#mcu crossbones

[nekoannie-chan]

Fractured

Title: Fractured.

Fandom: Marvel, X-men, Captain America.

Pairing: Brock Rumlow X Mutant!Reader.

Rating: Teen.

Word count: 682 words.

Warnings: Mention of characters death, interrogation.

Summary: You discovered Brock’s past.

A/N: This is my entry to @multifandom-lover​, Annie-1018 & square 2:

"I used to be a sweet kid."

You can read it on Wattpad & Ao3 too.

@saiyanprincessswanie​

My native language is Spanish so I wanna improve my writing skills in English if you notice any mistakes, please let me know and I will correct them.

I don’t give any kind of permission that my fics to be posted on other platforms or languages (I translate myself my work) or the use of my graphics (my dividers are included in this), I did them exclusively for my fics, please respect my work and don't steal it. There are some people here who make dividers that anyone can use, mine is not this type, please look for the other's people. The only exception is the ones I gifted 'cuz now belong to someone else. If you find any of my works on a different platform and are not one of my accounts, please let me know. Reblogs and comments are always welcome.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Marvel's characters (unfortunately), except for the original characters and the story.

Add yourself to my taglist here.

My other media where I publish:  Ao3, Wattpad, ffnet, TikTok, Instagram, Twitter. 

If you like it, please vote, comment, and give me feedback to improve my skills and reblog.

Tags: @sinceimetyou  @unnuevosoltransformalarealidad @navybrat817   @angrythingstarlight @shield-agent78 @charmed-asylum  @caplanbuckybarnes  @hallecarey1  @nana1000night @talia-rumlow   @mylifeispainandiloveit  @writingshae @azulatodoryuga   @chaoticcollectivenightmare @endlesstwanted  @chemtrails-club    @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @here4thefanfics @theestorm @patzammit​

Brock kept the small locket with your photo; no one but him knew of the existence of that object. That day, maybe it would be his last mission, his last chance to see you. He had a feeling about what would happen, although he could not discern whether it would be good or bad.

He loves you, and he knew that you loved him too, but neither of us dared to take the first step, nor would he forget the look on your face when you discovered who he really was.

He cursed when Steve forced him into the vehicle; indeed, the mission had not gone as he had planned. He knew what would happen, but he would manage to escape.

He had always liked interrogations, but he preferred to carry them out and not be asked the questions himself.

He was sure that Rogers would be the one interrogating him, so he would do everything he could to make him mad and not get any answers. Steve had ruined his life.

Twenty minutes before the door opened, Brock settled into his seat, though he was suddenly confused when he saw you come in instead of Steve.

"It's been a long time," you said, looking at him.

"I can explain," Brock commented, pretending to be disinterested. He wasn't going to let you realize that you had surprised him; he was completely sure that Steve wouldn't miss the opportunity to get information from one of his enemies.

"What are you going to explain to me, Brock? Why were you trying to steal a highly dangerous substance? Or why were you part of HYDRA? " you scoffed.

"Whatever you want, although I guess you're more interested in knowing the former, I guess you're going to record it." Brock's voice sounded sarcastic.

"No one knows I'm here; in fact, no one suspects it, so no cameras," you commented.

Yes, you had used your powers for that; no one would notice that you were talking or anything that happened there. You could even be there for hours and they wouldn't notice it; in reality, it would only be less than a second.

"I know you like me," he said suddenly.

"You don't know anything, Brock."

"I know how you feel about me; I know what you thought about me that day; I saw everything in your eyes; I know too many things... "

"Don't try to be funny, Rumlow; I didn't come here to talk about that," "you said.

"I used to be a sweet kid."

"What? "

"I had a good childhood; my father was military, kind of strict, but still. You know, sometimes things happen for a reason; I didn't expect to be an orphan at sixteen."

"Did that make you what you are now? Is that how you justify everything you've done? "

"Not exactly, but that's how I ended up in the HYDRA facility."

Brock kept telling you everything that had happened in his life as you tried to decipher his intentions. In the end, he was right; you were in love with him, but you needed to know what his plan was. Anyway, it seemed like it was a forbidden love, but how many things hadn't you already done in hiding from the organization?

"Why are you telling me all this?"

"As soon as you said it, I realized, we're not in the cell at the base, are we?"

"Do you really care where we are?"

"No, of course, we could do other things," Brock suggested suggestively.

You smiled. They wouldn't do anything there, but somewhere else.

"Don't worry, I'll show you the plan later, but in the meantime, you must be ready; at any moment, I'll take you out of here," you told him.

Before Brock could say anything else, he was already alone in the room again; however, this time he was smiling. He was going to get out of there, and in the best way possible, with your help.

He looked up when he heard the door open again; this time it was Steve, so he smirked.

#multifandom-lover #brock rumlow #brock rumlow x reader #brockrumlow #brock fanfic #brock rumlow fanfiction #mcu brock rumlow #mcu crossbones

[princessfishy]

I think now is about the time I should start sharing my ships so people dont get confused lmAO, I mostly work with my own MCU AU because I hate how the MCU is written and all my babies die so smh.

Lets start with asshole limo driver and his large no brain mercenary husband. This ship is not for the entire MK system and only refers to Jake because I will not be convinced to ship Marc or Steven with anyone but Layla and each other.

So when you see me draw MK & Crossbones is Jake and Brock <3

/do not use my art!

(apologies this art is like a year old so its not amazing)

#marvel fanart #marvel #marvel shows #mcu #moonknight #moon knight #jake lockley #mcu civil war #mcu crossbones #crossbones #marvel crossbones #mcu moonknight #mcu jake lockley

[kahuna-burger]

An odd thought on Rumlow fandom:

I was thinking it would be cool to have a Brock Rumlow bingo (or tic-tac-tales, but that's not the point) but I found myself wondering if it could appeal to all Crossbones lovers on a community level?

By which I mean, there are at least three distinct MCU Brock Rumlows represented in fanfic, along with blends in between, and even if you offered to personalize cards with HTP or triple agent prompts being optional, I don't know how many people would be put off by "other Brocks" showing up in fill announcements, discussions, parties, etc.

I know every character has their ship wars and such, so maybe I'm worried for nothing? Thought from Rumlow fans?

#brock rumlow #crossbones #mcu crossbones #bingo #split fandoms #please please do not use words like canon real or accurate in discussing characterization #in this thread that is

[stekllla]

i shouldn’t be jealous, you aren’t even mine

#bucky barnes #winter soldier #white wolf #sebastian stan #marvel #the avengers #mcu #avengers #winterbones #stucky #brock rumlow #frank grillo #crossbones #steve rogers #chris evans #captain america #cap #hydra #collage #art #aesthetic #marvel mcu #stuckybones

[annafacose]

I love drawing Rumlow and his scarred face.

(Full pic on patreon)

#my art #mcu #winterbones #winter soldier #brock rumlow #bucky barnes #crossbones #my fanart #digital art #i'm a bit obsessed with them #hydra trash party #htp

[selcouthaesthetics]

You seemed pretty helpless without me

Frank Grillo as Brock Rumlow Crossbones

#brock rumlow #frank grillo #marvel aesthetic #aesthetic #moodboard #aesthetics #marvel #crossbones #brock rumlow aesthetic #captain america #captain america civil war #captain america the winter soldier #cacw #catws #avengers endgame #mcu #marvel mcu #brock rumlow x reader

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

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

[gay-jewish-bucky]

#marvel #mcu #stevebucky #stucky #cacw #ca:cw #captain america: civil war #bucky #bucky barnes #james bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #crossbones #steve rogers #steven grant rogers

[demobatfluffyart]

Captain Crossbones, pirate AU

#ai art #brock rumlow #pirate au #mcu #marvel #marvel cinematic universe #marvel comics #crossbones

[aintinacage]

Round 7/Part 5

#marvel showdown #marvel #mcu #marvel polls #tumblr polls #agents of shield #aos #agents of shield season 2 #agents of shield season 3 #bobbi morse #barbara morse #adrianne palicki #mockingbird #round 7 #part 5 #brock rumlow #crossbones #frank grillo #captain america winter soldier #captain america civil war

[hardwiredweird]

Finished one hour study over lunch today

#frank grillo #brock rumlow #crossbones #marvel #mcu #fanart #digital art #digital sketch #{weird art}

[nekoannie-chan]

Ruined anniversary

Pairing: Brock Rumlow X Reader.

Word count: 610 words.

Summary: You have plans to celebrate your anniversary, but would change.

Warnings: Little angst.

A/N: This is my gift to @talia-rumlow​. HAPPY BIRTHDAY FREYA!

@saiyanprincessswanie​

My native language is Spanish so I wanna improve my writing skills in English if you notice any mistakes, please let me know and I will correct them.

I don’t give any kind of permission that my fics to be posted on other platforms or languages (I translate myself my work) or the use of my graphics (my dividers are included in this), I did them exclusively for my fics, please respect my work and don't steal it. There are some people here who make dividers that anyone can use, mine is not this type, please look for the other's people. The only exception is the ones I gifted 'cuz now belong to someone else. If you find any of my works on a different platform and are not one of my accounts, please let me know. Reblogs and comments are always welcome.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Marvel's characters (unfortunately), except for the original characters and the story.

Add yourself to my taglist here.

My other media where I publish:  Ao3, Wattpad, ffnet, TikTok, Instagram, Twitter. 

If you like it, please vote, comment, and give me feedback to improve my skills and reblog.

Tags: @sinceimetyou​ @unnuevosoltransformalarealidad​ @navybrat817​ @angrythingstarlight​ @shield-agent78​ @charmed-asylum​ @hallecarey1​  @nana1000night​ @mylifeispainandiloveit​ @writingshae​ @alexxavicry​  @azulatodoryuga​ @daemonslittlebitch​

You felt Brock's hand caress your cheek as you took a nap after the mission. That mission had been one of the most exhausting, even though it didn't take many days.

Back on the ship, you decided to take some rest, but Brock had inadvertently woken you up.

“Is something wrong? “Brock asked you when he saw you looking thoughtful.

“I just remembered how we met," you answered.

“On the first mission after we left the Academy," he remembered, for the first time in his life he felt nervous, in fact, he wanted to ask you out since you were at the Academy, but he never dared, however the adrenaline he felt on that first mission pushed him to ask you.

“You almost shot me on that mission," you commented.

“I thought you were from the enemy team," Brock excused himself.

“If you wanted a kiss you should have asked me instead of pointing a gun at me," you teased.

“Oh, come on, well, maybe if I had asked you, our first date wouldn't have been ruined by the Chitauris. "

You snorted, everything was going so perfectly, you were about to kiss when one of the damn monsters walked past you, that's when you realized you had several messages where S.H.I.E.L.D. required your presence, but you had been ignoring your cell phones until you saw the monster.

Your anniversary would be next month, and you were planning to go to the beach that weekend, but maybe your plans were going to change for the next mission.

You were collecting all the information you could from the computer you found.

“T/N, status," Brock asked you over the intercom.

“Getting information from a computer in the south wing," you replied.

A few minutes later Brock was running to where you were, he had heard you arguing with someone, whose voice he didn't recognize, then some explosions and screams.

He wasn't going to lose you, he knew you usually didn't need to be rescued, but he wasn't going to let anything bad happen to you, let alone lose you.

When he got to where you were, he found you unconscious, the person who had attacked you was gone.

The next couple of days, Brock did not leave your side, he would stay with you, he did not want you to wake up and he was not there.

It was on the third day that you opened your eyes, and he immediately called the doctors. Everything was fine, but you had to stay a couple of days more in the hospital.

“I'm sorry, I don't think we will be able to go to the beach," you apologized, a little disappointed, you had let your guard down and that's why you had been attacked.

“The only thing that matters to me is that you are well, we’ll celebrate later. "

“Brock, tomorrow is our anniversary," you commented, he nodded. "Do you think they'll let me out tomorrow so we can celebrate? "

“I'd rather you follow the doctor's orders," Brock said sternly.

“Oh, come on, I bought some lingerie, especially for the occasion," you commented seductively.

“Well, we'll celebrate later, but that day I'll make you scream so much until your voice is gone and you might not be able to walk after what I'll do to you," he got up to go to the door, he would go to buy something to eat.

“Brock, hey, no, come here, I want us to celebrate right now. Brock, hey, don't ignore me!"

But he had already left the room, you snorted, the day you celebrated, you would get your revenge and enjoy it.

#Happy birthday Freya #brock rumlow x reader #brock rumlow x you #brock rumlow x y/n #brock rumlow fanfiction #brock rumlow #brockrumlow #brock fanfic #mcu brock rumlow #mcu crossbones

[princessfishy]

Marvel fandom absolutely slept on Rumlow like ?!?!? He’s so fucking hot and stupid, big dumb man that will follow your lead blindly? Sign me up lemme smooch him

#marvel #mcu #mcu crossbones

[cyberneticasset]

Don't look us right in the face It's like starin' at a burnin' sun Got teeth like razor blades And you know that we're out for blood

This is a new one Detail shots under the cut! <3

#onto the next thing! #feelin another shippy (ish) thing 🤔 #anarchy’s art #baronbones #brock rumlow #crossbones #baron helmut zemo #helmut zemo #zemo #baron zemo #mcu fanart #marvel fanart #digital drawing #digital painting #digital art

[stekllla]

hydra husbands

#bucky barnes #winter soldier #white wolf #sebastian stan #marvel #the avengers #mcu #avengers #winterbones #bucky brock #brock bucky #brock rumlow #frank grillo #crossbones #stucky #hydra husbands #collage #art #aestethic #marvel mcu

[annafacose]

I know, I know, I'm late to the party... anyway, full pic on patreon

#my fanart #my art #winterbones #winter soldier #brock rumlow #crossbones #hydra trash party #mcu #digital art #ca:tws