Hi! I am happy that you found your way to my tumblr Page. I am Talia Rumlow, a pen-name given to me by my good friend and writing colleague @kitsuneraven29 . I was born in the amazing year 1983, which probably make me older than you. But worry not, I am young at mind.
I've always loved writing, but it wasn't until Covid landed on earth and shut down the entire world that I found the courage to share my writing. English is my second language, so I needed to build up my confidence before I shared.
I usually write Frank Grillo characters stories. But I'm open to write other characters as well. Yes, I do take requests. But I can't promise you that I'll say yes, or if the character you want me to write about is known to me.
I write explicit, NSFW 18+ content. So, if you're under the age of 18. Please stop reading now. I've warned you, and you are responsible for your own media consumption.
Dividers in my masterlist by @firefly-graphics and @breakablebarnes
You can also find me on AO3, Facebook and Instagram
Home Sweet Home (AU Brock Rumlow/OFC) WIP
Fight For Me (Alvey Kulina/OFC) WIP
Bound & Brockened (Dark Brock Rumlow/OFC) WIP
Strangers With Memories (Original Story) WIP
#Hollywood (AU Celebrity Brock Rumlow/OFC) WIP
You Should Be Punished For That (Jack Rollins/OFC) Coming Soon
Home Sweet Home (AU Brock Rumlow/OFC) Chapter Eighteen
Wordcount: 8383
Triggers: Age gap relationship, PTSD, smut, emotions, mentions of war, medication.
HAPPY READING!
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN - ANYWHERE FOR YOU!
Calleigh stirs awake gradually, as if she's wading through thick molasses. It felt incredibly comforting to awaken in his bed, enveloped in softness and security. It was as if nothing could harm her. She could easily remain here forever, soaking in the warmth emanating from him behind her. She has never felt more content, never felt so much at home.
Brock plants a gentle, feathery kiss on her shoulder, coaxing the last remnants of sleep from her body, drawing her back to him. Oh, how wonderful it was to wake up beside her. To share a bed with her. It felt safe, warm, and secure. The nightmare he feared would intrude never even grazed the surface. Perhaps it was the medication, but he preferred to credit Calleigh for how much better he felt. Even when he took his pills, the nightmares always managed to seep through any tiny crack left unguarded. But with her… Oh, how he adored her.
Her head tilts back as she feels the rough, calloused pad of Brock’s fingers glide down her spine. His touch is so gentle and affectionate that she feels as if she’s floating. She wishes for this moment to last forever, stretching into eternity.
“Mmmmmm… Good morning..,” she murmurs, her voice still heavy with sleep as she leans into him, soaking up his warmth.
“You look so beautiful when you're asleep,” he whispers in her ear before letting his tongue trace her earlobe, giving it a playful nip. “I’m heading out for my run,” he adds, giving her behind a loving pat.
“Nhaaa,” she protests with a displeased sound as she turns to face him, pouting slightly when he flashes her a teasing grin.
“I’ll make it up to you later,” he promises just before placing a soft kiss on her lips. “I swear,” he murmurs into the kiss.
His lips are so soft and warm against hers; a blissful hum escapes her. She loses herself completely in the kiss, her eyes fluttering shut until she feels him pull away.
“Shower with me when I get back,” he requests as he rises from the bed, grunting and stretching.
Calleigh looks him up and down. He’s not wearing a single piece of clothing, and she can’t help but let his entire form captivate her. From his broad shoulders, and the muscles on his back as he stretches, to his perfectly shaped backside and strong thighs. He’s really something special.
“How can I say no to that?” She teases as she sits up, letting the sheets pool around her. She stands up, showing her entire naked form to him. Taking in how his eyes roamed over her body, enjoying how he licked his lips. She swallowed herself by the way his addams apple bobbed as he swallowed.
Brock cleared his throat before looking away. He had to go for his run, no matter how much he wanted to spend every single second they had together with her. He had to. Even when he didn't feel all that well, he went for his run. He couldn’t skip a day. And he could hopefully spend some time with her when he got back. Before he had to drive her back home, and lie his best friend straight in the face. Fuck, this whole situation was so messed up.
"Please, Calleigh," he grinned, unable to suppress his joy; being with her felt too wonderful to resist. "If you keep teasing me like this, I won’t be able to run at all..." he added, fully aware that it was an open invitation for more teasing, yet he couldn’t restrain himself. He gives his statement a bit more kick by looking at her with his most innocent look.
"You know…," Calleigh says as she strolls closer, resting her hands on his abs. "There are other ways to get your cardio workout in…," she grins, her hands gradually moving lower.
She gazes up at him through her lashes, biting her lower lip.
Brock chuckles softly, then tenderly takes her hands, lifting them to his face and placing a gentle kiss on them. "I know," he replies with a smile. "And we’ll tackle that part of the workout once I’m back," he teases, planting another kiss on her hand.
"I really have to run, Calleigh. My therapist says it’s beneficial for me, helps clear my mind and all that," he murmurs into her hands. He wasn’t quite sure why he brought up his therapist. But after what happened the night before, he felt she needed to know. He just… didn’t know how to express it. Or what to say.
Therapist? He sees a therapist? Calleigh inhales deeply. Brock appears so strong. He built his garage from the ground up, earned a solid reputation, and expanded to several new locations over the years. Therapist? Wow, there was so much she was unaware of regarding him. But then again, she had her own secrets too.
She locked eyes with him, those stunning hazel orbs. Even more captivating when they were focused on her. "Just one kiss?" she pleaded. "For the road," she added, fluttering her lashes, playfully teasing him.
He squints at her, playfully. "Those lovely eyes of yours are going to land me in serious trouble one day," he smiles. He wasn’t lying. Those green eyes had already steered his life onto a path he couldn’t predict. But how incredible it was to be on this journey. "One kiss," he chuckled, relenting.
Their lips connect in a slow, sweet kiss; his lips are soft and gentle against hers, and she finds herself yearning for more. She attempts to deepen the kiss, but he gradually pulls back, causing her to pout slightly.
"Alright, take it easy, Princess," he said in a husky voice. "Save that for the shower," he grinned at her.
He chuckles softly as he senses her hands gliding down his abdomen, but he gently pulls them away, giving her a playful yet exasperated glance, before planting a kiss on her forehead. Finally, he manages to step back and prepare for his run.
•─────────•°•❀•°•─────────•
She lets herself fall back onto the bed as she hears the door click shut behind him. Oh my God, last night was incredible. Brock was truly a gift from above. Even though she had no one to compare him to, she felt deep down that she would never find anyone better. That person simply didn’t exist.
Damn, she missed him. Just from that brief moment, she felt his absence. Without a second thought, she picked up his shirt from the floor and slipped it on. It carried his scent and provided at least a bit of coverage for her bare skin.
Calleigh wandered through his home, examining the various photographs displayed around. She hoped to learn more about him through those images alone. There were numerous pictures of him with his family—him playing with his nieces and nephews, family gatherings, even weddings. It was clear that Brock cherished his family, and that stirred something within her. She felt a flutter of butterflies in her stomach. She quickly suppressed them; it was far too early to entertain such thoughts. Way, way too early.
She glanced at his military memorabilia. The purple heart was impressive, but he also had the distinguished service cross and several other medals. There were pictures of him with his fellow soldiers, all with their names neatly embroidered on their uniforms. She recognized Rollins, of course, since she already knew that name. A young blonde boy, not much older than herself, bore the name Parker. A young woman, sporting sunglasses and flashing a peace sign, had Loken on her uniform. A slightly older guy was named Barnes, and then there was Brock. She couldn’t resist reading his name aloud as her fingers traced over the photograph.
He engaged in battle. And she couldn’t help but ponder what that experience was like. It must be quite extraordinary to defend your nation and your loved ones. Yet, she was aware of the collection of pill bottles Jack kept in his bathroom. So she understood; she understood that beyond the accolades and the esteemed position in society; it wasn’t merely a bed of roses. No, it came at a cost, and from what she gathered, it was often a significant one.
She exhales deeply, then groans, feeling the aftermath of her dragon breath. Brock kissed her, and her breath was absolutely foul. Goodness, how embarrassing.
Calleigh nearly tore her bag apart to retrieve her toiletries. She had to brush her teeth, like, for an eternity. Ugh. It’s as if she felt compelled to apologize. Goodness, how humiliating.
Brock’s bathroom is quite lovely. It’s also fairly spacious. The vanity area boasts both a lower and upper cabinet, complete with a modern sink. The upper cabinet features mirrored doors, and on the side, there’s space to hang towels or anything else you’d prefer to keep off the floor. The shower is roomy as well, adorned with white subway tiles and a black vanity. Quite nice. Perhaps a bit stereotypical for a single man, but still nice. The flooring has a wood-like appearance, reminiscent of the master bathroom back home, though these tiles are lighter in shade. Calleigh had to concede that she appreciated the ambiance of this room.
She scowls at her reflection; how long has her hair been in this state? With her toothbrush clenched between her teeth, she attempts to tame the chaotic bird's nest atop her head with one hand while searching for toothpaste with the other.
As she opens the cabinet, a line of orange pill bottles greets her. She halts, simply staring at them, her toothbrush slipping from her teeth without her even realizing it. Goodness. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Five? Oh God.
It’s not that she intended to invade his privacy. She didn’t mean to sneak behind his back and sift through his cabinets or personal belongings. But her curiosity. Curiosity overwhelmed her. Gradually, she reached up and seized a bottle.
Brock Rumlow
635 N Glendale St Mansfield, Texas 65475
HYDROcodone-acetaminophen
7.5-325MG per tablet
Take 1 Tab by mouth every 6 hours as needed for pain
The next one she takes down says
Brock Rumlow
635 N Glendale St Mansfield, Texas 65475
Meloxicam
15MG tablet
Take 1 Tab (15mg) by mouth daily
Hydrocodone? Is he suffering? The bottle is almost empty; he must be taking it frequently. Her thoughts drift to the scar that disfigures his lower abdomen. Just how badly was he injured? She had watched enough films to understand that during an explosion, one could be struck by debris or other objects. Her father had experienced this; he bore a permanent and quite noticeable scar as a result. Had Brock been struck as well? Scenes from movies raced through her mind, depicting soldiers extracting debris from their bodies while they pressed on with their mission, groaning in agony. They fought enemies while grappling with their own survival. It sends a chill down her spine.
Why? Just why? Why did her father and her boyfriend have to be those men? She had never considered war in this light before. At least not those particular conflicts. History lessons were one thing, recounting everything that transpired during World War II and similar events. She found that appalling; she reflected on that war. But Afghanistan and Iraq were entirely different. She had been raised with the conviction and teachings that those wars were necessary to protect the United States of America. That her safety depended on it. In some respects, she still held that belief. Yet, what kind of safety came from traumatizing young men and women? From her perspective, neither Brock nor her father seemed to feel any more secure now. In fact, it felt as though they were more vulnerable. As if they had encountered the devil and now lived in fear of him.
Cyclobenzaprine? What on earth is that? And why do all these medications have such bizarre names? It sounds like a villain from a Sci-Fi film. She knows she could never be a doctor. She would choose much cuter names for the drugs. Perhaps ‘Booboo fixers’ or something equally charming. She figures that would be more effective too. With a sigh, she shakes her head and places it back.
The next container she retrieves is labeled Paroxetine. Jack has the identical prescription at home, right down to the dosage and all the details. Her entire body goes rigid, she can barely catch her breath; tears begin to form in her eyes as a wave of memories rushes back to her.
Memories of her father sitting her down to explain, to teach her about the importance of not entering his bedroom when he was disassociating. He was terrified of accidentally causing her harm. Calleigh recalls it as if it were just yesterday. When her father had shared this with her, she had no inkling that he even experienced nightmares, and she certainly never imagined that she would face them herself. But then… The next night, or perhaps the one after; that entire weekend remains a chaotic blur in her memory. She found herself outside his bedroom door, banging on it until her fists throbbed, begging and pleading for him to awaken; to return to reality, to come back to her. This occurred multiple times afterward; and each instance was equally devastating. She felt as though she was losing him, as if her father was slowly fading away right before her eyes, even while he was still alive. Now, that sensation had dissapated over the years, yet the memories continue to haunt her regardless.
Had Brock ever gone through nightmares? Had they occurred while she was present? Was this the reason she sensed he was withholding certain things? Goodness, how foolish she was. He had been in combat zones, right in the thick of it, in both Afghanistan and Iraq.
Not once did she consider that Brock might be dealing with the same lingering effects as her father; perhaps this was due to the fact that Brock was always depicted as the hero during her upbringing. And her grandfather, a man who only respected those who earned it, held immense admiration for Brock. Yet, she should have known, should have realized, should have understood that even heroes possess hearts.
Perhaps it was simply easier to view Brock as the hero, a safer perspective in a way. Not just for her, but for her grandparents and Jack too. She vaguely recalls hearing something about survivor's guilt on the news or in a documentary or something similar. Maybe it was simpler for her dad to cope with the fact that he had somehow survived if he could narrate the story in that manner. That the heroic best friend had saved him. She wasn’t sure, but it seemed plausible. Or perhaps it was her; maybe viewing it this way made the entire situation easier for her.
She berates herself, never once had she contemplated this. Not even once. Not when she watched the news, not when she listened to the speeches, not a single time. And at this moment, that realization made her feel incredibly foolish.
The term hero suddenly leaves a bitter taste in her mouth. A real-life hero wasn’t like those in the films. Brock wasn’t some kind of Captain America. He wasn’t invincible, and while he was somewhat like a super soldier, he still wasn’t. No, Brock was made of flesh and blood. A human being. Brock could break too, just like her father and everyone else. Hero? No, he was human. But what other term could one use to describe his deeds?
She gasps for air as tears begin to flow down her face, sinking onto the closed toilet while still gripping the pill bottle tightly. Jesus, Calleigh, she scolds herself. What a perfect moment to start crying. Why is loving someone so incredibly difficult? It’s as if she wishes she could snap her fingers, rewind to that moment by the pool, and prevent everything from unfolding. Spare herself the pain.
As she hears him returning, she forces herself to take another deep breath. Her mind doesn’t immediately register that he’s actually back, and she’s still clutching the pill bottle.
She truly loves him; it must be real love. What other reason could there be for her tears at the mere thought of him having to face everything alone? “I love you,” she murmurs, too quiet for anyone else to hear. It’s mostly for her own sake, trying to see if she can actually utter those three words aloud. Why can’t she say it to him? It shouldn’t be this hard. Should it?
Heavy footsteps echo through the house; he’s clearly looking for her. She keeps her lips sealed, trying to will her tears away. It’s futile; the more she tries not to cry, the more tears flow.
Then there’s a gentle knock on the door. Still, she remains silent, unable to speak; her voice would shatter if she tried.
“Calleigh?” Brock’s voice filters through the door, accompanied by another soft knock. “Are you okay?” His tone is laced with concern.
This is all wrong, completely wrong. She should be the one taking care of him, making him feel secure, not the other way around. She sniffs, attempting to wipe away her tears, but new ones keep spilling, so she surrenders. There’s no point; he’ll notice regardless of what she does.
Once more, she inhales deeply. Why was this so incredibly difficult? Her thoughts race; should she confess that she went searching for toothpaste and got curious, or should she keep that to herself? Perhaps an explanation wasn’t necessary at all. How could she possibly know?
"Calleigh," Brock calls out again. Then the door creaks open. He halts in the doorway, absorbing the sight before him. Calleigh is slumped on the toilet, the cabinet ajar, and her toothbrush lies in the sink. Tears stream down her face. Why is she crying? Then he spots the bottle in her hand.
His heart skips a beat. Well, there’s no turning back now. Maybe this was for the best. It would have come up sooner or later anyway. Now is as good a time as any. But he still has no idea what to say.
"Are you okay, Princess?" he asks, his concern evident. It felt simpler to start with her. And this wasn’t the moment for anything else. He needed to think before he opened up. Not just for her sake, but for his as well.
She rises, wiping her face once more. The tears have ceased, so this time it actually worked. Brock steps closer, his expression filled with worry. "I…I’m fine," she manages to whisper. "It’s okay," she adds, meeting his gaze. More to ensure he’s alright than to genuinely check him out. Then she notices his eyes flicker down to the bottle still clutched in her hand.
"Okay," Brock replies, furrowing his brows. He’s not entirely certain why she’s crying. And he doesn’t want to pry too much either. To be completely honest, it feels easier to avoid prying and to remain silent. But deep down, he understands that for this to work in the long run, they both need to be more open. Yet, he fears he’ll have to take the first step, and the thought of that sends a chill through his stomach. "Let’s put this back in the cabinet," he suggests, closing the distance between them and gently taking the bottle from her hand.
Calleigh's heart races; she completely overlooked that detail. Well, it's too late to change things now. He already knows, so there's no point in trying to conceal it or over-explain. All she can do now is brace herself for whatever consequences lie ahead.
"And then you can shower with me," Brock says as he returns the container and shuts the cabinet. It felt simpler to say those words without meeting her gaze. Discussing showering together in the midst of everything felt a bit... Nevermind. He wasn't ready to explore that just yet. All he wanted was to cherish every second with her, even though he understood that eventually revealing the truth was unavoidable.
"Are you upset with me?" Calleigh inquires, as Brock takes off his shirt. It was much simpler to express that specific worry while he was pulling his head through the fabric.
Brock drops his shirt, not even making an effort to toss it into the laundry basket. Upset with her? Why on earth would he be upset with her? Gradually, he moved closer, raising his hand to gently brush away a solitary tear from the curve of her nose. "Princess," he whispered as his hand traveled down to her shoulders. "I’m not… I’m not upset with you. Why would you think that?" He went on. In that moment, all he desired was to envelop her in his arms, protecting her from the harshness of the world. But he understood that was not feasible. No matter how deeply he cared for her and how fiercely he shielded her, they still had to navigate this world. He could only hope they would face it together.
Calleigh gazes up at him, finally summoning the courage to meet his eyes. His gaze is so warm and inviting. She merely gestures towards the cabinet, no words necessary.
Brock simply smiles before leaning down to gently place a tender kiss on her lips. "I wasn’t really trying to hide them," he remarked. "Let’s take a shower, and then we can talk," he continued. Not that he was eager to have a conversation, but rather suggesting that discussing things could be a wise choice. Because without that… This relationship would face yet another obstacle to overcome.
He gently brushes his thumb over her bottom lip. She returns his gaze with a smile and a subtle nod.
"Good," he beams. Taking in her beauty, she looks stunning in his shirt. He could gaze at her endlessly, yet he still wanted his shirt back. "I love how you look in my shirt," he added, his voice laced with playful desire.
She watched him closely as he removed the last of his clothing. Oh my God. He looked incredibly appealing. Fresh from his workout, he stood before her, completely naked. "Mmmm," she murmurs with delight.
He places his hands on her hips and leans in, showering her neck with soft, tender kisses. He couldn't resist; she looked so tempting in his shirt, and he felt the urge to comfort her, to ground himself. Calleigh was his anchor, his safe haven.
"Mmmmm," she sighs again, his warm lips and rough stubble teasing her neck, sending delightful shivers throughout her body. His large, calloused hands slid up her hips before he grasped the hem of the shirt, pulling it up and off her body.
"God, I love you," he murmured against her skin. His entire being ached for her. He simply wanted her, to be with her, to connect with her, to be one with her.
The sensation of his lips on her skin as they traveled down to her shoulder felt like love manifesting. The warmth of his naked body against hers made her core tighten. She craved his closeness, to feel him. Without overthinking, she stepped into the shower, eager to experience this. To feel him against her as the water flowed over their bodies. Just like in the movies. She desired this, desired him.
She turned on the water, ensuring it was at a pleasantly warm temperature. Then she glanced at him, playfully teasing him with her eyes as they roamed over his physique. "Are you coming or not?" she asked, fluttering her lashes at him.
"I was thinking about it," he playfully responded, his right hand gradually wrapping around his cock as he admired her in the shower, in his shower. She was stunning, with water cascading down her skin. Damn, how he craved her. Yet, at the same time, it felt incredibly exhilarating to indulge in this teasing once more. To simply gaze, but not to touch. It had been ages since he had the chance to do that, and it felt freeing. "But you’re so gorgeous," he moaned, gently stroking himself, slowly, deliberately, teasing her. "I just want to look at you," he added, feeling his eyes roll back, overwhelmed by desire, yearning for more, needing more.
Calleigh swallowed hard, witnessing him pleasure himself was a sight that thrilled her. He looked absolutely divine. She couldn’t decide which was more enticing; his expression when his eyes rolled back in ecstasy, or his hand firmly wrapped around himself, methodically stroking his thick cock. "You can look at me from in here too," she exhaled, her voice unmistakably revealing her arousal, but in that moment, she didn’t care.
Eventually, Brock moved, although he wanted to tease her, he realized he could do that from the shower as well. Keeping them both in suspense a little longer, but this time he would be close enough to reach out and touch her.
Brock is like twice her size, broad shoulders, muscular frame. His shower is big, but with both of them in there, they have to stand pretty close to have room. Not that any of them minded that detail, this was exactly what they wanted.
He tenderly glided his hand over her backside, taking his time to savor the contours as he leaned down to press his lips against her neck.
“Mmmmm,” she murmurs, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him in tighter. She couldn’t resist glancing down at him, nestled in a thick tuft of neatly trimmed dark hair, standing proudly and oozing precum. Wow, it’s impressive. Not that she had anyone to compare him to, but yes, it was definitely impressive. She couldn’t shake the thoughts of him stretching inside her, the sensation of his cock dragging against her, his warm breath on her skin, and the sound of his moans. “Nghshh,” she exhales, unable to hold back the memories of the previous night.
“What?” he rasps, his fingers weaving into her hair, gripping gently to tilt her head towards him. He was careful not to go too far, ensuring his touch remained gentle. Just slowly, softly revealing what he enjoys, hoping she would be willing to join him on this journey.
Oh my God. His grip on her hair was a new sensation. It didn’t hurt; she could simply feel his hand resting there. And dear Lord, it was incredible. That gentle hold alone made her pussy clench with eager anticipation.
Brock hums with satisfaction as she relaxes, leaning down to kiss her lips softly. How he craved her. Yet, he knew he had to tread carefully. Ensuring her needs were fulfilled, making certain she felt safe. He had been raised right, and as far as he was aware, he had never crossed anyone's boundaries. But this was different. With experience, one could read desires or needs from a mere glance or a specific touch. With Calleigh, it was another story; she lacked that experience. And even if he were to ask her, how could she know what she truly wanted when she had no idea what it was?
“I want you inside of me,” she breathed. It felt a bit porn like to voice those words. But how else would she tell him what she wanted? And he was all for using words. He’d made that clear the previous night. And she had words, she knew words. She met his eyes, just to make sure her message was received.
“Yeah?” He questioned. Maybe he was wrong, maybe she did know. At least halfway. The different positions and all that could come later, or they could explore as they went. Either way, he wasn’t going to back out if she wanted to. She didn’t have to ask him twice. He locked eyes with her, brows cocked in surprise and excitement at the possibilities.
“Yes,” she whined, wrapping her arms tighter around him, pressing their naked bodies together. “I need you,” she breathed. She didn’t feel like she overstepped his boundaries, though she did challenge herself. Just a couple weeks ago, uttering words like this was alien to her. Yet, now, at this moment, it felt totally normal. She didn’t even feel any shame in expressing her needs.
He hums softly at her, a playful smile gracing his lips. His hand glides down her body, tenderly exploring her skin until it halts between her legs. A soft whimper escapes her lips, which he leans down to capture with his own. Her responses to his touch only heighten his desire. Yet, he holds back just a little longer, wanting to tease her further.
She gasps as his thick finger tantalizes her entrance, slowly penetrating her, gliding through her slick folds until the rough pad brushes against her clit, making her mewl against his mouth.
“I can feel that,” he remarks with a predatory grin before pulling away for a brief moment, eliciting a whine from her due to the sudden absence of his touch. “Fuck, you’re beautiful,” he breathes out, as if those words have been trapped inside him for ages.
Then he grips her thighs, lifts her up off the shower floor. Unable to wait, he craves her, needs her.
She gasps at the sudden change in him, not that she doesn’t enjoy it. She grips around his neck, her legs wrapped around his waist, clinging to him like he was her lifeline. Her back is pressed against the tiles, and the coldness in contact with her heated skin makes her hiss. “Now,” she begs, breathing heavily. “I want you, Brock,” she breathes into his ear, slowly and enticingly nipping his lobe.
Brock lets out a deep groan; her whispering in his ear that she wants him, while simultaneously feeling her hot skin against his is more than he could take. He has to feel her warmth surrounding him, he needs to feel her walls gripping him tightly. “Princess,” he half says half groans as he reaches between their bodies, lining himself up with her entrance.
The second the fat head of his cock starts to enter, she feels the burn, the stretch; it’s an amazing sensation that sends jolts of pleasure up her spine, making her curl her toes.
He stops, wanting to play a bit more, to prolong the teasing. It makes her whine, and he can feel her clenching, desperately trying to suck him in deeper. Fuck, it feels amazing.
“More!” She begs, almost pleading as she claws at his shoulders, trying to grind his hips against him; but he holds her in place. The need for him can be felt in her entire body, the primal desire threatening to consume her.
“Princess…,” Brock grunts, biting his lip. The sensation of her; showing with her entire body that she wants him, that she needs him. Fuck, he can feel his frame shaking. He wants to bury himself deep within her, enjoy how her body reacts and relish in her moans. God, he can’t remember ever wanting someone like this.
He can’t wait any longer. Can’t hold back, won’t hold back. He moves her legs, spreading them wider as he slides his arms under them. Once again he can feel his eyes rolling into the back of his head. Shit, he’s not going to last long.
Calleigh feels exposed, open. But strangely she doesn’t care the way she thought she would. And she doesn’t get that much time to process it either, because he grips her ass and starts to move. With a firm grip and his knees slightly bent, he bounces her up and down on his cock. “Ah ah,” Calleigh lets out, gripping tighter around his neck, burying her face in his shoulder. “Yes, fuck,” she moans into his skin.
Her pussy clenching around him, her warm breath teasing his skin, her moans only heighten his desire. The sound of their bodies slapping together reverberates throughout the shower. "Nahgh," he exhales roughly into her neck, gripping her ass even tighter.
Oh Dear God, the grip he has on her will surely leave a bruise. She’s shaking in his grip. Of course she’s heard of this. Jess wasn’t one to back down when the topic of rough sex came up. But never had she thought it would be this amazing. It’s like she leaves everything behind, letting him steer her completely. Like all her worries, all her problems, all her thoughts are laid on him; with that tight grip, those moans and how he pounds into her. Jesus! His grip is rough, yes. But his warm breath on her skin and his moans makes up for that. She wants more, needs more.
“Take me, Brock! I’m yours!” She moans, though she has no clue if she can even make coherant words.
That was the tipping point. Brock can no longer restrain himself; he changes tactics, releasing his grip on her and instead pinning her against the wall with his body. He withdraws slowly, feeling her walls clenching around him, desperately trying to pull him back in. He listens to her soft moans and feels her breath against his skin. Goodness, how incredible this feels. Then he thrusts back in with a groan, grinding himself deep inside her, experiencing his entire length enveloped by her. The pleasure is indescribable, surging up his spine like a jolt of electricity.
The sensation of his rough pubic mound relentlessly rubbing against her clit causes her entire body to tense. Her fingernails dig into his back, to the extent that she fears she might be hurting him. Yet, every sound he makes is one of pleasure. "Ahhhh, Brock!" she cries out, her voice echoing off the bathroom walls. Her body goes into a frenzy, every muscle working overtime, every nerve ignited. She has lost all control over her body, unable to dictate how it reacts or what it does.
Her foot hits something, and suddenly without warning the water goes ice cold.
“Ahhh. Fucking cold,” Brock jumps, almost losing his grip on her. “Shit,” he chuckles when the freezing water stops.
He looks at her, smiling. A soft smile with a teasing edge. “Trying to cool me down, eh?” He chuckles.
Calleigh looks down. Well this was just swell. Ruining a perfect moment like this. This was so typical, typical her luck, typical her. Stupid Calleigh, she scolds herself. “I… I wasn’t,” she starts, but with no words to complete that sentence. God, she felt totally useless.
He looks at her, studying her expression. She refuses to meet his gaze, and he can sense that she feels responsible for the cold water. “Hey, Princess,” he says softly, tilting her face up to meet his. “It’s okay,” he continued. There was obvious that something was bothering her, and that that something had little to nothing to do with him. It was almost like she felt the need to be a hundred percent perfect at all times, and if she felt like she wasn’t she retrieved into a hidden place within her that he wasnt privy to yet. God how he wanted to dive in, all in, take all her worries away. “Don’t beat yourself up over this,” he comforted before leaning down to place a kiss on her forehead. “These things happens when you’re wrapped up in a moment,” he explaned. Because they did, and that was part of the whole experience. Something to laugh about later, together.
“I was… It’s just that…. I,” she tries again, but the words fails to follow. It felt weird to tell him straight to his face that she was about to come. And God how she wanted to do just that.
He continues to smile at her. God she’s so amazing. “I know,” he says, licking his lips. “I can make you come in the bedroom too,” he continues. At least he hoped that was what she was trying to convay to him. It had certainly felt like she was about to finish. And he wasn’t one to shy away from making that happen. Anywhere in the house was fine by him. As long as she was there, with him.
Calleigh offered him a subtle smile. It wasn’t that she didn’t find the idea of the bedroom appealing. It was simply that she craved something deeper. She longed to genuinely feel, to embrace that intense ‘I want you right here’ sensation. The kind that made two people tear each other's clothes off the moment the front door clicked shut behind them. It wasn’t that the bed wasn’t a suitable spot. She just desired to accompany him, to discover from him. Everywhere.
“Or the couch,” he teased. “Or the kitchen table even, you lead the way Princess,” he continues as he wraps a towel around his hips, and hands her one as well.
Her mind goes blank. Did he just say what she thinks he said? Maybe the bed is the best place after all. It feels kinda strange to move this to the kitchen table. That stuff is supposed to just happen, right? It wasn’t like you were supposed to plan to do it on the kitchen table? Yeah, the bedroom was the safest option. It felt like the right choice. Without thinking too much about it, she laced her fingers with his and guided him towards his bedroom.
•─────────•°•❀•°•─────────•
With Brock’s words echoing in her thoughts, her confidence is on the rise. At least for the moment. She’s determined to make the most of the brief time they have together, even if it means lying directly to her father’s face.
She gazes at him, standing there before her, the towel still securely wrapped around his hips. "Drop the towel!" she exclaims suddenly, catching both him and herself off guard.
Without a moment's hesitation, he lets the towel fall to his ankles, exposing his bare form to her. He’s already becoming aroused. The anticipation of what’s about to unfold sends warmth pooling in his groin. He clears his throat, bracing himself for whatever is to come.
"Sit," she playfully commands, gesturing towards the bed. She’s uncertain about her next move, but as long as he’s willing to join in, she’s ready to engage in the game.
A deep, moaning sound escapes his throat as he settles onto the bed, his eyes fixed on her as she lets her towel drop and kneels before him. "Calleigh," he exhales, almost reverently, as her hands glide up his strong thighs.
"Yes," she responds, giving him her most innocent smile while her delicate fingers tease his balls.
"Ahhh, fuck," he moans, his voice trembling, thighs quaking. Fuck, her touch feels absolutely incredible on his skin. He leans back on his arms, his head tilting back as another moan escapes him. "Princess," he rasps as her tongue playfully dances over his tip.
She can't help but let out a soft chuckle as she bends down to let her tongue tease his balls. She knows she's playing with him, but as long as he enjoys it, she can keep this up until he can no longer contain himself.
"Oh, fuck," he moans again, raising his hand to her shoulder.
"Ahah," she whispers against his balls. "No touching," she adds, emphasizing the last word, the T resonating on the sensitive skin between his legs.
"Shit, Princess," he groans. His entire body responds when she wraps her hand around his growing cock and swirls her tongue around the tip. "Oh, fuuuck," he moans, wishing this moment could last forever.
Just as she was about to envelop him with her lips, the doorbell shatters the electric tension. FUCK! Calleigh jumps, instinctively backing herself into a corner of his room. Jesus. Oh dear God! What if it’s Jack? What will she do then? What are they going to do? Her heart pounds so violently in her chest that she feels she might faint.
Brock feels exactly the same way, and if he could, he would want to curl up in a corner right now, pretending not to be home, or sleeping, or anything to avoid facing whoever was at the door. When the doorbell rang again, he finally managed to think straight; grabbing a pair of sweatpants from the laundry basket and putting them on. "Fuck! This isn’t happening," he muttered, before turning to Calleigh. "Stay here, Princess," he said in a calm tone, trying to soothe them both.
•─────────•°•❀•°•─────────•
He makes sure the bedroom door is securely closed before he moves towards the door. Jesus, he should’ve thought of this. How could he be so stupid? His relationship with Calleigh came with consequences. He just hoped he wouldn’t face any of them right now.
This was just fucking perfect. If it wasn’t Jack at the door, he would give whoever it was a piece of his mind. Fuck, just when he–.
He ran a hand trough his still damp hair, hoping to fuck it wasn’t Jack at the door. Because that would most certainly end in disaster. He stops for a moment as he reaches for the knob, preparing himself to face whatever… whoever lay on the other side.
He slowly turns the knob and barely gets the damn door open when…
“Brock! You need to call mom and tell her to take it easy,” Samantha, Brock’s sister, the eldest of the five girls marches into his house like she owns the place, talking fast. “Both me and Liv told her that we would bring something, and Becca is making dessert. But she won’t hear of it,” she continues in a high annoyed pitch as she strolls further into his house.
Brock simply follows. This is becomming an almost normal routine the day before Sunday dinner. He rolls his eyes behind his sister’s back as he follows her into his livingroom, folding his arms over his chest, waiting for her to get out what she needs to get out.
They all wanted to help out with dinner, but his mom was as stubborn as they came, and she wanted to make her kids and grandchildren a good, hardy meal once a week.
“We’re not just seven kids anymore, Brock,” Samantha states, like he didn’t already know that. The Rumlow family had grown over the years, to not only include him and his six siblings, but also their husbands and Brady’s wife, and their kids. Now they were fifteen in total, and yes, it required a lot of food. “We’re fifteen for god’s sake,” Samantha continued, earning a nod from Brock, just to show her that he just thought of that himself. “She’s gonna work herself to death. And she…,”
Samantha stops mid-sentence; she arches a dark brow as she eyes her brother. Sensing that something is odd, something is not right, or at least different. She can’t quite tell, and with Brock’s history, that doesn’t feel good, that doesn’t feel good at all.
“What are you doing?” She asks, giving him that signature Sam look. That look that says, I’m not letting this go. I’m not leaving until I know.
Brock clears his throat. “Hi Sam. Good to see you too; thanks for calling to see if I was busy before you just came over to my house and walked in,” he accompanied his words with an unimpressed look aimed at his sister.
Samantha studies him intently. “Do you have company?” She asks. Praying to higher powers that it wasn’t who she suspected it might be.
She looked at him like she just caught him doing something he wasn’t supposed to be doing. It became a bit too exciting for Brock’s liking when she started to walk around the livingroom looking for signs that someone else had been there.
“Errr,” Brock lets out, rubbing the back of his neck, desperately trying to figure out what to tell her. He wasn’t afraid to let Sam know, it was just that he wasn’t quite ready yet. And he knew that Calleigh wasn’t. Hell, half the time he felt he wasn’t even ready for what they had now. Everything had happened so damn fast, almost too fast. Not that he regretted a single thing. But given who Calleigh was, that complicated things.
Instead of elaborating, he simply sent his sister one of those looks. That look that tells you not to ask any more questions. Though he knew that didn’t work all that well on any of his sisters; but Sam was in a league of her own. Probably why she was the one to come over to his house asking him, as the eldest to call their mom.
“God, Brock!” Sam’s whole face cringes. “It’s Taylor, isn’t it?” She goes on, giving her big brother that look, the look that says, I think you’re stupid, but it’s your life. I still love you. “I was afraid of this when I saw that she was back. Brock, she’s not go–,” she goes on, but Brock stops her.
He frowns at her words. He wouldn’t touch Taylor like that again for all the money in the world. “Wait! Hold up!” He almost yells. “It’s not Taylor!” He goes on. Fuck. How stupid did she think he was? Taylor might be back in Mansfield, but not with him. The fuck? “Why would I sleep with Taylor?” He added. Realizing too late how much he gave away with that one sentence. Jesus, he really had to stop talking.
Sam raises both her eyebrows almost in disbelief. “You’re sleeping with this person?” She questions, her tone is unmistakable. “Who is she?” She continues. When he’s still not answering she goes on. “You might be my older brother, but as your sister, I’m entiteled to have a screening process,”
Brock just looks at her. Trying to stop her from prying any deeper. When she simply looks back, he takes a breath. “I don’t think you even want to know,” he tries. Sam wasn’t stupid, curious yes, but not stupid.
Sam narrows her eyes. “Is it a guy?” She asks. Not that that would matter for her, but it would be a surprise. But if she’s honest, she mostly asked to nudge him closer to actually reveal the truth of the mystery woman who brought her brother to walk around in just his sweatpants on a Saturday morning.
“Haha,” Brock replied, then added “It’s not a guy,”. He needed to calm down this situation. To stop his sister before things went out of hand. “Sam, please,” he continued, only to be cut off by a phone ringing.
•─────────•°•❀•°•─────────•
Calleigh slowly gets to her feet when Brock closes the door behind him. Listening, trying to figure out who was at the door. Praying that it wasn’t her dad. Jesus. What on earth would she do if it really was him at the door? That would end in disaster, totally life shattering disaster.
She swallows as she moves over to her bag, slowly, careful to not make a single sound. She grabs her shorts and t shirt, hastilly getting them on. If her father suddenly bursted through the door, there was no way in hell she would be sitting on the floor naked. Though it probably wouldn’t make that much of a different, she was at his house at 9am, that said it all. There was no way to recover from that.
She listened again, almost to the point where she forgot how to breathe. Oh thank God! She recognized that voice, and when she heard Brock say ‘Hi Sam’ it was like a brick was lifted off her heart. Thank you Jesus! Thank you Lord. All she had to do now was to keep quiet until Sam left. And hopefully not get an urgent need to go to the bathroom or anything like that.
She fished her phone up from her bag, turning the sound off, she scrolled through her social media, not because she was looking for something, more to calm herself. She knew it would be difficult to keep this a secret, but she wasn’t ready at all for it to blow up now. Not yet, she needed more time. They needed more time.
Her ringtone pierces through the silence like a loudspeaker. Almost causing her to throw her phone to the floor. Fuck! Shit! Jess’ picture lights up the screen. Great! Fucking perfect! Of course it was Jess. She wasn’t even here, and still she managed to spill the beans. She should get an award for this kind of things.
Calleigh presses the green button as fast as she can, but from the noise on the other side of the door, she already knows it’s too late. “I can’t talk right now,” she hastilly says into the phone before she hangs up. Picturing Jess’ frazzled face before her.
•─────────•°•❀•°•─────────•
Samantha is strolling towards the bedroom door with determined steps. It wasn’t exactly that she wanted to force her brother to spill the beans. But she knew herself, she would continue to nag him about this until he did, and she didn’t want to do that. Besides, after the last relationship her brother had, she almost felt an obligation to keep him from ever entering anything like that again.
“Sam! Sam please! This is something I’m–” he doesn’t get to say anything more before Sam opens the bedroom door. “Not ready to share,” he let out, defeated.
Samantha stopped in the door, looking at the person sitting in her brother’s bed. She was clutching a pillow, knees bent and pulled up, clutching the pillow between her legs and her stomach, almost like she tried to dissapear. God, she should’ve listened to him, listened to her brother. Believed him, trusted him. Because he was right. She didn’t want to know this. It was just that she didn’t know that she didn’t want to know, before she knew. And now it was too late. “Calleigh?” She breathed out in surprise.
Calleigh looked up, facing the deeply surprised face of Samantha, and the ‘I’m so sorry’ face of Brock. She didn’t know what to do. There was nothing to do. Gradually she lifted her hand as to kinda say ‘hi’ to Sam.
Hello everyone and welcome to my recommended reading list! I hope you will find something you will enjoy on this weeks list.
Thank you to everyone who enjoys my lists and reblogs them. Your support means the world to me. Thank you again to those who recommended fanfics or tagged me.
💜 This week, I read 40 fanfics—absolutely amazing fanfics. It has been so much fun for me, and I hope you enjoy my reading lists.
As always these will be listed in no particular order. None of these stories are mine. I’m just signal-boosting them. The author is listed next to the title. My goal is to signal boost writers and spread positivity in the community. 💜💜
Click HERE to see what I will or won’t read. This is very important.
Click HERE for past reading lists.
For my Masterlist Click HERE.
Please make sure you’re reading the warnings on every story. They range from dark to fluff. Do Not Read if you are under 18 years old. These stories are meant for adults only. You’re responsible for your own media consumption.
Header by @fictional-affairs
Page-break by @whimsicalrogers
If you can, please reblog these lists so they can reach more people on Tumblr. Likes are nice but Reblogs are golden.
I love you 3000 💜 Missy
My Last Goodbye - (Bucky x Reader) - @saiyanprincessswanie
Private Affairs - (Bucky x Reader) - @saiyanprincessswanie
The contract (16) - (Steve x Reader) - @holylulusworld
Turned Sour - (Bucky x Reader) - @navybrat817
Worth It - (Bucky x Reader) - @navybrat817
FILTHY - (Bucky x Reader) - @late-to-the-party-81
It Was No Trouble - (Lee x Reader) - @soelstress
Priceless - (Dark!Steve x Reader) - @holylulusworld
Fake Bimbo - (Bucky x Reader) - @holylulusworld
Little Squeeze - (Nick x Reader) - @societyfolklore
Major Tags: Angst, fluff, slow burn, constant tension, dangerous attraction.
N/A: My gift for @talia-rumlow. HAPPY BIRTHDAY, HILD!
Links: Wattpad, Ao3, Spanish version.
@saiyanprincessswanie
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After one week of reading 50 fics I’m ending January with a total of 190 Fics read. Phew 😂 lots of long days and nights.
Hello everyone and welcome to my recommended reading list! I hope you will find something you will enjoy on this weeks list.
Thank you to everyone who enjoys my lists and reblogs them. Your support means the world to me. Thank you again to those who recommended fanfics or tagged me.
💜 This week, I read 50 fanfics—absolutely amazing fanfics. It has been so much fun for me, and I hope you enjoy my reading lists.
As always these will be listed in no particular order. None of these stories are mine. I’m just signal-boosting them. The author is listed next to the title. My goal is to signal boost writers and spread positivity in the community. 💜💜
Click HERE to see what I will or won’t read. This is very important.
Click HERE for past reading lists.
For my Masterlist click HERE.
Please make sure you’re reading the warnings on every story. They range from dark to fluff. Do Not Read if you are under 18 years old. These stories are meant for adults only. You’re responsible for your own media consumption.
Header by @fictional-affairs
Page-break by @whimsicalrogers
If you can, please reblog these lists so they can reach more people on Tumblr. Likes are nice but Reblogs are golden.
I love you 3000 💜 Missy
My Last Goodbye - (Bucky x Reader) - @saiyanprincessswanie
The contract (15) - (Steve x Reader) - @holylulusworld
Wishful Thinking - (Nick x Reader) - @navybrat817
Longing - (Lee x Reader) - @buckybarnesfic
Menace - (Lee x Reader) - @buckybarnesfic
Lie-In - (Lee x Reader) - @buckybarnesfic
Home Sweet Home - Chp 15 - (Brock/OFC) - @talia-rumlow
Bed Warmer - (Dark!Steve x Reader) - @navybrat817
Noble Enough - (Bucky x Reader) - @navybrat817
For Months - (Bucky x Reader) - @navybrat817
Shattered - (Steve x Reader) - @ice-vipers
No tears left to cry - (Ransom x Reader) - @late-to-the-party-81
In My Sights - (God The Bounty Hunter x Reader) - @soelstress
Home Sweet Home (AU Brock Rumlow/OFC) Chapter Seventeen!
Wordcount: 5648
Triggers: Age gap relationship, PTSD, smut, emotions, mentions of war.
HAPPY READING!
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN - WHAT WE STARTED!
Calleigh surveys his bedroom. It's spacious, more spacious than she anticipated. The light hardwood floor gives the room a relaxing feel. The walls are in a darker shade of soothing blue. A Perfect mix of colors and materials to relax after a tough day.
Behind the door there's a chest of drawers, this one is also filled with pictures. Lifting her eyes a bit, she encounters a floating shelve; packed with medals and other military things.
“You're decorated…,” she lets out, startled slightly from the amount of medals he has. Though she remembers the stories from her childhood, about how Brock had saved Jack's life. About how her father would have returned home in a casket if it wasn't for Brock's selfless act that day; she hadn't pictured anything of this magnitude. “Good soldier,” she whispers as her eyes land on a picture of Brock and Jack.
Both in their uniforms, looks like it's taken just before deployment. Brock holds Jack's head in one of those typical 20-something-boy-best friend grips, as he plants a kiss on his cheek. They both look different than she knows them. More happy in a way. Bright smiles and glimmering eyes that reflect the sun. Not that her dad or Brock wasn't happy, it was just something about their eyes that caught her attention. Something that they both had in this picture, but something she'd never seen in any of them before. Something brighter, like their eyes had shed some of the color and life that used to be there, on the way from this picture till today. And of course, the scar, the scar that was absent in this picture.
She can't help it, her fingers glide slowly over the picture. Of course she knows that this is from a time long ago, before her, but still; she can't help but feel like she'd missed out. She would have done just about anything to be able to see that life in their eyes herself, in real life, and not just through a picture.
“Yeah,” Brock breathes out, before he reaches for the picture, adjusting it just a tiny bit. More to do something than anything else. “That was before…,” he lets the sentence die out.
“Before…,” Calleigh echoes the word. She didn't know any of them before everything they went through over there, because she wasn't born yet. But she could almost feel it, the happiness that was lost; gone forever. Buried in the Afghan desert, or at Arlington Cemetery. Oh, what she would have done to see that light in their eyes, that which came from pure happiness and life. A life he'd lived before she even came into existence.
Brock takes a deep breath, looks at her; she has that look in her eyes, that look that says I want to know, but still I'm not sure. To be fair, he didn't know either. How much he could or should share. Not only for her sake, but for his as well.
At the same time there was this lingering feeling he couldn't shake. That if he opened up, just a tiny bit; she might also share some of the things she carried with her. It was a long shot, but it could be just what she needed; at least she might open the door just a little, and right now, that was all he needed.
In a leap of faith, he opened the top drawer and pulled out a black box. Slowly handing it to Calleigh.
Her fingers resting a bit on his as she accepts the box given to her. She's not sure, but there might be a small tremble in his frame. She doesn't open it right away, she just looks at it, letting her fingertips glide delicately over it.
Her breath hitches as she opens it. The box contains a medal. The pin is almost two inches long with purple material and white trim. Hanging just below the pin is a gold heart with deep purple background and the silhouette of George Washington in the center and his coat of arms above. A white shield with two thick red strips and three stars between sprays of green leaves. Engraved on the back it reads For Military Merit.
She can almost feel her eyes watering over, if it wasn't for the tight knot forming in her stomach. It's the Purple Heart. Jesus. She knows this medal is rewarded for one purpose only. Soldiers who were wounded or killed in service. Jack has the exact same medal at home. She remembers, because it was always taken down when the story was told. That story, the story of how Brock selflessly had saved his life. Brock the best friend, Brock the hero. They even talked about it at the Golf Club. Her grandparents never grew tired of sharing how amazing Brock was, and how much they appreciated his sacrifice.
How could she not have understood the meaning of sacrifice? That meant that you actually sacrificed something; that you gave up something. When she was younger she just focused on the word hero. That was what he was to her; the hero who brought her father back alive. She had never once thought about what he gave up to do so. Not once.
She draws in a shaky breath as she lets her fingers carefully glide over the medal. Hardly touching it. This particular medal is sacred, holy in a way. This medal carried with it not only recognition of the service member, but also certain benefits. Not to mention it's one of the highest ranking medals. If you asked someone about the highest ranking medals in the US military, the Purple Heart would be mentioned.
She hands the box back to him, not closing it first. In a strange way she feels like he should be the one to do that. Like he should be the one to decide when and where to hide it. Why is he hiding it? Why isn't it on display along with all his other medals? What was so painful that he decided to put it in a drawer?
After placing the medal back and closing the drawer, he gently took Calleigh's hand, placing it on the scar marring part of his lower abdomen.
Her skin feels so warm and soothing against his skin. As she traced the uneven texture with her fingertips he nearly forgot what he wanted to tell her.
“When I came to,” he started, taking a breath, “after,” he continued, looking into her eyes. So beautiful. “I didn't even feel the pain,” Okay, maybe that was half a lie. But he struggled to distinguish the physical pain from the emotional pain he had felt that day. And since the emotional pain seemed to have taken permanent hold, it was easier to explain it that way.
“All I could think about was finding him,” he continued, looking into her eyes. “To make sure he was okay,” his voice trembled a bit as he tried to push the images away. “To make sure he came home…,” his voice is surprisingly calm given the struggles inside. “To you,” he finished.
For what seemed like an eternity they just looked at each other, not saying a word.
“Thank you,” she managed to breathe out. Probably a stupid thing to say, but no other words came to mind.
He traced her bottom lip with his thumb, feeling the silky texture beneath his skin. “I'm a terrible friend,” he whispers as he leans in closer. Probably not the most thought through thing he ever said before he kissed someone. But he needed to get it out. Because he was, he felt like the most useless friend in the history of friendships; but he couldn't back down, wouldn't back down.
“I'm probably not the greatest daughter either,” she whispered back.
She didn't want to back down from this. But if they were going to be terrible people anyway, they might as well be terrible together. That way it felt easier to deal with.
“You're perfect,” Brock breathes before he lets his lips press gently against hers. He still struggles to understand the effect Calleigh has on him. All forms of reason disappear. All the consequences he'll probably face fades away. Leaving only her. Only Calleigh.
Calleigh tugs at his shirt, pulling it upwards just enough for him to take the hint. Their lips locked together again even before his shirt hits the floor. She can't fathom this. How the kisses seem to get better and better each time. How she seems to melt into him. It's like they were meant to be together, and now, the universe had finally heard their call.
Brock lets his hands glide gently up her sides, pulling her shirt with them. Her skin is so soft and soothing, like silk against his rough palms. His whole body is drawn to her, it’s an intoxicating euphoric feeling that blocks out any intruding thought of reason or consequences. In these moments with her, the rest of the world disappears, leaving only them, only Calleigh and him.
When she discarded her shirt, his eyes landed on her perfect breasts. All he wanted was to lose himself in her, savor every inch of her body before taking her up against the wall. Fuck how bad he wanted her. But he held back, had to. Her lack of experience in this field forced him to hold back, take it slow, one step at a time. Careful not to rush her or scare her in any way. It took almost everything he had, his erection already growing painfully against his jeans.
“I want you,” his voice deep and dark, filled with raw lust and desire. The sexual tension between them is unlike anything he’d ever felt before. Raw, feverish, genuine. This was so much more than just physical for him, and he longed to let her know that. To lay bare every feeling he felt. It was just that he had no idea how, or even where to start.
Calleigh's gaze indulges in the sight of his upper body. From the way his jeans sit snugly on his hips, to the impressive six-pack and well-defined pecs. She yearned to kiss his skin, to feel its texture against her lips. But, no. That seemed inappropriate, and he didn’t initiate anything. What did she truly understand about this? How could she discern what was expected of her or what was right or wrong? Oh, how foolish she felt.
To play it safe, she reaches behind her back and unclips her bra, allowing it to drop to the floor. "I’m all yours," she whispers as she gradually settles onto his bed. Slowly making her way up to the headboard, making herself comfortable. Then she removes her skirt.
Brock’s pupils dilate, turning into ravenous black orbs as he watches her. His cock is fattening up in his jeans. Fuck. He wants her. All of her. With slow, deliberate movements, he removes his jeans, his eyes never leaving her body, then proceeds to climb into the bed, hovering just above her, showering her skin with soft kisses as he moves over her body.
A soft moan escapes Calleigh’s lips as his expert touch ignites her entire body. Regardless of her feelings about betraying her father, this moment can’t be wrong. Something that feels this incredible can’t possibly be wrong. Can it?
"You’re unbelievably sexy," he exhales, allowing his hands to roam over her breasts before leaning down to envelop her left nipple with his lips.
Her head tilts back as she raises her lower body to meet his arousal, her fingers tangling in his hair. "Don’t stop," she gasps.
He raises his head to gaze at her, damn she’s stunning. The way her lips part and her eyelids flutter from his caress is nearly impossible to resist. "Princess," he murmurs, just before their lips collide in a fervent kiss.
Every nerve in her body ignites, from her toes to her head, it’s exhilarating, overwhelming. Yet, it’s the most incredible sensation she’s ever experienced. Everything she’d ever read about intimacy suddenly clicks into place.
"Do you want me?" He half moans, half growls into her neck. The sensation of their bodies brushing against each other, separated only by the delicate fabric of their underwear, is driving him wild. "Do you want me to taste you?" he continues, taking his time, not unleashing all his risqué words at once. Just a hint, to gauge her reaction.
"Mmmm," she nearly whispers, then gives a slight nod. His words send shivers down her spine, causing warmth to pool between her legs. She craved more of his voice; his deep, husky tone stirred something within her. It felt so authentic, so integral to the entire experience. But she hesitated to respond, at least for now, and any words that came to mind felt inappropriate, like they didn’t belong to her.
Brock lets his lips trail her skin as he descents on her body. Stealing soft moans from her lips along the way. Her underwear is black, with a cute light blue silk thread along the lining. He lets his hand glide over the soft fabric, making her shiver beneath his touch. “Did you choose these for the occasion?” He asks, with a teasing smile, letting his fingertips trail the lining.
“Mmhmm,” she breathes out, unable to form any real words. Her heart is pounding out of control and all she wants is to grab his head, pushing it down between her legs. To feel that warm, soft caress of his tongue that she remembers from that first time in the guest room. She wants him to ignite that deep hungry feeling in her lower belly that erupts into what can only be described as blissful fireworks within.
“I like it,” he whispers against her inner thigh, before his tongue caresses her, outside her underwear.
“Nishh,” she breathes, parting her legs a bit more.
Brock slowly and gently lets his fingertips slip under the lining, then he proceeds to remove them, gracing every inch of her legs on his way down.
Calleigh almost holds her breath. This whole thing feels so amazing. His slightly dirty talk mixed with those deliberate soft touches awakens something in her that she didn’t even knew existed, something that makes her forget about consequences or reason. It makes her feel alive.
He lets go of her underwear, letting it fall to the floor, then glides his palms back up her legs, savoring the feeling of the slight shiver beneath his touch. “I want you,” he breathes into her pussy before he lets his tongue glide through her folds.
“Oh my god,” she moans, her back arches, fingers digging into the sheets, toes curling. “Fuck,” she moans again as his fingers joins his tongue. “Brock,” she breathes in.
“Shhh, Princess,” he breathes into her slopping wet flesh. “Relax… enjoy,” he continues. His cock is throbbing in his boxers, desperate to break free, it’s almost painful. But he’s determined to put her first. Calleigh is his number one priority. Her pleasure first, he decided that he was going to make her finish, each and every time. Making sure she felt secured, loved and taken care of.
Her body is in full throttle, gradually yet consistently sending blood to that tantalizing area in her lower abdomen; it feels as if the very atmosphere surrounding her is vibrating, akin to an electric surge, pulling her nearer and nearer to bliss with every flick of his tongue on her clit. "Oh my ffsss," she gasps as his fingers begin to knead that secret place deep inside her.
He adjusts slightly, draping his free arm across her lower abdomen, ensuring she stays put. "Yeah," he whispers against her damp skin. "Right there," he adds, as his fingers continue their exploration within her. The escalating sounds of her moans stir a growl of longing from deep within him. He can sense her muscles tightening around his fingers; combined with her rising moans, it signals that she’s nearing her peak. With deliberate slowness, he envelops her clit with his lips, sucking softly.
It’s as if a bomb detonates in her lower abdomen, sending shards of euphoric bliss coursing through her entire being. If it weren’t for Brock’s arm, strategically draped over her belly, her lower half would have soared off the bed. Her toes curl into the mattress, while her arms reach up to clutch one of the pillows beneath her head. The sounds escaping her lips feel alien, like a brand new language she has just discovered. It’s almost mortifying to surrender to such loss of control, yet it’s utterly impossible to hold back. The pleasure is simply too overwhelming. Like a drug, and she’s already hooked.
Brock allows his arm to gently slide off her abdomen, his gaze fixed on her as the waves of her orgasm wash over her. Fuck, she is stunning. He pulls off his boxers, a low growl of appreciation escaping him as he finally releases his throbbing cock.
He carefully crawls over her, tracing every inch of her body as he moves. He feels every curve of her silky skin, committing each contour to memory. Her eyes remain closed as she basks in the final waves of ecstasy. He leans down, whispering softly in her ear, “I love you.”
She parts her lips, almost yearning to express those words herself, but they remain lodged in her throat. She can't fathom why, especially since being here, feeling his entire form gently pressed against her, and hearing him whisper sweet affirmations in her ear makes her heart swell. All she desires is for him to understand that her feelings mirror his.
"Princess," he breathes, locking his gaze with hers. "Are you alright? Do you want me to stop?" he inquires, hoping he hasn't overstepped with his words. Although he restrained himself, it could still be too much for her.
"Absolutely not," she breathes, her fingers weaving through his hair. She could hardly comprehend how being naked and so close to another bare body could evoke such deep emotions within her. His eyes shine with warmth and kindness, exuding love and tenderness. "I want you, Brock," she whispers.
“Good,” he smiles, holding her gaze as he slicks up his cock. He could almost feel his pupils dilate from the desire he felt for her. “Fuck,” he moaned as he stroked his throbbing cock a couple of times.
Calleigh bends and parts her legs a bit more, overtaken by a primal feeling, driven solely by lust. Not only does she want to feel him, she needs to feel him. She almost finds it funny that she feels no shame in this.
A deep guttural sound escapes him as he breaches her. Every embarrassment and torn feeling from earlier that night, every fear for the future, every single thing resonates into that one sound. Fuck, how amazing it is to be with her. She makes him feel whole, liberated, home. In every way, not just right now.
“Nhgahhh,” she moans, her neck arching, her head lolls back, toes curling into the sheets. Feeling him breaching her, slowly filling her up, is utterly amazing. And the sounds escaping him makes it even better. “Brock,” she breathes out.
“Ah, it feels so good,” he moans, slowly gliding his hands over her arms before intertwining his fingers with hers. He leans in, placing an open mouth kiss on her neck, inhaling her scent. A floral perfume, mixed with that primal scent of pure lust. “Ah,” he moans again. The feeling of her warm velvety walls engulfing him was pure bliss. The closeness, the tightness, the way her body moved with his, it was almost too much. “Fuck, I want you,” he rasped against her neck. Unable to hide it, hell it was almost impossible to hold back.
Calleigh takes a breath, steadying herself. Although she’s not quite ready to take part in the dirty talk, she still has a voice. Right? And Brock wouldn’t oppose her using it. At least she hoped he wouldn’t.
Slowly she leaned in, aligning her lips with his ear, it felt stupid, but she wanted him to know, no, she needed him to understand that she was all in. For all of it. Always. “Then take me,” she whispered.
Brock stops, it’s like his whole body is on fire. Did she really say what he thinks she said? Slowly he moves to meet her gaze. His heart pounds wildly in his chest, and he almost forgets how to breathe for a moment.
For what feels like an eternity, they just look into each other's eyes, trying to pour every emotion imaginable from that look alone.
Then, with a deep growl he surrenders to her completely, burying himself deep within her over and over.
“Oh, ah, ah,” her moans feel more like screams, screams of pleasure that echoes off the walls. She wraps her legs around him, pushing him down on her, desperate for the connection, the raw intimacy.
“Fuck, Princess,” he breathes into her neck. A series of moans and growls escapes him as her fingers grab his hair, holding on for dear life. “Fuck, so tight,” he rasps into her neck. His lips and tongue tracing her chin, desperately searching for her lips.
Her lips collide with his in a passionate and sultry kiss, as he continues to thrust into her, stimulating every nerve along the way. She breathes his name into the kiss, while his fingers intertwine with hers once more, pressing her hands down into the mattress beneath them.
"Say my name again," he groans low and throaty. He can't quite grasp why, but the way she utters his name—unfiltered, raw, and dripping with desire—affects him deeply. Fuck. It ignites something within him, a sensation that begins at the base of his spine and radiates throughout his entire being like an exhilarating wave of blissful energy.
"Fshhhk," she struggles to articulate coherent words, her mind completely blank. Her body teeters on the edge of ecstasy. Yet, she yearns to call his name again. This is what she has wished for, what she has longed for. For him to lead her down this path of discovery. To teach her, to guide her. To help her uncover her desires, while he shares his own. There’s no way in hell she’s going to hold back from saying his name again if that’s what he wants.
Gathering every ounce of focus, she parts her lips; just then, Brock strikes a particularly sensitive spot within her, launching her body and mind into a realm of pure ecstasy. "Oh, fuck. Oh-Brock—Brock," she half-shouts.
Jesus Christ almighty, hearing her all but shout his name as her walls clenching around him in a frenzy, he wraps his arms beneath hers, forming a protective cocoon around her as he drives into her with a renewed fervor. "Fuck. So…tight… Fuck," he groans, unable to complete his thought before he succumbs to his own release.
Oh dear God in heaven. A blissful paradise.
Brock lets his hand gently caress her hair, meeting her eyes as she opens them. Her hands glide over his shoulders, mapping out his muscles underneath her touch. Fuck, she gets more beautiful every time he looks at her. “I love you, God, I love you” he whispers before placing a kiss on her forehead.
•─────────•°•❀•°•─────────•
As Clint stepped out of the shower, he let out a deep sigh. Damn, that kiss. It was stuck in his mind. She really kissed him, right? He couldn’t have imagined it, could he? At this moment, he was uncertain about what had actually happened; after lunch, she hadn’t brought it up at all. It was as if it had never occurred. Or perhaps she regretted it. He had no way of knowing. How could he, when she had been completely absorbed in her studies after they returned from lunch? He understood that girls could be difficult to read; God knows he had dealt with his fair share of them. But Jessica. Jessica was more than just a puzzle. She was more like an enigma, akin to one of those escape rooms where you had to uncover and follow clues to unravel the mystery. The problem was; he had absolutely no clues to guide him.
It wasn’t like he could ask her either. ‘Hey, Jessica, what did you mean with that amazing kiss?’. No, there was no way. He was a grown ass adult. He wasn’t going to ask, he was never going to ask.
Damn. He couldn’t allow himself to spend the entire weekend fixating on this. He just couldn’t. But deep down, he knew he would. Every single waking moment.
•─────────•°•❀•°•─────────•
Jack is slumped on the couch, struggling to make sense of the events of the evening. Calleigh was one aspect he could grasp; he understood that moving into his house was a significant change for her as well. In some respects, her anger towards him for having Brock essentially babysit her was justifiable. So, if he focused intently and pieced everything together, he could at least comprehend that she might have her reasons for acting the way she did. But Brock? What could possibly motivate him?
It definitely wasn’t Taylor, that much was clear. They had discussed that topic numerous times before, with Jack feeling guilty for encouraging Brock to embrace the whole ‘wild night’ concept, and Brock regretting not heeding Jack’s advice to steer clear. No, the Taylor situation couldn’t be the cause.
Could it be that Peter had said something to upset him? It was a possibility, but it seemed unlikely considering Peter’s unwavering gratitude and the immense respect he held for Brock. Everything felt out of order, and Jack often thought that the visible scar he bore was a disappointment to Peter. It served as a constant reminder that his son had enlisted in the military, even though he didn’t have to, and despite his responsibilities at home—a new baby and a stable job that would ensure his financial security for life. It was as if Peter didn’t even want to acknowledge that Jack had made this choice for all of them, to protect them. When he learned about Gen and the pregnancy, he only saw another reason to enlist, to fight, to serve, to ensure their safety. No matter how hard he tried, he could never fathom how his father could praise Brock’s service while simultaneously reprimanding Jack for his own.
With a deep exhale, he ran his hand across his face. He felt overwhelmed at this moment. Everything was happening simultaneously, and attempting to make sense of it all was a challenge he wasn't prepared to face.
•─────────•°•❀•°•─────────•
James was exercising on his rowing machine. Sure, it was late, but he needed to release some tension. His bare torso, shining with sweat, clearly showed that he had been working hard for quite a while. His six-pack tightened with every stroke. Damn his life.
Being unemployed was tougher than he had anticipated; now he had to stretch every dollar to keep everything afloat. He even had to pause his gym membership, which was almost more than he could bear. Sure, he had some equipment at home, but the gym offered so much more and was of much higher quality. Plus, it felt great to step outside and socialize. Damn it.
He had reached out to Rollins Delivery, but Jack was away on a business trip, and the substitute wasn’t capable of managing such issues. At least that’s what he was told. Jack should have returned by now, so he needed to try again next week. This felt like his final opportunity; if this didn’t pan out, he might as well throw in the towel. That wasn’t in his character, but what other options did he have? If his calculations were right, he had two, maybe three months at most, if he really pushed it, before he would be completely broke.
Life certainly wasn’t a walk in the park.
•─────────•°•❀•°•─────────•
Jess couldn’t sleep, no matter how much she wanted or needed it. Brock had been right, this evening had aged them by like five years, but that wasn’t what occupied her mind at that point. Her mind was filled with the memories of soft lips and warm breath. And then she had just left him there. Jesus, how was it possible to be that stupid? No, Jessica, once again she has to remind herself that she didn’t have those kind of feelings…. Anymore. Relationships and boys had screwed up way too much in the past for her to even consider going down that path again. And with someone at work? No, no, no, no. There was no way that wouldn’t blow up in her face.
And Barton hadn’t mentioned it after lunch, not even a little bit. He was the adult here, about a decade older than her. If he wanted to kiss again, he should have the balls to say it, or just do it. Oh balls, fuck. Damnit, Jessica, she scolds herself. Those steamy images she envisioned in the office earlier flashes in her mind again. She wanted to slap herself.
She couldn’t get feelings for him, especially not now. He was her only hope to actually get a degree, and she didn’t even want to begin to contemplate what her father would do if she flunked. Damnit.
She looked over at Molly, sound asleep. The low snores had given that away about an hour ago. God, how Jess wished she could be more like Molly or Calleigh. Fully focused on studies, never bringing any guys into it. Her two best friends had managed the task at adhering to their parents, finishing school with flawless grades. Jess however, though she had good grades, hadn’t quite managed the top one in every class. She used to like the fact that she had experience, that she knew what to say when the topic of sex came up. But now, having her fathers watchful eyes, scrutinizing every word in every assignment, now, she wished she didn’t. Because maybe, just maybe she wouldn’t have those steamy pictures of her and Barton playing on repeat in her mind.
•─────────•°•❀•°•─────────•
Brock struggled to slow his breathing, each inhale shallow and uneven. The cold along his spine, the dampness in his palms, the faint tremor running through his arms—there was no mistaking it. His body knew before his mind caught up.
“Calleigh,” he whispered, even though he knew she was asleep. He needed to be sure.
She didn’t stir.
He turned his head and looked at her. She was sprawled comfortably on her side, lips parted slightly, one arm tucked beneath the pillow. A strand of hair had slipped loose and brushed across her cheek. She looked peaceful. Safe.
God, she was beautiful. So damn beautiful it hurt to look at her.
Carefully, Brock eased himself out of bed, moving slow enough that the mattress barely shifted. His legs wobbled the moment his feet hit the floor. He paused, steadying himself on the edge of the bed, jaw clenched.
Fuck. Not now. This wasn’t supposed to happen yet. Not this soon.
The bathroom light felt too bright when he flipped it on. He leaned over the sink and splashed cold water onto his face, again and again, as if he could wash the memories down the drain. It didn’t help.
When he finally looked up, the man staring back at him barely resembled the one from earlier that night. The color had drained from his face, leaving his skin pale and tight. His eyes looked hollow, ringed with something close to fear.
“Oh, goddamn it… all to hell,” he muttered.
His hand shook as he reached for the cabinet and pulled it open.
Rows of pill bottles stared back at him.
“Fuck,” he breathed.
Too soon. This couldn’t be happening now. He briefly considered grabbing a blanket and sleeping on the couch, but the idea made his chest tighten. Waking up alone would scare her. Raise questions he wasn’t ready to answer. No—he couldn’t do that to her. Not like this.
It was that damn Purple Heart.
He had his reasons for hiding it. For never looking at it. Because every time he did, this happened. Every single time. And he couldn’t afford to lose control—not now, not with her. Not yet.
He knew Calleigh understood PTSD. She knew about nightmares, about panic, about the aftermath. But that knowledge lived on the other side of a closed door—outside Jack’s bedroom. As far as he knew, she’d never actually seen what it looked like up close.
And he wasn’t ready to be the one who showed her.
Fuck that medal. He didn’t deserve it.
Why the hell was he awarded anything at all when he couldn’t save them? What kind of honor came from surviving when they hadn’t? Miles hadn’t. Duke sure as hell hadn’t. Miles had been torn apart. Duke’s insides turned to mush right in front of him.
And Brock walked away.
Why was he the one left breathing? The one left whole?
He hadn’t come home and done anything extraordinary. He hadn’t fixed the world. He hadn’t saved anyone—out there or back home. All he’d managed to do was stumble into a relationship that scared him more than any firefight ever had.
“Goddamn it,” he exhaled.
He tipped two pills into his palm and swallowed them dry before chasing them with a glass of tap water. The pills stuck in his throat for half a second before finally going down.
He stared at his reflection again, willing himself to look normal. To feel normal.
“Get it together, Brock,” he told the man in the mirror, his voice low and sharp. “Get it the hell together.”
Home Sweet Home (AU Brock Rumlow/OFC) Chapter Sixteen!
Wordcount: 4199
Triggers: Narcissism, Domestic abuse, infidelity, emotional trauma, age gap relationship
CHAPTER SIXTEEN - NARCISSIST!
Brock unlocks the front door to his house, letting Calleigh step inside first. Part of him wished to extend their chat in the car, avoiding the topic of Taylor for as long as he could. Yet, another part urged him to hurry them inside, away from any curious onlookers, whoever they might be.
It wouldn’t be odd for him to have Calleigh over at his place. However, having her stay the night could raise eyebrows and spark rumors he neither wanted nor needed.
What people said about Taylor was already too much. Even though no one had ever approached him about it directly, he was aware—oh, he was painfully aware.
Calleigh surveys his home. The spacious design creates an illusion of greater size. In the hallway, there's an empty area, likely where a wardrobe once stood. A chest of drawers is positioned against one wall, adorned with picture frames both on its surface and on the wall behind it. For a fleeting moment, Calleigh feels a pang of fear; worried she might stumble upon a photo of him and Taylor. However, that anxiety dissipates just as swiftly as it arose when she recalls the way his voice changes whenever he speaks her name.
His living room is quite spacious, featuring an open layout that connects seamlessly with the kitchen. In the center of the room, a black leather couch is positioned to face a large screen TV, accompanied by a set of bookshelves. The shelves are filled with pictures and personal memorabilia, mostly military-themed items, as far as she can see. It's much like the collection that occupies Jack's office at home.
"Would you like a drink… um, something to drink?" Brock inquires as he opens the fridge, his nervousness bubbling to the surface. Should he share everything with her? Should he reveal his nightmares? How would she respond to that?
"I have water, Coke, Sprite," he informs her, pulling out a bottle of iced tea from the door and checking the expiration date. It's five days past. "And some questionable iced tea," he adds to his list of drink options, desperately trying to lighten the atmosphere, mostly for his own sake. But he knows that listening to what Taylor did was likely no easy feat either.
"I'm doing well, thank you," she replies. She felt uncertain about her readiness to listen to Brock recount his story involving another woman. Yet, she also sensed a strong need to understand; to grasp the reasons behind his deep-seated animosity towards that woman. She recognized Brock as a genuinely forgiving person, so for him to possess what she could only label as hatred for someone meant that individual must have committed an act that was truly unforgivable.
Jesse's voice abruptly resonates in her thoughts. "Apparently, she treated him terribly." Had he been mistreated? Was she prepared to learn about it?
Regardless of her readiness, there was no way to retreat now.
"I wanted one, so I thought I’d bring you one too," Brock says as he returns from the kitchen, offering her a can of coke.
"Thank you," she replies softly, contemplating if this was a wise choice as she settles down beside Brock.
"What is it that you wish to learn?" he inquires. Perhaps a tad quicker than he intended, yet he had never truly shared his thoughts about Taylor, except with his therapist. Even his sister Sam was left in the dark regarding many aspects. Still, he suspected that Sam might know more than he realized.
Calleigh gazes at him. What is it that she truly wants to uncover? Does she genuinely desire to know anything at all?
"How did you come to know her?" she asks, her voice barely above a whisper. Not that the specifics of their meeting were particularly significant; it merely seemed like a gentle entry point before delving into what she could only think were much weightier topics.
Brock almost bursts into laughter inside, yet he skillfully maintains a serious expression on the outside.
He truly has no clear idea of what the correct response to that question would be. Relaying that story just as it unfolded felt almost like he was attributing the blame for his situation with Taylor entirely to Jack. But that wasn't the truth. While it was true that Jack had been the one to introduce them; if it at all could be called that, he had also been quite clear about his disapproval of Brock pursuing that route.
Regrettably, Brock had been a bit slower than Jack in recognizing Taylor's true nature. It was a mistake that cost Brock dearly.
“Through your dad,” Brock says. Forcing himself back to that day in mid June 2019.
•─────────•°•❀•°•─────────•
Mansfield, Texas – June 2019
Jack seemed somewhere else entirely. He was right there beside Brock, but his eyes had that far-off look—like his mind had boarded a different train hours ago. The fact that he’d invited Brock to spend the afternoon at the Golf Club was telling enough.
Jack hated the Golf Club. “It’s a place crawling with pretentious rich folks who think they’re more important than they are,” he’d once told Brock when asked about it. The words had been sharp, almost spit out, like the very thought left a bad taste in his mouth.
No one in the Rollins family played golf, but they never missed a chance to talk about the club’s social events—luncheons, charity galas, cocktail hours where nothing in the glass cost less than a small fortune. After a few conversations, Brock had realized that the “Golf Club” was just a fancier way of saying “country club”—a place for the well-heeled to gather, flash their money, swap stories about themselves, and leave feeling even more important than when they arrived.
At least, that was Jack’s perspective.
Now, the Texas sun glared off the hood of Jack’s red convertible as they cruised down the road, wind whipping through Brock’s hair and carrying with it the faint scent of freshly cut grass and hot asphalt. He leaned back in the leather seat, watching neat rows of oak trees and sprawling manicured lawns roll past. The closer they got, the more the scenery changed—chain restaurants gave way to gated drives, and modest brick houses were replaced with wide, glass-front mansions.
Brock had never stepped foot inside the Golf Club, but he could already feel it: a world polished to a shine, all high ceilings and hushed voices, where every handshake was a performance and every smile had a price.
“It’s terribly boring, but the food’s usually good,” Jack said as his car rolled to a smooth stop in the parking lot. “And who knows—you might even get a few new clients. These rich motherfuckers really don’t know how to park. Just look at that guy.” He gestured toward a sleek black Porsche sprawled across two spaces.
“Like I said,” Jack added as they got out, “inflated egos.”
“I usually call them customers,” Brock replied, tugging at the hem of his shirt as if that might somehow make it look sharper. “I feel really underdressed,” he muttered.
His eyes moved over the crowd—men in tailored suits, women in expensive dresses that seemed to glide as they walked. He felt like an outsider standing at the gates of a world that wasn’t meant for him.
“I’m sorry,” Jack said quietly, something softer threading through his voice. “I’m just… trying to fill my days.”
He didn’t need to explain further. Brock understood. Ever since Gen had left with Calleigh three weeks ago, Jack had been moving from one distraction to the next. He probably wouldn’t see his daughter again until Christmas, and though the subject was never spoken aloud, the weight of it hung between them.
Still, as they made their way toward the entrance, Brock began to feel the edge of his discomfort ease. Faces lit up in recognition, people offering polite nods or friendly greetings. His reputation—built on years of military service and solid work as a mechanic—preceded him here. He might not blend perfectly into this high-class scene, but he realized he wasn’t entirely out of place either.
“Hello there,” a voice purred in Brock’s ear, low and enticing, as a pair of hands slid over his shoulders and traced slowly down his arms.
He froze, startled. This kind of welcome felt more suited to a strip club than to a polished venue like this. Maybe she thought he was someone else.
“Miss Spencer,” Jack said flatly. The apathy in his tone was unmistakable. His eyes narrowed, the kind of look meant to push someone back without a single word more.
The woman only smiled, unbothered. She pulled up a chair beside Brock, close enough that her perfume—a sweet, heady floral—hung between them.
“Oh, come on, Jack,” she cooed, her hand sliding onto Brock’s thigh. “How could I not say hello? You brought a hero to our little get-together.” Her fingers gave the word hero extra weight with a light squeeze.
“I’m Taylor,” she said brightly to Brock, extending a hand with perfectly manicured nails.
“Uh—Brock,” he managed, shaking it. He was completely thrown off by her forwardness. Still, in a room he barely understood the rules of, politeness seemed like the safest play—especially with Jack’s clear disdain radiating between them.
“Oh, I know,” Taylor said, releasing his hand only to place hers on his bicep. “You’re a hero in our community.”
“Taylor,” Jack snapped. His voice was low, but sharp enough to cut. He didn’t want this. He didn’t want her near Brock. He knew confronting her would have consequences, but he didn’t care.
She met his stare. “God, Jack, relax. I’m sorry for interrupting you.” Her eyes shifted to Brock, her tone softening. “Unless… you’d rather I stay?”
“Uh… I—” Brock stammered, caught between courtesy and curiosity. “I guess I’ll let Jack decide.”
Taylor pouted, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “Then of course, I’ll give you space. I wouldn’t want to intrude.”
“Thank you,” Jack said, each syllable steeped in disdain.
“See you later,” Taylor murmured to Brock as she stood, her voice a velvet thread. She walked away with deliberate grace.
Brock let out a slow breath, eyes following Jack’s fixed gaze—still locked on the woman until she disappeared into the crowd.
“What was that?” Brock asked, a nervous laugh slipping out before he could stop it.
“The devil,” Jack said flatly. The words came out sharp, with no attempt to hide the venom behind them.
“Wow,” Brock muttered. Part of him was curious about the intensity in Jack’s tone, and part of him wanted to keep his distance from whatever history was tangled up in it.
“I…” Brock hesitated. “I thought she was… well, attractive,” he admitted carefully, as if choosing each word might keep from lighting a fuse.
Jack gave a short, humorless laugh. “Fake, fake, fake, fake, and fake,” he said, pointing to various features as though checking off a list. “That woman has more plastic in her than a Barbie doll.” His contempt was so thick it could’ve been bottled.
Brock’s mouth twitched into a half-smile, followed by a weak chuckle. “Isn’t that… um… what rich folks do? Enhance their looks?”
“She’s different,” Jack said, his tone flat, giving nothing away.
“Really?” Brock asked, glancing back over his shoulder at Taylor’s retreating figure.
Jack’s gaze followed his. “Listen, Brock,” he said, voice low but edged with something between anger and warning. “If you want to have a wild night with her, fine. Get it out of your system. Be my guest.” He paused, looking up at the cloudless blue sky as if weighing his next words. “Just… use protection. And—” he drew in a slow breath, exhaled, “—don’t take it any further.”
Brock didn’t answer, and Jack didn’t press him. Whatever had happened between them was clearly enough to leave Jack with a permanent grudge.
Still, Brock couldn’t shake the thought. The idea of a wild night with Taylor lingered in the back of his mind—dangerous, yes, but tempting all the same.
•─────────•°•❀•°•─────────•
It's quiet.
Brock inhales deeply, looking at Calleigh.
Calleigh is absentmindedly drawing circles with her index finger on the top of the Cola can she holds.
Brock clears his throat, breaking the stillness.
Calleigh glances up at him, a subtle smile flickering on her lips.
A wave of anxiety sweeps over Brock. Had he crossed a line? He would never divulge the specifics of his and Taylor's intimate moments; that would be crossing a boundary. Yet, he often forgot that Calleigh was just twenty. She might not be interested in any details whatsoever. Perhaps she simply expected him to respond with straightforward answers like 'the Golf club' when she inquired about where they had met.
"I love you," he murmurs, almost inaudibly.
Calleigh raises her eyes, meeting his; yet she remains silent.
"I love you, Calleigh," he repeats.
Still, no response.
"Before we move forward, I need you to understand this," he presses on. "I want you to know that I am completely finished with her. Done... with her," his tone resolute. "I have no desire to be involved with her... ever again," he finishes.
"I understand that," she finally responds.
Then, silence envelops them once more. They simply gaze at each other, quietly.
Suddenly, Calleigh bursts into a soft laugh. "So...," she giggles. "You were at the Golf Club," she smiles. The image of all those pretentious, self-absorbed individuals, along with Brock, dances in her mind. It's undeniably a funny sight. "I would love to see that," she adds.
"Yeah," he chuckles back. The tension gradually fades away. "Don't hold your breath," he grins.
"I wasn't planning to," she replies with a smile, though her expression shifts to seriousness once more. "Did you start dating her after that?" she inquires. Unsure if she truly wants to hear another tale, yet something deep within her craves to know.
"Uhm," Brock begins, hesitating as he grapples with how to reveal that truth without coming off as shallow or foolish… or perhaps both. "She… um," he attempted, quickly abandoning that line of thought. "She sort of didn't back down," he eventually admitted. "She chased after me as if I were some sort of royalty," he went on. "And…," he cleared his throat.
Reflecting on this now made it difficult to articulate. He could now recognize how oblivious he had been, how foolish he must have appeared. To be honest, it was quite humiliating.
"It made me…," he allows the thought to hang in the air. He didn't want Calleigh to look at him the way he perceives himself when he thinks back.
"Feel special?" Calleigh accurately completes his thought, nearly causing him to tumble off the couch.
"Uh, yeah," he responds, furrowing his brows. Intrigued by Calleigh's insight on the subject. "She... um...," he attempted once more, pondering how to disclose the remainder. It wasn't that he feared Calleigh wouldn't grasp it. She had clearly indicated with her recent response that she did, thoroughly. No, Brock was more concerned that she might alter her perception of him. The entire Taylor ordeal; it left him feeling weak, foolish, and unworthy.
"She made me feel like I was the love of her life, the only one she wanted...," Brock exhaled. Deep down, he pleaded for Calleigh to comprehend how it truly was, to not shift her opinion of him. "And when I finally came to the realization that it was all a charade...," he went on, shutting his eyes, inhaling deeply, preparing himself for whatever comes next after he spoke his next words.
"You were in too deep...," Calleigh whispers. A shiver travels down her spine, causing her to tremble.
Brock remains silent, merely nodding. Completely taken aback by Calleigh's insight, her wisdom. If anything, this only deepens his affection for her.
"What happened?" Calleigh inquires, fully aware that it's a broad question. The sort that could lead to answers she's not prepared to face.
•─────────•°•❀•°•─────────•
Mansfield, Texas November 2023
Brock clutches the steering wheel tightly, inhaling deeply. The past few weeks have been a nightmare. His mind is constantly in a state of fight or flight, he keeps forgetting important things, and his nightmares seem to haunt him even in his waking hours.
Taylor isn't making things any easier. It's a constant cycle of nagging and arguments. Nothing ever seems to meet her standards. He truly couldn't grasp what more he could do to make her happy. Regardless of his efforts, the things he did, or the money he spent, it felt like he could never satisfy her needs.
Every Friday, he brought her flowers, without fail. Yet, every single time, they were the wrong kind. Honestly, he questioned why he even bothered anymore. Why he kept trying. He doubted whether she even loved him, if she ever had. It felt more like he was just a plaything for her; an old, broken toy that she kept around for her own entertainment. Damn it!
And now, he found himself needing to turn back halfway to work, because his troubled mind, plagued by nightmares, flashbacks, and PTSD, had caused him to forget his wallet, driver's license, and everything else. How could this even happen?
The ring on his finger; once a symbol of love and devotion, now felt more like a noose, like handcuffs. It offered just enough affection now and then to keep him anchored, to ensure he stayed. He was trapped, reluctant to remain, yet equally unable to break free.
Where could he possibly go? The house belonged to her, the furniture was hers. He hardly possessed a single thing of value. Except for the garage and his car.
Over the last three to four years, she had meticulously constructed a prison around him, all without his awareness. With flawless subtlety, she had drawn him in, effectively capturing him in a situation from which escape seemed nearly impossible.
Brock exhales sharply as he steps out of the car. How did his life come to this point? It seemed as if the past years had sped by without him. It was as if he had jumped directly from that day at the Golf Club to now, while everyone else had grown and changed over the years.
Just retrieve your wallet, he reminds himself. Just peek inside the door, grab it, and then he could immerse himself in work for the remainder of the day.
These days, work provided a welcome escape, the only place where he could truly be himself, engage in light banter, and laugh at the jokes that Taylor considered too inappropriate for someone of her caliber.
After he retrieves his wallet, he makes a quick decision to check on Taylor. She’s likely still asleep. But he could steal a quick kiss, just to show her that he still cared. Although he wasn’t sure if he genuinely did, or if it was merely his way of maintaining whatever little peace he could.
The bedroom door is ajar, and he hears them before they come into view.
Taylor is on top of someone, though he can’t identify who, but he can certainly grasp what’s happening.
The feeling he gets is strange, a chaotic mix of disappointment and determination. This is his opportunity to escape. His chance for freedom. Regardless of how let down he feels, this is something everyone will understand. This is the story he can share, and no one will label him as the villain. In many ways, this is a blessing. Taylor’s infidelity is a blessing, a means of escape, a route to freedom.
He leans against the doorframe for a moment, attempting to envision various scenarios in his mind, none of which seem likely.
Then he begins to applaud. He isn't entirely sure why, but he feels compelled to maintain a sense of civility. The last thing he wants is for Taylor to have any reasons to label him as the bad guy.
He captures the attention of both of them. Taylor hurriedly scrambles off him, while he attempts to conceal himself beside the bed. What a pathetic loser.
"Don't worry," Brock addresses the idiot, who is now halfway under the bed. "I ain't gonna touch ya’,” he adds before turning his gaze to Taylor.
"Well," he says to her, his tone flat, the indifference in his voice almost scares him. "Congratulations, Taylor. It seems you've found yourself a new toy." He continues, removing the ring from his finger and placing it on the chest of drawers near the door. "I hope it was worth it," his words remain flat, devoid of emotion. Yet, he questions how long he can maintain this facade.
"Brock," Taylor begins, but he interrupts her.
"Don't even!" he exclaims, then he turns to leave. His feelings are on the verge of overflowing, and he knows he must get out of here.
Taylor rushes after him in the hall. He senses her reaching out for him.
"Don't touch me!" he snaps, then he spins around.
“You… you weren’t supposed to be here. Or find out.” Taylor’s voice trembled, panic sharpening her words.
“Oh, what a relief,” Brock shot back with a scoff. “You’re unbelievable. And you know what? This doesn’t surprise me one damn bit.”
“I—I thought you’d be at work,” she persisted, tears brimming in her eyes—no doubt for show.
Brock wasn’t taken aback. Not anymore. Taylor was used to getting her way, and clearly she’d assumed this would be no different.
“Oh, right,” he said, his voice dripping with disdain. “Let me guess—should I step out and come back when you’re done?”
“Brock…” Taylor tried again, her voice softer now. “Please. I love you.”
He looked at her. No—he was done. There wasn’t a single redeeming thing left in her that he could see. Not one.
“You have a strange way of showing it,” he said, his tone steadier now. “I’ll ask Sam to pick up my things. I can’t stand to look at you another minute.”
Without waiting for a reply, he turned, strode out, and closed the door behind him.
•─────────•°•❀•°•─────────•
"Oh," Calleigh murmured. She finds herself at a loss for words. Fortunately, her lack of experience in this situation is a blessing. Yet, she has watched enough films to grasp, on some level, the emotions tied to such an experience.
"That was the final straw," Brock breathes out.
What he truly desires at this moment is to curl up next to Calleigh, inhaling her scent, to truly embrace the tranquility he feels when he is near her. But that hinges entirely on her—whether she has more questions or not.
"I'm sorry," Calleigh gazes at him. It was a meaningless gesture of comfort, but it was all she could think of.
"Eh," he chuckles, "I managed to escape," he goes on. His gaze softened. "And then I found you," he adds.
Calleigh felt her heart race, almost uncontrollably. She shouldn't shut him out anymore. If he truly loved her as much as he said he did, he should know all of her, everything. It was just…
“The final… Straw…” Calleigh drifts off, uncertain if this is truly the right time to delve into that topic.
It's not that she doesn't want to know. She's just not really sure if she's ready. If she's steady enough to not break.
“Yeah,” Brock exhaled. “Narcissists typically conceal their real selves for just a few months…,” he goes on, inhaling deeply.
He had put in considerable effort to reconcile with his past. To acknowledge that this was the reality of his life and to alter whatever he could. However, there were times, particularly when discussing it, that he felt small, foolish, exposed, and unworthy.
“Months…,” Calleigh echoes the word, her mind drifting for a brief moment. “You… You were with her for years,” she finally states, not as a true inquiry but more as a declaration.
Brock merely nods, no words necessary.
“In the movies they're all men,” Calleigh blurts out. Like that would help at all. Like that would comfort him at all. She just had to say something, anything. Months, years, decades. How long could someone survive living like that?
Brock lets out a nervous chuckle, unsure of what he should answer to that, or if he should reply at all.
“In reality most of them are women,” he breathed. “It's just that they are better at hiding it,” he continues. “And.. um.. as men it.. it's.. ehh.. Tougher to talk about,” he finishes.
“I'm sorry,” she hastily lets out, her eyes fixed on the unopened Coke can in her hand. Her right index finger plays with the pull tab creating a distinct metal sound. She's not sure why she does it, but both the repetitive sound and the motion calms her beating heart.
“Did she…,” Calleigh stops for a second, pondering whether or not she should ask this question. “Hit…. You?” She continues, trying to keep her voice steady; her eyes still fixed on the can.
Brock furrows his brows, looking at her. She's still avoiding his gaze, looking at the can in her hand like it was a grenade or something similar.
I know I’m 4 days early with my list but in just 10 days I read 50 fics so onto my next list I go! 🤭🤭
Hello everyone and welcome to my recommended reading list! I hope you will find something you will enjoy on this weeks list.
Thank you to everyone who enjoys my lists and reblogs them. Your support means the world to me. Thank you again to those who recommended fanfics or tagged me.
💜 This week, I read 50 fanfics—absolutely amazing fanfics. It has been so much fun for me, and I hope you enjoy my reading lists.
As always these will be listed in no particular order. None of these stories are mine. I’m just signal-boosting them. The author is listed next to the title. My goal is to signal boost writers and spread positivity in the community. 💜💜
Click HERE to see what I will or won’t read. This is very important.
Click HERE for past reading lists.
For my Masterlist click HERE.
Please make sure you’re reading the warnings on every story. They range from dark to fluff. Do Not Read if you are under 18 years old. These stories are meant for adults only. You’re responsible for your own media consumption.
Header by @fictional-affairs
Page-break by @whimsicalrogers
If you can, please reblog these lists so they can reach more people on Tumblr. Likes are nice but Reblogs are golden.
I love you 3000 💜 Missy
Personalized Heater - (Bucky x Reader) - @saiyanprincessswanie
The contract (14) - (Steve x Reader) - @holylulusworld
Sweet kisses - (Steve x Reader) - @nekoannie-chan
Perfect Match - (Ransom x Reader) - @navybrat817
Small Blessings - (Dark!Steve K x Reader) - @navybrat817
January Jumble Scribbles - Day 3 - (Bucky x Reader) - @thenameswinter99
January Jumble Scribbles - Day 6 - (Nick x Reader) - @thenameswinter99
Betrayed - (Dark!Nick x Reader) - @targaryenvampireslayer
January 6: Curtis Everett - @darkficsyouneveraskedfor
Thrills - (Lee x Reader) - @buckybarnesfic
A first time for everything - (Steve x Reader) - @late-to-the-party-81
Tuna Temper - (Lloyd x Reader) - @societyfolklore
Dirty Dancing - (Bucky x Reader) - @navybrat817
Contigo Aprendí - (Steve x Reader) - @ramp-it-up
So Full. So Filled. - (Bucky x Reader) - @sunday-bug
Hanky Pantry - (Bucky x Reader) - @late-to-the-party-81
Fresh Air - (Bucky x Reader) - @/navybrat817
Spin Cycle - (Ransom x Reader) - @societyfolklore
Insecurities - (Steve x Reader) - @ice-vipers
Jacket - (Steve x Reader) - @targaryenvampireslayer
Make Me See Stars - (Bucky x disabled!Reader) - @late-to-the-party-81
Just You - (Yelena x Reader) - @castielscaplan
And Yours, Always - (Yelena x Reader) - @castielscaplan
Crazy - (Bucky x Reader) - @thezombieprostitute
January 9: Johnny Storm - @darkficsyouneveraskedfor
Take you home - (Curtis x Reader) - @ice-vipers
gentle hands - (Bucky x Reader) - @sheriff-bodecker
Save You - (Bucky x Reader) - @mrs-elsie-barnes
Which Road - (Lee x Reader) - @soelstress
January Jumble Scribbles - Day 7 - (Lee x Reader) - @buckybarnesfic
Misunderstandings - (Lee x Reader) - @buckybarnesfic
Touch Starved - (Bucky x Reader) - @tuiccim
Float - (Ari x Reader) - @late-to-the-party-81
January 12: Steve Rogers - @darkficsyouneveraskedfor
Waking Up In Westview - (Bucky x Reader) - @writing-for-marvel
betrothed - (Bucky x Reader) - @sheriff-bodecker
Breakfast Interrogation - (Bucky x Reader) - @mrs-elsie-barnes
The Villainous, Infamous, and Bonnie Sea [1/?] - (Steve x Reader) - @steviebbboi
updated January 23 2026-- updated several lists. will be working on getting each of these lists more organized into smaller categorizes on their own docs in the next several weeks.
PLEASE reblog if you use any of these/wanna share with your writer friends!!
i'm in the process of updating the current lists to include categorized lists to make searching for prompts even easier! i already finished organizing the Fluffy/Domestic prompts, working on the angst prompts now :)
WRONG. talk about it. shout about it. yell about it. scream about it. so what if it’s a fanfic? it’s done with love and passion. it’s art created by a fellow human being who, despite life and lord knows what battle they may or may not be going through, probably stayed up all night writing it before they shared it with the world for free. they’d probably spent months or years writing it. it’s as much a piece of art and literature as any other art and literature that aren’t fanfics. and unlike artists who make profit off their works, fanfic writers truly write for free, because they are that passionate about their stories. the least we can do is show them our love and appreciation.
TRIGGERS: Human trafficking, strong language, torture, breath play, noncon, and just YES! There are triggers proceed with caution!
CHAPTER FOUR - BOUGHT!
Grace swallows nervously as she stands outside the office door, listening to the sound of money being counted within. One million dollars. Jesus Christ. That’s a hefty sum. But really, what is a human life worth these days? At just 27 years old, she hopes to have many more years ahead of her, and when she calculates that against the One Million, the figure doesn’t seem as impressive. Considering her past, perhaps One Million is all she’s valued at. Her own parents didn’t even want her, though she had long since stopped caring about that. Given her circumstances, being sold for One Million felt like the best option available to her.
She’s jolted from her chaotic thoughts when the door swings open, and he steps out. The man who purchased her, her owner. She takes a moment to assess him as she’s handed over. He’s slightly taller than her, muscular with broad shoulders, dark and ruggedly handsome in a certain way. But his eyes, dark and commanding, carry a menacing edge. She swallows hard.
His grip on her arm is firm, almost painfully so. With his other hand, he pulls out his phone and raises it to his ear. “Jack, I’m ready. Fetch the car!” he barks into the phone before sliding it back into his pocket. No greetings, no farewells. Just a straightforward command. He’s clearly in control, but in control of what, she has no clue. Except for her, as evidenced by his tight hold on her arm, he’s undoubtedly in charge of her.
The chilly evening air strikes her face the moment she steps outside. A shiver courses through her body. The little dress she wears offers no protection against the frigid, dark night.
"Here," he says, removing his jacket and placing it over her shoulders. "I wouldn’t want you to feel cold," he adds.
She feels bewildered, more than she ever has. His icy, menacing glances, the sharp commands he barks into his phone, the firm grip on her arm, and those eyes, reminiscent of a predator. And now, he’s offering her his jacket for warmth. Who is this man? What is he?
Gradually, he pushes her against a wall, positioning one arm on either side of her. "Still cold?" he inquires. She shakes her head. Unsure if she should speak, she figures that responding is likely the safest option.
A group of people strolls by, and he leans in close, his breath tickling her ear. To the onlookers, it may seem like a tender embrace, but to her, it feels menacing. "So..." he whispers. "What’s your name?" he asks.
Once more, she’s taken aback. Why does he care about her name? He could easily call her anything he likes. "Grace," she murmurs.
He gazes at her, his eyes filled with curiosity, almost as if he suspects she’s not being truthful. She simply nods slightly. No need to say it again. "Ha, perfect," he scoffs, almost in a patronizing manner. “Our ride is here,” he says, firmly holding her arm as he leads her towards the car that just pulled up.
🖤⛓🔪🖤⛓🔪🖤⛓🔪🖤⛓🔪🖤⛓🔪🖤⛓🔪
The interior of the car is pleasantly warm. If it weren't for the array of weapons and the tense atmosphere, it might even feel cozy. It appears to have once been a limousine or some other type of high-end vehicle. However, this back seat bears no resemblance to that of a luxury car; aside from the ample space, it lacks any semblance of comfort. Instead, it is filled with weapons, ropes, knives, and blindfolds. Who on earth is this man? Grace hesitates for a moment as she peers inside. But when his hand grips her neck, she steps in, trembling.
"This is Grace," he announces to the driver as he shuts the door.
"Grace? Seriously?" The other man swivels around to look at her. She feels as though his piercing green eyes and imposing presence are penetrating her very soul.
"I know," Brock responds, placing his hand on her knee and slowly sliding it upward. "Almost too good to be true," he taunts.
Grace is at a loss for words. They are discussing her, not addressing her directly, and it feels perilous to join a conversation she wasn't invited to.
"What does she do?" the man in the front seat inquires.
Grace's breath catches in her throat as Brock lets out a chilling laugh.
"Whatever I command her to do if she knows what's best for her," he answers just as his hand reaches the top of her thighs and rests between her legs.
"That's Jack, my right-hand man," Brock tells her, still keeping his hand firmly in place, unmoving. "And I’m Hades," he adds, whispering his name as if to emphasize its ominous significance.
Grace swallows hard, Hades. Good Lord. Her gaze lands on a gun, securely stowed yet close enough to grab at any moment.
Brock notices where she’s looking, then bursts into a mocking laugh. He leans in closer to her. "Relax, puppet, I have no intention of wasting a million dollars," he whispers.
🖤⛓🔪🖤⛓🔪🖤⛓🔪🖤⛓🔪🖤⛓🔪🖤⛓🔪
He doesn't waste a moment; the instant the car departs from the curb, he inserts two of his fingers inside her. "No, puppet," he exhales. "My goal is to make good use of them," he adds, casting a quick glance at Jack to signal that it was fine to watch the spectacle in the rearview mirror.
Grace whimpers, attempting to distance herself from him. Her effort is a complete failure.
"Yeah, that’s it," he breathes heavily. "Fuck my fingers," he goes on.
She becomes paralyzed, utterly incapable of moving; even if she had the desire, it was impossible. The atmosphere felt far too menacing. And with that Jack guy in front, observing her. She realized these were not kind men, that much was clear.
Brock’s other hand gradually moved up to her throat, seizing it before forcing her face up to his. "Move," he ordered. "Move, or so help me. I will punish you," The inflection in his voice was clear. He was serious about every word.
Gradually and unsteadily, she began to sway her hips against his fingers.
"That’s it," he complimented. "Good little whore," he added. "Look at him, see how much he relishes the expression on your face," he continued, panting heavily.
A soft whimper of denial slipped from her lips.
Brock chuckled, a deep, dark sound directed right at her. "Oh no, puppet. I can sense it. You’re soaking my fingers. Don’t even attempt to deny that you’re loving this," he exhaled, as his thumb began to circle her clit, causing her to jerk. "Yeah," he growled. "Faster, come for us, the fucking slut wants to climax," he urged as he started to work her himself. Hard, relentless, focused on extracting the utmost pleasure.
"Ah, ah, ah," she gasped, unable to suppress the moans that escaped her lips; doing so would have meant biting her tongue off. He was right, the pleasure of reaching climax was tantalizingly close. Considering his intimidating presence and the array of weapons at his disposal, it was wise to comply with his demands. So, she surrendered to ecstasy, moving her hips in rhythm with his fingers, matching each thrust.
"Yeah, that’s it," he exhales. "Look at you, so stunning, moaning just for us," he compliments her.
Just as she teeters on the brink of release, he gradually withdraws his fingers, his other hand seizing her throat once more as he brings his wet fingers to her lips, prying them open. "Fuck," he breathes against her cheek. "Yes, savor your taste, lick it clean," he continues to whisper against her skin.
Her body is in a frenzy, grinding her hips against emptiness.
"Oh no, my little puppet," he murmurs as his lips brush against her ear. "Here, with me, you must earn your orgasms," he growls softly into her ear.
For a fleeting second, her mind goes blank, and she attempts to shove him away. Just one second, that’s all it requires. Before she can even process what’s happening, he’s looming over her, her arms restrained above her head in a tight and painful hold.
"Oh oh," he taunts. "Looks like we have a spirited one here," the comment is clearly directed at the driver, yet he locks eyes with her as he speaks. "Let me taste you," he exhales, before his lips crash onto hers in a fierce and possessive kiss. "Oh fuck," he growls. "If you only realized how desperately I want to dominate you into submission right now," he goes on. "I want you to plead with me to stop, while simultaneously begging me to thrust harder and deeper as you come all over my cock," he growls the phrases as his lips find hers again. "Fuck, you taste incredible," he growls again. "What do you think, should we let him have a taste?" he asks, though she senses it’s a rhetorical question.
Her gaze quickly flicked to the man in the front seat. She couldn’t discern much before Brock seized her chin and redirected her face back to him, but she caught a glimpse of Jack—or whatever his name was—licking his lips.
"Focus on me," Brock commanded. "Why are you glancing at him? He can’t assist you," he continues.
"I... I can't... please," she pleads, yet her voice is drowned in the fog of terror enveloping her.
Once more, he releases that mocking laugh. "Oh, how charming," he derides. Then, he seizes her throat again. "Do you believe you have any control here?" he inquires. "I own you!" he asserts.
"Please don’t kill me," she begs, tears streaming down her cheeks. Fear grips her so tightly that her entire body goes rigid, paralyzed and nearly unable to draw a breath. These men are clearly deranged, both of them. There’s no way for her to predict their next action. Why did she ever agree to this?
"Shh… puppet," he murmurs softly. "I’m not going to kill you," he reassures her, his tone smooth and comforting. "Nooooo," he snarls like a beast, letting that single word linger on his lips, deep and menacing. "I’m going to play with you," he adds, pressing his body against hers. "But if you don’t follow my instructions," he exhales. "Exactly as I say," he locks his gaze onto hers, tightening his grip around her neck. "You might wish I had," the words come out harsh, with no effort to conceal the reality behind them.
She tries to speak, but when he tightens his hold around her throat again, completely cutting off her air, no sound escapes her lips.
"Now I have a question," he breathes out. His eyes darken to a near pitch black. "Do you want to breathe?" he asks, as if it were the most ordinary question in the world.
Her lungs are screaming for air, her eyes wide with terror, silently begging him to stop. She struggles to free her arms from his grasp, her legs thrashing beneath him, desperate to escape, desperate for air.
"Do. You. Want. To. Breathe?" He repeats, showing no intention of releasing her, no willingness to provide the air she so urgently craves.
With tears of fear cascading down her face, she nods vigorously, praying that he will relent, that he will allow her to breathe.
With a calculated measured pace he releases her throat. “See… All you had to do was answer,” he informs, with that same calm tone. “You’re learning fast,” he continues. “Good girl,” he whispers into her ear.
She’s gasping, desperately attempting to fill the void of air. Still struggling to escape his hold.
“Ahhhhhhh,” he groans into her ear, a long, menacing growl that sends chills racing down her spine. “I love it when you resist,” he breathes. “It excites me,” he adds. “Calm your breathing, little mouse,” he whispers against her skin as his free hand glides down her chin to her neck, then over her collarbone. “Or else you might faint,” he warns.
She takes a deep, trembling breath, followed by a soft sob. Fear grips her tightly. It wasn’t that she hadn’t expected some rough handling. But this? No, never. Had she known, she would still be hiding in parking garages. At this moment, she regrets her decision. And Sasha isn’t here to support her.
“Shhhhh,” he murmurs. “No need to cry, Princess,” he continues, allowing his lips to softly trace hers. “As long as you obey me, we’ll treat you very well,” he whispers into her lips.
“Pl.. Please,” she pleads again. All she wanted was to escape, to turn back time and tell Feldbank to go to hell. Why did she ever think this life would be an improvement? She’s been with him for less than an hour, and already it feels like she’s dying.
“Mmmmmm,” he growls as he presses his body against hers once more. “Do you feel that?” he asks.
She nods, desperately. Too terrified to speak, afraid of him.
“Words, Grace!” he commands, tightening his grip around her wrists. “Use. Your. Words,” he insists.
“Yes,” she manages to stammer out.
“See how good you make me feel?” His eyes lock onto hers, dark, nearly black, sending terror coursing through her. “Now why would I harm something that brings me this much pleasure?” he continues, more as a statement than a question.
Something? Some thing? God this man is fucking diabolical. “Wh… What are you going to do to me?” She manages to ask, although she’s unsure if she wants to know.
“Oh you sweet little thing,” he murmurs before his demeanor changes to the menacing beast he truly is. “I’m going to fuck you,” he lets her know, enjoying the terror her eyes can’t hide. “And he’s gonna watch,” he continues. “He’s gonna watch as I fuck you into a new world. I’ll have you scream for mercy from the pain and pleasure I bring you,” his menacing tone leaves no room for discussion. Everything he says he’ll do, he’ll do. There’s no escaping it.
TRIGGERS: Talk about suicide, emotions, depression
I’m seeing stars, shimmering silver stars intertwined with what feels like bursts of light reminiscent of Rave parties, where every movement is illuminated. I adored those experiences in my twenties. Now that I’m in my forties, such lights are a rarity. It’s been ages since I last stepped into a Rave.
Once again, my body is in turmoil; my toes are curling within my sneakers as I cling to the toilet, my knuckles turning white, while my stomach continues to purge itself.
He advised me to consume protein—chicken, rice, meat, salad, avocado, eggs, all of it. So I followed his advice, and now, after the most grueling workout of my life, my stomach has decided it’s time for every single morsel to make a swift exit, just as it entered.
And I….
I feel like I’m on the brink of death.
As if my insides are about to be wrenched out, following all that protein in a chaotic escape.
This is mortifying.
Excruciating and humiliating.
Jesus Christ, I genuinely feel like I’m about to perish.
I’m on the verge of dying, in a bathroom at a boxing studio in L.A.
If you know me, or if you grew up alongside me, or attended ANY of my classes or schools, you would certainly recognize that this place, right here, is not how I envisioned my end.
Death by workout…
Seems fitting.
I haven’t exactly excelled at maintaining a healthy diet or sticking to a workout routine.
And my God, I’m truly suffering the consequences now.
───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────
I sincerely apologize; I completely lost my sense of decorum amidst all the... emptying chaos. By the way, sorry for that. This probably isn’t the most ideal way to introduce myself. Here I am, showcasing my absolute best side; do you catch the sarcasm?
At least I haven’t lost my sense of humor, which likely indicates I’m still alive, even if it feels otherwise.
Anyway, let me introduce myself. I’m Talia. You might be curious about how I, a divorced single mother from Europe, found myself heaving in a celebrity gym in Hollywood. Believe me, I’ve been pondering that same question. To explain how and why I landed here, with an empty stomach and mascara streaks down my cheeks, I need to take you back to 2022, or actually, even further back. But I won’t bore you with those tales, and I don’t have the luxury of time either. Because this challenge I accepted, without really thinking through the possible consequences, well, I suspect this won’t be the last time I’ll be emptying my stomach in this place. I hope it’s worth it. No, wait, let me pause for a moment. Who am I kidding? Who am I trying to deceive?
THIS IS SO FUCKING WORTH IT!
I could literally die, right here, right now. And I would die a happy person. I would die the happiest person. And if you were in my shoes, puke, mascara streams, sweat, tears and all, you would be too. Trust me, you would.
Hi Brock!
I understand that you probably get a gazillion messages like this every day, so I’ll do my absolute best to get your attention. Because I’m not like the others. You probably heard that a gazillion times too, and I’m not gonna spend the limited amount of words that fits into an Instagram PM to present you a sob story or try to convince you that I am different.
All I EVER wanted to do was to write. To create stories that would impact an audience in such a profound way that the feeling stuck with them for life. To make them smile, cry, laugh, jump, yeah to feel. Deeply. That’s all I ever wanted to do, and what I want to do for the rest of my life.
I want to be the best at what I do. I want to be that one writer that every other writer aspires to be like. And to be able to reach that goal, to be the best, I have to work with the best. And in my opinion, that’s you. I love your work, every crazy stunt and well crafted fight scene. Every different manuscript, everything.
I know that this is a looooong shot, but I figured; fuck it. What’s the worst that could happen? Yeah, you could say no, or you could not reply. But you didn’t reply before you received a message, and if I never ask, the answer will always be no. So here goes nothing. I would love the opportunity to work with you, to write for you, with you. And if you grant me that opportunity I will push myself above and beyond my limits, I will go those ten extra miles, I will work my butt off. I will go so far outside my comfort zone that I’ll never see it again.
Thank you in advance.
Talia!
That was the message I sent. On a late Saturday evening, when I had one of those days when I just wanted to give up. You know, when you have those nights that you pray to God that you won’t wake up the next morning? Yeah, to be honest with you, I had way too many of those nights back then. That’s probably why I said all that nonsense about pushing myself beyond my limits. Not thinking about the potential consequences, such as, puking my guts out.
But honestly, why would I think about that, what percentage chance did I have, that he’d actually respond? Would you have thought about that? Be honest with me now; If you had been as stupid as me and sent a message like that to one of Hollywood's famous actors. Would you have dared to even dream that you, four months later, would be puking your guts out in the bathroom at his regular gym after he literally did push you above and beyond your limits and through the hardest work out of your God damned life?
───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────
Brock Rumlow, the sexiest man alive. Brock Rumlow who portrayed Alvey Kulina in Kingdom, Leo Barnes in The Purge, Rick Flag Sr. in Peacemaker, Ferruchio Lamborghini in Lamborghini and Mark Corley in Beyond Skyline. All of my favorite shows and movies.
I’m not going to brag about always having known about him, because that would be a lie. But he did enter my life at what you might call ‘the perfect moment’. Because back then, in April 2022, when he was shooting Hounds of War in Malta, I was about to end my life. I’m not saying this to get your sympathy or anything like that. I'm simply sharing this piece of information so that you will understand just how much he means to me. Because he literally saved my life that day. I remember it like it was yesterday. He’d shared a movie, him in full gear, costume, either right before or right after a shoot. He said something about Ukraine, which had been invaded by Russia, only months prior. There was a war going on in my continent, and the world was turning into something that scared me more than I cared to admit.
I watched the movie through tears, not because of him, or the war or anything like that. No, back then I was still stupid. So I was heartbroken, crushed, shattered. My heart had exploded like porcelain, and my insides got cut, deeply, every single time I took a breath. I had nothing left to lose, I wanted to die. So for the first time ever, I let go of my fear of rejection, the fear of not being seen in the sea of other admirers he had on Instagram. I commented “I didn’t think it was possible, but now I love you even more,” Yes, yes, yes, juvenile, I know. But remember that I was crying so hard that I had to cover my mouth so my kids couldn’t hear my sobs. That was all I had to offer at that moment.
The next morning, I woke up to a little red heart next to my comment, a heart from him. Yes, I did check if every other comment also had a heart, they didn’t; some, yes, but not all.
He saw me.
I wasn’t invisible.
He recognized me.
And that meant everything to me.
Absolutely everything.
He’s the reason my kids still have a mom.
Brock Rumlow, the man I admired from afar. Not because I actually thought that anything could ever happen between us; I mean, we lived in different worlds. He lived in a world where he had hundreds of thousands if not millions of fans world wide. And I… I lived in a world where the last guy I had feelings for suddenly ghosted me one day, after two years ‘together’. That was how far away from me he was. He was so far away that harboring a tiny little delusional crush on him was safe, because he would never get close enough to break my heart, he would always be that unattainable celebrity that I could spend hours looking at, without the fear of rejection or heartbreak. He was safe, it was safe to get lost in his eyes, study them so intently that the line from the abyss started to play on repeat in my head ‘if you stare long enough into the abyss, the abyss stares into you’. I would never get close enough to Brock Rumlow for him to break me, crush me, ghost me or otherwise disrupt my peace. And I had absolutely no reason to think or believe that would ever change.
This is the longest list I’ve made in a while. 😱😵💫😂
Hello everyone and welcome to my recommended reading list! I hope you will find something you will enjoy on this weeks list.
Thank you to everyone who enjoys my lists and reblogs them. Your support means the world to me. Thank you again to those who recommended fanfics or tagged me.
💜 This week, I read 55 fanfics—absolutely amazing fanfics. It has been so much fun for me, and I hope you enjoy my reading lists.
As always these will be listed in no particular order. None of these stories are mine. I’m just signal-boosting them. The author is listed next to the title. My goal is to signal boost writers and spread positivity in the community. 💜💜
Click HERE to see what I will or won’t read. This is very important.
Click HERE for past reading lists.
For my Masterlist click HERE.
Please make sure you’re reading the warnings on every story. They range from dark to fluff. Do Not Read if you are under 18 years old. These stories are meant for adults only. You’re responsible for your own media consumption.
Header by @fictional-affairs
Page-break by @whimsicalrogers
If you can, please reblog these lists so they can reach more people on Tumblr. Likes are nice but Reblogs are golden.
I love you 3000 💜 Missy
First Snowfall - (Steve x Reader) - @saiyanprincessswanie
Personalized Heater - (Bucky x Reader) - @/saiyanprincessswanie
The contract (13) - (Steve x Reader) - @holylulusworld
Toast under the New Year's fireworks - (Brock x Reader) - @nekoannie-chan
Mission - (Steve x Reader x Brock) - @nekoannie-chan
In your arms - (Steve x Reader) - @/nekoannie-chan
Memories and Wrong Dates - (Nick x Reader) - @castielscaplan
Home is Your Arms - (Bob x Reader) - @castielscaplan
Tremble - (Bucky x Reader) - @navybrat817
Sigh - (Bucky x Reader) - @navybrat817
The Alpha - (Mr Freezy x Reader) - @stargazingfangirl18
Fan - (Curtis x Reader) - @callalillywrites
Icing, cupcakes, and confusion - (Bucky x Reader) - @tuiccim
Loss - (Ari x Reader) - @stargazingfangirl18
Praise the Road Conditions - (Lee x Reader) - @societyfolklore
Easy Ride - (Lee x Reader) - @societyfolklore
A Responsible Guy - (Bucky x Reader) - @navybrat817
Make It or Break It - (Bucky x Reader) - @/navybrat817
Favorite Christmas Present - (Bucky x Reader) - @sergeantbarnessdoll
Ficmas 2025 - Day 21 - (Bucky x Reader) - @daydreamgoddess14
Second Chances Part 3 - (Steve x Reader) - @our-marvel-universe
Morning Misunderstanding - (Thor x Reader) - @/societyfolklore
Never Just Gold - (Lance T x Reader) - @/castielscaplan
Ficmas 2025 - Day 23 - (Bucky x Reader) - @daydreamgoddess14
January 1: Ransom Drysdale - @darkficsyouneveraskedfor
Stolen Moments - (Bucky x Reader) - @/navybrat817
Daylight Proof - (Bucky x Reader) - @ramp-it-up
Ficmas 2025 - Day 25 - (Steve x Reader) - @daydreamgoddess14
Then Stay - (Andy x Reader) - @late-to-the-party-81
Broken Heart - (Steve x Reader, Andy x Reader) - @navybrat817
Soulmates - (Steve x Reader) - @targaryenvampireslayer
Don't Fight This Feeling - (Bucky x Reader) - @writing-for-marvel
Sweet Thing - (Lee x Reader) - @buckybarnesfic
The Date - (Lee x Reader) - @buckybarnesfic
Shut you up - (Ransom x Reader) - @tarithenurse
Cursing - (Bucky x Reader) - @mrs-elsie-barnes
Roomies - (Colin x Reader) - @thezombieprostitute
Countdown to Me - (Chris B x Reader) - @/castielscaplan
Pancakes and curses - (Curtis x Reader) - @buck-star
Knight in shining armour (or not so) - (Bucky x Reader) - @/buck-star
Spoiler Alert - (Bucky x Reader) - @navybrat817
Worlds Collide - (Bucky x Reader) - @ramp-it-up
God, You Look So Good in the Morning - (Bucky x Reader) - @writing-for-marvel
Daylight - (Bucky x Reader) - @targaryenvampireslayer
The Perfect One - (Bucky x Reader) - @castielscaplan
Home Sweet Home - Chp 14 - (Brock/OFC) - @talia-rumlow
January 5: Bucky Barnes - @/darkficsyouneveraskedfor
January Jumble Scribbles - Day 4 - (Bucky x Reader) - @thenameswinter99
Pretty - (Lloyd x Reader) - @late-to-the-party-81
Curses - (Lee x Reader) - @buckybarnesfic
Engraved Upon My Heart - (Bucky x Reader) - @writing-for-marvel
That's it? - (Lloyd x Reader) - @tarithenurse
Confusing Lyrics - (Steve x Reader) - @thezombieprostitute
Laundromat Vs Bucky - (Bucky x Reader) - @mrs-elsie-barnes
Non-sins - (Ari x Reader) - @ice-vipers
Talia Rumlow (Brock Rumlow is my husband) @talia-rumlow - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
