content warning: explicit smut. 18+ MINORS, PLEASE DO NOT ENGAGE, mutual masturbation, use of sex toys, mild exhibitionism, unprotected vaginal sex, spanking
pairing: Brock Rumlow x reader
word count: 1456
author’s note: this kinda went off on a tangent. i also wanted to make brock a bit meaner but my softer side came thru, i guess. next time lmao! anyways enjoy <3
Brock did not know about your collection of sex toys. He didn’t need to. You only brought them out when he was long gone on missions and you just needed something to alleviate the need between your legs.
At the moment, Brock had been gone for three weeks, and you were getting desperate. You did not know when your boyfriend would be back, either, which wasn’t helping things.
So there you were, in the middle of the king sized bed, surrounded by plush pillows that comfortably supported you as you thrust a hot pink rabbit vibrator in and out of you, desperately wishing that instead, it was Brock’s cock stretching you out. But until then, the vibrating machine would have to do. The little ears were stimulating your lips at the same time as it filled you, pleasure pooling in your core. With your other hand, you pulled and pinched at your nipples, eyes closed as you imagined all the things that Brock would do instead, just how much better he was at making you feel good.
In your attempt to satisfy yourself, you had lost focus of your surroundings completely, and so you were unaware that Brock had just entered your shared apartment, finally home from his mission and just ready to get into bed with his cock kept warm by his sweet girl. But upon hearing the quiet noises coming from the bedroom, he knew that was not going to be the case. He recognised the sweet whines and moans, taunting him as he quietly stalked towards the bedroom. Brock pushed the door open silently, and although he sort of knew what to expect, he hadn’t expected to see you so brazenly sprawled out on the bed, thrusting some sort of toy in and out of you rapidly whilst you pawed at your own tits. It was an extremely arousing sight, watching you try to pleasure yourself. His first instinct was to stop you, though, to take over and become in charge of your pleasure, but he held himself back, wanting to see just how you would bring yourself to orgasm.
It looked like you were struggling to do so. Brock watched as you gasped and whined, trying to reach your orgasm, but it wasn’t long before you huffed in annoyed, pulling the toy out and accepting defeat. He stepped out of the door, almost pouncing on top of you on the bed. You gasped in surprise, but relaxed when you realised that it was just Brock. Then a rush ran inside of you again; you knew that Brock prided himself in how he pleased you, and he was going to have a field day with the fact you were unsuccessful in bringing yourself to orgasm. You didn’t know whether to be embarrassed or aroused. Or both.
Brock caged you in under him arms, picking the vibrator out from your hands. You took in a deep breath, apprehensive. He chuckled as he look at the toy, glistening with your juices.
“You wanna tell me what this is, baby?” Brock asked. Of course, he knew what it was. He just liked to see you squirm. And you, did, shying away and averting your gaze.
“Uh-uh,” he tutted, grabbing your chin with his fingertips, forcing you to look at him. “Go on, princess, tell me what it is.”
“I-it’s a toy,” you mumbled, just a little embarrassed.
“And what were you doing with it?” Brock’s gaze was so intense that you wanted to look away again, but you knew you couldn’t. You blinked at him, trying to work out the words, but your need was so desperate your mind had gone blank. Brock knew.
“It’s ok, pretty girl,” Brock assured, placing the toy back in your hand. “You can show me.” He pushed away and sat back on his heels, waiting for you to start the show again. Slowly, you turned the vibrator back on, pressing it against your entrance. You gasped, mainting eye contact as you pushed the toy inside of you. You watched Brock watch you, eyeing up how your pussy greedily inhaled the toy. You started thrusting it slowly again, letting your head fall back onto the pillows. The pleasure was so much more intense and satisfying with Brock watching over you. He was palming himself over his pants, watching you ram the toy inside of you.
“Make some noise for me, princess,” he ordered. Brock stopped palming himself to pull his cock out of his pants, and your pussy just clenched at the sight of it. Your toy was never going to compare to it, and you wanted it in you, now.
“Brock,” you whined, pulling the toy out and sitting up. You reached for him, but he stopped you and placed the toy back by your pussy.
“No, princess. You gotta make yourself cum first before you get my cock,” Brock told you. You whined in annoyance, but it quickly became a moan in pleasure as he started to guide the toy in and out of you. Once you both got the rhythm going again, he let go to watch you again. You were now quickly reaching your orgasm again, the vibrations sending pleasurable shockwaves through you. Your second hand went back to your nipple, stimulating the bud to increase the pleasure.
“Getting closer, princess?” Brock asked. The hand not stroking himself reached for your other tit, and instead of pulling and pinching as you were, he spanked it roughly multiple times. “Answer me, baby.”
“Y-yes,” you stuttered out, flicking your wrist to get more stimulation out of the toy.
“You wanna cum?”
“Yes! Please!” You cried, feeling the coil of pleasure tighten to breaking point.
“Go on, then, princess. Cum,” he ordered, slapping your breast once more to push you over the edge. You screamed as you finally came, arching your back of the bed as you rode out your high. You breathed heavily as it washed over you, finally dropping you hips when you felt it ebb away.
“That feel good?” Brock asked you. He was still stroking himself, and he moved the hand by your breast to instead stroke your cheek. You nodded at him, smiling softly. He leaned forward to cover you.
“Good. Cause we’re not done yet, pretty girl.” Brock nudged the thick head of his cock against your lips, mixing your juices together. You whimpered, slightly oversensitive after your high. You clutched his t-shirt, wiggling your hips to get more friction. “I just got home baby, and it was a long mission.”
“I missed you,” you mumbled, the sensations rushing through your head.
“Well, I missed you too, pretty girl,” Brock returned, pressing the head against your entrance. “Missed this pretty pussy too.” He thrusted forwards, groaning as he slid in to the hilt. You whined too, arching your back again. Brock slid an arm underneath you, holding him close to you and keeping you both there for a few moments. The intimacy felt good after being apart for so long, and only made your bliss feel sweeter. Then he started to ruthlessly thrust into you, growling as you clenched down on him.
“Shit, princess,” Brock growled, throwing his head back. The rutting had no pattern to it, just an animalistic need taking over the movements. The speed was almost bruising, and the lewd sounds of your skin smacking together should’ve been embarrassing, but the shameless sound only added to your pleasure. You tucked your head into his neck, babbling and moaning nonsense as the coil got tight again.
Brock shuffled slightly to hook both of his arms under your knees, hoisting your hips up slightly and allowing him to thrust deeper into you. The slightly change in position was even more blissful, hitting the right spot in side of you. You could’ve cried from the stretch and the sensitivity, bucking your hips wildly.
“God, you love this, don’t you, princess? Feel you squeezing my cock so bad.” Brock groaned, watching you drop your head, mewling at the sensations. “Look so pretty, princess. You ready to cum again?” You nodded, whinning desperately.
“Go on,” he whispered, pushing you over by tugging on your bottom lip. You wrapped your legs around him as you came again, holding him close to you as you cried out from the washing pleasure. Brock, however, did not relent from fucking you, moving faster and faster as he chased his own finish. Finally, he stilled, growling your name as he spilled into you. Brock let go of your legs and place his arms either side of you, pulling you into softer kiss.
“I really missed you,” you mumbled sleepily, softly grinning.
“I missed you too, princess. Let’s go get you cleaned up.”
prompt: “shh be quiet for me baby, we don’t want anyone to hear what we’re doing in here.” from @fallinforevans’s smut prompt list.
content warning: explicit smut. 18+ MINORS, PLEASE DO NOT ENGAGE. fingering, choking, vaginal sex, spanking, mild dirty talk, cum talk, mild voyeur kink.
pairing: Brock Rumlow x reader
word count: 1k
author’s note: this would be my first attempt at writing smut. i thought that it would be easier now that i’ve actually had sex, but it is not. i also spent half an hour giggling because i had to google ‘ear parts’, because i know jack shit. anyway, please enjoy this lil smutty number!
Brock’s hand covered your mouth in an attempt to silence your moans.
“Shh, be quiet for me baby, we don’t want anyone to hear what we’re doing in here,” Brock hushed, his mouth hovering over your ear as the other kept its circling movements over your clitoris. But you could barely hold your whimpers, let alone the moans caught in your throat in a feeble attempt to prevent the rest of the STRIKE team know exactly what was going on in the small cleaner’s cupboard, just down the hallway from where the rest of them were gathered. Thank God none of the other men ever needed to use it. You had already forgotten your surprise and exasperation at how Brock had dragged you into the cupboard, hands roaming all over you when he started kissing you fervidly before flipping you to face the door. Before you knew it, your suit was pooled at your feet and you were barely balanced on your toes, with the man behind you stimulating your pearl. The feeling was elating, exhilarating. You didn’t want it to end.
Brock kept the small movement going, teasing your pussy lips and eventually moving his free hand to slip one thick finger, then another, into your hole without warning. You let out a whimper at the unanticipated but pleasant feeling, grasping onto his arm when his fingers started to glide vigorously in and out of your silky walls. You could feel his muscles moving and tensing as he finger-fucked you against the wall.
“Gotta get your ready for me, princess,” he whispered into your ear, nibbling on your earlobe softly. “I know I stretch you out every single time, baby. Look at you, dripping just for me. You’re just soaked, princess. It turns you on, doesn’t it, knowing that anyone out there could just come by and hear you, open the door and see what a fucking slut you are, getting finger-fucked by your boss in a cupboard.” You nodded desperately as the hand covering your mouth slides down to squeeze your throat, your walls clenching around his fingers at the lewd words leaving your lover’s mouth.
“Can I trust you to be quiet, princess?” Brock removed his fingers from you, and you gasped at the sudden loss. You could hear him remove his dick from his pants. Brock’s hand tightened on your throat when you didn’t respond.
“Yes, sir.” You barely heard the whisper yourself, terrified that if you were any louder you’d also release the rest of the moans and groans caught in your throat. Brock dragged his cock against your slit a few times, then slapped it against your lips, making you hiss sharply. He hushed you again, placing a few tender kisses against the nape of your neck before thrusting swiftly into you, not stopping until he bottomed out. You couldn’t stop yourself from whining at the intrusion, your eyes fluttering. The hand around your throat went back to its previous place over your mouth to help silence you as Brock knew you would not be able to help many of the soft, gasping cries you let out. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head as Brock thrust up into you again and again, finding a steady rhythm to rut to. Your hands now pressed against the door in front of you, letting your head drop back onto his shoulder as he bucked into you. Your eyes closed as you revelled in the sweet sensation you were feeling, his fingers circling over your clit again to add to your pleasure.
Brock knew exactly how to work your buttons.
“Doin’ so well for me princess, especially as you know how much I love hearing you sing,” Brock grunted. Your hips started rolling back in time with his thrusts and you grabbed back onto his arm again, grasping for something to keep you tied to reality as your head began to cloud. “But I just couldn’t help myself, baby, not when I see you in that fucking stealth suit. You know what that suit does to me? Drives me fucking crazy. You’re so fucking sexy, you know that? So beautiful, princess.”
You whined, feeling your orgasm come closer and closer as Brock started moving faster and faster, his thick cock filling you in all the right ways, stretching you ever so delightfully. You missed when his hand covered your throat again, choking you as you neared your orgasm.
“C’mon, princess, come for me.” Brock pressed more kisses onto your throat, spanking his hand against your clit. The obscene, dirty sound of it finally brought you over the edge. Brock hushed you as a moan slipped out as waves of pleasure slipped over you, falling partially limp in his arms.
“Good girl,” he mumbled, groaning as your walls clenched around him. He didn’t stop fucking you, though, and started moving faster than he had been, chasing his own release. You whimpered, feeling more sensitive after your own delectable release.
“Shh, shh.” Yet again, his hand tightened on your throat. “Don’t ruin it now, princess. Gonna make you do that mission stuffed full of my cum. Fight with it leaking out of you. Keep it stuffed inside of ya all day. You’re mine, princess. My princess.”
“I’m yours,” you whispered back, feeling a second orgasm approach you very quickly, the thought of walking around just full of him taking you to the edge yet again. Those two words from your sweet lips pushed Brock into his own orgasm, and he grunted into your ear, stilling with one final thrust as he released his load into you. You gasped as your second orgasm washed over you, relaxing as Brock rested his head against your cheek, pressing more delicate kisses on your sweet skin. You both stayed that way for a minute before he slowly pulled out of you. You winced at the tender feeling, then chuckled shakily as you pulled yourself upright.
“You know they have a betting pool for when we’ll get together?” You told Brock, zipping your suit all the way up. He gave you a rare grin in response, a smile that was only saved for you.
“That’s why we’re not telling them yet, I want Rollins to win.” You scoffed as he pressed one final kiss to your forehead. “Let’s go kick some ass, princess.”
content warning: explicit smut. 18+ MINORS, PLEASE DO NOT ENGAGE. oral (f receiving), choking, breast/nipple play, spanking, orgasm denial, unprotected vaginal sex (wrap it up Please), hair pulling.
pairing: Brock Rumlow x reader
word count: 1,500
author’s note: er so that Steve fic did so well it kinda put me out for a while, but I think this one will be good (?). tbh I kinda feel like leslie knope after the harvest festival (as aforementioned) so this is a lil gentler. I wrote this over two days and finished it at 11.30pm, so once again I have no idea what you’re about to experience. also, PSA- i do take requests!! anyways, enjoy!
You were mad. So very mad at him.
It was your and Brock’s anniversary. Two years. Two whole years since he’d bit the bullet and asked you out. You thought that the man would remember, seeing as it was possibly the hardest thing he’d ever done in his life. Apparently, love and commitment terrified him as much as you did, but maybe you’d lost your touch because there’s no way in hell he’d hear the end of forgetting your anniversary.
Right now, with less than an hour to go until the day was over, and you’d long given up on the man. Instead, you were curled up in your bed, a cup of hot chocolate cradled in your hold with your comfort show playing on the TV, willing yourself not to cry and to sleep instead. If Brock didn’t turn up in the next couple of days, you were going to end things.
You deserved better than a forgotten anniversary with no explanation.
You’d just started to doze off when you heard him barge through the front door as always, calling out for you. You decided to ignore it, curling yourself up on your side of the bed and feigning sleep. Only a couple of minutes later did he come through the bedroom door. He called your name again, but you stayed unresponsive. You heard him sigh, and round the bed. He stopped to place a kiss on your head and disappear into the bathroom. You kept yourself still, willing yourself to actually fall asleep before he came out of the bathroom because of course, Brock would know better. He knew you down to every movement, every breath you took. It would be romantic if you weren’t so pissed.
Your cover was blown as soon as he slid into the bed with you, smelling of your shower gel (not that Brock would admit that he used it). He made the move to put his arm around you, but you shuffled ever so slightly to avoid his touch, giving yourself away.
“Sweetheart?” Brock whispered softly. “You awake?” You didn’t make a single noise in response.
“I know you, princess. You’re awake.” Brock’s hand stroked your cheek, but you still didn’t move. You heard him sigh, then move the same hand to slide up and down your side.
“Princess,” Brock said, sterner. “Is there something wrong?” You didn’t answer. He sighed again. The hand slid down to your hip, stroking over the bone. Brock shifted closer to you until he was pressed against your back, mouth hovering behind your ear.
“Sweetheart, you gotta answer me.” It was a command. You puffed, blowing your cheeks out, then grudgingly answered.
“It’s nothing,” you muttered. You wished you had more space to roll away from him.
“If it was nothing, sweetheart, you wouldn’t be giving me attitude. Now, tell me-”
“If you wanna know so bad you’ll figure it out,” you grumbled. Evidently, your attitude had been enough to rile Brock up, and he tactfully shifted you so you were lying on your back, caged under him. You tried to look away from him, but he grabbed your chin, forcing eye contact.
“If you’re gonna act like a little brat then I’m gonna treat you like a little brat, hmm?” Brock snarled, moving that hand down to your throat, pressing ever so lightly at the sides. You pressed your lips together, holding in the whine that threatened to escape your mouth, determined to not let him win. “I was gonna give you your gift tonight, but you want to be a little brat, so I guess I have to punish you first.” Your eyes glinted and you mentally punched yourself. He didn’t forget.
The fucker really had to start leaving you notes.
Although (and not that you would admit it to him), you enjoyed pulling his strings sometimes.
Brock stalked down your body, sliding your (well, his) shirt up and over your breasts, out of his way so he could trail kisses down your body. He stopped as he hovered over your mound, roughly squeezing then spanking your breasts. You arched up, moaning, feeling his breath over you. You were sure you were dripping for him; you could tell from the way he was staring at your pussy.
“You could’ve just talked to me, sweetheart, but your attitude means you’re not gonna get to cum.” Brock started his assault on your pussy, latching his mouth onto you. His tongue was rough against your lips, and you whimpered, trying to roll your hips into him. Brock lifted his mouth temporarily to slap your pussy, warning you to stay down before continuing, lapping at you as if he were a starved man in the desert. You felt as if you were melting, only the ruthless pinching and slapping stopping you from becoming adrift in your mind. The hand not roughhousing your tits was circling your hole, denying the one thing you wanted next.
“Brock,” you whined, sneaking a hand into his hair, hoping he’d get the message. Your orgasm was nearing and you’d already forgotten his previous warning of denial. “I’m gonna-” He pulled away from you, slapping your breasts again.
“Oh, no, princess. Not until you learn your lesson, baby.” You shook your head at the denial, whining his name again. Brock prowled back up your body, sneaking one hand to the back of your throat, claiming your lips in another steamy kiss. You didn’t notice him shove his sweatpants down, but you did feel his cock suddenly slide up against your lips, smearing his precum and your juices together. You clutched onto Brock, digging little crescents in his back as you held onto him, the friction causing the tension in your stomach to build up again. You moaned into his mouth, lips slacking as you found yourself unable to concentrate.
“That feel good, princess?” Brock murmured into your mouth, groaning at the sensation of his cock grinding against you. You whined back in response, bucking your hips up. He chuckled at you from above. “I know, sweetheart.” A hand moved to put pressure on your throat again, fingertips squeezing at the sides. You gasped, bucking more wildly, feeling your orgasm approach quickly once again.
“You wanna cum this time princess?” Brock asked, peppering kisses all around your face. You nodded and moaned a desperate yes, rolling your hips faster, but Brock had other plans for you. He lifted himself off you and flipped the two of you around so that he rested against the headboard of the bed, holding you in his lap.
“No yet princess,” Brock warned, grabbing your hips firmly. He lifted you enough so that he could line his cock up with your hole, then forced you down all the way on him. You gasped as he entered you, stretching you out just enough. Brock gave you a moment to adjust before he started to bounce you up and down on his cock hard and fast. You clenched, throwing your head back as you let yourself melt towards an orgasm yet again. Brock let one of his hands move to yank on your hair, forcing your head up and causing you to let out a strangled moan that relatively sounded like his name.
“So fucking tight, princess,” Brock rambled, snapping up into you. “Feel so good around me, sweetheart. So good I wanna keep my cock stuffed in you forever. Keep filling you up and up, huh?” You moaned lewdly at the suggestion.
“Oh, you’d like that princess, wouldn’t you? Just so full of me, every day.” Brock rutted faster and faster, chasing his own finish. “You really want to cum now, princess, don’t you?” He released your hair slapped your ass, making you yelp, then whimper. He did it again and again until you predicably squeezed his shoulders again, signalling you were once again nearing your orgasm.
“It’s ok, princess, you can cum now. Go on, baby, cum,” he ordered, and you did not hold back a second, letting out a small wail as you followed his command. You let your head drop onto his shoulder as he did not relent, only stilling in you a minute later as he finally let go himself. He moved his arms to hold you close and down onto him, grunting your name. You both stayed like that for a moment before he cupped your face, making you look at him again.
“What was wrong, princess? Want to tell me now?” he urged, stroking your cheek. You bit your lip and looked down shamefully, suddenly remembering how livid you’d been earlier.
“I-I thought you’d forgotten...” You trailed off, hoping he’d understand. Lucky for you, he did.
“Princess, I promise you I would never forget you, us,” Brock affirmed, kissing you on the forehead. You smiled meekly at him as he lifted you off of him.
“Start leaving me notes, babe. That’s how we barrel towards misunderstandings like this. Now, I heard something about a gift?”
Based on a request by @roguesandsaviors : Hey there! Hope you don't mind me sending in a request. Could you do something: Brock, non-Hydra, fluff, spending a day off with his significant other? Lazy day or filled with activities that they don't get to do otherwise is up to you! Thanks in advance either way!
I admit...this was heavily inspired by Jenna Marbles’ backyard camping video, and if you have a problem with that...I give no shits, I miss her and the concept is fucking cute. Moodboard created by me, images all borrowed from GettyImages.
< Are you sure? >
< I'm sure >
< You're not going to get dragged off on a mission at 2 in the morning? >
She waited for a few minutes, glancing occasionally at her phone, before texting again.
< Brock? >
< I'm pretty sure. Just pack an overnight bag and come over. >
* * *
Brock was aware that he was, at times, not an easy person to be in a romantic relationship with, not the most physically available man, and possibly not the most lovable. His intensity, his rigid adherence to the expectations of his work, did not exactly make him ideal boyfriend material, and it was becoming increasingly clear to him. Though his relationship was several months old, and his partner well aware of the issues that would, more often than either of them liked, keep them apart, it clawed at the back of his mind that she would find it harder to understand him and put up with his sporadic absences, and eventually...
He hammered more forcefully at the steel stakes, planting them firmly in the ground, as he worked to secure the temporary dwelling materialized from colorful nylon and polyester, in his back yard. If he couldn't commit to a trip, a vacation, any kind of getaway that would take them out of the city...he hoped this would suffice. Sinking the last stake, he stood to full height and took several steps backward, admiring his handiwork. It was small, not sufficient for more than a few people, but the intimate nature of it was part of the appeal. Brock glanced up to the sky overhead, the sun already beginning to set as evening crept over him, and he took one more look at the temporary structure before heading inside.
The Commander busied himself with prep work to distract as the minutes ticked by, awaiting the arrival of his girlfriend, who had no idea what she'd be walking into. She hadn't said anything, had not expressed discouragement over the way their relationship had been progressing, but...he'd tried and failed enough in the past to know when things were on the edge of unsatisfactory for his partner, and he was too attached, too enamored, to let his bad habits ruin his future with her.
As he glanced at the clock on his stove again, his ears perked up to the sound of a fist lightly rapping on his door, and he drew his phone out of one of his many pockets to see the litany of missed calls, announcing her arrival. The sounds of knocking had begun again before he could reach the door, and he grasped the knob and swung the barrier open to find a significantly younger woman on the other side, clutching the handle of a small duffel bag in one hand, her phone in the other. “My god, he owns a shirt that isn't black,” she declared, watching as he looked down to his clothes and back up to her. “Laundry day? Wait...is that why you invited me ov-”
“Just get inside,” Brock rasped with feigned annoyance at her quips, stepping out of the way as she entered, dropping her bag and pocketing her phone before wrapping her arms around him as she buried her face against his chest. Glancing quickly out the doorway for onlookers, as if their romance was something forbidden, Brock encircled her body in his densely muscled arms, resting his scruffy cheek against her hair.
“You smell like outside,” she whispered against the cotton of his shirt, breathing deep and nuzzling closer, “I missed you.”
Brock's embrace tightened a fraction at her words, just enough to feel the difference, expressing through his actions the words he'd been trained a thousand times over not to speak.
* * *
Brock quirked his lips as the pad of a soft digit reached out to swipe a bit of melted chocolate and marshmallow from the corner of his mouth. S'mores had been a messy choice, but as it turned out, a satisfying one. The hamburgers cooked over his grill that had preceded the sugary treat had been tasty and filling. And the young woman who sat opposite the S.T.R.I.K.E. Commander in the grass had been pleasantly surprised by all of it. If he couldn't take her away on a real escape, he'd explained as she had stood with surprised eyes, staring at the tent pitched in the back yard, they could at least pretend.
The sky had turned dark, cloudy but without the threat of rain, as the hours had crept by, not that they'd be able to see the stars under the light pollution of the city on a clear night. A pleasant breeze blew though her hair as she seemed to look off beyond him at nothing, a smile tugging at her lips
“What?” Brock asked simply, his trained senses unable to relax completely, even in her presence, in the serenity of his own back yard.
“I just...” her vision shifted back to his hazel eyes, looking especially dark under the night sky, “...i appreciate the effort.”
“You know I can't make the kind of plans-” he began, as if he had something to defend himself against, but he felt her hands press against his solid chest, allowing himself to fall back against the cool blades of grass as she straddled him.
“Take the complement, Commander,” she whispered, leaning over him to press her lips against the lines of his forehead, over the rounded tip of his nose, claiming his parted lips.
“You know if I cou-” he began again, but she quickly cut him off, tempting him with more kisses as her hands worked through his thick crop of hair, nails grazing pleasantly over his scalp.
“If you don't haul me into that tent right now and fuck me 'til I wake up the neighbors, I'm leaving,” she whispered against his lips, Brock needing no further prompting.
* * *
The squawking of fussy birds mixed with the sound of Brock's morning groans as he tried to open his eyes, and closed them again tightly against the blinding light of the sun, scorching through the netting of the tent's flimsy roof. He had only just noticed the empty spot on the blow-up mattress beside him when the sound of the shifting nylon brought his attention to the opening of the tent, a very familiar young woman crawling inside, the handle of a mug of coffee clenched in her fist. “For me?” he whispered as he sat up and reached forward, his voice especially hoarse from hours of sleep. Brock brought the ceramic container to his lips and drew in a sip as his lover settled beside him, dressed in nothing but his t-shirt from the night before.
“Good?” she asked simply, and Brock nodded as he took another sip. As he flinched under the vibrant sun again, she rose to her knees and zipped up the opaque panel of fabric above him, Brock's unbusied arm snaking around her before she could sit again, pulling her body in against his. She nuzzled her nose against his sleep-mussed hair as he sat the mug of coffee down as far away as possible, suddenly shifting his grasp on her and dragging her down so that she lay against his lap, his strong thigh a makeshift pillow.
“Last night was...I had a really good time,” he rasped, gently pushing her hair out of her face so nothing would obscure her eyes from his.
“Yeah, couple of times,” she returned, shifting her eyes to the boxer-briefs he wore, which left very little to the imagination.
“Well, that too,” he smirked, grasping her hand gently when she plucked at his waistband, raising it up to his lips instead. “I know it's not-”
“Stop,” she cut him off quickly. “I knew what I was getting in to when we started this...well, mostly. Don't you think if it was something I couldn't handle, that I would have...moved on?”
He flinched at her words, started again, “I don't want to be something you have to handle-”
“Brock...don't twist my word,” she sighed as she willed her body off of his, rising again to her knees and crawling into his lap to face him instead. “I wouldn't be here...” she whispered as she ran her digits through his messy hair, “if you weren't worth the hassle of a few canceled dates.” She leaned in, Brock's eyes sliding closed as she pressed a petal-soft kiss to his lips. “I'm exactly where I want to be.”
☠️⛺☠️⛺☠️⛺☠️⛺☠️⛺☠️⛺☠️⛺☠️⛺☠️⛺☠️⛺☠️⛺☠️
Likes are great, but comments and reblogs are even better and are always appreciated!
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Nightingale (Part 2) - Put Your Lights On - Brock Rumlow x OC *NSFW*
This is a prequel/sequel to my previous Brock x Reader one-shot, “Nightingale” (check my masterlist in my blog blurb for the original one-shot if you haven’t read it yet), which I have converted for the current entry into an x OC fic...because it’s mine and I can. I’m posting this on Frank Grillo’s birthday, June 8th, and dedicating it to him as my present that he never needs to know about 😏 This is rated mostly for sexual content, and you can consider everything that transpires here to be completely consensual. I hope you enjoy, and leave a comment and/or reblog because my anxiety-soaked ego needs it (moodboard made by me especially for this fic, story title and below lyrics belong to Everlast/Santana). Happy Birthday Frank 💙💙💙
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There's a monster
Living under my bed
Whispering in my ear
There's an angel
With her hand on my head
She say I got nothing to fear
There's a darkness
Living deep in my soul
It's still got a purpose to serve
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Helena let out a sigh of mild frustration as she picked up her phone again, her car paused at a stop sign, glancing at the screen. No new messages. She'd texted Brock hours before, letting him know she'd be working late at the hospital, but that she'd stop by as soon as she could. It was late, the moon glowing bright as it peeked from behind a cluster of clouds against an inky sky. She imagined he might be asleep, but that wasn't going to stop her from at least looking in on him.
It had been a few weeks since he had been formally checked out of the hospital, and she had taken a few days of vacation time to coincide with his departure, helping him readjust to life outside of the facility as comfortably as possible. Nothing felt normal anymore, not for Brock, living as a civilian for the first time in decades. He struggled to fill his time with distractions, perhaps jumping back into fitness before his body was quite ready, and hiding away from the outside world. The time he'd spent in his new partner's presence had began to chip away at the years of near-brainwashing at the hands of Hydra, the propaganda, the warped ideas that had led him to his current physical state. Though he knew he could never again lead anything resembling a normal life, the loosening ideals he'd lived by for so long weren't what kept him inside, hiding away from society. It was his face. In his mind, his ruined fucking face.
* * *
Helena glanced around an empty street for signs of life as she stepped out of her car, striding up the concrete surface of the driveway up toward the front door. There was no light inside, no indications of activity. Quietly as possible, she let herself inside, locking the door behind her and flinching when she locked her car door from a distance, the faint honk of the horn reaching her ears. So much for silence. She dropped her bag on an empty, plush chair and padded slowly through Brock's small, rented home, searching. Her instincts were on her side, she found, as she nudged open as quietly as possible his bedroom door, found him lying on his side with his face toward the wall, his back to the door. He gave no indication of wakefulness, and she made slow steps in retreat, seeking out his bathroom so that she could freshen up, wash the hospital off of her. She was immediately thankful that she'd kept her shoes on when the sound of broken glass crunching beneath her feet met her ears when she'd expected clean tile.
Fear struck her as she immediately flipped on the light, her stomach suddenly filled with nausea at the thought of what she might have walked into. She thought to turn back, seek Brock out, confirm someone looking for revenge against the former Hydra agent had not done away with him in her absence, but as she looked from the shards of reflective glass on the linoleum tile floor and up to cracked mirror, she quickly put together what had happened. This wasn't an attack from an intruder. This was the result of Brock's fist. Closing her eyes and taking a deep breath, she surveyed the damage, noting the drops of blood from his knuckles. He certainly wasn't getting his deposit back. With a glance toward the bedroom door as she exited the bathroom, Helena stepped toward the kitchen, seeking out something to clean up the mess.
* * *
“Hey,” Helena whispered as she crouched next to Brock's bed, staring toward his maimed facade in the dark room. Beginning to reach toward his face, she quickly thought better of it and placed her hand against the shirt that clung tightly to his torso, stroking gently at his chest. Brock gave a faint noise of acknowledgment, reaching to grasp the slender fingers that scratched lightly at him through his clothes. “Did we get in a fight with the mirror?” He grunted in response, and she sighed lightly. “Who won?”
“It was a draw,” he whispered, his voice still especially raspy since the incident that had disfigured him. “You didn't have to clean it up-”
“And have you hurt yourself more in the morning?” she cut in, an edge to her voice that she hadn't intended to let loose. “Anyway...I need a shower...and your tantrum wasn't worth getting the John McClane experience on the bottoms of my feet.”
Brock was quiet for a moment as he opened his eyes to peer at her in the darkness. “You didn't cut yourself, did you,” he mumbled, and there was enough light pouring through the windows for him to see her shake her head no.
“But you certainly did,” she returned, raising to her feet but allowing him to retain her hand, still clutched in his. Expecting her to berate him for his foolish actions, her continued words surprised him, though at this point in their relationship, they really shouldn't have. “Do you need me to bandage you up?” When she was met with silence, she took it as a yes, and she reached toward the cheap little lamp on the side table so she could properly review the fresh damage. Brock flinched against the light as expected, but he didn't turn away, drawing his right hand from under the blankets and loosened his hold on her fingers with his left. Helena carefully grasped his hand, examining the new wounds, the dried blood from his already scarred knuckles. Staring at his fresh cuts longer than he was comfortable with, she finally rose to full height and left the room, returning a few minutes later with basic first aid supplies.
Brock lifted his body with mild discomfort as he sat up, crossing his legs and lifting his right arm to hover in the air as she sat down on the mattress, immediately going to work. She was so careful with his damaged skin as she applied peroxide-soaked cotton to the wounds, regardless of the fact that he felt very little pain there from the scattered nerve damage. After several minutes of careful work, his hand looked somewhat mummified from the abundance of wrapped, white bandages. “I don't think I'm getting my deposit back,” he rasped, breaking the silence.
“That occurred to me, too,” she answered with a small smile, releasing his hand to place the leftover supplies back in their vinyl case.
“You didn't have to do that,” he mumbled as she stood up from the bed so she could put the bag of first aid items away.
“Don't worry...I'll let you make it up to me,” she replied as she stepped out of the room.
* * *
Half an hour had passed by the time she re-entered the room, feeling far more comfortable in her skin after a thorough shower, her hair and body smelling of his masculine-scented toiletries. She was surprised to find the warm lamp light still casting an electric glow, Brock leaned against a pillow he'd sandwiched between himself and the barred headboard, his eyes on the book in his hands, glancing up when he heard the hardwood floors creak under Helena's feet. “Wow,” he uttered simply as he looked over her freshly washed form, clad in a clean pair of novelty-printed boyshorts and one of his own black tank-tops. Though they'd been dating for several weeks, they had yet to become 'intimate' in any way that required the removal of clothing, and this was the barest he'd seen her.
“Yeah, I'm lucky you shop in the children's section,” she teased, indicating the signature tightness of the clothes he typically wore on his torso. Brock sat in silence as he watched her move around the room, combing her fingers through her damp hair as she dragged out the tangles within the towel-dried strands. Helena was conscious of the fact that she was delaying the inevitable, but she'd made the choice to be vulnerable enough to shower in his home with him only several feet away, allowed him to see her in this state of undress. There was no turning back now. “It's not polite to stare,” she mumbled as she finally shuffled to the side of the bed opposite Brock, pushing the linens aside and sliding in beneath them.
“I never claimed to be polite,” he answered, his eyes not leaving her still, almost hesitant to switch off the light, even with his lingering discomfort over allowing her to look upon his damaged features. Settling underneath the layers of sheets and blankets, Helena finally shifted her head to look up at Brock, still seated against a pillow. Her brows raised in unison, expecting...she wasn't even sure what at this point. She'd been with her share of men in the decade or so post-high school, but everything about being with Brock felt new, fresh, unexplored. She was aware enough of the man he'd been before the incident that had left him ashamed to show his scarred face in public, hopeful of the changes she'd seen emerge in him over the months they'd spent in each others presence, long before he'd made his affection known. The mirror was perhaps a setback, but a temporary one. He hadn't raged afterword the way he used to in their treatment sessions when she'd literally and inadvertently tap a raw nerve. He was getting better, she was sure of it. She wouldn't be here beside him if she thought otherwise.
With a final, appreciating glance at her face, Brock flicked off the lamp, casting the entire room in darkness as he began to shuffle his body back under the coverings, stuffing the pillow back under his head. Unsure himself of what level of intimacy he thought the moment might lead to as he lay facing the young woman beside him, he found himself lifting an arm as she cautiously closed the brief distance between their bodies, snuggling up against him in the warmth of his embrace. Their bodies, it seemed, were not as ready in the moment for further exploration as either had considered in the preceding minutes, both of their forms relaxing against the mattress, the pillows, and each other as sleep quickly overtook them.
* * *
Helena's voice was barely a coo as she began to awaken, not yet aware of the circumstances that had unfolded during her unconsciousness, sleepily trying to drag her hands from above her head, and being met with resistance. She opened her eyes drowsily to the still-dark room, tugged again with her hands, became more conscious of the restraints around her wrists. The shifting of the mattress somewhere near her waist gave her pause, and she whispered Brock's name into the night, anxiety tinging her voice.
“You're alright, sweetheart,” she heard him rasp, felt the fingertips of his unwrapped hand ghost over her thigh, the other bandaged one carefully gripping her waist. “This isn't how I usually go about things, but I woke up and your hands were already up above your head and I...couldn't resist,” his voice sounded slightly more hoarse as the last few words met her ears. When she gave no detectable response, Brock drew his hands from her to steady himself as he leaned in to hover over her form. His face inches above hers, he lifted his unhindered hand up to her cheek, relieved when she leaned into it instead of jerking away. “You've been so good to me...and I don't deserve it,” he rasped, met with continued silence. She couldn't exactly argue with that statement. “I don't deserve you,” he whispered, and felt her lips press against his as Helena finally acknowledged his actions.
Brock indulged her lips with uncharacteristically soft kisses before trailing away, pressing his slightly open mouth to her throat, his patchy scruff scraping pleasantly against her delicate skin. When he sucked lightly at the junction of her neck and shoulder, he heard her hands tug at the restraints, let her whimpers wash over him, sucked harder in answer. “You're so sensitive,” he whispered as his lips traveled back up the side of her throat, nudging her face to one side with his jaw to press more kisses against the little hollow behind her earlobe. He heard his name in the form of a gasp, felt her hips press into his thighs where he straddled her. “Do you want me, baby?” he rasped, his lips brushing against the shell of her ear. Her stuttered yes was barely audible as he rubbed his stubble against her cheek and throat. “Think you're ready for this big, Italian cock?” he breathed, and she trembled against him when he ground himself against her, seeking out his lips when the frustration of her limited movement became too much.
Brock's kiss was greedy as he answered her needful actions, pressing his tongue inside and swallowing her moan. When he finally drew himself away again, he heard her shallow breath as she made an effort to grind up against him again. “We'll get there, sweetheart,” Brock rasped, his body drawing away from her as she began to pull at her restraints, needy for the feel of his body pressed against hers. “I think I know what you really want-”
“I want you,” she cut in as she tugged with her wrists, desperate to touch him.
Brock was silent and still for a few seconds as he basked in the words that meant so much more to him than she could fathom in that moment. Helena settled against the comfort of the mattress below her as she felt the bed shift from Brock's movements, needful, ready. When she remained untouched, she whispered his name again, questioning. The scarred man retained his silence, answering instead with both hands, unbandaged now as he slipped his fingers under the tank she'd borrowed, pressing it up just past her ribs and feeling her shudder when his bristly kiss met her oversensitive skin. Slipping a hand beneath the small of her back when she instinctively lifted a few inches off the bed to meet the caress of his lips, his mouth traveled higher, nudging the dark, ribbed fabric that separated them with the tip of his nose, his free hand descending toward the elastic waistband of her panties. “You can still tell me to stop,” Brock whispered, his fingers splayed over the smooth flesh of her stomach, a single fingertip dipping below the thin fabric.
“I don't want you to stop,” her voice was breathy as she lifted her hips, beckoning him to continue as his unbusied hand traveled further up her back to palm the valley between her shoulder blades.
Brock's rough whiskers scraped against the delicate skin he exposed as he gripped the black fabric in his teeth, dragging it up to reveal the soft, petite mounds, pressing scratchy kisses to the sensitive flesh as his right hand pushed past the barrier of her panties, the wounds on his knuckles long forgotten. He couldn't help the groan that escaped his lips, distracted momentarily from the tender flesh below his mouth as his digits met her slick folds, sliding a single finger inside and almost moaning in unison with the young woman at his mercy as she welcomed him inside so greedily. “God damn, baby,” he rasped against her skin, tilting his head and letting his heavily scarred cheek rest against her bare flesh as his vision centered where his busy hand worked, barely visible under the light of the cloud-obscured moon shining through the window blinds. Her hips pressed up into the air again as he slipped a second digit inside, curling his fingers and stroking carefully at the spongy upper walls that made her shudder against him. Brock increased the tempo briefly, experimentally, and was rewarded by a sudden and sharp cry of need. “Fuck...” he whispered, pressing more kisses to her soft mounds, drawing one of the peaks into his mouth and nipping gently as he suddenly sped up the tempo of his fingers again for a few moments, blessed with more of her needy cries.
“Brock, this isn't-” she gasped when he dampened his thumb with her dripping juices and swiped it over her neglected clit, “...this isn't fair...”
“Am I not giving you what you need?” he whispered, ghosting little circles over her sensitive bud with the pad of his thumb, two strong and dexterous fingers still plunged inside, stroking achingly slowly. When she answered in whimpers instead of words, he drew his fingers from within her, lifting them to her lips, gently pressing a soaked digit inside before withdrawing it again to replace it with his tongue, greeted with her eager kiss. Drawing away just enough to speak, his lips brushed lightly against hers as he spoke again, “Tell me what you want, sweetheart. Tell me exactly what you want me to do to you.”
“I thought you said you knew what I wanted,” she whispered back indignantly, Brock's damp fingers finding her exposed breast in the moonlight and giving the nipple a little tweak in response.
“I can't be sure unless you tell me,” Brock responded, but he had already began to descend down her body, adjusting his own body to hover over her as his lips pressed tender kisses over her ribs, down the concave dip of her stomach, his fingertips disappearing into the sides of her panties and dragging them down her thighs. “Tell me,” his voice was barely audible as his heated breath ghosted over her moistened folds, teasing and falling short of satisfying.
“I want...” she began, inhaling deeply when he bit lightly into her inner thigh, distracting her as he traced the quickly disappearing indentations with the tip of his tongue, “I want you to...I want you to make me cum in your mouth...” His densely muscled arms were wrapped around her thighs before she could even register his movements, his rough whiskers brushing against her and making her tremble as his tongue eagerly plunged inside.
Brock uttered a sigh of pleasure as the deliciously tangy flavor of her momentarily overwhelmed him, pressing his face closer to her heated flesh, pushing further inside with his slick muscle. His short nails dug tiny crescents into her thighs as he did his best to fuck her with his tongue, working inside the tight channel, welcoming and needy. Above him, Helena struggled helplessly against the restraints that bound her hands, the instinct to run her fingers through his thick, dark crop of hair as he indulged in her frustratingly hindered. As good as his tongue felt inside her, it wasn't exactly what she needed, yet she couldn't hold back the sigh of loss when he drew briefly away from her.
The scarred man pressed a kiss against one thigh, damp from her own fluids, as he drew the arm clutching the opposite leg back toward himself and scraped the prickly hair of his cheek against her oversensitive skin as he slid a single digit over her soaked slit. Brock grinned against her skin as she shuddered and lifted her hips at the light touch, sliding up to circle over the neglected bud before slipping back between her folds again, flipping his hand as he pressed two fingers inside once more. Helena lifted her hips slightly off the mattress as Brock began to trail kisses over her skin, the scrape of his whiskers mixed with the soft feel of his lips and his penetrating fingers overwhelming her senses. She shuddered as he trailed further toward her core, the tip of his tongue darting out to taste the folds that enveloped his digits, finally running his tongue over her clit as she cried out faintly from above.
Brock listened with keen ears as the sounds that fell from her lips began to escalate, sighs becoming gasps, whimpers becoming cries as her hips graduating from a gentle rutting into uncontrollable shuddering, as if she were unable to get enough of him. As he swirled the tip of his tongue over her needy bud in earnest, fingers stroking with purpose, engulfed by her slick walls, the sweet sounds of her lust began to escalate with abandon, hips uncontrollable, insides clinching and pulsing around his digits as she came harder than she'd cum in as far back as she could remember. Brock didn't withdraw his fingers until the delectable feeling of her aftershocks finally subsided, his tongue making lazy strokes over her slick folds even as she shuddered beneath him from the over-stimulation. By the time he finally crawled up her body, far enough to meet her lips with his, her pulse had finally calmed to something resembling normal.
“I...holy fuck...”she whispered as Brock pressed his essence-moistened lips to her cheek, grinning against her skin in triumph.
“Yeah?” he rasped back, guiding her jaw to claim her lips with his tangy kiss, “Satisfied yet?”
“Not...even close,” she mumbled between kisses, grinding her hips up against him to punctuate her words. When she felt Brock's hands begin to ascend up her arms, toward her wrists, his intentions to free her clear, she quickly breathed a soft don't.
“Don't,” Brock repeated, his brows knitting together in confusion as his mind began to reel. Don't what? Don't fuck you? Don't-
“Don't untie me,” she continued as she felt his body begin to rise from hers.
“Are...you sure,” the former Commander questioned, running the back of his wound-free knuckles over her side, causing a shuddered response.
“I'm sure,” she whispered back, “I think I kind of like feeling a little...defenseless.”
“I think I'm starting to corrupt you,” Brock answered back, his hands lowering to his hips where he began to press his uncomfortably tight boxer-briefs down his thighs, flinging them to the floor as soon as he was able. Aided by the forgiving cloth restraint he'd chosen in lieu of anything more harsh, he grasped her hips and flipped her body with little effort, and no more than a surprised yelp from his lover. Leaning over her slender frame, Brock's callused fingertips brushed over the pulse points of her wrists, dampening his lips with his tongue and tracing feathery kisses over her throat, against the shell of her. “Get on your knees for me, sweetheart.” Brock drew back when she began to respond immediately, observing silently with the aide of the faint moonlight pouring in between the blinds as she drew up her legs and pressed her weight into her knees and elbows, lifting her hips up into the air and parting her thighs in anticipation.
Brock's tongue darted over his lips unconsciously as he stared at the display before him, his hands reaching toward her hips almost hesitantly, and freezing as he heard her voice, barely a whisper.
“Please...” she practically begged in a soft whimper, parting her thighs wider when she felt the palms of his hands take hold of her, “Brock, I need you...”
Needing no more encouragement, Brock closed the empty space between them, grasping his cock and sliding it between her slick folds teasingly, shifting his hips and plunging deep inside as soon as her needy voice defied the silence.
“Fuck...” he rasped as he became engulfed in her welcoming heat, his hips giving pause as he basked in her velvet embrace, the grind of her ass working insistently against his hips spurring them to life. With steady control, Brock began to pump himself within her, shallow when her body began to melt into the bed, impossibly deep when she would become frustrated and begin to respond in earnest.
“God dammit, Brock, just-”
“Just what?” his lips brushed against the rim of her ear as his chest met her back, pressing her deeper into the mattress as he began snapping his hips against the soft cushion of her ass, grinding against her as he buried himself inside with escalating abandon.
“Just...like that,” her voice and breathing stuttered as he filled her so exquisitely, letting the weight of his body overtake her as one scarred hand snaked around her waist, the other weaving into her sleep-mussed hair and pushing it gently aside to press his lips to the nape of her neck, the pleasant scrape of his whispers seemingly electrifying her skin. He left tender kisses in his wake as he worked around her throat, along her jaw, brushing more loose strands of auburn away as he reached her lips, consuming her mouth as his hips slapped harder against the flesh of her ass, the lovely creature beneath him working her own hips to meet his every thrust, driving him deep inside.
The minutes slipped by without notice, Brock relishing in the sweet embrace of his lover's welcoming core, his chest melting against her as his hips began to move almost of their own accord, his pace becoming erratic, his voice escaping in raspy sighs, and he felt his release approaching. As the hand wrapped around her waist began to descend, searching for the little bundle of nerves that would leave her twitching around him, he heard a sound of protest, and he pushed more strands away from her face as he leaned in, concerned.
“I don't...I don't need it...”
“You don't need-”
“Just fuck me...You already made me cum so fucking hard...,” her voice was barely a whisper, lost in the sensation of him pummeling into her, “I just wanna feel you come inside me...just fuck me...just come for me.”
Brock lifted his body from hers, rising up on his knees as he took hold of her hips with both hands, and he began pumping in harsh, almost punishing thrusts, jaw tense, teeth clenched, fingers digging in to her flesh as his body finally found release.
* * *
The sun was higher, brighter than usual as it streamed in through the blinds, Brock shifting onto his side to escape it, his free arm wrapping instinctively around the body he found there, a smile pulling at the burned corners of his lips as the smaller form pressed in closer to him. She said nothing, simply basked in the heat radiating from his damaged skin, and Brock finally opened his hazel eyes to look down upon her. He wondered briefly if she was even conscious, but the arm that slipped around his toned waist confirmed her wakefulness. His gaze shifted to the slender wrist that lay nestled between them, the faint red marks of his makeshift restraints catching his attention. Lifting his arm from around her, he carefully grasped her just above reddened skin, raising it to his lips and pressing a kiss gently against the pink-tinged flesh.
“I shouldn't have-” he was immediately cut off by a tired shushing noise, the wrist in his grasp easily wriggling free, reaching higher to rake her digits through his dark strands, and Brock considered how much he had actually missed the gentle touch when he'd had those hands restrained.
Finally opening her forest green eyes to the glowing morning, significantly later than either of them were used to waking, she took in the sight of his damaged features, Brock's gaze shifting away in the humiliation he still struggled to shake under the harsh light of day. Having none of that, Helena shimmied up higher until their difference in height was diminished, leaning in and proceeding to place feather-light kisses over his less scarred cheek, the tip of his nose, the bare brow above his left eye, every inch she could reach that wasn't wedged against his pillow.
“I fell in love with this face...this Brock...you don't have to-...” She paused when the man's hazel eyes shifted back to meet hers as her words sunk in, and she leaned in to press a chaste kiss against his damaged lips, smiling when he returned her touch, whispering against his scarred skin, “You heard me...don't expect me to say it again until you say it ba-”
“I love you,” he uttered against the almost non-existent space between their mouths, drawing in again to close the gap between them, the instinct to draw away from the touch of her hands seeming to vanish as her fingers ghosted over his cheek, jaw, throat, whatever she could reach, eager to make up for lost time.
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Original Chapter Here
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Likes are great, comments and reblogs are even better (no one gets their writing exposed to more readers if it doesn’t get reblogged), if you would like to be tagged in future writing for other Frank Grillo character fics (or just Brock Rumlow fics specifically), please let me know, and a remember that all of my other Frank Grillo character multi-chapters and oneshots can be found in my Masterlist (linked in my blog blurb)
Based on @nekoannie-chan ‘s request : Hi again! Well I'd like a fic with Brock and this prompt “Every day I love you more.”, also he is HYDRA and if is possible reader is HYDRA too, please ? Does it get much more Hydra than Crossbones? Consider this post-Winter Soldier canon divergence (specifically because we’re not going to have him go get himself blown up in a few months). Gif lovingly borrowed from @leviathanhomecooking because the gif search option was underwhelming.
A pair of scarred hands gripped the porcelain edge of the sink as Brock stood in the bathroom of his apartment, staring at the remnants of his wrecked face. Considering the overall destruction he'd found himself at the bottom of, he was aware the damage could have been far worse, but in moments like this, when he found himself alone with his damaged flesh, the idea that he could count himself lucky of the physical results was laughable to him at best. Sliding out a drawer and dragging out a set of clippers, he reached up with the other hand, running his fingers over his prickly jawline. Much as he hated having to look upon his own reflection these days, he knew his facial hair was beginning to edge on excessive in the eyes of his lover. She liked his stubble, she hated a full beard. Switching on the electric trimmer in his hand, he went to work to make himself 'presentable.'
Several months had passed since the accident, since that genetically enhanced do-gooder had dropped a building on his face, and though his distaste for his appearance had not noticeably dissipated in that time, he couldn't deny that his life had improved in some drastic ways. Years of being a loyal member of Hydra had dealt him a solitary existence in his downtime, and he'd mostly given up on the hope of a romantic relationship along the way, but the young woman who'd become such a staple in his life since his stay in the hospital had drawn out of him feelings he thought long extinguished. Hope. Trust. Compassion. Love.
Though he'd noticed her in passing multiple times over the last few years through the facade of S.H.I.E.L.D, he'd never spoken a word to her until he'd found himself lying in a hospital bed as she carefully treated his slowly healing scars. He'd watch her face for shifts in expression as she tended gingerly to his flesh, hypervigilant for any signs of distaste or disgust, but she only flinched when she grazed over the occasional, particularly fragile nerve that caused him to tense up in pain. When his treatment and physical therapy had come nearly to a close, and he'd finally expressed the affection he'd developed for her, she hadn't shown the slightest tinge of hesitation as she stood on tiptoes to accept his kiss.
As Brock flipped the the switch on the device in his hands, examining the results of his work, he heard the brief sound of another set of clippers from beyond the bathroom door. Running a damp cloth over his torn-up facade, he splashed on some aftershave and stepped out of the bathroom. “I can't get it any closer than this,” he uttered as his bare feet padded across the hardwood floor of the living room, watching the young woman as she examined the various attachments and guards of the clippers she held in one hand.
“Come on,” she invited, ignoring what she knew was an invitation to scrutinize his damaged aesthetic, gesturing to the stool that sat before her, “Let's clean up your fade.” Holding her gaze as long as he could, noting with silent pleasure the flush that permeated her cheeks in response to the intensity that flustered her still, he finally sat before her, facing away with his eyes closed as she set to work.
Brock's breathing was slow and steady as he sat in silence, reveling in the delicate touch of her fingers as she trimmed the edges of his hair that had started to lose its desired shape from lack of upkeep, careful to avoid the scarring of his neck and ears. She knew he wouldn't feel any physical pain if she had, those nerve-endings were fried, the pain was psychological. He was about as healed as he would ever be on the outside, but the wounds to his ego were fresh and raw inside. It hadn't been easy to convince him that her returned affection was true, but for her, and certainly for him, it was worth the effort.
Brock had completely zoned out by the time she sat down a pair of scissors after trimming the longer strands that ran over the top of his scalp, silently examining her practiced work. His crop of thick, dark hair still damp from the spritzes of water, she worked her fingers though his damp forest, listened with a smile tugging at her lips as the man before her sighed contentedly. With a hint of preliminary anxiety, her fingers slipped around to lightly grasp his stubbled chin, tilting his head back a bit and leaning down to press a gentle kiss to the lighter scarring of his forehead. Brock flinched, as he always did when her touch was introduced to his distorted skin, but she ignored his subtle reaction, guiding his head back further to press light kisses to his right cheek – she knew better than to so much as graze the left.
“Do you still love me,” Brock rasped as his apprehension at her touch shifted as it always did into comfort, tilting back to claim her lips in a tender kiss.
“Every day I love you more,” she whispered back, Brock's scarred hand reaching up to weave his fingers through her pristine digits.
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Prequel/Sequel here
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The Closest I Can Get to the Stars (Without Leaving the Ground) - Brock Rumlow x OC *Chapter 4 - Deep Inside of You *
Chapters 1-3, along with a few unrelated oneshots, are in my masterlist in my blog bio, friendly reminder that Brock is not Hydra within the context of this story. Lyrics belong to Third Eye Blind, OC belongs to me, Gif credit goes to @suricateg - I cropped it slightly for my needs, but it was originally giffed by them and I thank them because it’s so soft 💙💙💙
Brock stared seemingly at nothing as he lifted a glass bottle to his lips, taking a swig of beer and placing the container back down on the polished wooden bar top before him. He didn't want to get drunk and do something he'd regret, but with his team having voted unanimously to stop at a local bar after their successful mission before heading home to the states, he had to occupy his time somehow. He glanced down at his reflection in the high-gloss surface before him, noting the faint bruising that was beginning to form on his cheek. He'd gotten sloppy, just for a moment, but long enough to take a punch from an enemy that he should have been able to evade. Important as his mission was, he couldn't deny to himself that his mind had been preoccupied with the young woman at headquarters awaiting his return. Drawing out his phone from one of his many pockets, he swiped the screen and flipped to his camera files to the picture he'd snapped of Helena on their lunch date at the restaurant, taken in secret as he returned from the restroom. His stoic facade faltered, a faint smile forming on his lips as his thoughts returned to her again.
The Commander swiftly locked the screen as he heard a voice over his shoulder, turned slightly, expecting to see one of his men. Shit, he thought simply as he stared at a woman he faintly recognized, dressed in a way that screamed 'take me home with you', staring at him as she leaned her body against the bar from between two stools. “Benjamin,” she repeated, irritation creeping on her made-up features as she watched him, waiting for a sign of recognition.
“Angelique,” he acknowledged in response to the false name he'd previously provided her. It wasn't a secret amid the Commander's subordinates that he occasionally succumbed to a one night stand when they were out of country post-mission, and an attractive and willing participant presented herself. As Brock looked upon her, he felt absolutely nothing. All her scandalous appearance achieved was an enhanced personal wish in him to just return home, back to the gentle and cautious touch of the young woman longingly waiting for him. Before she could open her painted lips, Brock cut off whatever flirtatious invitation she had prepared for him. “I'm not going home with you.”
A disarmed look crossed her face as she looked upon him. That certainly wasn't the greeting she expected upon recognizing him in the bar she so often frequented. A smirk quirked her lips as she swallowed and leaned more provocatively against the bar. “We don't have to go home, I'm sure we can find some place close-”
“Do I look like I'm interested in fucking you tonight,” Brock rasped, his voice lowered in acknowledgment of the notice they were starting to gather by his fellow agents, several tables away, enjoying various alcoholic beverages in their limited hours of levity.
“I...are you seriously speaking to me like this?” his one-time liaison huffed, straightening her dress as she stood at full height, hands lowering to her hips in irritation. “You'd be lucky to-”
“I'm sure I would,” he lied in an attempt to avoid the scene she obviously wanted to stir up. “I'm seeing someone back home, and I'm not gonna...” Brock closed his eyes in irritation, biting back the harsh words begging to be released. “Look, I'm sure one of my boys would be more than happy to show you a good time,” Brock finally managed as he gestured to the group of agents across the room, many of them more invested in the conversation he was engaging in than he appreciated.
A few tense minutes later, filled with biting quips from the woman regarding his age, his height, whatever flaw she could conceive of that might damage his ego, she departed into the ladies' restroom and did not re-emerge until she was sure the coast was clear.
An hour passed before Brock finally informed his men it was time to leave, sacrificing as much of his own comfort as he could stand before dragging them away from their well-deserved down time. As the agents filed out, their faces becoming more somber as they departed, Brock noticed a younger agent, one he often worked out along-side, watching him with curiosity as he lagged behind the others. The commander said nothing as the man approached, his brows simply lifting as if asking him to speak his mind. The agent looked hesitant, and Brock crossed his arms over his chest, waiting.
“I've, um...I've never seem you strike out like that before,” the younger man whispered, a hint of nervousness in his voice at broaching what he perceived to be a sensitive topic.
The agent stared at his Commander as Brock began to pat down his various pockets, confirming all his belongings were in place before the team departed. “Is it...is it that girl from headquarters?”
Brock paused in his movements and looked the agent directly in the eyes, the subordinate clearly intimidated by his authority. “How do you know about her,” he asked simply.
“I was in the gym that day, when you two had your, um...moment in the hallway,” he paused as he stared at his superior, feeling more hesitant to continue by the second. “I guess I didn't think it was anything serious.”
Brock stared at the agent in silence for several moments, causing doubt to bubble up in the younger man at his presumptuous comments. “Have you ever known me to become involved with anyone at S.H.I.E.L.D?” Brock finally asked
“No, sir,” came the agent's quick response.
“Then that should tell you it's serious.”
* * *
Steam filled the tiled room as Brock breathed in the vapors, the hot, pulsating spray of a shower head soaking his hair and body. S.T.R.I.K.E team's aircraft had landed later than expected that evening upon returning from the mission, and the Commander, assuming Helena had left for the day, for the weekend, took his time unwinding in the isolation of the showers within the locker room. After several days abroad, it felt comforting just to be home, away from the cramped confines, surrounded by his men. He stood under the pulsing water several minutes longer than necessary before finally cranking the handle that shut off the spray, leaving him in silence in the residing fog.
Brock took his time in his solitude as he stood in front of a wall to wall mirror, examining his reflection for bruising, cuts, marks of his mission. When his vision reached his bruised cheek, he thought not of the man who had landed a punch, but of the woman who'd occupied his thoughts enough to distract him.
As he extracted his various toiletries from his gym bag, he pulled out his phone and glanced over his contacts. A few missed text messages displayed, having been delayed by the lack of reception when overseas, the most recent one from that morning. She'd reached out to him, inquired if he knew when he might be home. Brock began to type an overdue response, but paused, considering. Surely she'd gone home, it was well past her normal departure time. But, maybe...
With a tinge of guilt at the invasiveness of his actions, Brock clicked through various screens and eventually gained access to the GPS in Helena's phone in an attempt to gain her location. With surprise, relief and a hint of excitement, he found that she had not left headquarters at all. She wasn't in her office, her elevation was significantly higher. After running a scan of the layout of the building, Brock found that she was as elevated as she could possibly be, camped out on the roof. Anticipation bubbled up as Brock set his phone to the side, and began to prepare himself in the mirror's reflection, thoroughly brushing his teeth, styling his hair, wishing he had a razor present to take care of the several days worth of facial hair that had developed. With a few quick spritzes of cologne that he rarely donned on headquarters' premises, he glanced again at his phone to confirm her presence, dragged on a clean set of standard black everything, and set off toward the roof.
Several minutes and floors later, Brock finally pushed through the access to the rooftop, experiencing a mild flinch as the weighty door slammed behind him. Listening for signs of life and discovering none, he stepped out into the cement clearing, his eyes glancing in all directions. A hint of anxiety welled up in his stomach as the thought of finding her not alone, consenting or not, crossed his mind as his search continued to lack results, but he breathed a deep sigh when she finally came into view. The commander's feet stilled as he looked out at the feminine body that lie on her back atop a thick stack of workout mats, no doubt thieved from the gym. She seemed especially relaxed, unaware of any possible events around her, a faint melodic mumbling falling from her lips as she quietly sang along to whatever music was flowing through her earbuds.
Brock drew out his phone with a faint smirk, typing a message and glancing up at her again as he awaited the response. Seconds later, Helena reached for the electronic device on the concrete beside her, immediately raising to a sitting position when she read the name of the sender. “I guess the mystery of the missing gym mats is solved” she read, and looked around frantically to find him standing several feet behind her, immediately extracting the tiny speakers from her ears, unable to hide the joy that filtered onto her face at the sight of him.
“This looks an awful lot like a misuse of company property,” Brock spoke sternly as he stepped toward her, a hint of a smile defying his voice and admonishing words.
“Are you going to rat me out, Commander?” she inquired as her eyes followed his movements.
“I might if you keep calling me 'Commander',” he returned, lowering himself to the uncomfortably hard surface of the roof as he sat a few feet before her.
“It is your title,” she answered as she set her earbuds and phone aside, visibly removing any distractions. Their interactions up til now had been so stifled with the constant threat of sudden missions and the prying eyes of others. She had no desire to waste the opportunity for some real one-on-one time with him. “What would you prefer that I call you?”
“Brock?” he answered, as if it were the most obvious conclusion in the world. She smiled faintly as she watched him, as if she were awaiting another answer. “So, uh...why are you up here on the roof, anyway?”
Helena's smile faltered for a fraction of a moment before her eyes left him to lift up to the blue-black sky above. “It's the tallest place I have access to,” her voice was softer as she spoke, and she didn't need to take her eyes off the blanket of glittering darkness above to know he wasn't satisfied with that answer. “It's the closest I can get to the stars, without leaving the ground.”
* * *
Before either had taken notice, nearly an hour had passed since they'd entered each other's presence again, the stack of mats now divided into two shorter ones, pressed side by side as the two agents lie next to each other, speaking of seemingly insignificant things. Brock was holding off on what he really wanted to discuss, and they were both aware of it on some level. After several minutes of silence had passed between them, Brock took a deep breath that Helena couldn't help noticing, still lying flat on his back as he turned his head to look upon her.
“Yes?” she asked softly when he hesitated to speak up, shifting onto her side to face him, staring into his hazel eyes under the scattered electric lighting of the roof.
“Look...” he spoke, paused, took another breath as he closed his eyes. “My life is...complicated. I never know when I'm going to be home or halfway across the world. I can't anticipate when I'm going to have to break plans to go take out a ship full of pirates or a base full of terrorists.” She nodded as she listened to his words, a feeling of discomfort starting to swirl in her stomach as she began to mentally prepare herself for what he was working up to. “I don't really...date, because I get that this job is too much to ask someone else to put up with. It's hard to trust people, and having to leave at a moment's notice no matter what I'm doing...it doesn't exactly make for great boyfriend material.” If his eyes hadn't been closed, he could not have mistaken the hurt she couldn't hide on her face as she listened to his words. “I just need you to know that. Is this is gonna work, I need you to know what to expect...Do you think you're up for all that?”
Helena stared at him in silence, unable to bring herself to speak until he finally opened his eyes to turn toward her again. “Was that...was that you're anxiety-inducing way of asking me to be your girlfriend?”
“...That bad?”
“Yeah, that bad!” she exclaimed as she shoved his shoulder roughly, barely moving him. “That's not how you...Christ, you sounded like you were breaking up with me before we even started...” she let out a shuddered sigh as he stared at her, his mouth slightly ajar.
“Is that a yes?” he finally asked, and she released an exasperated breath as she lie flush on her back against the mat. Mirroring her previous position, Brock shifted his weight as he lay on his side, his head propped up on his hand as he hovered slightly over her, his brows raised as he awaited her answer. Helena let out a less dramatic sigh and shook her head slightly as she stared up at him, a smile finally forming on her face, “You're lucky you're so damn handsome,” she finally whispered. Brock's lips formed a crooked smile as he continued to stare down at her, his brows raising again, expectantly. “...Obviously, it's a yes,” she huffed as she rolled her eyes and turned away from him in false annoyance. “Just don't...,” she began, pausing as she felt his fingers against her cheek opposite him, allowed him to direct her face back toward his own, “...don't scare me like that.”
Brock mouthed a 'sorry' as he shifted his body and extended his weight-baring arm above her head, watching cautiously for any hint of apprehension. Helena closed her eyes as the fingers Brock had guided her with carefully brushed her bangs away from her face, combing gently through her loose tresses, finally weaving his digits amidst the auburn strands to cradle her. With a shallow breath, Helena finally opened her eyes again to find his face just inches above her own, watching her intently. Waiting. Slender fingers reached up to brush over the week's worth of stubble that had formed on his cheeks and along his jawline, the rough feel of his whiskers over his chiseled features causing pleasant anticipation to bubble up in her stomach. Her hands slid carefully up the sides of his face, passing through the thick tuft of hair, working her way toward the shorter strands in the back, applying gently pressure as she guided him down toward her, lifting the last remaining inch off the mat below her to finally press her lips against his.
🌌💙🌌💙🌌💙🌌💙🌌💙🌌💙🌌💙🌌💙🌌
Likes are great, comments and reblogs are even better (no one gets their writing exposed to more readers if it doesn’t get reblogged), if you would like to be tagged in future chapters and Frank Grillo character fics, please let me know, and a reminder that the other chapters as well as my Brock oneshots are in my masterlist...
Persistence - Brock Rumlow x Fem! Temporarily sick! Reader
Based on @slayerx147 ‘s ask request : But I love the idea of Brock taking care his sick s/o, making his famous chicken soup or maybe hot chocolate ( which is my guilty pleasure lol) but I’m just soft for Brock taking care of someone!! I think I covered all the bases here. Gif is mine.
“Don't leave your apartment, I'm coming over” Brock rasped into the phone as his girlfriend attempted to deter him.
“Brock, I'm contagious and I'm not a child...or a man, I don't need someone to take care of me when I'm sick,” she protested, but he was having none of it.
“Go lay down and get some rest, drink something with electrolytes-”
“It's just Strep Throat-”
“If you aren't in bed when I get there, I swear I'll make you lie down,” he huffed.
“...Promise?”
He growled her name into the phone, before ending the call without even saying goodbye.
* * *
“I said 'no'...” the young woman mumbled through the opening provided by the short length of chain on her door.
“You're sick-”
“Obviously, and I don't want to get you sick, too.”
“Do I look like I'm worried about you getting me sick?” Brock demanded.
“Why are you getting so angry?” her voice was practically a whimper.
“Because I...” he was almost shouting, he was so frustrated. Brock glanced back around, making sure none of the neighbors had come out to observe their disagreement. “Because I don't like seeing you like this, and you won't let me take care of you,” he finally whispered, his voice still harsh. She was silent for a few moments as she stared into his hazel eyes through the slim opening, finally closing the door long enough to remove the chain and letting Brock push his way inside. The young woman watched him as he strode in like it was his own home, heading straight for the small kitchen and setting down a few sacks of groceries. “At least now I know why you wouldn't kiss me the other night...did you go to the doctor?” Brock questioned as he began to lay out a variety of ingredients on the counter-top, vegetables and chicken and...whipped cream?
“I went last night, they gave me antibiotics. It hasn't been twenty-four hour yet so I'm still contagious,” she explained. Brock turned to her to speak, but as he watched her wince in pain as she swallowed, it took every ounce of self restraint he had to not simply drag her into his arms and hold her.
“Sweetheart, just...just go lie down,” he sighed, extracting more components of his recipes from the grocery bags he'd brought with him.
* * *
“...don't know why you fight me...” Brock's mumbling from the door stirred the sick young woman from her light sleep, and she squinted in the direction of the voice to find her lover placing a steaming bowl on the side table.
“ 'Cause I can't let you get your way all the time,” she sighed and breathed in, the scent of homemade soup enticing her. “How long have I been asleep?”
“A few hours,” Brock confirmed, giving the contents of the bowl a stir, and motioning for her to sit up.
“Smells good,” she admitted, glancing at the glistening surface as it entered her field of vision. “You're not going to try to feed it to me, too, are you?”
Brock turned to stare at her, trying to control the smile that was threatening to creep onto his face, “You're not that sick.” She started to fake a cough, but it quickly turned into a real one, and Brock winced as he watched her. He felt as miserable seeing her this way as she felt actually being this way. Of all the things he could protect her from...and yet he had been defeated by something microscopic. When she finally settled, tears stinging her cheeks from the coughing fit, embarrassed to have him see her this way, Brock gathered up the nutritious contents of the meal and placed it with the protection of a pot holder in her waiting hands. He watched anxiously as she began to consume the nutrient-rich concoction, and to his relief, it seemed to put her somewhat at ease. After a few spoonfuls, he stood up wordlessly and began to walk toward the door. When she began to protest, he finally spoke up again. “I thought you didn't want me here,” he reminded, but his tone didn't convey the potential callousness of his words.
“I always want you here,” she admitted, before slipping another spoonful of his personal recipe of chicken soup into her mouth.
Brock was quiet as he leaned his weight into the door frame, watching as she fed herself. When she inevitably looked his way after managing to finish half the bowl, he finally spoke up. “How does your throat feel?”
She swallowed again, flinching, though not as noticeably, “A little better.”
“Good,” he answered simply, disappearing through the open door. The young woman stared in mild disbelief when he returned a few minutes later, clutching a mug topped with chocolate shavings and whipped cream. When she began to reach for it, he slid it away from her outstretched hand. “Soup first,” he stated resolutely, “and don't pout at me like that.”
The hours passed without notice as Brock settled in for the evening, despite the protests of his 'patient.' He'd resolved to wait out the night with her, attend to her in any way she needed, as if he had something to prove.
“Is there any more hot chocolate,” he heard her soft whisper as she lay against his chest with her flushed cheek pressed to his bare skin.
“I can make some more,” he rasped, his vision falling to her as she snuggled closer.
“Does that mean you'll have to get up?” she asked, and Brock smirked.
“Obviously.”
She seemed to think it over carefully as she lie against his warm skin, silently weighing the pros and cons, “...I guess I don't need it that badly,” she sighed, snuggling against the natural warmth of him.
“I think...I think I like you like this,” Brock finally admitted, ignoring the weak glare she cast his way.
“You like me sick?” she whispered, the benefits of the various warm liquids starting to wear off, her throat reminding her how irritated it was.
“No...I like you needing me,” he whispered, the arm he'd wrapped around her shoulder giving her a light squeeze.
She stared up at him, his eyes closed as he let himself enjoy the closeness of her, all the chaos in his life forgotten, if only for the night. She parted her lips to speak, hesitated, swallowed painfully, tried again.
“Hmm?” Brock mumbled as he glanced down at her, his face unreadable, pretending he hadn't heard her words just so he could hear her say them again.
“I said, I love you too.”
🥣☕🥣☕🥣☕🥣☕🥣☕🥣☕🥣☕🥣☕
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