And for @littlemrscookie second request... More Darcy and Brock ;)
Darcy looked around the restaurant. “This is really nice.”
“We agreed.” He reminded her. “And it’s not even a five stars one.” He teased.
“Right.” She drawled sarcastically. “You do know you don’t need to impress me, right? I’ve seen your abs, I’m impressed enough.”
Brock snorted. “I know. You kept petting them last night. You wanted to give them names.”
“I’m still working on it.” She informed him.
He chuckled. “I’m not trying to impress you. But, in case you haven’t noticed, I’m more…”
She arched an eyebrow. “Ancient?” She offered helpfully.
He narrowed his eyes at her. “Mature. And I like doing things differently. This is our first date; it’s only right that we have a proper dinner.”
Darcy hummed her understanding, her eyes falling back to the menu in her hands. “So we’re not having sex today, right?”
Brock choked on his water. “What?”
“It’s our first date.” She gave him a beatific smile. “It’s only proper.”
Brock put his elbows on the table and leaned forward. “I can wait. Can you?” He challenged her.
Darcy actually stopped to consider it. “If you keep your shirt on, I might be able to.”
Brock laughed so loud everybody in the restaurant turned to look at him.
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As requested by @littlemrscookie, some Darcy and Brock ;)
“What if they’re inviting us for a swingers’ party or something?”
Brock gave Darcy a look over his shoulder. “Is this a real concern?”
“People in the ‘burbs are insane.” She argued. “One of my cousins had this pineapple decoration on her door, and apparently is like a swinger’s code, because their neighbors showed up ready to party.”
Brock snorted. “Barbara and Michael don’t have pineapples decorating the front of their house.” He pointed out.
Darcy turned to him. “What if they want our bodies?” She asked, and she seemed to be really worried about the possibility.
Brock smirked at her. “I wouldn’t judge them.”
“Yeah, but… Ew.”
He chuckled. “Listen, I don’t think they want our bodies in that way. At worst, this is going to be another boring as fuck dinner, and at best…”
“It’s the break we’ve been waiting for.” Darcy completed on her own, then sighed. “I’m sorry. I’m just nervous.”
“It’s okay.” Brock assured her. “This is what we’ve been waiting for. And -for what’s worth -I've got your back.”
Darcy grinned at him. “What every wife wants to hear.”
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I’m gonna say it: Brock Rumlow is a sexy mf
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Sober - Alvey Kulina x OC - Part 2
Welcome to part 2 of my self indulgent Alvey Kulina story; warnings for strong (series-accurate) language on this chapter. Again, as a reminder, this is kind of an AU to the events of the series, especially the happenings on season 3 : No Lisa, no ‘bury your gays’ tropes in sight, just...self-indulgent goodness.
We're sleepin' through all the days
I'm actin' like I don't see
Every ribbon you used to tie yourself to me
Alvey's breath escaped in steady puffs as he pounded his fists brutally against the heavy bag, the gym empty around him. The sun had descended hours before, and he was completely alone. No sons, so cute assistant, no fighters to train. Alone. The day had been interesting to say the least, and he was preparing to bring it to an end as he worked his fists against the equipment a few more moments before slamming one final punch, and beginning to stride back to his office to lock up.
Reaching his desk, he collected his phone, turning on the screen to check for messages. Alvey stared with concern at the numerous missed call notifications that littered the screen, and he quickly dialed his eldest son, whom he had not seen since the morning hours.
“What the fuck is with all the calls-”
“You need to get over here,” Jay cut him off quickly, a hint of anxiety in his voice.
“Get over wh-...Jay, what the fuck happened?” Alvey demanded.
“It's Helena. She's at the house, and she's drunk-”
“Helena doesn't drink-”
“I fucking know that!” Jay snapped, and Alvey became silent, waiting. “Pretty sure she didn't get drunk on purpose, some guys we didn't even invite started feeding her juice mixed with vodka-”
“Vodka?! Are you fucking ser-...I'm coming over,” Alvey growled into the phone, barely catching Jay's voice before he disconnected the call.
“Good, 'cause she's asking for you.”
* * *
By the time Alvey rolled up in front of the Kulina sons' house, he was enraged. His anger seemed to double and redouble by the second, thoughts of what could have happened, what might have already happened, swimming in his unusually sober mind. Let these motherfuckers still be here, Alvey thought as he slowed and cut the power to his motorcycle after he'd rode it into the back yard, dropping his helmet on a handle and striding forward with purpose. He called out, boiling with anger, expecting to see a crowd of people, as was the norm for a party where Jay was involved, but found only the aftermath of empty bottles and cans discarded on tables and pavement. Dismissing the silence, he continued to walk, shoving open the back door as he stomped inside, looking around desperately.
“Jay, where the fu-...”, he began, entering the living room and losing his words as he took in the sight of his lovely assistant wedged between Jay and Nate on the couch, her head on Jay's shoulder, eyes closed as he held her hand comfortingly. Nate looked up toward his father, his eyes looking especially somber as he sat down his console controller. “Where the fuck are these cunts?!”
“Gone. I beat their asses myself, Alvey, nothing happened-”
“Nothing happened?! She doesn't fucking drink! What the fuck was she even doing at your party-”
“I'm right here,” Helena mumbled, her soft voice immediately silencing Alvey's hysteria. “You don't have to talk about me like I'm not here, I'm not a piece of furniture.”
Alvey opened his mouth, closed it again, tried for words as he watched her, looking absolutely wrecked. “Sweetheart, what did you...would you two go outside or something? Go clean up your fucking mess, it looks like shit!” Alvey huffed, exasperated, watching as Jay and Nate stood up, Nate looking at the floor as he walked by, Jay holding eye contact and almost making it out the door before Alvey's hand caught his bicep. “C'mere,” the older man whispered, and Jay followed without protest into the kitchen, leaving Helena alone on the couch.
Jay slumped down in a chair, closing his eyes tightly for a few seconds before opening them again widely as he looked upon his father. “Nothing happened, I got there before anything could-”
“Are you sure?” Alvey cut in, leaning over the table slightly and resting his weight on it, staring at the older of his two boys.
“Yeah, I'm sure, they...I don't even know who they were...they probably won't even recognize themselves in the mirror tomorrow from the beating I gave them.”
“Why was she...fuck, why was she even here?”
“Beeecause we're friends?” Jay responded dramatically, trusting his hands in the air, defiant.
“You little...why was she at one of your parties? She doesn't drink, she doesn't...do the shit you fuck yourself up on-”
“She was pissed,” Jay answered simply, cutting Alvey off when he started to respond, “at you.” The older man glanced over his shoulder at the young woman on the couch, now lying down on the soft surface where the boys had sat, surrounding her, minutes earlier. “Something at the gym...I don't know what you did, but you fucking embarrassed her.”
“She didn't say what I...” Alvey started, knowing exactly what he had done, suddenly irritated with himself.
“No...she said it was personal.”
“It sure was,” Alvey mumbled, closing his eyes as he rose to full height, running his hands through his thick crop of hair.
“What the fuck did you-” Jay started, but Alvey quickly waved his hand dismissively. “Whatever...anyway, I guess she's not that mad anymore, she's been asking for you since we ran those fuckers off.”
“Yeah?” Alvey rasped, Jay nodding.
“She was pretty insistent,” the younger man admitted, glancing past his father.
“Alright, I'll...I'll get her home.” Striding back into the living room, Alvey stepped closer to the drowsy young woman, reaching for her and draping her arms over his shoulders as he grasped her sides and helped her to her feet, her body slumping against his immediately. “Come on, sweetheart, let's get you home.”
* * *
Having abandoned his bike for the time being at his boys' house, Alvey drove the young woman's car as she directed him, trying to keep his eyes on the road, but unable to keep himself from glancing in her direction many times over, regret clawing at his brain. This was his fucking fault. If he had just-
“It's up here,” she mumbled, indicating a small collection of condos as it appeared on the opposite side of the street, several yards ahead. She'd been silent during the short drive, and he hadn't pushed for conversation. Talking could wait, he assured himself, for when he had her safe and in the comfort of her own home. He rolled along as he listened to her directing words, finding her assigned parking spot and cutting off the engine, exiting and stepping around the car to help her to her unsteady feet. She didn't protest when he picked her up effortlessly, one arm under her knees, the other protective under her back and grasping her shoulder as he stepped up to her front door, jiggling the key into the lock as her arms wrapped loosely around his neck, her temple resting against his throat.
Alvey didn't even bother to look for a light switch as he stepped inside, pushing closed the door with the bottom of his shoe as he looked around in the darkness. It was small, unsurprisingly so, but clean and cozy. “Baby,” he whispered as he stepped forward, scanning the couch with his eyes before lying her body over the length of it, “I'm so sorry about tonight, I would have beat those cunts beyond recognit-”
“You fucking humiliated me,” her voice was barely louder than a sigh as she let her head fall back against an overstuffed pillow.
Alvey stared at her in silence for several seconds before squatting down with his knees bent in opposite directions near the floor, his hand raising to brush her fringe of bangs away from her eye, “...I know.”
* * *
The afternoon sun was blindingly bright as Helena parked her car and strode toward the entrance of the Navy St. gym. She'd taken a late lunch, having waited until the last minute as usual to renew the tag on her car, and knowing she'd never make it back on time if she attempted the feat on her regular lunch break, she taken off in the afternoon instead.
The gym was as bustling and busy as ever as she stepped inside, navigating around the reception desk to put away her belongings, and scanning the surface of the desk for daily mail. The postal worker had been later than normal that day, and seemed to have still not arrived. She wouldn't normally concern herself with it, the mail would arrive eventually without fail, but she had recently decided to start having personal parcels delivered to the gym after too many instances of porch pirates at home...and she was expecting a package.
Glancing around, she nodded and smiled at various regular gym attendants, the Kulina boys, assorted others.
When her vision drifted toward her boss' office, she noticed Alvey standing outside the door, speaking with his most frequent collaborative promoter, Garo. As soon as the foreigner looked up and noticed her, he seemed set on letting the entire gym know as he called out her name and motioned emphatically for her to join the two men. Looking around and out the door to confirm her presence at the desk would not be immediately missed, she walked toward the office, cheeks slightly flushed from the attention. As she arrived, all semblance of attention to the conversation at hand was deserted, Garo sweeping an arm around Helena's shoulder and pulling her in beside him, Alvey notably silent.
“You have a good girl here, Alvey, too good for this building full of sweaty men! You should come work for me, I double your salary,” he spoke jovially, half-serious, as Helena shifted out of his embrace.
“I...don't think so,” she dismissed the idea quickly, but with a warm tone that conveyed the idea was not without merit, “I'm comfortable here.”
“Ah, I'll wear you down eventually, I think,” Garo continued, casting a smile at Alvey, whose face remained stoic. “I was beginning to think I'd miss you, dear.”
“I took a late lunch, I had to renew my tag and-”
“Ah, very responsible,” Garo nodded, and Alvey finally spoke up.
“It expired last week,” the trainer stated, his vision drifting from Garo to his assistant, a strange kind of glimmer in his eyes that caused her brows to furrow slightly before answering.
“Well...that's what grace periods are for.”
“Right, partial credit at least,” Garo declared, glancing toward his watch. “Well, I have other appointments that I can't miss. It was wonderful to see you, dear, and Alvey, handsome scoundrel as always.” The promoter patted Alvey's shoulder amicably, and leaned in to place a kiss on Helena's cheek, before bidding farewell to the both of them and making his escape. Helena was on the brink of leaving the area to return to her desk when she felt Alvey's hand wrap gently around her wrist, her eyes raising to his questioningly.
“Can I speak to you privately?” he asked, though it didn't seem as if she had a choice.
“Yeah...of course,” she mumbled, following him as he stepped through the open door, closing it from inside as she followed him in. Alvey stepped around his desk and settled in the comfort of his chair, Helena sitting cautiously on the scuffed up couch opposite him. When he remained quiet, simply staring at her with an unreadable expression, she finally spoke up, “'I cleared the late lunch with you already-”
“I know, I just wanted to...talk,” Alvey cut her off, licking the inside of his top lip, Helena sucking in her bottom one briefly as she watched. Fuck, she'd swear he did that shit on purpose. “I, uh...just wanted to check in with you, make sure you're comfortable, content, whatever.”
“Is this about Garo offering me a job-”
Alvey waved his hand dismissively, leaning back as his eyes met hers again, and continued. “It's just, uh...I know MMA's not quite your thing, you don't really take advantage of the equipment the way all my other employees do-”
“I like MMA just fine-”
“You like boxing,” Alvey stated, Helena rolling her eyes and looking away, the twinge of a smile on her lips. “It's fine, I get it, MMA is more brutal.”
“So, what? I'm in trouble because I don't abuse the obvious perks-”
“Did I say you were in trouble?” the trainer cut in again. “It's, uh...,” Alvey considered how to approach the subject, his vision drifting under his desk to the parcel that had arrived while his assistant had been out. “I guess I was just wondering...with a building full of virile men, why you're resorting to something like this.”
Helena's eyes widened as he reached under his desk and drew out a sealed box with a transparent window, a silicone-covered vibrator packaged within. “I...you opened my ma-...w-what the fuck is wrong with you?!” she stammered, rising to her feet to snatch the item off his desk, Alvey quickly grabbing it and lifting it in the air and out of her reach. Glancing over her shoulder to confirm the blinds that covered the windows of the office were drawn closed, she returned her gaze to the man in front of her, cheeks flushed with anger and embarrassment. “It's a federal fucking crime to open someone else's mail,” she whispered irritably, reaching again to no avail.
“I didn't do it on purpose,” Alvey answered quickly, his full hand dodging hers as she reached again, “The packaging was very discreet-”
“It's supposed to be discreet,” she practically growled.
“-and I opened it thinking it was for the gym...clearly, I was wrong.”
“And this is how you let me know? This is how you...you could have sealed it back up and left it at the front desk.”
“Where's the fun in that?” Alvey asked, smirking, as he looked up to the parcel in his hand, but when his eyes cast back to her face, his smile began to falter.
“I'm sorry, it's...it's fun, embarrassing me? It's fun, digging into my personal life, inferring that I can't get laid unless I'm doing it myself?”
“I didn't say-”
“You know...I wouldn't do this shit to you,” she huffed, her lips and chin starting to tremble as her arms fell to her sides, stepping back in defeat. “And I could. I could cut you down to nothing with a few choice words, I could make you feel as fucking small as you've gone out of your way to make me feel...but I won't. Because I'm not...” her words faltered, her vision focusing in on anything in the room that was not her boss, Alvey finding himself incapable of responding, regret starting to wash over him. Without words, Alvey began to rummage under his desk, searching out the brown box the adult toy had arrived in, stuffing it inside and folding the cardboard tabs closed.
“Fuck you,” Helena huffed as she snatched up the box, stuffing it under her arm and rushing out of his office, slamming the door behind her. Alvey sat at his desk, slumping forward over it and running his fingers through his hair, the normally comforting feeling doing nothing to quell his instant regret.
* * *
“Here, you need to eat something,” Alvey spoke insistently as he pressed a small plate into Helena's hand, “it'll help soak up the booze.”
“I didn't mean to-” she began, dragging her drowsy body into a seated position on her sofa, staring down at the sandwich Alvey had assembled.
“I know, baby, it's not your fault,” he quickly interrupted, reaching out to push her messy bangs away from her eyes as she leaned over slightly to take a bite of sustenance. Alvey sat beside her on the cushioned furniture, waiting until she'd consumed half the sandwich before he began to speak again. “You went to Jay's party because you were mad at me, didn't you?” Helena tilted her head slightly to glance his way, casting a subtle glare, before returning her attention to her food. “I didn't mean to-”
“A real fucking apology...is a good place to start,” she whispered, reaching for the can of sparkling water he'd opened for her.
“You're not even gonna remember it tomor-”
“Will it crush your ego that much to do it twice, then?” she mumbled before pressing the last bite of food into her mouth.
Alvey's hazel eyes kept focus on her as she sat down the plate and took another quick swig of sparkling water, waiting for her to finish before he reached out for her hand, lifting it to his mouth to press a kiss against the back of it, “I'm sorry. I was a pig, I was an asshole, I was-”
“You were being a douchebag,” she whispered, but she didn't make any attempt to take her hand from his grasp.
“Yeah, I was that too,” Alvey confirmed, dipping his face to rest his brow against the back of her fingers. “You can punch me if you want.”
“I don't wanna hit you,” she whispered, finally extracting her hand from his grasp, raising it up to rake through his thick, dark hair instead, “that's about the last thing I wanna do to you.”
“What's the first thing?” Alvey asked with a grin forming on his lips, his hazel eyes meeting her forest green ones.
“I'm not...I'm not drunk enough to answer that,” she whispered, smiling gently, watching as Alvey's lips parted, no words meeting her ears. The hand that had been gently combing through his hair pulled back slightly, a single finger brushing against the facial hair just under his bottom lip and pressing up slightly to push his lips together. Without thinking, Alvey pressed a kiss against the pad of her finger, his eyes not leaving her face as she slowly pulled her hand back toward herself again.
“So...what are you drunk enough for?” Alvey whispered, reaching forward and grasping her hand again. “How do you feel?”
“Um...floaty?” she whispered, lids heavy, mind drowsy.
“Floaty,” he repeated, thoughtful. Casting his gaze around the room, Alvey spied a hallway, presumably leading to a bedroom. “Why don't, uh...why don't we get you more comfortable. Grab your water.”
“What are you gonna do to me?” Helena asked as she took the hand he offered her, bringing her to her feet, and followed him as he guided her deeper inside her own apartment.
“Nothing to call HR over,” Alvey quipped, thinking back to the time when she had taken his drunken self home. “I just wanna talk.”
“Last time you just wanted to talk-”
“I know, sweetheart, I know, this isn't gonna be like that. Well, not completely.” Finding the hallway did indeed lead to her bedroom, Alvey stepped around the side of the bed and out of the way so the young woman could crawl on top, immediately letting her body sink into the familiar comfort of it. Alvey stepped around the other side of the bed, climbing atop it as well, crossing his legs as he sat at her side, reaching for her hand once more to hold it carefully in his own.
“What, uh...” Alvey started, looking down at the smaller hand grasped gently in his larger one, “what exactly is your relationship with my son?”
“The straight one,” Alvey clarified.
“We're friends? We're just friends,” she mumbled, her eyes trying to focus on his face.
“Nothing romantic going on there?” he questioned.
“Um...no offense, but...your son is kind of a slut,” she managed, to which Alvey snorted. “I mean, that's fine, he can be as...you know, slutty as he wants to be,” she continued, smiling dreamily, “but I'm past the point in my life where I am willing to accept...just being a guy's booty call. If that's all I am to them...fuck, I can take care of myself just fine.”
That explains the vibrator, Alvey considered, but he chose not to speak that particular thought aloud. “So, no one...no one at the gym is, uh...” He paused as he felt the small hand in his, grasp onto his fingers a little tighter. “No one's peaked your interest?”
Helena closed her eyes as she dragged Alvey's hand toward herself and up to her lips, surprising him when she pressed a kiss to the knuckles he had used to beat countless men into submission, “What do you think?”
“I think...you're not going to remember any of this tomorrow...so I might as well pump you for information while I can.” He watched her face as he spoke, noted the way she raised her eye brows suggestively at the words pump you, and shook his head as a grin tugged at his lips. Helena opened her eyes just in time to see him run the tip of his tongue over the inside of his top lip and let out a sigh of appreciation in response. “What?”
“I love that...the way you lick your lip like that.”
“You like that?” Alvey whispered, leaning in closer without even noticing.
“Mmm, it's sexy...and when you're angry, and you're yelling and all intense, and your nose,” she reached her empty hand up to run her thumb over the side of his nose, near his eyes, “scrunches up, I like that too.”
“I think I'm starting to see what kind of drunk you are,” Alvey answered, leaning in even closer, his face hovering over hers.
“The honest kind.” She seemed to agree, drawing an invisible line between his eyes and tracing his brow, down his prickly, sculpted jawline, down his throat, her touch feather-light. Alvey's hazel eyes concentrated on her greener ones as she watched the movement of her own fingers, tracing over the logo that ran across his chest. “If I asked you to,” Alvey finally spoke again, gently grasping her hand and tracing his thumb over her knuckles, “you'd be my girl...wouldn't you.”
She nodded her head almost imperceptibly as her hand started to become heavier in his grasp, and Alvey watched in silent contemplation as she finally drifted off to sleep.
🥃 🥊 🥃 🥊 🥃 🥊 🥃 🥊 🥃 🥊 🥃 🥊 🥃 🥊 🥃 🥊 🥃 🥊 🥃
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@hxrbingxr: [text: unknown sender] i have information you may like to hear... so long as you still don't scratch your left butt cheek while making dinner for your friends
he’s in the middle of making dinner - however ironic that might be - when the text comes through & at first he doesn’t even pause to look it over. things are significantly calmer now than they have been, though nothing will ever compete with the utter silence & devastation of those first few months after the Snap. with everyone back, & things getting back to some weird new normal, he’s been able to take time off whereas up until that point he’d been juggling three different agencies that had been gutted of all higher level leadership. having a home cooked meal where nothing came out of a box was a damn luxury, & he was going to enjoy it.
except he’s curious. not a lot of people have this number. it’s a private line he’s kept active for only those in the closest part of his inner circle, & that usually means it’s an emergency. as far as he’s aware, there aren’t any fires to put out, so... he wipes his hands & reaches for the phone, unlocking it with a passcode & raising an eyebrow. it takes a moment before a smirk unfurls on his lips & he shakes his head. ‘ damn, ’ is all he can think to say, but it’s definitely more affectionate than anything. the dogs don’t stir, & he has a moment between what he’s working on to actually type out a reply. hitting send, he sets the phone back down where he can see it. if this isn’t some sort of trick - & he highly doubts it is - things are about to get a lot more interesting.
→ [ 💬 ;; troublemaker ] old habits are hard to break. was hoping I’d hear from you soon. good to see you’re still kicking around. what do you have for me?
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Jack: I like you
Brock: sorry I’m not interested in someone with poor judgment
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Okay, but besides Brock Rumlow... ( a reminder that requests are open )
Just a reminder that my ask box is still open for Frank Grillo character 300-500 word drabbles (with the potential to be expanded to longer fics at my discretion), basically for all Frank Grillo film characters at this point (I’ve also finished watching Kingdom, so Alvey is an option, and I plan to buy and watch the tv series The Gates when I have some time). If I haven’t seen the movie, I can probably find it to watch, and if it really is a character that I just don’t feel comfortable writing for, I’ll let you know (I haven’t found one yet, but I suppose it’s possible).
All requests will be fulfilled as ‘ x female reader ‘ fics, absolutely NO SHIPS. I will write fluff, mild angst *with a happy ending*, and semi-smut. I won’t be doing *dark* fic requests, if I write anything close to that, it will be completely at my discretion and not via an ask.
I do still have 3 Brock requests to fulfill currently, I’m just opening this up to other characters as well, so get a little creative! Our delicious older fantasy man has a decently long...filmography, so dig in!
Don’t send an anonymous ask, I need to be able to tag you (or send you a direct message if tumblr won’t let me tag you) when I fulfill your request
Don’t try to sneak something in that disregards my above statement regarding content, shipping, etc.
Don’t just ask something like ‘Can I request something with (insert character)’, I need a little more info than that. Give a brief scenario description you’d like me to write, go dig up a prompt from one of the thousands of prompt lists on tumblr, etc.
Don’t be too specific, as in don’t send an ask that is clearly only possible through a several thousand word fic, keep it simpler than that
Be patient with me. I’m an adult, living alone, working an 8-5 job, who is partial to naps in the evenings. Most of my writing happens on the weekend, and specifically at night, I’m not a fic-writing machine.
Please...please don’t ask me to write the reader as a canon character’s relative. I hate that. Don’t ask me to do it.
*ALSO, PLEASE REMEMBER THAT YOU HAVE TO SPECIFICALLY ASK TO BE ADDED TO MY TAG LISTS, I’M NOT MAKING ASSUMPTIONS ANYMORE, I’M TIRED OF TAGGING PEOPLE JUST FOR THEM TO IGNORE ME. SEE MY LINK IN MY BLOG BLURB FOR INSTRUCTIONS, AS WELL AS MY UPDATED MASTERLIST*
*gif is mine*
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Managed a bit of the last idea. Not chronological and weird..
Steve never saw a man fight the way Rumlow did, fast, unpredictable, rushed. There was a sort of desperation in his eyes as he circled the man before striking down, a fire he couldn't understand. It wasn't simply an attack because the mission required so, it was plain and simple survival, the thrill of a fight, bare hands against the skin. Almost animalistic.
Even worse, as the enemy trapped Rumlow he snarled, looking way too much like a cornered animal more than a human, for a long second Steve thought he would even bite to get free.
The problem was, rumlow did bite and spit the broken skin on the ground, blood mixing with saliva making him look like a rabid dog.
The other problem was they couldn't stop the fight, because of they wanted to get to their real target they had to go through them, and win. For a moment Steve thought they brought bucky with them for that purpose, it wouldn't be the first time Pierce used him in fights, he told him. But no, once arrived he had to stay behind with bucky and see as the two leaders complained and fought about how to carry on the mission. Watch as rumlow spat out he was the only one they should allow in the cage amd no, the Asset was there only if things got out of hand too fast, not to fight. While Steve felt glad of that he also thought that perhaps there was another way to get in that wouldn't involve rumlow to fight in a cage like--
"I have to say it, stranger." Steve turned to look at a man who approached rollins. "your fighter is quite good, for his age."
They had to remain in character, not to give out any allegiance they had with shield. They were supposed to be... What? Smugglers or something. Well, he had to let rollins do the talk anyway. And he was damn good at that. Dn good at lying, at making that smirk look real when Steve knew all he wanted was take the other man out of the cage and away from that rat hole.
"there are worse places to fight." bucky whispered to him when the fight was beginning. "there is one place that is worse than anywhere, be glad you're not going to see it." that was bad enough for him, he decided.
"must have cost you lot of money, for such a good breed."
The man kept talking, like referring to a dog, he felt sick. Rollins hummed quietly again.
"he's not for sale unfortunately."
"my boss would pay you double."
"not for sale." rollins snarled finally turning to him. "I know a place where you can find equally good fighters."
"no, no. - the man sighed and exhaled slowly. - you don't understand. It's not easy to find a pure madripoorian breed around here."
The cage rattled as rumlow threw himself at it after knocking his opponent on the floor, and growled at the man to leave rollins alone, bloodshot eyes staring straight through the man.
"bothering you, master?" he growled before stepping out, bucky stepped forward, reaching to help him when he stumbled, his eyes flickering quickly at the arm wrapping around his back and steadying him. He felt... Good. Weak. Tired. He wanted to fight. Again, more. His master enjoyed looking at him fighting.
"No, darling. He was appreciating your strength and skills." rollins' hand cupped his face gently, brushed the hair from his sweaty forhead, he frowned when it came away sticky with blood, Brock looked dazed, his eyes unfocused as he melted in the touch, he felt dizzy when he closed his eyes briefly. Maybe Master would let him rest on his lap since he seemed satisfied with his performance, he even called him darling.
"come now, sweetheart. - oh, master was really in a good mood, maybe he should try and please him more if that was the result. - we deal with our buyer and then we're off."
Buyer? Panic bubbled in his chest. Was-- was master going to sell him?
Something cold pressed against his split lips and he didn't fight it, he knew better than fight the master or his handlers. He knew better than fight their kindness.
"that's it, suck in it slowly, it will ease the pain. That was a good fight, Commander."
Bucky's voice was quiet, soft, he held the ice cube in the metal hand, pressed against his lips, as they followed rollins down a corridor.
Commander, rumlow thought dazed, cold water dripping down his chin, the mission. Of course it was a mission. His master, his Jack would never sell him, he wasn't a slave anymore. He was... He was free. He was a commander. A leader. And that was a mission.
He took the first couple of stairs, following rollins upstairs, before his knees buckled and he slumped over bucky. He vaguely heard him call jack, he heard rollins order to carry him if he must, he failed to hear the barely concealed panic in his voice; but bucky's clear eyes, wide with worry, spoke louder than anything else and they were the last thing rumlow saw as his consciousness faded.
"he might have a concussion." Steve said quietly as bucky settled him down while Jack dealt with the rest of their mission.
"internal bleeding, on top of a concussion. - he kept him in a sitting position, rumlow's head on his shoulder. Steve couldn't do much but notice the familiarity in his movements, the way his flash fingers carded through the short hair, his fingers pressing over his throat to feel for a pulse. - he'll need the cradle when we're back. You did good Commander. So good. We're proud of you darling." he brushed his lips over the forehead ignoring the questioning look from Steve.
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Anyone want some NSFW with Brock~?
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Brock: are you a top or a bottom?
Jack: mostly I’m a burden
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Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Darcy Lewis/Brock Rumlow
Characters: Jane Foster, Darcy Lewis, Brock Rumlow, Maria Hill
Additional Tags: Scarred! Brock, Triple Agent! Rumlow, She has a fiancé, Christmas Fluff
Series: Part 52 of Taserbones Tumblr Prompts & Tiny (Adorkable) Fics
Darcy recognizes the burned man in the DC hospital bed.
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« I thought we agreed on staying at least until ten PM at the business party ? »
« My desk is in the building so we’re technically still at it Jackie.. »
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Brock Rumlow: Terrigen powers and after them in Thunderbolts #148 + 151
(the ref in chap 3 of What's Owed to Us)
More ideas, because fuck that's how my brain works. I have at least 1000 plot bunnies jumping up and down all around me. (no, not metaphorically... They do jump, and there's so many of them.)
Au where Jack joins hydra before Brock. He's with secretary Pierce in madripoor because pierce heard of a rogue fighter who could come in hand, with a little of discipline and training, and takes one of his best men with him, just in case.
What they find there is a damn good fighter, but also a slave. Stuck with a master treating him like an animal despite being his best fighter. Untristing of everyone, master included, and stepping away from any nice touch directed his way.
With a little more of extra money (pierce never fails to remind him he payed, every time rumlow steps out of the way, he wasn't worth that much, so he must make up for the extra.) pierce buys him, and strangely enough the man is not surprised. He quietly calls him his master, asks about fights, and learns his new fights won't be the same they were in madripoor.
"it's not survival, it's change."
Brock is a fast learner, but still distance himself from touches. Still calls pierce "master", still tries to please him in every way he can.
Of course in the long run jack will earn enough trust to have a nice relationship, healty, way healthier than anything Brock had before.
And then, then pierce introduces them to the Asset. The first mission goes smooth, until Brock sees him so complying with pierce, actions, and looks he remembers of himself when he first joined. The Asset is a fighter, like him, during longer missions Brock knows exactly what he needs, what he seeks but won't ask for, because he's not allowed to ask for that kind of comfort. And slowly Brock earns his trust, like Jack did before, and trust runs deeper than memories, the Asset won't forget it after the wiping.
except some times Brock is in the middle of a harsher fight, something that takes him back to his fighter days, and Jack is there, always there, for the aftermath but most people not directly of STRIKE team don't understand. Even less when one time the Asset dares a little more than usual, he touches brock's head as he sits on the floor, head on Jack's lap, ruffles his hair, and whispers "that was a good job Commander." in a soft voice that makes rumlow shift, turn his head and melt into the touch.
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A first version snippet of a short fic for the bingo card. (the one half inspired by your art @grelots-chan)
Brock exhaled, the sound coming out weak, wet, he felt something drip from his lips but he couldn't move. He tried.
He tried to step away, he tried to run as the building collapsed, as the floor beneath his feet tilted and he slipped on his back. He tried to get a grip on something, anything, hell, he would have accepted to grasp the ankle of the man he was fighting a moment before if that meant he wouldn't fall to his death.
Instead he fell. He blacked out for a moment, his head hitting the floor or the wall or whatever it was, and he fell. Brock rumlow knew pain but this was more than he could take, the world around him exploded. He was-- no way he would survive that.
"jack... Rollins come--"
He mumbled as he rolled away from a part of roof or floor falling on top of him, his chest hurt at the movement and he laid on his back.
"bit busy over here Brock! "
Oh, good. Still alive, still fighting. Brock smiled, eyes fluttering close for a moment.
"No wonder... - he breathed out, blood trickling from his lips. He had to move, to turn himself before chocking on it, he knew it. His body refused to move. - get away while still on feet Jackie."
He heard something from the comms, a curse or something, somehow Brock smiled again.
"I mean it jack..."
Something cracked above, as Brock lift his eyes to check how long he had to move the floor beneath him opened and he didn't hear Jack's voice screaming his name over the comms. Truth be told he hardly hear anything for some minutes when his body finished falling. He hardly felt anything too, until he regained consciousness and found himself trapped.
Pain exploded then. His whole body was hurting and nothing he could think of doing would help. He felt blood sticking to his clothes, coming from his lips when he coughed weakly, bubbling in his throat and threatening to choke him. He had no way out, not when half the building was now resting on him, pinning him, trapping him so tightly that he couldn't move a finger. Or perhaps his fingers were broken, like his legs, ribs, possibly his spine.
Brock never thought about dying, not really. He knew it was a risk every time he went on a mission, no matter how good strike team was, no matter jack was there to watch his back. No matter sometimes Steve Rogers was there too and they weren't really needed. No matter other times the asset was there, depending on who gave them the mission. He could have died every single of those times and he didn't spare a thought about it. He never expected to live that long anyway.
But there he was, pinned, trapped, broken, dying, and his thoughts, floated sluggishly to Jack. Oh, that he knew would happen, he even said it aloud once.
"if I were to die now, my last thought would be you." and he meant it, even as Jack frowned and slapped his arm and passed a cold cloth over his brows. Fever always made Brock delirious. And sentimental.
Now he was dying for sure, he felt it in each breath he took, in every exhale, he was dying and his last coherent thought was for Jack and how he should've proposed to renew those vows properly that time, maybe with their little trusted alpha team there. With rings and celebrations and everything.
He wanted to see that small silver band on Jack's finger, the proof they were still together after all the years, after everything.
But Brock was dying, and his last thought was for his husband.
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Smoke in the Sun Ch. 5
Firefighter!Bucky Barnes x FBI! Fem Reader
Fluff (flirty and bold Bucky, mutual pining) Angst (self-doubt, intrusive thoughts)
Warnings: language, intrusive thoughts
Word count: 4.6K
Summary: Reader is an FBI agent who is hunting a serial arsonist. After her partner is attacked, she returns home to lay low while working the case. When she gets home, she has to come face to face with her first love, and her ex boyfriend, Bucky Barnes, while hunting an increasingly aggressive unsub.
The next five days in the hospital felt like they dragged on. The days were met with a similar routine, and the only thing that made them tolerable so that Y/N didn’t feel like she was dying of boredom was the daily visits with Bucky. Bucky was gaining strength back and was even able to convince the nurses to let him visit Y/N in her room occasionally.
It was the early afternoon on Y/N’s sixth day in the hospital. Bucky and Y/N were playing an intense game of poker over the snacks Sam snuck in for them, and their jello from lunch in Y/N’s room.
“I see your lime jello, and I’ll raise you two packs of fruit snacks.” Bucky’s poker face was strong. Y/N couldn’t tell if he was bluffing with his hand, but he had beaten her at every round they had played thus far.
“James Barnes, these last two packs of fruit snacks are all I have left from the snacks Sam brought me. If you win these last few I swear to all that is holy I will end you.” Bucky let out a deep belly laugh. It was one of the few times she had heard it since returning home, and especially since they had been admitted to the hospital.
“Hey, you said you wanted me to teach you to play so you could, as you said, ‘run the table at the next firehouse poker night. I’m not going to let you off easy,” the smile on his lips was flirtatious, and charming in a way, but he was teasing her. “Ready to show your hand, Doll?”
Y/N nodded, trying to keep her best poker face, but her smile was creeping through. She was determined she had this hand in the bag. She flips her cards over on the lap tray. A royal flush. 2, 3, 4, 5, and 6 of diamonds. The grin she was sporting was strong now, any evidence of a poker face was long gone. Bucky hadn’t turned over his hand yet, but she had begun to take the pot of fruit snacks and jello. She happily opened up a pack and grabbed one to eat when Bucky cleared his throat. She looked at him confused, but he had this sly grin instead of the poker face he was sporting seconds ago.
Bucky turned over his cards to reveal a five of a kind. Four aces and a joker. He smiled at her, took the pack of fruit snacks she had opened and popped one into his mouth. Y/N’s mouth hit the floor. Bucky leaned back with a shit eating grin on his face and the sound of his laugh echoed around the room.
“You tricked me! There’s no way you got that by sheer luck! You were counting cards weren’t you! When did the jokers get put in the deck anyway?” Y/N was trying not to smile. “My fruit snacks! You took my entire box of fruit snacks! James Barnes, when we get out of here you are buying me a new box!” Bucky gave the opened pack back to her only after eating a second gummy.
“Doll, when all this is over, I’ll buy you whatever you want.”
“Whatever, Buck,” she laughed and rolled her eyes.
His smile was still evident on his face, “I’m serious. You want 500 boxes of fruit snacks, when we get out of here, say the words, they’re yours.”
“What if I want 501,” She said with playfulness in her voice
“Anything.” He leaned in close as he said that to Y/N his lips almost brushing against hers. She could feel his breath on her face, and she felt her heart freeze and butterflies in her stomach. While she was distracted by the bold move, she stared at his lips, only for a brief moment, but the thought was there, she could just lean in and do it. She could kiss him, just like how things used to be, but before she could act the moment was over, and Bucky had stolen another fruit snack from her. Grinning like a maniac that he pulled the move off.
The pair laughed about it, but neither of them doubted that there was some romantic tension in the room, but again, neither of them would act on it. They had almost lost each other and they weren’t ready to have it be another situation of right people, wrong time. Whatever they had going on, it was sufficient for now. Both of them hoped that with a little more time, things would change.
“You know what,” Y/N said, finishing the opened pack of gummies that the two had been eating. “We can play a game that I will for sure beat you in.”
Bucky raised his eyebrows to look at Y/N. “Doll, I have beat you in every game we have played the past few days.”
“Well,” she said reshuffling the cards. “We haven’t played War, so get ready because I’m gonna kick your ass.” She said, beginning to deal out the deck.
“You’re on.” Bucky scooted his chair closer to her, and the game began.
Surprisingly, of the three games they managed to play, Bucky only won one of them. They were getting ready to start their fourth, but two nurses came in to stop them.
“Ms. Y/N, I’m here to take your stitches out and it’s time for James’s appointment downstairs with the physical therapist.” The two of them groaned like children being told recess is over. Bucky stood up from the chair he was inhabiting and they said their goodbyes, both of them smiling as they went their separate ways with Bucky’s nurse escorting him out.
The nurse that stayed behind for Y/N was lowering the sides of her bed in order to have better access to the stitches. Y/N had suddenly made the realization of what this had meant and spoke up.
“Wait, if I’m getting my stitches out today, does that mean-” Her sentence trailed off before she could finish it, but her nurse knew what she was asking.
“It does. Your security team already knows. We waited to tell you anything until we knew your ride was going to be ready to bring you to wherever you’re being moved to.” Her nurse answered without looking up, and had begun removing the stitches from Y/N’s leg. She removed the first set and spoke again. “You’re being discharged at 2 p.m. Once this is all done here, we are to bring you the discharge work, and then you become FBI jurisdiction, hun.” She began working on the second set of stitches.
Y/N realized that she most likely wasn’t going to get to say goodbye to Bucky before they moved her. She looked at the clock on the wall near her T.V. The clock face displayed 1:30 p.m.. Y/N retreated to her thoughts while her nurse finished up. When her nurse had completed the removal, she asked the nurse to bring a blank sheet of paper along with the discharge papers. The nurse had a confused look on her face but agreed.
Soon after, the nurse returned with what Y/N asked for and the discharge papers. Y/N began to fill them out, and then wrote a letter to Bucky so he would know they moved her while he was gone, and she would see him soon. She signed everything, and handed it back to the nurse, and asked that the note be left in Bucky’s room. Maria had entered the room just as she was finishing up. The nurse agreed and left promptly.
“You ready to get out of here?” Maria’s professional tone that she had seen most of the week had disappeared and she was talking to Y/N as a partner, a friend.
“Yeah, I guess so,” she stood up. Maria handed her a bag. Y/N paused looking at it before opening it.
“They’re clothes. I’m not letting you leave the hospital in just a gown. Steve packed them specifically as they are your favorite pants, and something about a hoodie you like. Go change,” Maria laughed lightly. Y/N opened up the bag and sure enough, her favorite sweats and the hoodie she had been wearing while Bucky was missing were neatly washed, and folded in the bag, a pair of tennis shoes underneath in their own bag. She quietly made her way into the bathroom to change.
Upon emerging, Maria was talking to Daisy. There was a small duffle bag in Daisy’s hands. It was Y/N’s. The same duffle bag that she had picked up from Steve’s house weeks ago.
“Figured you’d like to have some possessions now rather than later when we get to the house. Steve had prepared the bag like we told him to. Your phone and charger are in there as well we picked them up from the lap tray of your bed,” Maria said with a soft smile. Daisy handed the duffle bag to Y/N, and Maria stuck her head out of the room and said something to Sharon.
Y/N looked at Maria when she came back inside. “I don’t get to say goodbye to any of them do I?”
“It’s easier this way,” Daisy chimed in. “I know it seems awful, but the fire house was told you were moved yesterday. James will find out later. It’s not a goodbye, but more of a see you soon, especially for James.You’ll see him in about a week.” She had a light smile. Y/N nodded, not really knowing what else to say. What else was there to say?
“She’s right,” Maria said softly. “And it’s time to go.” She moved to open the door. She stood in front of Y/N leading her out of the room, Daisy and Sharon flanking behind. It felt like they were moving in slow motion with all eyes on the group as they left the floor and the hospital. They stayed in that formation down the hallway, to the elevators and out of the hospital until they reached the SUV at the driveway at the hospital entrance. Maria opened the door while Y/N climbed into the back seat, while Sharon moved to the driver’s seat, and Daisy to the passenger seat.
The window was rolled down and Maria peeked her head in for Y/N. “It’ll be okay, Y/N. We are going to catch him. This will all be over soon. You have my word.” Y/N nodded. She had nothing really to say, because in reality, they had no idea how long this was going to be. It could be days, it could be months, or even years. She was hoping for a shorter time so she could go back to living life again. “Oh, and when you get to the safe house, there will be a note on the table near the door that has the steps to book an appointment with the Bureau psychologist. Don’t forget that the Bureau is requiring that for you.” Y/N nodded again. Maria leaned back from the interior of the car, and Sharon rolled up the window. The car started, and soon they were off to the safe house.
The car ride felt excruciatingly long, but was only about three hours in length. The journey consisted of a lot of backroads and uninhabited roads through small towns. The scenery was beautiful. The long winding roads with trees lining the sides looked like something out of a movie, with the first signs of autumn appearing on the leaves. It was at this moment, Y/N realized how much she felt like she had missed. She had spent months trying to find the arsonist, and now she’d found him, and he was trying to make her life miserable. Even if Maria caught Rumlow tomorrow, she would have to live with this for the rest of her life. The guilt for putting her loved ones in harm’s way. The guilt for being the reason Bucky lost his arm. There would always be another unsub to catch, and there would always be another Rumlow. Is that how she wanted to spend the rest of her time in the FBI? Hunting people who could retaliate as easily as Rumlow had? Watching her loved ones get hurt again?
Y/N felt a tightening in her chest with the thoughts racing through her mind. She knew she didn’t want to leave the FBI, but these intrusive thoughts were plaguing her dream job and giving it nightmarish features. Her thoughts were cut short by the door to her right opening. Daisy had opened her door. Y/N must have looked startled because Daisy began to apologize, but announced they had arrived. She picked up her duffle bag, and made her way outside.
Once out of the SUV, Y/N took in the scenery around her. A modest-looking cabin surrounded by treeline. A flower garden behind the house, just before the trees. And a gravel road leading as far as she could see. She listened and heard no busy roads or other cars, and knew that they had to be secluded enough from the main road that no one would disturb them or try to come all the way out here. She could hear crickets chirping, and birds in the distance. It was peaceful. Quiet. It felt as though she was in a different world. It was a stark contrast from the lights and sounds of Albany, and even quieter than her hometown.
Sharon dug into her pocket and presented Y/N with a single key. “Here,” she said, placing it in Y/N’s hand. “This is to unlock the door. Lock the door behind you. Maria made sure the place was stocked before we got here. Anything you need is inside.” Y/N nodded. She took the key and made her way to the door. Daisy following her in.
The inside of the house was beautiful. The decorations accentuated the idea of staying in a cabin, but with a more luxurious twist. The living room had ivory colored walls and a dark hardwood floor, with a grey couch and matching lounge chairs. Large windows to the back wall allowed for a full view to the flowers leading up to the woods. Facing the couch, there was a brick fireplace, with a T.V. mounted to the wall above it and a dark wood coffee table rested between them. To the left of the living room was the kitchen, it was fairly large with enough space to be able to comfortably spread out when it came to cooking. Y/N took in the atmosphere thinking of it more as a vacation home than her protective order safe haven.
“So I know this is a lot,” Daisy began. “But there are two bedrooms and two bathrooms in here.” Y/N turned to face Daisy. “As you can see, there are two hallways on both sides of the fireplace. The right one leads to your bedroom and bathroom. Any stuff Steve collected for you besides the duffle you have right now is in there. The hall to the left leads to Bucky’s. The hallways, as you can see, extend down a little further and connect to a sunroom lounge with a firepit. If you need anything, all of our numbers are on the table by the door. It would be best to put them all in your phone. Sharon and I will be outside keeping watch if you need us.” Y/N nodded again. She wasn’t really sure of what to say since she was still taking in her surroundings but she set her duffle down on the couch. She thanked Daisy as she made her way to the door. After Daisy crossed the threshold to return to the car, Y/N locked the door. There were multiple locks, and she at first debated locking all of them, but the anxiety of Rumlow finding her made her decide it wasn’t a risk she was willing to take. She proceeded to lock them all.
Y/N turned back around, back pressed against the door and took a deep breath. Whether the breath she had let out was of relief or stress she couldn’t tell. She looked to the table next to the door, and as Maria and Daisy said, there was a sheet of paper with phone numbers and the steps to make her appointment with the psychologist. She groaned thinking about it. She pushed herself off the door and made her way to pick up her bag and find her room.
She walked down the hall and found her room and the connected bathroom. The walls were a muted light blue-grey color, and the room was modern but simplistic. The queen-sized bed was a soft louis blue, and the pillows decorating it were shades of blues and greys to pull the room together. There was a desk up against the windows that had a view extending over the front yard. The dark brown stain somehow matched the room’s aesthetic, despite the contrasting color, and the nightstands on either side of the bed were a perfect color match to the desk. The floor was a grey carpet that was thick and soft under her shoes. The bathroom had a similar color scheme, with dark brown cabinets and light blue walls. She entered the bathroom and took a long look at herself in the mirror. She saw her dark circles, they were worse than she had imagined. She was blaming them on the nurses coming in every hour, but in reality it was because she couldn’t sleep. Every time she closed her eyes, she was back in that barn, but each time, she couldn’t save Bucky and she was forced to watch the light leave those icy blue eyes every single time.
Her hair was greasy. She wanted nothing more than a hot shower to wash away all the tension she was holding in her shoulders. She noticed that there were toiletries already unpacked for her to use including shower supplies and a toothbrush and new toothpaste. She moved back to the bedroom to begin unpacking the duffle she came in with. Placing her laptop on the desk and plugging it into the outlet nearby. She plugged her phone in leaving it to charge on the nightstand, and began to familiarize herself with the room. Y/N noted where Maria had put her clothes, her shoes, and simple things like where the outlets were if she needed them. She knew that this was going to be where she stayed for a while, but she felt like she was living in a space that wasn’t hers. This wasn’t her room, this wasn’t how she would set it up, and this wasn’t a color scheme she’d choose. This wasn’t her life, but it was the life she had to live for now.
After she had the few things in the duffle bag unpacked, she made a beeline for her shower. She closed the door to the ensuite behind her and turned on the water. As steam began to envelope the room, she began to strip her clothing. The water hitting her skin was a temporary break from the stress and sudden changes she experienced today and she began to wash her hair and body. It was going to be another rough adjustment. She was thinking about everything from the past few weeks and didn’t even realize that she had begun crying. She was letting the water wash over her body as she just let out all of the emotions she had been holding in since Bucky was taken by Rumlow. It was refreshing to let it all out, but it was still eating at her insides. She still felt as though it was all her fault. She stayed in the shower until the water ran cold. Finally stepping out and wrapping herself in a towel that she grabbed from the cabinet above the toilet, she made her way to get dressed in something comfortable, deciding that the only thing to fulfill that need was Bucky’s hoodie.
Y/N sat there for a moment after putting Bucky’s hoodie on, just zoning out for a while. When she spaced back in, she realized it was now dark outside, and she debated crawling into bed and just laying there until sleep overtook her, but her stomach protested. She groaned while getting up from her spot in the bed and made her way into the kitchen to find something to eat. She was surprised at how well the kitchen was stocked. She remembered making a list of groceries but nothing to this scale. There were plenty of non-perishable foods in the pantry, and when she checked the fridge and freezer, she was pleasantly surprised with the supplies inside. She moseyed back to the panty and settled on something simple. Ramen. A staple when wanting food but putting in no effort into making it. To be extra lazy, she just put the noodles in a glass bowl with some water and popped it into the microwave setting the timer for three and a half minutes. She grabbed her noodles from the microwave when the timer sounded, added the seasoning then grabbed a glass and filled it with ice and water from the freezer door and made herself comfy on the couch to eat.
Y/N’s mind was still racing as she ate the shower did little to settle her thoughts. There was so much going on in her head at once and it all felt so loud. She had her empty bowl in her lap as she stared at the door and the adjacent table, thinking about how quiet it was here. There were no interruptions from hospital staff, no heart monitors, no crappy soap operas to make fun of, although she could try to find them on the T.V. in the living room if she really wanted to. Y/N had no intention to move from her spot on the couch, but had the sudden urge to go pick up that paper on the table. She marched over to the table and just stared at the paper for a few moments, as though the words on the page would change into something new.
Picking up the paper, she felt another rush of emotion, knowing she was going to have to talk to someone about how she was feeling, but frankly, she couldn’t describe it if she tried to. She was angry, upset, confused, and at the same time, void of all emotion. Her mind felt like a tumultuous storm on the ocean and nothing would settle it. Maybe that’s why they insisted she had these weekly meetings. Or maybe it was to tell her she was being irrational. Y/N threw her head back and sighed. She went back to her dishes she had set on the coffee table when she got up. She picked them up and placed them in the sink.
Those are tomorrow’s problem, I have bigger things to deal with than a couple of dishes. She thought to herself. She took that paper with her back to her room, turning the lights off in the living room and kitchen as she left.
Once back in the comfort of her new room, she shut the door behind her while sighing. She plopped down at the desk, opened her computer and began the process of scheduling her appointment. Y/N felt a sense of dread when it came time to choosing a date and time. She was going to have to open up and be vulnerable. She kept trying to convince herself that it was all for the better, and it would be good for her to vent about the dumpster fire that was happening in her mind but something just kept making her wish she didn’t have to. She pulled up the calendar in the bottom corner of her computer to pick a day. It wasn’t like she had much going on, but it helped to visualize.
Y/N contemplated the days suggesting and shooting down her own ideas quietly to herself. After some time, she finally settled on Friday’s at 10 a.m. as a good way to round off the week and to keep in mind things talked about in the meetings over the weekend and to work on them during the following week. She checked the little box to signify to keep the same date and time for every appointment and after she hit the submit button on the schedule planner she waited for the confirmation email before slamming the laptop shut. It was only after she closed her laptop that she realized that today was Thursday. Her first appointment was tomorrow morning. Y/N shut her eyes and rubbed her face with her hands, and then moved to rubbing her temples in circular motions, all the while mentally kicking herself for not thinking her scheduling through very well.
Y/N stood up and made her way back to her new bed. She checked the time on her phone. 8:10. It was too early to go to bed, but all she wanted to do was do nothing. Y/N climbed under the covers realizing how thick the comforter was, but it was nice. It felt almost like a weighted blanket. It was a nice comfort. She grabbed her phone and with no hesitation went to her contacts, opened Bucky’s contacts and pressed dial.
The line rang only twice before Bucky picked up. “Doll? Is everything okay?” Y/N could sense his concern. She imagined he had his eyebrows scrunched, eyes clouding with worry.
“Yeah, I’m okay,” Y/N said softly. There was a soft smile on her lips. “I just missed you. I didn’t get to see you before, you know…” Her sentence trailed off, but Bucky knew what she was talking about. “The house is beautiful,” she spoke again. “Not how I would have decorated it, but I still wish you could be here to see it.”
“Soon,” he said reassuringly. “Then, we can play all the games of poker you want. You can win all your snacks back.” Both of them laughed. Bucky spoke again. “You sure you’re alright? You sound tired. You should get some sleep.” His tone was endearing. Bucky cared for her so much, he wished he could be there with her now. He knew Y/N was perfectly capable of taking care of herself and most likely didn’t need anything, but he still wanted to be there to support her.
“I am,” she said, yawning. “But I can’t bring my body to fall asleep.” A soft chuckle escaped her. Bucky insisted that he stay on the phone until Y/N fell asleep, but Y/N assured him that wasn’t necessary. She knew with everything that happened today, her sleep would be little, if she had any at all. Bucky knew there was no point in arguing with her. They stayed on the phone until Bucky could hear Y/N’s drowsiness begin to take over, and then told her goodnight, and that he would see her soon.
Y/N could barely keep her eyes open by the end of the call, and for the first time in a while, she didn’t think about waking up with a nightmare in the middle of the night. She drifted off to sleep thinking about Bucky and how much she loved him. She was going to tell him one day that she never stopped loving him, and that he was a fool for breaking up with her, because she wasn’t going to go anywhere this time. She drifted off to sleep with a soft smile on her features and fond memories of her relationship replaying in her mind.
tags list: @bloodyproudpotterhead @farfromjustordinary @lifeisalohaa
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This ship also won a full post, but before that... Have fun with this ;)
“This is awkward.” Darcy said out of nowhere, making it even more awkward.
Jack -who was standing right behind Brock -snorted. Brock wanted to throw him a look over his shoulder, but he thought this would make it even more awkward.
And the thing was, he didn’t want things to be like this.
Brock wanted to take Darcy on a date, do everything properly now. Yes, he’d been the one to enter that locker room knowing what was -very -likely to happen. Maybe he should’ve done the whole dinner thing first, but he was impulsive when it came to Darcy.
So yes, they did have a lot of fun in that shower, but it wasn’t supposed to be just that.
He was going to ask her out, but there was this sudden mission, and Brock had spent three fucking weeks in the middle of the jungle, unable to contact anyone.
He was pissed off and beyond frustrated by the time he got back.
Just to find Darcy in the same elevator.
“I was going to call.” He blurted out.
This time it was Ramirez who snickered. He was going to kill his team.
“Were you?” Darcy asked, looking amused.
“I was.” He assured her. “I will.”
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“I really want 1 drink. But if God wants me to have 3 then 27 it is.”
- Brock Rumlow, definitely
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Fandom: Marvel (Comics), Daredevil (Comics)
Relationships: Crossbones/Bullseye, Lester | Benjamin "Dex" Poindexter/Brock Rumlow, past Daken/Bullseye
Characters: Brock Rumlow, Lester | Benjamin "Dex" Poindexter, Bullseye, Crossbones
Warnings & Additional Tags: Mental Health Issues, Canon-Typical Violence, Hurt/Comfort, Dissociation, Manipulation, Power Dynamics, Emotionally Repressed, Implied/Referenced Institutional Abuse, Obsession, Blood and Gore,
The war for Hell’s Kitchen went sideways and then Venom-dragons attacked.
Bullseye never did get out of New York.
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OOOOO I was wondering if we could get more Stockholm syndrome between Bucky and Rumlow?
You absolutely can. This is some more dogfight au.
Grinning, Rumlow holds the fistful of cash in front of the Soldier’s face. “You know how much this is in American dollars?”
The Soldier’s eyes flicker as he tries to count the crumpled Madripoorian dollars. Rumlow laughs and claps him on the back.
“I’ll tell you how much it is: a lot.” He slings an arm over the Soldier’s shoulders. “I’m taking us out.”
“You can’t take the asset out,” Rollins says, but he’s already trailing behind them. “What’re you going to do? Feed him chili crab?”
“Great idea!” Rumlow steers the Soldier towards the paper lanterns of a restaurant. “He earned the money, we should spend a little on him.”
They’re seated right away, albeit in a table near the back. The hostess looks as if she’d do anything to get away from the Soldier who--even without the mask and eye grease--looks frightful.
“He’s not a pet,” Rollins grouses when Rumlow starts feeding the Soldier chili crab from his own chopsticks.
“You kidding? He’s basically a Labrador. If I asked him to set under the table and eat scraps from my hand, he’d love it.” Rumlow rubs his chopsticks under the Soldier’s chin and coos at him. “Wouldn’t you?”
And, as disturbing as it is to see, the Soldier leans towards Rumlow, closes his eyes, and nods.
It’s one thing to see the Soldier grateful for a blanket on the ground at the foot of Rumlow’s bed. Or to hear his gruff “Thank you, Commander,” after Rumlow stitches him up.
It’s another to see the Soldier swallow a mouthful of Madripoorian chili crab, and say softly, rapturously, “Yes, Commander.”
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