#winterbones fanfiction

[lavenderpanic]

NEW FIC

Okay I've been messing around with this idea for like months and i only have like 3k words written and I wanted to test the waters to see if this is something you guys are interested in reading.

Brief synopsis: Bucky, a 23 year old college dropout, lives with his fiancé Brock Rumlow by the small New England college Brock is a professor at. Between his OCD and his anxiety and the gender dysphoria his fiancé assures him is all in his head, he struggles to find purpose and happiness. That is, until his fiancé's graduate student, Steve Rogers, moves into town and disrupts everything Bucky thought he knew.

Excerpt below cut, TW: OCD, DV, intentional midgendering/deadnaming, SH behaviors, coercion

Bucky peeks his head into the living room. There are only three men besides his fiancé, but the conversation is already too loud. Brock always says Bucky is just especially sensitive, that he has a naturally nervous predisposition, that’s why he’s best suited to staying home most of the time. He’s right, Bucky is sensitive, to noises and lights and crowds. Brock is so kind to not force him to go out. When he was a kid, his parents always thought he was faking it for attention, so they’d make him go to church and school and the grocery store even when he was overwhelmed. Brock never makes him leave if he doesn’t want to. And sometimes, even if he does want to, Brock knows it’s better for him to stay inside.

“Jamie, why don’t you bring out the drinks?” Brock calls.

Bucky’s back stiffens and he takes a slow breath. The men probably won’t even want to talk to him, they rarely do, beyond simple pleasantries. He just needs to smile and look nice. He grabs the silver tray of gin and tonics and walks into the living room with a timid little smile. He recognizes two of the men, other professors from the university, Rollins and Sitwell, he actually took a course with Rollins before he dropped out, but he doesn’t recognize the third. He looks barely older than Bucky himself, with his sandy hair and round, blue eyes, like perfectly ripe blueberries.

He doesn’t dress like the other men, either. During their classes, sure, they may dress nicely, in suits or button-ups with pressed slacks, but when they get together outside of that, they nearly always wear jeans, maybe a nice shirt or a sweater if they care enough that night. But the younger man, the blond, he’s dressed up like a vaguely homosexual humanities major from a nineties movie about a college in New England. Sweater vest, pants in a cinnamon-y kind of brown, a cream-white shirt rolled up to his elbows.

Brock pecks Bucky’s cheek as he places the tray down on the coffee table, next to the platters of carefully-selected crackers and nuts and cheeses that Bucky has spent the last two years learning how to curate. Brock’s real particular about shit like that. “Thanks, babe,” Brock says gently.

“Dinner should be ready soon,” Bucky whispers, sidling up close to him and glancing at the other men. “Like… half an hour more, I think? The potatoes just need a bit longer.”

“Of course, babydoll,” Brock murmurs, then kisses Bucky’s cheek again. “Go on, you don’t have to stay in here.”

Bucky smiles thankfully and disappears back into the kitchen. It’s a gorgeous kitchen, Brock wanted to gut it and rebuild it all marble and sleek, but Bucky begged him to keep it the way it is. It has beautiful hand painted tiles and dark-stained wooden cabinets and the most perfectly-worn brass fixtures. Brock finally agreed to keep it the way he bought it, if only because Bucky’s the one who spends so much time in the kitchen.

The kitchen smells glorious, the whole apartment does, really. Like thyme and garlic and the orange-cranberry cake he baked this afternoon. The potatoes in the oven are a soft golden-brown, encrusted with herbs, and the steak is resting on the counter. He did a good job. Brock will be happy with him. He didn’t mess up like last time.

He decides to start on the icing for the cake, a simple powdered sugar icing, perhaps with a squeeze or two of orange juice. He plucks the leftover orange from the ceramic fruit bowl and places it down on the counter before going to the cupboard and reaching for the paper bag of icing sugar. He has to stand on his tiptoes and lean against the counter and he’s still barely tall enough to brush his fingers against the bottom of the bag. He gets a loose grip on it when–

“Oh, hey, do you need help with that?”

Bucky whirls around in surprise, sending the bag tumbling to the ground. Nearly half of it flies out in a sugary cloud, painting the antique tiles an ashy grey. On the other side of the cloud stands the blond, the young man who Bucky still hasn’t been introduced to.

“Oh, shit, I’m sorry,” he says with wide eyes.

“No, no, my fault,” Bucky whispers. Brock is going to be so mad with him for making such a bad mess. He’ll need to really mop it, maybe twice or even three times, fine sugar is almost impossible to clean properly. “Sorry.”

“No, nonsense, do you have a broom or something, I could–”

Bucky shakes his head quickly and gestures for Steve to return to the men before he finds his voice. “‘S not your fault, I can clean it. Do you… you need something?”

“Yeah, I’m sorry, Rumlow just said there would be seltzer or soda or something in here. I’m not much of a drinker,” he laughs apologetically.

“Oh, yeah, of course,” Bucky nods. He opens the fridge to reveal shelves upon shelves of perfectly organized food, labeled tupperwares, straight lines of soda cans. “Any flavor you prefer?” Bucky asks quietly.

“Yeah, lemon would be great, thanks.” Bucky hands him a silvery can with a little lemon slice embossed into its front, careful not to slip into the mess of sugar. “Oh, I’m Steve, by the way. I’m a PhD candidate, I just moved here. I’m, um, TA-ing for one of Rumlow’s courses, and I’m teaching one myself.”

“Ooh, that sounds interesting,” Bucky hums. He struggles to think of an intelligent-sounding thing to say next. “What are you, like… getting your PhD in?”

Steve starts to say something, he nearly launches into what must be a very rehearsed recitation of his field of study, but Brock appears in the doorway next to him a moment later, places a hand on his far shoulder like they’re pals. Brock’s easy smile falls from his face when he sees the pile of sugar in the very center of the kitchen. Bucky instinctively takes a step back at the displeasure written into every line of his face. “What’s taking so long?” Brock chuckles, but there isn’t any humor in it.

“I’m really sorry, man,” Steve chuckles, ducking his head in faux-embarrassment. “I knocked over the sugar when I went to open the fridge, stupid mistake.”

Brock’s posture softens a bit, his shoulders drop and he stops glaring at Bucky quite so menacingly. “Yeah, she can clean it up, don’t worry about it.”

Bucky shoots Steve a little thankful grin as the two men walk out of the kitchen. He manages to salvage the sugar that didn’t fall out of the bag and does his best to brush as much of the mess on the floor into a trash bag as he can. He’ll clean the rest tonight, once everyone leaves and he can really scrub at the tile.

He doesn’t get the chance to make the icing before he has to plate up dinner, but that’s fine, the men usually like to drink and talk a bit in between dinner and dessert, so he should have plenty of time to ice the cake in between. He sets five plates full of potatoes and steak and grilled asparagus on the table and calls in for the men. He sits at Brock’s side. He doesn’t have steak, he doesn’t really like to eat meat, it feels weird against his teeth, but he does love potatoes and asparagus. He manages to finish off his plate, which earns him a small nod of approval from his fiancé.

“So, Jamie, what do you do?” Steve asks, once there’s a lull in conversation.

Bucky takes a shaky breath and glances to Brock before answering. “I really just take care of the home, I don’t… work or anything.”

The focus is quickly drawn away from him, and he doesn’t mind. He really doesn’t have anything interesting to add to any conversation. Not unless the topic is baked goods or bookshelves or something. He isn’t good at small talk, but it’s okay, because people don’t usually want to talk to him anyway.

He clears the table while the men chat in the living room. He notices Steve glancing at him through the doorway that connects the living room to the dining room, which makes him a bit uneasy, but people who meet him through Brock usually are a bit surprised to realize he’s so young. There’s only a seventeen year gap, but Bucky knows he’s still quite young. Most people don’t expect a forty-year-old professor to have a twenty-three-year-old fiancée at home. Bucky doesn’t mind. Brock doesn’t, so why should he?

He makes the icing once the table is re-set with clean dessert dishes, a simple icing, vanilla and powdered sugar and milk and a bit of orange juice. He drizzles it neatly onto the bundt cake and places it on the table proudly and waits in the kitchen until the men decide they’re hungry again. Steve sits next to Bucky this time. Brock on one side, Steve on the other.

“Shit, this is good,” Steve curses under his breath. The other men are too busy talking about something Bucky doesn’t understand to compliment him, but he doesn’t mind, he doesn’t need to be thanked for doing what’s expected of him. “Is this from, like, scratch?”

“Yeah,” Bucky whispers, grinning a bit. “It’s a recipe I developed. I have a lot of time. I made a lot of lemon blueberry cake this summer and I thought I could adapt it for autumn.”

“Are you gonna eat some? Seriously, this is like… better than bakery quality.”

“Oh, I’m not hungry,” Bucky lies. He’s on a diet. Not a strict one, but he absolutely couldn’t fit a whole slice of cake into his daily calorie allotment. Maybe if he doesn’t eat breakfast or lunch tomorrow, he could have a leftover slice after dinner.

He busies himself in the kitchen, packing up leftovers and wiping down the counters, while the men say their goodbyes. As expected, moments after the door shuts, Brock appears in the kitchen. “You need to clean the floor,” He says, as if that hasn’t been the only thing on Bucky’s mind all evening.

“I will,” Bucky promises earnestly. “Did I do good tonight?”

“Well, darling,” Brock corrects with a little chuckle. “Yes, you did very well. Such a lovely hostess,” he teases, which makes Bucky’s cheeks go a bit pink, he never does like when Brock makes such a point of calling him a woman, but he knows he meant it as a compliment so he doesn’t protest.

“Thank you,” Bucky grins.

“Come to the bedroom once this is all cleaned up, alright?”

“Alright,” Bucky parrots nervously. He’ll have to hurry up his cleaning, Brock gets mad when he thinks Bucky is procrastinating sex. Bucky doesn’t want to be punished tonight. Having to see so many people already exhausted him, and he narrowly escaped a punishment for dropping the sugar all over the kitchen floor.

But still, he presses a polite smile onto his face and nods and Brock leaves him alone to clean. After two passes with a mop, there are only a few sticky streaks left behind. He’ll really scrub it clean tomorrow, but Brock probably won’t notice in the interim.

Bucky reluctantly shuffles up the stairs to the bedroom. Brock is laying down on the bed, laptop balanced on his thighs. Bucky resists the urge to remind him not to wear outside clothes on the fresh comforter, just barely, Brock gets annoyed when he gets all obsessive about that kind of stuff. Bucky perches delicately on the end of the bed and waits for Brock to finish whatever he’s typing up. He rushes Brock, sometimes, because he’s selfish with Brock’s time. He’s trying to get better, though.

Finally, Brock closes his computer and places it on the side table. He looks at Bucky for several tense breaths. Bucky fidgets anxiously. Is something wrong? Is he doing something wrong? He glances down unsurely at what he’s wearing. “I noticed you were doing it again,” Brock finally states.

“Doing what?” Bucky whispers.

“Scratching your arms.”

“I haven’t been,” Bucky defends quickly. His hands immediately go to circle his forearms, he crosses them over his chest protectively.

“I saw you doing it tonight,” Brock says slowly. “Take off your sweater, Jamie. And roll up those sleeves, too.”

Bucky pulls his knit sweater over his head, then bunches up the long sleeves of his dress to his elbows so his forearms are visible. All along his arms, blanketed by a sheer layer of iridescent scars, soft violet bruises blossom alongside irritated-looking scratches, some newer than others. He looks away, embarrassed. He truly didn’t notice he was doing it, it’s been a habit for so long that he rarely registers it. Brock coos with mock-sympathy and sits up a bit, gesturing for Bucky to scoot closer. He does.

“Baby, you need to stop doing that, look how ugly they are. You’re just making it harder for the scars to heal.”

“‘M sorry,” Bucky mumbles. Brock takes him by the wrists, turns his mottled arms this way and that. After a few moments of inspection, Brock drops his arms again and reaches his hands for his belt. “No, please, I’m sorry,” Bucky whispers desperately, shrinking away from his fiancé as discreetly as he can manage.

“Hands out.”

Bucky lifts his hands up, facing the palms toward Brock. They’re trembling, but he knows better than to refuse. Brock carefully folds his belt in half and strikes Bucky’s palms, ten times, in close succession. Bucky flinches, but he never takes his hands away. Brock is right to discipline him. He’s right, he needs to break this habit. It is ugly. He’s ugly. Brock deserves better than that. “Thank you,” he says quickly, as Brock tosses the belt to the side and leans back against the headboard.

“I’m just trying to help you, darling, you know that.”

“I do,” Bucky nods, rubbing his hands up and down his arms. Brock always keeps the house so freezing. Bucky usually doesn’t mind, but he always feels so shaky when Brock makes him get undressed. His fingertips turn all blue.

Brock undoes his pants, spreads his legs to either side of Bucky so he can crawl forward and situate himself on his stomach. He takes Brock’s dick out of his pants and strokes at it a couple times, but it’s already erect. He takes it into his mouth and sucks gently at the head, he wants to prolong this part to hopefully avoid having Brock fuck into the back of his throat for too long. He hates that. One time he got sick, and Brock got so mad, even though Bucky kind of felt, deep down, like it was Brock’s fault. Since then, every time Brock starts gripping onto his hair and thrusting down his throat, he feels panic tugging at his lungs and nausea pooling low in his stomach.

Thankfully, he leaves Bucky in control for most of the blowjob, he lets him wrap his hands around the length left out of his mouth and stroke at it, which keeps him mollified, even if Bucky should try a bit harder to deepthroat him. Before he can come, he lifts Bucky off of his dick. Bucky blinks and sniffles unsurely as oxygen floods into his lungs. He didn’t–

Bucky flinches as a string of come lands over his eye. Another one, in his hair. He breathes shakily and retches shallowly and waits for Brock to be done. Thankfully, Brock isn’t very chatty after sex. He just throws a few tissues at him and starts scrolling through his phone, dick still hanging out of his undone fly. Bucky used to crave intimacy and conversation afterwards but nowadays he’s just so excited to run off to the shower and have a few minutes to himself.

He starts running the shower in the conjoined bathroom before he even starts undressing. He usually likes to let the mirror steam up so he doesn’t have to look at himself more than necessary. It’s not that the dresses and lipstick and frilly blouses don’t make him dysphoric, and he can still see the contours of his body, his chest, his waist, even through the thin layer of steam collected on the mirror, but it makes his evenings just a bit easier.

Sometimes he dares to use Brock’s body wash, the one that smells like, according to the bottle, a volcano, which makes Bucky giggle a bit. Brock rarely notices when he does, and Bucky can usually pass it off rather easily, oh, we’re almost out of mine, if he mentions it. But tonight he doesn’t. Tonight, he scrubs himself down with his apricot-sweet gel and lathers his hair until it’s sleek and shiny with coconut shampoo and conditioner. Sometimes, he tries to buy nice girly things, scents that make him happy, in some lame attempt to convince himself that he can be happy as a woman. That he can embrace it, embrace the delicate femininity Brock so desperately wants him to embody. So far, he hasn’t had much luck.

[chaos-and-ink]

As Stable As Water (Fanfic)

It’s the summer before his senior year and Bucky’s relationship with his boyfriend, Brock Rumlow, and his mental health are both spiraling out of his control. It doesn’t help that college is looming in the distance and his family is getting more and more concerned for him. Bucky is convinced his mind is careening downhill and nobody can save him. But in the midst of his internal storm, Steve Rogers moves into the neighborhood and the two of them click immediately. Maybe Bucky isn’t quite as alone as he once thought.

I made some fan art for my own fanfic! Please do check It out and if you enjoy it, you may like my other fic, You Watched Me Burn, as well :D

[mandyyvibes]

Hydra Husbands- 40 …because the world is ending.

Or Winterbones up to you

40- a kiss because the world is ending; winterbones

f i f t e e n h u n d r e d w o r d s

i would love to make this a full fic and put it on ao3 one day goddamn. i kinda popped off.

Brock had never, in all his years of active field duty and life-or-death situations, been so fear-stricken as he had been when he opened his inbox to an email from Pierce.

It wasn’t the mere fact that Pierce sent out an email, one with ATTENTION STRIKE FORCE ALPHA AND CLEARANCE LEVEL EIGHT FACULTY in the subject line that had icy dread curling between Brock’s ribs.

It wasn’t the beginning of the email, in which Pierce sung his praises, gloating about how well the most recent mission had gone, that caused the dread to settle in a pit in Brock’s stomach.

It was what followed, one singular sentence, that had Brock leaping up out of his chair, kicking it to the side and storming out of the restaurant with Jack close behind, practically trembling with the horror that he felt.

The Asset will be permanently decommissioned by March 10th.

The Asset will be permanently decommissioned by March 10th.

Brock was a lot of things, but he wasn’t stupid. There had been talk of budget cuts and the merits of replacing the Asset with something purely mechanical, taking whatever fractured pieces of a human soul that remained within it out of the equation entirely.

It had been a rough couple of months for the Asset and its team. It seemed to need to go back to the chair more and more frequently as time went on; in barely-perceptible moments of weakness its hand would tremble, or it would whimper when no one was near it.

It was breaking. Brock wasn’t stupid.

But he had been foolish enough to hope that the lab coat jackasses would simply come up with a more effective way to wipe it. Something that lasted longer, something that could reach deeper into its brain and remove all the horrors of its successes.

Instead, Pierce was going to have it put down.

“What the fuck, man?” Jack snapped, jogging after Brock to keep up with his rage-fueled pace.

“We’re going to work. Now. Check your phone.”

“God, what is it this time…”

Brock was in the car by the time Jack could read the e-mail, revving the engine impatiently. The beginnings of a plan had already begun forming in his mind, though it did little to settle the nauseous feeling of dread.

Jack opened the passenger door and gave a grim nod, one that said I’m with you on this one.

That’s why he was Brock’s right hand man.

March 10th.

It was March 4th.

He had six days before everything would come crashing down around him. He couldn’t bear to start from scratch- he didn’t want to start from scratch.

This felt closer to the end of the world than any world crisis or alien invasion had ever felt before.

—

“Where is it?” Brock’s voice boomed and ricocheted off of the concrete walls, just decibels away from a shout. He knew he had to keep his cool, to keep up appearances for now.

The handful of technicians busying themselves with paperwork gave him a strange look.

“Cryo prep-“

“No. No, fuck no. Leave it out.”

“Pierce ordered-“

“I don’t give a RAT’S ASS what Pierce ordered. Do you know who the fuck I am?!” He was yelling now, clenching his fists and working his jaw.

“Rumlow,” Came a calm voice from behind him.

Alexander Pierce himself stood at the bottom of the stairwell, many floors below where he usually ventured.

“Sir.” Brock grunted, chastised. He knew that this conversation would impact the entire course of the rest of his life. No room for fuck-ups.

“The most humane way to do this is to leave it in cryo,” Pierce said pointedly, gesturing to the heavy metal door on the far wall. “I understand that this might seem sudden, but Sitwell-“

“Mr. Secretary.” Brock interrupted, shoving his hands in his pocket and taking a step forward, chin raised in a show of nonchalance. “It has served us well for decades. I simply want to see it in action one last time. I’m requesting permission to take it up to the gym to spar-“

“You want to hurt it one last time,” Pierce’s eyebrows were raised. He would’ve been smirking, if he had been capable of such a thing.

“There’s no point keeping it in good condition now,” Brock replied, mirroring his amused expression.

He felt sick.

He felt angry that he felt sick.

“Alright. You can have it for a couple hours. Then it needs to go back into the cryo tank.”

“Thank you, sir. Hail Hydra.”

“Hail Hydra.”

Brock let his shoulders sag slightly as Pierce disappeared up the stairs. This is what years of loyalty to this organization had gotten him. A couple hours.

He maneuvered into a camera blind spot and pulled out his phone to text Jack.

—

It was still in its gear from the last mission. No one had even bothered to clean it. Cryo prep, his ass. Those lab coats were just bluffing.

The Asset stood at attention, its back pressed against the wall. It was almost strange to see it like this, its gaunt face exposed, after growing used to seeing it with its muzzle on. It looked like they hadn’t been feeding it enough.

Brock let the door shut behind him and could practically feel the Asset’s fear dissipate, though it didn’t move an inch. He took a step forward.

“Kneel.”

The Asset knelt, falling silently, gracefully, to its knees.

Everything was still. Brock watched it for a couple long moments, waiting for a tremor or a sob, anything that indicated weakness.

It couldn’t know the fate that Pierce had dictated for it.

“Are you listening to me?”

“Yes, Sir.”

Brock crossed the room in two strides, resting a hand gently atop its matted hair. He resisted the urge to tug on it and listened to the way its breath deepened. Something primal ached deep within his chest.

“Who do you belong to?”

“Hydra, Sir.”

“And who is your primary handler?”

“Commander Rumlow, Strike Force Alpha, Identification number 06081965,” Its eyes narrowed as if it was processing something, reaching into the depths of its brain to understand. “You, Sir.”

“Good, good job. Look at me,” Brock crouched down, putting himself at its eye level, breaking nearly every protocol in the book- protocol that he had written.

It looked startled when it met his eyes. There was something deer-in-headlights about the icy blue gaze. It looked back at him as if waiting for answers, for instructions, for help.

Brock would have put money on the fact that it could sense his fear. He took a deep breath.

“There’s been an emergency. You are going to come with Rollins and I and listen to every word that we say. No hesitation.”

The sound of a nearby explosion made the Asset break eye contact for half a second, gaze darting to the source of the noise.

Deafening alarms began to ring.

“Soldier!” Brock barked, gripping it by the back of the neck. “What did I say? Look at me, goddammit.”

“Sorry, Sir. Please.”

It held eye contact once again, conveying everything that it couldn’t say with its eyes. It was scared, it was confused, it hadn’t mean to upset him.

“It’s alright. Nothing outside of normal mission parameters, just focus. Any weapons on you?”

“No, sir.”

Brock slipped a knife from his boot, tucking it into one of the many holsters affixed to the Asset’s clothing.

“That’ll do for now, Rollins is bringing in some guns in approximately two minutes. That’s when we move. Do you require anything else for optimal functionality?”

“The Asset has not been provided nutrition in approximately six days, Sir.”

No wonder it fucking trembled. Brock could’ve burnt the whole place down, he was so mad. He reached into his pocket and produced a Jolly Rancher hard candy (Jack’s favorite).

“You see this? This is candy. It’s a reward. You can have it if you do good, if we get out of here. And I’ll get you some real food too.”

“Thank you, Sir,” It all but whispered, still staring at him unblinkingly. It hadn’t even looked away to assess the candy.

It was so good.

It would be good.

Brock stood, keeping time carefully in his head. They had about thirty seconds. He motioned for the Asset to rise and follow him towards the door.

One second passed. Brock turned around and stepped towards it, toeing at its boot with his own.

Two seconds. They would get out together, all three of them. Flee the country. He already had forged paperwork for the Asset.

Three seconds. But if they didn’t…

Four seconds. Brock lifted his chin slightly and leaned in. The Asset remained perfectly still, perfect, lips slightly parted. It breathed in through its nose and out through its mouth.

Five seconds. It exhaled. Brock pressed his lips to it, something chaste and sweet, entirely unlike anything he’d done to it before.

Six, seven, eight, another explosion. The Asset inhaled and exhaled once again. It did not speak.

Brock kissed it again, because he could, because this very well might be his last chance. The rage in his veins popped and simmered like hot grease. Together, or this was the end.

[six-demon-bag]

[iceandironbars]

Chapters: 4/? Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe Rating: Explicit Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Brock Rumlow, James "Bucky" Barnes/Helmut Zemo, Brock Rumlow/Helmut Zemo Characters: James "Bucky" Barnes, Brock Rumlow, Helmut Zemo, Original Characters Additional Tags: Post-The Falcon and the Winter Soldier (TV) Season 1, BDSM, Power Dynamics, Power Imbalance, HYDRA Trash Party, Bucky Barnes Has PTSD, Bottom Bucky Barnes, Top Brock Rumlow, Switch Helmut Zemo Summary:

After refusing to be his handler, Zemo is left with regrets and follows the Soldier to Madripoor, finding him in possession of former Hydra Commander Brock Rumlow, who demonstrates Zemo in great detail what being the Soldier's handler entails. A tug of war between the two of them follows, developing into an intricate triangle relationship.

[rainbowchihuahuabunny]

Y'all I need help finding a fanfic that I read but have since lost track of. I don't remember if it was on here or on AO3. I'm getting desperate here trying so hard to find it 😭

Basically it was a stucky fic with hints of winterbones where Steve had rescued Bucky and was trying to help get him back to himself but he couldn't get him to eat or anything. Finally Steve breaks down and gets Rumlow. Rumlow is there and gets Bucky to eat by finally putting it on the floor. At one point Bucky flips out and destroys the wooden bed, ending up with a bunch of splinters that need tending to.

[winterbonesthings]

I'm lovin' all the pain I'm causing you too much instead by Rainbow_WinterBones

Rating:

Explicit

Archive Warning:

Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Category:

M/M

Fandoms:

The Falcon and the Winter Soldier (TV)

Marvel Cinematic Universe

Captain America (Movies)

Relationships:

James "Bucky" Barnes/Brock Rumlow

James "Bucky" Barnes/Helmut Zemo

Characters:

James "Bucky" Barnes

Helmut Zemo

Brock Rumlow

Additional Tags:

boot kink

Dubious Consent

Cock & Ball Torture

Cheating

Language: English

Series: Part 1 of Wet Nightmares

Next Work →

Stats:

Published:2023-02-16

Words:777

Chapters: 1/1

Summary:

Rumlow finds Bucky and decides to remind him who he belongs to.

Excerpt:

Bucky found himself backing away from Rumlow on unsteady legs, hitting the wall too soon for his liking. It was as if the room had shrunk around him.

“What are you going to do about it?” Rumlow whispered, tracing a finger down his chest, running it in teasing circles down to his navel, then palming his abs, fingers pressing in, squeezing the muscle hard enough to hurt.

Bucky hated himself for the way he pressed into Rumlow’s hand, for the soft, needy sound that escaped his lips. He closed his eyes, trying to take a bracing breath, but his head snapped to the side with the force of the slap Rumlow laid on him.

[copiumm]

ooh tell me about 'rescuing rumlow' (and here's to a more porny february 🥂 - i haven't written a lot this month either 😅)

I could really use a porny February. Dry January is brutal!

"Rescuing Rumlow" is the working title of a fic I started back in December for Whumperland, but I ended up writing something else for that prompt. It's exactly what it says on the tin--the soldier has to go rescue Rumlow after a pretty major fuck up. I have the outline put together but here's the first (and only) actual part I've written so far:

The soldier knew his right arm was broken. It didn’t take a medic to sort out that his right ulna was fractured beneath the skin. He could feel it.

Rollins appeared at his side, looking down at the Asset’s arm and grimacing at the developing bruises.

“That broken?” he asked, rubbing at his own chest and wincing in pain. He had been thrown several feet after the blast, but he seemed in better shape than the soldier. Still, his face betrayed the calm he was trying to project and he kept glancing down at the soldier’s broken arm and then back up to his face, like he was expecting something to happen. The Asset’s left arm was perfectly functional, so he couldn’t understand why Rollins was so concerned.

The soldier followed the man’s gaze down to his arm and twisted it experimentally in the low light of the safe house porch. The bone shifted and made a popping sound.

“Ok,” Rollins snapped, putting a hand out as if to stop the soldier’s movements. “Don’t move it like that,” he swallowed thickly, looking like he was very close to throwing up.

Rollins curled his lip at the soldier’s arm again and turned back toward the house. “Come inside and I’ll try to figure that out.”

“It will heal,” the soldier replied, flatly, reaching out with his titanium hand to rest it over the broken spot. Rollins rushed forward and he grabbed the wrist of the soldier’s metal arm harshly, pulling it back and away from the bruising skin.

“Don’t—“ he said, gripping tightly. “Quit fucking with it or I’m gonna throw up.”

[psychiccatpanda]

Chapters: 17/18 Fandom: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Brock Rumlow Characters: James "Bucky" Barnes, Brock Rumlow Additional Tags: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Omega Brock Rumlow, Alpha Bucky Barnes, Pining, Secret Crush, Masturbation, Sex Toys, Sexual Fantasy, Birth Control, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Snowed In, Hurt/Comfort, Protective Bucky Barnes, Hair Brushing, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Developing Relationship, Literal Sleeping Together, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes, Protective Brock Rumlow, Memories, Communication, Road Trips, Oral Sex, Anal Sex, Anal Fingering, Scenting, Enthusiastic Consent, Bucky Barnes Remembers, Bonding, Mpreg Chapter Summary:   In which Brock and Yasha finally make it out of the Americas, land in Romania and have a lot of stress while making a home for themselves. (It's not a den.)

New chapter is LIVE!

This fills U5: Retirement for the Bucky Barnes Bingo. :)

(Also, sorry this has taken so long to come out!)

Full Fic Summary:  Brock had a secret. Scratch that. Make it two secrets. First, he's not the alpha all the guys on his team think he is... and second, he might just have a crush on the Winter Soldier. Either one of them could land him in hot water with Hydra, but both combined? Bad News. Even if he could just walk away from Hydra, could he really leave the only alpha who's ever made him wonder what it would be like to live openly as an omega? Maybe it's all just in his head, though, and the Soldier hadn't really noticed him.

It's not in Brock's head. The Soldier has definitely noticed.

Note: This is not a Hydra Trash Party fic.

[thefudge]

out of curiosity- do you read as much fanfic as you write? how many bookmarks do you have in your ao3/or if you dont tend to bookmark how often would you say you read fanfiction. lol im just so curious bc sometimes i wonder for authors like you who are so talented how could you even read other fics i mean how could it even compare to your own writing like if i had your talent and tried to read other fanfiction i'd be like damn this is trash bye

"i'd be like damn this is trash bye" LMAO ok i cackled a little, this is too funny

SO (lol) i do tend to read less than i write, mostly because i'm pressed for time. but the stuff i do read tends to fall in two categories:

a) amazing stuff that's better than most mainstream publishing from my gallery of bad bitches (ppl like tashiii, arbitrarily, somethingdifferent, sweetsourwolf, Lizzen, yourgirlislovely, wordsmithie, brainyisalwayssexy, isoldewas, winterbones, framboise, cupiscent, allyoops etc.)

b) shippy stuff that i enjoy because of the pairing or trope - so in this case i'm not looking for "great writing", so much as fun ideas/scenarios and more content involving a rarepair, for example. a lot of the times i stumble upon great writing, because ao3 as a rule has more good than bad writing, but even if i don't, i will read a story if it feeds into my hyperfixations lol. that being said, obviously there are times where i am put off and click out, and that usually happens when the characters are too OOC and the reading of them is too shallow to sustain the story, so that i can't enjoy it anymore. but this happens way less on ao3 than, say, ffnet.

anyhoo, thank you for the high praise :*

[routeriver]

✏️ ?

✏️ Have you ever written fanfiction?

I had tried to write a winterbones fanfic when i was 14

[ask game]

[lavenderpanic]

I AM ASH FROM YOUR FIRE PREQUEL

I'm so so excited to share the first chapter of You'll Me Made Of Ashes, Too, the prequel to I Am Ash From Your Fire. If you've ever wondered how Brock and Bucky got together (and how exactly innocent, naïve Bucky became the man he is in I Am Ash From Your Fire), make sure to check out You'll Be Made Of Ashes, Too!

[chaos-and-ink]

Chapter Seven As Stable As Water is posted!

Summary: He really was lucky he had a boyfriend as understanding as Brock. And Bucky immediately felt sick for how he had treated him last month. He’d been fucking awful to him. Constantly pushing and pulling at him and dragging him through the mud. He ignored his texts, gave him short replies, fought him on everything. Bucky wanted to curl up and cry as he recalled the last month. He was an awful boyfriend. God, he was lucky to have Brock as a boyfriend.

Kudos, comments, reblogs, all that jazz is super appreciated! :D

[spintwinwb]

Bad Days & Unlikely Bedfellows Chapter 1

In which at the end of Captain America: the Winter Soldier, Winter Soldier doubles back to rescue Brock Rumlow from the wreckage, plays extremely incompetent nursemaid, and generally demonstrates the fact he’s the princess of HYDRA who doesn’t usually have to do things for himself. My first time playing with Rumlow’s POV, and my first time writing this particular era Bucky too!

[six-demon-bag]

hell yeah google i agree he is pretty

[iceandironbars]

Chapters: 1/? Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe Rating: Explicit Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Brock Rumlow, James "Bucky" Barnes/Helmut Zemo, Brock Rumlow/Helmut Zemo Characters: James "Bucky" Barnes, Brock Rumlow, Helmut Zemo, Original Characters Additional Tags: Post-The Falcon and the Winter Soldier (TV) Season 1, BDSM, Power Dynamics, Power Imbalance, HYDRA Trash Party, Bucky Barnes Has PTSD, Bottom Bucky Barnes, Top Brock Rumlow, Switch Helmut Zemo Summary:

After refusing to be his handler, Zemo is left with regrets and follows the Soldier to Madripoor, finding him in possession of former Hydra Commander Brock Rumlow, who demonstrates Zemo in great detail what being the Soldier's handler entails. A tug of war between the two of them follows, developing into an intricate triangle relationship.