tense agony

gushing gold postscript

takes place after flood your veins with gushing gold. not-explicit. contain your shock.

“Ow, motherfucker,” you curse through grit teeth as you hunch forward with your hands tightly fisted in the quilt of the bed. The breath you blow out is slow and tense, a soft agony to release from the vise in your chest.

Jake lets out a quiet, upset noise, freezing where he sits behind you. The hem of your shirt is in his hands, held fast, away from your back as he slowly helps you dress. “D’you want to take this back off?”

“No,” you manage, shutting your eyes and letting out another clenched breath. “I can’t just go shirtless for the rest of my damn life.”

“More’s the pity,” Jake mutters.

Keep reading

Queens and Pawns: Part 1

A/N: This is is my new multi fic. I don’t really know what to say about this one, other than its a soulmate AU where the name of your soulmate is on your arm, so this will be a relatively short A/n. I hope you enjoy!

@pleasecallmecaptain


Pissed didn’t even begin to describe how you felt, sitting there, Rumlow staring back at you. “Problem, Angel?” He mocked, using the code name they’d given you when you’d first woke up.

Your programming kicked in and your expression went blank as you responded, hollow. “No, sir.” He gave a nod and left without another word, leaving you alone in the apartments bedroom once again.

Even with all the people you’d been told to kill, you believed Rumlow had to be worse than any of them. Your hand absently rubbed the long scar on your arm where he’d literally carved your soulmate’s name out of your body.     

You never did get a chance to see who it was. The day it appeared, you didn’t notice it until Brock did in training, and by that time, you were held down on the training matts as he cut it out.

You held on to the one letter you did see though. “B”. That was it.

For a while, Brock had led you to believe it was him. Until you were no longer useful to his purpose. Only then did he tell you he’d lied. And now, he was telling you they’d be taking you out of the field, that there wasn’t room for you and the Winter Soldier.

You’d heard of the guy, everyone had. But they never gave you the opportunity to meet one another. Maybe they were afraid it would end as a blood bath. They might be right.

“Angel. We’re moving.” A HYDRA guard barked as he swung open the bedroom door. You stood stiffly, falling in step between two of them, heart hammering as they led you to the armored truck.

This wasn’t going to be pretty. There was no way you could survive going back underground, or worse, Cryo. They’d let you out for too long.

You tried to calm your emotions as the truck sloped down, not wanting to give them any more power over you than they already did. Instead, you thought about your replacement. Anger filled you.

What was so special about the guy, anyway? You’d been completing missions for the past 6 months. Why give them to him all of a sudden? Didn’t they think you could handle it?

The truck rolled to a stop and you readied yourself as the doors opened. Brock stood waiting and stripped you of all your weapons, letting his hands linger longer than they should have just to watch anger simmer in your eyes before shoving you roughly ahead of him. “Walk.”

You bit your tongue to stop a reply and did as you were told, knowing you were going straight to your cell. As you walked, a scream tore through the building. You stopped and listened intently, your curiosity piqued.

The scream was one of pain, not terror and you tilted your head slightly as a guard behind you shifted uncomfortably. “What’s that?” he asked Brock, who scoffed. “Easy, newbie. It’s the Winter Soldier. Get used to it. He does that a lot.”

The famous Winter Soldier, huh? So they’d be keeping him in the same facility as you. You watched Brock out of the corner of your eye, a horrible decision already confirmed in your brain.

You spun to the left, elbowing him in the nose and kicking the nearest guard in the stomach before taking off running. Brock shouted behind you, his voice muffled. Another scream echoed off the concrete and you followed it, skidding on the slick floor.

You rounded a corner and two armed men immediately aimed their guns at you. But you paid them no attention, fascinated by the sight behind them.

Pierce stood in front of a (very shirtless) man, plugged into what you referred to as The Machine, his dark hair slicked back and his skin glistening with sweat. He shifted and as his left arm came into view, you suddenly were sure it was him.

The Winter Soldier.

Your replacement.

Looking at him, his eyes squeezed shut and his muscles tense with agony, you didn’t feel hatred. You felt…nervous. Seeing him in pain made you want to help him.

Brock’s fingers tangled in your hair and ripped your head backwards, earning him a shriek of pain as it slipped from your lips. On the edge of your vision, you saw the Winter Soldier attempt to sit up, but was stopped by the restraints on his arms. The two of you only managed to make eye contact for a second before Pierce stepped between you, watching your struggle with Brock.

In that second, something inside of you changed.

Brock forced you to your knees with a jerk of his hand and you were forced to focus on him. Pierce exited the room and came into view, clicking his tongue as he approached. You shook slightly. Pierce could do so much worse than Brock.

“Having issues, Agent Rumlow?” he questioned and Brock’s hand released your hair for a grip on your windpipe. “Nothing i can’t handle, sir.” he growled, squeezing as a choking sound escaped you. Pierce’s expression hardened. “Agent. Release her, I’ve told you, we’re using a different approach with her. She’s no use to us dead.” Brock hesitated, but threw you forward slightly as you coughed, spit splattering the ground at Pierce’s feet as he kneeled in front of you.

“Now, Angel, why’d you come all the way over here? Eager to have your memories wiped again?” he asked with a deadly calm, tucking a stray strand of your hair behind your ear.

You frantically shook your head, flinching when his hand brushed your cheek. “I just wanted to see what he looked like.” you whispered, tears springing to your eyes at the thought of his threat being carried out.

Pierce’s eyes shot up to meet Brock’s and he chuckled. “Hear that, Brock? She wanted to see him.” Brock shifted behind you. “Sir?” he asked, but Pierce stood. “Agent, we’ll discuss this later. Make sure she’s in one piece for tomorrow. I have plans for her.”

Brock roughly yanked you to your feet and began dragging you backwards as Pierce returned to the Winter Soldier. You twisted around to watch as the Winter Soldier lifted his head to speak to him, eye glued to your face.

You managed to read his lips with little difficulty. “Who’s the girl?” Pierce turned around to look at you and chuckled. “You’ll find out soon enough, Soldier, don’t you worry.” Before you could see anymore of their conversation, Brock had pulled you around a corner and out of their sight.

As soon as you reached your cell, he posted two men outside and roughly threw you forward. You were off balance and as a result, your palms skidded on the concrete floor as you hissed in pain. Instinctively, you whipped around to face your attacker and immediately got a foot to the chest.

You gasped as you were knocked sideways and clutched your chest, desperately trying to consume enough air to breath before the next blow came. You twsted to look at Brock as he peeled off his jacket and tossed it on th mattress against a far wall.

“You fucked up today, Angel. Apparently they were too soft with you on the surface. Well, let me remind you what happens when you disobey me.” He allowed you to scramble to your feet before his fist buried itself in your stomach and you flew back into the wall, involuntary tears pooling in your eyes as previous experiences flooded back.

He advanced and you threw up your hands to protect your face. A big mistake. His fingers wrapped around your throat and his nails dug into your skin as he hoisted you off the floor, your toes barely scrapig the floor with every kick.

“What, Angel? Did you think you were in control? Think you had rights?” he sneered as you clawed at his arm, angry red lines showing on his skin. He pulled you off the wall and turned, shoving you to the floor. The back of your skull brutally slammed against the floor and black crawled into the edge of your vision as you fought to stay conscious.

Brock’s weight settled on you as he straddled you, drawing his knife. He gripped your face with one hand and traced your bottom lip with the flat side of the blade. “What do you think? Have we been reminded?” he questioned almost gently. You frantically nodded but he gave a sad shake of his head. “Yknow, you said that last time, Angel. I have to make sure this time, you made me look bad today.” he murmured, feigning remorse as he whispered in your ear, his hot breath sending your skin crawling.

You attempted to struggle, and he sat up, holding your head tightly in place. He pressed down and  the blade sank through your lip. “Ask me to stop,” he whispered, slowly dragging the knife downwards. “Beg me, and maybe i’ll stop.”

Your hands fisted at your sides. You wanted to scream, wanted to cry. You wanted to claw his eyes out with your nails. But you were afraid to move and push the blade deeper.But you couldnt ignore an order. “Please,” you croaked. He smiled. “Good girl. But i’m not going to.”  

So he dragged the blade lower, cutting the skin below your lip as well. You held your breath and closed your eyes, tears squeezing out. His grip tightened painfully on your face. “Eyes open, soldier.” he ordered. You did as you were told and he finally pulled the blade out of your skin.

He replaced his knife back in its home and stepped off you, retrieving his jacket and leaving without a word. You laid there for a moment before forcing your shaking hand to touch your mouth. It stung and you pulled away, your own blood glistening on your fingertips. You could feel the shape of it, starting in the center of your inner lip and continuing over the curve, ending halfway to your chin.

A sob leaked from your throat as you rose to your feet. Tears flowed and mixed with the blood, thinning it and dripping down your throat. You weren’t worried about the wound, he wasn’t trying to kill you.

You were pissed about the scar. You’d heal, but there would be a lasting mark. It wasn’t like they hadn’t scarred you before, but never on the face, and never… never deliberately. The bastard had carved his mark into you, a permanent reminder that you didn’t belong to yourself. And it would be there any time you looked at yourself.

You laid on the mattress and curled up, facing the wall as the cloth below you steadily turned a light pink. You closed your eyes after fighting sleep for a few seconds. There was no reason to struggle. No reason to fight anymore. You were broken. And there was nothing to bring you back. Right?

Originally posted by amjeth