#dark!brock rumlow x reader

[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.

⊗

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[thehydraethereal]

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

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ও 𝓘 𝐍𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝓐 𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝓜 𝐘 𝓦 𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆

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

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

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

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

[lokiswifeduh]

Don't leave me

Pairings- Mob!Bucky x Fem!Reader

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

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

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

WC- 3k

catch up here (part one)

masterlist

"Doll, please."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

_________________

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

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

Try something else, you thought.

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

Bucky was kidnapped.

Steve was put in charge.

You were kidnapped.

Natasha was working with Rumlow.

The torture.

The pain.

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

Being shot.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I love you, doll."

________________________

The next few days were agonizing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

______________

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

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

"Top floor, back left bedroom."

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

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

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

But the sight in front of you made you smile.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bucky grinned, loving this color on you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

End

__________________

part one (read first)

masterlist

Taglist:

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

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

No Sugar Tonight 4

Character: Brock Rumlow

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

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

You look around the diner uncertainly. Brock slurps down his third coffee as you wring your hands in your lap. There’s a few bites of waffle left on your plate but you can barely stomach what you managed to get down. You don’t understand what he’s doing. 

He signals for the waitress and asks, no, tells her to get the check. He has a way of commanding everyone around him. Including you. 

His dark eyes narrow in your direction. You wonder if he can see your thoughts written on your face. You drop your gaze to the table and fidget. He sighs and wipes his mouth with a napkin. He crumples it and tosses it on his plate as he leans forward. 

“That syrup is all sugar,” he flicks the glass bottle. “You should have eggs for breakfast. Good protein.” 

You wince and look at him, “I’m sorry--” You don’t understand why he didn’t say anything before. 

“Now you know. I know you can listen. You can learn. When I tell you something, I want you to remember,” his voice is grizzly and grinding. “I don’t like to repeat myself.” 

“Uh, okay,” your brows tweak in confusion. 

The waitress returns and he pays in cash. He leaves her a tip but not a very good one. You only slide off the bench as he stands at the end and huffs. 

He keeps you ahead of him as he herds you out of the diner. You come out onto the street and dawdle just along the pavement. He comes up next to you and seizes your hand. You jolt in surprise as his callouses brush your soft skin. 

“I should go home--” 

“We’re going home,” he insists and tugs your arm. “I know you remember what I said.” 

You search the city street as panic rises up your throat, “but... I don’t know you--” 

“You know me. You need me.” He curtails your argument. “I don’t like you acting like this.” 

“I’m not...” you begin and shake your head. “I was only doing my job, sir.” 

“Not your job anymore. Things are different. How they should be.” He drags you down the sidewalk, yanking you into step as your soles scuff in reluctance. You have no choice by to keep pace. “You will have everything you need.” 

Your mouth opens and you snap it shut again. What can you say or do? He’s so much stronger than you. Besides, he already called your boss and ruined everything. 

“You’re really pretty, you shouldn’t make those face,” he says. 

You wipe the frustration from your features and put your head down. He clears his throat. 

“Stand straight. Good posture is important.” He girds again. 

You make yourself stand straight and measure your steps with his. He slows and you look around, searching for the reason. He approaches a black card and opens the passenger door. 

“In.” 

That’s it. His singular order. His hand creeps up from yours and up your arm and he nudges you. You obey. 

He shuts the door and goes around the hood. He gets in the driver seat and focus on starting the engine and pulling out into the traffic crawl. You shrink down and hug yourself. 

“Where... Can I get some of my things--” 

“Got em.” He snarls. 

You swallow the last of your resistance. You’re not sure what he means but you’ll take it as a no. You look out the windshield and watch the pedestrians and the taxis. Wait, you should scream! You should cry out for help! 

You peek over at the door and your hand trails towards the handle. The door locks with a thunk. 

“Do your seatbelt up,” he orders. 

You retract and do as he bids. He grunts and taps his fingers on the ridge steering wheel. He reaches over to clasp your wrist in his thick hand and squeezes. 

“I got a buddy on the force. Several. You wanna go for a ride to a precinct, I’ll take you there myself and we’ll see how that goes. You don’t needa be like this. I’m not hurting you, I'm helping.” He raises your arm and you whimper. You don’t know what to do. He pulls your hand close and he presses a kiss to your knuckles, a gesture both unnerving yet gentle.  

He lets you go and grips the wheel again. You rub your wrist as a tingle ripples in the back of your hand. You look ahead through the window then back at him. 

He’s a big man. Thick arms, broad shoulders, tall. His dark hair has a few strands of silver that blend into the rest and his jaw is shadowed with stubble. The cleft in his chin adds to his sinister appearance and an icy determination squares his features. 

“You can turn some music on,” he nods towards the radio. “None of that girly pop.” 

You hesitate but cautiously reach to touch the buttons on the dash. You scan through the satellite radio stations and find a song you know. The White Stripes. He hums but you can’t tell if he’s annoyed or content. You sit back and hug yourself. 

“I haven’t been mean so you don’t needa be scared,” he commands. Everything he says is an order, as if you’re his soldier. 

“Yes, sir,” you gulp. 

“Brock, baby, you can call me Brock,” he insists. 

[talia-rumlow]

Bound & Brockened Masterlist!

This story is the fastest growing story I´ve EVER posted. I absolutely LOVE to write this story. And I hope you´ll enjoy reading it as well. Just remember the warnings. Read with care!

Brock Rumlow, a ruthless badass, with a fucked up dominant side! After a mission goes terribly wrong, he gets fired from his job. After picking up girls in bars for a while, he gets that he needs more. No more of these fucked up, girls that leaves the next morning. He needs something stable. Someone he can use, day after day, week after week, month after month, year after year. Someone he can get out his frustration on.

So he decides to buy you, at an auction!

You had no money, no place to live, nothing left. That's the only reason you decided to give yourself away. To use the only thing you had, to maybe get some food and a roof over your head. You had no idea what you were walking into!

DARK STORY!! ⚠️⚠️

Containing graphic descriptions of non-con elements, bdsm, different forms of torture, graphic sexual descriptions.

⚠️READ ON OWN RISK⚠️

Chapter One - Hades

Chapter Two - Owned!

Chapter Three - Choices!

Chapter Four - Play!

Chapter Five - Rules!

Chapter Six - Punished!

Chapter Seven - Plaything!

[lulu-reads]

Need to catch up with this masterlist too.

Masterlist

Updated 9/26/24

What’s New?

Mine - Part 4 - (7/21/24)

Need You Now - (8/15/24)

Mine to Ruin - (8/23/24)

Rightfully His - (9/4/24)

Lovestruck - (9/13/24)

Weekend Loving - (9/26/24)

Coming Soon

What Do You Desire?

Mine - Part 5

Love of my Life - Autumn writing challenge 2

Chrome & Leather - Chapter 19

Civil War Brooklyn - Chapter 18

Marvel Series

Smut & Fluff

Dark Fics

Challenges

Taglists are open! Please let me know if you want to be added to a series taglist or permanent taglist. See link in bio.

A/N: DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE UNDER 18 YEARS OLD.

Reblogs & Comments on Tumblr are welcomed and encouraged. 😊💜

I do NOT give my consent to have my work translated or reposted on any social media platform, apps or third party sites. If you see my work anywhere other than MY Tumblr or AO3 then it was stolen. I will NEVER give written or verbal permission as this is MY work. 🚫🚫

Marvel Series, Smut & Fluff, Dark Series and Challenge Moodboard by @fictional-affairs

[navybrat817]

Dark and Light

Pairing: Winter Soldier x Female Reader, Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: You learn the real reason why Hydra wants to keep you.

Word Count: Over 2.65k

Warnings: Threat of dubcon/noncon, minor character death, violence, canon divergent, captivity, brainwashing, slight feels (it's me, okay?), Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?).

A/N: It's been almost 3 years since the last part of Soldat and Sparrow. Are you lovelies still interested? ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by the talented @silkholland . Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

The cell they kept you in this time was larger than your last. It didn't make it any less uncomfortable. The thick gray walls surrounding you made the room suffocatingly quiet and hollow. You only knew the color thanks to the singular lightbulb in the center of the ceiling, too high for you to try and make a weapon out of the glass. Without windows, you didn't know it was dark or light outside.

There was no escape, but you couldn't give up hope.

It was maddening not knowing the time of day as you played the waiting game on the worn mattress in between meals and sleeping. The screams of your lover played on a morbid loop in your mind and you had to will yourself to not let tears surface. Other than temporary relief for your emotions and aching heart, crying would do you no good. It never did.

What you needed to do was focus.

The man on the bridge.

He triggered something inside of the Winter Soldier. Something Hydra wanted to keep locked away. But what was it?

Bucky. He called him Bucky. He knew him. But how?

Two hard knocks on the door pushed the thought away before it swung open. Narrowing your eyes as Brock walked in, you wondered if he could’ve been a good man in another life and fought for the people who needed it most the way he pretended to. This wasn’t that life though. He chose his side.

The wrong side.

“You know, I don’t get it,” he said, crossing his arms as he stood in the doorway. He didn’t hide the lust from his eyes as he looked you over. “I mean, the Asset does his job well, but it’s like he forgets all about being a soldier when he’s deep in your pussy.”

“What can I say? I guess my pussy’s just that good,” you sneered, not in the mood for his taunts or anything else.

“Is that right? Maybe he should fuck your ass next to get the stick out of it,” he snapped back. “Or are you too stuck up for that?”

Pierce had a range of prostitutes lined up to satisfy his soldiers, but Brock didn’t hide how pissed off he was that you were “given” to the Asset after that fateful training day. He claimed it was special treatment. He dropped the issue almost as quickly as it was brought up, which led you to believe he was either reprimanded or given something to shut him up.

“Is that what bothers you, Rumlow? That I'd rather fuck him than you?” You asked, tilting your head as you regarded him. “And just so we’re clear, I’ll never want you.”

Brock clenched his fists as he took a step forward. “You really are a fucking-”

“Let her be,” a melodic voice ordered behind him, making you stiffen as he moved out of the way.

The doctor, or Doc as most called him, stepped into the room with a kind smile on his face. Unassuming in stature, you knew better from the start than to judge him by appearance. The man was a snake in the grass ready to spread his venom to unsuspecting victims.

“How are you?” He asked.

You kept your eyes on him as he moved closer, doing your best not to show any emotion. The doctor somehow made you more uncomfortable than Rumlow and that said something. “How do you think I'm doing?”

“Hmm. Not well, I'm sure.”

“You guessed correctly,” you said.

You didn’t know why he bothered asking. Maybe he thought he was better than the others because he didn't physically hurt you. If anything, his indifference to the evil around him made it worse. It told you that he either justified or accepted it.

Either way, he disgusted you.

“Don't worry. You'll have the Soldat back soon and I’m sure you'll feel all better,” he assured you.

“You wiped him,” you reminded him, your voice cracking.

His screams echoed in your mind again, your heart aching as you tried to block it out. When pain knocked on the door, it didn't wait for an answer. It broke it down and made itself at home. But in the pain Hydra inflicted, the soldier found solace with you and you found the same with him. The light for each other within the darkness.

While you failed to protect him and couldn't stop what they did to his mind, you had to believe you’d help heal his soul once you had him back.

“We did indeed as we have many times.”

You knocked his hand away as he tried to place it on your shoulder, your stomach turning from his words. “Don't touch me.”

He held his hands up in surrender as he took a step back. “I mean no harm.”

“All of you mean harm,” you whispered.

The Soldat was your only bright spot in this nightmare. Ironic that he thought you were fire, bright and warm. The truth was you burned because of him. He was your eternal fuel that made the flames grow.

“I only want what is best for you,” Doc argued, his eyes void of any emotional depth behind his rimless glasses.

“Liar,” you whispered.

An exasperated sigh left his lips. “Now, now. I really do want what’s best for you. Don't you realize how important you are?”

“I'm not important,” you said. You never were. “Pierce made it clear that I don't have a purpose.”

But if that was the case, why were you still alive?

The doctor's chuckle made your blood run cold. “That's what he wants you to think. You see, the more they cut you down and make you question your worth, the easier it becomes for you to comply. Because by that point you’re so desperate for survival you'll do what is asked of you,” he explained, pushing his glasses up. “Yet you still only comply to an extent. It’s rather fascinating.”

He stared at you like you were a bug under a magnifying glass. And wasn’t that what you were to him? An experiment or something for him to study? “I haven't complied. I won't.”

“Oh, but you have,” Brock chimed in. You almost forgot he was still in the room. “Those missions you completed. The lives you took.”

Bile rose in your throat as images of violence and blood flashed in your mind. They would haunt you for the rest of your days. “No, I didn't want to hurt anyone.”

“Of course, you didn't. It’s as I said: desperation. You did what you had to do to survive,” the false sympathy from Doc grated on your nerves. “Don't let the weight of those souls wear you down. They were meaningless. But you? Oh, you are meant for more.”

He attempted to touch you again, but his hand moved toward your stomach this time instead of your shoulder. “I said don't touch me!” you snapped, scrambling backward to put distance between the two of you. As much as you wanted to hurt him, Brock was still there and could do a lot of damage.

The doctor pressed his lips together before he smirked. “Pierce and Rumlow are right. You have a hold on him. Even with his programming and orders, it all comes back to you,” he said, your body going rigid. Where was he going with this? “And it’s you that we want to carry his child.”

Your stomach churned again, but you weren’t sure if it was more at the thought that he wanted to force a child on you or that he’d try and force your soldier to impregnate you. “Care to repeat that?”

“You’re going to carry his child. You’re going to give birth to the perfect soldier. And you’ll keep doing so,” he said slowly like you were a petulant child, standing tall and proud as your mouth fell open in horror. “You’re the perfect incubator.”

Your stomach sank as you looked between him and Brock, wishing it was a sick joke. “No, I won't.”

“You think you have a choice?” The doctor questioned nonchalantly, like he was asking what you wanted for dinner. “And do you think the Asset needs to remember exactly what you mean to him to fuck you? I guess we'll see if he does. Science versus instinct.”

The room became eerily silent as the doctor gave you his first genuine smile since he walked in. You struggled to get your bearings and process the words. That was why you were still alive. They were going to make you an incubator. Force your soldier to breed you. They would take another choice away from him. And raise your children in captivity.

In Hell on earth.

“Well, that shut the bitch up,” Brock chuckled.

Before you could think, you launched yourself from the bed. The doctor’s eyes widened as you tackled him to the ground, unable to brace himself as you landed the first blow to his face. You straddled his waist, the second hit knocking his glasses away as fury rushed through your veins like a wildfire. He didn’t try to fight you off.

You could’ve cried. Screamed. Anything to keep him from making his twisted plan a reality.

The sound of a gun cocking stopped you from hitting Doc a third time.

“I won’t kill you,” Brock said, your fist frozen in the air as you looked toward him. Your chest heaved as you stared down the barrel of the gun. “But I’ll make it hurt if you don’t get up.”

“Go ahead,” you said through clenched teeth.

The doctor coughed, but held up a hand. “No shooting,” he croaked as you looked at him out of the corner of your eye. “No harming her.”

Brock’s eyes nearly rolled into the back of his head. “She can still lie down and take a cock if-”

None of you could have foreseen the metal hand punching through the wall. Before you could blink, the hand closed around Brock’s shoulder and pulled him through, his cry of pain silenced almost immediately by the sound of a gunshot. The doctor beneath you was long forgotten as you scrambled to your feet just in time to see your soldier step into the room through the hole, his face obscured by his typical mask and goggles.

But you felt his gaze on you as he stood like a dark angel ready to avenge you.

Hope launched into your chest like a shooting star as you smiled. “Soldat,” you whispered.

He came for you. Found you. But the star that filled your heart quickly faded when he didn’t move toward you or say “Sparrow”.

The dread grew stronger when he holstered his gun and took out his signature knife.

Was this the beginning of the end?

The doctor smiled as he wiped the blood from his lap and slowly stood up. “You really think he’s here to save you? Oh, no. He just doesn’t want any competition near his breeding partner,” he taunted as your eyes stung. “Back from your assignment early, Soldat? Good. Now you can complete your mission.”

The Winter Soldier tilted his head before he took a step forward.

You remained rooted to the spot, casting your fear that he’d force himself on you aside. “Bucky,” you said, using the name you heard. His real name. A tear rolled down your cheek when he flinched and tightened his fingers around the handle. “I’m not going to fight you. Or hurt you. Do you know why?”

Another step forward, your heart pounded as you stood as still as a statue. “Why?” He asked, the word clear to you through his mask.

The tears flowed freely as he stopped in front of you and slipped his goggles off, your heart breaking when he dispassionately looked at you. “Because I’m your Sparrow. Remember? My fire burns for you and you only,” you told him and pointed to your chest. You needed him to remember. “We swore we’d be free together. Somehow.”

“Don’t listen to her. Breed her and be done with it,” the doctor ordered.

The soldier’s brows furrowed before his metal hand came up around your neck, not squeezing or bringing you any harm.

But it felt like a warning.

“You won’t hurt me,” you breathed out, placing your hand on his arm as you kept your panic at bay. “They won’t break me. And I won’t leave you,” you promised, echoing his words when he took you the first time. “I’m yours.”

No matter what they forced him to do to you, he would never be to blame.

The doctor had the gall to smack the flesh arm when he made no move to shove you down on the bed or remove your clothes. “Finish your mission. Now.”

“It’s okay,” you mouthed.

Somehow, it would be okay.

“My mission…” the soldier began mechanically, not taking his eyes off you as he plunged the knife into the doctor’s jugular. You weren’t sure you could breathe. “Is to keep my Sparrow safe.”

An intake of air caught your sob as the metal hand fell away, the doctor collapsing as he tried in vain to stop the blood from leaving his body. It was useless. And a kinder death than he deserved.

“Hail,” he gurgled, his fingers stained red. “Hydra.”

“Just shut up and die,” you snapped as your soldier ripped his mask off. “Soldat,” you said, softer, almost crying all over again.

“Sparrow,” he whispered.

There was nothing gentle or sweet in the way pressed his lips to yours, but it was warm and safe as he pulled you against you. Your arms slipped around him as you returned the kiss, your cheeks still wet from crying. For a second there, you thought you’d lost him. For once, fate decided not to be cruel to you.

It brought you back together.

“I’m sorry I couldn't get to you sooner,” he said when he allowed you a moment to breathe, quickly scanning as much of you as he could. “Did they hurt you?”

“No, I’m okay. I just thought…” you trailed off with a shake of your head. “You came back to me.”

But how?

“I’ll always find you, Sparrow,” he said, touching your cheek as your heart swelled. “Steve helped me remember a lot of things. Including you.”

“The man on the bridge? You saw him again?” You asked before an alarm sounded, the blaring force echoing in the room.

“Yes. And his friend is sending reinforcements, so we need to go,” he said over the noise, nudging the doctor’s body with the toe of his boot before he stepped on his glasses.

“Where are we going?” You asked.

Where could you go since you no longer had a home? You had so many questions, but understood that you’d have to wait for answers. Getting out of there in one piece was your priority.

“Somewhere safe,” he answered, fear flickering in his eyes for a moment. “Do you trust me?”

“With my life,” you promised without hesitation. And anything else you had to offer him.

The next kiss was one of gentleness, relief, and thanks. “One thing before we leave.”

“What’s that?” You asked as he took your hand.

Love and determination filled his eyes as he glanced back at you and put a gun in your other hand. “We burn it down.”

You could hardly contain the fire inside you as you smiled. “Together.”

You didn’t know what the reinforcements would do or what would await you once you got out. It didn’t matter. Your soldier found his way back to you and you would follow wherever he went. The two of you would finally leave Hydra behind.

In a pile of rubble and ash.

But you’d find out soon enough that the man on the bridge wouldn't let your soldier go either.

I'll try not to let so much time pass before the next update. Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[ronearoundblindly]

Day Eighty-Three (1)

CEO!Steve Rogers x CEO!Reader

10 A.M., an It Had To Be You tale (see previous or series)

Summary: A joint meeting between AmCaps and the heads of four other major companies goes about as horribly as possible...or is it exactly as you expected? Either way, Steve messes up big time.

Warnings for (hi, I'm Ro) arguments, the absolute shittiness of misogyny, degrading use of petnames, language, social idjit!Steve (he honest-to-god tried his best but whoops). MINORS DNI. If this is not to your taste, please feel free to search lighter stories here. WC 2571

Sadly, the whole thing would have gone better if Tony Stark showed up.

Stark doesn’t do meetings like this though, and you may never bother with one again. You may have no need.

Clammy hands grip the leather spine of your monogrammed portfolio, comfortingly thick with the employee files you’ve brought as ammunition. This is a battle, no doubt in your mind, but Steve acts as if it’s any other day. To him, it probably is.

This is Steve’s fourteenth quarterly get-together of entities using the stabilizing, hydrostatic, insulated, electro-neutral, lead-dense (aka S.H.I.E.L.D) modules which American Capsules supplies. You’ve worked here for twelve of those but never been in the room.

The room feels as big as a concert hall with you an ant in the back pew.

Since the meeting is on your turf, you and Steve wait till the others arrive, your boyfriend highly aware of your nerves but without a clue as to why.

You’ve been preparing for this far longer than the not-quite three months you’ve held the title of co-CEO. It’s important to understand what is really happening between these companies and who exactly is to blame. It was also important to tell Steve nothing until you knew all the facts, and you didn’t until the phone call you just got off three minutes ago.

That’s not enough time. He’ll have to enjoy the show like everyone else,

Steve loosens his skinny black tie and repeats that you shouldn’t worry. He can take the lead. All the stats are printed in the binders laid in front of six chairs around the oblong table. He touches you, reassuringly he believes, at exactly the wrong moment.

Justin Hammer saunters through the door, clocking the intimate hand on your arm when Steve leans forward to whisper, “what’s wrong?” The outrageously pompous pumpkin sucks his teeth, winking at you, and spins to moonwalk closer. Hammer even goes so far as to cup your other elbow with an over-tanned palm.

“Peach, you’re gorgeous. Don’t ever change,” he flirts, damn well knowing that you aren’t the assistant anymore but are dating the man right beside him. “Hey, pal, how’s it going? Lookin’ sharp.”

Justin wheels the nearest chair away from the conference table and plunks down, lounging against the high-backed seat, swinging his feet up onto the adjacent chair. He may as well be at the beach.

He snaps, hand landing in a finger gun pointed at you—or your backside, more accurately, where he’s also staring.

“I like mine sweet and dark. Thanks. ‘Preciate you.”

There’s no elaboration. You’re just the coffee bitch to him.

What’s wrong, you want to tell Steve, what’s wrong is that asshole is only twenty-five percent of the shit I have to deal with this morning!

Before you or Steve can respond, however, the other three arrive in quick succession.

Darren Cross of Pym Technologies might actually be the least offensive of the bunch. His smile is polite and jovial, he greets Steve simply and shakes your hand, and he smacks Hammer’s calf hard enough to make a sound as he passes by.

He, unlike Justin, brought a briefcase, keeping up the illusion that he participates in the company he’s here to represent. Cross probably does still participate, considering he was only promoted recently after Hank Pym retired.

Aldrich Killian is undoubtedly (one of) the brains behind his think tank, AIM, and Brock Rumlow is undoubtedly smug, being a lowly former associate at Stark Industries, now an executive for the Roxxon Energy Corporation.

Each of them has skin in each other’s game; throughout the history of American Capsules’ products, innovations have been shared between them to either create suitable shipping containers or to have their products shipped via those containers. They’ve quite literally shielded their collective work.

It’s a symbiotic relationship.

It’s a circle jerk.

Killian and Rumlow do not bother to walk around and say hello. They fake niceties and unbutton their suit jackets to sit on the other side of the table.

Noticeably, none of them chose either ‘head’ of the table. No one was willing to take a position of power equal to Steve in his own house. Your boyfriend seems to interpret this as acquiescence of some sort—proof that they’ll blindly respect what and who Steve himself respects,—and then Steve wrongly decides to gently run his hand the rest of the way down your arm, his fingers curling to lift your limb until the very last second.

He made it look like you were reaching out for him, like you were a scared child in need of support. You are, in a sense, but he didn’t have to fucking advertise it to these men.

Steve doesn’t make mistakes. He did that on purpose. Maybe he meant to establish some sort of claim to you? To stop them objectifying you? Whatever they do now is solely out of respect or fear of him though, not you.

You’re frozen in place—in anger, truth be told—until Justin drops his feet to the floor dramatically.

“Indulge me, sweetcheeks.” He winks again. “I’m thirsty.”

Doing your very best Vanna White impression, you step back and sweep an arm out toward the drinks on the side server. “Help yourself,” you say with a smile.

It’s only because Justin is an idiot that he misses the dig.

Open to the page he wants, Steve tosses his binder to the wood surface, the slap of lamination to varnish attracting the attention of all the men, and takes his seat at the end.

You waltz to the other side, a clear and distinct separation between you and Steve, equals in life and work but opposites today.

“Shall we wait for Stark,” Rumlow growls in his low voice.

“Not necessary,” Steve allows. “If he shows, he shows. Let’s get to it.”

Steve begins, pointing out a few key concerns. Since you already know all of this, he doesn’t look to you while speaking, but neither do the other men when they respond.

They talk over you as if you’re not there, being blowhards and patting each other on the back for ’surviving in this economy.’ You let them go on. Steve gets nowhere. He gets excuses. He gets parroted promises.

Justin dismisses insufficient specs by saying he’s just a pretty face. He leaves all the numbers to nerds. He laughs about how he’ll have to check with his people about the nitty-gritty details, but he’s sure it’ll work out.

He stands to get his own black coffee, plopping three cubes of sugar in the chrome mug.

Rumlow barks out that shoddy Hammer tech nearly sank a Roxxon oil rig.

Justin feigns ignorance of the incident.

Killian uselessly offers a fix for that, at a price.

Darren argues that Pym has followed their agreement with AmCaps to the letter.

Everybody is fucking lying to themselves.

The shouting continues, escalating until it looks like Killian and Rumlow are close to throwing punches, though you’ve missed why those two are at odds.

Finally, Steve rises, stretching his hands out in peace.

“Everyone, calm down! Take a breath. Have some water. Sit.”

He’s stressed, clearly, defaulting to conditioned behavior which means Steve then looks right at you with a pleading expression.

Wrong again.

Darren lets out a huff and nods at you. “Yes, I think that would be nice.”

“I’ll take a glass,” Rumlow adds with a tap of the table in your direction.

Killian sighs an unmistakable ‘loser’ to Rumlow, and suddenly, the fight is back on.

Time to lock and load.

You cough and stand, flipping open the portfolio in front of you, adjusting your hips in your pencil skirt with a tug but only for affect. You know exactly what draws the attention of these men.

The room goes mostly quiet.

“Water. For the table,” you deadpan command Steve.

Picking up your copy of the report set, you clear your throat.

“I’m afraid Rogers has given you all the impression this is a negotiation. It’s not.” You slide the binder to the center. “It’s a courtesy. A courtesy which none of you deserve.”

“What the hell is she talking about?” Rumlow gruffly asks Steve.

“I’m talking about unpaid balances and unfulfilled orders. I’m talking about product tampering and verified illegal activity that hereby voids your contracts, effective immediately.”

Darren shoots out of his seat. “You can’t do that!” He turns to Steve. “She can’t do that, right?”

Steve, however, is blanched with shock. “Wait, I—“

“Each of your agreements with us—“ you barrel over his protest “—contains a morality clause which was broken by Hammer Tech when they conspired to produce a subpar protective lining and pad Roxxon gas sales in the region, unwittingly causing unsafe storage at a Stark factory in Galmira because the entire operation no longer followed American Capsules specifications—your specifications for transporting your own products.

“Pym,” you continue with force, “failed to produce compact enough items for the containers they ordered and instead chose to resell the regulated lining materials for a premium.” You toss a packet of papers down to Darren. “In your infinite wisdom, this also means you violated multiple Customs laws by forging shipping weights and ignoring safety guidelines.”

Killian puts a bejeweled hand over his vested heart. “Cross, you didn’t?”

“Which brings me to fucking AIM,” you grit.

“Precious,” Steve breaths with a warning tone, but you can’t stop. You’ve waited too long for this moment.

“Because who the hell do you think created the new formula for a light-weight, lower-cost, shitty lining?” You take such pleasure in stabbing a finger in his direction then flinging stapled proof across the table. “Evidence. Evidence of all of this provided by multiple sources. And you were warned…”

Now comes the really fun part.

You spread out eight folders.

“…warned by Roxxon’s own Betty Ross, Wanda Maximoff, and Kamala Khan. By Hammer’s Monica Rambeau and Kate Bishop. AIM’s doctors, Christine Palmer and Helen Cho, and finally, Pym Tech’s Mary Jane Watson—none of whom, I’m excited to say, work for you anymore.”

There’s a stunned heft to the frigidly controlled air in the large room. The florescent lights overhead buzz harshly.

“Are you fucking serious?” Killian rasps.

“Put your bitch back on her leash,” Rumlow bites to Steve.

“Don’t speak to her like—“

“Wait a minute,” Justin snorts, “I’m confused.”

“Your nerds will explain it to you once you crawl back into your hole.”

“Prec—” Steve snips in alarm but catches himself. He looks panicked and blind-sided, which he would be. You kept their complicity from him until you had everything you needed to invoke the morality clause.

You turn to the junior CEO for Pym Tech. “Expect a call from Hope Van Dyne. She has a few thoughts on Cross Technologies.”

Called out for his as-yet-unannounced rebranding of the company, Darren breaks, and he breaks viciously, vaulting the three chairs between you.

“Fucking cunt,” he screams through bared teeth.

Steve launches past the skittering seats and makes it to Cross milliseconds before he can intercept you.

“I didn’t make you lie, cheat, and steal,” you screech. “You screwed yourselves!”

Killian straightens his lapels and smooths his shirt nervously. “Surely, we can come to some arrangement.”

“This is all a misunderstanding,” Hammer adds.

Rumlow simply walks out with a shout of “you’ll be hearing from our lawyers.”

Steve slams Cross into the window, an ominous rattle shaking the frame, the cheek of the struggling man whining as it smears along the glass. When Darren still tries to hiss something else at you, Steve pins him against the wall instead, a forearm choking off any other choice words the bald man might offer.

“This meeting is over,” Steve grunts, pushing at Cross until the man settles.

“Right,” you sigh, keeping your voice as level as you can. “Gentlemen, I’d say get your houses in order, but I’m afraid the furniture is about to be repoed.”

Killian runs his hand through his styled hair. “Think I’ll leave you to talk some sense into your precious partner. Good day.”

You’ll never forgive Steve for blurting your private nickname out in front of the worst possible people to know it, but this is how you chose to play the meeting. You knew there’d be…pushback.

The AIM founder takes a lazy sip. “Thanks for the water, Rogers.” He taps his pinky ring several times on the glass, a hollow, high ting lingering after each strike, and then Aldrich heads for the door.

Steve releases Darren despite the wild look in his eyes, but Cross would be a fool to make any move except to leave. He gathers his things and slips through the exit before it fully closes.

The only one remaining is Justin Hammer, and he tosses out his arms with a chuckle, shaking his head.

“Kitten, come on. This is crazy. Isn’t this crazy? We’re all friends here. Let’s just chill, relax, and work this out. How ‘bout a drink?” More snaps. More finger guns. “You want coffee? Alright, perfect. Love ya. We’ll have coffee.” The man fidgets, sweat visible on his lip and forehead when he turns in the window’s light and approaches the drink cart.

“Sure thing, Justin. I take my coffee like I take my women—“ you smile “—from you.”

Okay, that part just felt good.

“That—” Hammer’s brow raises and he wipes down his jaw with one hand “—now that was uncalled for.”

Steve cuts in, a solid dismissal in the form of “I said ‘the meeting’s over.’”

“Oh, boy. You—well, you better watch…This ain’t over.” Hammer makes a fuss of buttoning his jacket again, puffing out his chest, then walking off even more empty-handed than he arrived.

The enormous, heavy door shuts slowly on buzzing, bright silence.

After a pause, Steve heaves out a breath.

“That went well.”

Sarcasm is not one of his strengths.

You’re not sure what you expected. You stand as a block of granite decor in the corner you retreated to once shit hit the fan.

It was the right decision. This was the right thing to do, the moral thing. It’s in the goddamn contract.

Though physically he shows no signs of duress—Steve used very little of his actual muscle to subdue Darren,—he hangs his head, stepping to your spot at the table to look at what you brought in. After a pause, Steve rubs his temple like it aches.

“I…I have no words,” he mutters, tone inscrutable.

You don’t care if he has words or not. You only have to wait until they’re out of the building.

“I don’t understand. What just happened?”

The door opens to reveal a bored-looking Topaz.

“Boss, Stark sent a catered lunch over. Where should they set up? It’s shawarma.”

“I don’t care,” Steve bursts. “Just take it down to R&D or something!”

That’s your cue to leave.

You shut your mostly-empty portfolio and tuck it to your chest.

A hand wraps around your wrist, unyielding.

Steve’s stormy blue eyes are felt more than seen, his hold tightening, trying to inch you closer, but you rip away.

“I’ll send you a memo,” you tell Steve without looking directly at him. “Keep those. I have copies.”

Fast as you can in heels and a skirt, you hurry after Topaz and past the food, fleeing first to your office and then to your own home.

[Day 83: 6pm]

[tender first aid drabble; Big Girls Don't Cry]

[Main Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

A/N: Ahhhhh! Next up is how Steve makes it up to you...or at least starts to...😱😵‍💫🥴

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@yiiiikesmish @ashesofblackroses @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory

@brandycranby @buckysprettybaby @ellethespaceunicorn @late-to-the-party-81

@bigtreefest @rogersbarber @bucky-fricking-barnes-reads

@fallinallinmendes @rach2602 @royalwritersoftheuniverses

[itwasthereaminuteago]

I come bearing slutty thoughts.

Imagine Rumlow coming home from a mission where he got hurt and in that moment, all he could think about is not returning to you.

And ehm... when he gets home, he shows you just how much he loves/needs you 😜

(I hope this won't get flagged 🤣)

Alrighty sweet stuff, it's finally here (so sorry about the wait)! Good god he's a beast isn't he? Happy Sunday to you I hope 😁

|| Kissed by Death ||

Brock Rumlow x female reader

Tags/warnings: just love and (unprotected but on BC) smutty appreciation.

He didn't call, didn't think to let you know he would be back today, tonight. His mind was solely on a single track, focused on his own one mission.

With the water running over your ears when you're washing your hair you don't hear him come in, only gasping as you suddenly feel hands on your waist and the press of his body against your back.

“Brock!” You turn in his arms, not only surprised to see him home but also still almost fully clothed under the spray of water. “You're back, I wasn't expecting-” your warm smile only lasts a moment as you take in the pained look on his face, excitement turning to concern. “Oh my god, what's wrong? Are you hurt?” You ask, scanning his form for anything obvious, your worry only increasing at his continued silence. “Brock, please tell me.”

Out in the field that day he'd almost fucked up. A literal gnats ball hair away from getting his head blown off because he had been too cocky, too sure of himself in a dangerous situation that the near brush with death had knocked sense back into him with the force of a blow from a sledgehammer. It was the sense that he might not be able to come back home to you again if he acted that way again. That vile feeling had twisted in his guts, gripped him hard and mercilessly, the singular thought that he could lose you driving him to you as fast as possible once the mission was over. No other members of his STRIKE team had witnessed what had happened and so didn't question him bursting straight out of the briefing room after giving the absolute bare minimum communication necessary. He felt like he'd taken you for granted up until now. Felt like a failure. He needed you now. Craved your grounding touch, the feel of your soft skin against him, your mouth on his to remind himself how lucky he was to still be alive.

He lifts a hand to your face, cupping the side of it as his bourbon-brown eyes rake slowly over your nakedness as if he's seeing you for the first time. You let out a muffled whimper as he leans in, kissing your lips with such fierce desperation that you're panting hard when he eventually lets you surface for air and guides you both out of the spray of water. You help him when he begins to strip, your fingers slipping over the buckles and snaps as you both work in-between breathless clashes of your mouths to rid him of his tactical gear that is eventually flung into a wet heap in the corner of the bathroom. He's sucking possessive marks into the skin of your neck up with you pinned against the wall as you palm his thick length through his sodden boxers, trying to tug them down at the same time as he's reaching between your thighs with eagerness making you moan at his sure touch.

You touch him too, your hands skimming over his wet skin feeling him flinch slightly as you explore and find the inevitable fresh bruises and cuts with dismay.

“Brock,” you gasp out as his lips cover your face with kisses and he carefully slides his fingers between your folds, gathering your slick arousal and dragging it up and over your sensitive bud. The words almost catch in your throat as you question him.

“Brock, talk to me! What happened? You're scaring me…please!” you grab hold of his wrist to stop him.

He’s gruff but quiet as he finally answers, eyes dark, almost black and you recognise the deep need in that gaze. “Sorry I scared ya baby, don't you worry. I just had to see you, couldn't wait.”

You nod and slowly release him, knowing that he'll tell you when he's ready, and instead of pushing any further you arch your body into him as he drops down to his knees propping your leg over his shoulder as he puts his mouth on you. Your fingers grasp to hold on to something, anything for balance as his tongue delves between your folds, lapping and licking, curling up inside to savour your sweet taste. He's never going to let you fall, supporting your ass with his big hands as you lose yourself in the feel of his mouth working you up and up, the sensation only made more intense by the shower steam slicking your bodies. Your head thunks back against the wall as Brock flicks the firm tip of his tongue over and around your throbbing clit taking you higher and closer to a crescendo, your thighs quivering around his face. He's looking up at when you open your eyes and look down at him, listening to your moans and whines and watching your mouth drop open when he pushes two fingers up inside your tight walls and fucks you with them.

“Baby you gotta come for me, please, please baby you're so fucking good to me… I wanna make you feel so good-” his mouth is back on you, thick fingers curling gently as he draws them back out of your cunt and then straight back in. Each thrust of them almost punches the air out of your lungs as he takes you right up to that sweet edge.

He groans loud with you against your core as you let go, feeling you squeezing and creaming around his fingers, licking it all up as you pant and shake with the intensity. When he carefully lets you down, you circle your arms around his neck, pulling him in and holding yourself up on wobbly legs at the same time as you taste yourself on his lips. He's still hard and heavy against your stomach, swearing under his breath as your fingers then wrap around his length and slowly start to move your hand up and down.

“Let me take care of you, now.” your soothing voice melts into his ears. But that's not how it's supposed to go. He's the one that's gotta show you what you mean to him, how you're the only damn thing on his fucked up brain when it comes down to the dirt and blood of it all. He stops you, scoops you up in his arms and out of the bathroom into the bedroom, fuck the fact you're both dripping wet he doesn't give a shit about the sheets all he cares about is you.

“You need to know,” Brock's tone is level and serious as he lays you down on the bed. “you got to know you're everything to me, yeah? Everything.”

You gently rake your hand through the top of his hair where it's longer, curling your hand around the back of his head and lightly scratching your nails at the shorter shaved parts. He's not yet admitted to you how he really feels, that he has this love for you, it's raw and new, but it's definitely real.

“I know, baby.” you assure him, pulling him closer. You're so sweet for him, better than he deserves as you lay back and guide him inside you.

“Brock-” the warmth of your breath brushes his neck and he dips his head down to kiss your shoulder, listening to the way your breathing hitches as he sheathes himself all the way to the hilt.

“Oh fuck doll, feels so-” Brock makes a sound you've never heard him make before, almost a whimper as you move your hips up to meet his slow thrust. You clasp your arms around his broad shoulders, holding him close to you as you move as one, your skin still damp from the shower. You hum in agreement, your parted lips slotting perfectly together, still tasting yourself on his tongue as it tangles lazily with your own.

The muscles of his arm are obvious as he holds most of his weight above you, his free hand caressing it's way up the side of your body, the rough pad of his thumb rolling over your peaked nipple. Your back arches and you hike your leg up higher and lock it around him as he keeps on rolling into you at a steady pace that's already got you well on your way to seeing fireworks. It's not a rare thing that he's so tender with you, far from it, but the Brock you see at work is the completely opposite side of the coin and every time you're together this way you can't help but feel special. He bares himself to you, makes you feel like a goddess, gives you more than you could ever ask for. And he feels exactly the same way. He must have had some dumb luck that you fell for him just as he did for you. He's always been seen as a bit of an asshole, most weren't quick to trust him, but not you. You trusted him with your life and that's why he was home this instant with you. You kept him on track, had seen something in him that must have been worth sticking around for, and he was intending on spending all the time he could making sure that was true.

“Thought I was a fucking goner today,” he grits out, “I was a fucking idiot.”

Your eyes snap back open at his confession, searching him for more.

“Brock, you're here, you're okay, that's all that matters.”

“But I need you doll, need to be with ya and that can't happen if I wind up dead.”

You grab his face in your hands, focusing his attention again. “Then don't die.” You tell him, giving him a smile before you kiss him deeply.

He shakes with a burst of laughter and then as you lean up and graze your teeth over his jaw hisses with pleasure. He grins, his hand cupping your jaw, watching as your eyes flutter closed when he fits his hand around your neck with a tiny amount of pressure, just the way you like it.

“Mm, that's my good girl.” Brock praises with a husky whisper, moving his hips faster now pushing a desperate mewl of his name from your lips. “So good for me, don't deserve you…”

You can feel your second orgasm building, moaning out as Brock shifts his hand down your body to reach between you and rub his slick fingers over your clit.

The sound of you purring his name under him and the telltale twitch of your thighs draws him right along with you, pulling his cock almost all the way out of your pussy before plunging back deep inside. As you start falling apart around him he snaps his hips faster, shallower until you're clenching and squeezing over and over and he gives you everything he's got, releasing inside your soft heat with a deep moan of your name.

You're both panting as he carefully withdraws and rolls to your side, and as you half drape yourself over his spent body, you can't help smiling as you peck his cheek, turning his face towards you and kissing him over and over.

“Thanks for coming back to me.”

He lets go of a relieved sigh, like the weight of his guilt has been lifted by you saying that.

“I'll keep comin’ back, baby. Don't you worry.”

[holylulusworld]

Indecent Proposal (24.2)

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

Warnings: established Stucky, caring mobsters, pregnant reader, polyamory, fluff, mentions of character's death

A/N: This is an interlude chapter.

Indecent Proposal (24)

Indecent Proposal masterlist

Now, the mansion…

“You promised to make things up to me,” you pout and give Steve the stinky eye. “Talk is cheap. I want your cocks.”

You wanted to go down and dirty, but Steve and Bucky wished to talk to you first. Now you’re sitting in the armchair at the library, Alpine in your lap, looking like a villain in a movie while patting the cat.

“You will have to make a lot up to me and Alpine,” you hold Bucky’s gaze. “You worried the poor cat. I had to brush their fur and give them a new necklace to calm the Alpine.”

Steve grins at your serious expression. “Doll, we are sorry about worrying you. And I will give you everything you want tomorrow. For tonight, we need to talk about a few things. We promised you to tell you everything.”

“We want nothing more than to ruin you all over again,” Bucky smirks when you start to squirm in your seat. “Steve is right, though. We need to talk about a few things, and after, we need a rest. It was a fucking long week.”

“You’re not hurt, right?” You look Bucky up and down before turning your head toward Steve. “Right? Everyone came home safely. All of your men too.”

“No one got hurt, doll,” Bucky assures you. “Our men know how to handle any situation. Jake localized Brock’s hideout, and we stormed the house. Not a big deal.”

You listen closely, hoping Bucky is telling you the truth. He gives you a soft smile and runs his hand over your head, but you won’t let him distract you this time.

“Is that the truth? We didn’t lose anyone. They are all safe,” you press on. “You won’t lie to me.”

“We swear, no one got hurt but the bastard trying to hurt you and our babies,” Steve softly says. He cups your face to press a kiss on your forehead. “They are having food at the moment. M’Baku was hungry.”

You giggle. M’Baku seems to be always hungry. Ever so often, you made a sandwich for the tall guy too when you sneaked into the kitchen for your nightly cravings.

He’s a giant, but a friendly one. M’Baku told you about his family and the woman he wants to marry. For a member of the mafia, he’s pretty nice.

You sigh, relieved. No one got hurt, everyone came back alive. The danger is over. – For now. You never know. In your husband's line of business, you’ll never not be in danger. They have enemies lurking in the dark, waiting for their chance to get back at Steve and Bucky.

“I want to know it all,” you say. “No more secrets, Steve, Bucky. Please fill me in. I need to know.”

“We killed Rumlow and disposed of his body,” Bucky hastily says. He hopes you do not hate him for killing another man in your name. “He died faster than he deserved.”

“He won’t cause trouble ever again,” Steve clears his throat. He can see the worry in your eyes and tries to assure you no one will ever find out Bucky killed Brock. “Natasha helped cover his death. We made it look like he left town because Natasha found out that he was a corrupt cop. Jake was a big help. Remind me to never mess with Jake Jensen.”

“Jakie is a sweetheart,” you coo. “He distracted me with zombies and explained to me how he hacks into a system.”

“Zombies?” Bucky grunts. “He showed you zombies. Is that a code word for his dick?” He cocks a brow. “Doll, answer me.”

“No, dummy,” you giggle and snort. “He designed a video game. There are zombies, and guns…and stuff. It’s pretty cool. Jake is a smart guy. You should pay him more.”

Steve laughs at his husband’s pissed expression. He can’t bear sharing your attention with someone else but Steve. Bucky hums and plans on having a serious conversation with Jake in the morning.

“Don’t put, Bucky baby,” you hold out your hand for Bucky. “You know I already got my hands full with you and Stevie. I cannot handle another man. Jake is only a nice guy helping not to worry about you.”

“Fine,” Bucky still pouts, but promises you to not hurt Jake.

“How about we forget about Brock and everything else for tonight and,” you smirk at Steve, “in the morning, you can make things up to me…”

Part 25

Tags in reblog.

[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

[redroomproperty]

Uhh I like this 😎 Mafia!Tony is so my thing.

Feels Like Tonight

Summary: You finally gain the courage to leave you narcissistic husband and fall into the hands of Tony Stark.

Word Count: 853

Warnings: mentions of abuse, gaslighting, running away, mafia au, rape, flangst, murder, smut, mafia au

“Yeah, that’s right, baby girl, just like daddy taught you,” Brock moans as he pushes deeper into your mouth, wallowing in the warmth that it brings around his cock. “Gods, you're so good to me.”

You try your absolute hardest not to cry as you can hardly breath at this point, your nostrils nearly coming in contact with his body the deeper he pushes himself.

Within minutes, your eyes were nearly impossibly blind as tears brimmed your vision, making you wish that your torture would end sooner rather than later. As he forced himself deeper down your throat, instinctively you scraped your teeth against him, causing him to lash out at you, forcing himself away from your attack.

“:You bitch! What did you just do?!” he glared down at himself, running his hand along the drips of blood. “I’m going to kill you for that!”

You had only moments to react as he lunged at you onto the bed. Luckily, you managed to roll away from him one second faster. Grabbing the lamp next to you on the table, you managed to crack the item against his temple, causing him to stumble back onto the bed in a daze. Taking the chance to leave, you grabbed your purse and jolted out of the bedroom. Fishing for your car keys as you ran into the garage, you kept a close ear out to listen to any noise that indicated your husband’s tread. 

You hardly started the engine before your car door was ripped open, the only thought in your head was your final breath as you gazed into the eyes of your once endearing husband, Frank Castle Brown, eyes full of hatred meeting your own fearful gaze as his hand squeezed your throat tightly. 

Waking up, you noticed the bedsheets were warm. The sun was beaming through the slits in the curtains. Wiping away the sleep from your eyes, you gazed next to you to see your husband asleep next to you, his face scratched up and scabbed over. Hardly remembering the struggles of the night before, you leaned over and swiped a soft kiss to his forehead, watching as his eyes fluttered open. For a brief moment, the soft expression of longing rested on his cheeks before the devil took hold of his bearings.

Flinging himself out of bed, he marched out of the bedroom, leaving you to ponder in your own thoughts. Memories swarmed back into your mind as you curled in on yourself, pulling your blanket wrapped legs close to your body.

You knew you had to get out of the house safely, without him suspecting anything. You knew you had to survive. Frank held friends and acquaintances all over the acuity; surely someone would know someone who would know another person that could help you escape the never ending nightmare that was your relationship.

You’d been so wrapped up in your thoughts, you didnt notice Frank had reentered the room with a bowl of cereal for you. Nudging you with his elbow,you met his now soft gaze before he leaned over and kissed the top of your head. 

“Good morning, Y/N,” he mumbled against your hair before patting your cheek lightly, causing you to flinch. 

Frowning, he sat next to you, never taking his gaze away from you. “Are you okay?”

Knowing what’d happen if you mentioned the happenings of the night previous, you swallowed your fear and nodded, carefully taking a bite of cereal. You knew you had to find help as soon as possible. Noting that your cell phone was on your bedside table on the charger,  you reached over for it before placing your thumb on the security tab. Trying to remain casual, you humed a small tune , knowing that he was watching every move you made.

“I’ve sent one of the boys to replace the lamp,” he leaned his elbow on the bed, his straw burning every inch of your skin. “I’m sorry about my reaction that last; the pain was unbearable.”

“I’m sorry for biting you,” you mumbled, barely glancing up at him.

“What do you say we go out for a morning stroll, hm?” He asked gently, gliding his fingertips against the outline of your thigh on the blanket before leaning over and kissing you.

“You stink like sex,” you tried to joke with him, not knowing that would cause a chuckle out of him in agreement.

“I’ll take a shower and you can get dressed, hmm?” He kissed your knee once more. “How does that sound to you?”

Nodding in agreement, you watched tensely as he pushed himself away from the bed and marched over to the connecting bathroom and closed the door, leaving an inch.

Looking around desperately, you quickly put a pair of jeans and a shirt on before locating your sneakers. Tiptoeing out the door, you quickly and silently made your way to the garage and slid into your car. Hardly waiting for the vehicle to warm up, you sped out of the garage.

Recklessly, you swerved in and out of traffic, hardly avoiding several collisions in your attempt to get away as fast as you could. The pain of the abused from the previous night started spreading through your panicked body. All of the abuse, the gloating, the gaslighting, you knew today was your last effort to find freedom. You knew you had to find solace soon, anywhere. Stopping desperately on the side of a busy city road, you rested your head back, not noticing the frantic vibrations of your cellphone that sat in the cup holder. 

You’d hardly noticed you’d fallen asleep until you heard a light tapping on you car window. Jump;ing in fright, you turned your head, only to be met with a worried man’s face in your view. Rolling down the window, you apologized and explained you were exhausted and you’d be on your way.

“You’re Rumlow broad, ain't you?” the man asked, eyes flitting over your features. “What’s he got you doin’ out on the streets by yourself, sleepin’, eh?”

“Excuse me?” You asked, fear filling your heart at the mention of your husband's name. “Do I know you?”

“Sorry, my apologies, ma’am,” he reached into the car window and held out his hand.” Name’s Parker, Peter Parker. I work for the man that runs the slums down here, ma’am.”

“You’re one of Stark’s crew?” You asked, a rush of panic flooding your body. You certainly didnt notice you’d fled into the enemy’s territory.

“Yes, ma’am, is everything okay?” He asked. “You look really shaken up. Is everything-” He became quiet when he heard his own cell phone blaring out. Never taking his eyes away from you, he answered his phone. “Boss, you know about Rumlow broad getting attacked by one of your own? She’s pretty shaken up and looks rough.” A moment of silence. “A’ight, I’ll bring her in.”

Feeling your eyes grow wide in realization, you shook your head as PArker opened the door for you before extending an inviting hand out to you. “This looks like a serious matter, ma’am, and you’d have to be a lunatic to come into Stark’s territory lookin like that, ma’am. He’d like to ask you some questions.”

“I can’t- my- my - Brock would kill me.”

“Ma’am.” He urged, nearly grabbing ahold of your arm to prove the urgency of the matter. Without seeing a way out, you grabbed your cell phone and followed PArker out of your car. Following him into a small shop, you turned to face the ground, desperate to not make eye contact with anyone in your sight. You’d be in deeper shit if Rumlow’s gang knew where you'd l;anded yourself.

Following the young man to the back of the shop, you noticed an entirely different atmosphere in the air; cigar smoke and soft music blared out. Taking a chance to gather your surroundings, you’d notice you’d landed yourself in the small den of your husband’s greatest enemy; Anthony Stark.

What the hell have I done?

You followed Parker further back into the place where you walked through another door, this time, the air smelled of clean laundry. You noticed the silence in the room immediately as you followed the young man in front of you.

“Boss,” Peter introduced as he stood to the side, extending an arm to the man himself. Not expecting the warmth of the facial expressions of the bearded goatee in front of you, you squirmed on your feet. “This seems to be Rumlowe’s broad, looks shaken up. See the marks on her neck there?”

Quickly looking down to hide the abuse, you shuffled on your feet, desperate to get the atten tiomn away from you. Instinctively, you flinched as Stark stood away from his chair, ushering the younger man out of the room.

“You need a shower,” he observed. “And a nice meal.”

“No thank you, Mister Stark.” you mumbled, shaking uncontrollably, knowing that it had only been the pair of you present.

“I’m not asking,” he urged gently. “Whatever Rumlow had done to you, I will make him pay back tenfold. I don’t care that you're broad. You deserve the decency of a loving husband.”

“Stark, you’re his ultimate enemy,” you argued with him. “The pair of you never got along. It’s always been on sight with the pair of you. I Can't let you threaten my husband this way. Are you out of your mind?”

“Takes one to know one,” he pointed out. “We’ve had a long history before you stepped into the picture, Y/N,” hearing him say your name caused a shiver to crawl down your spine. “I don’t care that we’re enemies; you need a good clean up and whatever it seems that he does to you in private cannot just be for entertainment purposes.”

“Stark, I shouldn’t be here,'' you swallowed a lump for fear.

“Are you hungry at all?” He asked, soft voice a mysterious concept to your ears. Shaking your head, you pouted. “Well I’m going to ask one of my girls to assist in bathing you and getting medicine for those wounds.”

Great, you thought, another demanding man. But you couldn’t argue. You’d been suffering pain for far too long in the relationship. You knew you’d help. You knew you’d be well taken care of in his care, not even knowing how you’d know that for a factual statement. 

Hours pass by and you’d notice how relaxed you’d been in Stark’s care. You’d been fed a wealthy lunch, listened to the softest of classical music, even spent time with his henchmen playing board games and watching a movie or two. You’d come to realize that you’d been on the wrong side of the war all along. You’d realize that the freedom you held in this moment was worth it.

But still, you couldn’t help but to feel as though Stark wanted something more from you. For fuck’s sake, the man brought you back to his own home, allowed you to bathe in his own personal jacuzzi bathtub, and met so many of his maids and butlers, you’d hardly remembered their names by the end of ther night. 

It was over a week that you’d finally seen Stark once more in his own barracks, dressed in finely pressed checkered suits and a hat to match. He’d appeared in your bedroom doorway, leaning on the wooden arch, looking as pleasant as ever. 

“Mister Stark,” you greeted, immediately standing out of bed and walking over to him. “I’d like to thank you for everything you’ve done for me.”

“There’s no need, Y/N,” his featured dorned a sly smile. “Your presence in my graces have been a pleasant surprise.”

“I’d like to thank you for all you’ve done for me, if I must?” You asked, pulling at his belt buckle, not knowing the outcome. The last time you’d taken a man first, he’d wound up smacking you across the face in a heated moment. 

“Nonsense!” He grabbed your wrist and brought it to his lips, his gaze never leaving your own as his lips swiped the palm of your hand. “You will never again be subjected to the torture and punishment at the hands of your husband again, my dear.” 

“What do you mean?” You asked.

With a merciful smirk, Tony clicked his fingers and a moment later, a man walked into the room, holding photographs in his hand. 

“Now before you take a glance at these photos, I should warn you, they’re gruesome.”

Nodding, you took the photos in your hands and shuffled through them; emotions flowing through you with each passing photograph. Bloodied clothes sprawl out onto what was once your wedding bed, the disfigured face of your husband glared out from another photo. Blood poured over another photo. Blinking up in disbelief, you felt a relieved smile pulling at the corners of your mouth as you lunged at Tony, only to throw your arms around his neck in gratefulness. 

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

No Sugar Tonight 3

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

Character: Brock Rumlow

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What are you--””

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

“No, sir, but--”

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

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

“Brock,” you repeat. “Okay.”

“You got a day off.”

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

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

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

“Sir, er, Brock?” You murmur.

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

“Right, that’s... okay. Erm...”

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

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

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

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

“Quit.” He says.

You frown, “huh? What am I doing?”

“Your job.”

“My job?” You utter.

“No need for it.” He says.

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

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

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

“Good.” He says.

Your confusion tautens in your cheeks. Good what?

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

“I really can't afford to quit–”

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

Your heart flips and you bit your lip.

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

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

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

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

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

“Me?”

He stares at you and nods.

“Are you asking me out?” You wonder.

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

“I… I don't know you, I–”

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

“No.”

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

“You can't do this.”

“Can't do what? It's done.”

“No.”

“Give me your phone,” he demands.

“No, you can't–”

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

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

You thank her quietly as he ignores her.

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

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

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

[buckrecs]

Stark!reader and Bucky? Tony’s daughter, preferably. I’ve been having a hard time finding those.

Thank you 💜

Bucky x Stark!Reader

masterlist | req masterlist

ONESHOT

dog tags by @vxntagedior

bucky's prized possession is what exposes your relationship with him.

Forbidden Love by @purpleshallot

Far From Home by @kashimos-hajime

Bucky Barnes hates you. You play music too loud in the morning, you’re cold and closed off, you’re selfishly selfless, you confuse the hell out of him—the list could go on and on. He hates you, but when you go missing, he can’t stop himself from spending every waking hour trying to find you. What was that old saying? A fine line between hate and love? Yeah, Bucky walks that line like a man who’s had three beers too many.

Off Limits by @bucky-bucky-bucky-bucky

Bucky meets you at Clint’s backyard barbecue and can’t help but fall for you. Nothing will stop him from asking you to dinner-except maybe your last name.

no sweeter innocence by @bonky-n-steeb

when you ask Bucky to help you with your research, you don’t expect things to escalate so quickly.

Timing is Everything by @fairydxll

Bucky told her to tell him, but she didn't and now Tony saw something he didn't want to see.

SERIES

A Business Deal by @ezm-imagines

Mafia Boss Bucky and Stark Reader agree on a deal to improve their businesses. A deal which will unite them together forever, whether they like it or not. Well, that is if they go through with the deal…

Deception by @avecra

Growing up in the dark business your father ran, violence wasn’t new to you. Rivalries and bloodbaths were something you unfortunately were used to. And in order to save your father from an unnecessary fight, you force yourself into an arranged marriage with Brock Rumlow. But when he threatens your father over a small mistake on your part, you find yourself in front of your husband’s biggest rival and your old friend, Bucky Barnes. With the shared history between the two of you, Bucky finds himself drawn to you once again, and will risk everything he has just to keep you safe.

face the sun by @buckys-darling

To ensure the prosperity of their two kingdoms, a determined Princess and reluctant King are to be wed. She is willing to commit, but he can’t seem to let his lover go. 

Static Verse by @theconstantsidekick

Tony Stark's sister's a fucking badass, codename—Static. Here's her story through the MCU.

[saiyanprincessswanie]

SaiyanPrincessSwanie Reading List Week 209-210

A/N: This week I start my five-year journey of reading and reblogging fanfics on Tumblr. This has been so much fun for me and I hope you have enjoyed my reading lists.

Thank you again to those who gave me recommendations for fanfics. 💜 This week had me reading 30 fics. Absolutely amazing stuff here.

As always these will be listed in no particular order. None of these stories are mine. I’m just signal-boosting them. The author is listed next to the title. My goal is to signal boost writers and spread positivity in the community.  💜💜

Click HERE to see what I will or won’t read. This is very important.

Click HERE for past reading lists.

For my Masterlist click HERE.

Please make sure you’re reading the warnings on every story. They range from dark to fluff. Do Not Read if you are under 18 years old. These stories are meant for adults only. You’re responsible for your own media consumption.

Page-break by @whimsicalrogers

Header by @fictional-affairs

If you can, please reblog these lists so they can reach more people on Tumblr.

I love you 3000 💜 Missy

Only You - (Brock x Reader) - @saiyanprincessswanie

Mafia Bucky Drabble - @angrythingstarlight

Evermore - Part 2 Chp 4 - (Ari x Reader, Andy x Reader) - @joannaliceevans-fanficblog

Finding Home (9) - (Bucky x Reader) - @jobean12-blog

Indecent Proposal - (6) - (Stucky x Reader) - @holylulusworld

Cold hearted - Chp 1 - (Multi Pairings) - @missvelvetsstuff

Wrecked (Epilogue) - (Billy x Reader) - @tuiccim

Hold You Tight: Part 4 - (Bucky x Reader) - @navybrat817

Pen Pals - (God the bounty hunter x reader) - @thezombieprostitute

Against the Rules - (Bucky x Reader) - @ellemj

Your Restive Man - (Bucky x Reader) - @mercurial-chuckles

working overtime - (Steve x Reader) - @nickfowlerrr

Fourth date - (Bucky x Reader) - @mostly-marvel-musings

Game - (Steve x Reader) - @nekoannie-chan

Fighting - (Steve x Reader) - @nekoannie-chan

A Warm Welcome - (Cole x Reader) - @stargazingfangirl18

When He First Got Me - (Steve x Reader) - @buckets-and-trees

Seven Days - (Bucky x Reader) - @holylulusworld

Dueling Deadeyes - (Clint, Bucky) - @hollybee8917

Cupcakes && Secrets - (Steve x Reader) - @itsanerdlife

Strapped - @yenzys-lucky-charm

Home Sweet Home - Chp 7 - (Brock x OFC) - @talia-rumlow

Dirty Little Secret - (Stucky x Reader) - @hellsenthero

Life together - (Steve x Reader) - @nekoannie-chan

On the loose - (Steve x Reader) - @nekoannie-chan

Kissed by Death - (Brock x Reader) - @itwasthereaminuteago

I Hate It When You're Drunk (2) - (Bucky x Reader) - @deliciousangelfestival

I Hate It When You're Drunk (3) - (Bucky x Reader) - @deliciousangelfestival

Hold You Tight: Part 5 - (Bucky x Reader) - @navybrat817

Heart of Glass - Part Eight - (Curtis x Reader) - @syntheticavenger

[wntrs0ldier]

An Offer · part 05

pairing: mob!bucky x reader words: 4,4k warnings: typical mafia (dark themes, language, violence, etc.)

<previous part | next part> | series masterlist

series summary: When your father dies, the only thing you can do for your family and the empire he built, is to marry a powerful man.

chapter sneak peek: “It's time for you to go, I suppose. Is that correct, boy?”

You nearly winced at how patronizing Michael addressed Bucky. It was almost insulting, meant to put Bucky back in his place. He, however, looked composed, but you got to know him well enough to be aware that he would rip Michael's head off if the opportunity arose.

At first you saw it as a nightmare, the meeting with John Walker. No matter how many times you told yourself you were fulfilling your duty to the Family, fear, uncertainty and stress were the only things that duty brought you. Yet, given the darkest scenarios swirling in your mind, and memories of the meeting with Brock Rumlow, John seemed like a really decent type. 

He invited you to dinner to one of the most expensive, top rated restaurants in the city. To get in, it was usually necessary to make a reservation several weeks in advance. Suspecting that his highly influential uncle had a hand in the whole venture, you appreciated the effort anyway. You were surprised, however, that John didn't give up, didn’t take the path of least resistance, despite the fact that you hadn't shown any interest so far. 

Without being gross or intrusive, he complimented the red dress you wore; asked about your work and hobbies, didn't mention business. You felt like you were on a real date, moreover, a nice one. Seeing that jumping from Brock to John wasn't going from bad to worse let you feel at ease. For the first time in, it seemed, an eternity.

Despite everything, there was something missing. You had no desire to throw yourself at John, no curiosity about what his lips tasted like. Essentially, you didn't need that in an arranged marriage, but guessed there will be time for everything. With Bucky, though, time was necessary – all you needed was a single look. But he wasn’t an option.

“Wow, that was… beautiful,” John claimed after you laughed at the joke he told. In reality, you were amused by how unfunny and stupid the joke was. Perhaps the consumed alcohol and the pleasant atmosphere also played a part. 

“Well… Thank you,” you said, lifting a glass of wine to your lips. When you emptied it, John immediately came with a refill. “Don't you think we should talk about business?” 

“What exactly do you want to talk about?”

“How would that work,” you suggested with a casual shrug. “You haven't mentioned an agreement yet, so I suspect you haven't prepared one. That's a bit…” You hesitated, wondering briefly if you would offend him with your choice of words. “Strange, considering, you know, the nature of our profession.”

John smiled, then hung his head and shook it. “I guess we'll just have to trust each other. Not to sound like an asshole, but I've heard that Rumlows have backed out. At least for now. If not them, your father's business will be ruined, leaving your Family with nothing. I also know that Stark has started to turn his nose at your partnership. You’re in a bind, Y/N. And I want to do this the easy way. No complex agreement, just some basic arrangements.” He raised his hands up in surrender.

You were struck by how honest and straightforward he was. Fair to both of you. 

“But… Why?” You asked quietly. “Why are you so nice about it?” 

“You don’t know?” He pretended to be surprised. “I've always wanted you, and now I have my chance. I don't want to do it through a system of rules and punishments. Not too bad, right? And taking charge of what your father created will help me strengthen my position.”

There was a moment of silence as John gave you time to process what he just said. Soon, however, he grabbed his glass and raised it for a small toast.

“So, what'll it be? Can I keep trying or are you giving up on me?”

It was clear that he wasn't really offering you a choice – you could only decide how to play it; keep John at a distance, or make it easier for him to approach you, let him court you.

Having clinked glasses, you both drank the wine, but you could barely taste it. Only the bitterness that the future was to bring. At this point you thought you were prepared for a marriage without love or at least friendship, but the closer you got to one, the more panic you felt. Being aware that the whole situation was difficult, you still didn't expect such a burden.

“Don’t worry,” John added, seeing the concern on your face. “Maybe one day you'll love me. Maybe when kids come along.” He shrugged. Your eyes widened, but John didn't mind it. “What? Someone will have to take care of your father's legacy in case we're gone, don't you think?” He smiled sincerely. You wondered if he was already fantasizing about the future with you. 

Destroying the atmosphere with the shock you experienced wasn’t part of your intentions. The only right idea was to kill the negative feelings with a little more alcohol, so you asked John to refill your glass again, and he did so with pleasure. While dipping your lips in the wine, your eyes wandered mindlessly around the room until they landed on a familiar face – the last person you expected to be here.

You choked, and the sticky drink dripped down your chin. A momentary, barely noticeable panic crossed Bucky's face as he watched you carefully from his table – as if he was concerned that you might have choked to death. However, he stayed in place; rushing to help you would have exposed him.

“Oh God, are you all right?” John handed you a napkin right away, which you accepted and wiped your chin with a few delicate taps to avoid washing off your makeup. 

“I’m sorry. Gone down the wrong way,” you struggled for breath. 

“It’s fine. Are you sure you're all right?” 

“I’m okay,” you said, still feeling the aftertaste of wine deep in your throat. “Excuse me for a moment.” Grabbing your purse, you got up from the table.

“Of course.” John also stood up from his seat, watching you walk away towards the toilets.

You put your bag next to the sink and focused on your reflection in the mirror. Tears, which filled your eyes as a result of choking, smudged your mascara, and the wine – just as you suspected – ruined the foundation on your chin. Yet, you weren't bothered by the poor condition of your makeup. Your thoughts revolved solely around the fact that you just saw Bucky. You would’ve been tempted to treat it as a mere coincidence, if not for him staring directly at you. It was probably his intense gaze that drew you in that direction.

The door opened, and at this point you were ready to see anyone; you wouldn't be surprised if your father decided to come back from the dead and show up here. But it was just Bucky. Again.

“What are you doing here?” You grated, crumpling a used piece of paper towel in your hand, with which you had wiped the remnants of mascara from under your eyes. 

“Are you kidding me? The wine almost came shooting out of your nose, I had to check on you.” His forehead furrowed.

“I’m not talking about the toilet! What are you doing in this restaurant?”

Squinting, Bucky thrust his hands in his pockets, and sized you up. 

“So?” You pressed, the tone of your voice impatient. 

“You really think I'd let you come out here alone?” He finally let out. Your battle ready attitude had eased somewhat, but Bucky was surveying you sternly. “You gave me your permission to protect you, remember? So I’m trying to do that.” 

“But John wanted this meeting to be more... private.”

Bucky rolled his eyes, taking a deep breath. “And nobody found that unusual?” He sneered. “You shouldn't drink that much,” he added after a moment, slightly changing the subject. 

Your brows snapped together. “I drink exactly as much as John.”

“Yeah, except John is three times your size,” he said unmoved. “Look, I'm not stopping you from anything. Drink yourself unconscious if you want. I'm just saying you should be careful around guys like John Walker.”

The urge to ask him to elaborate on the thought crossed your mind, but you didn't really have the time. You didn't want to arouse suspicion by spending too long in the toilet.

“I’ll be careful,” you promised with a sigh. “See you later..?”

Bucky's face softened with surprise, his eyebrows rose slightly. There was no trace of the earlier toughness. “Sure.”

The corners of your mouth turned up with all the tenderness you had for him. You grabbed your purse, then left.

When you returned to your table, John greeted you back with a smile – but it wasn't a smile that melted your heart, or one that caused the butterflies in your stomach to go wild. It wasn't Bucky's smile.

When the black SUV pulled over near the Barnes' mansion, you thanked the driver and dismissed him, assuring that you would be fine if you needed to get home. You left the car, reached for your high heels, which you had taken off immediately after being picked up from your date with John, and closed the door behind you. Having spotted Winnifred right away, you made your way to her. She must have been tending the flowers in front of the house up to now, as you could conclude from her gloves and knees, dirty with soil.

“Y/N, how lovely to see you again.” The warm tone of her voice and the friendly look on her face didn't allow you to even consider that she might be insincere. And although you didn't get to know George Barnes personally, you presumed that Bucky and Josephine inherited their gloomy, ironic, a bit dark and sassy way of being from him. “What brings you here, sweetheart?”

“I came to see Bucky.”

Winnifred grinned even wider. “He is at the back of the house. In the garage,” she said after a brief quietness, which she spent observing you. That's probably why you didn’t move a step. “Oh, your fathers would absolutely love it.”

Smiling tentatively, you gave her a questioning, slightly confused look. “They would..?”

“Our oldest was a boy, your parents’...” She motioned at you. “a girl. So when you and Jamie were younger, your dad and my George used to joke all the time about pairing you two so that everything could stay in the family. But it was just a joke,” Winnifred emphasized. 

Was it, though? Given the world your fathers came from, the environment you and Bucky grew up in, and the situation you were currently in, was it just a joke? Perhaps it was the alcohol talking, but you began to wonder what would have happened if your father was still alive – would he have let you settle down on your own, without Brock or John's presence, or would he have married you to Bucky? 

He wouldn’t. Because Bucky didn’t want to get married. He didn’t want you. 

There was something else bothering you. You already knew that your families were close, yet you had no memories that would prove it. “Why did you stop being friends? If I may ask…”

“It's no mystery,” Winnifred said lightly, smiling. “You know how your mom is,” she began. You guessed that politeness prevented her from saying directly that your mother tended to be paranoid, but regardless of her choice of words, you nodded. “I think she got scared that our husbands would actually turn words into action. She made it clear that she wanted a lawyer, a doctor or an estate agent for you. But it seems that, despite all the odds, you and Jamie found your way to each other anyway.”

You felt your face turning red along with the heat spreading in your stomach. So you weren’t wrong; it was in your blood – the affection you had for Bucky. No wonder you two clicked the moment your eyes met. However, in this situation, it was like a curse. 

“You have a beautiful garden,” you admitted to break the silence and, above all, your own thoughts. In fact, Mrs. Barnes’ garden looked a little bare, incomplete. The flowers were just beginning to bloom.

“It is promising,” she agreed. “But I’m done for the day, it’s getting late. Why don’t you come in? I’ll make us some tea.” 

“Oh, thank you.” You shook your head. “I was supposed to see Bucky, so… I should go.”

“In this case, I’m not keeping you.” Winnifred beamed at you. 

Keeping in mind the place where you expected to find Bucky, you headed to the back of the mansion. Evening dew had collected on the freshly trimmed lawn; not the most pleasant experience to your bare feet, but you preferred it to uncomfortable high heels, which probably wouldn't have handled this soft ground anyway. There was a peace and solitude that was lacking where you lived – there were no cars, no lights of street lamps, no noise of the city.

The garage was not difficult to locate; especially as there were quiet sounds indicating someone's presence. 

Bucky stood in front of a lifted hood of another vintage car. But instead of focusing on the vehicle, your thoughts wandered uncontrollably to Bucky's broad back as he was leaning forward, probably working on the car’s engine. His muscles were clearly visible under the tight fabric of his t-shirt. You felt your mouth watering.

He raised his head slightly, as if listening for something, then looked over his shoulder. He didn't say a word, but returned the favor by fixing his gaze on you – his eyes darkened with the same rawness as when he saw you in your house that night. Beginning from your bare feet and slowly moving up, he scrutinized your whole body, studying the curves of your thighs, hips and breasts. And you couldn’t blame him since your red dress was even tighter than his t-shirt. 

Letting out a shaky breath, you got rid of the excess air churning in your lungs. “So, you like old cars.”

“Yeah,” he admitted, keeping his eyes on you. After a while, however, he focused on the vehicle. “That one belonged to my old man. I don't want it to rot here.”

Based on how Bucky responded to Brock's mention of his father, you presumed that George Barnes was a sore subject. So you were surprised, maybe even a little touched, that he was now bringing it up himself. You did ask him, but he could brush you off or say nothing.

Driven by some subconscious need to be closer, you took a few mindless steps and stood not far from the vehicle. It was colder inside the garage than outside, so you instinctively folded your arms, trying to keep as much of your own warmth as possible.

“What car is that, exactly?” You asked genuinely curious, eyeing the cream body. 

“Chrysler. From 1970.”

“What about your Mustang?”

Bucky squinted suspiciously, smiling. “The Mustang is a year older…” He answered hesitantly. “You’re into cars, too?” 

“Not, but-” You let out a quiet laugh, knowing how you were about to sound. “This era was the sexiest for cars. And it suits you.” 

His eyebrows rose with astonishment. He shook his head, then got back to the uncovered engine. “This was the most twisted compliment I've ever heard.”

“You’re welcome.” You grinned, fluttering your lashes. 

Having checked out your surroundings, you concluded that the inside of the garage wasn’t interesting enough for you to keep your eyes somewhere. So you dropped them to Bucky's hands. Stained with grease, they appeared to be the hands of a professional; they knew exactly what to do. No accidental, hesitant movements.

“How was it?” He asked. You immediately looked up at his face. “With John.”

“I made a pretty good impression on him, I think. He wants to have babies with me,” you said casually.

Stopping everything he was doing, Bucky tensed at your words, a muscle in his jaw twitched. “And you? Do you want to have babies with him?” 

“Looks like a baby-free deal doesn’t exist, so if I have to…” You shrugged. The alcohol in your system kept you from panicking at the very thought. Or was it Bucky's presence that had that effect on you? After all, you felt safe around him, so no prospect seemed so frightening. “Why don't you have a girlfriend? Or a boyfriend?” The question suddenly left your mouth, because since it popped into your head, you decided to satisfy your own curiosity right away. “You are attractive. Very attractive. Protective, maybe too protective…” You squinted. “But people, especially girls, like it. You can be really funny if you want to, you have money and position. And some pretty cool cars.” 

“What’s with all these compliments?” Bucky raised his eyebrows. 

“I get flirty after wine.” You waved your hand dismissively, not intending to continue with this particular topic. “I remember you were, well, a ladies’ man.” You pressed your lips together; you wondered if you should have used that term. It's not that you didn't think it was accurate - you just didn't want to offend Bucky, or upset him.

But he looked at you, smiling with a softness that in no way matched the whole situation. “You remember me?” He repeated. As if it was the most obvious thing, you nodded in response, your forehead furrowed. “I didn’t know you were aware of me.”

“Don't change the subject.”

Bucky sighed heavily, but did not answer straight away. “I liked being around women. Still do. But in a different way. I’ve changed, I guess. Matured, realized a few things. I had a lot of time to think over the last two years.” 

You listened to everything he had just shared and, despite your drunken boldness, you didn't have the courage to bring up his father's death again or to find out more about the lessons he had learned over the mentioned two-year period. You decided to grab onto something else. “In a different way? What do you-”

“That I don’t try to sweep them off their feet, or wrap them around my finger,” he said calmly, but there was something in the way he was talking to you and, for a second, you felt like a scolded child. “I don't hit on them, I don't flirt, I don't try to be charming or funny. If they want to fuck, we fuck. But I'm not looking for an opportunity to take someone to bed.”

Overwhelmed by the information you wanted yourself to hear, you didn't know where to look. “Mhm…” You murmured, trying to appear completely relaxed, maybe even indifferent. On the other hand, you presumed your cheeks that turned pink gave you away. “And you…” You began, partly to talk about something else, partly out of pure curiosity. “Do you remember me? From back then?” 

Bucky loosened up a bit, a smirk crept across his lips. He reached for a piece of cloth slung over his shoulder, and got rid of the grease off his hands by wiping them thoroughly. “Maybe,” he answered, shrugging. It was clear he was teasing you, and you wondered if it was some kind of punishment for bothering him with personal questions. “Watch your fingers,” Bucky warned gently, so you took a step away from the car, then he closed the Chrysler’s hood. “I’ll drive you home, huh?”

When the car finally stopped near the familiar building, you breathed a sigh of relief – you were only a few steps away from a warm shower and a comfy bed.

Before you could touch the handle, Bucky's hand wrapped hastily around your forearm. You turned your gaze to him to see what had come over him, and saw a completely controlled unease painted on his face. 

“You know that car?” 

Having followed his gaze, you spotted a vehicle; you did not recall it belonging to Michael or anyone in the Family. “Not really.”

Bucky reached into the glove compartment above your lap and pulled out a gun. It was only then that you felt a sprouting anxiety; not out of fear for your life, but at the thought that something might happen to Bucky because he'd decided to get you home.

“Come on,” he said, and there was nothing but calmness in his voice. 

You got out of the Mustang and joined Bucky on the other side of the car. 

“Stay behind me, okay?” he instructed, and you didn't protest only because you didn't want to sabotage the possible plan he had formed in his mind. You nodded, and just as he asked you to, you kept two steps behind his back.

You cautiously entered the house, Bucky keeping his gun low but unlocking it earlier, his finger close to the trigger. It was dark inside, except for the warm light pouring out of the living room. It was also where the quiet conversation was coming from; you recognised Michael's voice, and it put you a little bit at ease – you didn't think he was in danger, or that you two were the ones who were threatened. You touched Bucky's arm gently to prevent a potential reaction. 

As you approached the living room, that’s when Bucky really tensed up. Seeing Michael in the company of John Walker wasn't exactly a delight for you either. No one needed to speak; it only took a few glances for the atmosphere to thicken in the blink of an eye.

“Y/N,” Michael’s displeased tone pierced the heavy silence. “What is he doing here?”

“Making sure she gets home safely,” Bucky asserted before you had a chance to think about who Michael actually had in mind. 

“From where?” John interjected; he sounded casual, amused even, but his edgy smile said otherwise. “Should I feel threatened?” His question, thrown around as if playfully, only confirmed your assumption that John was unsure of his position.

“No, of course not,” you protested right away.

Michael could have drilled down. However, you could see that he didn't want to do that – he didn't want to raise doubts about what you were doing with Bucky; to give John a reason to back off. All he cared about was putting an end to the subject as soon as possible and not returning to it – making it seem forgotten at least. “It's time for you to go, I suppose. Is that correct, boy?”

You nearly winced at how patronizing Michael addressed Bucky. It was almost insulting, meant to put Bucky back in his place. He, however, looked composed, but you got to know him well enough to be aware that he would rip Michael's head off if the opportunity arose. 

“Correct,” Bucky agreed. He held his gaze on Michael for a while longer, then, a brief glance was everything he got for you, and it felt cold – like when he left you in that pub. You watched him walk away, but Michael's grunt brought your attention back.

You didn’t stay with Michael and John. Hiding behind a long, tough day and pouring honey in their ears by telling them you didn't want to disturb an obviously important discussion that your feminine mind wouldn't comprehend, you got away. Still, there was something bothering you. So, not long after the desired refreshment and making sure Michael was alone, you went down to the living room.

Michael peeked at you, looking up from his newspaper, waiting patiently for you to raise the matter on which you had come here. 

You sat down in the armchair next to his, and for some reason, nervousness led you to occupy your hands with the belt of a soft, fluffy robe you wore after the shower. “Why was John here?” 

“To speak about business,” he said immediately, still focusing on the paper. 

“Right, let me put that differently…” You sighed, rubbing your forehead. “Why do you think John was here?”

This time Michael did not answer straight away. Nor did he appear to be thinking about the answer; his eyes roamed over the next lines of text. “I believe he wants to control you. Keep an eye on his investment.” He closed and put the newspaper down on the end table between the chairs, then looked straight at you. “Do you want my advice? You'd better let him,” he said. It wasn’t the content of his words that caused your forehead to crease, but the determination with which he said them. “At least two candidates backed out after Bucky beat Brock. Men are afraid to approach you because you got yourself a guard dog.”

At least two candidates, and you had no idea about that. 

“He didn’t beat Brock because of me,” you protested. 

“But he did it. They don't know the details, they don't need them. All they need is that it happened at a meeting that should have ended with marriage. Instead, it ended with Brock Rumlow's broken nose. Of course,” Michael continued. “There were those who were encouraged by it. Who thought it must be a game worth playing. But I turned them down right away, because only a fool would think he stood any chance with Bucky Barnes,” he almost spat. Then, he took a deep breath to release the tension. “He would be a perfect candidate, you know?” 

Although you had lowered your head somewhere during Michael’s monologue, you now raised your eyes to him. Your heart was racing, gaining a familiar, nearly furious rhythm. 

“The friendship of your families, the power and reputation that the name Barnes holds… And it turns out that Bucky Barnes is the only man in New York who doesn't fight for your hand in marriage.” Michael smiled bitterly. 

You looked away to avoid having to face Michael. You crushed under the weight of the awareness that his words had aroused in you. Experiencing far too many emotions at once – you felt angry, sad, disappointed and even a little betrayed – you were hopeless as never before.

“I know that this is difficult,” Michael spoke again. “However, we can't lose John. We can't be sure there will be more better candidates, and even if there will be, we don't have enough time. I don't know what you got yourself into with Bucky, but he can't protect you until he becomes your husband, which he has no desire to do. So whatever is going on between you two has to stop. Now.”

“What does that mean? I can’t see him anymore?” You asked, your voice weak.

“You don’t have to run for the hills each time you accidentally meet him,” he clarified. “But whether you continue to be friends will depend entirely on your husband.”

a/n: feel free to share your thoughts, they are more than welcomed 🥰

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