#rumlow x you

[scarfacemarston]

Could you maybe probably sort of kind of pretty please with a cherry on top write a Natasha x reader? Wlw preferred but nbreader is cool too. Maybe like a prank fic? I love pranks so much they bring so much serotonin into my veins 💋💋💋

Natasha x F! Reader prank people

Warnings: LOTS of cussing from Rumlow because that's just the type of guy he is. Takes place before the Hydra reveal. You loved a lot of things about Natasha. Who wouldn’t love the woman? You were the luckiest gal in the world to call her your partner. You loved how many layers she had to her and felt honored to see the softer, more playful side of her. Not many people knew that she had a penchant for pranks. It was quite simple for her to play pranks on people and let chaos reign because no one ever suspected it was the severe and stoic Black Widow.

Sometimes, she would prank people and give the most mischievous and playful smile -reserved only for you.

Well, there came a time when you wanted to join in. After all, it was a fun new way for you two to bond as a couple. Natasha quirked an eyebrow at your request but accepted it anyway.

Some of her favorite targets included Isaac Murphy, Brock Rumlow, and the IT guy from the 7th floor of the Shield Headquarters.

“You remember that I like to play the long game here, right? No salt in the sugar container or pie in the face antics. That’s child’s play. No, I want them to be either very confused, suffering or both. You can handle that, can’t you?” Natasha said with a quick of her lips. You scoffed.

“Of course I can! I have some ideas of my own, you know.” You defended yourself. Natasha crossed her arms. “Well this I have to hear.” “Well, I hate Brock Rumlow, too. I have a simple, but obnoxious prank on him, but he might tear up the room.” You warned.

“Hm, if it’s too awful, I’ll have to hear his loud mouth whining about it. Save your best idea for him to make it worth it.” Natasha thought aloud.

“Okay, will do. This Murphy guy, you have his email and number, right? Why not sign him up for the most famous mega church we can find? Joel Olsteen or Kenneth Copland, like that!.”

“He’s suspicious. I’m not sure what is off about him, but I will find out. But, not a bad idea, but I think we can do worse.”

“I’m getting there! What about various political campaigners? We could do Obama, Romney, Kennedy and even more local politicians. I receive those emails and texts daily despite donating to a Green Party campaign six years ago. That’s just one! Imagine how horrible three or more would be!” You enthused.

Natasha grinned. “Not bad, but I really want him to suffer.” “I was thinking we could give his name to various military recruiters? ” You suggested. “I’ll suggest his name to a multi-level marketing group so they can try to recruit him, too. Not bad for your first prank.” Nat said, hugging you from behind. “I think we can do even better.” Nat muttered in your ear.

“Okay, for Rumlow - I was thinking we trick him into thinking there’s somebody who takes his desk during the night shift. Uses his chair, desk, everything.” You said, a grin curling on your features. “Hm, sounds promising. Go on” She murmured. “Well, I was thinking we move his stuff around every day before he comes in. Maybe lay a crossword puzzle or newspapers scattered in the morning that look read? Move his pens, and everything else!” You laughed. Natasha nodded in approval. I think we should leave half-eaten bags of chips, half-drunk water bottles, and candy wrappers so he thinks someone has been eating there. That will get him. He’s quite possessive with his stuff.” Nat suggested. You gasped. “Oh, he’s going to hate that.” “Yep. And to end it up, we can have multiple files on his computer that look like they’re from Murphy, Jack Rollins and Sitwell. All of them sometimes work the night shifts.” Nat laughed as she turned to face you. ‘Imagine the fights!”

“I’ll be sure to tape them, don’t you worry, love,” Natasha said, tapping your nose.

It wasn’t long until Natasha invited you to have lunch with her at a SHIELD gathering. It was a relaxed affair where nothing intelligence-related was discussed. A few other SHIELD members invited their partners or children as well.

Natasha smirked as she took her seat next to you and placed a plate of sandwiches and milkshakes on the table for you to share.

“Might as well have something to eat while we enjoy the show. Murphy looks like he’s going to have a mental breakdown. His phone has been going off all day to the point that Rumlow threatened to break it, and Maria Hill threatened to take disciplinary action."

At that moment, you heard the buzz of a cellphone receiving a notification…and another…and another.

“They won’t leave me alone!” Murphy whined.

“Shut that damn phone up, or I’m smashing it. I don’t give a fuck about any “disciplinary action.”

“It’s the number, you idiot. Not the phone!” Murphy said, raising his voice.

“Then change the fucking number!” Rumlow raised his voice.

“I can’t! I have too many accounts associated with it! I’d have to start all over!” Murphy whined.

Rollins tromped over, glaring at Murphy. “

All of us are plotting your death, Murphy.” Rollins snapped as he pulled Rumlow by the shoulder away.

“Come on, let’s get you a beer.” Rollins muttered.

“I need more than a damn beer,” Rumlow muttered, stomping off. Soon, the noise was annoying, even the two of you.

Finally, Maria Hill herself made her way over, snatching the phone from Murphy’s hand. “You’re on thin ice, kid,” Hill said, pointing at his face.

Murphy sat, slumping into his chair. “It’s not my fault!” he whined.

You and Natasha exchanged looks as you slipped on your milkshake, stealing one of Natasha’s fries.

“I have to admit, I was close to breaking his phone myself.” Nat admitted.

“Yeah, this might have backfired on us.”

“But it is great to see them at each other’s throats. It distracts them from bothering Steve and I,” Natasha said, stopping your hand from stealing another fry.

“I could have bought you fries, you know.” Nat laughed.

“But I so enjoy stealing yours!” You smiled.

~~~~~ A week later, you received a text from Natasha. “Calling you in a second. Need you to hear this. Need to be silent, though.” “Ok” And with that, your phone began to ring. You picked up immediately only to hear shouting and cursing in the background…from a very familiar voice. It was most certainly Rumlow who had become fed up with the idea of someone “stealing his shit in his space.”

“If I find out which piece of shit is using my desk, I’m going to dismember them! Slowly!” Rumlow bellowed.

You heard a second voice. “No one sits there! Calm down there, alpha male. It’s your space.” Rollins snarked.

“Then where the fuck is this shit coming from? You work the night shift! Why are there files from you, Murphy and Sitwell? “ he shouted.

“Yeah, Over there. That’s how I know no one sits there. I don't know how they got that, Rumlow. I didn't do it." Rollins defended.

“Where did this come from? Or this?” - the sound of objects being thrown came through the phone.”

“Fine, ask Murphy!”

You hear another voice in the background.

“That asshole is on thin ice. If it’s him, good luck finding the body.” Rumlow growled.

“It wasn’t me! I quit working nights last month!” Murphy squeaked.

“That leaves Sitwell, then.” You heard Rollins speak up.

You heard Rumlow growl. “Damn it. That nerd is higher on the ladder than we are…but how about we pay the dweeb a visit anyway?” You heard Rumlow’s voice fade in the background.

You heard Natasha’s voice. “I hope you’re proud of yourself and the chaos you caused,” Nat said, snickering.

“Oh, so proud! I’m sorry you’re having to deal with this, though.” You apologized.

“Don’t worry about it, sweetheart. I can handle a few mens’ fragile egos and I can drown them out pretty well. I have to say, you impressed me with your pranks. I might need to watch out…but just know that any pranks you play on me, I’ll get you back with a vengence.” Nat warned.

“….. okay, then it will only be fun ones then! A surprise room of puppies, or baklava randomly appearing in places.” You appeased. Nat gave one of her rare laughs.

“I can live with that. Let’s give the boys a break for now, but we are definitely going to prank them again. Maybe we’ll go after new targets. I have to go. Dinner at Demo’s tonight, same time as usual?”

“Wouldn’t miss it. Love you, Tasha.”

“Love you, Y/N”.

[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!

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

girl like you 1

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such as kidnapping, marital discord, noncon/dubcon, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: a fight with your husband leads to an unexpected situation.

Characters: Lee Bodecker, Jake Jensen

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself. <3

"Marge," you struggle to keep the exasperation from your voice, "that's not how it works. It's a civil dispute, not criminal--" 

"They signed a contract," the blonde dictator bites back at you. 

"Right, and we're going through the appropriate channels to have there violations dealt with--" 

"Ugh, whatever," she throws the folder at you, "shoulda know better. I heard you never even passed the bar." 

You catch the file before the papers can flutter out. You scowl at her as she pushes her hands out in frustration and stomps her pink heel. You pinch your cheeks between your teeth. You never got to take the bar, you got married. Like her. Maybe you should ask about the dust on her English degree. 

"And that lipstick is tacky. It looks awful with your skin tone," she snarls as she rams a manicured nail in your direction, huffing and spin, taking off like a tornado towards the rest of the doll-like HOA clones. 

You look down as you shuffle the papers straight and shrug. You've never quite fit in. This place is like high school 2.0. You never have the right clothes or the right makeup, and no matter how much you primp, your hair just won't behave. You don't know why you bother. 

Well, it's something to do. A hobby in your mostly empty life. Brock promised you it wouldn't be like this. To his defence, you're the idiot who believed him. 

Your husband hasn't exactly kept his promises, has he? You leave through the gate, not bothering with the niceties. You're certain your dismissal was thoroughly witnessed. Besides, the meeting is as good as done. 

You wait by the curb, a text sent to Brock. Your feet kill in these slingbacks. You hate those as much as you hate the mascara that makes your lashes stick. 

The black car comes down the street and you open the door, dropping inside with a puff. You rest the folder in your lap and roll your eyes back against a repressed yawn. You shut the door and buckle your belt. 

"Hey, honey," you greet your husband. "How was your day?" 

"Busy," Brock answers curtly. 

"Oh, did you have dinner? I left it in the oven to reheat--" 

"Your my wife, you're the one who warms my dinner," he insists. 

Your nostrils flare and you look away. This is exactly what you dreaded the day you accepted that ring. All those years of schooling and you threw it away for an empty vow. 

"Alright, I'll turn the stove on when I get in--" 

"How was it? You're early. You didn't stay for drinks?" 

"I'm tired." 

"So? Five years and what do you have to show for it? Like I wanna hear about those dumb bitches at the barbecue? No, I wanna hear about my wife. About everything she's doing for the neighbourhood." 

"Don't talk like that," your murmur. If he thinks they're dumb, what does he think of you? 

"Don't tell me what to do," he snorts, "you know, you might be a little happier if you put in a little effort. Not like I don't bust my ass so you can buy nice dresses and yet you're still wearing this." 

He reaches over and tugs your skirt. It's one of your favourite dresses. You don't see an issue with it, other than it might be a bit past its prime. Besides, he does make a lot of money but you're the one who counts it and makes sure the bills get paid. There isn't room for you to buy Chanel. 

"Sorry," you mutter towards the window. 

"Don't be sorry, do better," he rolls the steering wheel as he rolls around the cul de sac. 

Your chest sinks and your lip twitches. Do better. You're tired of hearing that. You're tired of trying. You're just tired. 

"Stop the car," you demand as you sit up. 

"What?" He scoffs.  

"Stop the car and let me out--" 

"We're almost home." 

"I said let me out of the car," you snarl, "now!" 

He slams on the breaks so hard, you nearly smack into the dashboard. You hit the button on the seat belt and let it rebel. You grab the folder and throw it on the dash so the pages scatter. 

"You can turn a fucking dial," you snip and push the door open. 

He catches your arm, his grip tight and unbending, "where are you going?" 

"I don't know. Anywhere but here." 

"Don't be fucking stupid, get back in the car," he commands. 

"Let go!" 

"You're being stupid--" 

"Like always, right?" You spit at him and wriggle free, his nails scratching you hotly. "I'm done. I can't make you happy and I'm tired of trying." 

You get out and swing the door shut. You grip the strap of your purse, still hooked over your shoulder, and turn on your heel. You click down the sidewalk as he revs and jolts forward, following you. 

"Babe, get back in the car," he calls through the window. 

You ignore him and stomp on, nearly bending your ankle as you do. 

"Stop PMSing and get in the damn car!" He speeds up, almost driving past you, "don't make me tell you again." 

You keep quiet and march on. His brakes scrape to a halt and the car door opens and closes. You hear him behind you. You speed up to evade him. 

"You always gotta make everything a fucking task--" 

He grabs onto your purse and yanks you back, nearly knocking you on your ass. You cry out and face him, tugging on the bag as you play tug-of-war on the sidewalk. The sudden woop startles both of you and the purse drops to the ground.  

You look over as the cruiser pulls up. You know the car number and the face above the wheel. The same on that patrols the suburb. The HOA buys Sheriff Bodecker a special Christmas turkey every year and several other throughout to mark even the most redundant holidays. He's firmly in the pocket of the Stepford robots. 

"Everything okay over here?" Bodecker drawls as he rolls down his window.  

"Yes," Brock answers in tandem with your "no." 

Your husband sighs, "just a marital spat, sir, you know how it is." 

You grimace and shake your head. You pick up the purse as Brock looms close, "nothing to worry about Sheriff," you stand and swoop the bag over your elbow. "Thanks." 

"Babe," Brock says, "let's go home." 

"No," you retort and turn around, continuing on your way. 

You hear a footstep and another wail of the cruiser's siren, "sir, I'm gonna have to ask you not to follow the lady. She said no. She probably just needs to cool off." 

You shake your head and continue on. Brock's voice croaks but he can't summon words. He growls and backs off. 

As you continue down the block, tires slowly turn on the tarmac and you glance over at the sheriff keeps a light foot on the gas, "ma'am, you wanna get in? I'll take ya to the station to settle your mind." 

"It's fine, sheriff," you say, "thank you." 

"Now, miss, I don't mean to frighten you but I gotta," he insists, "I can't just drive off in case your husband decides to follow. I only wanna get you outta the way do he don't do anything dumb." 

"Sheriff, I--" you stop and your soles aches from the high arches of your shoes, "he wouldn't..." 

"Y'all were pretty heated back there," he says, "I'm not saying what would happen, but I'd feel better knowin' you're not wandering the streets alone." 

You chew your tongue and look back and forth. Brock watches from down the street, leaning on his car. You know he's just waiting for Bodecker to take off so he can do exactly what the policeman suggests. 

"Thank you, sir," you step towards the curb, "I appreciate that." 

"Anything for a good lady like yerself," he nods, "'fraid you're gonna have to ride piggy back though." 

He shifts into park and gets out. He opens the back door and you teeter at the edge of the pavement. You never pictured yourself in the back of a police car but it's preferable to the alternative. 

[highonmarvel]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Breaking Point

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

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

additional content warnings here!

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

Non Con Warning!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How about getting a drink with me instead?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We’ve got to get you out of there.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

“What’s your address?”

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

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

“What? Wanda, no!”

“He’ll kill you if I don’t.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well then—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I didn’t— I didn’t call them—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

⊗

my beloved taglist: @cjand10, @cowboysnbugs

[theidiotwhowritesthings]

The Color of Blood [2]

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warning: angst, canon level violence, cursing, oh did I mention angst?

Word Count: 3,372

Summary: In this world, a person didn’t discover color until they locked eyes with their soulmate. As an agent of SHIELD, finding your soulmate was hardly a priority. Especially since you were currently dealing with the shocking discovery that HYDRA had been pulling the strings behind SHIELD actions this entire time. Life was all about timing, and you were about to find out that your timing was absolute shit.

There were some people out in this wild, wild world who didn’t know what it was like to slowly wake up with a concussion, in an unknown room, surrounded by people who meant you harm. Unfortunately, you were not one of those people. Double unfortunately, you were finding yourself in that position again.

You blinked your blurry eyes a few times, trying to make the world stop spinning, and when things finally did become clear it took you a second to remember what had happened. Not the being attacked on a bridge thing. The suddenly being able to see color thing. You couldn’t help but suck in a sharp breath of shock. The room around you was so vibrant and sharp. It made you wish you had the time to fully absorb this new view of the world.

You didn’t though because suddenly you were being hit in the face again.

With a hiss of pain, your head snapped to the side and before you could do anything someone roughly grabbed the front of your shirt and yanked you off the ground into a seated position.

“Welcome back to the world of the living.” Rumlow grinned at you.

“Being stuck staring at your ugly mug,” You spat at him, “I kind of wish I was back in the world of the dead.”

The traitorous agent chuckled, “Oh, don’t say that. I thought we were friends, Agent.”

“That was before I found out you were HYDRA scum.” This time you literally spat at him.

Rumlow threw you aside with a growl as he swiped at his face. You threw your foot forward to kick out his knee. He crumpled to the ground with a cry of pain and you got up to run past him, but his rough hand wrapped around your ankle causing you to hit the floor again.

Your already concussed brain groaned at the impact, but you didn’t stop swinging. You kicked your leg out, trying to make contact with Rumlow’s stupid face, but he army crawled across the ground until he was lying on top of you. His hands pinned down your wrists as he sat on your hips.

Rumlow gave you a sickening smile, “No need to play rough.”

“Fuck,” You spoke between clenched teeth, “You.”

“You wanna know what I just got back from?” Rumlow replied.

“Therapy?”

Rumlow’s hands tightened around your wrists, “I was out burying your little friends.” You felt your entire body tense as your jaw clenched down. “Don’t worry. I remember exactly where we put ‘em. Just in case you wanna visit their unmarked graves one day. That is if we don’t put you beside them.”

“God, you just talk way too much.” You growled. There was no part of you that thought Brock Rumlow of all people had finally brought your friends down. Maybe it was blind faith, but you were sticking by it.

The sound of a door opening made Rumlow push up off of you, but you held back on going onto the offense. The door had swung open because a whole new squad of HYDRA goons had strolled in. At the head of the pack was Alexander Pierce. Somehow seeing him in color made you hate him all the more.

Pierce called out your full name then hummed with a polite smile. As if he was casually running into you at SHIELD headquarters rather than looming over you as the hidden HYDRA thug in charge. “I am so happy to see you here.”

You shakily got to your feet, in a defensive position, “You come a step closer, and I will kill you.”

“There’s no need for that.” Pierce clicked his tongue in disappointment.

Alexander Pierce had been your hero. You hadn’t worked with him personally in quite some time, but he was the one to recommend your recruitment to SHIELD in the first place. Where the world saw anger, chaos, and delinquency, he saw potential. He got you into the field agent academy and put you on the path to who you were today. Nick Fury’s pride and joy was Natasha Romanoff. You were Alexander Pierce’s.

He stopped a few steps in front of you and the only thing holding you back from clawing his face off were the agents right behind him with guns. Pierce stuck his hands into his suit pockets, “I’m not going to beat around the bush. I’m not sure why the asset brought you here, but I couldn’t be happier. You belong here. With us.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Oh, but you do.” Pierce smirked. “Why do you think I recruited you in the first place? I saw exactly what you could be from the start. You can do the world a lot more good from this side than the one you’re on.”

You scoffed, “Says the man who’s planning on slaughtering a few billion people.”

“Necessary sacrifices.” Pierce shook his head in disappointment. “Sometimes if you want to change the world you have to get your hands dirty. I taught you better than to think so small.”

“You didn’t teach me shit.” You snapped. “Your name might be on my entry paperwork, but I am not your puppet, and I never will be.”

Pierce sighed and you watched him move his jaw to the right and left as he thought. You recognized the look of irritation he wore. He nodded once and Rumlow was on you again. The agent grabbed you by the back of the neck and shoved the end of his handgun to your temple. The older man stepped closer again so he was right in your personal space, “Why did the asset bring you here?”

“He’s your asset. You tell me.” You replied with a raised eyebrow. Telling him the truth about your apparent soulmate seemed like a very bad idea. Pierce must have recognized the determination in your eyes. He clenched his jaw and walked toward the open door to the left, opposite from the one he came into. Pierce made a motion with his hand and Rumlow dragged you after him. The next room looked like it used to be the back of a bank. The walls were covered in small, locked vaults. In the center of the room though was a strange set up. A chair surrounded by technology. In said chair though, was your soulmate. The Winter Soldier. Men in lab coats fluttered around him, but you couldn’t look away from the man in the chair.

The Winter Soldier was shirtless and slumped over with a look of confusion and fear on his features. It didn’t suit the mental image you had constructed of who this man was. His eyes were blue. That stood out to you. Red and blue were the only two real colors you were able to recognize and name at this point. The Winter Soldier’s blue eyes were mixed with some form of gray making them look stormy. It was hypnotizing, but the pain in them was distracting. Your eyes slid away from his eyes to where the metal arm was hooked to his body. Ugly, red scars decorated his shoulder where metal met flesh. It looked painful.

“Sir, he’s unstable.” One of the men working on the computers said, “Erratic.”

It was only then that you started to connect dots. They called this man an asset, yet he was seated in some sort of contraption, confused and lost, while his fellow agents had him surrounded at gunpoint? That seemed less asset and more prisoner to you. It also bothered you that you recognized his face still. It was familiar, at the tip of your tongue, but you couldn’t quite place it.

“Mission report.” Pierce said. The Winter Soldier stared ahead at nothing. As if he were in a daze. “Mission report now.”

Pierce slid his glasses off, sliding them into his coat pocket, then he stepped forward to stand in front of the Soldier. He bent down just a bit and after a beat of silence the older man backhanded the Winter Soldier across the face. You physically flinched at the motion as your heart raced in your chest. You weren’t sure if your reaction was from watching your supposed soulmate get so casually slapped or from the gnawing fear in your stomach that something was very wrong here. This entire situation wasn’t what you originally thought it to be. The Winter Soldier looked back to Pierce, more life in his eyes, “The man on the bridge. Who was he?”

“You met him earlier this week on another assignment.” Pierce replied.

The Winter Soldier’s voice was softer than you thought possible, “I knew him.”

Pierce rolled a stool over and sat down, “Your work has been a gift to mankind. You shaped the century…”

The traitorous old bastard continued to talk, but you stared at the Winter Soldier’s face. Steve had frozen in shock. The Soldier knew him. Finally, it dawned on you. The realization felt like a sucker punch to your chest, all the air seemed to be knocked out of you. Of course, you recognized his damn face. You had just been at the ‘Captain America and the Howling Commandos’ exhibit with Steve just earlier this week.

“You’re Bucky Barnes.” You cried out in shock.

The Winter Soldier—no, Bucky’s eyes snapped to meet yours as if he was just realizing you were in this room too. Pierce barked out a curse to you, but Rumlow was the one to punish. The man slammed the butt of his handgun into the side of your face and threw you to the ground. His boot kicked your gut before you could even focus on the throbbing of your face. The blow to your temple left your ears ringing again as you tried to focus, and the next sound that came to you was yelling. You glanced up to see that Bucky had lunged across the room to you and he now held Rumlow by the man’s neck as he crushed him into the wall.

Rumlow was gasping for breath, clawing at the metal hand crushing his windpipe, while Pierce screamed at all the soldiers to not shoot. Nothing the old man or the scientists said made your soulmate stop. Rumlow’s face was turning blue and his desperate movements were slowing.

Pierce held a gun to your face, “Say his name now. Get him to stop.” You glared back at Pierce, lips pressed tightly together. He could shoot you if you wanted. You’d die happy with your last sight being Rumlow suffocating to death. Pierce locked his jaw then turned to hold the gun to the back of Bucky’s head. Your eyes widened. “Now, Agent!”

You had no other options. You were backed into a metaphorical corner.

“Bucky!” You called out.

Steve’s old friend released his grip on Rumlow. The agent fell to his knees gasping for breath while Bucky backpedaled in shock. You didn’t know what they did to the poor man, but he looked so lost. It was like every other moment he was trying to grasp where or who he was. Other agents grabbed him, and he didn’t fight back as they dragged him back to the chair. Before he could sit back up, they clamped metal rungs over his arms to lock him in.

“What the fuck was that!?” Pierce roared at you. He reached down and yanked you up in anger, “Why the hell did he bring you here with him!?” Pierce just stared you down and you tried to keep your face as blank as possible, but you could see the gears turning in his head. His eyes widened after a moment and you prayed it wasn’t for the reason you thought it was. Pierce nodded once and walked over to Bucky. He pointed the gun at him again, “What color are his eyes?”

You shook your head, “How am I supposed to know that?”

“Tell me the color of his fucking eyes.”

“I don’t know!” You yelled. Pierce wouldn’t shoot his asset, right?

Pierce lowered his weapon and you held back a breath of relief. Instead, the man motioned to one of the agents, “Start cutting off fingers on his right hand.”

Your eyes blew wide in panic, more than a trained agents’ probably should, but it was a scientist that spoke up, “Sir—!”

“He can still complete mission a few fingers short!” Pierce barked.

An agent walked over and pulled a knife from his belt. You tried to hold back, but the moment the agent’s knife pressed against Bucky’s skin you blurted the word out, “Blue!” Pierce gave you a sinister smile and you your entire chest ache. “He has blue eyes. Please don’t— Pierce, please.”

“Soulmates.” Pierce nodded with a chuckle. “Wow. Who would’ve guessed it? Your fated soulmate is a man who should’ve died 70 years ago. Huh.”

“What did you do to him?” You seethed.

“We made him the perfect weapon.” Pierce shrugged. He sat back down onto his stool. “The real question is… now what?”

“Sir.” The head scientist, you assumed since he had spoken the most, stepped forward with a gleam in his eyes, “I think we can use this to our advantage. We’ve been running into roadblocks with the asset. The longer he’s out of cryo, the harder it is to control him, but with his soulmate here…”

You clenched your hands into fists. Absolutely not. You’d die before being used as a part of this man’s torture. Your soulmate’s torture. Your thoughts were interrupted when an arm suddenly wrapped around your throat and lifted your feet off the ground. You clawed at the arm, knowing it was Rumlow behind you based on his angry growls in your ear, and tried to kick back at him futilely.

Bucky strained against the locks around his arms, his blue eyes burning with rage, and the scientist motioned to him, “See!”

“Rumlow.” Pierce said, but the man’s arm tightened around your throat. “Rumlow!”

Finally, you were released and when he dropped you, you stumbled to your knees gasping for air. You forced yourself to look up and your eyes met Bucky’s again. The rage had simmered into misery. You weren’t sure how present he was, how aware of the situation around him, but the sadness in his eyes was dreadful. Bucky was broad and large, significantly larger than you, but he looked so small in that chair. You had never felt such a strong urge to pull someone into your arms and whisper comforts to them. This wasn’t a man you knew. Not really. No more than the facts Steve told you or the fact that he was your soulmate, but you ached to bring him relief.

“Prep him.” Pierce commanded.

The scientist shook his head, “He’s been out of cryo freeze too long.”

“Then wipe him and start over.” Pierce replied and you watched as Bucky’s face crumpled in a mix of defeat and pain.

“Please, sir, I’m telling you.” The scientist tried to argue. “We use his soulmate to our advantage. His mission isn’t a success? Then she’s punished as well. The mission goes perfectly? He’s rewarded with time with her.”

You shot a glare to the scientist talking with his stupid bow tie. If you survived this, if you got the chance, you were gonna beat the shit out of him right after you dealt with Rumlow and Pierce.

As you mentally planned his fate, Pierce walked back over to you and reached his hand out. You refused to flinch as he let his hands trace the side of your face. He shook his head, “A stick always works better than a carrot. Wipe him now.” His lips curled up into a cruel smile. “And you, Agent, I want you to watch. You only just met, but I hear soulmates can bond extraordinarily fast.”

He gripped your chin tightly and snapped your head to watch as the scientists began to move about. The one with a bowtie grabbed a black mouth guard and brought it over to Bucky. Your soulmate’s jaw clenched briefly, eyes flared in determination, as he opened his mouth and let the scientist place the mouth guard in. They pressed a button, the seat lowered just a hair, and the large, metal circle behind him began to spin downward. Bucky’s chest was heaving with each breath.

You struggled against Pierce’s hand, “No. Don’t!” The arms of the circle stretched out as electricity bounced from site to site on the inner surface of the arms. The inner surfaces closed in to cover portions of Bucky’s face. You tried to tear yourself away, but your body was too weak to get the momentum it needed, “Stop it!”

The metal plates clamped down on Bucky’s face and you could briefly hear the humming of electricity. That sound was immediately washed out by the sickening screams coming from your soulmate. It was gut wrenching. Watching a man be tortured was rough, you had dealt with that before on a mission gone bad, but this was different. This was in a league of its own. You felt hot tears roll down your face as you clenched your eyes shut. That did nothing to drown out Bucky’s screams though. For the remainder of your life, however long that might end up being, you’d never be able to forget that sound. You’d never forget the absolute pain and agony and despair in every single scream that filled the air and cut through you like a hot knife.

And it just kept going and going and going.

It felt like a million years had come and gone.

Pierce let go of your face and you collapsed to your hands and knees. The scene had ended. Whatever it was they did to him had ended, but the screaming hadn’t. You could still hear it echoing in your head. Bouncing around your skull. Pierce knelt down beside you with a hum, “This is your last chance. Reach your full potential. Come with me. Help me change the world.”

You forced your head up so you could glare at the old man kneeling beside you. Never had you hated someone as much as you hated this man. Your training told you what you needed to do. Play the game. Tell Pierce what he wanted to hear. Go along with him until you found your moment to end him. You knew that. You knew that, but God, all you felt right now was rage. Your blood boiled under your skin. Your fury wouldn’t let you play this smart. You couldn’t even pretend to appease this man.

Regardless of what the consequence would be, you lunged forward and clawed at his face. Your nails caught his skin and dragged down enough to leave three long scratches down the side of his right face. Pierce howled in pain and then kicked you in the face. You went sprawling onto your back, blood pouring from your now broken nose.

“Such a waste.” Pierce spat at you. You groaned in pain and sat up just enough to watch as Bucky was released from his chair. The old man used his pocket square to blot at the bleeding scratches on his face. “Soldier?”

“Ready to comply.” Bucky said in an emotionless voice. It wasn’t Bucky anymore. It was the Winter Soldier again.

“You will kill Captain America. You will not let him reroute the helicarriers.” Pierce said gruffly. He glanced over at me and threw his bloody pocket square at me, “But you can start by killing her.”

You watched Pierce and Rumlow, along with the other agents, stalk out of the room without even a single look over their shoulders. Your face still ached, and you could feel blood running down the back of your throat. You slowly turned to look back at your soulmate to see he had risen from the chair and was now staring down at you. The stormy blue eyes were cold and lifeless. He began to march toward you while clenching and unclenching his metal hand.

You scrambled back as he continued to march toward you.

There was no recognition in his eyes.

Just malice.

Just the mission.

[previous chapter] [next chapter]

[thewritergremlin-rae]

A Drunken Goodnight

Pairing: Brock Rumlow x new SHIELD Agent!Reader Rating: M Words: 618 Content: 2nd person, pre-WS so Hydra!Brock but pretending to be SHIELD, age gap (reader is 21+, Brock is 40+), power dynamics, tipsy reader, implied manipulation, unreliable narrator Summary: You have a few celebration drinks in honour of you joining SHIELD. A few too many, so your kind of mentor, Brock Rumlow, lets you crash at his place.

Banner by cafekitsune

His large hands cup your cheeks and you sway a little, feeling light headed. 

You can’t tell if it’s the alcohol or his warm, rough hands. “Congratulations, agent,” he hums, grinning and pretending like he can’t see how open and desperate your expression is. “But I think it’s time to get outta here.” 

He picks you up easily, your legs and arms wrapping around him as his hand rests on the delicious curve of your ass. But you don’t think anything of it, even when Brock needlessly adjusts your position, fingers brushing the seam of your jeans. 

Brock gets you into his car with no problems, you wonderfully pliant and happy to follow his instructions. 

You might have drifted off for the drive home because it seems like in only the blink of an eye the car has come to a stop in an enclosed parking lot. “I worry about leaving ya alone like this so you can have my room, I’ll sleep on the couch.” He breezes past any protests by hauling you out of his car and into his side as you stumble a few steps. 

His apartment is warm as he gets you through the door and helps you lean against the wall. You hastily grab his shoulder when he’s crouching and carefully removing your tired feet from the heels you decided to try out for the night. When he looks up at you from between your legs, heat rushes to your cheeks and you might think it had some kind of purpose but your brain is slow and Brock is on his feet again, kicking his own shoes off as he leads you to his room.

You sit on the bed with a soft thump as your legs realise they can finally give up their task for the night. Brock is flicking through his wardrobe and turns to toss a loose t-shirt and shorts. “Hope these are good enough for our new agent,” he teases with a grin and you nod with a soft laugh. “You think you can get changed by yourself, sweetheart?”

More heat tingles against your cheeks as you nod and put the flung clothes to one side. You barely wait for him to turn away before you’re pulling off your favourite top. It catches on your yawn and you giggle again, managing to free yourself with a few grunts. 

“That sounded pretty tough, you sure you don’t need my help?”

“No - no I’m good!” You assure him in a determined voice that is way too loud for the two feet he’s stood away from you but his chuckle is amused and you get his spare t-shirt on much more easily. Next are the shorts but given that your legs gave up about a minute ago, you flop back on the bed unceremoniously and lift your hips to get the jeans over your ass and kicked off the rest of the way. His shorts go on with one more jut of your hips to pull them in place and this time you stay laid back on the bed. “I did it!” You declare - like you just solved complicated algebra. 

Rumlow laughs as he turns, giving you a playful eyeroll to hide the way he drinks you in. “Real cute, agent. You gonna get under those covers or do I gotta tuck you in?” 

Your embarrassment fuels you as you scramble back and manage to get under the duvet, pulling it back down to cover you. Only to find Brock leaning over you, so dangerously close you think he might kiss you.

He brushes a kiss to your forehead and wishes you goodnight, knowing he leaves you a frustrated and tipsy mess.

Want to be tagged in future parts or future Loki fic? Go here

[hoteldreamss]

Steve Rogers || imagine

Метки: похищение; канон Рамлоу; флафф со Стивом; читательница в устоявшихся отношениях со Стивом.

Слов: 991

Ты приходишь в себя с головной болью и с размытым зрением, которое так медленно фокусируется, что некоторое время ты пугаешься не только того, что не чувствуешь привычное тепло своего дома, вместо этого окутанная прохладой; не чувствуешь знакомого запаха; не ощущаешь свободы движений, но и того, что потеряла зрение.

Запах сырости проникает в тебя моментально, а оглядевшись в полутьме ты понимайте, что место похоже на подвал. Ты привязана к стулу, ноги стянуты стяжками, руки за спинкой деревянного стула обмотанные скотчем, на губах также клочок скотча.

Ты нервничаешь, боясь даже представить, кто это сделал с тобой. Никаких воспоминаний о произошедшем. Ты вернулась домой с работы, и только поставила свою сумку на столик, как кто-то схватил тебя. Пронзающая, острая, но не сильная, боль в шее, должно быть это был шприц со снотворным. Ты не знаешь от куда появился тот человек, как он оказался в твоей квартире и ты не знаешь, кто это был. Он подкрасился сзади.

Скрип ступеней привлекает твоё внимание, но ты не можешь никого увидеть, сидя спиной к лестнице. Человек не такой высокий, но его фигура всё равно устрашает. Он становится перед тобой, не достаточно близко, чтобы принести тебе дискомфорт.

— Ты долго спала, — произносит он. — Думал мне придётся отдать Кэпу твоё тело. Хотя вряд ли он будет что-то делать уже ради тела.

Мужчина тянется к скотчу на твоих губах.

— Это не долгий момент, когда ты можешь говорить. Воспользуйся этим с умом.

Ты смотришь на него с удивлением и страхом.

— Кто ты?

— Брок Рамлоу. Предугадывая твой следующий вопрос, мне нужен Стив Роджерс. Ты как его девушка отлично подойдёшь для приманки.

— Мы... он не придёт.

Брок наклоняешься к тебе, опираясь на спинку стула и смотря тебе в глаза. Из-за чего ты вся сжимаешься внутри, смотря в его чёрные глаза.

— Придёт. Не нужно думать, что ты можешь обмануть меня.

Ты не знаешь, что сказать учитывая, что Стив и впрямь захочет прийти, он спасёт тебя, как только узнает, что ты в опасности. Если он ещё не знает. Ты не уверена сколько времени прошло с момента, как тебя похитили.

— Наслаждайся тишиной, милая, — Брок снова клеит скотч на твои губы и уходит.

Ты искренне надеешься, что не останешься здесь до момента пока захочешь в туалет или есть.

***

Дверь снова открывается, скрип ступеней и Брок снова перед тобой, с бутылкой воды.

— Без фокусов, — произносит Рамлоу, когда отклеивает скотч от губ.

Брок открывает бутылку воды и подносит к твоим губам. Тебя слегка удивляет, что Рамлоу не обходится с тобой грубо и пренебрежительно. Ты благодарна, что он не облил тебя водой или не заставил захлебнуться её ради забавы.

Убрав бутылку, Брок снова клеит скотч.

— У нас поезд��, сладкая, но вряд ли ты застанешь вид из окна. — Брок обходит тебя, ты слышишь как он что-то достаёт из кармана, пока ты чувствуешь усталость, а веки становятся тяжелее.

Он поднимает тебя за локоть, тянет к выходу, пока ты плетёшься. В твоих глазах темнеет, и ты к счастью не ударяешься об пол, Брок ловит тебя.

***

Стив чувствует себя загнанным в клетку, бессильным и уязвимым. Ты не отвечала на звонки уже несколько часов, Стив не может отследить тебя, ты вряд ли отключила бы локацию. Роджерс надеется найти тебя в порядке, может твой телефон сел, может ты заснула сразу после работы, и с тобой всё в порядке.

Его стук в твою дверь настойчивый и тяжёлой. Но ты не открываешь. Стив лезет за ключами в карман, открыв твою дверь запасным.

В твоей квартире пусто и тихо. Стив замечает небольшой беспорядок, и его сердце сжимается. Он не может думать о лучшем.

Благодаря работе Мстителя, Роджерс может узнать кто тебя похитил. Но найти тебя сразу сложно. Брок сам заявляет о себе. Адрес приходит ему в сообщение, и упоминание тебя, заставляет злиться. По нескольким камерам, можно было увидеть Рамлоу, который тащил тебя к машине.

Стив прибывает к сомнительному месту, недостроенные здание, многоэтажное и очевидно не предназначенное для встреч.

Роджерс встречает тебя на семнадцатом этаже, без сознания, лежащей на полу и Рамлоу нет рядом. Стив направляется к тебе, желая проверить есть ли у тебя пульс.

— Она жива, пока что, — подаёт голос Рамлоу, предъявляя себя.

Стив оборачивается, встречаясь с человеком, которого считал мёртвым. Брок выглядит самодовольно, когда смотрит на Роджерса. На Рамлоу костюм, то, что делает его визуально мощнее, и заставляет Стива догадываться о новых преимуществах Брока в бою.

— Но это не долго. Здание взорвётся через три минуты, и вряд ли ты успеешь спасти её и убить меня.

Роджерс улавливает намерения Брока. Он хочет напасть на Стива, он отнимет у него время в бою, а ты без сознания не сможешь никуда убежать. Роджерс может потерять тебя из-за боя. Рамлоу знает, что сможет убежать, снова, может даже отомстить Стиву. Брок кичится своим планом, предполагая, что у Стива нет возможностей.

***

Стив чувствует себя побитым, он мог бы посчитать своё положение проигрышным, но ты жива, ты с ним в целости и безопасности, даже если Брок до сих пор на свободе.

Когда ты приходишь в себя, Роджерс сразу поднимается со своего места, подходя к твоей больничной кровати.

Ты выглядишь растерянной, оглядываясь. Наткнувшись взглядом на Стива ты немного успокаиваешься.

— Почему я в больнице? — твой голос слабой, охрипший после сна.

— Просто проверка, они хотят очистить твой организм. Брок дал тебе что-то слишком сильное.

Ты смотришь на лицо Стива, несколько ссадин, которые должны скоро исчезнуть не оставив даже после себя следа.

— Как ты себя чувствуешь? Мне позвать врача? — его ладонь в разы больше твоей, он берёт её, согревая твою прохладную кожу.

— Нет, я в порядке. Ты поймал его?

— Не в этот раз, — со стыдом признаётся Стив. — Прости.

— Не нужно. Ты сделаешь это позже, мы оба знаем, преступники не уходят от тебя на долго. — Твоя слабая улыбка ободряет его.

Уголки губ Стива поднимаются, когда он немного смущается от твоих слов, но он знает, это правда.

Рамлоу не уйдёт от Роджерса, особенно после того, как Брок осмелился прикоснуться к тебе, втянуть тебя в их дела.

Стив наклоняешься к тебе, оставляя поцелуй на лбу и выпрямляется.

— Я схожу за чем-нибудь съедобным для тебя. Скоро вернусь.

Стив покидает твою палату уже чувствуя необходимость вернуться к тебе и не отходить, пока ты не поправишься полностью.

[holylulusworld]

Brock Rumlow/Crossbones Masterlist

Masterlist for all Brock Rumlow stories

Contains: 💔 angst // 💕 fluff // 💦 smut // 🖤 light smut // 🤍 implied smut

The enemies wife

His latest target

The Outsider

Divider by me *for my blog use only*

Find more Marvel stories here: Marvel Masterlist

[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"

[manicr]

Chapters: 9/? Fandom: Marvel (Comics), Daredevil (Comics) Rating: Explicit Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Crossbones/Bullseye, Lester | Benjamin "Dex" Poindexter/Brock Rumlow, past Daken/Bullseye Characters: Brock Rumlow, Lester | Benjamin "Dex" Poindexter, Bullseye, Crossbones Additional Tags: Mental Health Issues, Canon-Typical Violence, Hurt/Comfort, Power Dynamics, Blood and Gore, Toxic Relationship, Suicidal Thoughts, Additional Warnings In Author's Note, S&M, Domestic Supervillains, Rough Sex Summary:

The war for Hell’s Kitchen went sideways and then Venom-dragons attacked.

Bullseye never did get out of New York. Crossbones picks up the pieces. Domestic Supervillains and mental illness.

CHRISTMAS WITH BROCK AND LESTER

HAPPY HOLIDAYS!

[pandagirl45]

One side Johann x Steve in also good.

After listen red skull talk about Steve many times.Rumlow ask him:"Boss…are you in love with Captain America?"

Black gloved hand slammed against another destroyed machine that was meant to sap the necter from Captain America. It should have work, they spent months on it but it was totaled by him and his team.

Even worse, as he eluded arrest or even execution, he saw those imperfect blues divert to the gunmetal armor.

How it burned him up inside.

"ROGERS!"

The red skull slammed his fist into the console leaving a dent as he snarled at the failed machine. Flinging it away.

Brock stared as his boss began his 20th rant on captain America. He fought the guy himself, he was spry and devastating if he got a hit on you. Or if he had done anything that can make grown ass men rant. Complain. Wax... poetics...

Wait?

Brock tuned in on this part of the long winded rant and revenge scheme. "Your blood, your essence, your being is mine."

Seesh. Brock stopped with half way raised hand before lowering it, "boss... funny question," runlow felt the icy chill eyes lock on him. The stress and anger pushing the blood vessels to erupt, "are you in love with captain america?"

There was a pause, unwavering eyes, no emotion but red skull hands clasped behind his back. Eyes locking back on rogers, his boss sighed out, "no."

The room drowned in the aura of longing. One that rumlow can't deal with it. He let outbhe was going to get the men back on training and scientist on the next plan. All he can see is his boss stare at the monitor of rogers eating ice cream. He was holding a black male hand.

The sound of gloves clenching, Brock ducked out. He was going to leave his boss... to whatever this... is.

[ramp-it-up]

Addicted to You

Pairing: Mob Boss! Sam Wilson x Reader

Word Count: 932

Warnings: 18+ As always, MINORS DNI, Not Beta’d. All mistakes my own. Angst, Allusions to danger, talk of addiction, but not really. Substance use, partying, fake friendships, toxic parents, a sad, famous life, pining, peeing while on the phone, request for rough sex, Sam has a big soft spot for reader despite who she is, Rumlow! reader.

A/N: No one asked for this, but this is in the same AU as Try a Little Tenderness and The Representative. The AU is called This Thing of Ours.

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

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

——-

You were bored beyond measure.

There was also an indeterminate itch under your skin that you needed to scratch.

It happened every time you were in New York.

Like an addict, proximity to your drug of choice had you quietly feening, even though you’d found some safer, more life affirming substitutes.

The paparazzi swarmed you and your girls, and you gave them face although you were behind your designer sunglasses.

You knew that your body, clad in a skintight exclusive dress, the faux fur dripping off your arms, and the 24 inch weave flowing down your shoulders was what they were paid for.

The photogs called your name, ignoring the beauty of the crew around you as you entered the club.

Despite that, your girls bubbled up at the sight of the exclusive club and the other famous faces that turned to stare at you. The owner came over to greet you and lead you up to the VIP. Once settled, the popping of bottles commenced.

You knew why the girls around you stayed close, but you played the bestie game so as not to be alone.

Because that would mean you’d have to think.

“Damnnn… Y/N! That one guy from TMZ sure was sweating where D was tonight. You’d think he was dating him.”

The way Starr cut her eyes at you confirmed that she was the one sweating your latest beau.

You pulled out the phone that had your face plastered all over Times Square with ads and threw it on the table.

“Well maybe I should have let him answer my phone, because D has been blowing me up all night.”

Starr picked up the phone and scrolled through your notifications as Eve looked over her shoulder.

“Dammmm Son!” Eve shouted. “You got this man quadruple texting and shit, and calling too? Yo! Teach me the ways of that golden pussy.”

You laughed, flipped her off and took another drink of champagne.

You didn’t tell them any of what your other taught you. Ways to get a man and keep him, things to say and what not to say, how to eat, keep fit, but still make it all look natural. And yes, pointers on what to do in bed. Your mother was a piece of work, but she was sitting in a life of ease now. Even if her husband was a grade A asshole.

Your mother worked her way from being a drug runner’s girl to being the famous wife of a celebrated television personality, whom everyone (who didn’t know him personally) loved. He was everyone's uncle, and a multimillionaire.

Once the bag was secured, your mother made him adopt you, even though you were already 19, stating that because your father was dead, it was only right. But you knew it was only to have his powerful last name.

You carried the name around with you like the Hope diamond, and it allowed you access to handsome and talented musicians and rappers and actors for the last 8 years.

You were your mother’s dream, and your stepfather's prize. But you would always be a Rumlow at heart.

You were a gangsta.

Kiki’ing with the girls only fostered your boredom so you got wasted, literally dancing on the tables as the wee hours approached.

Around 2 am, you stumbled to the bathroom by yourself, your girls all wasted or having been picked up by the club’s clientele.

Once safe in a stall, and while you were peeing, you pulled your real phone out of your purse.

You closed your eyes and prayed as it rang. His sleepy voice answered.

“‘Lo.”

He sounded unsurprised at your call.

“Come get me baby. I’m at Knack. In SoHo.”

There were a few seconds of silence.

“What would your man have to say about that?”

You sucked your teeth.

“Now I know you’re not worried about him. Did you mean my brother? Brock?”

“You mean your half brother? Rumlow? Fuck him.”

You wiped and flushed the toilet.

“Why do you always call me when you’re in the bathroom?”

You heard rustling as he asked the question and your heart leapt that he might be getting dressed.

“Because what you and I have is so intimate, baby.”

You used your sexiest, sluttiest voice in him as you checked your makeup in the mirror. Of course it didn’t work. He laughed.

“Or maybe it’s because you’re full of shit. Meet me out behind the kitchen in 20 minutes.”

——

20 minutes later, a black R8 pulled up outside the kitchen entrance. All of the kitchen crew bid you goodnight as you climbed into the passenger seat. You’d spent the time waiting learning how to make risotto.

The car pulled out and headed toward Brooklyn. You greeted your man. Well, your man in your head.

“Damn, Baby. You smell so good.”

Sam’s gap-toothed grin did you in, as well as the side eye he gave you. He looked over at you and shook his head.

“You’re gonna be the death of me.”

You watched the muscles in his arm as he shifted gears.

“Literally.”

“Don’t be like that Sammy. Just take me to your place and fuck me real good. Hard. All night long. Make me forget my name.”

Your hand was on his muscular thigh and moving north. You told yourself that you craved his control, his hand on the column of your throat while he filled you to the brim.

Sam cleared his throat, clearly tempted. Then he moved your hand back to your lap, and again shook his head. He knew what you said you wanted, but he also knew what you needed.

“No. You’re wasted. What you can do is sleep in my bed tonight.”

He glanced over as you pouted and pretended to be mad.

But a night in Sam Wilson’s arms was the fix you’d been needing.

[e-dubbc11]

Ericca, my love. A huge congratulations on your follower celebration. You deserve every single one and a thousand more 🥳❤️

So... I wanna push you out of your comfort zone a little and request a little drabble made from a gif and I'm gonna choose our dear Rumlow 😉

But also... can I pair it with a kiss prompt? "If you win, I'll kiss you"

No pressure at all, since you haven't written for Rumlow before, but I hope this could inspire you 😁❤️

My lovely Lily,

Thank you for being such a good friend to me, you’re always so supportive and encouraging. And thank you for following me and being a part of my celebration. It means so much to me that you read my fics and our daily chats are some of the best parts of my day.

And thank you for this ask, I’m REALLY nervous about writing for Rumlow so I hope you like what I did here. Oh and it’s a little more than a drabble 🤣

Never Again

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

Pairing: Brock Rumlow x F! Reader

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of domestic abuse, injuries as a result of said abuse, lessons in boxing and Krav Maga, little violent.

Word Count: 3.9k-ish

Summary: You’re relatively new in town and you start working out at a nearby gym where you notice someone there that could help you with a problem from your past.

A/N: So yes this is my first time writing for Rumlow, I’m terrified but I had fun writing for someone new. And it’s a little longer than I intended but such is life! I hope you like it. And this has a very J Lo in Enough feel to it.

*********

You passed that building every day on your way to the gym. It was intimidating to look at even from across the water, wondering what was inside, wondering if anyone was looking down at you as you drove by the large complicated building with more windows than you could count but it was the building that he headed for every day after his workout.

Well, he did on the days that you and he finished your workouts at the same time.

Sometimes you would sneak into the part of the gym that had the boxing ring and watch him while you jumped rope, not well, but it was passable. He was amazing to watch, dominating his sparring partners with what looked like a combination of fighting styles.

Boxing, Krav Maga, Karate, and probably a few more but you didn’t know the difference. You had no idea how to fight, but you wanted to learn.

It might be helpful the next time your ex finds you because you knew there would be a next time.

The daily routine of trying to cover your bruises with makeup was exhausting and you didn’t want to do it anymore, you didn’t want to be scared anymore so you decided you were going to approach him.

He had a daunting look to him, wild brown hair, amber colored eyes, days old stubble, and his face always looked like he was filled with a dark rage but you had caught him smiling a couple of times when he wasn’t busy being cranky. So he did know how to smile but it was painfully obvious he didn’t do it very often.

After an aggressive run on the treadmill, you turned to step off and crashed right into him. He looked annoyed at first but when he looked into your eyes, his expression softened. You immediately apologized.

“Shit, I am so so sorry. Are you ok?” You asked, wiping the sweat off of your face.

Anger returned to his face when he looked at yours.

When you had wiped the sweat off of your face, you had taken some of your makeup with it, uncovering the greenish-yellow bruise around your eye that you had forgotten was there.

“Who did that to you?” He asked with a gruff tone to his voice.

Not remembering you had a bruise around your eye, you replied to his question. “Did what?”

He moved in closer and feeling his breath against your eyelashes, he gently turned your face toward the mirrors along the wall.

“That! Who did THAT to you?” He repeated again.

Quickly turning away from the mirrors and breaking away from his touch, you lied to him.

“Oh I’m just really clumsy, I walked into the corner of the door.” You said.

He seemed annoyed with your answer. “Right, if you say so, Miss. Have a good day.” And with that, he turned to leave.

But you didn’t want him to. “I don’t want to be afraid anymore.”

“WAIT!” You called out.

He stopped, turned and waited for you to catch up to him.

“Teach me…please.” You begged. “I’ve tried restraining orders, the police, they won’t help me. I feel like you might be the only one who can…I’ve seen you fight.”

He dropped his bag from his shoulder, placed his hands on his hips, and glanced at the ground before returning his gaze to you. The heat coming from his body hit your exposed skin and sent a shiver down your spine.

The muscles in his arms flexed as he pinched the bridge of his nose and returned his arms to rest at his sides. Bending at the waist, he picked up his gym bag and started to walk away.

Your stomach dropped as you watched him walk away before he turned to look at you once again.

“Be here tomorrow…noon. I’m Brock…Rumlow. Be ready to work. If you are thirty seconds late, I’m walking.” He said.

“Of course, yes I will be here Mr. Rumlow.” You said in a shaky tone. “I’m y/n.”

Brock cracked a slight smile. “Just Brock, sweetheart. I’ll see ya tomorrow. And do me a favor…”

He closed the distance between your bodies so he could whisper in your ear.

“Leave those bruises uncovered. I want you to take one more look at them because after I’m done with you, those will be the last set of bruises he’ll ever give you.” He growled and he walked away without turning back.

You had a feeling you were in for a long afternoon tomorrow.

**********

The clock said 11:45.

You made sure you weren’t just on time, you were early, changed and ready to work. You saw Brock walk in and head straight for the locker room, he was dressed in what looked like tactical clothing, all black from head to toe and black boots. He noticed you waiting for him and he held up one finger as if to tell you “one minute” or “be right out.”

You had done as he requested and left all of your visible bruises uncovered. The one around your eye was going away but you could still see the greenish-yellow mark on your face and also the hand and fingerprints on your arms and neck.

Feeling self-conscious, you tried to position yourself in a way where they weren’t so visible but it didn’t do any good. You felt like everyone was staring at you, even though they weren’t. They didn’t look as bad as they did before and they were also taking a long time to fade.

He emerged from the locker room dressed in black shorts, sneakers, and a white muscle shirt, plus his signature sour look to his face. But you had to admit, that look was rather sexy.

You watched carefully as Brock taped up your hands and then taped up his own. You were a fast learner so you should be able to tape up your own hands tomorrow, if you lasted through your first workout.

“Ya ever done any self-defense or boxing before, sweetheart?” He asked.

You shook your head before answering him. “No, never.”

“Ok…well, hope you’re ready to work.” He said.

“I am.” You replied.

And he did work you, he worked you harder than you’ve probably worked out ever before. He started with the basics…how to stand, loose knees, elbows tucked in, and the basic punches.

Brock showed you the jab, the cross, and the hook. Then taught you some of the basic combination punches: 1-2 (jab-right cross), 1-1-2 (jab-jab-cross), and the 1-2-hook-2.

Your time together went by quickly. And more than once you had caught Brock looking at the blue and purple marks on your upper arms as you threw punch after punch, encouraging you and praising you for when he thought you did a good job.

During one of your water breaks, he asked you, “When did you leave him?”

He caught you off guard, you weren’t expecting him to converse except when he was giving you lessons but it was nice to talk to someone that wasn’t yelling at you. Brock was surprisingly gentle.

He would always ask and make sure it was alright before he put his hands on you to show you something and his voice was stern but he never yelled at you which was comforting.

“Oh, awhile ago but he always manages to find me wherever I go, hence these bruises.” You pointed to the bruise around your eye.

���And he doesn’t know where you are now?” He asked.

“No, not yet but he has connections and money so I’m sure it’s just a matter of time before he does. This time I thought I’d try a bigger city, maybe he wouldn’t look for me here in D.C. but I’m just tired of running and being afraid, Brock.”

The man of few words had even less to say than he did before. He was silent, the look in his eyes was sad but not sorry. He didn’t seem the type to feel sorry for people but it was almost like he was proud of you for escaping, for leaving when a lot of people would just stay and take it.

You didn’t want to be one of them.

“Why does he keep chasing you then? What does he want?” He asked.

“I took something. Something that meant more to him than I ever did.” You said.

Brock looked like he was on the edge of his seat waiting to hear what you were going to say, before you cracked a sly smile and said,

“I took the cat.” Followed by a light giggle.

A smile stretched across his lips bigger than you had ever seen him smile before and he started shaking his head.

“The cat? You took the fuckin’ cat?” He asked in a surprised tone.

“Hey, Peanut is MY cat, not his!” You said, sass dripping from your voice.

Taking a sip of water, he inched closer to you while you were seated at the edge of the boxing ring and he was standing. Bending at the waist, he rested his hands on his knees so his eyes were level with yours.

You swallowed hard and heat rose to your cheeks as he continued to stare at you before he said in a low voice.

“I just don’t wanna see you get hurt anymore and especially not because of a cat, sweetheart.” He said.

His words didn’t faze you on the outside but on the inside you felt hot, and butterflies appeared from the depths of your stomach but you kept yourself calm and collected before responding to him.

“Well that’s why I have you, right? To teach me, I mean.” You said softly and trying to make it sound like you DIDN’T find him attractive, but you were pretty sure you were failing miserably.

He broke the awkward silence between you.

“Ya ready to do it again tomorrow?” He asked. “I gotta get to work.”

“Oh yes, absolutely but I’d really like to pay you for your time…please?” You asked.

Brock pressed his lips together in a straight line and shook his head furiously. “No, no I don’t want your money, doll. I honestly think you’re a natural fighter and I wanna teach you everything I know so you can be prepared, alright?” His voice was rough and stern.

You nodded and nervously bit down on your lower lip before changing the subject.

“Was that your work uniform you walked in wearing earlier? Can you tell me what you do or if you tell me, you’ll have to kill me?” You joked.

Brock smiled again. “Some other time, sweetheart. I’ll see ya tomorrow, same time.” He handed you a roll of tape. “Ya think you can tape up by yourself tomorrow?”

“I can do it.” You said, confidently.

He extended his index finger to point at you. “Ya know I’m gonna check it, right?”

“I know, I said I can do it, Brock.” You said with a slightly annoyed voice.

You hated being doubted.

“Ok, ok I’ll see ya tomorrow.” He said, throwing up his hands with a smug smile on his face.

**********

6 Months Later

“Come on, you can do better than that Princess!” He said condescendingly through gnashed teeth as you fought to free yourself from the tight grip he had you in, pinned against the wall. “Ya want his hands around ya pretty little neck like this again?! DO YOU?!!!” He yelled. “Come on, y/n!!

Six months ago, he never would have dared to grab you like that or yell in your face but you were much stronger now than you were then.

His hot breath hit against your face, and you managed to turn to the side, your elbow hit his forearm and his hand bent up at the wrist and you were able to quickly elbow him three times in the face.

In the six months Brock had been training you, you’ve managed to graduate from the basic boxing moves to Krav Maga where he really taught you how to protect yourself and how to inflict pain on your enemy.

You were making quick work of the sparring partners he had brought in for you to practice against. They were becoming less and less challenging and there was only one person you wanted to spar against to make you feel like if your ex attacked you, you would have the confidence to fight him off and that was Brock.

He had awakened something inside of you that you wouldn’t have known was there if it wasn’t for him. When he first started training you and said you were a natural fighter, you wanted to prove him right, that you could fight and you had the strength to not be pushed around anymore.

And the only way you were going feel good enough about your new fighting skills is if you could defeat him one on one.

“You’re gettin’ good, sweetheart…real good. Those guys are a little too easy for you, aren’t they. What do ya wanna do about it?” He asked.

“I wanna spar with you, Rumlow.” You said, breathing heavily.

Brock scratched his chin and playfully chuckled at you while shaking his head. “No, you ain’t ready for me yet, doll…you’re just not. You’re good but you’re not THAT good.” He said smugly.

You narrowed your eyes at him and suddenly became very agitated. The man was so sure that you couldn’t beat him, that he wasn’t even willing to give you a chance to prove him wrong.

Working out very close to Brock for the past six months caused you to develop some deeper feelings toward him too. Yes, you were friends but also you felt maybe he had an attraction to you like you had toward him.

There were subtle hints like you’d catch him staring at you while you were taping up your hands or getting a drink of water. Sometimes he’d wink at you when you performed well on a lesson he was teaching you. And he was smiling just a little bit more than you were used to seeing.

Anytime he put his hands on you during a lesson, he would always ask if it was ok or if he hurt you in any way to just tell him.

He never wanted to push too hard in case you weren’t ready for that yet. Sometimes after your lessons, you would take him out for a beer and he’d ask you questions about you ex.

“You can always tell me to fuck off if I’m askin’ too much, ya know. I can’t imagine it’s easy for you to talk about. Please don’t feel like you have answer me if you don’t want to. I don’t even know him but I wanna kill him for hurting ya.” He had said.

You gave him a warm smile. “I don’t really know anyone else in this city except a couple of co-workers. I don’t have anyone else to talk to about it, Brock. No other friends so thank you for listening.” You had said.

You had a feeling that he wanted to kiss you but he didn’t. Did he stop himself because he thought of you as damaged? Did he think he was taking advantage of your teacher/student relationship?

Sometimes it was all you could think about after you went home for the day. You had dreams about his lips colliding with yours, teeth nipping at your chin and jawline, and his calloused hands exploring your body, touching you in a way that you’ve wanted him to from the first second you saw him.

But maybe he was a betting man.

“You don’t think I can win, do you.” You said.

He thought he could catch you off guard by trying to punch you in the face but you were fast and blocked him.

“I ain’t gonna take it easy on ya, Princess. You know he won’t either.” And he threw another punch at you with the other fist, which you also blocked.

“I wasn’t asking you to.” You said with a coy smile before elbowing him in the stomach. “How about a little wager?”

“What do ya have in mind, y/n?” He asked.

You pondered for a brief moment. “If I win, you have to tell me what you do for work that requires you to wear all that tactical clothing.”

“Ok. And if I win?” He asked.

You moved in close so the two of you were sharing the same air, you were both breathing heavily and as your breath hit the skin on his throat, goosebumps skirted across his skin and he gazed down at you with a primal look in his eyes.

Looking up at him through your long dark lashes, you answered. “If you win, I’ll kiss you, since you’re apparently too chicken to do it.”

Brock wasn’t afraid of anything so now he was determined to win. The devilish smile that stretched across his lips told you he definitely wasn’t going to hold back and he would do whatever he had to make sure he wins the bet.

He had taught you to be very aware of your surroundings, aware of things that could be problematic like tables and other furniture that could get in the way if you had to fight off your ex in your own home but right now you were surrounded by gym equipment, the boxing ring, and the walls.

“You got yourself a bet, sweetheart.” He said.

“Well ring the bell and let’s go, Rumlow.” You replied.

As soon as that bell rang, he came after you and throwing different combination punches and kicks at you. Since Brock was bigger than you, you thought it would be best to try and wear him down so he’d make a mistake. You would use his size and strength to your advantage, ducking and weaving as he threw punch after punch at you.

Throwing all of his weight behind those punches was making him tired as you danced around him, punching him in between the shoulder blades and kicking him behind the knees but he didn’t stay down.

The rage in his eyes that you were so used to seeing everyday had returned as he got his second wind. Keeping his punches close to his body this time, he tried to get you to bring your hands down by attacking your body but you pulled him close to knee him in the stomach. Using all of your strength to throw him to the mat, only to watch him roll and get right back up again.

He was fast, really fast, but you took notice of his fighting patterns so you could counter with combination moves of your own.

You had to get him to the mat, it was the only way you were going to beat him. Suddenly you felt a hand around your throat like he had done earlier but this time being in the corner of the ring.

There wasn’t as much leverage you could use against the ropes as you could against the wall to try and free yourself but he left himself open, his legs were too far apart so you were able to take a swipe at his front leg causing him to fall to the mat.

Kneeing him in the chin, he fell flat on his back and you saw your opportunity to wrap your legs around his neck, in the hopes that he would yield…which he did.

“Fuck, your legs are strong!” He exclaimed, breathing deeply and trying his best to catch his breath after you climbed off of him.

You were trying to catch your breath also as you wiped the sweat from your brow. “S-so I’ve b-been told.” You said panting and trying to smile at the same time.

Brock stood up carefully so he wouldn’t lose his balance. Maybe in that brief moment in between your legs, you cut off his air supply which made you chuckle a little.

You removed your sparring helmet and started to take the fingerless fighting gloves and tape off of your hands. He did the same before he spoke again.

“Well y/n…looks like you beat me, fair and square. I supposed I gotta tell you what I do for a living now, don’t I.” He said, looking defeated.

You threw the helmet and the tape onto the mat and slowly walked over to him, still trying to catch your breath. You stopped inches away from him, the heat radiating through his t-shirt as you rested your hand against his chest and the other touched his cheek.

“Maybe another time.” You said, pushing yourself up onto your toes and gently pressing your lips to his.

Feeling how tense his body was, you pulled away and apologized only to have him pull you flush to his chest and his lips mash against yours as if he was trying to flatten and destroy your mouth.

His stubble scratched your cheeks but his lips felt so good against yours, his tongue slipped into your mouth causing you to softly moan and gasp into his mouth.

Winding strands of your hair in his fingers, he gently bit down on your bottom lip and gripped your head firmly as if to keep you from escaping.

But you let your guard down and he knew it so he swept your feet out from under you causing you to fall backwards onto the mat.

“Hey! You yielded, Rumlow!” You yelled, looking up at him. A rare genuine smile stretched across his lips. “Careful, you pull shit like that and you’re gonna end up with your head between my legs again.”

He helped you to your feet, pulling you in close and his voice sounded like a hiss from a dying fire as he whispered in your ear.

“The next time my head is between your legs, sweetheart, it will be because you want me there, trust me.” He said with a wicked smile.

His words, the gruff tone of his voice, the look he gave you…all sent delightful sparks down your spine and a guttural moan escaped your lips as he attacked your lips once again.

Caught in his firm embrace, his lips traced up and down the side of your neck before his hands gripped the hem of your t-shirt. Brock was just about to pull it over your head when you both heard knocking on the boxing ring doors and voices.

“Time’s up, Rumlow!!!” They said.

You broke apart quickly and laughed a little with each other before he yelled to the people outside the doors.

“Alright!! Just gimme a second!” He bellowed.

It’s a good thing your face was already flushed from the workout so the people that walked into the room couldn’t tell that you were blushing. Biting down on your thumb, you waited for him to come back into the ring.

“I, uh, guess we’re done for the day.” You said with a warm smile.

He replied. “Let’s go, doll. I’ll take ya home.”

After many long kisses outside your apartment door, and even though you didn’t want to, you finally said goodbye to Brock. Your heavy make out session at the gym made you realize that before having him in between your legs again, maybe a date first would be a better decision.

Smiling from ear to ear as you closed the door, you placed your keys on the table and put down your gym bag.

And that’s when he made his presence known. There was a touch of acid in that cold, hard voice of his when he spoke.

“Hello sweetheart. You’re getting better and better at covering your tracks. I’m impressed. Miss me?”

He had found you…again. And by the tone of his voice, he sounded like he wasn’t letting you get away this time.

Others that may enjoy: @fluffyprettykitty @qu1etwolf @redstarsandnightmares @gijos

[nekoannie-chan]

Heal

Pairing: Steve Rogers X Agent of S.H.I.E.L.D.!Reader (past), Brock Rumlow X Agent of S.H.I.E.L.D.!Reader

Word count: 930 words.

Summary: Steve broke up with you, but after that, you found the love of your life.

Warnings: Angst, but a happy ending.

A/N: This is my gift to @sweetascanbee’s Love Is A Game Writing Challenge with the prompt:

"They say that time's supposed to heal ya, but I ain't done much healing–Hello, 25.”

@saiyanprincessswanie

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April 25th

 You saw the clock hanging on the wall. Steve had been five minutes late. That was odd; he had always been on time.

"Steve, what's wrong?" You asked with concern when you saw the look on his face.

"I'm sorry, but I can't go on; I don't feel anything for you anymore." Steve's voice sounded cold.

"Oh, it's okay; I understand," you said, blinking several times, confused. You left the room; you didn't expect Steve to end your relationship; you never expected it to happen.

"Did you?" Bucky asked as he saw his friend enter, and Steve nodded, "Are you sure it was the right thing to do?"

"Y/N is wonderful, but she won't be happy with me; she deserves someone else, someone from her era, who won't put her life in danger."

"Y/N is a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent; she knows perfectly well what she is exposed to," Bucky interrupted him.

"I love her so much; I want her to be happy, but I don't think she can have everything she wants and deserves with me."

"I think you're making a mistake." "All you did was break her heart, and now she'll hate you."

After 25 weeks

 From the moment you broke up, you didn't have a single assignment where Steve was around anymore. In fact, you noticed that he avoided you; if he saw you around, he would divert his path or just walk away; he wouldn't say a word to you either.

You were sitting alone in the bar; you didn't even know what you were doing there, but you were getting bored. You looked up when someone approached you; you frowned a little and thought it was strange that he approached you since you had never talked before, except for the missions.

"Is this seat taken?" Brock asked, and you shook your head; you were so bored you couldn't even be bothered to have a conversation with him.

"I know who you are; we've had missions together as a team." You interrupted him.

"I thought you never noticed me," he commented.

"It's impossible to ignore you," you replied. You continued talking for several hours, and unexpectedly, Brock was not as unfriendly and hateful as you always thought. "You know that most people don't respect you, don't you?"

"They're afraid of me, but I'm not complaining; none of the others is interested in getting to know me; I'm very different from what they think," Brock assured, and you let out a chuckle. "I haven't seen you lately with Rogers."

Rogers: "We broke up; I guess it didn't work."

"That idiot doesn't know what he's missing."

"Excuse me?"

"Come on, Y/N, you're one of the best agents."

"You really believe that?"

"I do."

You kept talking until you ended up at your apartment. Maybe you were starting to have feelings for Brock, and maybe he always had feelings for you.

After 25 months

 "Steve, are you going?" Bucky asked, catching up with his friend.

"Where to? "Steve paused, not remembering that he had a mission.

"Y/N and Rumlow's wedding...

Steve stopped listening; he didn't even know that you and Brock had a relationship, much less that you were going to get married. During all that time, he thought a lot about what happened; he thought he had made a mistake, but he didn't know if you would forgive him. However, he had just realized that he had let a lot of time pass and that life had continued.

The next few days, Steve couldn't stop thinking; he had to see you one more time before you walked down the aisle, and he managed to find out all the details of your wedding.

It was 25 minutes before the ceremony started, and you were looking at yourself in the mirror. All the details were the same as you had always imagined, but you felt a little pressure in your stomach because of your nerves. You blinked several times when you saw your reflection in the mirror; you wouldn't carve your eyes to avoid ruining your makeup.

"Steve... "

"You look beautiful—more beautiful than ever," Steve said, approaching you. You turned to face him.

"What are you doing here?" You questioned if, if he came to ask you to run away with him or something, you would refuse; you were so happy with Brock.

"Are you happy?" Steve asked without looking away from you.

"Yes, I am; don't even think you're going to ruin my day," you answered in a challenging way. If he tried anything else, you would call security to get him out.

"No, I would never think of doing something like that; the only thing I wanted to know was if you were happy."

"I told you I am," you replied.

"I'm glad, Y/N, you deserve it; enjoy your wedding," Steve said, heading for the exit. "You swallowed saliva when you heard the door close. "Goodbye, my love."

Steve listened to the other people in the support group; he knew that at that time you would be on your honeymoon, and he didn't know who else to tell what he thought and felt.

"They say that time's supposed to heal ya, but I ain't done much healing," Steve said. "I made a big mistake believing that I couldn't make the love of my life happy, and now she's married someone else, probably the love of her life, but if she's happy, then I'm happy too, but I still believe I made a mistake, and now there's no way to fix it."

[talia-rumlow]

Escort To The Multiverse (X Reader) Chapter Eleven - I´m Not Dipping My Dick In His Leftovers!

You still think about Steve, when you close the door behind you in your apartment. You can’t quite shake the feeling that there is something special about him. Something different. You’re usually a person that figures people out quite fast. But this guy… This guy, you can’t figure him out.

You open your laptop and Google «Non Disclosure Agreement"

«A confidentiality agreement (also called a nondisclosure agreement or NDA) is a legally binding contract in which a person or business promises to treat specific information as a trade secret and promises not to disclose the secret to others without proper authorization.»

Yeah. Well, you’re not the kinda person who broadcasts that you work in the Escort business. So this won’t be hard to do. It’s not like you’re planning on going to the grocery store and be like «Hey, I’m fucking SHIELD Agents». Or, well. To be honest, they are the ones fucking you. Or, did Alexander mean something else with this contract?

You’re not working for SHIELD exactly. You just provide a service. So what is this specific information that is mentioned? And what kind of trade secrets can you possibly get to know? It’s not like you have access to their computer systems or anything. And you can’t imagine Rollins and Rumlow will ever leave you alone inside the building, other than the elevator.

You really don’t want to think about this, you’ll probably never find the answers anyway. So you spend the rest of the day, going trough your clothes and your make up. Searching on line for new stuff to buy. Deciding on what’s best to use for this high end job you just got.

——————————-

The following Friday, you once again show up at the SHIELD building. This time you have a code you use on the panel by the door, and you get yourself up to the 14th floor. When you reach the door, you can hear Rollins and Rumlow inside. You don’t know why, but it’s something in their voices that intrigues you. So instead of knocking, you press your ear up against the door, and listen in.

– I don’t know Rumlow. Do you think that’s a good idea? It’s only her second time. And we’ve already scared away two of them before!

Her? Are they talking about you? You try to be as quiet as possible, and continue to listen to them.

– She is the only one who’s coming back for a second serving. She can take it. And it could be fun?

You swallow. What the hell are they planning to do to you? Should you leave?

– Fun? I thought we were the ones who was gonna have fun with her. How could this be fun for us?

What the fuck? Are they bringing in another Agent as well? How is this going to end? A SHIELD orgy isn’t exactly what you signed up for.

– Come on, Rollins! We can watch. We can hold her down. And we can have her afterwards.

– Before, Rumlow. We’ll have her before. I’m not dipping my dick in his leftovers.

You don’t understand a single thing. Are they bringing in another Agent they don’t like? Why the hell would they do that? Is it like to make fun of someone with a small dick, or someone who hasn’t done it before? Someone they know can’t make you come like they did?

– Fine! Before! We can warm her up first. Make it a bit easier for him. The mission he’s about to go on, requiers loyalty from his side. We need him back.

Aha.. That explanes a lot. A disloyal Agent, or at least an agent they believe to be disloyal. And they are going to use you, as what? Bait? Reward? Dangle you in front of his face, and threaten to take you away if he doesn’t follow orders. Can you do that? Are you prepared to let them do that to you? 70%, YN! You can do this for 70%, and a company card. 70% means you can cut off some of the sleazy clients, you really don’t like. Although these Agent guys are rough and scary at times. They are the most good looking clients you have. Yes! You can do this. You just hope that disloyal Agent is just as good looking as them.

– Do you think he’ll be able to do it?

– What do you mean, Rollins? Will he be able to fuck her?

– Yes, Rumlow! He probably haven’t had a hard on for years!

– Well if not, she can probably teach him a trick or ten. She was good, Rollins. You know that!

Wow, you were good? They actually said that to each other? You never thought about that before, if you were good or not. You usually just show up, do the stuff they want you to do, and then leave. And you always, ALWAYS fake it. But you didn’t with them. Is that why you were good? No! Most of your clients are regulars, maybe you’re always good. Or maybe they just don’t care. As long as they get a hard on, get sucked off, or a hole to put it in.

– Of course I know that, Rumlow. I just don’t get why we are going to GIVE her to HIM. What has he ever done to deserve her?

Rollins seems to have a hate towards this other Agent. And your curiosity wants to know why. Do they know you’ve arrived? Can you continue to listen in, or will they start to look for you?

– We’re not going to give her to him. We’ll be in charge the whole time. We’re not going to leave her there!

There? Where is there? There is no way in hell you’re leaving the SHIELD building with them. In fact, you’re not allowed to. The madam has strict rules about stuff like that. She wants to know where you are, when you do a job. Stories about escorts being kidnapped and killed goes around. And these rules are for your safety. If you break the rules, you can get fired. The madam is adamant about your safety on the job.

– You’re the boss Rumlow. But I’m still not thrilled!

– You will be, when you get to watch the show.

Oh, so you were right. Rumlow is the boss. That’s what you thought after last time. Although Rollins has a rougher look, Rumlow seems more like the boss type.

– And well, if you don’t want to dip your cock in his leftovers, we can always give her the reward she deserves in the shower. Wash him off her…

Jesus fucking God. They are standing in there, planning the night with you down to the teeth. Did they have a plan last time too? You’re not afraid of them anymore, like you were last time. They both turned out to be pretty nice. But this new person they’re talking about, makes you a little nervous. And you don’t know how you feel about being used like this. Like a reward, a threat…

– Shower sex is my favorite.

– Yeah? Maybe it’s hers too!

Rollins laughs a bit.

– To me it kinda looked like she enjoyed the pain we put her through last time.

– Who said we can’t inflict pain in the shower?

OK, you’ve heard enough. You already know this night will be painful. It’s not your first visit here. And it’s better if you don’t know everything. You take a deep breath, before you knock on the door.

@nekoannie-chan @late-to-the-party-81 @randomlittleimp @here4thefanfics

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Civil War Brooklyn - Chapter 17 - (10/10/22)

Chrome & Leather - Chapter 14 - (11/5/22)

Chrome & Leather - Chapter 15 - (11/16/22)

Chrome & Leather - Chapter 16 - (12/6/22)

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Falling in Love with You - Part 2

Annie’s 1K Kitties Writing Challenge - prompt (“In case you didn’t get the memo. I’m not one of the good guys anymore.”)

Civil War Brooklyn - Chapter 18

Mine - Part 3

WIP - Dark Stucky (Breeding Kink)

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