You Want It Darker? (OC x Loki x Winter Soldier)

CHAPTER ONE

"Rise and shine, buttercup."

The throbbing headache and soreness are a constant dull ache to my body as I wake up for yet another dreading day. The harsh fluorescent lighting blinds my sleepy vision and I crawl deeper under the covers, not yet willing to face the world outside my blanket cocoon. An annoyed groan escapes my chest as I squeeze my eyes closed in a feeble attempt to ignore the brightness forcing me awake, desperate to fall back asleep to the safety of my dreams.

"Just five more minutes," I mumble in a barely audible voice.

A set of heavy footsteps close in on me, the impatient presence hardly possible to ignore. I already know what's going to happen, but that doesn't mean I have to agree with it. Frustrated, I roll over and clutch the thin sheets tighter over my head, sheltering me from the looming presence of the handler. But, not to my surprise, the protective layer is with a jolt ripped from my body, leaving me cold and exposed to damp freezing air. A pair of resentful eyes crawls over my bruised body.

"I was fucking using that," I grumble, my voice thick with sleep as I glare at the man disrupting my not so peaceful sleep. A proud smug smirk dances on Rumlows face, his expression a little too damn pleased with himself as he looms over my shivering body with the blanket firmly claspt in his hand.

"You're expected at the lab, asset ," he declares with a grin, fully aware my day was about to get much, much , worse. I swear he gets off on ruining my mornings. And to demonstrate the truth in this accusation, leaving no time for me to respond or react, Rumlow yanks my wrists towards him with a tight grip, and forcefully lurches me off the bed. With a surprisingly loud thud I feel my body hit the cold concrete floor.

A low pained grunt escapes my chest as I hug the floor. Flicking a few strands of the long white locks of hair out of my face, I glare up at the incarnated devil. "Good morning to you too, Rumlow," I say in a low voice, mustering a strained smile. "No breakfast in bed?"

That response didn't sit well with the dickhead and without a second thought, Rumlow lands a firm kick to my lower abdomen.

"Fuck," I manage to wheeze out whilst my body automatically contracts itself inwards. "I'll take that as a no." I wince as I attempt to shift, each movement igniting fresh pains from bruises and cuts on my skin.

"Get up. Zola's waiting for you," he states flatly and stares lazily at me. "Don't make him wait."

His face is so fucking punchable right now. But the truth of the matter is, anything I'd do to thim, I'll receive in ten folds back. And it's not even the pain that bothers me so much, more than it's the pure satisfaction they would get out of it. Their smug smiles, their beady eyes glued to any and every part of my body to their disposal.

I push my hands under my body, the rough calluses on my fingertips scraping against the damp stone and force myself up. Mornings are definitely the worst. It's that short moment I forget where I am, my muscles free to feel the tiredness and my senses dulled by the haze of sleep that is instantly flown out the window when I'm drawn back to reality. Like a slap in the face. But a hard slap. Every day. Right when you wake up.

The creaking sound of the polished steel door fills the damp room and I can feel Rumlows eyes settle on me as he pauses to leave. "Don't even think of pulling anything today, Brooks," he says with a deadly voice. "Don't give me an excuse to fuck up that pretty face of yours."

"Quit with the foreplay already," I roll my eyes dramatically at him. I try to prop my head on my hand but a sharp sting pulls at my stomach. Fucking bruised rib if I guessed right, just when the other just healed. Annoying.