#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!

[insidekatmind]

Masterlist

Other series/movie

Bucky Barnes

Mission

Erik Killmonger

Mine

Brock Rumlow

HYDRA

Distraction

[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

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[alfafacose]

I ammm not a writer at all but I made a little thingie about the drawing

He felt like heaven, was the only thought going through the assets mind. He felt like the warmth from a flame, like smudged memories of a man who’d laughed and held him like this. He felt too good to be true and the assets hands trembled where he touched him, not used to being used for anything other than pain. He bit his lip to muffle desperate little thank yous from escaping, knowing it would only make the gentleness fade faster.

His handler held him so gently, he couldn’t believe these hands were the same that slapped bound prisoners, that gripped the assets arms and snarled sharp instructions into his ear. But now those same hands were holding him. And he sank into the touch. Knowing it could be taken away any moment, as was his handlers right. But for now he could close his eyes and pretend it was someone else holding him and he was far far away.

Aww!!! I fucking love every single word of this! -chef kiss-✨Thank you 🖤

here the related drawing:

[rolandtowen]

oh - my - god - keep - me from going lunatic, chapter 8

chapter summary: We catch up with some of the other Avengers. The team begins planning an offense against HYDRA.

Read on Ao3 or under the cut!

“Sir, a text from Staff Sergeant Wilson.” 

Tony squints at the clock on the wall of his lab. 6:07am. Maybe it's not that early for an Airman to be up and around. “Read it to me, J?” Tony asks as he thumbs through some design sketches. 

“Certainly, Sir. ‘All hands on deck. Meeting today, 1pm. Barnes remembers.��� The text was sent to all Avengers, plus Maria Hill.” 

If Sam was looping in Hill, then shit was about to go down. Not to mention the use of ‘Barnes’ over Bucky. The question is, how much their resident ex-assassin remembers. Tony appreciates the heads up, but he'd really prefer to not have to hear firsthand about how his parents died today. Or any day, actually. 

He'd suspected, of course, that it wasn't just a car crash. Especially after Fury had brought him into the fold of SHIELD, and Tony had learned just how much spycraft and espionage good ol’ dad had his hands in. Making enemies and making weapons are a package deal, as Tony knows all too well. 

When Steve and Natasha told him about the Zola algorithm, what it said about his father and Peggy, he couldn't believe it. No, that's not quite it. He didn't want to believe it. He'd heard vaguely of Operation Paperclip before, a passing historical anecdote whispered about over whiskeys with fellow scientists. Nazi butchers were quietly relocated to the States, hired by the government, and people were surprised that SHIELD had been compromised?

Tony's still turning it over in his head, trying to reason how much his father really knew. Howard's signatures appear in the Winter Soldier files, but on designs only. There's no indication that he knew what his designs were being used for. And yet, the man also hired Arnim Zola, a man so depraved Howard should have seen it coming a mile away. So what does that say about Howard?

As he pulls open a hologram of Barnes’ arm, Tony stomach lurches at a sudden realization. Howard used to have his coworkers over for coffee in the evenings – salons, he'd called them. The men would gather in the large living room and discuss everything from global relations to high temperature superconductors. Tony had, on occasion, spied into the room from the top of the stairs, peering down through the balusters to catch what scraps of dialogue he could. 

And if Howard had brought his coworkers, that meant – Arnim Zola had been in his childhood home. Had sipped coffee from his grandmother's fine china and made conversation with his mother. The man responsible for their deaths had been invited in. Zola -- his body at least -- had died by the time Tony was born. But nevertheless, the thought of Arnim Zola, who committed many crimes against humanity -- and many crimes against one human in particular -- even crossing the threshold into his childhood home made Tony's skin crawl. 

He wonders if Hill had known, before she'd gotten her hands on the Winter Soldier files – or if the assassination of Howard and Maria Stark had been a surprise even to her. He should be angry, he knows. He should be outright pissed. And yet, for the past few weeks, he's been sheltering the man that killed his parents. 

It’s like this. A weapon doesn't choose where it's pointed. And that's what HYDRA had reduced Barnes to, through years of programming and conditioning and burning damn holes in his brain. Tony had been in captivity in Afghanistan for, what? A few weeks? And he'd almost cracked. Barnes had been captive for twenty years before his first mission, despite HYDRA's incredibly persuasive methods. The man had fought back for twenty years, then broke fifty years of brainwashing to defect from HYDRA to protect Steve. Paying for his recovery is the least Tony Stark can do. 

“J, place a double order for everyone's preferred version of caffeine to be delivered to the meeting.” 

“Certainly, Sir.” 

*** 

Clint had heard chatter that Avengers Tower had a new guest, but he hadn't had reason to return to New York until a mysterious text from Sam Wilson, Rogers’ most recent recruit to the team. He doesn't love that there's another guy on the team with a bird gimmick, but regular guys are limited, he supposes. On the bright side, at least he has another normal human being to rant to in the post-mission ice baths. 

Natasha has been…vague, to put it lightly. But Clint has been able to piece together that the Avengers have acquired another ex-assassin for deprogramming: one James Buchanan Barnes. Honestly, he’s surprised he hadn’t been called in earlier, due to both his experience with Natasha and Loki. He’s been on both sides of this scenario – the deprogrammer and the deprogrammed. 

He still can't quite wrap his head around SHIELD being infiltrated. Sure, some people had felt kind of slimy, but that comes when you're working with paramilitary types. He could buy Rumlow and Rollins being HYDRA, but Sitwell? That squirrely little guy? And Pierce? Jesus, how high up does this thing go? 

Natasha hasn't been…forthcoming about her emotional state, but Clint can imagine it ain't pretty. He feels a certain level of guilt – he'd been the one to convince her to join, after all. We're the good guys, he'd told her. Clint couldn't have known, but still. She thought she was doing some good in the world. 

If he'd read her coded texts right, she'd even stepped up to act as the Soldier's “handler”. Clint can't even imagine touching that with a ten foot pole. It's still too raw, too real for him. He still rushes to the bathroom after his nightmares to check for unnaturally blue eyes. His mind still doesn't quite feel like his home. Like the last owner left behind mold and mildew. 

Cut off one head and two more will take its place. 

Good. Clint's thing has never been cutting off heads. More like shooting straight through them.  

So when his phone pings on the kitchen counter and Laura reads it out to him, covered in a tangle of limbs and children, Clint knows he has to go. Mind control recovery is unfortunately, one of his specialties now. He presses a kiss to Laura and each of the children, before pealing out of the driveway in the farm truck. Destination: New York City. 

***

“So, I’ve called you all in because we have a major development,” Sam says, standing at the head of the conference table. He gestures for Bucky to speak, and he gulps a few times before he can start, his flesh hand tracing the wood grain of the table. 

“I’m regaining my mission-related memories,” his eyes stay fixed on the table as he speaks, all too aware that Tony Stark’s eyes are on him. “I remember everything from now to – to the 60’s.” Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Stark shift suddenly, and he has to take a breath before continuing. “I–I want HYDRA gone. I want to give you everything I know, so you can destroy them.” He pulls out the papers he’d been furiously scribbling on for the last five hours. “I’m trying to write down everything I can, but I – there’s just so much –” 

“Barnes,” a level voice addresses him. He looks up to see the newcomer – Barton – peering at him. A sharpshooter in both thought and action. “What is the most significant threat we should neutralize first?”

“The others,” Bucky says without hesitation. 

“Others?” Steve sits forward in his seat. “Others, like you?” Bucky notes how Hill's head whips towards him. 

Bucky nods. “I wasn’t the only Winter Soldier subject. In the 90’s, HYDRA obtained five more doses of serum. Five more Winter Soldiers were made.” He looks up to see Steve’s face has paled, and the blond whispers something to Natalia, whose face remains impassive. 

“And where, exactly, did HYDRA obtain five doses of supersoldier serum?” Stark asks, his tone of voice flat. Like he already knows the answer and is dreading the confirmation. 

“December 16th, 1991, this Soldier was deployed to extract the serum from Target Howard Stark. No witnesses,” Bucky recites, his eyes firmly fixed on the wood grain of the table in front of him. “No survivors.” 

Stark stands, rounding the table to get to the Sol – Bucky. “Tony,” Steve warns. Stark stops in front of Bucky, who braces himself for a blow. “I’m not going to hurt you, but I do want you to answer one question for me.” Stark crouches down to try and catch Bucky’s eye – “ look people in the eye when they address you, that’s what polite folk do,” a woman says, warm hand on the back of his neck – and Bucky meets his gaze with trepidation. “Do you know, was Howard Stark an active member of HYDRA?”

Bucky shakes his head. “He was never designated as an ally.”

“Did you ever see him participate in the Winter Soldier program?” Stark's eyes bore into his, and Bucky notes absently that they’re watering. 

“Never,” he whispers. 

A spell is broken by the word, and Stark lets out a long breath. “Okay, okay – that’s all I needed.” He rises, his knees cracking. “Carry on with the meeting, I just – I need a moment.” And he’s out the door, silence falling over the conference room again. A firm hand from Sam is on his shoulder. Warm. “You didn’t do anything wrong,” Sam murmurs. “Tony’s just…got a lot on his mind.”

“Where are the other Soldiers now?” Natalia asks, blessedly changing the subject. 

“Siberia.” There’s a shuffling of papers, and Bucky finds the one he’s looking for. “Here. GPS coordinates will take you to a landing pad a half-mile away. Last I saw them,” he shudders, has to think for a second, to compose himself. “They were – unstable. Didn’t respond well to the programming. I had to…” he trails off, whispers of a memory percolating in his mind. “I had to protect Handler Karpov during an escape attempt.” 

“What happened to them, after?” Steve asks. 

“Frozen. Cryotubes. Like – like me. But as far as I know, they were never woken up. But then, I was transferred to America.”

“HYDRA dissolved in Russia soon after that,” Natalia notes. “You may be the only person alive who still remembers them.” 

“They’re in the manual,” Bucky says immediately. “Whoever has that manual would know. It has their codewords too.” 

“The red book? We have that, secured it at the same time we raided the Vault,” Steve tries to assure Bucky. 

“True,” Natalia agrees. “But, we cannot guarantee that no one peeked at the other Winter Soldiers’ information when, well, operating Barnes.” She turns back to Bucky. “After your transfer to America, did you have any other handler other than Alexander Pierce?”

“Commander Rumlow was placed in the position of secondary handler, but I had no primary handlers other than Pierce.”

“Well, shit,” Sam breathes. “Would Rumlow have had access to the manual as a secondary handler?”

Bucky wracks his scattered memories. “It was permitted if required by protocol. If Handler Pierce could not be present, Commander Rumlow was the designated handler.” 

“I told you he was creepy,” Barton jibes at Natalia. He turns to Hill, a beseeching look on his face. “Please tell me you detained him.”

Hill shakes her head, speaking for the first time in the meeting. “He’s in the wind. We looked in every possible hospital for him, given he’s likely got extreme burn wounds, but – nothing.” 

“Well, he’s certainly in a position where a couple of supersoldiers would be advantageous,” Barton says grimly. “When do we suit up?”

“I’m writing down everything I can, but it’s going to take a few days. Everything is still,” Bucky waves his hand around his head. “Disordered. I can’t tell what happened chronologically unless I know the exact date.”

“Writing down – wait, you’re not coming with us?” Barton looks between Bucky, Sam, and Steve. 

“I can’t – I can’t come with you,” Bucky apologizes, his gaze cast to the table once again. 

Barton quirks his head to the side. “Why not? You’re the best man for the job.”

“The trigger sequence,” Steve says quietly. “If we run into anyone who knows the Soldier’s trigger words – like Rumlow – they’ll be able to control Buck all over again.”

“Oh, damn.” Barton sits back in his chair. “I’m sorry, man. So, are we planning an extraction, bringing them back here?

“No,” Bucky says with an urgency so sudden that it shocks even himself “You can’t – you have to kill them. You can’t save them. They’re not…like me.”

“How so?” Barton tips his head to the side again. 

Bucky looks the marksman square in the face. “They volunteered.” 

***

“Hey,” Steve's voice breaks the silence in the elevator after the meeting. “I just, I know that wasn't easy for you, being with so many people, talking about that stuff – but I'm proud of you.” Something warm blooms in Bucky's chest at the words, but he doesn't know why. “Do you want to still do our music hour, or do you wanna crash?” 

Bucky quirks his head to the side. “Crash?”

“Uh, nap or something. Not do anything, basically,” Steve explains.

“That's a thing?”

“That's a thing,” Steve confirms. “A thing you can do.” 

Bucky takes his spot in the blanket puddle on the couch. “I don't think I need a crash?” He picks up one of the books Steve had brought the other day. 

“Got any requests then?” Steve turns his back to Bucky, fiddling with the turntable. 

“The one without the words,” Bucky says. He doesn't think he can take many more words today. Too much talking. Too much listening. 

“Goodman, huh? Good choice,” Steve says, chuckling a bit at his own words. The turntable crackles to life, and something about it quiets Bucky's mind, starts pulling his memories into a neater web. 

“One more thing I gotta ask, Buck.” Steve rests his sketchbook in his lap, unopened. “We decided, someone's gotta stay with you. I mean, Bruce knows the most about your medical care, Sam's the best with the mental health stuff, guess it depends on what you think is best.” 

Bucky's still having a hard time with that. The thinking for himself bit. What little discretion he had at HYDRA was mission-focused. He had to be able to make choices in the field. But everything else was…taken care of, even if he hadn't been a willing participant. Here, there's still rules, boundaries, but – it's exhausting. Choosing. Deciding. 

His brain is tired. 

Your body knows what it wants, Sam had told him. So he tries, not to think of the rational or logical possibilities. Tries to think of what he wants, and his body makes it pretty damn clear. He doesn't know why – and ain't that a long list – but he feels safe with Steve. His first night without nightmares in the Tower had been because of Steve. Steve hadn't let any of the scans or technicians hurt him either. He'd explained why Bucky couldn't go on the mission, had saved Bucky from the shame of explaining – yet again – that he's a passenger in his own mind. 

Moreover, he knows Steve can hold his own against him – against the Soldier, still lurking in the back of his brain. He cannot say the same for Sam or Natalia. He hasn't seen Bruce's capabilities yet, and he knows Barton is only human. So he asks Steve, as protection for himself and everyone else: 

“Can you stay?”

[azulatodoryuga]

HAIL HYDRA

Characters: Captain HYDRA & Brock Rumlow Warning: dark fic, homicide, smut. Dedicated to: @nekoannie-chan

HYDRA and S.H.I.E.L.D. had fallen, and the HYDRA leaders who managed to escape were few; some had been captured by S.H.I.E.L.D. or killed.

“I refuse to take orders from dogs,” the man spat, glaring hatefully at the three agents, especially Steve, who was supposed to protect him to meet Pierce.

“What a shame,” says Y/N. Brock shoots the one who was once his superior straight in the head. It's funny how not long ago we were following his orders, but everything changes,” says the mutant with no expression on her face.

“Now only Pierce is missing; the rest will be easy,” assures Steve.

“Are you sure Barnes gave you the right information?“ Brock asks.

While Steve assured him that the Winter Soldier was on their side, he didn't trust the Soldier's loyalty to them, as he was ultimately trained to obey at an extreme level.

“I told you, they'll be here tomorrow; they just won't be there,” Steve replies in annoyance, pointing to the corpse.

“As with the other idiot who was in my care...” answers the mutant, calling the attention of both men.

She extends her hand towards him, and the acid shoots out of her hand, completely disintegrating the corpse.

“But at least we'll do the part where we and some of HYDRA will be there,” she approaches Steve, holding his arm while leaning on it with a dazzling smile. “I trust you, so I'll trust Barnes' word as well,” Steve smiles with satisfaction.

“Let's go back to the hotel,” Brock suggests. Tomorrow night we'll finish with Pierce and start with everything.

“Very well,” the woman approaches Brock now, holds his chin, and gives him a quick kiss on the lips. I'm hungry.

Back at the hotel, Steve, Brock, and Y/N are in bed having dinner, but not exactly food.

The lewd noise that causes Steve's pelvis to collide with Y/N's floods the room along with the moans of Brock by the swinging of the mutant to lick and suck his member, releasing one or another grunt or moan.

It is amazing to both men the stamina of the woman, their woman. Regardless of the strong thrusts Steve gives her and how her small body (in comparison to her men's) trembles, she keeps doing an excellent job with Brock.

“Keep going,” Brock orders her, throwing his head back and letting out a loud grunt as he climaxes. Steve stops for a moment; the mutant slowly releases Brock's length from her mouth as she slowly spits out his semen, giving the black-haired man a shudder—the mutant smiles in satisfaction at his expression.

Steve grabs Y/N's wrists with a little roughness, placing them at Y/N's sides, lifting her a little without taking her knees off the bed. He begins to ram her with greater speed and depth than before, increasing the moans and grunts of both, but the Y/N's noises are uselessly silenced by Brock's lips that in turn caress the woman's cheek while the other one massages her clitoris.

She feels the knot in her stomach grow until she finally climaxes. Brock pulls away from her to let her breathe, but Steve keeps moving.

“Come on...” he begins to encourage between gasps and grunts. M-my... Cap-Captain “And with those words, Steve could have his orgasm, filling the inside of his partner.

“Rest a little bit, “Steve tells her while he releases her, letting Brock take her in his arms to lie down on the bed.

A few minutes have already passed, and the Y/N is lying in the middle of her two men, enjoying the caresses and cuddles they give her. But they are interrupted when Brock's cell phone starts to vibrate. Brock rushes to check his cell phone to be able to return to his kissing and caressing session; however, the news he received from his friend, without a doubt, is important.

“Jack and most of the team will arrive before Pierce tomorrow and the rest of the groups and teams together or after him.

“It couldn't be better; we'll soon have control of what's left of HYDRA and make it even bigger and stronger than it was.

“There's no doubt about it, though; the only problem is that not everyone is an ally of ours, but that can be solved one way or another,” Steve argues.

“You said it yourself, honey... it can be solved one way or another,” assures Y/N with a cynical smile. While HYDRA had fallen and some leaders had managed to escape, that didn't mean she would continue to obey their orders, because how stupid and incompetent did they have to be to allow that to happen, and yet they expected them to believe that they themselves would rebuild what once was? Of course not; she would take the reins along with Steve and Brock to make sure HYDRA was stronger and more powerful than it once was in the past.

[painted-doe]

Hi, hope you are well. 💜

Just wanted to ask if you are writing anything right now?

Hi anon! I sure am!

First, the WIPs that are partially posted already:

Obviously gotta finish The Barnes Files. That one's my top priority right now.

I still need to finish and post the final chapter of the far side of the morning.

And then there's A Candle in the Window, which has been sitting sadly at 1/3 chapters for the last couple of years.

And then I've got the following ones in the works that you haven't seen yet, but hopefully will over the next few months:

Untitled: A crossover with The X-Files in which, in the mid-1990s, Agents Mulder and Scully are put on the trail of a mysterious killer with a metal arm...

There Are Such Things: The one where Karli Morgenthau survives that gunshot, kind of gets adopted by Bucky Barnes, and it ends up weirdly fixing everything for both of them. Eventual SamBucky but it's minor; the focus of the story is the found-family sibling relationship that develops between Karli, who needs to figure out who she wants to be, and Bucky, who's walked this same path before and is his best self when he's got a little sister to look after.

Lagniappe: I've mentioned this one before but won't start posting it until it's more complete. Bucky Barnes rescues a badly traumatized dog, and together they figure out that maybe people can be trusted after all.

Keep the Moon Awake: Look, we all have to write a post-CATWS recovering!Bucky fic. It's, like, tradition. In this one, Rumlow ends up tracking down Steve and Sam and joining forces with them out of mutual need; he's a nasty piece of work, but he knows the Asset and can predict his movements, and in return he needs the protection they can provide. And so they reluctantly team up with him out of desperation to track down Barnes -- before the leaking radiation from the nuclear technology in his damaged arm kills him and everyone around him.

Diptych: They had always lived in Westview, and it had always been perfect. And Westview continued to be perfect until Bucky woke up one night shaking and rolled over to ask Sam, in a small voice, whether either of them had ever been on a train.

Untitled: Valentina de Fontaine shows up on the Wilsons' dock one day and half-triggers some latent programming in the Winter Soldier in an attempt to reclaim him -- but something inside him decides Sam's his handler rather than her. No one is happy about this. SamBucky.

Want to know more about any of these WIPs? Send me an ask! I love talking about our blorbos (and it gets me in the writing mood).

[magicalqueennightmare]

Familiar Stranger

Brock Rumlow X Reader

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[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.

[makehydrafictionagain]

MCU angst playlist: Don't flay me but I'm writing Public Relations: Foundations and this song reminds me of Rumlow.

Don't ask why. All vibes.

I'm definitely making this a series ignore me

#mcuangstplaylist

[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

[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.”

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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!

[talia-rumlow]

Bound & Brockened (DARK Brock Rumlow/OFC)

WORDCOUNT: 1948

TRIGGERS: Human Trafficing, F/F, Rape/Non-Con, Heavy language, Rough treatment

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 TWO - HADES!

Brock settled into the recliner by the wall, his eyes fixed on the two women standing before him. The brunette, Carmen, belonged to his close ally, Bucky, while the blonde, Lia, was the property of Jonas, one of the many corrupt cops under his influence. Both women stood silently, awaiting his command.

Brock had cleaned out the table that night. Since Bucky and Jonas failed to match his bets, he had won two hours with their "girls" - a common occurrence among those who used their female companions as payment, not just at the poker table, but for various other favors and illicit business dealings.

The dimly lit room was sparsely furnished, with a king-sized bed against one wall and two recliners plus a table against the other. The walls were dark, reflecting the room's typical purpose. The walls had nuts and bolts strategically placed where they occasionally chained people to the wall, the bed, the chairs or various other things they regularly used. Brock loved this room, it was a place for him to play and dominate. Punishments were carried out here, both with and without an audience. Oh, the pain that had been inflicted here. He couldn't wait until he owned his very own plaything. Though it was evident that he possessed total control over the two women in front of him, neither one of them belonged to him, but for the next two hours he was in charge of them. He took a look at the dark chest near the door, thinking about the various "tools" inside. But, he had no intention of using those tonight. Instead, he would observe, conserving his energy for whatever awaited him the next day. 

Lia took a few steps towards him, then sank down to her knees, seductively running her hands up his thighs. "You want to play with us tonight, Hades?" she asked, her voice laced with seduction and an ounce of nervousness. No matter how hard she tried to hide it, it was impossible. Hades was unpredictable, rough and ruthless. One could never know what he might do to or with them. 

Hades was a name he had earned over the years through his ruthless work as an enforcer in the New York underworld. He commanded tremendous respect, and there was no job he couldn't handle. Those who crossed Hades often faced extreme torture or certain death - and if he wanted someone to disappear, they would vanish without a trace.

After a disastrous undercover mission killed half his team, the former US government soldier found it shockingly easy to disappear into the New York underworld. Having been dismissed from service about seven years prior, he had already fallen deep into the proverbial "rabbit hole," to the point of practically ceasing to exist. With his military training and experience, he quickly established a new identity and rose to become the leading enforcer in the city's criminal underbelly. 

He grabbed her wrists. “No!” He informed her. “I want to watch tonight,” he calmly continued. Knowing very well that Lia didn't enjoy that at all. He didn't care, he needed to assert some dominance tonight. Besides, he would get to fuck all he wanted after tomorrows auction. 

“Sir,” she tried in a plea, only to be cut off by him grabbing her hair and roughly dragging her face up to his. 

A second he looks into her pleading eyes. “Are you defying me, Lia?” He spits out. She tries to shake her head, the pain and fear in her eyes turned him on, but he had no plans to fuck her tonight. “Do I have to tell your master that you misbehaved?” He continued through gritted teeth.

“No, Sir. Please don't,” she begs. A couple of tears fall from her eyes, running down the delicate curves of her nose. 

He looks at her for a bit, searching her face, threatening her with his dominant look. “I love it when you beg,” he whispers into her lips, before he lets his tongue glide over them. Then he almost tosses her over to the bed as he lets go of the grip he had on her hair. “Now give me that show,” he commands, as he comfortably settles into the recliner. 

Lia sits down on the bed as Carmen runs her hands through her hair, down to her shoulders. Brock watches, narrowing his eyes. "Switch," he commands, sending Lia a threatening look when she pleads with her eyes. Brock knows Lia dislikes this activity, and if he's being honest, he doubts she even likes him. However, he believes she needs to be "tightened up" a bit. After all, Jonas has been treating her too well, given her defiant nature. 

Carmen removed her underwear and lay down on the bed. She had been trained by Bucky, and she knew the consequences if she didn't comply with his demands. "Taste her," he commanded, gesturing towards Lia.

When Lia gave him another pleading look, his patience wore thin. Slowly, he rose from the recliner and approached her. For a moment, he stood in front of her, savoring the fear in her eyes. "Do I have to show you how to lick a fucking pussy, you stupid cunt?" he spat.

Lia sucked in a breath, shaking her head in terror. "No, Sir," she gasped, terrified of what Brock or Jonas might do if she disobeyed.

When Lia still didn't move, Brock grabbed her hair and forced her head down onto the bed. "This is how you do it," he growled, pushing Lia's face into Carmen's pussy, dragging her nose through the folds before shoving her mouth in. "Taste. Her!" he growled. "I'm not going to ask again.” He continued as he grabbed a hold of Lia's hair, keeping her in place. “Make her feel good,” he commands, leaning into her head, breathing into her blonde hair, “make her come for me,” he growled. 

Despite deciding not to participate, he couldn't resist placing his head on Carmen's abdomen. He watched intently as Lia devoured her pussy, feeling every tremble in Carmen's body. "Good girl," he praised, carefully gathering Lia's hair into a ponytail for a better view. "Don't stop," he demanded, tightening his grip on her hair to emphasize his instruction. 

Lia's relentless movements drove Carmen closer to climax, the tension building in her core. Carmen's ragged breathing gave way to desperate moans, eliciting a cruel laugh from Brock. "That's my good little slut, make her squirt," he commanded Lia, his eyes dark with twisted enjoyment. Lia hesitated, the horror and disgust plain on her face, but she knew better than to defy Brock. "Put your fingers in her. Now!" he screamed. Lia obeyed, resigning herself to the lesser of two evils - complying with Brock's depraved demands rather than risking the punishment that awaited her at home. 

Carmen's movements grew frantic as the climax built within her. Desperate, she grabbed at Brock's shirt. Realizing her mistake, she immediately let go, but it was too late. Brock reacted with pure animalistic instinct, spinning around and seizing her throat. "Who said you could touch me?" he hissed in a menacing whisper. "Your job..." He paused, then let his tongue glide across her lips. "Your ONLY job is to come for me, to squirt all over her face so I can taste you on her," he growled into her ear. Releasing his grip on her throat, his hand slid down to her full breasts as she took a shuddering breath, erupting into a crying, orgasmic mess. "That's it," he murmured. "That's my good little slut." He exhaled, "I'll tell Bucky you behaved." Both girls feared what Brock could report to their owners, knowing his assessment meant the difference between punishment or reward. 

Brock felt Carmen had performed adequately, not perfect, but good enough to not receive a punishment. Knowing Bucky, Carmen would be treated roughly no matter what. The difference was aftercare or not. But Lia was another matter entirely, yet again she had defied him, yet again she rebelled against his strict regime. Brock swore that one of these days he would punish her himself. If Jonas would let him, he could show him how to properly punish a slave who misbehaved.

After Carmen's breathing returned to normal, Brock stood up and walked over to Lia. He grabbed her hair again, forcing her up and pushing her into the wall. "You can get dressed," he informed Carmen before letting his tongue glide up Lia's chin. "Tastes good," he breathed. "Did you enjoy it?" he growled into her ear. Knowing fully well Lia had dreaded every second, and that she would lie to him, in the hopes of keeping him happy. She should know better by now. 

Lia sucked in a breath. "Yes, Sir," she replied, her voice shaking. Her only hope was that her answer would satisfy Brock and prevent him from assessing her performance negatively. Though she already knew that he wouldn’t. And that a punishment awaited her at home. All she could hope for was that Jonas was in a good mood tonight, and wouldn’t be too rough on her. 

Brock’s hand moved up to her throat. "You're lying," he growled. "I don't like being lied to," he continued, as his other hand slid into her underwear. "You know how I know you didn't enjoy it?" he questioned in a threatening whisper. "Because you're dry as a fucking desert," he screamed at her, forcing two fingers inside despite her dryness. He seemed to enjoy the look of pain and dread in her eyes as he relentlessly and without care worked that soft, spongy spot inside her.

"Ngh," she breathed, "Please, Sir," she begged as her legs started shaking. 

A knock on the door told Brock that his time was up. "Open the door,” he adressed Carmen as he continued to bring Lia closer to climax. Her begging voice morphed into a mix of pleasure and dread, as he brought her closer and closer to the edge.

As Bucky and Jonas entered the room, Brock yanked his fingers out of Lia and roughly pushed her towards Jonas. "I'll let your Master decide whether you can come or not," he informed, directing his words mostly at Jonas but also as a way to let Lia know he was displeased with her performance.

Jonas grabbed a firm hold of Lia's hair and yanked her head back. He then gave her a long, torturous lick from her neck all the way up her face. "She tastes good," he exclaimed, turning his head towards Bucky.

Bucky smirked in response - both because his Carmen had performed adequately that night, and because Jonas also seemed to enjoy her taste. With a slow, deliberate lick of his lips, Bucky simply replied, "I know.” 

 🖤⛓🔪🖤⛓🔪🖤⛓🔪🖤⛓🔪🖤⛓🔪🖤⛓🔪

On the drive home, Brock contemplated his plans for the next day. Although he enjoyed sex, a lot of it, he had never felt the need to own someone himself. It was easy for him to pick up women in bars and have temporary relationships. In fact, he sometimes worried that actually owning a person could be more trouble than it was worth. He knew he would need to provide for any "possession" - feed her, clothe her, and ensure she looked presentable so he could derive maximum benefit.

Brock's intention was to acquire an innocent-looking young woman who could not only satisfy his desires on demand, but also open new doors for him. He wanted someone he could train, mold, and shape into the perfect submissive slave - someone who would never disobey him or his associates, and had no choice but to remain with him. No matter what he put her through. 

<-------- Previous Chapter

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[sosa2imagines]

Random Question!

[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

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