#rumlow fanfic

[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

[e-dubbc11]

Hello my darling Annie!

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

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

Glasses

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

Pairing: Brock Rumlow x F! Reader

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

Word Count: 1.6K-ish

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

**********

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Others that might enjoy: @itwasthereaminuteago @fluffyprettykitty @randomlittleimp

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

[sarahowritesostucky]

📖"Breeding the Winter Soldier"

Rated: Explicit

Word Count: 7893

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes

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

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

Breeding the Winter Soldier

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

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

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

His mate is going to be so confused.

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

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

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

“Captain. Hail Hydra.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What are you talking about?”

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

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

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

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

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

“You son of a bitch.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Steve’s eyes widen at that. “What?”

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

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

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

“Fuck you!” Steve spits.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Rogers.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Brock smiles at him. “Good boy.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“… Bucky—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Steve huffs an abortive laugh. “Yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why do you torture yourself like this?”

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

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

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

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

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

“No?”

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

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

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

Rollins looks. “Naw. Resting.”

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

“You think it’ll take?”

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

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

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

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

Masterlist

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

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

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

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

[sleeplessmidnight26]

Masterlist

List of all my stories available on my AO3 account

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

My Love Is True Series (Stony, Superfamily)

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

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

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

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

The Break Up One Shot Series (Stony)

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

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

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

One Shots

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lullaby - Rating: E, Warning: Suicide Attempt

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Multi Chapter

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Homeless at Christmas- Rating E, 25 Chapters, Warnings: N/A, (Stony) - Coming December 1

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[anogete]

Hi. Update of random shit in case anyone cares.

The scary test I was stressed over in the fall when I was posting my last fic? It was the CFP (Certified Financial Planner) exam. Yes, I passed it. The designation requires a bachelor's degree, so I had to go back to school to finish my last 10 classes. Then I had to take 7 more classes that are pre-reqs for the exam. Then I spent probably 700 hours attempting to cram everything you could think of related to personal finance (my god, there is a metric shit ton) into my head. The designation also requires 5,000 hours of experience in the planning field (which I thankfully already had). By the time I passed the test, I was no longer proud of the accomplishment, just relieved to have it behind me.

Work was intensely busy in November and December. I got little reading and no writing done.

I have a WIP featuring the Darcy/Rumlow pairing that has been languishing on my computer since 2020. To be honest, I've mosty forgotten what the conflict driving the plot was going to be. I think I was trying to tie it into the events of Wandavision. Took place after the show and had Monica Rambeau and Darcy kinda sorta working together and trying to figure out what, if anything, crossing the barrier that Wanda had thrown up did to them. Of course, Rumlow is alive and scarred and back with the good guys. And also really annoyed that his recent gunshot wound stuck him on desk duty watching the nerds complete their physicals as part of employee onboarding. Darcy doesn't want to have gym class with Rumlow, and Rumlow doesn't want to be there either but he's also kinda into the sassy brunette who tried to sweet talk him into passing her without making her run a mile. In the chapter or two I did write, the banter between Darcy and Rumlow was so fun, so I'd love to go back to it and try to move it along.

I got sucked into reading Draco/Hermione fanfic recently. Blame those damn Snow edits from the latest Hunger Games movie. Guys, I have never read those books or seen the movies, but blonde Tom Blyth is looking like the fanfic Draco of my dreams. How dare. This rabbit hole led to me deciding I needed to write a Dramione piece. It's maybe 6 pages and has gone nowhere even though I have a vague idea of the plot. My muse is struggling.

I found my old folder of all the fic I wrote in the past 20 years. There are still a couple hockey fics I haven't posted to AO3. There are also Anita Blake fics (I was a hardcore Anita/Edward girlie) and Harry Potter fics (don't cancel me but I used to write Snape/Hermione; NO student/teacher stuff though). I think I have an old Doctor Who fic featuring Nine/Rose (yes, I'm a Nine girlie). And a very old Forgotten Realms fic that paired Catti-Brie up with Jarlaxle. Look, I don't know. It was ages ago. With the exception of the hockey fics, I do not think any of these are of the same quality I've posted on AO3, but I've been toying with the idea of trying to clean them up and posting them so more of my work is archived together instead of spread over various fan sites. Does anyone have any interest at all in reading this shit? Like, at all?

I decided 2024 is going to be my book binding era. I bound isthisselfcare's Draco Malfoy and the Mortifying Ordeal of Being in Love a couple weeks ago. I did all the typesetting with the help of some macros. Printed it, folded the signatures (the booklets that comprise the book), sewed them together with waxed linen thread, glued the text block together with some mull, and used chip board and book cloth to make the case. It feels and looks like a book, y'all! I could do a better job with lining the signatures up when punching the holes for sewing and with the measurements on the case, but overall I am pretty proud of it. If anyone is interested, I can link a nice tutorial series on TT and/or post progress pictures I took during my book binding experiment. I have to say, it's exciting to have the ability to put my fav fanfics on my physical bookshelf.

[lavenderpanic]

@chaos-and-ink your drawing gave me such an itch to sketch this out before I go to sleep. He's just so perfect in big, soft sweaters

[six-demon-bag]

[thebrooklynnway]

"Steve could never resist the allure of Brock Rumlow when his scent is so heavy and thick with arousal, but it doesn’t quell his irritation that he hasn’t seen his mate in months."

TITLE: when morning comes too soon WORD COUNT: 1577 RATING: Explicit WARNINGS: None SHIP: Steve Rogers/Brock Rumlow ADDITIONAL TAGS: Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Omegaverse, Alpha Brock Rumlow, Omega Steve Rogers, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Top Brock Rumlow, Bottom Steve Rogers, Reunion Sex, PWP, Conflicted Feelings, Sad Ending

**A/N: Dropping in to promote my newest fic, that I’m surprisingly very happy with, and I hope you are too. 🥰

• @catws-anniversary • @marvelrarepairbingo - [card: 091] n3 free space • @multifandom-flash - [omegaverse] exhaustion

[talia-rumlow]

Bound & Brockened (DARK Brock Rumlow/OFC)

WORDCOUNT: 2235

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

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

HAPPY READING!

CHAPTER ONE - GRACE!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

🖤⛓🔪🖤⛓🔪🖤⛓🔪🖤⛓🔪🖤⛓🔪🖤⛓🔪

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 🖤⛓🔪🖤⛓🔪🖤⛓🔪🖤⛓🔪🖤⛓🔪🖤⛓🔪

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 🖤⛓🔪🖤⛓🔪🖤⛓🔪🖤⛓🔪🖤⛓🔪🖤⛓🔪

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[abbatoirablaze]

Surrogate Luna, Chapter 7

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings:  medical situations, major angst, mentions of being poisoned.

The seasons seemed to change just as quickly as Sharon disappeared with Brock and a trusted few of her own from her pack, leaving Steve and Cinna to their own happiness. 

While the pack was excited about Steve’s incoming pup, they were also on edge, constantly training in case Sharon came back looking for war. 

But Steve hadn’t expected her to come back so late into Cinna’s pregnancy.  Nearly two months had passed before she arrived again, boastful with her new sweetened scent and the assurance that she was with Brock’s pup as well. 

Steve didn’t care though.

He chose instead to ignore Sharon, and dote on Cinna and his pup, moving into Cinna’s quarters permanently. 

And in the mean time, Cinna had gotten along famously with the pack, fulfilling the duties of the alpha’s mate that Sharon had long ignored with Wanda, Maria, and Sarah always accompanying her. 

But Cinna knew that as part of the program, the good times always end.  Every night that Steve spent beside her meant one less night with the pack that she was growing so fond of.  So, it shocked Steve to his core when she seemed sad the day that their pup started kicking.

“Why are you not happy, luna?” Steve asked with a frown as his hand still rested on Cinna’s growing stomach, “are pup is happy and healthy, bouncing every day as he grows.”

“Can I be honest with you, Steve?”

Steve felt a knot in his stomach with the way she spoke, “What’s wrong, Cinna?  Is something wrong with our pup?  Are you-“

“I’m scared,” she said quickly, cutting him off, “I’m scared, Steve!”

Steve gave a heavy sigh. 

Part of him let like that was in part to Sharon. 

While she too had begun to grow, her stomach swelling more by the day as well, she had been just as threatening and intimidating to Cinna as the day that she’d been brought back to the packhouse.

“Nothing will happen with Sharon,” he tried to reassure her.  He leaned forward and rubbed his nose against her own, “none of her or her pac-“

“I don’t want to leave!”

Steve stopped speaking.

“Leave?” he asked, “What on earth are you talking about?  You’re not leaving.”

“I-I know that when I birth our pup…your pup…my contract is up,” she said quickly, giving him another sad look, “I don’t wan-“

“You’re not leaving me, omega,” Steve growled, feeling overwhelmed and territorial of his omega, “Cinna…I marked you.  I love you.  You are my Luna.  My true mate.  You are not going back to the program.  Ever!”

Her eyes met his, the shock making Steve’s heart break as he thought about how this must have been weighing on her mind so much that she was surprised to hear his declaration of devotion. 

“What?”

“Omega…I-I thought you knew it from the day that I brought you to the den,” he said quickly as he stroked her cheek, “the day I caught your scent in the facility…I made them promise you to me.  I had my pack lawyers go and break your contract.  You allowing me to mark you was the requirement, as it showed that I truly wanted to keep you for more than just creating pups.  Once I dissolve my relationship with Sharon…somehow…I want to have a true mating ceremony.  I-I want you to mark me as well omega.  You’re my omega…and I am your alpha.  You are my Luna.  My everything!”

“Really?”

Steve leaned forward, pressing his lips gently to hers, “yes, omega…really…”

She breathed a sigh of relief after studying Steve’s eyes for a moment, “I-I love you Steve!”

“And I love you, Cinna,” Steve replied sweetly, his hands still on her stomach, “and our pup…the first of many if I have my way!”

“I think you’ll always have your way, Steve!”

Steve rumbled loudly, a smirk growing on his face, “I think I like the sound of that, omega!”

“WE ARE ALMOST AT THE END OF OUR JOURNEY!” Steve claimed, his glass held high as he looked next to himself where Cinna was round with his child, “EIGHT MONTHS MY OMEGA HAS BEEN PREPARING FOR OUR PUP.  HELPING BREATHE LIFE INTO HIM.  HELPING HIM GROW IN THE SAFETY AND SECURITY OF OUR PACK!  AND I WANTED TO CELEBRATE WITH ALL OF YOU.  MY LOYAL PACK MATES.  WE HAVE CHOSEN TO NAME HIM STEVEN, THE SECOND OF HIS NAME, AFTER MYSELF!”

The pack roared with excitement at Steve’s toast. 

“More, luna?” one of the girls offered, holding the pitcher away from herself, extending it in offerance to the woman.

“Yes please?” Cinna smiled politely, before turning her attention back to Steve.  

“AND TO SHARON AND HER PACK,” Steve continued, trying to extend an olive branch to the woman he was still promised to, “FOR SHE AND BROCK HAVE CONCEIVED A PUP AS WELL.  AND FROM WHAT I AM TOLD, HE WILL BE A STRONG PUP TOO!  BOTH PACKS HAVE BEEN SECURED WITH HEIRS!”

Sharon’s pack cheered this time. 

“Let our packs be kind in peace, and share our borders as they have for years,” Steve offered, “to Packs Rogers and Carter!”

“ROGERS AND CARTER!”

Everyone took a sip from their glasses, with both Sharon and Cinna partaking in a non-alcoholic version. 

But the reaction was instantaneous within Steve. Across his own bond he could feel that something was wrong with Cinna. 

Worriedly, he looked over to her, and saw it in her eyes. 

“HEALER!” Steve yelled, calling for someone to help his omega as she dropped her cup and fell to the floor, “HEALER!”

“We can’t wait!”

“I need to-“

“Alpha, you can’t come any further!” one of the doctors said quickly as they tried to push the aggressive alpha away from the gurney which they’d been rushing to the operating room, “we just need to know your wishes!”

“Wishes?”

“If it comes down to it,” the doctor said nervously, not wanting to say what Steve had already been thinking, “if it comes to your pup or your omega-“

“My omega!” he said quickly, “I-I can’t lose Cinna!”

“We’ll do our best, alpha!”

Words couldn’t describe how Steve had felt. 

How he was reacting. 

“Well?”

“She was poisioned,” Maria admitted, not daring to look her alpha in the eye, “her glass-“

“WHO DID IT!” he roared.

“We don’t know…” Wanda admitted even more nervously, “there wasn’t any way to trace it.  The person refilling cups was knocked out.  N-none of us were paying attention.”

“THAT IS MY MATE!” he screamed, pointing in the direction of the operating room, “BECAUSE NONE OF YOU WERE PAYING ATTENTION, SHE MIGHT DIE!  MY PUP MIGHT DIE!  I HAD-“

“Steve…” Sam tried, cutting off the alpha.  He put his hand on his friend’s shoulder.

But Steve shook his head at him, the tears streaking down his cheeks, “before she went in, the doctor asked me who I would save if I could only save one of them…I want whoever did this in the dungeon before the full moon!”

“Steve…that’s in two days!”

“Be happy I’m giving you that time…” he growled, shooting daggers at Maria, Sam, Sarah, and Wanda, “if she dies…if my pup dies…I don’t know what I’ll do!”

Cinna’s eyes opened, and everything was blurry.

Everything ached. 

It felt like she’d been hit by a truck, and her body parts had been thrown back in and her body sewn shut without any order.

“CINNA!”

Instantly Cinna was overwhelmed by the anxiety lacing Steve’s scent. 

She could hardly see him because everything was too bright and blurry, but she knew him by his scent.  She went to lift a hand, but Steve grabbed hold of her. 

“Wh-what happened?” she asked slowly, her eyes adjusting to the hospital room, “Wh-where am I?”

“The pack hospital!” he answered quickly. 

It was then that Cinna noticed the tears in Steve’s eyes, and her mind went to the worst possible scenario.  She looked down at her stomach and noticed that it was smaller.  Her own eyes went wide, “o-our pup!  Steve where is-“

A crying interrupted her question. 

Her eyes watered, and tears started to fall down her cheeks as she caught the whines of her pup.  Steve rushed away from her to scoop the newborn up, before bringing him right back, “he-he’s fine, omega.  Our baby boy is fine.  He came into the world fighting…”

“Stevie!” Cinna whimpered, reaching out to take her pup. 

The newborn’s eyes opened, and her heart melted; the bond between mother and son instant.  Stevie stopped crying and looked at his mother curiously with eyes that mirrored his fathers.

“I-I was worried about you!” Steve admitted, “they-they got him out before the poison affected him…but you-“

“He’s okay!” she cooed, her eyes unwavering from her little boy as she cradled him against her breast, “Steve…he-he’s okay.  Stevie’s okay!  Our pup is alright and that’s all that matters.  He’s here!  And he’s perfect!”

“I’m going to kill whoever did this to you, omega!” Steve promised as he reached out to her, “I-I want you to know that!”

“I’m just glad that Stevie’s okay…” she sobbed, kissing the top of her son’s head.   With her free hand, she reached out and took Steve’s hand in her own, “Steve…I-I want to do the ceremony…if someone’s willing to try and kill us…I-I don’t want to hide behind excuses of why we can’t…I-I don’t care what Sharon’s pack thinks…we need to do what’s best for our pack!”

Steve felt a sense of pride filling his chest as he listened to her words.  He lifted her hand up and kissed it, “whatever you want, Luna…”

Chapter 8

Tag List:  @lohnes16, @prokey16, @tenaciousperfectionunknown, @teambarnes72, @mrsevans90

[iamaburnedgiftedartkid]

Run, Chapter 6

Warnings - Mentions of Past Physical Violence, Physical Injuries, Minor Injury Description

You go to the shop and get bored and have a customer act weird because of your injuries. You help Wanda out and find out her brother is expected back tomorrow.

Sorry it's been so long I wish for no more curveballs. I'd just like to say thank you to anyone who still stuck around waiting.

You make your way into the bathroom, quickly changing into a gray henley and black jeans. You avoid the mirror, every bruise, cut, and burn threatens to drown you and drag you back to the moment they were inflicted. You try to avoid the cuts on your arms even as the sound of the beer bottle striking your face fills your ears with your heart beat, deep breath, focus. You pull your sunglasses out of your jacket pocket and slide them on. They don’t completely hide your face but they do hide enough to elevate some of your anxiety. You steel myself with a deep breath and head back into the bay. 

When you enter you see Bucky, Steve, and Wanda all talking quietly together, you can’t hear them but their bodies are tight with anger. You slow down, not sure if you should go to them but Steve looks up at you and straightens. You slump your shoulders, I probably left a bad impression with that customer. Everyone turns to look at you and you look toward the ground as you get closer to the group, “Sorry”, you say while fidgeting with your fingers. 

“Why do you have sunglasses on?” Bucky asks while crossing his arms over his chest. Wanda’s hand reaches for yours, stopping you from tearing at the skin on your fingers. “What happened up front earlier?” Wanda gently asks while rubbing circles onto your hand. Wanda tugs  at your hand and you look at her. “Why didn’t you tell me what that asshole said to you?” Wanda pry’s. You look back down unable to fidget, “it’s my own fault, I shouldn't have been up there. I-I just didn’t want to bother you while you were on the phone so I went up front. I’m sorry.” Steve lifts one of his hands to his head and sighs, you start trembling and take a step away from them, “I’m sorry I di-didn’t mean to mess anything up.” You frantically get out while raising your hands in surrender.  

“Hey.” Bucky says coming toward you and  grabbing your shoulder causing you to squeak out a panicked sound. Your eyes shoot to his in fear and you try not to cry but your breathing picks up, “Hey” Bucky says in a gentler tone while rubbing circles on your shoulder. “You did nothing wrong Doll. That guy is a dick. You can tell us if something like that happens okay? We’re not going to get mad at you or balm you.” Bucky finishes. 

You're shocked, “You’re not mad at me?” You glance at all of them, Wanda and Steve shake their heads. You look back at Bucky,”No I'm not and nobody else is.” He  says softly. The air whooshes out of you and a bit of hysterical laugh comes out, “I feel like I’m crazy.” You say quietly to yourself but in a quiet garage you might as well have shouted it. Bucky looks behind him to everyone else and Wanda, her eyes to yours, “I think you’re just traumatized, we can work on it.” She says. You're so taken aback by everything that is going  on you just shake your head in agreement. They all share another look and Wanda steps up to you, “Alright now that, that is all sorted. Me and you are headed back to the clubhouse to make lunch and take a break for a bit.” You look at Steve and Bucky and they both nod, “We’ll be there in about an hour for lunch.” Steve says, giving you a smile. 

“Alright” you say looking back  toward Wanda, who beams at you and excitedly drags you toward the back exit to where they park their bikes. You know Steve’s and Bucky’s bikes which just leave the Harley Davidson Sportster in burgundy that has runes on the tank that spell something out you can’t read. Wanda sees you eyeing her bike, “It says ‘Scarlet Witch’, it’s a nickname I have.” She says with a grin. You Smile back at her as she walks over and puts her helmet on. You wait for her to gesture for you to get on the back before hopping on behind her.

The ride back to the clubhouse was the same as last night. You and Wanda pull up and you see Chuck working outside. You get off the bike keeping your head down and following Wanda, when you glaze in his direction he looks at you in pure anger. I look away and follow into the club house. 

Wanda and you head into the kitchen where she starts talking excitedly about her brother returning tomorrow. “Where was he?” you ask a small pulling at your lips at her excitement. She pauses in pulling food out of lunch before turning toward you and stepping very close whispering in your ear, “you can't tell anyone.” she pulls back to look you in the eyes and you nod. She leans back into you, “He’s been undercover with a rival gang.” she whispers before turning around and continuing to excitedly talk about his return tomorrow and how there will be a party. 

You stay frozen  for a moment before your mind and catch up to the whiplash in the change of her talking. You walk up to her at the counter, “What are we making for lunch?” you say with a smile. She smiles  back at you, “Since we’re having a party tomorrow we will keep it simple with sandwiches, salad, and soup.” She says while pulling out what has to be 10 pounds of bread. She goes into what will be known as ‘mission mode’. She directs you around the kitchen with ease  even though you are a bit clumsy. She is right there to help you along with encouragement. Before you know it people have started coming into the kitchen and you and Wanda are done. You smile excitedly at one another before Wanda has a wooden spoon in her hand and in directing everyone like she was the first night you got here.

[sosa2imagines]

Random Question!

[e-dubbc11]

Summer Sleepover request 😊

How about a tiny reader drabble based on

'Can I kill him now?'

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

Thank you! 😘

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

Can I Buy You a Drink?

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

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

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

Word Count: 1.9K-ish

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A look of disgust washed over your face.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dammit.

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

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

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

“Which one?” You asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Let me go, Jack.” You said, coldly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Brock answered with bitterness in his tone before you could.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Maybe you were getting ahead of yourself.

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

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

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

He rolled his eyes and began to pour two beers.

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

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

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

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

Others that might enjoy: @fluffyprettykitty @jvanilly @randomlittleimp

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

[nekoannie-chan]

Looking for fics

If have fanfics of the following characters:

Brock Rumlow.

Runaways.

Tandy Bowen.

Ororo Munroe.

Lorna Dane.

PRIDE.

Morgan le Fey.

Nico Minoru.

Clarice Fong/Ferguson.

Rogue.

John Proudstar.

Stepford Cuckoos.

Sinthea Schmidt.

Janet van Dyne.

Doctor Doom.

Mister Sinister.

Dottie Underwood.

Michael Morbius.

Ana/Satana Helstrom.

Daimon Helstrom.

Jack Rollins.

The divine pairing.

Tina Minoru.

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

My reading guidelines here.

[peggyisqueen]

Tumblr prompt/Fic request please!!

I would love a TaserBones where Darcy is really good Friends with Bucky, Rumlow was undercover in Hydra and really like Darcy but thinks she’s with Bucky and feels guilty so won’t do anything! Darcy fancies Brock but won’t because of her friendship with Bucky and Bucky is fed up with the pair of them and gets them together!!

If anyone would like to write this for me, or direct me to any existing fics I would be most grateful! ☺️

[iceandironbars]

Untouchable

The whispering in his head came to him in his sleepless nights. In the beginning he wasn't sure if it was part of the nightmares or if he was awake and hallucinating.

'Хороший Солдат...'

A deep groan, almost a purr, followed the whisper, the voice rough. He would recognize it anywhere. Relief crawled through his body and mind like a drug intoxicating his system.

'Командир.', he whispered breathlessly.

His heart leaped and felt like it was about to burst, a sharp ache spreading all the way through his chest and sideways up his neck.

For a second he thought he was choking, the air getting stuck in his throat, along with the ghostly feeling, the memory, of his Commander using his throat. Like he was made for it. And he was. That's what he always told him.

'Мой хороший мальчик... Doin so good for me... Fuck-'

His face flushed in a rush of blood that felt like it was searing his cheeks. He wanted to hide his face in the pillow, but he didn't dare move. He wasn't ordered to. He wasn't-

He was hard. Painfully so.

The voice in his head... If he closed his eyes he could see the deep amber and hazel eyes, staring right through him, intensely, with the hunger of a hunting predator, turning into liquid gold.

When the air rushed back into his lungs he could almost smell him. His scent, so vivid as if he was right here with him. Leather, rust, cedar wood and gun powder, a sharp smell, impossible to ignore and deep enough to make him drown.

A sharp gasp escaped him and he sat up on the floor, where he slept. He wasn't human. He didn't belong in a bed. That knowledge had been drilled into him for as long as it took for him to realize, he didn't want a bed either. He didn't want to be human.

Sweat was breaking out on his forehead and something between a scream and a moan caught in his chest, tangled and glued in place messily.

Inhaling the ghost's scent, he continued panting, listening to its low heady voice.

'C'mon Солдат, eyes on me- yeah, just like that... fucking slut for it, look at you-'

He heard himself whimper as he looked down his body, at his painfully hard length covered by a thin throw blanket, while his mouth shaped silent words, repeating them, begging.

'Please, please, please-'

Tears filled his eyes as his mind started clearing, realization creeping up on him-

'P-Please don't leave, please, Командир-'

He spoke now but he couldn't hear his own voice over the loud rush of blood in his ears, mounting in a high pitched beeping noise that was accompanied by black spots tainting his vision.

And then, within a second, the room was silent. Empty. No noise. No voice. No scent. Just him and his frantic breathing, his rapidly beating heart.

The Commander wouldn't stay.

He never does.

The asset knew he was gone.

He wishes he didn't.

Drawing his legs close to his body, he starts sobbing violently and wishes he could give up his mind, to make it real.

He would give up the world, his life, if that meant he could be with him again.

As he sat in his dark apartment, surrounded by the life he was cursed to continue, the relief he felt dissolved like smoke in the air. Turning everything he ever felt was solid into nothing but a breeze.

Untouchable.