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capkinkmod ([personal profile] capkinkmod) wrote in [community profile] capkink2014-02-11 08:29 pm

Prompt Post 1

Remember to title your comments, use appropriate warnings (or "choose not to warn"), and be civil. Embeds are not allowed.

At least one of the characters in your prompt must have been in Captain America: The First Avenger or Captain America: The Winter Soldier.

As of May 3, 2014, the spoiler policy is no longer in effect.

Update, April 22, 2014:
For fills, please use the following format:
Fill: Title
Including the pairing, warnings/CNTW, and any other information after the fill and title in the subject line or in the first line of the comment.

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steve/bucky - implied non-con, protective!bucky

(Anonymous) 2014-05-03 04:55 am (UTC)(link)
This is a pretty specific want, but I need it like whoa.

Winter Soldier overhears someone boasting about what they'll do to Cap if they get the chance, or maybe Rumlow exaggerates about a conquest that never happened, or something along those lines. Even if it's after the first memory wipe, maybe it triggers a memory and he just beats the shit out of them without really knowing why he's so angry at what he's hearing.

twinkats: (Default)

Re: steve/bucky - implied non-con, protective!bucky

[personal profile] twinkats 2014-05-08 02:51 pm (UTC)(link)
I should stop perusing un-accpeted prompts. Like wow. (ye shall have it once I'm done with schoolwork so like...a week?)

Re: steve/bucky - implied non-con, protective!bucky

(Anonymous) 2014-05-08 09:24 pm (UTC)(link)
I would wait forever for this, bro.
melfice: (pic#223367)

Broad, Is This Sea 1/1 (gen, protective!Bucky)

[personal profile] melfice 2014-05-19 05:58 pm (UTC)(link)
(Warnings for sexual assault. Sorry if this isn't what you wanted, OP - hopefully someone else fills this better!)

Broad, Is This Sea

For all you don't know – for all there are irrelevant gaps in your memory that you glaze over like scaling limitless glass windows – there is a lot you do know. You retain information with designed efficiency, and you categorize and organize data in your mind on automatic, and there are things that you know. The sound of a hidden holster moving against someone's thigh, the last ticking second left to bide with a grenade in hand, the level of pressure to compensate for in your ears at third thousand feet – you know these things compartmentally, efficiently.

There is respect, and there is jealousy, and then there is the way Brock Rumlow watches you while a man in a white coat sodders your arm shut. Rumlow is careless in many ways – not just in his failure to secure the target at SHIELD when given ample opportunity – and for all he imagines himself to be impenetrable, to be deceptively brilliant, he has no self control. Even if the emotions he carries in the set of his shoulders didn't give him away, it would be obvious by the lines at his eyes – by the way he can't keep the pride out of his face, out of the curve of his mouth – and it makes him vulnerable. Rumlow thinks highly of himself. He looks at Pierce with admiration, and he looks at Sitwell with his lip curling in disgust, and he looks at you with his mouth set in a hard line and the muscles in his bicep tense.

He doesn't watch the sparks at your arm, and he doesn't look you in the eye, and there is a solidity to his stance that says he thinks he can take you. He is heavier, and taller,, and he watches them strap leather at your chest, and he watches them strap knives at your thighs, and he thinks – he thinks, cock-sure, 'I can take you.' There is time between when you arrive in the vault, when they do repairs on your arm and check your cognitive functions and filter information along screens in your peripheral pertaining to your mission – and he stays for all of it. There is always new fodder in Kevlar, with semi-automatics and too-sure grins, waiting when you come out of cryo, but they never last. Rumlow is new, but also not; he was there when you last woke from cryo, and he was there when you met at the rendezvous after Fury, and he is there now.

They tell you Sitwell is a liability, that you'll find the targets when you find him, and Rumlow watches you through the debriefing with careful detachment; you know he's on your strike team without being told. When you leave the room, he follows. There are others with him, but you hear the weight of his steps, the fabric of his clothes shifting; you're aware of everyone, but you keep mental track on him in particular because he is anxious, because there is nervous anger twitching at his trigger finger, and he thinks he can take you. He thinks he is invincible.

He doesn't confront you in the hallway, or on the highway, and that's his first mistake.

When he loses the targets, when they fall through his fingers moments after they've been placed there, he can't control the anger that thrums through him like a drum. He breaks the nose of one of his own men, hands shaking with white hot rage, and it doesn't help. He stalks into the room behind Pierce, holding himself so tense he looks poised to snap, and he stares at you like it's your fault; he stares at you like he wants to take you apart, piece by piece, and he stares at you like he thinks he can.

You are compromised. There are images in your head you can't justify, can't place, and there are things you don't know – but there are things you do know and right now you know more than you should. You've never failed a mission, and you've never missed a target, and you've never had one look at you like the way Captain Rogers did in that moment. You've never tasted the bitter warmth of memory from someone else's eyes, but now that you have it feels like decay on your tongue. They won't tell you who he is – and it's irrelevant, it's a piece of information you need to purge to make room for the mission they tell you is larger than all of you. You are compromised and they take him from you in jagged pieces, as best they can with the technology they have, but it's not a perfect science. There are thousands of splinters of him that would take a hundred lifetimes to comb over and they don't have the time and you don't even know they're there. You open your eyes and you remember how long you've been out of cryo, and you remember you have two targets, and you remember-

It takes time to come out from a memory wipe. They check your vitals and they check your cognitive functions and they watch your breathing even out. You see kaleidoscopic fractals of white in your vision from the overhead lights, and you hear voices distant as though underwater, and you sit in that chair with the mouthguard in your right hand and your left digging holes into the seat. There is movement around you that you have been trained to ignore in this moment, that you've been trained to allow to slowly come back into focus, and it's been a long time since you've killed anyone near you after this – but it's been a long time since anyone got this close.

There is a large hand at your throat, thumb digging into your trachea, and a voice in your ear saying words you aren't yet lucid enough to understand. There is a strong hand curling around the sweat-soaked skin of your right bicep, pulling you bodily from the chair in a way they've been training themselves not to do – not when they know what you're capable of, not when they know that, in this moment, you are vulnerable and, therefore, unpredictable. You think in sparse thoughts, lucidity still flickering in and out in a haze, but there are things you know. You know the sound of metal shifting means the man is armed, and you know the feeling of Kevlar sliding against your skin, and you may not understand what he's saying but you know the sound of his voice.

He pulls you to your feet. There are sounds around you – distant, in nearby rooms – of people, moving and speaking in low tones. You're alone in the room and you can't see the expression in his eyes that you know is there, that you knows is smug and proud and careless. He thinks he can take you and, as long as he does not impede the mission, Pierce wants him alive.

The hand on your throat moves to tighten in your hair, fingers hard at your scalp, and he is a firm pressure along your back. His hips press into you, like he's forgotten the words of warning you know they've all been given – like he's forgotten 'don't approach him from behind' and 'don't touch him – don't touch him – don't touch him.' He thinks he knows the disorientation you experience after they're done combing through your mind – he thinks he knows a lot about you, from what he's read and what he's seen. He thinks you don't remember the way he looks at you, the way he sizes you up like a challenge. You're a tool, an asset, a weapon, and he thinks you're an empty husk without thought or reasoning. He doesn't know there's something familiar ticking in the back of your head, something you can't forget even if you don't realize you know it, and that's his mistake.

You hear the sound of his tongue against his lips, of the smugness in his voice. His mouth is wet against the shell of your ear when he says, “I wonder if you look as good on your knees as Captain Rogers does.”

Your elbow into his solar plexus is almost involuntary. He lets go of your hair on instinct and you wind your arm around his, use the leverage of his hip against yours, and you throw him over your shoulder and onto the concrete between one breath and the next. He doesn't move in time to avoid the heel of your boot digging into his throat, treads leaving an imprint on the skin there, and he's winded – eyes unfocused – and you're not even fully functional. There's the sound of movement in the rooms nearby, and the sound of armed soldiers rushing back into the room, and you could crush his windpipe before they even get their guns into the air. They won't shoot you; you're more valuable than he is.

Pierce wants him alive, but you can't remember why. You can't remember a lot of things.

“Hit a nerve?” he chokes out, still smug, still challenging you even while he's fighting to breath around the pressure at his throat. He still looks at you like he thinks he can take you apart piece by piece.

You remove your foot and step back. There are guns trained on you, but you could kill four of the six men before they're brave enough to shoot you. Later they'll do another stability test and you'll lie and say you felt threatened – that he didn't follow protocol and you dealt with a threat as needed – and they'll commend your incredible reflexes and praise your precision while disoriented.

Brock Rumlow does not make you feel threatened. You don't feel anything – not fear, not pain, not regret.

It's a lie. You're so angry your fingers are creaking in protest with how hard they've curled into a fist at your thigh, but you don't recognize the feel of it in your blood. You don't know why his words incite you.

There's a lot you don't know.

Re: Broad, Is This Sea 1/1 (gen, protective!Bucky)

(Anonymous) 2014-05-19 08:31 pm (UTC)(link)
Op here. THIS WAS PERFECT. Thank youuuuuuu!!!
melfice: (Default)

Re: Broad, Is This Sea 1/1 (gen, protective!Bucky)

[personal profile] melfice 2014-05-21 11:31 pm (UTC)(link)
I'm glad you liked it :)

Re: Broad, Is This Sea 1/1 (gen, protective!Bucky)

(Anonymous) 2014-05-20 01:35 am (UTC)(link)
Hello, this passerby anon just wants to say: you blew my mind. That was beautiful.
melfice: (Default)

Re: Broad, Is This Sea 1/1 (gen, protective!Bucky)

[personal profile] melfice 2014-05-21 11:32 pm (UTC)(link)
Thank you, nonny!

Re: Broad, Is This Sea 1/1 (gen, protective!Bucky)

(Anonymous) 2014-05-20 06:15 am (UTC)(link)
holy shit i love this
melfice: (Default)

Re: Broad, Is This Sea 1/1 (gen, protective!Bucky)

[personal profile] melfice 2014-05-21 11:32 pm (UTC)(link)
thank you :3

Re: Broad, Is This Sea 1/1 (gen, protective!Bucky)

(Anonymous) 2014-05-20 06:51 am (UTC)(link)
that was perfection.
melfice: (Default)

Re: Broad, Is This Sea 1/1 (gen, protective!Bucky)

[personal profile] melfice 2014-05-21 11:32 pm (UTC)(link)
thank you!
dariaw: (Default)

Re: Broad, Is This Sea 1/1 (gen, protective!Bucky)

[personal profile] dariaw 2014-05-21 07:51 am (UTC)(link)
This is wonderful!!
melfice: (Default)

Re: Broad, Is This Sea 1/1 (gen, protective!Bucky)

[personal profile] melfice 2014-05-21 11:32 pm (UTC)(link)
Thank you! :)

Re: Broad, Is This Sea 1/1 (gen, protective!Bucky)

(Anonymous) 2014-07-15 05:29 pm (UTC)(link)