paper out of your hands and into the trash bin next to the door. "Buck may be missing but damn it I will not endanger you in any way in his absence." "But Steve-" "No!!" He shouts, making you flinch slightly. "You stay put where it's safe until we know why and or how he was taken." You let out a long breath, "Fuck this." Taking long strides you run out of the room and to your and Bucky's shared bedroom.

"Watch her." Steve mumbles, making Sam nod.

There was protocol, you knew that. If there was ever a reason why Bucky couldn't run things, Steve was the one who was appointed to take over. But just as Bucky would have it, Steve would never put you in danger. Which made it harder for you to help.

Or Steve would think.

You paced in your shared room, trying to think of ways you could leave, a way you could find your husband. You fiddled with the diamond ring on your finger when suddenly your phone pinged with a text.

You ran over to your bed, grabbing your phone with both hands.

CALL THIS NUMBER IF YOU WANT YOUR HUSBAND BACK ALIVE

You went to the dial pad, dialing in the number with shaky hands and pressing call. It rang four times before picking up. All you heard was silence before you spoke, "Hello, James?"

"Not James, sweetheart." Your heart stopped as you heard the voice of your ex. Brock.

"W-where is he? Is he okay? Is he safe?"

Brock chuckled, requesting to Facetime, to which you accepted; facing the camera up in an attempt to conceal your face.

He switched the camera around, revealing a dark and bloody room, focusing on some steel tools before he panned over to Bucky.

The state of your husband shocked you, making you almost drop the phone. "James?" His face was bloody, cuts and scratches tore his cheeks and jawbone.

His wrists were red, blood dripping from them as the wire that held him down cut into his skin. a knife was sticking out of his thigh, and his chest was adorned with deep lacerations that even you could tell needed stitches.

"Doll?" He lifted his head. His blue eyes had lost the sparkle they had not only a day ago as he looked into the camera.

"Hi love," Tears streamed down your face as you looked at how much damage and torture he had been put through. "I'm so sorry. I promise we're gonna come find you okay? I promise." You hiccuped, sobbing as you watched him grimace in pain.

"Baby don't come. Send Steve. Please, don't come-"

Your husband was silenced with a punch as you yelped. "Stop! Brock, please." The video was taken off of Bucky and went back to Brock. You could still hear him groaning in pain in the background as your ex-boyfriend smirked.

"I'll let him go. But I need you to do one thing for me princess." You gulped, hearing Bucky scream and protest as loud as he could in the back.

"What?" Brock punched Bucky one more time, silencing him.

That only brought more tears to your eyes as you gulped, seeing him give you an evil smile. "You, for him." "You want me?" "I will let Bucky go, as long as I have you in my possession."

You bit your lip, thinking it over. Wondering about how you would even get away. But in the back of your mind, the schematics didn't matter. All that mattered was Bucky being free, even if that meant sacrificing yourself for it.

"Where do I meet you?"

You once again could hear Bucky protesting in the back but tried to keep a straight face while looking at Brock. He smiled again, "At the corner of East 96th and Park." You gulped, realizing how close that was. Brock must've known where your and Bucky's shared home was.

"And you promise you'll let Bucky go right?"

Brock nodded, "For old times sake princess."

You thought it over for a moment, before wiping the still wet tears on your cheeks. "What time?" "You'll meet my men over there in an hour and they'll drive you to the location." "No," You shook your head. "My husband gets dropped off before I even think about going with you." "Ahhh," Brock sighs, turning the camera back to Bucky before landing yet another hit against his already bleeding cheek. "That's not how this is gonna work, sweetheart."

"Okay! Stop!" You screamed, "I'll be there in an hour. Just please don't hurt him anymore."

"Sounds like a deal." Brock sneered, ending the Facetime.

You broke down, falling to your knees on Bucky's side of the bed, clawing onto the covers. You could still smell the faint scent of your husband. The musky pine and balsam were almost gone as you laid on his side all night, crying yourself to sleep.

You had to do this. Steve and Sam were no closer to finding or retrieving him. And you knew they wouldn't let you go alone, or go at all. You just had to find a way to sneak out without anyone noticing.

Thankfully you still had an escape route from when the house was being targeted by HYDRA's men and you needed to get out for your own sanity.

You realized you had been crying, staring at the framed picture of you and Bucky on your wedding day. Looking over at the clock, it was almost time to meet Rumlow.

You slipped on some black leggings, putting on a long-sleeved black shirt and a jacket. Opening Bucky's nightstand drawer, you grabbed the Glock he kept in there and two hand knives.

Slipping one knife into the holster under your shirt and the other one in your boot. Finally hiding the Glock in the back of your pants under the jacket.

Now all you had to do was slip out without Sam, Steve, or any of Bucky's men seeing you. You knew Steve had for sure put you on lockdown.

You opened your door, seeing one guy turn the corner at the end of the hall. You stealthy moved, closing your door behind you, and walked to the other end of the hall, opening the usually locked door to the armory.

Thank god Steve had unlocked it earlier when they thought they had a location.

Moving to the computer in the corner, you disabled the cameras that were placed on your and Bucky's bedroom door. Shifting over you scooted one of the gun racks out of the way, trying not to make too much noise as it revealed a hidden door behind.

You silently thanked Bucky's mom for making an escape door in the brownstone.

Unhooking the latches from the door, you slipped inside the small space and closed it behind you, carefully descending down the ladder. You jumped to the bottom, opening a door to the alley.

The steam from the subway got in your face as you locked the door behind you, blocking your view. You felt a hard hit on the back of your head as you fell to the ground on your knees. You touched the back of your head, feeling the sticky blood on your fingers.

Another hit made you fall all the way down as you rolled over, looking at who your attacker was. "N-Natasha?"

"Night night...doll." One final hit to your skull and everything went black.

-----------------

The first thing you felt was restraints holding your wrists down. Pounding in your head made you not want to open your eyes. But you could swear you heard someone yelling your name.

Lifting your head with as much strength as you could muster you wearily did, squinting.

"Bucky?" You mumbled, still out of it.

"Doll? Wake up, honey. You gotta look at me."

You opened your eyes more, seeing a bloody, tied-up Bucky in front of you. "James!" You tried to stand up but as you did wire cut into your wrists and ankles. "Ah!" You screamed in agony as you looked down at your wrists which were starting to bleed.

"Doll, don't move, okay? It only makes it worse." Your eyes shot back up to Bucky.

"Are you okay? Where is Brock?"

Bucky shook his head, "He hasn't been in since they brought you in here." "Natasha. She hit me in the head." You remembered, wincing.

"I know," Bucky groaned, "I'm gonna fucking kill her for betraying me." You felt your head pound again, making you groan in pain once again.

"What hurts, baby?" Looking Bucky in his eyes, you saw the worry and guilt he held for this. "It's okay. I'm okay." But he could see the pain your body held. Blood dripped down your neck from the back of your head. An open wound was still bleeding on your forehead, and your chest heaved up and down as you tried not to cry. He vowed to protect you and here you were, tied down and bleeding.

"I swear, I will get us out of here, doll. I promise." Bucky gave you the best smile he could when suddenly the door opened. Revealing Brock, and the traitorous redhead behind him.

You kept your head high, not showing your distaste as Rumlow grabbed the front of your neck with his hand, bringing his mouth to the shell of your ear.

Bucky however did, pulling on his restraints which only made blood drip from his wrists more. "Touch her again and I'll have your fucking head, Rumlow."

Bucky's threat only made Brock laugh as he removed his hand from your flesh, allowing you to take a much-needed breath.

"This is how this is gonna go, Barnes." Rumlow walked over to a table, picked up a pair of pliers, and walked back over to Natasha, handing the rusty tool to her.

"You're gonna tell me the codes to that locked safe you have in Moscow. You know the one."

Bucky gritted his teeth, watching how Natasha pulled up a chair, playing with your hand which was still tightly wired down.

"Or what?"

Brock looks over to Natasha, giving her a nod. The redhead puts the head of the pliers on your index finger, pulling it backward, slowly ripping your fingernail back; eliciting a guttural scream from your throat.

"Stop!!" Bucky screamed, but the torture continued. Blood poured from your finger as you pulled and tried to twist away. "Okay! Stop! I'll tell you anything! Stop!!"

The rusty metal was released from your hand as tears streamed down your face.

Rumlow pulled another chair up, sitting in between you and Bucky. "Now that wasn't so hard was it?"

Bucky's brows furrowed in concern, looking only at you. "Doll, I'm so sorry."

You shook your head, "It's not your fault, Buck."

"So, what are the codes?" Rumlow looked over to your husband as Natasha slipped iron knuckles onto her hand. "Don't tell him." You groaned out, knowing Bucky would lose everything he'd built if he gave that information away.

"Shut up!!" Natasha screamed, slamming her fist into your face, the iron weapon hitting your cheekbone and nose, causing your head to whip to the side. You screamed, more tears coming to your eyes as blood started to pour from your nose.

"Stop!" Bucky screamed, "She doesn't know anything! She doesn't have anything to do with this!!" "Oh, but you do." Brock stood, walking behind you and maneuvering your face to look right at your husband. Your chest heaved as you couldn't breathe from your nose without blinding pain. Blood dripped into your mouth and your right hand trembled.

"And this lovely specimen is your only weakness."

Bucky shook his head, "I'll give you everything, just let her go."

But Brock tutted, also shaking his head in disappointment, "I need collateral, Barnes."

"You won't get anything out of me if you hurt her."

Rumlow laughed, "Oh, I bet I will." Moving out of the way, Natasha stroked your face three more times with the weapon, knocking you unconscious.

A tear slipped down Bucky's cheek, "Please, stop. You can have everything." He pleaded, not being able to take his eyes off your beaten and broken body. A sob escaped his chest. He hadn't cried since the day of your wedding, and this was breaking him to his core.

Rumlow moved the chair in front of Bucky. "What's the code."

Bucky gulped, "The code.." He sighed, closing his eyes, "It's her birthday." Opening his eyes, he glared at Rumlow. "It's her birthday." Brock grinned evilly, "Now that wasn't so hard, was it?" Standing up, he threw the chair to the side, moving over to you and cutting all your restraints off.

You fell to the floor, startling you awake. However you didn't move, your body not being able to gather the strength.

"I gave you the codes, Rumlow! Let her go!" Brock turned back, Natasha and him both standing at the door. "You really think I would let you both out of here alive?" His head pulled back as he laughed. "Not a chance, Barnes." Natasha opened the door, and ten men walked through all with guns, lining up in a row. "This city is mine now."

Closing the door behind him and Natasha, a loud speaker squeaked. "You have thirty seconds to say your goodbyes before the firing squad shoots you both to pieces."

Bucky gulped in fear, not noticing you lifting your boot to grab the knife that was inside.

"Doll, you gotta get up!" Bucky shouted, watching you struggle to pull yourself to stand. The ten men readied their weapons, aiming at you and Bucky. You were surrounded.

Finally, you pulled your body up, hobbling over to him with the knife as you tried to cut the wire from his wrists. "You gotta get out of here, doll." You shook your head, "I'm not leaving you." Tears streamed down your face, hearing Rumlow count down. "I won't"

"Doll, please." Looking up at Bucky finally, you let out a sob you had been holding. Ten seconds left.

"I vowed to stay by your side, Buck." Looking back, ten guns pointed at you. You knew what you had to do. "Doll?"

You dropped the knife, straddling Bucky's lap in the chair, wrapping your arms around his neck, and protecting his vital organs with your body. "NO! Doll, please!!"

The men cocked their guns. "Doll!! Stop!! Get up!!"

You shook your head. "I won't let you die!!"

Suddenly bullets rang through the air, but you kept your head down, your body shook into Bucky's as you felt two bullets hit. You screamed, still attempting to hold onto your husband. Bucky sobbed, "Don't do this to me." You looked up, shakily holding his face in your hands, "I love you, James Barnes." Blood dripped from your mouth, "Till forever and always." "Doll, please."

Everything went black.

Fin

part two

masterlist

[holylulusworld]

Indecent Proposal (22)

Summary: Your boyfriend wants to be part of their empire. You are the pawn he’s willing to sacrifice.

Pairing: Mobster!Stucky x fem!Reader

Characters: M'Baku, Brock Rumlow

Warnings: established Stucky, caring mobsters, pregnant reader, polyamory, fluff, angst, implied character's death, mentions of suicide (no description)

Indecent Proposal (21)

Indecent Proposal masterlist

Your heart hammers in your chest. Your husbands want to leave the safety of the mansion to go after Rumlow.

“Bucky,“ you cling to him, desperate to stop him from leaving. “I don’t want you to do this. Please stay. I don’t care if he scared me. I’ll just stay inside the house for the rest of my life.”

“Doll,” Steve places his hand on your shoulder. “Rumlow will never stop. He wants revenge and will use you and our babies against us. We won’t let him hurt you.”

You paw at Bucky’s arms, refusing to let him go. He’s already in a tactical suit, and a bulletproof vest, telling you he expects getting shot.

“But…” You cry even harder. “I don’t want you to get hurt. Who’ll dick me down so good if you die?”

“Aw, I’ll always dick you down good,” Bucky coos you. He pecks your hair and whispers filthy words in your ear. “Half-dead or not, a bullet in my ass, I’ll dick you down. That’s a promise.”

You choke out a laugh. “You promise?”

“I promise, baby doll. Stevie and I will come back to give you dick for the rest of your life. You’ll never be empty.”

“You’re a filthy animal, Mr. Barnes,” you purr his name. Slowly you let go of Bucky to cup his face. “You better come back in one piece.” You kiss him softly. “Our babies need you.”

Bucky nods and swallows thickly. He clears his throat when you turn your attention toward Steve.

“—and you, Mr. Rogers,” you grab Steve’s face to kiss him too. “You’ll make sure he doesn’t risk too much. Please come back in one piece. I would miss your dick so much.”

“Doll,” Steve kisses your temple. “We will come back with Rumlow’s head on a silver plate. He’ll regret ever putting his hands on you.”

“STEVE!” Bucky grunts. “You can’t tell her something like that!”

“He wasn’t joking?” you look at Steve, mouth falling open at his serious expression. “I don’t want his head.”

“It’s hunting season and Rumlow’s head will be my trophy.”

A cold shudder runs down your spine at Steve’s words. For the first time, you see the dangerous and deadly man he truly is. He’s dead serious about turning Rumlow’s head into a trophy.

“We won’t put it on a wall,” you scrunch up your nose. “I hate hunting trophies, Steve. I don’t want this kind of thing at my home.”

“We promise to be back in the blink of an eye. You’re safe here, doll. Jake will stay here and check on the cameras. We increased safety once again. Food and everything else you’ll need will get delivered by trusted people. No one we do not know is allowed to enter the mansion.”

Steve tries to calm you by telling you all the preparations, but he scares you even more. What will happen to you and the babies if they do not make it back? Will their enemies take the chance to kill the next generation too?

“Nothing will happen to you and the babies,” Bucky softly speaks to you. He saw the fear in your eyes and tried to calm you. “We have a plan for the worst-case scenario too, Y/N. Do not worry too much. Steve and I intend on coming back to you.”

Steve, Bucky, and you said your goodbyes before they headed out to hunt Rumlow down. You’re still shaking and can’t calm down.

Jake tried to calm you by showing you the cameras and explaining the security system to you. He meant well, but it didn’t help at all.

All you can think of is that your men are out there, following a man who tried to kill you and your unborn children out of spite.

You can only hope and pray that Steve and Bucky keep their promise and come back to you.

“I’ll take the back with Steve, Clint, and Sam,” Steve explains the plan once again. “M’Baku, I want you to take the lead. Storm the front entrance with your team. Make some noise, distract him long enough for us to sneak. I want that bastard alive.”

“Got it,” M’Baku nods and gestures to his team to sneak toward the front entrance. He’s well-trained and knows how to take an enemy down without getting one of his teammates killed.

“My knives are waiting for that bastard,” Bucky clenches and unclenches his fists. “Steve, remember our promise to Y/N. Do not get too reckless in there.”

Steve huffs. “I must watch your back. I cannot get reckless. Do you think he has backup?” He follows Bucky and his team toward the back of the abandoned house, taking a deep breath. “Ready…”

“Ready…” Bucky picks the lock. He grips the door handle and listens closely, waiting to open the door until M’Baku crashes through the front door like the giant he is.

“What the fuck!” Brock aimlessly fires at M’Baku and his team, only hitting their bulletproof vests. He wasn’t prepared for a battle with a whole team. Rumlow prefers complicated plans and attacking people out of nowhere.

“You fucked with the wrong people,” M’Baku aims his shotgun at Rumlow. “You better drop that pitiful gun before I rip your head off with my hands. He bares his teeth and chuckles darkly when Bucky and the others step inside the room. “Did you finally join us, Barnes?”

Rumlow drops his gun. His fight and life are over, and he knows it.

“I didn’t want to steal the show from you,” Bucky shrugs. He puts his gun away, huffing as this was easier than he thought. “No friends to help you, Rumlow?”

“She ratted me out, didn’t she?” Rumlow laughs manically. “I knew that red-haired bitch is not to be trusted. She always tried to stop me from looking into your case.” He dips his head to watch Bucky get a knife out. “I should’ve killed her first.”

“Natasha knows where her loyalty lies,” Bucky shrugs. “We pay her well and protect her. No one touches our allies.”

“Did you fuck her too?” Rumlow spats. He wants to take a step toward Bucky but M’Baku blocks his path. “Get out of my way, bastard. I’ll tear you down.”

“You can try to get past me, buddy,” M’Baku chuckles loudly. No man ever got past him. Rumlow won’t be the only exception. “You’re lucky the bosses want you alive or you’d lie on the ground with a broken neck.”

“So…you came here to kill me. I knew you’d try to silence me to get away with murdering my girl.”

“We didn’t murder your girl,” Bucky rolls his eyes. “We had fun for a while. It’s not our fault she was crazier than a skunk on dope. She tried to kill my husband. Anyone else would’ve ended up dead. I let her live and told her to leave town and go back where she belongs.”

“She decided to kill herself because she didn’t get my husband,” Steve circles Rumlow, smirking as M’Baku puts his hand on Rumlow’s chest to stop him from getting away. “I’m sorry she did this, but we had nothing to do with her death. It was her choice.”

“I offered her a second chance,” Bucky points a knife at Rumlow. “I don’t easily grant people a second chance. She wasted it.” He dips his head to look at the man threatening your life more than once up and down. “Sorry to tell you, but you won’t get a second chance…”

Part 23

Tags in reblog.

[sergeantbarnessdoll]

Lets go! Winter soldier!bucky goes on a mission with y/n, it is her first mission. Hydra is obviously sick for taking in you, a easily startled teen. winter soldier orders her to stay in Hydra's vehicles because he doesn't want y/n to get hurt<3 You kept hearing about him at Hydra, of course you would want to stay next to him and try to not look weak!

This might not be the type of requests you usually receive, please tell me in case you're not okay with it. Have a great week!

Trying To Protect You » Bucky Barnes/Winter Soldier

Pairings: Winter Soldier x Teen!Female Reader

Summary: You go on your first mission with the Winter Soldier, but he’s trying to protect you at the same time.

Warnings: Fluff, language, HYDRA, violence, brief mention of blood, use of nicknames

Age of reader: 16 years old

A/N: Thank you to the lovely anonymous person who requested this🩵 also I imagined this took place during Captain America: The Winter Soldier.

A/N #2: This is different from what I normally write so I decided to give it a try. I used Google translate for the Russian translations. I apologize if I got anything wrong.

Written on my phone. I’m sorry for any mistakes.

Header made by @buckys-wintersoldier

GIF IS NOT MINE! Credit goes to the creators. I found it on Pinterest.

You jumped at the sound of your cell’s door opening. Brock Rumlow walks in your cell and grabbed your bicep with a bruising grip, pulling you up from your spot on the bed.

“Wh-Where are you taking me?” You asked him nervously.

“Pierce wants to talk to you.” Brock says.

Brock takes you to the room where they do experiments on you, forcing you to sit down in the chair. Brock went to strap your arms and legs down to the chair, but Pierce stopped him.

“Restraints aren’t necessary this time.” Pierce says.

Brock nodded and stepped off to the side. You nervously looked up at Pierce, waiting for him to tell you why you’re there.

“As you know, your skills have been improving since the day you got here, fighting wise.” Pierce approaches you and crouches down in front of you. “From what I understand, you’ve made a great impression on the Winter Soldier. He told me that he’s impressed with your skills, but I’m sure he told you that.” He says.

You nodded your head, waiting for him to continue.

“So I’ve been thinking…” He stood up straight and took a couple steps back from you. “You’re ready for your first mission.” He says.

“Really?” You asked.

“Yes. You’re joining the Winter Soldier on his mission.” Pierce tells you and began walking towards the door. “You’re leaving in a half hour.” He says before the door closed behind him.

You sat there for a moment, thinking about what you’ve heard about the Winter Soldier. You know that he’s one of HYDRA’s best assassins and he has a metal arm for a left arm. He’s also the one who’s been training you. Your thoughts were interrupted when a HYDRA agents gave you a mission suit to put on, along with combat boots. Another agent put a bullet proof vest on you. Then you followed the agents out to the vehicles. You smiled when you seen the Winter Soldier as you got in one of the vehicles. He nodded at you as he got in the vehicle, sitting next to you. Moments later, the Winter Soldier and other agents got out of the vehicles. You were following suit, but you were stopped by the Winter Soldier.

“Stay in the car.” He says.

“But-” The Winter Soldier shut the car door before you could get another word out.

You sighed and watched from the tinted car window. Your senses were telling you that you should be out there helping him. You know you should obey his orders and stay in the car, but he’s part of your team and you need to help him. You opened the center console and found a gun and bullets. You loaded the gun and got out of the vehicle. You located a target at shot at him, but missed. An agent turned around and seen you. He went to walk towards you, but the Winter Soldier stopped him.

“Я получил ее.” The Winter Soldier said to the agent in Russian.

He gently grabbed your arm and pulled you to the side.

“I told you to stay in the car.” He says sternly.

“I know, but my senses told me that you needed help.” You said honestly and looked down, feeling ashamed.

“I get that you’re just going with what your senses are telling you, but I don’t want you to get hurt.” He says.

You opened your mouth to say something when a bullet came flying towards you two. The Winter Soldier grabbed you with his metal arm and held you against him while using his right hand to shoot at whoever shot the bullet at the two of you. The sound of the gun going off startled you. Your hands grasped onto his tactical vest, holding it tightly.

“This is the reason why I told you to stay in the car.” He says.

“Ok, but Pierce said this is my mission too and I intend on helping you.” You say.

He sighed, not wanting to argue with you.

“Fine, but you stay by my side, understand?” He says.

“I understand, Soldat.” You say.

You kept your word and stood by him. Maybe you weren’t as ready for a mission as you thought, because you jumped almost every time you heard a loud noise that wasn’t a gun. The Winter Soldier noticed how jumpy you were and grabbed your arm, running away from the scene. He took you to an alley where it was calmer and quieter for you.

“I’m going to say something and I want you to listen, ok?” He says.

You looked at him and nodded your head.

“When we go back out there, I want you to get back in the car where it’s safer. That’s an order, soldier.” He says.

“But-” You stopped talking when he gave you the look, the dad look. “Yes, Bucky.” You mumbled, loud enough for him to hear.

You’re the only person in HYDRA who calls him Bucky. You learned his name your first year after being kidnapped by HYDRA.

“I don’t want you to get hurt.” Bucky puts a comforting hand on your shoulder. “I also want what’s best for you. Do you understand?” He says softly.

“Yes, I understand.” You say.

He poked his head out from the alley, making sure the coast is clear for you to go straight to one of the vehicle.

“Coast is clear. Follow me.” Bucky says.

You followed closely behind him. You still jumped at the noises, but you were fine as long as you were close to Bucky. He opened the car door and you got in the vehicle. You turned around to see him holding his hand out.

“Give me the gun.” Bucky says.

You pouted and handed him the gun. He continued to hold his hand out and gave you the dad stare.

“I know you have extra bullets and don’t even try to lie and say you don’t.” He says.

You sighed and got the extra bullets out of your pocket and put the bullets in his hand, still pouting cause you want to help him.

“Soldiers don’t pout.” Bucky states. “If you want to help me, you can look out the window and keep an eye out for me, ok?” He says, trying to reason with you.

“Ok.” You say quietly.

Bucky kissed your forehead and closed the car door, going back to the mission. As you were keeping an eye out from your position in the car, everything looked like it was going smoothly. That was until a bullet shot through the front windshield. You screamed and covered your head, ducking to the car floor. Bucky’s enhanced hearing picked up your scream and he immediately ran to the car, opening the car door and seen you shaking on the car floor.

“Hey, you’re ok.” He says softly.

You uncovered your head and looked up, seeing Bucky. You practically launched yourself into his arms. Bucky securely wrapped his arms around you and pulled you out of the car. He gently put your feet on the ground and grabbed your hand, quickly taking you somewhere safe.

“Are you hurt?” Bucky asks, checking you for obvious injuries.

“No. I’m just shaken up is all.” You tell him.

Bucky’s facial expression softens when he seen a cut on your forehead with blood coming out of it, making you furrow your eyebrows in confusion.

“What? Why are you looking at me like that?” You asked confused.

Bucky continued to look at the cut on your forehead, making sure it’s not deep. You reached your hand up to your forehead and felt something wet.

“Am I bl-bleeding?!” You asked, beginning to freak out.

“Just a little bit.” He says as he continues to examine it.

You took your hand off your forehead and seen blood in your hand, making your eyes widen.

“Hey, look at me.” He coos. “You’re going to be fine.” He says softly.

“But I’m bleeding.” You say.

“Yes you are, but you’re going to get patched up when we get back to base.” He says.

Bucky pulled you in for a hug to calm your nerves which helped a lot. After a moment, he pulled away from the hug, placing his hands on your shoulders.

“You ready to go back out there?” Bucky asks.

“Yes.” You nodded. “Let go kick some ass!” You say.

Bucky gave you the dad look once again when you said a curse word. He doesn’t like it when you say curse words.

“Sorry.” You mumbled.

Bucky just chuckled and shrugged it off. He pulled a gun out of the holster, loading it with bullets and gave it to you.

“Stay by me and shoot when I say to, got it?” He says.

“Yes, Bucky.” You answered.

“Alright. Let’s get back out there, doll.” He says with a smile and patted your shoulder.

After the mission, you were dreading what Pierce was going to say or do to you. You were looking down at your feet as you were walking past him, but he stopped you in your tracks by grabbing your arm and pulled you towards him, making you stumble.

“Mission Report, soldier.” Pierce commands, looking down at you.

“Successful.” You inform him, lying through your teeth.

“I hope you’re telling the truth cause you know the consequences.” He says.

“Yes, sir.” You say.

“You’re dismissed.” He let go of your arm. “Rumlow, escort her to her cell.” He says.

Brock nodded and grabbed your bicep with a bruising grip like he did earlier and escorted you to your cell. He shoved you in your cell, making you trip over your own feet and fall. Luckily you landed on the bed and not the hard concrete floor. You got cleaned up and changed. You sat on the bed, holding your knees against your chest. You jumped at the sound of the cell door open and close. You relaxed when you seen Bucky. Bucky sneaks in your cell to keep you company when he’s able to.

“Hey, kid.” Bucky says, taking a seat on the bed in front of you.

“Hey, Bucky.” You say quietly, loud enough for him to hear.

“How’re you feeling after your first mission?” He asks.

“I don’t know.” You shrugged your shoulders. “What’s there to feel?” You say.

Bucky nodded in agreement.

“I want you to understand something.” He starts. “When I give you orders during future mission, I expect you to follow through with them. I don’t want you to get hurt.” He says.

“Ok. I’ll listen better next time.” You say understandingly.

Bucky smiles and patted the bed next to him. You moved closer to him and he wrapped his arms around you, giving you a loving hug.

“I also want you to understand that I’m trying to protect you.” He says, kissing the top of your head.

“I understand.” You looked up at him. “Thank you for protecting me.” You say with a smile.

“You’re welcome, kiddo.” Bucky smiles down at you. “Get some sleep. You need it after the day you had.” He says.

You snuggled yourself against his side, slowly falling asleep. Knowing that Bucky is there to protect you made it easier for you to fall asleep. By the end of the day, Bucky just wants what’s best for you.

🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵����

-Bucky’s Doll

[sjsmith56]

A Better Man

Summary: Bucky Barnes, a shy general contractor who also provides services for criminals, falls in love with the single mother of a baby girl. The father works for one of his rivals, and wants nothing to do with the woman or the baby. Can he be the better man for her?

Length: 10 parts

Characters: Bucky Barnes, named OFC, named OCC, Steve Rogers, Sam Wilson, Winnifred Barnes, May Parker, Natasha Romanoff, Brock Rumlow, various Avengers in minor roles.

Warnings: Childhood trauma, angst, cursing, conflicting emotions, criminal behaviour, violence, no smut.

Author notes: This AU started out as a one shot but I got carried away and it just grew. A bit of a slow burn between Bucky (who is a softie) and OFC. There is some humour in this, as the guys of Barnes Contracting are sometimes dumbasses, but with hearts of gold.

All MCU character names are the property of Marvel / Disney. Original characters and the plot are the property of the author and all rights to those aspects are claimed by her. I DO NOT give permission to copying and pasting of any portion of this story into any other app or platform.

Listing of parts titles after the break. 🛠️ 👷‍♂️ 👩‍🍼

Part 1. Preparation

Part 2. Foundation

Part 3. Structure

Part 4. Connections

Part 5. Warmth

Part 6. Transformation

Part 7. Appearances

Part 8. Attachments

Part 9. Clean Up

Part 10. Walkthrough

Short Fiction Masterlist

Please support the author by reblogging.

[lokiandbuckysdoll]

A Loss Of Hope

Paring: Implied! Mob! Winterfrost x Reader, Bodyguard! Sam x Reader.

Summary: When Brock Rumlow decides to take his revenge on Loki and Bucky's empire he has one thing on his mind to make them comply. That one thing is you.

Word count: 1.117K part 2>

A/N: PLEASE! Read the warnings before reading. This has some underlying tones that some might find hard to read. Please do not hesitate to reach out if I did not properly tag a warning!

Aslo thank you to the lovely @vbecker10 for proof reading for me <333

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

story based on this request

Warnings: a vivid description of violence, Blood, and TW: loss of a child. mentions of a miscarriage, guns, and knives. implied SA attempt ( not really just Brock pinning the reader down but just adding it in case!!)

Everything was a blur one minute you were sleeping peacefully in your shared bed, and the next you were dragged out by Sam telling you to stay quiet and to follow him. During your slumber Rumlow and his men somehow pass the security and break into the house, Loki and Bucky immediately send Sam to protect you and get you to the safe room while they find Rumlow. 

Once Sam made sure you were not followed he turned to check in on you. " I know you are scared sugar but it's okay" he gave you a soft smile. "Stay away from the windows, here come sit down" he pointed to the bed and you moved to sit. "Where are they?" you bounce your leg up and down anxiously as you glance at the time 3:15 am.

"They are trying to find Rumlow" he can tell his words make you even more nervous. "Look" he bends down to be at eye level with you. " You know I would put my life on the line to protect you. You the best pain in my ass" You punch him in the shoulder as you laugh. " I know you would it's just that everything seems so surreal right now you know" Sam was about to reply when you both heard gunshots getting louder. 

"Get behind me, now!" Sam places you behind him as he pulls out his gun. You were scared to move and stayed close behind Sam. 

The tension in the room was palpable as you waited, not knowing what was on the other side of the door. Then suddenly, with a loud bang, the door burst open, and you all jumped in shock. Sam, shot the man, and a sudden loud thump hit the floor as the man's lifeless body hit the floor. You thought that was it until another bang rang and Sam crumpled to the floor, clutching a wound in their side, pain etched across their face. 

There was a beat of heavy silence when we looked up, and your heart stilled.  There, framed in the doorway, stood the man you had dreaded, his presence looming with an unsettling calm. His eyes were dark and perplexing. " There you are doll" The nickname made you shiver with disgust. With a surge of determination, you made a frantic move toward the discarded gun, your fingers reaching out in a desperate bid to grasp the weapon that would defend you. Before you could even close the distance, Rumlow was already in motion, his movements a blur of practiced speed and precision. He lunged forward, catching your wrist with an iron grip, the sheer force of his hold sending a jolt of shock through your entire body. 

" Not so fast little one, I've got a surprise for you" he pushed you towards the bed pressing a knife to your stomach. Panic and pain surged through you, but Rumlow's gaze remained unwavering, a cold smirk playing at the corner of his lips. In that split second of contact, it was clear: he was always a step ahead, and your attempt to seize control had been useless. The gun remained out of reach, your heart racing as the man’s dominance was reasserted, leaving you to grapple with the harsh reality of your vulnerability. In a last minute of courage, you pushed all your weight back and headbutted him "You bitch!" You ran to the gun again after he had been taken back, but he was quicker and tripped you. 

He loomed over you, his hands gripping your shoulders, pinning them with a suffocating strength, as he loomed closer, his breath hot and rancid. Desperation fueled your every movement; you thrashed and kicked, your fists striking at him with whatever force they could muster. Each blow barely fazed him, his face a mask of cruel determination. As you fought, his fists came down with brutal precision—one punch slamming into your stomach, creasing you over with a gasp of pain, and another crashing into your face. Dazed and reeling, you continued to resist with whatever energy remained. 

In one last glance, you notice the gun just out of reach and pounce forward to grab it. You don't hesitate to shoot once it's in your hands. His body suddenly goes limp against yours and a warm liquid is felt on your body. With the little strength you have left, you push his body off of you. Breathing heavily, you stumble over to Sam, who is pale and unconscious on the floor. Your hands trembled as you checked for a pulse, Sam’s breathing was shallow but steady, a small, flickering hope amid the chaos. Just as you began to feel a tentative relief, the sudden creak of the door shattered the fragile calm. 

Your heart skipped a beat as you whipped your head up, and you drew the gun towards the door. At that moment, the room’s eerie silence was pierced by a new wave of dread, as you braced yourself for whatever danger there was. As the figure stepped into the light, the familiar reassuring features of Loki and Bucky came into view, their faces etched with worry and relief. Loki rushed forward, his eyes scanning the room before locking onto you. “Thank God, it’s you,” you whispered, voice choked with a mix of exhaustion and emotion. Bucky then knelt beside Sam, his hands gentle but urgent as he assessed the situation. The anxiety that had gripped you had dissipated, replaced by the soothing weight of their company. "She's bleeding" was the last thing Loki said before you fell unconscious.    

When you woke up in the hospital, the sterile smell of antiseptic and the soft beeping of medical equipment were jarring reminders of the reality you had tried to escape. When bucky and loki broke the news of the loss of your unborn child it felt like an unrelenting ache.  A void that swallowed every bit of light and hope. As you lay there, the crushing weight of grief bore down on you, each memory of what could have been. The days following were a blur of quiet tears and hollowed pain, your heart aching with every breath.

Months passed, and your journey through the grief was both agonizing and transformative. With the support of compassion of Loki and Bucky and the steady presence of those who cared for you, you began to slowly piece together a sense of acceptance. Each step forward was often followed by two steps back, but with time, you found small moments of solace and clarity. The pain of loss didn’t disappear, but it began to settle into a place where you could remember with love rather than unbearable grief.

TAGS 🏷️ @lokischambermaid @hannibals-favourite-meal @mochie85 @loopsisloops @ladyofthestayingpower @joyful-enchantress @sarahscribbles @michelleleewise @missvelvetsstuff @caothicshit @huntressandlioness1 @Slave4loki @foxherder @MisstressMischief @Tomandcakes @lyds247 @silverfire475 @springdandelixn @nana1000night @sarahrogersevans

Add yourself to my tag list

[e-dubbc11]

Hello my darling Annie!

I love this gif! Thank you for participating in my celebration and sending in your asks, I really appreciate you as a friend. I hope you like what I did here. Thank you again for reading and sharing my fics, it really warms my heart ♥️

I didn’t know if you wanted this for Brock or Leo so I just went with Brock, I hope that’s ok ♥️

Glasses

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

Pairing: Brock Rumlow x F! Reader

Warnings: SMUT! (18+ Please! Or else I’m telling!) swear words, little bit of angst, and fluff

Word Count: 1.6K-ish

Summary: You’re introduced to a co-worker by literally bumping into him. He wasn’t very nice to you but you noticed he can’t seem to stay away either.

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 gentle knocks on your door caused you to look up from the pages of your book and set your cup of tea and your glasses on the end table next to you. One side of your mouth curled into a slight smile as you walked over to the door to let him in.

Brock always knew you were awake if the dim light from the living room lamp was glowing in the window. You were getting used to these late night visits but the first time it happened was a complete surprise.

Both of you worked for SHIELD but he was the field agent, a leader and you were just a technical aide that worked for the Statistics division. You knew him to have a very tough exterior, he was gruff, and bold which was very apparent when you literally crashed into him on your way into work one morning and he snapped at you.

“Maybe you need new glasses, sweetheart! Eyes up next time, Missssss…” He pinched your badge in between his thick calloused fingers so he could read it. “Miss y/l/n.”

His voice was firm, raspy, and…incredibly sexy.

After that encounter, you’d catch him on the floor where you worked a number of times. He must have not only noticed your name on your badge but also the department you worked in. He had no reason to be there, he was a field agent, why was he wandering around the Statistics floor, and why did he watch your every move?

“Have a drink with me.” His voice commanded.

Brock managed to sneak up and sit next to you while you were reading on your lunch break.

Not even looking up from the page, you had replied, “You’re not my boss, Rumlow. You can’t tell me what to do.” You stole a glance at him before pushing your glasses up the bridge of your nose and returning your gaze back to your book. “Maybe if you ask nicely.”

“Have a drink with me…please.” He asked sheepishly.

Again, not looking up from your book, you lightheartedly replied, “Ok.”

After agreeing on a time and place, he started to walk away before turning around and asking, “You know who I am?” Remembering you called him by his last name a few minutes prior.

This time you lowered your book to look at him over your glasses and with a sly smile replied, “Everyone knows who you are…Brock.”

He walked away trying to hide the smile you put on his face.

**********

You purposely showed up a little late to make him wait for you, then ordered and took a shot of tequila, thanked him and walked away. Brock’s eyes never left your backside as he watched you walk out of that bar, loving and hating the fact you made him look like a fool. You may look like a shy little book nerd but he didn’t know who he had messed with snapping at you the way he did.

Later on that night was when you got that first set of knocks on your front door. Confused and surprised by someone knocking on your door late at night, you got up from the couch to investigate. Looking through the peephole, you saw Brock leaning against your doorframe, waiting patiently for you to open the door.

“You left me lookin’ like an asshole, doll! Open the door, I know you’re there.” He said.

Glaring at him from the other side of the door, you flung the door open and said, “You said it, I didn’t. What are you doin’ here, Rumlow? And how do you know where I live?!”

Brushing the stubble on his cheeks, he continued to look down before slowly bringing his gaze up to meet yours. Brock’s eyes reminded you of the gold you would see in a summer sunset or the color of Tennessee honey whiskey. They were beautiful.

“The answer to your first question, sweetheart, is I asked you out for a drink so I could apologize for snappin’ at ya the first time we met. I didn’t wanna admit that maybe I wasn’t lookin’ where I was goin’. I’m sure you don’t need new glasses. And the answer to question number two is, we work for SHIELD, ya think I can’t find out where people live?” He said softly.

Brock wasn’t trying to turn you on, he really was just trying to apologize, but he was sexy, irresistible, and had you clenching your thighs together so tightly, that you thought you might fall over.

Biting down on your lower lip, you let him continue.

“So if ya didn’t drink and run like ya did, I could have apologized proper—“ He said before you cut him off.

Pulling him inside by his jacket, his lips were on yours as fast as the door slammed shut, his thick fingers tangled in your hair and his teeth nipped at your jawline and down your neck. You started removing each other’s clothes and haphazardly tossed them onto the floor, making your way toward the bedroom.

Brock “apologized” over and over again that night. He did it with his talented fingers, with his tongue, and with his cock. His apologies didn’t stop until your vision had gone white, until your voice cracked, and until your knees quivered when you tried to stand up. His kisses were hungry and demanding, and the desire burning behind his amber eyes matched the craving you had for him.

The cries of passion he pulled from you left you breathless and he was insistent on leaving you without a voice. Your sinful moans turned him on, made him completely feral, and the pleasure he gave you crashed over you in waves.

Brock Rumlow was definitely the animal in bed just like you thought he would be.

Shaking from overstimulation, you managed to say, “All I was really looking for was an ‘I’m sorry,‘ Brock.”

He pinched your side and lightly bit down on your bare shoulder while trying to hold in a chuckle. The STRIKE team leader that most people were afraid of had a soft spot and that soft spot was for you.

“I can see your pretty eyes better without your glasses.” He had said.

You replied, “Well…I don’t need to wear them ALL the time.”

And now here he was again gently knocking at your door, looking sexy as fuck in his black leather jacket, and silently begging for a piece of the fruit he’s tasted so many times in the past few months.

The way his hands confidently roamed over you, it was always a surprise where they would go next. Would he pin your wrists above your head so he could fuck you deep into the mattress, or let you climb on top so he could firmly press his fingers into your hips as you rolled them over his? You loved to watch his teeth bite down onto his lower lip as you rode him before pulling him in close, grasping at his muscular shoulders and back to feel him hit that sweet spot deep inside you.

With his movements becoming faster and more erratic, you knew he was close as your walls were tightening around him, your pussy so wet that he slid in and out of you with ease before drenching his dick with your release and he chased his own orgasm.

And no one knew. At work, no one knew the leader of the STRIKE team spent his down time with you, the slightly nerdy girl from Statistics, and that he worked tirelessly to make you come as many times as possible, in as many different positions as possible, on every single flat surface he could find, and wanting to hear you scream so loudly, you would wake the neighbors. You didn’t care if they did know but maybe he did; however, you were too nervous to ask him.

You didn’t ask because no one made you feel like this and you didn’t want it to go away.

In the faint light of your bedroom, you watched him put on his gray t-shirt, his muscles tight like piano wire, and his eyes wide with worry. As the shirt drifted down his toned torso, you wondered what he was thinking about, and why did he have that look of worry on his face?

Wrapped up in the bedsheet, you continued to stare with a wicked smile on your face, and he smiled back before saying, “Had a bit of a rough day today, doll.”

Propping your head up with your hand, your smile disappeared and asked, “You wanna talk about it?”

“I didn’t know if we were doin’ that kinda stuff, sweetheart.” Said Brock.

Patting the spot next to you on the bed, you replied, “We can if you want to, Rumlow. Have a seat, tiger.”

Brock smirked and climbed on top of you until you were flat on your back, your hands traveled up his arms and landed around his neck.

“Can I take you out on a date?” He asked. His voice was extra scratchy from the workout he gave it a little while ago.

You slid your fingers through his dark brown hair and asked with a wide smile and sarcasm dripping from your voice, “Oh you wanna be seen with me? What will people think, Brock?”

“Well, I want everyone to see that I have the prettiest girl…with or without her glasses.” He said with a wink just before he claimed your lips with a gentle kiss.

You felt warmth rise to your cheeks, the man made you blush…hard, and you had to finally admit to yourself that you were smitten with him.

“I’ll go out with you, Brock. Now kiss me and tell me all about your bad day, maybe I can make it better.” You said with a warm smile.

He pinched your chin in between his forefinger and thumb and replied, “You always do, sweetheart.”

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

Others that might enjoy: @itwasthereaminuteago @fluffyprettykitty @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!

[fsbc-librarian]

Hi! I hope you are good! Feel free to mention some of your works that aren't yet posted to tease us all with the potential we're waiting for!

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Spread the self-love! <3

I don’t have many more works than 5 😂 here are some of my favourites 💜

This took me over a year to write, and I was so insanely nervous before I posted it, but I’m so so proud of it. It’s still my most popular fic by hits/kudos (and it recently got a short one shot sequel).

Summary: Bucky looked at Steve. Steve carefully did not look at Bucky.

“You didn’t tell him?” Becca asked, pausing in the doorway. Steve shook his head.

“He only just got here. Besides, I thought you would have told him over the phone,” Steve grumbled, now also carefully not looking at Becca.

“He is also standing right the fuck here,” Bucky snapped. “In case you both forgot.”

“Steve,” Bucky started, quietly, purposely not looking at either of them now. “Why is Becca your doctor?”

Neither Steve nor Becca answered him. Bucky looked up. Becca was watching Steve, who was staring intently at a wrinkle in the sheet covering the bed he was sitting on.

“Why is Becca your doctor right now?” He asked again, more forcefully, this time looking to his sister. “And why are we in the fucking family rooms?”

*****

Steve’s a marathon runner. He’s still friends with his ex-alpha, his life revolves around training, work, and Bucky, his best friend. He’s also 6 months pregnant and he doesn’t know who the sire is. If he ignores his problems, they’ll go away, right?

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers

Characters: Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes, Lorraine, Rebecca Barnes Proctor, Winifred Barnes, Howling Commandos, Tony Stark, Natasha Romanov (Marvel)

Additional Tags: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Mpreg, Slow Burn, Friends to Lovers, hidden pregnancy, Secret pregnancy, New York Marathon, Mechanic Bucky Barnes, Marvel Cameos, Easter Eggs, so many easter eggs, Rating for later chapters, Anal Sex, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Fuck Or Die, Hand-Wavey Medical, Pining, Mutual Pining, Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Oblivious Steve Rogers, Oblivious Bucky Barnes, Mildly Dubious Consent, only because both of them want it but both think the other doesn't

✨✨✨✨✨

Summary: Bucky Barnes is running from his problems. He's housesitting for his best friend while she's on her honeymoon - the almost a year prior that he's been staying in her house doesn't count - when he's woken in the middle of the night by an angel and a demon. Okay, maybe they're not a literal angel and demon, but Steve Rogers *looks* like an angel, and his daughter Charli certainly *acts* like a demon.

The father/daughter duo are running from their own problems, but that doesn't mean that they can't crash headlong into one another's lives. Throw in a cursed book for good measure, and it's about to get a whole lot more interesting.

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers

Characters: James "Bucky" Barnes, Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanov (Marvel), Sam Wilson (Marvel), Original Children of Peggy Carter and Steve Rogers

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Author!Bucky, Architect!Steve, Peggy Carter & Steve Rogers Friendship, Human Disaster Bucky Barnes, Homophobic Language, Cursed Book, Eavesdropping, Past Bucky Barnes/Brock Rumlow, Past Bucky Barnes/Alexander Pierce, Natasha Romanov Is a Good Bro, Steve's Daughter has a British Accent, Gay Steve Rogers, Gay Bucky Barnes, Anal Sex, Angry Sex, meet ugly, Top Steve Rogers, Bottom Bucky Barnes

✨✨✨✨✨

Summary: An Avengers fundraising event in Las Vegas takes a left turn, and Captain America wakes up with a brand new spouse and no way to get a divorce. Coupled with Tony Stark's current obsession with reality dating shows, obviously nothing can go wrong, right?

Bucky Barnes isn't even Tony's PA - Pepper is his actual boss - and he does not have time to even date anyone, let alone be married to one of the most famous people in the world, especially not with a sick sister and precocious niece at home depending on him. He just needs to keep his head down, and wait it out til they can get a divorce. Easy, right?

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers

Characters: Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes, Tony Stark, Thor (Marvel), Clint Barton, Natasha Romanov (Marvel), Happy Hogan, Jennifer Walters, Darcy Lewis

Additional Tags: Accidental Marriage, Shrunkyclunks | Modern Bucky Barnes/Captain America Steve Rogers, pa bucky barnes, Captain America Steve Rogers, alcohol consumption, Crack Treated Seriously, Sort Of, mentions of illness, Cancer, Hand-Wavey Legals, There Was Only One Bed, Kidfic, Public Sexual Acts, Oral Sex, Anal Sex, Teasing, Bottom Steve Rogers, Top Bucky Barnes, light Dom/sub tones

✨✨✨✨✨

Summary: How do you mourn for someone who isn’t dead? That’s the big question, and so far, Bucky hasn’t been able to answer it.

He’d fought for seventy years, even when he didn’t remember his own name, when he didn’t know he was a person. Always the first memory to come back to him was a set of blue eyes, touched with a tiny bit of green. The whisper of a voice in his ears, the flash of memory that someone should be there, right beside him.

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers

Characters: Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes

Additional Tags: no happy ending, Angst, Hallucinations, Depression, Suicidal Thoughts, Anger, Unrequited Love, Canon Compliant, Not A Fix-It

✨✨✨✨✨

Summary: He's not sure how it happened. One moment, he was the Winter Soldier, and the next he's working in a Brooklyn coffee shop, where the prickly owner is someone who treats him like a person, not a machine. And just maybe, he can be a person again.

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers

Characters: James "Bucky" Barnes, Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanov (Marvel), Sam Wilson (Marvel), Yelena Belova, John Walker (Marvel)

Additional Tags: Captain America John Walker (Marvel), Former Captain America Sam Wilson, Shrinkyclinks | Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes/Non-Serum Steve Rogers, Coffee Shops, Coffee Shop Owner Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Minor Character Death, Past Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Amnesia, memory problems, Hand Wavey Medical, Sad, Feelings, Gay Bucky Barnes, Bisexual Steve Rogers, Gay Sex, Anal Sex, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence

✨✨✨✨✨

Upcoming fics

Sympathy for the Devil

Summary: Alpha Bucky Barnes has been a headlining rock star for over 20 years, both as the lead singer of the band The 107, and as a solo artist. The Reunion World Tour of The 107 also features the up-and-coming punk rock band SHIELD, with lead singer (omega) Steve Rogers. The chemistry is undeniable, and when one thing leads to another, Steve Rogers finds himself with an unexpected souvenir.

Working Title: Runaway

Summary: rich kid Bucky Barnes is an omega who has had to pretend to be a beta his whole life, until he’s faced with something that will literally change his life. So, he does the only thing he can think of - he runs away. Right into the dive bar owned by ex-army captain, and alpha, Steve Rogers.

[highonmarvel]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Breaking Point

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

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

additional content warnings here!

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

Non Con Warning!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How about getting a drink with me instead?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We’ve got to get you out of there.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

“What’s your address?”

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

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

“What? Wanda, no!”

“He’ll kill you if I don’t.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well then—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I didn’t— I didn’t call them—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

⊗

my beloved taglist: @cjand10, @cowboysnbugs

[mthofferings]

Marvel WIP Council

Preferred contact methods: Email: 20027103Ah@gmail.com Discord: daisytarget Tumblr: daisytarget

Preferred organizations: - Anything from the list of approved organizations

Will create works that contain: Historical AUs, Football / Americana, WW2 AU, fantasy AU, fairytale retellings, longfic, shortfic, one shots, smut, biochemistry, animal biology, US college or high school, autism or ADHD sensitivity reading, abuse or whump sensitivity reading, living off the land, sewing, hunting and game, infertility sensitivity reading, kidfic, kid dialogue and development, disability sensitivity reading, US policy and policy making, home repair and renovation, protests and civil disobedience, medical knowledge, German life and culture, kink and heavy kink, healthcare, food rationing

Will not create works that contain: Please message us if something on this list is part of your wip, as 3/5 of us said "no," for something to end up here., but due to the nature of this auction possibly being broken up into multiple wips, we might be able to work something out. mpreg, self harm, suicidality, all hurt no comfort, child sexual abuse (CSA) or child abuse (other), age play / age regression as kink, scat/piss/vomit kink, torture porn.

  -- Beta Service --

Auction ID: 1097

Will create works for the following relationships: Avengers fandom any gen and ship - MCU Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers - MCU Bucky Barnes-centric - MCU Steve Rogers-centric - MCU Captain America fandom any gen and ship - MCU Clint Barton & Phil Coulson & Natasha Romanov - MCU Jack Rollins/Brock Rumlow - MCU

Work Description: This is a group offering for WIP-Help! Do you have a wip you're trying to get off the ground, but just need help outlining or brainstorming? Are you struggling on that one dream story, and need another few sets of eyes? Do you have a long fic, but need help with continuity and character integrity? Could you benefit from someone else helping you write the action to balance out your dialogue, or pin down how to write Steve Rogers' vs Bucky Barnes' vs Tony Stark's snark? Would you like someone to write your "stuck" scene, so you can just move on, or give you their version of that scene to give you ideas? You've come to the right place. We want you to finish that wip. Services offered will be organized into three groups, and tier $ will give you different word-count totals and groups available. GROUP 1 -emotional support / cheer-reading by council -SPaG by AI (check Group 3 for by hand option) -brainstorm committee -inspo for writing (face-casts as needed, character sheets, moodboards, playlist) -research (small questions here or there, maybe "help me find real cafes for their dates / pricing of XYZ / small details for Asgard dishes") -Reader Feel? feedback – basically off the cuff reactions and thoughts. -Sensitivity / Expertise* GROUP 2 -tone feedback – reactions and discussion on how a scene or story reads and what in particular gave that vibe -character fidelity feedback – reactions / discussion on how a character reads -research (medium, maybe "let's figure out how to build a college schedule," or "Darcy works for a nonprofit, what does that look like?") -plot hole filling -writing a scene -Reader Feel? editing – help capturing / changing reader reactions to match your goals! -tags title summary for your wip(s) -outlining work GROUP 3 -tone editing – ideas on how to establish a desired tone / help working toward a particular feel for a scene or story -character fidelity editing – help and ideas on how to best capture a character / nuances to a character that could add to your story or scene -dialogue-thought-action balance of a scene or story, and help filling in the gaps / evening it out -pacing issues – for longfic or helping to trim down a shorter work -overhaul work / huge systematic change (tense, POV, add character, weave a new metaphor) -writing sequential scenes / two or more versions of a scene -canon compliance help -research / fact check (large world building level – "tell me what life was like in 1930's Brooklyn") -writing CHUNK(s) / "write the in betweens of my big feelings scenes with me!" -SPaG by hand *We offer sensitivity + expertise reading services for everything in our "Want to create" list! As for ships, our list includes the main ships we have written / characters explored MOST through our work, but we would be able and happy to help with anything not on this list - please message daisytarget with questions or ideas! TIER 1 $10-50 – Group 1+2+3 for <20k TIER 2 $55-100 – Group 1+2+3 for 20-50k, Group 1+2 for 50-75k TIER 3 $105-200 – Group 1+2+3 for 50-75k, Group 1+2 for 75-100k TIER 4 $205-300 – Group 1+2+3 for 75-100k, Group 1+2 for 100-125k TIER 5 $305-400 – Group 1+2+3 for 100-125k, Group 1+2 for 125-150k TIER 6 $405+ – Group 1+2+3 for 125-150k Maximum wordcount is 150k, to be broken up into as many or as few wips as you wish. Depending on your work and preferences (brutal honesty, or handholding?), you may have all five of us looking it over, or only one or two. Winner will get beta services from the following in a group-setting through discord and/or Gdocs-commenting: Buckybarnesdeservestobehappy, Daisytarget, E_Greer, Ruquas, ZenaidaMacroura

Ratings: Gen, Teen, Mature, Explicit

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[tikus-library]

"Heathen"

Avengers AU - One Shot

Characters: Brock Rumlow x reader

Posted: April 17th

WARNINGS: sex, smut, a little rough kissing, cursing

A/N: has some time on my hands after work and somebody once said they wanted Brock smut...? Maybe that was just me? Lol

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

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

“WHAT the fuck is your problem Rumlow?!” You growled, the team quieting as you turned to face him.

“Everybody get the fuck out,” he growled leveling you with a glare, one that made enemies wither on the battlefield, one that had you grimacing as you lifted your chin in defiance, tired of his bullshit.

Continue Reading

[gaysindistress]

As Good a Reason - five

pairing: Mob!Bucky Barnes x reader

summary: when Brock Rumlow picks a fight he can’t win with the White Wolf, he drags his Snake back. Six years after she ran away, Y/N Rumlow is faced with a choice to make; do as she’s told and kill the White Wolf or overtake her father instead because spite’s as good a reason to take his power?

warnings: mob!Bucky, cursing

word count: 2.3k

Tag list @kandis-mom @casa-boiardi @blackwood-bodecker-housewife @cakesandtom @unaxv @hidden-treasures21 @vonalyn

four | series masterlist

disclaimer: credits to original creator/poster of image/gif. found on Google/Pinterest. The women in the banners are not how Y/N is supposed to look. They are merely for aesthetic purposes and Y/N is written for anyone to see themselves in her.

Hospital machines beep around the two Rumlows as the one in the bed struggles to maintain a regular breathing pattern. Brock spent the night in their room, waiting for his dear child to wake up. One might look upon them and think that it was a loving father eagerly awaiting an update on their child’s condition but that’s far from the truth. He couldn’t care less about what happens to them after all of this shit show is over but right now he needs another person on his side and the child laying in the bed is his only option. 

They stir awake and groan from the pain that blossoms from their stomach where their father had shot them less than 24 hours ago. 

“You had surgery so don’t move,” Brock says with his eyes still closed and his feet resting on the edge of the bed. 

“You shot me,” they mutter to myself and repeat louder as the realization sinks in. 

“Get over it,” their father responded, “I needed to send a message to James and your sister.”

“How does that send a message when they weren’t even in the room?”

“I don’t know you tell me,” he says with an eerily calm tone as he opens his eyes and takes his feet off the bed, letting them slam against the floor, “How did he know that Y/N was coming back? Or that you’d be at the party?”

“I…I don’t know. Steve’s being glued to all of our sides so I assume…”

Brock scoffs and stops them in the middle of their sentence, “No. Steve being there when you all got back in not a fucking coincidence. Someone told him and then they told James that you were going to that party to kill him. Who was it?” “I swear I don’t know,” they try to reason with their father but he throws his chair back and grips them by the shoulders. 

“Who’s working with James?” he grits out between clenched teeth. 

“I don’t know, I swear I don’t know,” they cry as he bruises their shoulders and shakes them to get an answer. “Stop lying to me! Who is the fucking rat in this family, Victoria?” She cries even harder when he pushes his thumb into her wound, “I don’t know! I swear to god, I don’t know who it is!”

Brock pushes away from her and she cries out in relief as he paces the room. Clearly anger and violence are not the ways to get through to her so he switches methods. He takes a deep breath and slowly approaches her bedside again. She shrinks away from him and he puts on a sorrowful face.

“I’m sorry. This whole situation has put a lot of pressure on me and I… I’m scared. I’m scared, Victoria. I can’t lose any of you, not again. I won’t,” he lies to her with a fake but convincing wobble to his voice, “I just want to keep you guys safe but I can’t do that if I don’t know who is trying to hurt you. Please sweetheart. If you know anything, anything at all, I need you to tell me.”

Victoria lets her body relax as she stares at him and processes the change that she sees in him. 

“I can’t.”

“Yes you can,” he urges as he places his hands on her knees, “I won’t hurt the I promise. Just tell me who it is.”

Her chin quivers as she fights the words that want to leave her mouth. He reaches up and brushes her hair back behind her ear, “It’s okay, you can tell me.”

“It’s…it’s,” she starts and bows her head so she doesn’t have to look him in the eyes, “It’s Klaus. He’s been working with James for over a year now but with Y/N coming, things got complicated and now he doesn’t know what to do. He’s scared that James is going to hurt Y/N if he goes to you for help but he’s more afraid of what you’d do if you found out.”

Brock pulls her into a hug and rests his head on top of hers as he rubs her back and nods along in false understanding, “Thank you for telling me. I’ll take care of it.”

“You can’t tell him that I told you. He’ll never forgive me,” she cries even harder into his chest, “Please dad, you have to help us.”

“Of course sweetheart. That's what dads are for.”

The room that Y/N has been imprisoned in is nothing short of sterile. Like the rest of the house, there is nothing that might provide comfort to anyone who walks it's houses however she supposes that with James as its owner, comfort will never be found in his presence. 

It’s been four days since he brought her here and subsequently made it painfully obvious that she is alone. Her stay has been nothing short of boring and isolating. Steve and Sam are interchangeable in their duties to check on her, tell her food is ready, or to generally torture her with their words. Aside from those two, she hasn’t seen another soul. James hasn’t even made an appearance, something that she thought she would be grateful for but something deep inside her feels the hole that his absence leaves. 

Maybe it’s her daddy issues. 

Maybe it’s the mommy issues.

Maybe it’s the fucked up childhood she tries to forget everyday. 

Maybe it’s the way he looks at her like she’s the only person in the room. 

It’s the way his piercing eyes never leave hers even if she’s not the one talking. 

It’s the way he noticed her dress that night and praised her.

The way he was gentle with her while commanding an entire room of men. 

The way he jokes with her effortlessly and smirks at her when she impresses him. 

Maybe it’s the mommy issues and the way she craves to feel taken care of and held emotionally even if by him. 

Maybe it’s the daddy issues that make her want attention from him and how she’s fighting the unhealthy ways that she might go about to get that attention.

She wants to believe that she isn’t falling down this rabbit hole but images of him keep flashing in her mind as she lies in bed, eyes closed, and heart thumping widely against her chest. She watches it all in her head; his lips on her neck while whispering her name, the cold look in his eyes when he ruins her, him worshiping her as if she is a god. The images are burned into her mind no matter how much she tries to combat them with logic and reason. Minutes slip away into hours and it’s proving to be useful to try and starve off what her mind wants her to see. A shock to her system is what she needs to restart her brain and the brutal feeling of the cold water from the shower head does the trick. 

“Fuck,” Y/N gasps as the water missles lay waste to her skin, leaving behind red marks from the sheer freezing temperature. She persists though and continues with her shower, washing away the thoughts. She watches the evidence of her transgressions wash off of her body in the form of water and soap as she scrubs at her skin. It leaves her skin raw and aching but at least it distracts from that same sensation that existed in her mind moments ago. 

Stepping out, she wraps a towel around herself and walks back to the bed where the clothes Steve threw at her one day lay scattered. She’d been pleasantly surprised that all of the clothes had tags indicating that they were new and not whatever someone’s ex had left behind. As she goes to drop her towel, she hears what sounds like someone clearing their throat. Knowing that not just anyone could be here with her, Y/N chooses to quietly react and only allow her eyes to flicker up towards the source. 

James is leaning against the wall, almost blending in with it due to his dark jacket with a black shirt underneath and black jeans. His eyes make a lazy trail up until they land on her face and he winks at her. 

“Do you always let yourself into your guest’s room?” she asks as she gathers her clothes to change in the bathroom. 

“You’re not a guest so those rules don’t apply to you.”

“Am I a prisoner then?”

“I haven’t decided yet,” he tells her while pushing off of the wall and taking a seat on her bed with his back to the headboard. Once again he’s lounging like the entire situation is normal, casual, as if they’ve known each other for years. 

She doesn’t close the bathroom door all of the way because she suspects that he would open it anyways. Slipping a white tee on and a pair of black jeans, she takes her time brushing her hair and quite frankly wasting time so she doesn’t have to face him. She puts her back into the same braided ponytail as that night and takes a deep breath before going back into the bedroom. 

“I got this morning,” he tosses his phone to her with a rather disturbing picture pulled up; Victoria on the ground bleeding.

“Who sent this to you?”

“Who do you think?”

She tosses her phone back and starts to fold the clothes to distract herself as she says that she thinks that it’s Brock’s twisted way of playing with her emotions. 

“He’s going to do anything and everything to get me to react before we’re ready. It’s probably fake.”

James narrows his eyes at her, “you’re terrible at lying, you know that?”

Y/N pauses for a second and stares down at her hands, “No I’m not. I just…. I just need to pretend to at the very least, I might burn his entire house down tonight.”

“Even if she was inside?”

“I’d get her out obviously,” she shoots back as she restarts her folding, “then I would tie him to a chair and set the shithole on fire so he could watch it burn around him.”

“So why don’t you?” he asks her. His foot gently knocks over her pile of clothed clothes and the way his grin grows wide means that he did it on purpose. 

“Get your shoes off my bed,” she playfully hits at his foot and ignores his question. He only moves his feet inches away, just enough to make her feel like she’s in control but not enough to fully give her real power. 

He poses his question again and she answers this time, “I’m not ready to.”

From beneath his jacket, he pulls out his gun and points it at her. Y/N takes it from him and turns it back on him in the same amount of time it took to pull it on her. His grin grows wider and it pisses her off to no end. 

“What?”

“You say you’re not ready but you took my gun from me without hesitation.”

She seems shocked at her own actions and her shoulder droops as soon as she realizes what she did. Y/N hands it back to him and resumes her idle folding as she tries to hide the shaking in her hands. James notices of course and questions it. 

“Are you afraid?”

“That’s a stupid question.”

“Is it though?”

“My feelings don’t matter,” she wrinkles her nose to stop the burn of her emotions bubbling to the surface, “If anything, I’m waiting on you to get the stuff I asked for.”

“I did, it’s been here for two days but,” he starts as he gets up and rounds the bed to stand behind her, “if you need more time, I can give it to you.”

His cold hands gently turn her so that she’s facing him. He stares down at her, eyes scanning her face but he comes up with very little so he presses, “Do you need more time?”

“No,” she says while basking in the feeling of his hands trailing across her bare arms, “We made a deal and I don’t want to drag it out any longer than needed.”

“Do you want more time?” She looks at him confused and he elaborates, “If you want to stay here, all you have to do is ask.”

“What I want is to go home and be as far as I can from here, from all of this, from Brock, but especially from you.” 

He gives her a small smile and looks down for a moment before meeting her gaze with something new blazing in his eyes, “who said I was letting you go?”

Y/N tries to take a step away but his hands tighten on her biceps and she’s reminded of who the man before her is. 

“James,” she murmurs as a quiet plea to let her go. 

“What?” he says but it’s not gentle nor is it kind. It’s harsh, demanding, and cruel. Everything he was said to have been came through in that single word but she can’t back down. She has to push to be sure, to know that she had a chance of being free.

“James,” she starts softly, hoping to ease his rage, “we made a deal; in exchange for my siblings’ lives, I would help you kill Brock and then I’d be free to go.”

“I’ll make you another fucking deal,” he seethes as his emotions boil to the surface and he can’t contain the possessiveness anymore, “I’ll get rid of that piece of shit and you stay here with me.”

She shakes her head at him, unable to grasp that her chance to be free is slipping through her finger tips. Her voice breaks as the words barely slip out, “No, I need to be the one to do it. I need to get away.”

James can’t help but roar at her suggestion to leave, to leave him. He takes both of her hands into one and grabs her by the chin before he growls his promise to her, “You’re mine now, little snake. You don’t get to leave.”

Me.

The unspoken ending to his sentence.

Her chest heaves as the words settle in. Her eyes search his once again for a shred of humanity to let her know that he can be bargained with.

Again she finds nothing but the cold and cruel determination that he holds to own, claim, control, rule.

Faced with the reality that there’s no escape from him, Y/N agree. She nods and gives him the answer he craves. He places a searing kiss to her forehead. 

She’s in the belly of the beast now with only one way out.

[thehydraethereal]

Kinktober Celebration

.ೃ࿐ hello, my lovelies! for the official last week of kinktober, I have decided to do a little celebration with you.

.ೃ࿐ the celebration is basically me writing your requests. you can request as many one-shots as you want but it is necessary to choose an emoji (if you're anon). if i like your request idea, i might turn it into a series <3

.ೃ࿐ rules, characters & kinks i'll write for:

-any Chris Evans character

-any Sebastian Stan character (preferably Bucky)

-any Chris Hemsworth character

-Rafe Cameron

-Brock Rumlow

kinks/themes: ONLY DARK!!! dacryphilia, stalking, age-gap, dv (domestic violence), age-gap, degradation, teacher/student relationship, step-cest, kidnapping, sexual harassment, bullying and THAT IS ALL. Also, i only write for female!reader. Make sure to check my masterlist so you can be sure.

YOUR REQUESTS ARE WELCOMED AND LET THE CELEBRATION BEGIN. AS A NEW WRITER, I DO ENCOURAGE REQUESTING, SO I CAN GROW MY BLOG. In your requests, please include the character, the kink/theme/trope and a little plot. MUAH MUAH LOVE Y'ALL

[artificial-red-head]

Hell Bent For Leather Part 3

Pairing: Bucky Barnes X Reader, Minor Steve Rogers X Natasha Romanov

Summary: Bucky talks to you again to convince you to come back the the clubhouse. But can you trust him?

Tags/Warnings: Biker AU, Paste Abusive Relationships, Dialogue Heavy

A/N: I'm not dead. I did finish this at 3 AM so I make no promises on how good this is.

Chapter 3: All await, engine is ticking over

Bucky had another talk with Steve and Natasha in the morning. After talking with Nat about her possibly still alive, long-lost sister, she finally gave them a name.  

Y/N. 

The name replayed in his head. He remembers a couple of months prior to him leaving Hydra that Rumlow was throwing that name around. Back then, Bucky did not care about whatever woman Brock was trying to pursue, but now he wished he would have done something. Anything to prevent this mess of a situation from happening. 

He wishes he would have shot Rumlow right between the eyes the night that he left. 

Both Steve and Bucky agreed that if the woman from the diner was who they thought she was, then Bucky would take her to the clubhouse–if he could convince her. If she were anything like Natasha then she was definitely stubborn, but that was not going to stop him. 

Bucky went back to the Maximoffs first, not wanting to go all the way past the motel to the diner if you were not there. 

Pietro sat behind the front desk with his feet raised on the desk and flipping a butterfly knife around only stopping when he saw Bucky. He was more than willing to tell him that you had gone to the diner early that morning and were not going to be back until dark. 

Bucky was not a patient man–something his ma told him quite often–and was not going to wait until you got back. He needed to talk to you now.   

Under any other circumstances, he would have not been this terrified to talk to a woman. James Buchanan Barnes was a smooth talker and could get his way with just about any woman, and damn did he know it. But the more he thought about the situation the more freaked out he was, not even the rumbling of the engine in his motorcycle was enough to calm his nerves. 

He sat in the little parking lot in front of the diner for a couple of minutes, mauling over his thoughts. 

How would you react? 

Was this a good idea? 

Could he convince you? 

After convincing himself that he could convince almost any woman to do just about anything he wanted–jesus, he sounded like a man whore–he finally got off his bike and went into the diner before he could psych himself out.   

Upon entering the door he noticed that you now had a name tag attached to the little retro dress that you had been wearing, neither of which he had not noticed before. He stepped closer to read the name tag. 

Y/N. 

It could not have been a fucking coincidence he told himself. 

He needed to talk to you now but from the way that you were avoiding him, he knew that you definitely did not want to talk to him. Instead of waiting for you to come to him, he sat down at one of the booths in your area, keeping his eyes down on the table until you had to come up to him.

“Why are you here?” You asked him harshly and in a lowered tone. 

“I needed to talk to ya.” 

You furrowed your eyebrows, “I don’t even know you.” 

He took a deep breath, “I’m Bucky Barnes of the Howling Commandos Motorcycle Club.” 

Your eyes widened a bit at his name. You looked back at the kitchen before placing your hands down on the table and leaning over, “I'm on the clock.” 

“Fine, then I would like a coffee.” 

You left his table and returned with a mug and a pot of coffee–who knows how long ago it brewed–and started pouring slowly. Bucky took this as his sign to talk. “Look, I got an offer for you.” 

You looked up from the coffee pot with a look in your eyes that he could not pinpoint, uncertainty maybe, but he continued, “You don't have to take it, but I think it will be better than your situation here. The club owns a bar in the next town over and we’re understaffed. You’ll be paid a hell of a lot better there and we can offer you a room at the clubhouse.”  

He could see the panic on your face as soon as he mentioned the clubhouse. You placed the coffee pot roughly on the table, for a moment he thought that it would break. “I don't want a room in the clubhouse.” You stated. 

“Sit down,” Bucky whispered. This was not going how he planned. “Please.”

You looked back at the kitchen again before deciding to sit down across from him. 

“You were a part of Hydra.” He stated bluntly. 

“How did-” 

He cut you off, “It doesn't matter how I know. You're far enough out to be safe but take the job at the bar and me and my club will protect you.”

There was nervousness in your eyes as you scanned the restaurant. “No, no more clubs.” You said still not looking at him.

Bucky snapped his fingers in front of you on the table to get your attention. “Look at me, sweetheart. We’re nothing like those sick bastards, I know of the horrors that happened there because I’ve also witnessed it first hand. I’m sure you’ve heard of the Howling Commandos from someone or other that strayed from Hydra.” His voice lowered even more when he mentioned Hydra.

He took a deep breath, “If you don’t want the job that’s fine, at least come with me to our territory, you’ll have plenty of job options and I can keep an eye on ya. Please.” 

You looked away from him again as you thought about it. He knew what he was saying was a lot to take in at once considering you had just recently left Hydra territory. But he was trying his hardest to convince you that you would be safer with them. 

“I’ll take it.” You said, making eye contact with him but there was still nervousness in your voice. 

Bucky looked you gently in the eyes and said in all sincerity, “I promise you doll, nothin’ gonna happen to you.”

Before Bucky left the diner he told you that he would meet you at the Maximoff’s after you got off of work before he took you back to the clubhouse. You had asked him how he knew that you were there and he explained to you that they were technically their territory since they were under the Camandos’ protection. And he also mentioned that Pietro had called and said that there was a possible gang member in the area. You had just huffed a small laugh at him and told him to leave before he could have gotten you into trouble. 

Bucky had called from the Maximoff’s phone to tell Steve that he was successful and would be bringing you back in a couple of hours. 

“Where was she?” Steve had asked. 

“Working down at Peggy's old place and stayin' at the Maximoffs.” 

“Sharon owns it now, doesn’t she?” Bucky could hear his sigh from the other end of the line.

“Yeah, and you should go talk to her and tell her that we just snatched one of her waitresses.” 

Steve scoffed out a laugh, “And ya couldn’t have done it while you were there?”

“I was too busy trying to convince this poor girl that she should come with me to the clubhouse. She was scared out of her mind and probably thought that I was gonna bring her back to that hell hole for steppin’ in our territory.” 

Steve ended up hanging up on him after he mentioned that he should have gone to see Sharon a long time ago. Better two years late than never. Steve had scoffed at him again and told him to mind his damn business. 

He was sitting in the motel lobby looking at a magazine when you came back. He told you to change your clothes and pack up and he would tell Pietro and Wanda that he was getting you out of their hair. You ended up rolling your eyes at him when you thought that he was no longer looking at you. 

Wanda had asked him if that was Natasha’s sister after you left. He questioned the woman and she had just told him that it was intuition. Bucky called her a witch and she shrugged her shoulders and smiled. 

You came back to the lobby about fifteen minutes later with wet hair and a small bag. Bucky raised an eye at you before remembering that you were quite literally on the run from Hydra.

He told you to follow behind him on the way to the clubhouse. By now the sun was setting and the look on your face before they had rolled out of the parking lot he could tell that you were tired. Tired of working a double shift or tired of being on the road, he was unsure. 

You followed quietly behind him, Bucky had to look back every once in a while to make sure that you were still there. He had made it this far and he did not want to lose you now that he was so close. 

By the time you had both made it back to the clubhouse, he could tell that you were barely awake. He offered to take your bag and you did not even put up a fight, just nodded your head and held it out for him. 

You followed him into the clubhouse, waking up slightly from the lights and looking around.

He saw the look in your eyes the exact moment you saw her. Your eyes had started to water. 

“Natalia?”

Taglist: @vicmc624 @emmabarnes

[holylulusworld]

Deranged Marriage (4) – Sticks and stones break my bones

Summary: Your father wants you to choose a husband. Your chosen one doesn’t like the idea one bit.

Pairing: Mobster!Bucky Barnes x (Mafia daughter)! Reader

Characters: Steve Rogers, Sam Wilson, Clint Barton, Ayo, Okoye, Jake Jensen, Brock Rumlow

Warnings: arranged marriage, language, angst, strong/bratty reader, banter, hand around throat, sexual tension, idiots in love, implied smut/smutty dreams, blood, injuries, violence, fighting, attempted murder, getting shot

Deranged Marriage masterlist

<< Part 3

“Fuck, not that bad,” he groans in your ear. His hand still holds you down by the back of your neck when Bucky finally slips out of you. “At least you shut your mouth when you are full of cock.”

You weakly lift your head to watch Bucky put his pants back on. He kicks your dress out of his way while looking for his shoes. “Where are you going?”

“Aw, did you think I’ll stick around,” he laughs. “I wanted to get off and you were there. Don’t think your special.”

Holding back a sob you watch Bucky leave your room. He’s still laughing when he slams the door shut…

“Fuck, not,” you jolt up on your bed. “Why do I have to dream off that bastard? I hate him so much. I’ll kill that bastard sooner or later.”

Bucky left you alone at the library after Clint stormed into the room to drag him off you. You’re not sure the mobster would’ve left you alive if not for Clint.

You still feel his hand around your throat when you touch your tender skin.

 “Fucking asshole. I’m going to—”

“What are you doing?” you hear your father yell at someone. There’s a commotion outside your room. You can hear someone grunt, and a gunshot hitting your door. 

You immediately roll out of your bed to crawl toward your nightstand and get the gun hidden out. 

“Daddy,” you swallow thickly as more gunshots hit the wall and door. “Fuck. What do I do?”

You brace yourself and crawl toward your wardrobe. Your father, ever the prepared man, bought a bulletproof vest for you. 

“I’ve got this,” you grab the vest and hurriedly put it on. “I need to look for daddy.” 

Before you get up, you grab a pair of sneakers and put them on. If you must run, it’ll be easier with your shoes on.

You get up to sneak toward your door and try to calm your nerves.

All you can hear are gunshots, and men screaming at each other. One of them is your father. He calls someone bastard and fires a few rounds until you hear him grunt.

“Daddy, no!” you don’t think, just act.

You rip the door open and storm out of your room, running toward your father’s bedroom while dodging bullets left and right. 

Men scream at you, tell you to drop the gun. Others tell you to stay by their side.

 You cannot distinguish enemies from allies any longer.

You just run toward your father lying on the ground. “Daddy.”

“Sweetie, go to the panic room,” he pats your hand. “Hurry…they are going to.” He rasps. “Please, Y/N.”

“Fuck off,” you unlock your gun and fire two bullets at the next best enemy. “Stay away from me!!”

The man drops to the ground, not dead, but barely breathing. “Boss! Y/N” you recognize Sam’s voice. “Take your hands off her!”

Someone grabs your arm and tries to drag you away from your father, but you won’t have it.

You elbow the guy grabbing you, making him regret he put his hands on you as you twirl around to kick him in the chest.

“Take that! That’s Wilson style,” you growl and knee him in the groan.

“Y/N,” Sam runs toward you. He aims a gun at a guy behind you wanting to shoot your father, but you are faster. All the training with your father’s men wasn’t for nothing.

You twirl back around and blindly fire at the man, hitting him square in the chest.

 “Fuck, Y/N,” Clint grabs your father’s arms to drag him inside the bedroom. “Come in here.”

“Y/N! NO!” you don’t even feel the bullet hitting your arm as you fire your last bullets at the next guy wanting to kill your father. “HANDS OFF HER!”

Sam takes the man down with his shotgun. “Clint, panic room. Bring the boss and Y/N inside. Bruce! Where the fuck are you!”

You feel a little lightheaded when you hear more men storm into the mansion.

“Rogers, finally,” you hear Jensen grunt. “They almost shot my pretty face.”

“What about Y/F/N and Y/N?” Steve storms along the hallways with his men. “Shit, what happened here?”

“Barnes maybe?” Sam pants. “About damn time you showed up. I thought we are done for. They outnumbered us.”

“Breach of security,” Jensen points at the broken iPad in his hands. “I checked on the security. Someone shut it down.” He huffs. “I don’t know how, but whoever did it, they are damn good.”

“Maybe it was you,” Steve grunts. “And no, it wasn’t Barnes. He was with me not half an hour ago. It can’t be Bucky.”

“Guys, can you stop debating?” you cry. “Daddy is bleeding out. He got shot,” you press your hand to your father’s abdomen. “We need to get him to the hospital.”

“Fuck, Clint, Sam,” Brock stumbles along the hallways. He can barely walk but tries to tell Sam he saw someone make it out alive. Brock limps toward the men, handing them a broken phone. “The one getting away lost this. Maybe Jensen can check on it.”

He falls to his knees, grunting.

“Shit, Rumlow,” Sam mutters. “Get back up. Don’t die on me! You still owe me fifty bucks!”

“Everything is going to be okay,” you clutch your still bleeding arm, ignoring that the nurse tries to get you to follow her. “I don’t care if I bleed out. I’ll stay here until I know my father is still alive.”

“Miss, you are bleeding. We need to get the bullet out of your arm,” she tries to convince you.”

“Who the fuck are you?!” growling at the nurse you sneer. “I said, I’ll be waiting here until someone tells me about my father’s condition. So, fuck off!”

“You must excuse my fiancé,” you grit your teeth as Bucky Barnes and his entourage walk toward you, Steve and Sam. “She went through a lot tonight. I’ll talk to her. Just give us a moment.”

“What do you want here, Barnes?” you grimace as Bucky grabs your wrist to get a better look at your bleeding arm. “Let go of me.”

“Barnes, not now. We are not in the mood for your shit tonight,” Sam pats the gun he hides under his jacket. “No offense, but you are our number one suspect.”

“Me?” Bucky huffs. “Why?”

“Y/N embarrassed you in front of everyone you know,” Clint snarls. “You weren’t there to help us either. We called, and you didn’t answer.”

“I was busy fucking some bimbo,” he looks at you, still holding your wrist. “I had to get out all the pent-up tension.” Bucky drops his eyes to your exposed legs. You’re still in your panties and a shirt. “No fancy dress tonight?”

“Last warning,” pursing your lips you give Bucky your best bitchface, “if you don’t let go of me, I’ll cut your cock off.”

“Lovely as ever,” he dips his head to whisper in your ear. “You can play the big girl and bleed out. I don’t care. Just you know, if your father dies, I’ll get his empire and you’ll be a good girl.”

“I hate you.”

“That’s the spirit, doll,” Bucky pecks your cheek. “Now, come with me. Let the doctor get the bullet out and I promise to go easy on you for tonight.”

“Barnes, last warning,” Okoye steps in. “Y/N went through enough. She got shot. Her father got shot. She killed two men. It’s a bit much. Don’t you think?”

“You killed two men,” he smirks down at you. “Good girl. I hope you know it gets me rock-hard when a girl can handle a gun.”

“I can slit your throat too,” you retort. 

“None of this now,” Bucky finally releases your wrist only to wrap his arm around your waistline. “We will see a doctor now. I can’t have you bleeding out.”

“As if you care…”

“Careful, doc,” Bucky warns as you receive an anesthetic injection. “She’s my fiancé. Don’t damage her.”

“Ignore him,” you grumble. “He’s here to make sure that this night turns out even worse. As if getting shot isn’t worse enough.”

“Miss Y/N, I need to stitch the wound up. It won’t take long,” the doctor ignores Bucky and gets to work. “You got lucky. It’s only a graze wound.”

“She’ll live, huh?” it’s hard to ignore Bucky when he gets up to stand next to the doctor to watch him like a hawk. “Be careful.” You give the doctor an apologetic smile. “She’s mine to break.”

“Why don’t you fuck off and leave me alone? You don’t care if I’m dead or alive,” you snarl, making the doctor flinch. You can see the panic in his eyes. “Don’t worry, doc. He only wants to kill me. I told the truth about his limp dick and now he wants to murder me.”

“I—” the doctor chokes out. “I need to stitch this up. Please keep me out of this. I got a family.”

“Great, Barnes. Now you scared the doctor,” you huff. “Get lost or get fucked. Maybe find yourself a sexy nurse taking care of your dick.”

“Watch your tongue, doll,” Bucky grips your chin. “You are talking to your beloved fiancé.” He lowers himself to press a soft kiss on your lips. “I’ll be waiting outside. Don’t take too long, doc. I know when you try to put your hands on my girl…”

“He’s going to make it. You can go now, Barnes. We don’t need you here. Rogers will help us as long as Brock, Vis, and Stark are at the hospital,” Sam whispers as he watches you snuggle in your pillow. “They gave her the good stuff.”

“She finally shuts her mouth,” Bucky grins. “I should’ve asked the doctor to give me the pain meds.”

“Why do you bother?” Okoye steps inside the bedroom. “As Sam said, you can go now. We’ve got it handled.”

“I won’t leave,” your fiancé grunts. “I promised Y/F/N to take care of his daughter and empire. As long as he’s out cold, I’ll keep that promise. Whoever came for her father wanted to see Y/N dead too,” Bucky glances at Ayo and Okoye. “And they got help. Someone deactivated the cameras and alarm.”

“An insider,” Sam concludes.

“An insider,” Bucky confirms. “I don’t like it when someone wants to blame me. I hate that little brat, but I didn’t try to kill her or Y/F/N. I’ll stick around until we found them. Now leave me and my fiancé alone. I don’t trust anyone...”

>> Part 5

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