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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 2 years

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Private Show

Warnings: this fic includes dark content including rape/noncon/dubcon, cheating, body image issues and insecurity, and other potential triggering elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You find your husband at the strip club but he’s the least of your concerns.

Characters: Bucky Barnes

Note: @slyyywriting had to fuck me up today.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. Thanks to everyone who reads this one and thank you for all your energy.<3

Love you all like Tom Nook loves collecting rent. Take care. 💖

Why are you here? Are you crazy? Has he finally driven you over the edge?

You drop your head into your hands, elbows against the steering wheel as you try to collect yourself. As if it isn’t humiliating enough. It’s the last straw. You can’t do it anymore. You won’t.

You suck in a shuddery breath and sit up, gripping the ridged leather of your rusty beater. You see the silver Lexus, his new baby just across the lot. The flashing marquee with the woman in shock at her own nudity mocks you, casting red through your windshield. Your lip trembles, hold it together, bitch.

You look down at yourself, the sweatpants still damp with dishwater, the loose cotton tee barely hidden beneath an unzipped hoodie, and a pair of scuffed Walmart sneakers. You’re at home, scrubbing dishes, cleaning up his dirty socks, cooking a dinner that will only go cold, and he’s out here in his overpriced sportscar dropping money on strippers.

A cold trickle flows down your spine. Well, why wouldn’t he? You let yourself go. You’ve become the ratty, miserable, tired wife who can barely keep the floors swept. You wake up, go to work, come home and clean, then have nothing left to give him. The extra pounds don’t help either. You tug up the hem of your shirt and trace the new stretch mark.

Disgusted, you force yourself out of the car. You still have a shred of dignity. You snap the door shut and shove the jangly keys in the hoodie pocket. You drag your hands down your face and shake out your arms, building your nerve.

You march across the lot and approach the bouncer standing by the doors. His arms are crossed over his large chest as he gives a grimace to the world. He notices you and his square forehead wrinkles. You almost want to turn and run.

“’scuse me, ma’am,” he stops you with a raised palm, “you in the right place?”

You inhale and nod, “yes,” you tilt your chin up defiantly, fingers twiddling as doubt nips at your scalp, “my husband is inside.”

The words wisp from you and leave your chest hollow. Saying it out loud twists the knife to the bone. The man lets out and ‘ah’ but not much else. He tuts as and shakes his head, turning to open the door, “no fighting,” he warns.

“Just a bit of screaming,” you assure him as you bluster through, hands balled as you cling to your anger. Yes, be mad, that’s easy.

You stomp inside and stop short, looking around at the spectrum of colours; fabric, lights, glitter, bottles, flesh… You’re dizzy as you keep searching, standing on your toes as you try to see past the bodies sat along the bar and those clustered around tables. A few men sit alone, throwing money up on the stage as women twirl and spread their legs. How many of them are married?

You see him. Brock. The scoundrel. Your teeth chatter and you gulp as your eyes singe. You want to run away. You want to go home and cry into your pillow. No, it ends here. Tonight.

“Hey, honey,” a waitress startles you, “oh, uh,” her surprise is obvious as she takes you in, “need a drink?”

“Maybe after,” you answer quietly, “thanks.”

She bats her lashes and gives a tremulous grin, “alright, sweetie.”

She quickly retreats, approaching a paying customer with a shimmy of her chest. You roll your shoulders and push your head up. You want that rat husband to feel the same humiliation that scours your stomach. Strippers, really? He told you he was working late.

You make yourself move. Your heart pounds as you tramp across the room, past tables of chattering men, through the din of music playing along to the movement of naked bodies. Brock lifts his glass as you near, noticing too late as his dark eyes hang off the blond hanging upside down from a pole.

“You bastard,” you snarl as knock the glass out of his hand, “you fucking liar!”

“Woah, woah,” he raises his hands, “uh, honey,” he greets, “what are you–”

“What am I doing here?! What–” you huff, head spinning, “is this work now? Hm? You lied to me. You left me at home to clean up after your lazy ass and you're spending our money on this?”

“Our money?” He scoffs.

“Oh shut up! I can’t believe you! Actually, no, you know what, I can,” you sneer, “why the fuck did I ever marry you?”

He chuckles darkly and stands, slowly, sinisterly. The way he does to win all your arguments. Just close enough to make you anxious.

“Let’s not do this here.”

“No, no, let’s do it here because you’re not coming home.”

“Ha, I’m not? Not allowed in the house I pay for–”

“I work too-”

“You make pennies,” he retorts, “go home, honey, I’ll be there soon for dinner.”

“No, no, don’t even–”

“What the fuck did you think I was going to do?” His eyes fall down your body, “look at you. You’re not hiding anything special. I needa do this–” he gestures to the dancer, “just to get hard for your fat ass.”

You reel, the air knocked out of you. Your determination dwindles and you look around. You’re being watched. The performers can hardly keep up their routines as their eyes stray to the scene. A surge of shame erupts to fury.

“Fuck you!” You hit Brock in the chest, “fuck you!” You hit him again. He doesn’t even flinch. His indifference riles you further and you swing for his face. You’re pulled back before you can connect.

“Woah, lady,” an arm wraps around your middle, “settle down, no fighting in here–”

“I’m gonna fucking kill him,” you growl as you claw wildly, “I’m going to–”

“Sweetheart,” another voice rises as another man appears, “come on, let’s pack it in.”

You grab at the arm around you, tugging on it without result. Brock rolls his eyes, “Look, I’m sorry, I didn’t think she’d just show up–”

“I don’t give a fuck, get out,” the man says. He puts a hand on his hip, pushing back his dark jacket as he rubs his short stubble.

Slowly, sense returns to you and cools your angry adrenaline. Suddenly, you're horribly embarrassed. You stop and cover your face, “oh my god, I’m so sorry. I’ll go– I don’t know what came over me–”

“Not you,” the man intones out of the side of his mouth, “you.” You drop your hands to your chest as he points at Brock, “and don’t come back.”

“What– I didn’t do shit,” your husband snarls, “she came in here and–”

“You think I don’t see this all the damn time. Get out.” He pivots dismissively, Take the lady to the backroom and get her a drink.”

“No, no, please, I’ll go,” you insist, squirming as you try to free yourself.

“You’ll have a drink and calm down, sweetheart,” he waggles his finger at you then points to the ceiling, “Sam, take care of this asshole.”

Another man comes around and reaches for Brock’s arm. Your husband pulls away gruffly, “I can leave on my fucking own,” he snips, “don’t send that bitch home. She can sleep on the curb.”

Your lip trembles as Brock storms out, kicking over a chair as the man, Sam, follows to see him out. You clutch the string of your hoodie as the man at your back releases you.

“I’m so sorry. I– I didn’t– I wasn’t thinking,” you say.

“John,” the man snaps his fingers.

The man at your side once more takes your arm and tugs on you. You peer around then drop your eyes to the floor in shame. You let him lead you away, eager to hide from your rapt audience.

“Alright, alright, back to business,” the man, some sort of manager you assume, calls behind you.

You’re taken down a hallway to one of the private rooms and your escort flicks on the In Use light before showing you in. He doesn’t say a word and neither do you before he shuts the door. You sigh and look around, the space cast in a gentle violet hue centered around a small stage.

You tread hesitantly along the carpet and around the curved couch. A knock comes and you peek over as a woman in a short red dress enters with a tray with a bottle of Jack and two glasses. You watch her cross the room and set it on the low round table. You don’t know what to say so you let her go without a word.

You pace and chew your thumb. You could just go. No one would notice. Besides, why keep you here? Shit, what if they’re calling the police?

You rush for the door but it opens before you can reach it. The man, the one in charge, enters, shutting the door with a flick of his wrist as you nearly collide with him. You step back and wring your hands as you stare at him. He smirks as he watches you.

“What’s the hurry, sweetheart? Sounds like the old man won’t be staying up.”

“Um,” you swallow and cross your arms, trying to hide yourself. Compared to the club of primped, pretty women, you must stick out horribly, “I should go–”

“I told you to have a drink,” he nears and waves you towards the couch, “come on.”

“N–” you begin as he grabs your shoulder before slowly sliding his arm over it. He turns you with him and walks you across the room.

“Sit,” he points to the arched cushion, “the least you can do after coming into my club with that shit.”

You pull away and lower yourself to the couch. You hunch forward as you fold your arms over your lap, “I’m sorry–”

“I get it it, sweetie,” he goes to the table and breaks the seal on the bottle, pouring the dark whiskey into the crystal, “I’ve had this place for a while, I know men, I know most of the ones who come here shouldn’t.”

He caps the bottle and takes both glasses. He comes back to you and offers you one. You thank him with no intent to drink. He straightens and takes a long sip.

“Almost feel bad taking their money,” he mulls, “sorry, sweetheart, I know that’s not too nice to say right now.” He strides around casually.

“I… are you going to call the police?” You ask at last, cradling the glass of whiskey.

“If I was, you wouldn’t be in here,” he flicks his fingers at you, “not too hard to mop up some vodka. No harm, no foul.”

You nod and look down at the dark alcohol.

“Drink,” he demands, “I’m being pretty generous, so don’t test it.”

You raise the glass hesitantly. You take a small drink of the bitter liquid and it burns down your throat. You cough and cover your mouth. As you look up, he comes back to you and sits.

“It was stupid to come. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologise to me. That moron you call a husband should be,” he shrugs and takes a deep swig of his whiskey, “makes me wonder why they can’t just appreciate what they got.”

You laugh darkly and drink to smother your smart comment. He watches you and you shy away. He pushes against the bottom of your glass and floods your mouth with the whiskey. You choke and pull it away from your lips, hiding the overflow with your hand before wiping it away with your sleeve.

“How long?” He takes your hand away from your mouth and touches the ring on your finger.

You look at the gold band, “five years in June.”

“Ah,” he clucks and stretches to set his glass down, “not exactly what I meant. How long’s it been since he fucked you?”

“Excuse me?”

“Well, that’s why he’s here. Why you’re here–”

“I don’t even know who you are,” you stand and look for a place to put your drink.

He grabs your wrist, “finish your drink and answer the question.”

You yank on your arm but his grip is firm. He tugs you until you’re forced back down. You twist your arm in his grasp and he squeezes, a warning.

“Bucky,” he states, “I own this place. Now, sweetheart, you wanna be proper, fine, what’s your name?”

You stare at him. He slowly lets you go and you rub your temple. Well, what the fuck else are you gonna do? You can’t go home. You murmur out your name.

“Alright, and my other question.”

You take a drink. A big one. The glass is empty. He takes it from you as you swipe your hand across your lips to dab away the dribble. You blow out as your stomach swirls.

“Nine months.”

“Nine–” he puts down your glass and sits back to face you, “nine months.”

“Shit,” you shake your head and examine your hands, “I can’t blame him so please, I know why. You don’t have to say it.”

“Why?”

You frown, “it isn’t that hard to guess.”

“I don’t know, tell me.”

You scoff. You turn your face away and furl your fingers as you bite back tears. This if fucking humiliating.

“Look at me,” you whisper.

“I’m trying, sweetheart, but you’re hiding.”

You huff, “please, I would rather just go sleep on the street.”

“Babe, alright, I’m not being mean here. I’m not teasing you,” he shifts closer and his hand rests on your lower back. You wince. It feels like it’s been years since you’ve been touched, even just like that. “Looks like you break your back at home, you deserve appreciation for that. Shouldn’t matter what you’re wearing.”

You clench your jaw as you look down, his other hand toys with the open zipper of your shirt. You pull your arms in and hug yourself.

“Why… am I here?”

“Sweetheart, you’re still a woman under all this. Your husband’s too fucked to know it.” His finger tickles up your sweater and he plays with your hoodie, “I’ll take a good fucking bet that you could be up on one of these stages.”

“Shut up,” you try to shrug him away.

“I mean it,” his thumb brushes your jaw, “prove me wrong.”

You go rigid and grab his hand. You try to push it away and he twines his fingers through yours. He pulls your hand over and kisses the back of it.

“Well, am I wrong?” He purrs as he clings to you.

Your throat constricts as you meet his gaze. This man is hitting on you? With his eyes and his jawline, his cheekbones. You laugh cynically.

“You are wrong and I’m married.”

He lets go of your hand as you face forward. His hand lingers on your back still and crawls under your hoodie. He tugs at the elastic of your sweats and you yelp in surprise, you’re not wearing any underwear.

“Looks like a fine ass to me,” he snickers.

“Hey,” you shove him away, “what the fuck?”

“I’m not convinced,” he says.

“What?”

“I’m not convinced you’re the problem, sweetie, so you’re gonna have to show me that I’m wrong. Right now. You show me you’re not hot as fuck.”

You cringe and curl your lip, “please–”

“Take those fucking clothes off,” he leans in to growl in your ear.

You gasp as his lips tickle your cheek, the scent of his cologne fills your nose. You shiver as he brushes his fingers along your neck. He grips your jaw and presses his mouth against you as he speaks.

“You come into my fucking club and make a fucking scene like that, sweetheart,” he growls, “you want to put on a show, finish it.” He stands, dragging you up with him as he squeezes your jaw painfully, “go on, stage is right there.”

“Bucky,” you grasp his wrist, “I’m sorry–”

“Ah, ah, shhh,” he hushes you, “no more talking.”

He spins you, stopping you with hands on your hips and nudges you towards the stage. You trip as he lets you go and stumble forward. You stare at the platform, the single step up, not very far from the couch at all. Close enough to see everything.

You look at the door as you wiggle your fingers. You can go. Run for it. He startles you as suddenly his hand is in your pocket and he fishes out your keys as if reading your mind. He throws them across the room and they fall into shadow.

“I got a man outside anyhow, so let’s go, sweetheart,” he claps his hands as he falls onto the couch with a rush of air.

“I don’t–”

Music rises from the speakers, interrupting you. You turn to watch him place his phone screen down beside him and lean back. He spreads his arms across the back of the couch as he sways one leg.

You face the stage again and brace yourself. You can’t do this. You don’t know what you’re doing. You don’t dance. You’re hideous.

“Just gotta shake your ass a bit, sweetheart, really, it’s not rocket science,” he goads.

You climb onto the stage, eyes skittering evasively as you try to figure out what to do next. You awkwardly lift your foot and slide off your sneaker, then do the same to the other. You kick your shoes away as you pace nervously to the beat.

“Give it a bit of sass, baby,” he intones and you glance over, his hand on his thigh as he keeps one arm over the couch.

You turn and grab the front of your hoodie. You look at the ceiling and shimmy a bit, easing your sleeves down your shoulders. You get caught in the fabric and untangle your hands from the cuffs before finally flinging it away.

“Please,” you clasp the loose fabric of your tee, “I can’t–”

“You can,” he insists as his fingers tap on his leg.

You huff and look at the wall, trying to focus on the rhythm. You don’t feel very sexy. Your skin is hot with embarrassment but the heat is far from pleasant. You raise the hem of your shirt, baring your stomach as you hope the lighting hides the rippled lines around your hips. You unveil your white bra and swipe the cotton past your head.

You drop the shirt and give a spin, if only to hide a cringe. He gives a low groan but you’re certain it’s a laugh. You face him as you hook your fingers in the elastic of your sweats. If you get it over with, he’ll have his fun and send you off.

You roll down the top of the pants, rocking your hips as the music guides you. You push them down your pelvis, the cool air raising bumps all over you. As the fabric falls lower, you turn your back to him and tug it down past your ass. You drop them to your ankles and step out of them.

You reach back to unhook your bra, wiggling your bottom. You unclasp the back and ease the straps along your arms. You add it to the mess across the stage as a low shudder underlines the music. You turn, shyly, scared, and face him again.

You still, unable to even try. You can’t pretend. You don’t belong here. He’s making that clear. You came in here and now he’s showing you what’s what. Your lips part as you look at him, his hand on his crotch as he bites his lip. You blink dumbly.

You hide your body with your arms, “can I go now?”

“Go where?” He breathes as he squeezes himself, “we’re not done.”

“I…” you tuck your chin down, “please–”

“I’m hard as fuck, sweetheart, you’re not gonna leave me like this,” he drags his hand away to reveal the bulge in his pants, “so come here and take care of it.”

You gape at him. No. You’re married. And he’s a stranger.

You look down at your body and muster what’s left of your courage. You let your arms hang straight, letting him see everything. Heat spatters across your flesh, from nape to heel, sinking into your core. You quiver, for a moment confused by the plucking that feels so familiar and yet, not.

You urge yourself forward, feet flat and uncertain. Your thighs brush together as you step down from the stage and you let out a wisp. Bucky purrs as you come closer and reaches out to take you by the hips. His thumbs graze the raised flesh of your stretch marks and you latch onto his wrists.

“Please–”

“Please,” he echoes and pulls you between his knees, leaning forward to kiss the imperfections, “beautiful.”

You swallow and shake your head, “don’t lie to me.”

“I don’t fucking lie,” he breathes against your skin, teeth grazing hotly, “mm, you are so fucking hot…” he tilts his head back to look at you, his hand trailing up to grope your chest, “I told you I was right.”

Your tongue swipes between your lips and you watch how he fondles you, the doting of his hand as he rolls his thumb around your nipple. He snakes his hand under your arm and pulls you with him as he sits back. He guides you to straddle his lap.

His touch explores your torso and his breath fans over your chest. He twirls his tongue around your nipple and takes it in his mouth, suckling as he cups your other tit. He plays with you, his mouth replacing his other hand as he leaves a smear of spit across your skin.

He kneads your ass as he rocks your hips against him. He hums, the vibration thrumming through you, as he grinds you against his crotch. He snarls and falls back against the couch.

“You make me wait any longer, sweetheart, and you’re going to ruin my pants,” he rasps and nods to his body, “get on me.”

You look down at him, his jacket wide to reveal the dark shirt taut across his broad chest. You shakily put your hands on his pecs, feeling the firm muscle and letting them wander down his hard torso. You watch your hands as if they’re someone else’s.

You stop at the button along his fly. He growls and bucks his hips in encouragement, bouncing you. You pick open the button and zipper, brushing along his bulge and eliciting a gritty snarl. You push down the top of his boxers and reach beneath to wrap your fingers around him. He groans as you pull him out, stroking him as you admire his thick length.

“More than you’re used to?” He chuckles as he runs his hand along your thigh.

You lift yourself on your knees and angle against him, pushing his tip along your folds. He catches your chin and pokes his thumb along your lip as you guide him against your cunt. You lower yourself, stretching around him little by little. You stop halfway and whimper.

“Oh, baby, I know you can do it,” he cradles your face, “come on, just a little more–”

You sink down completely and he gasps, squeezing your head between his hands as he throws his head back. He sneers between his teeth as you grasp his shoulders and let out a billowy breath. You whine as you rock against him.

“Sweetheart,” he snickers as he pulls his hands away, “fuck.”

He grips your hip and tilts you, leading your motion as his eyes descend your body. You follow his pace, slipping a hand down to his chest as you moan. You’ve never been so full, so free. It’s wrong but you feel nothing but delight.

He dips his other hand down and bends his fingers along your clit, toying with you as he keeps your moving. You whine as your core pulses and the pleasure laces around your nerves, drawing them tighter and tighter. You roll your eyes back and hum as you suck in your bottom lip.

“You feel how fucking wet you are for me,” he rubs you faster, “I thought I told you not to ruin these pants.”

You groan as you carry your tempo, curling your fingers into his shoulder as his hand trails up your back. He grabs the back of your head and pulls you close, kissing you and swallowing up your moans as he keeps his fingertips pressed to your clit. You quaver as the tension winds to a fever pitch.

You tear your mouth from his and clutch his head between your hands as you cum. You cry out as you rest your lips against his hairline, shaking as the release flows from you. He grunts and hooks his arm around you.

He flips you onto your back as you exclaim. He pushes into you as deep as he can go and pulls back, thrusting sharply so you whimper. He slides back, pausing, then slams in again. He does it over and over, slamming in harder and harder as your walls cling to his long strokes.

“You even remember his name, sweetheart?” He puffs as he pounds into you, his hand stretching across your throat, “tell me, baby, who’s your daddy?”

You groan and push against his hip as he ruts, hammering you into the cushions. The world tilts and spins around you, your anger, your doubts, all lost to the whirlwind of his fucking. You clasp his thick arm and whine.

“Tell me, baby,” he demands as he squeeze your neck.

“Bucky,” you gurgle, “you–you–”

“Who am I, baby?”

“Daddy,” you drone and your head lolls in another wave of ecstasy, “daddy, please, daddy…”

#bucky barnes #dark bucky barnes #dark!bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #brock rumlow #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #mcu #marvel #avengers #au #winter soldier #crossbones

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skyfallslayer · 2 years

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Cherry (Masterlist)

Main Masterlist

🍒 Summary: As a superhero, you always believe in the good that comes with it, and the feeling of bringing hope to people's eyes makes your heart flutter. That is… Until you witness your teammates murdering your husband. Now your world is upside down, and the people you once deemed your enemies are offering you some help. Will you take the bait? Or bury your head in the sand?

🍒 Pairings: Bucky x Fem!Reader; Platonic!Avengers x Reader; Platonic!Peter x Yelena

🍒 Rating: Explicit

🍒 Warnings: At the beginning of each chapter (This story will contained future 18+ content. Minor DNI)

🍒 Word Count: 9,203

🍒 Start Date: 7/28

🍒 End Date: N/A

🍒 A/N: This AU is inspired by Amazon's The Boys. Only inspired. And for anyone who watches the show, you know that this story will get dark, gory, and very smutty. You'll be warned before each chapter, but read at your own risk. The story and it's plot is the only thing I own.

//-Index-//

🍒Character Bios:

Meet the Avengers: 001 002 003 004 005 006

Meet the Thunderbolts: 007 008 009 010 011

🍒 Chapter 1: A Crimson Deception?

🍒 Chapter 2: A Red Awakening

🍒 Chapter 3: A Red Awakening II (Coming Soon)

-Taglist is open if you liked to join-

@marvelouslovely-barnes @daddyavesxx

@avengershoney @cjand10 @dumb-fawkin-bitch

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cascadepansy · 2 years

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Somewhere in Madripoor Rumlow is waiting for his Sharon

#sharonbrock #sharon carter #brock rumlow #agent 13 #power broker #crossbones #madripoor #sharon carter x brock rumlow #sharon carter/brock rumlow #rumlow x carter #sharon x brock #tfatws #captain america #the falcon and the winter soldier #mcu #ca:cw #captain america: winter soldier #ca: civil war #captain america civil war

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remedywriter · 2 years

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Till The End Of Time

Issue 1

(Steve Rogers x fem!OC)

A/n: It's been awhile since I've been on tumblr. Hope I got the format right.

Warnings: murder, mentions of terrorism.

Brooklyn Barlowe was assigned to a new murder case. Being a detective, it wasn't unusual for her to be dealing with stuff like this. But she was a little intrested in how she ended up solving a murder case for a failed S.H.I.E.L.D. mission. When arriving on the scene of the crime, she was shocked to see Captain America. Brooke knew he worked with S.H.I.E.L.D. before, but she thought all of that ended when it was discovered that H.Y.D.R.A. infiltrated them. He looked depressed. Truly upset at the scene before him. She could've just started working kn the case, but she had a heart. She just couldn't bare to see him that upset with himself.

Brooklyn walked over to him and pat his shoulder. He turned up and looked at her.

"Was this your case?" She asked.

Steve nodded. "I didn't make it. It's all my fault."

"Don't blame yourself. I can guarantee you it wasn't your fault. Just because you didn't save him, doesn't mean you should blame yourself." Brooklyn stated.

"I know. I just can't help it." Steve sighed. "I know I can't save everyone, but I still have to try."

"A good start would be telling me what happened?" Brooklyn suggested. "My name's Brooklyn Barlowe. My friends call me Brooke."

"Steve Rogers." Steve smiled.

"I know." She laughed. "So can you tell me how we got to this?"

"I got an assignment to rescue a captured S.H.I.E.L.D. Agent. I tracked the bad guys down and figured out they were here. They must've found out I was coming. The agent was dead when I arrived."

"I'm sorry." Brooke said. "You said you could track them down. How?"

"They were spotted coming here after purchasing illegal weapons from the black market. S.H.I.E.L.D. was able to track down the dealer, but I couldn't save the agent." Steve explained.

"A weapons dealer." Brooke repeated. She grabbed a notepad and started writing things down. "These 'bad guys'. What exactly... makes them 'bad'? Who are they?"

"Terrorists from the middle east." Steve explained. "They're known for bombing schools. They started doing it in the Asia, then they became a S.H.I.E.L.D. problem when they attempted to do it here."

"But they failed?" Brooke asked.

"The agent. He was undercover as a weapons dealer. He got caught when they realized the bomb was a dud." Steve sighed. He still couldn't get passed the fact that he let someone die.

"Thank you, Mr. Rogers. I think I have an idea." Brooke smirked. "And," She tore off a piece of paper from her notepad. "if you need some cheering up sometime, here's my number."

Steve took the note. "Thank you, Ms. Barlowe."

"Please, call me Brooke." Brooklyn smiled. "I'm too young to be Ms. Barlowe."

Steve laughed. "Guess I'm just a little old fashioned."

"Maybe that's a good thing." Brooklyn smirked before she left. She went over and took a look at the crime scene.

The body of the S.H.I.E.L.D. Agent was in pretty good condition, other then the fact that he was dead. He had a bullet hole in his forehead, but nowhere else. For terrorists, they really didn't seem to treat him that badly. Even his death was quick and easy. It seemed a little suspicious for people who would be so willing to kill innocent children.

"What do we know about him?" Brooke asked the Forensic Examiner.

"Name's Mr. George Skinley. S.H.I.E.L.D Agent. Went undercover and got caught. No wife, no kids, no family." The man answered.

"Do you have his wallet?" She asked. The man nodded. "May I take a look?"

The man nodded again. Brooke put on some gloves before analyzing the wallet. She opened it and found a picture of him and a woman. She looked Middle Eastern.

"No wife, eh?" Brooke asked. "Well he liked someone enough to put her in his wallet."

She went back to looking through it. There were receipts for purchases made out of country.

"Did Mr. Skinley happen to visit the Middle East for this assignment?" She asked. The Foresic guy didn't know, so she asked a S.H.I.E.L.D. investigator.

"If he left, it wasn't for this assignment. As far as our records go, he was never given an assignment that would involve him leaving the country." The S.H.I.E.L.D Agent explained.

"Well I know what happened." Brooke announced. "He was a double agent. S.H.I.E.L.D. thought he was working for them, the terrorists thought he was working for them. His kidnapping after the weapons deal was a fake. They needed to get him away from S.H.I.E.L.D. for awhile. But they found out he had given them up when Captain America was sent to rescue him. So they killed him and left."

"And how do you know this?" The S.H.I.E.L.D agent asked.

"His wallet. He made purchases out of the country not too long ago. He has a picture with a Middle Eastern woman in a location that's not in America. Not to mention his body." Brooke explained. "No rope burns. No marks. Not even a single bruise. If he was their prisoner, that wouldn't be the case. Besides, why would they kidnap him? There were no demands, no ransom. They would've killed him. But he was on their side. Or so they thought. If he was truly on their side, he would've left with them. He didn't. They killed him. The only reason? He really was working for S.H.I.E.L.D. after all. Therefore, the only possible solution is he was a double agent."

"Wow." Steve gasped.

"I'll get some people working on confirming this theory." The S.H.I.E.L.D agent said. "Thank you for your help, Miss Barlowe."

"You're welcome, but I'm not finished." Brooke replied. "One of the receipts in his wallet is for a real legitimate weapons dealer. He even has the phone number, meeting place, and date written in a code on the back. I'm ex military though. I know a code when I see one. Have this deciphered, intercept their trade, and you've caught both the buyer and the dealer."

"I'll have people working on deciphering this code immediately." The S.H.I.E.L.D agent nodded.

Brooke was about to leave when Steve approached her.

"That was something." He laughed. "Ex military you say?"

"I was in the army for a couple years. I fought in the War of Iraq. I put together that there was going to be an assassination attempt on one of my commanders. I stopped it. He said I had a talent and should become a detective. So I did." Brooke explained.

"Thank you for your service." Steve smiled.

"Thank me? Captain America just thanked me?" Brooklyn laughed.

"Just because one soldier saves a thousand men, doesn't mean the soldier that saves one is any less a hero." Steve replied.

"You've saved a thousand men?" Brooke asked.

"It was an analogy." Steve laughed.

"But... have you?" Brooke pushed.

"I guess you'll have to ask me that another time. Perhaps when I need you to 'cheer me up'." Steve smiled.

"Ok." Brooke smiled back. "But I wouldn't feel guilty about not saving a guy who was working with terrorists."

"Don't worry." Steve chuckled. "I won't."

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0nelittlebirdtoldme · 1 year

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Alright, I am home again! Thank you all for talking to me 🖤🦇

Probably the last post for today. Got tagged by @udaberriwrites and @mikaharuka, so thank you two 🖤

Slash Ships to Get to Know Me

Rules: Name at least five (but no upper limit) slash (M/M) ships you love. Each from a different fandom. (oops, I kinda cheated)

Disclaimer; we all know my main ship is Harkula, so I just gotta skip them and list a few I haven't witten (much) for before.

If you want to see me writing for them in the future, please let me know!

The one canon butchered - Stucky (Steve Rogers/Bucky Barnes), Captain America: Civil War. I will never forgive them for the Endgame character assassination of Steve. My two traumatised childhood friends and super soldiers should have stayed together.

2. The one that exists solely because of fanfics - Winterbones (Brock Rumlow aka "Crossbones"/The Winter Soldier (Bucky Barnes)), Captain America: The Winter Soldier. Yes, I am HTP trash, but I also love the commander/soldier dynamic and the occasional soft Brock.

3. The one that I ship as divorcees - Cherik (Charles Xavier/Erik Lehnsherr), X-Men Movieverse. Beach divorce. Enough said.

4. The one where the gay subtext wasn't subtext at all - Soapshipping (The Narrator/Tyler Durden), Fight Club. No matter if movie or novel version, these two are gay for each other.

5. The one that has a complex story - Idk what the ship name is, maybe Ragnelstan? (Ragnar Lothbrok/Athelstan), Vikings. I don't care if I got baited, or if their whole story was based on religious doubt and faith, but they loved each other and that is all that matters to me.

Probably forgetting some, but thank you either way!

Leaving an open tag for anyone of my mutuals or followers who might want to share, because I think you all are already sick of me for today 😅

#tag game #ships

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mister-e-filman · 1 year

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Intermission: Bailey and Peter's List of Characters with Multiversal Counterparts

DC Marvel

Adam Strange Star Lord

Alfred Jarvis

Amazo Adaptoid

Anti-Monitor, Imperiex Prime Galactus

Aquaman Namor the Submariner

A.R.G.U.S. S.H.I.E.L.D.

Artemis Kate Bishop

Atomic Skull Ghost Rider

Bane Crossbones

Banshee Silver Banshee

Batman Moon Knight, Knight Thrasher

Beast Boy Reptil

Black Alice Rogue

Black Canary Mockingbird, Black Widow

Black Lightning, Bolt Electro

Black Mask Red Skull

Black Racer The Silver Surfer

Black Spider Spider-Man

Blue Beatle Beatle

Brainiac Ultron

Bumblebee The Wasp

Captain Boomerang Boomerang

Captain Cold Blizzard

Catwoman Black Cat

Cheetah Tiagra

Cinderblock The Thing

Clayface Sandman

Cyborg Deathlok, Machineman

Darkseid Thanos

DC's Enchantress Marvel's Enchantress

DC's Scarecrow Marvel's Scarecrow

Deadshot Bullseye

Deathstroke, Red Tool Deadpool

Dex-Starr Rocket Raccoon

Doom Patrol X-Men

Doomsday Abomination

Dr. Fate Dr. Strange

Dr. Polaris, Dr. Diehard Magneto

Dreamslayer Dormammu

Firestorm Human Torch

Gizmo, Gorgon Dr. Octopus

Godspeed Runner

Gorilla Grodd Gorilla-Man

Green Arrow Hawkeye

Green Lantern Quasar

Green Lantern Corps Nova Corps

Guardian, Cmd. Steele, Gnl. Glory, Shield Captain America

Hawkman Angel, Falcon

H.I.V.E. A.I.M.

Hourman, Calendar Man Father Time

Icicle, Killer Frost Iceman, Jack Jrost

John Constantine Peter Wisdom

Justice League The Avengers, Squadron Supreme

Kid Devil Nightcrawler

Killer Kroc The Lizard

King Shark Tiger Shark

Kismet Eternity

Kobra Hydra

Lobo The Wolverine

Lord Havoc Dr. Doom

Mr. Mxyzptlk Impossible Man

Mogo Ego

Multiplex Multiple Man

Niles Calder Professor X

Phantom Stranger Phantom Reporter

Plastic Man, Elongated Man Mr. Fantastic, Thin-Man

Raven Phoenix

Red Hood The Winter Soldier

Red Lion, Bronze Tiger Black Panther

Red Tornado The Vision

Richard Dragon Shang-Chi

Rocket Red, Steel Iron Man

Scandal Savage X-23

Shazam!, Power Girl Captain Marvel

Soloman Grundy, Damage Hulk

Star Sapphire Moonstone

Starfire Firestar

Stargirl Aurora

Suicide Squad Freedom Force

Superman Gladiator, Hyperion, Sentry, Kallark

Swamp Thing Man Thing

Teen Titans Young Allies

The Atom Ant-Man

The Black Spider Spider-Man

The Flash Quicksilver, the Whizzer

Tobias Whale Kingpin

Tracer, Mammoth Sabertooth

Trigon Marvel's Lucifer, Surtur

Wonder Woman Power Princess

Zatana The Scarlet Witch

Author's note: Sorry about the mess, I tried to keep everything as tidy as possible. I did the best that I could, oh well.

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crematosis · 4 years

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#bucky x rumlow #crossbones x winter soldier #moodboard #ship of the day #day 19

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buckybeardreams · 3 years

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Sneak Peek of Broken ch 7!!

"So... I heard you're going on a date."

Bucky glanced up, eyeing Brock for a moment, while still trying not to miss any of the numbers being called. He stamped one of his squares when number thirty-four was called and considered just ignoring Brock's inquiry. It wasn't stated like a question, but Bucky knew Brock was asking him about it. He also knew that Brock probably wouldn't just let it go.

"I'm sure you've already heard all about it from Tony," Bucky settled on saying.

Brock grunted.

"Yeah, but Tony's a brat. I can't take the things he says for face value. Half of the time he's exaggerating just to be dramatic and the other half of the time he gives me vague ass answers just to annoy the shit out of me."

Bucky chuckled.

"Yeah, that sounds about right."

"So did you really walk in on them fucking in the break room?"

Bucky snorted.

"Not even close. I walked in on Steve giving him a blowjob, that's it. Trust me, I wish I hadn't, because now I can't get it out of my head and my dick's gonna be raw if I keep jacking off so much."

....

Bucky and Brock playing bingo together is the best thing ever🤣😂

Oh and also Bucky jerking off thinking about Steve and Tony👀👀

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tarithenurse · 5 years

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Agent of Hope - 15

Your world falls into ruin together with the Strategic Homeland Intervention Enforcements Logistics Division when you find out that your boyfriend isn’t one of the good guys. Pairing: (Brock Rumlow x fem!reader), Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader Contents: Dealing with trauma. Plotting. Hope. Hate. Angst. Fluff. A bit of everything, really. A/N: Might have messed up the official timeline a bit here, but meh. Thanks to all of you who like and especially reblog <3

15 - Kintsugi

Every day, though mostly when Natasha is there as support, you challenge yourself in the hope that the fears holding you in an iron grip will dwindle with each (preferably) positive experience. Obviously, it begins in the small like shaving your legs, putting on tighter clothes, one day even uncovering the mirror in the bedroom although you try not to look at it. I’m still me, you pray to whatever might listen even though you know that the “me” you want to be is gone and you need to find a new version.

The sun is shining today, and you’ve felt particularly bold and added makeup while using the small mirror that only shows your face. Natasha’s lounging on your bed, reading up on some of the older SHIELD cases for the hearings.

“Do I look okay?” You ask, biting your lip to keep it from quivering with sheer nerves.

Grey eyes studies your face before she closes the folder and comes to stand before you. “Come.” She holds out her hands for you to take and pulls you to your feet. “From an objective standpoint…the wounds have healed very well, leaving only the faintest scars it seems. You look healthy again…”

That’s not what you meant. Far from. But you can’t find it in you to explain, so you just nod silently and start to sit only for Tasha to tug you back up and into her arms. It’s safe there. She’s warm and strong and lovely and has held you almost every night because she agreed to stay either in the neighbouring room or even use an extra mattress on the floor next to your bed simply to be close enough to save you from the nightmares that haunt you. Now though, her hands aren’t on your shoulders or arms. They’re on your waist, and it makes you cringe inside.

“I’ll let go in a moment, but please listen to this,” the redhead urges sweetly, “I see your doubt and insecurity…the kindness and worry and brains you’ve got…” Her forehead rests lightly against yours, the tips of your noses meet. I’m safe here. “But I also see you as the sexual woman you still are…so I can promise you, what I see is more than just okay.”

The meaning of her words take a while to settle in and when it does, it makes you blush. “You…but it’s not…” Your brain doesn’t want to co-operate, so you just end up stuttering uselessly.

“Let me show you.”

Following her to the mirror, you worry about what she’ll do. It’s Tasha…she won’t hurt me. Obediently, you stand there before the cold surface, Natasha’s warmth against your back and her chin resting on your shoulder. You’re faintly aware of how hard you’re squeezing her fingers with yours, but she doesn’t complain as your body refuses to let go. The deep breath you take is forced and does little to actually calm you. Sweat is breaking out, stomach is a knot made of lead, and the heart is working overtime. All of it from the thought of looking at your dressed body in the mirror.

“Wanna know what I like so you can look at that first?” the sweet voice suggests. “I like your feet that ground you here with me.”

Feet? The surprise snaps your eyes open to look at the sock-clad limbs in question. The big toes have been pressed in towards the rest after ears of wearing shoes that are too narrow, but you have to admit that your feet are…fine.

“I’m always happy to see your ankles, the way they stretch over into the foot when you’re reading and waving your feet through the air.”

“Are you gonna go all the way through my legs like that?”

You can feel the smile against your ear. “Well…you do have both sexy and strong legs.”

You don’t like that word, sexy. Brock would say that when he rutted into you, squeezing you full of bruises with his hands. At least the way Tasha says it, it sounds a bit different – like an actual compliment – almost as if it’s spoken in a new language. A language you want to learn even if you know it will be difficult.

“They don’t feel…that. None of me does.”

“It feels broken, right?” You nod. “There’s a sense of sticky dirt left behind under the skin that just won’t come off and makes everything feel like borrowed clothes that are a bit too small or sit weird…and no amount of adjusting seems to make a difference, like you’re supposed to pretend it’s the same clothes as always –“

“But they’re not.” Oh.

You find her face in the mirror and your throat constricts. She knows. Not in the sense that she’s read a book or spoken to someone else, no. She knows because she’s been there, and the knowledge makes your heart hurt because even if you wanted someone to understand you…it wasn’t supposed to be because they’d gone through something like it too. There’s a shimmer in her eyes, a wetness that she doesn’t bother blinking away.

“I hate this body,” you confess.

A featherlight kiss on your temple and then a sniffle before she looks back at the reflection. “That won’t go away overnight. I love it, because it’s been so strong…it brought you through hell and made sure you came out on the other side. It’s a body that refused to give up. That’s why I love it so much even if it’s different now.”

“The scars…”

Tasha brings your arm up and studies the white lines cutting around your wrists. “Tales of courage and willpower. Beautiful.” You’re about to continue when she adds: “Both the scars I can see and the ones that are hidden. Rose gold gluing the pieces together and making the result unique and unbreakable.”

“Pretty image…”

“Then it fits, sweety.”

… Romanoff’s PoV …

Some days are still horrible for [Y/N] and generally followed by worse nights where reaching out to wake the woman from her nightmares is a gamble because the real touch induces worse panic attacks. There are also good days, though, and it seems there are more of them now if they keep in mind that everything is relative. A good day means a day with no sweater to cover the scars and body. A good day is the day that [Y/N] allows Sam to visit in the room (although he has to stay near the door and both Pepper and Nat are there). Later the same arrangement is used for the rest of the men.

“We’re still doing what we can to track Rumlow down,” Steve’s explaining, the long legs stretched out before him as he sits on the chair with hands folded over the challenged t-shirt, “we’ve found a few Hydra-places and taken care of them. That’s given some leads.” It’s just a matter of time. “We’ll find him, okay? We’ll make him pay.”

“Pay?” There’s confusion in [Y/N]’s face. “Like…you’ll kill him? Drag him to prison? How can anything fix what he did?” Neither Avenger has a good answer because there is none. “You know…I see him sometimes in my…my visions. See him killing…civilians or…or he’s travelling…I see him smile.” She has to pause to breathe deeply, steady the voice. “I’ve seen him hold my pictures…kiss them…”

Steve shifts on the chair, clearly uncomfortable with the imagery whereas Natasha remains still as stone. These visions are news to her, but they change very little as far as she sees things: the bastard’s got to go. Preferably in a slow and painful way.

“He’s demented, yeah.” At least the Dorito-man gets that much. “We won’t let him hurt you again.”

Hands find each other in the mess of the bedding, allowing the ex-Russian to squeeze [Y/N]’s fingers gently.

“I know…you’ll all keep me safe…”

…

The hearings have been going at a steady pace considering that some of the historical events involving SHIELD and Hydra can be confirmed by other agencies. Especially the CIA is able to provide records supporting what ex-SHIELD agent Romanoff explains because they’ve been busy analyzing every line of data dumped online, and their short representative is wonderfully bright, connecting the dots as the hearings progress.

“– which eventually escalated from attempts at destabilizing to outright interfering as seen in Libya and later in Iran.” Agent Ross calmly flips a page in the report, allowing the slower politicians to keep up on the timetable depicted there. “All spliced intel is labelled clearly with sources and you’ll find that those detailing Hydra’s activity coincide with the unauthorized actions.”

A slight cough announces the question that proves the person hasn’t understood anything. “So…SHIELD has harboured a military agency involved in terrorism and cold-war strategies?”

“If that is how you see it then, in turn, the US government has done so too and would be considered accomplishes to the same extend as SHIELD.”

Oooh, nice one. Natasha sends a small smile to the blond man with the efficient brain. There’s no immediate sign that he sees it, but a few minutes later Ross sends a smirk back across the wide space.

… Reader’s PoV …

Well…if I’m gonna do it, it might as well be this time. The structure of your days follows a perfect clockwork, and in 27 seconds Happy will be arriving with dinner which he will set on a little table out in the hallway after having knocked to your room. This time he’ll find the door open. Anytime now.

The slight shuffle can be heard from down the hall, and the leaden butterflies in your stomach are beating up a storm. He’s whistling an airy melody but stops when he notices the change in the routine. A few more steps, this time hesitant, and he peers around the doorframe.

“Oh…didn’t expect this,” he admits with wonder in the round face, “how’re ya feeling today, [Y/N]?”

Right now you feel like puking from pure anxiety. “I’m okay. Could...would you mind erm bringing the tray in here?”

You point to the desk not far from the door (still a safe distance from you), and Happy’s face lights up in surprise and then genuine delight. He’s an adorable man who’s done nothing but support you the best he can and to see him look so proud at your request makes you feel a bit giddy. Moving slowly, he enters and carefully steps over to the table where he adjust a few of the items on the tray before exiting the room once more. He only turns once he’s out the door.

“Please let me know if there’s anything else I can do for you,” Happy smiles, blinking rapidly to hide the wetness filling his eyes.

… Rumlow’s PoV …

Meetings with people in fancy suits has never been one of Brock’s favourite activities, but at least he’s only present digitally like several of the others attending. The screen shows glowing live feeds of people he knows of from files, several of which used to range further down the chain of command until the fall of SHIELD and subsequentially parts of Hydra…and that is the reason for the gathering. Leaders have died, but their organisation must survive, and in order to ensure that there’s got to be a clear leadership established once more. Brock gets that.

“Where are you on the Winter Soldier,” someone asks him.

Hiding a sigh, the scarred agent stares at the little camera before him. “There’s very little to go on, perhaps we trained him to well?” There’s a general ripple of amusement which he loves to kill. “We know he’s been to the Smithsonian, but after that he’s AWOL…not following any of the subprotocols. Roger’s focus has been divided between the Soldier, the Widow’s pet, and obviously unearthing any of our bases…as you know.”

“Any leads on Fury?” This time the one asking is a younger guy, one of the climbers. What was his name again? “I’ve not been able to get anything on his whereabouts from Coulson.”

Strucker’s monocle gleams. “But your cofer remains intact, yes?”

“Of course.” Ward! That was it.

The meeting drags on and Brock has to fight the restless sense of urgency because on the other side of the door there should be an agent with a status update on a certain ex girlfriend.

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winterbones2024 · 5 months

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Weeks 1-5

We're posting the first month's prompts all at once, and a bit early, to get the creative juices flowing (and maybe give you something besides the holiday stress to focus on).

Week 1: Dec 31-Jan 06 Champagne\ New Beginnings\ (Semi)Public Sex

Week 2: Jan 07- Jan 13 Possessive\ "I am cruel, but I take care of what's mine"\ Hydra Trash Party

Week 3: Jan 14- Jan 20 Rights\ Communication\ Power Imbalance

Week 4: Jan 21- Jan 27 "I thought you said that was impossible"\ Hot Toddies\ Predicament Bondage

Week 5: Jan 28- Feb 03 Obligations\ Triple Agent Brock\ Rescue Sex

#bucky barnes x brock rumlow #winterbones #brock rumlow x bucky barnes #winter soldier x crossbones #crossbones x winter soldier

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itsagentromanoff · 6 years

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Rumlow: So, Asset, give us a full report on your assignment.

Bucky: [about Tony] He was wonderful. He thinks I'm wonderful. He asked me where I've been all his life.

Rumlow: You didn't tell him.

Bucky: All the coordinates. Thank goodness he didn't believe me so I didn't have to kill him.

Rumlow: What happened after dinner?

Bucky: Well, he wanted to sleep with me, I wanted sex, but since he was tired I let him go home.

#original: 3rd rock from the sun #robert downey jr #frank grillo #sebastian stan #tony stark #bucky barnes #brock rumlow #iron man #the winter soldier #crossbones #winteriron #tony x bucky #bucky x tony #the avengers #non avengers quotes #quoting the avengers

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morunie · 6 years

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-dinner?

#winterbones #brock rumlow #bucky barnes #Winter Soldier #crossbones #bucky x brock

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skyfallslayer · 2 years

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Cherry || Chapter 2: A Red Awakening

Bucky Barnes x Female Reader Series

Series Masterlist

Ao3 link

Character Cards: 001 002 003 004 005 006

🍒Series Summary: As a superhero, you always believe in the good that comes with it, and the feeling of bringing hope to people's eyes makes your heart flutter. That is… Until you witness your teammates murdering your husband. Now your world is upside down, and the people you once deemed your enemies are offering you some help. Will you take the bait? Or bury your head in the sand?

🍒Chapter Summary: You’re “kidnapped” by a group of people claiming to be on your side; But you're having doubts about what’s even real or what’s even fake.

🍒Date: 9/4

🍒Rating: Explicit

🍒Word Count: 4415

🍒Warning: Talks of blood; Talks of Vomit; Scenes of Delusions/Denial; Talks about Death/Murder; Possible OOC(?). READ AT YOUR OWN RISK! Let me know If I missed anything.

🍒A/N: So sorry this took so long! That was never my idea, I just had a crazy writers block after writing half of this chapter. Hopefully I don't go so long again. Anyway, Enjoy!

Whoever had their hand over your mouth was strong enough to muffle your screams. Your fight or flight senses kicked in heavily as you were pulled quickly through one of the rooms in the warehouse. You felt your powers starting to surge, the balls of your feet desperately digging into the concrete, your hands trying to claw this person off of you. You managed to finally get an elbow or two in your capturer’s ribcage, and heard them hold back a hiss of pain, but their grip never loosened to your dismay. Your eyes widened in fear again.

I’m fucked. You thought, your mind racing a mile a minute again.

I’m fucked. I’m dead. I’m going to die. I’m going to die. I’m going to die. I’m going—

“Stop struggling. I’m on your side.” A husky voice whispered into your ear, sending visible shivers down your spine.

Shivers.

Oh, Jesus… you were really off your game now. But can you blame yourself though?

You felt the person’s lips against your ear again, pulling you closer.

“Now, I’m going to let go, but you can’t scream because if you do then we're both done for.” They continue, sternly and… gently? That’s odd. “Nod if you understand, okay?”

Strangely you find yourself actually doing it, and soon the hand slips off slowly, and so does the grip around your waist. You felt the person take a very small step back, which you used as an opportunity to turn around, face this odd person of a threat.

You were met with a tall man, taller than your… well…

You choked down the nonexistent bile.

Your… your husband. Yeah. He was taller than your husband, and even in the poor moonlight, you could see this man had the deepest, yet brightest blue eyes you have ever seen. Richer than your friend John. He had chestnut hair pulled in a half bun; Stubbles too on his face. A very… manly-man so to speak. Intimating looking, scary even, but the eyes can always hold your true emotion; And his were just as soft as ever.

You tried to speak, to mutter something before he made a motion for you to stay quiet. He soon mouthed the words, ‘Follow me’, and usher you to come. For some, maybe dumb, reason you did. You followed him through the shadows of the warehouse and back out into the open, where you were suddenly met with a suspicious looking van.

Your breath caught in your throat as you froze on the spot.

Oh no fucking way. I really am going to die today–

“Hey.” He says, stepping into your view. “I know it doesn’t look promising, but it is. So, ma’am, I need you to trust me and get in the van. We need to leave before they find us. Please. Trust me.”

Your heart flutters shockingly. Your chest felt warm for a millisecond; And once again, stupidly you nodded and followed. What you weren’t expecting was him to open the back door so quickly and shove you inside. He climbed in right behind you afterwards, slamming the door.

“We gotta go, Sam, it’s fucking bad.” He says, making your head snap up and off the ground.

You realized you two weren’t alone. You watched as the driver flicked his attention back at the two of you for a split second before slamming on the accelerator. You fell flat on the ground again, but not long after you felt his hands on your biceps, helping you to sit up.

You nearly jerked away when you saw someone sitting right across from you, which so happens to be a young looking boy; A teenager to be exact, one who was typing away on his laptop. Your (Y/E/C) eyes meet his soft brown ones for a split second, and he gives you a quick reassuring smile before resuming his work.

You surely felt yourself blinking a few times.

Why was there a child here?

“Peter, status?” The man who saved you asked.

“We’ve got 60 seconds until the camera loop ends, just enough time to grab her bike.” The teenager, Peter, replies.

That got you out of your trance a little. “M-My bike?”

“Yeah, we’re gonna grab your bike, clear up the evidence that you were there.” The man answers.

“B-But… what about the crowd? There were tons of people standing around when I got there.”

“They’ll be distracted by the ‘heroes’ cars. It’ll be fine.” He reassures, venom in his words as his hand rests on the back door. “Steve, help me out.”

This guy, Steve obviously, arose from the passenger seat and passed by you, apologizing quietly before reaching for the door as well.

“Might want to sit back some more.” Peter says to you before facing his boss. “30 seconds, open the door.”

Your body jerked against the wall as the brakes were applied, the back door springing open. You briefly watch as the man and Steve pull your motorcycle in as quickly as they could before slamming the door shut.

“Sam, go!”

Another step on the gas, and you impact the wall with your body. Then…

You were off into the unknown.

•°•°•°•°•°

If you were being honest, you zoned out for most of the ride. It was pretty fucking stupid of you to do so, but I guess you can call your current mental state the “processing” stage with all the shit that’s just happened. You had stayed quiet as the four of them were muttering something a mile a minute, something you couldn’t quite understand or hear (Or maybe you chose not to).

Eventually the van came to a complete stop. Where exactly? You were unsure. And there was a part of you that started to become fearful again because maybe these people weren’t exactly your saviors like they promised. You watched as they all started scrambling out of the vehicle, Peter tucking his laptop under his arm and holding his free hand out towards you. You could see the genuine care in his young features, making your heart flutter as you did take it without hesitation.

As he helps you out of the van, you take this opportunity to take in the surroundings. If this was their hideout/lair/headquarters (Whatever you want to call it), it desperately needed some kind of update. From the looks of it, this place could be anywhere from a warehouse to a giant garage of some sort, seeing that the structure was made out of nothing but concrete. No windows as you can see, but there was a metal staircase leading up to a man-made loft (Was that even safe?). And when you took one whiff of the place…

Ew. Definitely smells like boys live here, with a hint of water damage.

You swallow, unsure what to make of this. You were also unaware as the four men crowded behind you, waiting. But when they noticed you weren’t giving them the light of day, the man who saved you cleared his throat, giving you a reason to look back. Oh, no… your emotions were starting to swirl.

“Alright, ma’am, listen–” He begins.

“What the fuck’s going on?!” You suddenly reply, your outburst surprising even yourself (I guess your processing stage was finally over). “Where am I?! And who the fuck are you?!”

He holds his hands up, trying to show off that he was no threat. “Relax, you're in our base of operations. My name is Bucky.”

You raise a skeptical eyebrow. “Bucky?”

What kind of name is that?

“Yes.” He gestures to his teammates. “These are my friends. The blonde’s Steve; The driver’s Sam, and the kid’s Peter.” They all muttered ‘Hi’ in some kind of way. “And you are…?”

Your shoulders slack at that. You realized they didn’t know who you were.

Good.

You straighten up again. “Y/N.”

“Y/N.” Bucky says, happy you're complying. “Nice to meet you. If you’ve got any questions? Ask away. I’m sure you have many.”

You nod slowly, reading to soak up any bit of info about these individuals. “Who exactly are you people?”

“We’re the Avengers. We…” He takes a quick second to find the right words. “Expose and stop, and if necessary, kill corrupted supes.”

You felt yourself blink a few times. You were not expecting that. “What?”

“You heard us correctly, Ma’am. We’re an anti-supe group.”

An anti-supe…what? You felt your heart pick up at those words. Your mind wanders to when you almost activated your powers in the warehouse. You wonder if you’d be dead by now if you did.

“Anti-supe?” It still felt weird to say. In fact, you wonder if you ever said those words before. You dared to ask the next question. “W-why kill them?”

“Because a good chunk of them, especially the ones on the fucking Thunderbolts team, have villainous intentions that need to be stopped.”

“We’ve been hired by the CIA to do so.” Sam adds, like it was supposed to make this situation better (Does it though?).

You were shocked beyond words. You really weren’t expecting that. “The CIA hired you? Th-They made this group?”

How could they… Your breath got caught in your throat at a morbid thought.

Oh god… They’re planning to actually kill us.

“But…” Your mind flashes back to earlier again. Your husband is crossing your thoughts. “T-The people I saw… the Thunderbolts, they… th-they killed one of their own.”

“Battlestar probably flipped the script. So Crossbones, Glamour and Killmonger decided to finish him off.” Sam explains, his words hurting you deeply.

“This isn’t the first time something like this has happened before.” Steve says, adding more salt into the wound.

“B-Before…?” You mumbled in disbelief.

I guess I really don’t know my teammates after all. Or… my husband if that really is true.

You looked ill after thinking that, and I guess they noticed rather quickly.

“Look–” Bucky says, taking a cautious step forward. “I know what you witness is horrible, and I know this a lot to take in as well, but unfortunately I have to ask you to keep this all a secret.”

You blinked for the millionth time today. “What? What the hell do you mean by that?”

“It means you can’t go to the police.”

You scoff. “Can’t go to the police, huh? Sir, I just witnessed three people killing someone and you’re asking me to keep quiet about it?”

“Ma’am, Listen–”

“You’re insane! I have to go to the police! I have to tell them what I saw! I have to tell him that they… they…”

That they killed my husband.

Bucky gives you an empathetic look. “I know. But the Thunderbolts have some cops under their thumbs. If you go to the wrong one and tell them what you saw, they’ll kill you on the spot, make your death look like an accident or even a suicide. Trust me, I’ve seen it first hand. I’m trying to save you from that kind of fate.”

You swallow, your throat feeling dry. “So… what do you expect me to do?” You asked, eyes starting to sting with unshed tears. Your emotions are starting to appear at full steam as the adrenaline seeps away.

“Well, you could stay here with us. We can–”

“No.” You shake your head. “No, no, no. I… I-I can’t. I can’t. I-If I just up and disappear there will b-be people looking for me and…” You sigh trying to calm yourself. “I’m sorry.”

I-I can’t leave. Not yet. I can’t until I…

“It’s okay. I understand.” Bucky says, smiling softly that it didn't quite match the expression in his eyes. “We can figure something else out.”

“Actually, boss. There was no activity outside. It’s safe to just take her home.” Peter cuts in, sending you a much brighter smile than Bucky did (this kid really knew what heart strings to hit).

“Yeah. We can just take you home. Straight home if that’s what you would like instead. We’ll do whatever you’re comfortable with.”

You clenched and turned away, your hand running through your hair. You really didn’t know what to think of this. You didn’t really know if you can even trust these people. And after everything you witnessed a little while ago, you wonder if you could ever trust anyone again.

You faced them again, still weary. “Fine. You can just take me home.”

But I’ll be keeping my guard up.

“Alright.” Bucky said, gesturing to the van with his head. “I’ll drive you.”

“I’ll go with you too just in case.” Sam replies, following.

You held your breath as you trailed behind, but before you crawled into the back, you felt the teenager’s hand tugging on your sleeve.

“I know this is scary, Miss, but trust me when I say this, that we really are trying to help you. Just remember that.” Peter said, with a smile that could warm anyone up.

You return the expression as he lets your arm go, backing up next to Steve to give you some space that you greatly appreciated. You climbed into the back and closed the door, scooting next to your bike. You watch Bucky get into the driver’s seat, Sam in the passenger, both sharing a quick look before driving off. You hugged your knees, both to stabilize your emotions and your powers surging at your fingertips. You could hardly breathe at the tension you felt inside the van. A tension that you decided that might be necessary.

Just keep your guard up. Just keep it up. You chanted to keep yourself sane.

A long time had passed before Bucky spoke out of the blue.

“So where exactly do you live? I want to make sure I’m going the right way.”

You cast a look at the windows on the back doors, noticing the black tinting on them and frowned.

“Just… Just drop me off anywhere on 11th street.” You reply, and hug yourself a bit more. 11th street is where the restaurant you were supposed to go to tonight was on. There was no way you could tell them to go to the tower. If they find out who you really are, you’ll probably end up dead.

“11th?” Bucky said, surprised. “Look, I just drop you off at–”

“If you want me to trust you, then you have to trust me. Drop me off at 11th.”

You watched the two men share a look again before you felt the car turning into what you assumed was the direction you asked. A long moment passed again before you felt the van pulling up next to a curb, Sam telling you that you were here. You said nothing as you shifted and opened the two doors, your hands soon resting on your bike handles–

“Here.” Bucky says, holding out a small slip of paper. “This is my number.”

You carefully take it, eyes reading it over still not muttering a word. You hear him sigh, but not one of frustration, just concern.

“Look, I would appreciate it if you could text me in the morning, just to make sure you’re okay. Then after that, you can burn if you like. You’ll never have to hear or see us again. Okay?”

You swallow and nod slowly once more, tucking the number away before cautiously taking your bike out of the van. You met his gaze one last time, replying with,

“And please don’t follow me, because I will know.” You close one door, and flash a very, very small smile. “Thank you.”

You close the other one, and snag your helmet to put on. You felt the van behind you pull away into the night, and you waited a minute or two before surveying the area. When you realize that they were actually gone, then that’s when you hopped onto your bike and rode to the place you were dreading to go.

•°•°•°•°•°

You almost broke into tears on the way over there. Almost puked into your helmet at the horrible scene waiting for you. You still prayed that this was fake. A dream. Your worst nightmare. But as you rode up to where you found John’s car parked behind Brock’s, you saw your car you lent to your friend along with a bunch of police vehicles.

Your heart sank as you saw the yellow tape hung up everywhere, with men and women in blue trying to usher the heavy crowds away. You rode your bike until you couldn’t anymore, parking it and throwing your helmet off as you started swimming into the crowd. You felt your heart beating in your ears, your mouth going dry, your emotions going into absolute overdrive.

You jogged up right to the police tape, right up the barrier dividing you and the terrible crime scene. Your mind was still trying to deny it all, even after you found yourself locking eyes with John who looked almost as a mess as you. You tried taking a step towards him, but you felt an officer's hand against your chest, telling you to stay back.

“Hey! Let her through! She works at the tower!” John calls out. A white lie, sure. But he couldn’t exactly shout your secret ID to a lot full of superfans.

His words were all it took for you to be let through. As you ran up towards him, shaking your head, still trying to fucking deny everything.

“John… don’t tell me it’s…” You said, barely getting the words.

Please tell me I hallucinated everything. Please tell me I’m just crazy. Please tell me–

But when he shakes his head with a sorry expression, your whole world collapses.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. I saw the body. It really is, Lemar.”

"No…" You start crying just as he starts pulling you into his arms. “No, No, No, No, No, No…” He starts gently stroking your hair as you sob. “H-How… w-what…?”

You’re not sure why you even asked because you knew what happened; But maybe, just maybe, you hoped it was still hoped that the murderers you saw were someone else. You feel his chest move tightly, like he was sucking in a shaky gulp of air before speaking.

"Lemar had picked up something suspicious on the way back to the tower and decided to check it out.” John starts explaining, holding you a little tighter. “Not long after, he sent a distress beacon for one of us to pick up, but when they arrived they found his body."

You sobbed again. "They?"

"Yeah, Brock, Agatha and Erik were in the area.”

As soon as he said that, you peaked over his shoulder just in time to see the three of your teammates stepping out of the building, wearing sorrowful expressions that made your insides ache. Those… those bastards were trying to act like they fucking care about your husband. They–

“I'm sorry. We'll find out who did this, Y/N." John promises with all his heart. A promise you know he’ll keep to his very end.

As much as you wanted to start screaming and lunge after them, you were just so emotionally drained that eventually your legs gave out…

And you passed out in John’s arms.

•°•°•°•°•°

You closed the door with the strength you had left. When you had awoken not too long ago, you were riding in the passenger seat of John’s car, and instead of breaking the ice (no matter what the circumstances were) like you always do, you just stayed silent; Your eyes so distant as you stared out the window. When you got back to the tower, you ignored everyone on your way back to your apartment. If Lemar’s death was done differently, you think you would have craved the pity and condolences everyone was giving you; But the fact that he was killed by the people you considered family, well…

You weren’t sure who you could trust anymore. You could trust John, that was for sure, but the rest of your teammates?

Hell-fucking-no.

You weren’t even sure if you could trust the workers in the building.

You let out a breath you didn’t know you had, and mustered up some more energy to push yourself away from the door; Standing tall yet shaky and nauseous. You bite your tongue to try to stop yourself from puking, To stop the dizzy spell. You had to take a shower. You had to wash off the muck and the nonexist blood. You could still see the blood all over your husband’s body, it’s–

You gag and cover your mouth.

Shower. I just need to shower. You tell yourself, and take wobbly steps towards the bathroom. You desperately wanted to stay in hot water, laying against the cool tiles, laying for hours until—

He squeezes your hand. “Listen, just in case this mission goes south, or… I-I don’t make it to dinner tonight-” Another squeeze. “Promise me that you won’t come looking for me right away.”

You froze.

Wait…

You turn to look at your closet, still half way opened and begging you to take another look inside. Your mind flashed to the suitcase, the passports. You remember the confusing thought of why he even had those out. But now, after what you just witnessed, it was all starting to make sense.

You practically ran towards the closet.

“Oh, Lemar, Lemar, Lemar.” Brock said, kneeling before him. “Oh, Lemar, if only you just kept your nosy ass out of our business, then none of this would have happened. Honestly. The truth is–”

He touches your husband’s face, making him wince painfully, continuing, “I never really wanted to kill anyone on my team. I really do see so much potential in all of you, it’s insane.”

You ripped open the empty suitcase, searching through all the pockets and zippers you can find for anything. Anything that can give you a clue on what your husband predicted.

What did you find out, Lemar? You asked the air, slamming the suitcase closed before searching through your passports.

What did you find out that made our teammates kill you? What did you find? You found nothing and sprung to your feet. From there you started tearing apart your husband’s side of the closet, making a mess all over the floor.

Give me something! You gotta give me something, honey. Please! You begged while tightening your jaw.

His light laughs made your stomach turn in a way they’ve never done before. It made you physically ill on many levels.

You raced around the room, opening and looking for anything that was Lemar’s, praying and praying that you’ll find something. Even if it was the smallest clue in the world, you’ll still fucking take it.

“However…” Brock rants on, his grin starting to falter a bit. “You just had to do this. You just had to figure out how the game is really played. You had to play God. Well–” He pulls him closer. “That’s going to cost you, my friend.”

You clenched your fists, trying to keep your nerves calm as you searched for an opening to interfere.

You empty out drawers, boxes, his side of the bed, under the mattress, the covers, Anything. But you were running out of options. You only had one thing of his left.

His laptop.

You had a small spark of hope as you turned it on.

Brock’s grin grew again, even more sinister than before, with an unnerving proposition behind it. “But don’t worry, I’ll make sure your wife’s taken care of. I’ll make sure to be there when she needs me. I’ll hold her at your funeral, and I’ll whisper the comforting things she wants to hear. And maybe…”

You typed in his password, the words so personal that they struck a cord but you pushed it aside, waiting for the home screen to appear.

He licks his lips at a sudden thought. “Maybe she’ll let me in enough to take care of her. Show her what a real man is. You know?”

As your eyes shined purple for flight—

When the screen finally loaded, you froze again.

You watched as Brock snapped Lemar’s neck with ease.

You slammed the laptop closed, not even thinking about the damage you may have caused to it.

Encrypted.

The whole funking laptop was encrypted. The words on the screen, the files, and even the fucking search engine was encrypted to something you couldn’t even read. You were frustrated. Beyond frustrated. Whatever your husband had discovered was well hiddened on his screen.

Damn it. Damn it! You metally sigh, closing your eyes and laying your forehead against the cold surface of the desk. You were pissed because you were no hacker. How the hell were you supposed to decrypt this?

Funny you think this because your brain suddenly reminds you of a certain teenage boy you met not too long ago. He was a hacker from the looks of it.

Could he…? You shake your head at such a bad idea.

What the hell am I thinking? He works in an anti-supe team. I’m on top of their food chain. They’ll kill me if they find out who I am.

Yet, there was still a very small percentage of your brain telling you to go for it. To give that Bucky guy a call, to set up a meeting, to tell them who you are and what really happened.

Maybe… if I tell them who Lemar is to me, they’ll take pity? But you couldn’t see into the future, you couldn’t predict the outcome. For all you know it could go completely sideways.

You groan loudly, throwing your head back, hands in your hair.

I’m sooooo fucked.

You racked your brain for some answers. Who could trust? What should be your next move? Who could you call? You go back and forth between many names, but there’s one that comes to mind many times out of all of them. And after witnessing the death of your husband, that name made your blood boil.

You pick up your phone and dial the number by heart. Your foot was tapping in rhythm with the ringing. You heard a familiar voice on the other side.

‘SHIELD International, This is Sitwell. How may I transfer your call?’

You swallow the anger you started to feel, but you felt it still simmering at the surface. You clenched your fist and said,

“Put my father on the phone.”

_____________________________________________________________

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