#Steve Rogers x reader dark au | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lokiswifeduh · 7 months ago

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Don't leave me

Pairings- Mob!Bucky x Fem!Reader

Summary- The aftermath of the shootout was here. And Bucky has to come to terms with the results of the life he introduced you to, and what revenge he would ensue.

notes- this is a part two to Doll, please. I hope you guys enjoy the ending!! Please let me know your thoughts!! Thank you for reading loves!!

Warnings- angst, talk of guns, drugs, kidnapping, abuse, torture. major gore. sad Bucky, hurt reader, hurt/comfort, gunshot wounds, medical talk, revenge.

WC- 3k

catch up here (part one)

masterlist

"Doll, please."

I saw her look up at me with those doe eyes. Those big beautiful eyes painfully gazing into mine. I wanted to touch her. I wanted to turn her away from the bullets that were sure to fly our way, but I couldn't move my hands. In this moment I couldn't protect her.

I felt the sob rip from her throat. There were only ten seconds left.

"I vowed to stand by your side, Buck." She looked back to the ten guns pointed in mine and her direction. I could see a stray tear slip down her cheek as her hands shook, her nails digging into her palm as she tried her hardest to release my wrists from the painful wire digging into them.

Suddenly she dropped the knife, jumping into my lap. Her hands wrapped around my neck as her legs surrounded the back of the chair, encasing my upper body. "NO! Doll, please!!" I felt her hit the knife in my thigh with hers, but I ignored the pain focusing on what in the world she thought she was doing.

The men cocked their guns. But in that moment all I could think about was how to get her off of me. I needed her to run, to fight back to do something. Not to protect my body with hers. I couldn't let her.

"Doll!! Stop!! Get up!!" But my protests fell on deaf ears as she tucked my head into her chest, wrapping her arms tighter around my neck, not letting me move a muscle below her. She shook her head, my tears soaking her shirt, mixing with mine and her blood. "I won't let you die." She attempted to shout but at that moment her voice was the quietest I'd ever heard it.

I tried to whisper back when suddenly shots rang out through the warehouse. My head popped up, prepared to die with the love of my life. I wouldn't let her do it herself. I would not live without her. Not if I had a choice.

But in that split second, I realized the first bullets that went flying weren't from Rumlow's men, it was from Steve, Sam, and my men, shooting at the ones who threatened us.

"Doll, we're gonna be oka-" But my words were cut short as two bullets flew into her. She screamed. Her vocal cords grinding together in the most painful way I'd ever heard. I felt my heart rip in two as her body shook against mine, arching her back as if that would stop the pain.

But she kept her head down, arms shaking yet still holding onto me. I would have cut my hands off if I had the strength to rip through the restraints. A sob tore from my throat, "Don't do this to me."

She finally lifted her head, my beautiful wife looking at me with such care and tenderness. As if she hadn't just been shot twice, and wasn't using all of her strength to hold onto me for dear life.

A small drop of blood trickled down the side of her mouth as her teeth were painted red. "I love you, James Barnes." She cupped my face in her hands, tucking me back into her chest as her grip seemed to loosen, "Till forever and always."

The words we both said to each other on our wedding day. "Doll, please." Her hold on me finally failed as she fell, but thankfully into the arms of Steve, before her head would've slammed into the concrete.

My second in command looked at both of us. Tortured and bloody. I held in my tears as I looked at Sam, leading a pair of medics through the door.

"Rumlow will pay." The wire from my wrists was snapped in half thanks to Peter, a new, very terrified recruit. I shot down immediately onto my knees, holding her head in my hands as the paramedics loaded my wife onto the stretcher. "Don't leave me."

I made eye contact with Steve, "I will have him and that traitor's head."

_________________

You lay in the hospital bed, your whole body practically wrapped in soft white bandages.

You could feel the pressure of something on your thigh as you tried to open your eyes. It wasn't working. Why couldn't you just open them?!

Try something else, you thought.

You moved your hands, the feeling of someone else's palm in yours made your heart start to race. You could remember little parts over the last three days.

Bucky was kidnapped.

Steve was put in charge.

You were kidnapped.

Natasha was working with Rumlow.

The torture.

The pain.

Your husband's face as you used yourself as a human shield.

Being shot.

Suddenly you heard screaming and saw bright lights. A heart monitor was beeping louder and faster at each passing second.

Realizing the screaming was in fact your own, you started to breathe harder. You finally could open your eyes!

Your surroundings were blurry at first. There was a familiar figure in front of you. Sounds were muffled but began to come back into focus.

"Doll?! Sweetheart, you're okay."

You shook your head, looking around in panic before realizing you were in fact back at home, in your bed. Bucky beside you. Your husband, holding your face in his hands.

"B-Bucky?" Your voice was raspy and your throat felt like sandpaper, rubbing together from underuse.

Involuntarily you started to cough, holding a hand up to your throat which only caused more pain in your back to bloom. "Ah," You groaned, swallowing before resting your head back on the pillow.

You felt Bucky's hands leave your body, but only for a second as he held a straw to your lips. "It's just water doll. I need you to drink this for me." You nodded, feeling a pounding in your head as you sucked down the refreshing liquid. The coolness soothing your throat like rain in the desert.

"Good girl." Bucky gave you a soft smile, taking the straw away from your mouth as you finished the water.

Closing your eyes for a moment, you regained your vision, looking around.

Monitors, medical equipment, and an abundance of flowers and cards filled your and Bucky's bedroom. Light shone through the window as you squinted, shooting over to look at Bucky who just gazed down at you worryingly.

You looked him over, seeing the cuts and bruises that adorned his face. His lip was split in multiple places. His thigh was wrapped in gauze and his wrists were bandaged. Looking down, so were yours. Actually, it seemed your entire body was.

"Are yo-," You swallowed, "Are you okay?"

Bucky took a moment before letting out a laugh. "You're asking me if I'm okay, doll?" You nodded, confused.

"Sweetheart you're the one who's been unconscious for three weeks and has two bullet wounds."

You twisted your hips a little, feeling the agonizing, shooting pain of the very real bullet wounds. Groaning, you whispered, "So that definitely happened, good to know."

Bucky ran his hand down the side of your face, sitting in the chair that was placed beside your shared bed. "I'm the one who's supposed to protect you, doll." You gulped, "I- I couldn't let you die, James."

Bucky closed his eyes, laying his head down on your thigh as he gripped your hand in his. "I would've rather die than see you in this state, sweetheart."

You lifted your other hand, running it through his untamed hair. "Don't say that, Buck." But his head lifted, making you notice his bloodshot eyes and the way tears streamed down his face in harsh lines. "I won't live without you, doll." He shook his head, a tear dripping onto the hospital blanket "I would rather die a thousand times over and over in the same painful way than see you in such agony, my love."

You held back tears, closing your eyes as you tried to steady your breath. "I couldn't- no. I wouldn't let you die like that, Buck." You looked at him once again, "Not at the hands of Rumlow. Not because of me." "This wasn't because of you, doll-" "But it was!" You shouted, making you cough slightly, not used to using your voice for this long yet. "Rumlow took you because he wanted to hurt us- because he wanted me." You cupped Bucky's jaw in your hand, "Because I chose you." Bucky gulped, "I've never been so scared." You softly laughed, thinking of all the shootouts, drug deals, and interrogations Bucky went through on a day-to-day basis.

But he shook his head, hearing your chuckle. "Seeing him hurt you and torture you the way he did." Bucky's eyes went dark, "I've never wanted to hurt someone so bad just to ensure you made it out of there safely." You tried to speak up but Bucky kept going. "And look at you now. You're laying here, with two gunshot wounds, fingernails ripped apart, and a busted-up face."

Tilting your head, you looked at the mirror that stood in front of your and Bucky's bed; genuinely taking in your appearance. You in fact did have a busted-in face. Your lip was split. Your eyebrow was stitched as well as your nose. You had bruises covering every inch of your skin and your hair was in the worst shape you had ever seen.

Gulping, you looked away from the mirror, making Bucky take your chin in his hands, guiding you to look him in the eyes. "But you're still the prettiest doll I've ever seen." He moved, bringing his lips to yours in a soft yet long-awaited kiss. "My best girl."

It hurt to smile but you did, bringing your hand to his face, gently rubbing over the matching bruises that mirrored yours. "I love you, James."

"I love you, doll."

________________________

The next few days were agonizing.

You could finally stand up on the third day. But not without terrible pain shooting in every nerve ending of your body.

Bucky helped you with everything. From showering to cleaning your wounds. He was quite the nurse when it came to you.

But unfortunately about a week after you woke up, the violence hadn't ended. There were still some loose ends to tie up.

Slowly walking down the stairs and into one of the main rooms, everyone's attention went to your hobbling frame. "Doll?" Bucky sped over, Steve immediately pulling up a chair so you could take a seat.

As you sat down you noticed a large bruise on Steve's jaw. You knew Bucky would eventually be mad at him for not properly making sure you stayed out of the mess and violence of it all. But you were hoping it would've been a stern lecture, not a punch.

"What are you doing out of bed?" Bucky whispered. The room stayed completely silent as Steve, Sam, and the rest of Bucky's men kept their backs turned, giving you two some privacy.

"I know you're planning to retaliate against, Rumlow."

Bucky nodded, taking your face in his hands as you fidgeted with the string of your sweatpants. Well, Bucky's sweatpants.

"I don't want you involved again, doll." He glanced back at Steve for a moment, "Not after what happened."

You shook your head, "I need him to pay for this, Buck." Your body shook with anger, "I want his fucking blood." Bucky was slightly startled, never seeing this much hatred in your eyes. You were always his sweet wife. You made the men cookies, and you organized charity events for the homeless shelter down the street.

Sure, you knew how to use a gun and fight if you had to. But seeing this much agonizing resentment on your face, scared him. But he knew you wouldn't let it go. He sure as hell wasn't.

So he let you know the plan, and what was going down.

______________

"Steve? We good?" Bucky touched the earpiece, hearing an affirmative. The mob had infiltrated Rumlow's mansion only one week later, killing every single man who stood in their way. Shoot on site. Was your husband's order as you and he waited to enter the mansion, making sure only Rumlow and Natasha were left.

Two of Bucky's men opened the doors to the mansion. The sight of the place made you cringe slightly. Soldiers were dead on the ground everywhere. Blood painted the floors and staircases like a stain.

"Top floor, back left bedroom."

You heard Steve's voice echo through the earpiece as you and Bucky made your way up.

His hand never left the small of your back, making sure you were covered at all angles with men following behind and in front of you, rifles pinned for every aspect of an attack.

"You alright, doll?" Bucky whispered, his hand on the door that would lead you to Rumlow. You nodded, ignoring the dull pain in your back. "I need this to be over with." Your husband kissed the crown of your head, nodding to his men as they busted down the door, guns held high.

But the sight in front of you made you smile.

Rumlow was beaten down, cowering in the corner of the room as Natasha stood in the corner, you could see the fear in her eyes. The same fear she caused you as she ripped your fingernails to pieces.

"Brock Rumlow," Bucky spoke in a deep voice, pulling on a pair of black gloves, before handing you a matching pair.

You slipped them on, hand placed on the knife that was strapped onto your thigh, just above the black jeans you had on.

Steve and Sam patted Bucky on the back, looking toward you with respect. "Have fun, you two." The blonde spoke, before exiting and closing the doors behind them.

"P-please, Barnes." Rumlow pleaded, "Have mercy."

Bucky was about to laugh before Natasha beat him to it. "Oh, please. You two really think he was the mastermind behind all this?" You looked over at the redhead in the corner, your former friend.

"If he's not, does that mean you are?" Your voice carried through the room, a newfound confidence making you raise your head high.

Natasha grinned, "And here I thought you never would've survived." You tilted your head, "Two bullet shots and I'm walking four weeks later." You pulled the gun from your other holster, "I can't say the same for you after this." You pointed it right at her forehead.

"Come here," Bucky moved forward, knowing you had Natasha pinned with the intent to shoot; dragging Rumlow up as two of his men held him on his knees.

"Nat, please. Do something." Rumlow begged, making you let out a laugh under your breath. "Do you think she's really in the position to?" You saw her move forward slightly, making you cock your gun, "One more step and I blow your fucking brains all over these white sheets."

Bucky grinned, loving this color on you.

"You really thought you could take my girl from me?" Your husband kneels in front of Brock, pulling out a knife from his belt. "What did you call her after breaking her nose? Oh, that's right, a 'lovely specimen."

Bucky's smirk dropped, nodding at the two men holding Brock down as they forced his mouth open. Brock shouted and yelled as Bucky gripped the end of his tongue, pulling it from his mouth and slicing it clean off from the base with his knife.

Brock wailed and cried as another soldier brought over a jar filled with a yellow liquid, opening the top so Bucky could drop the tongue in. He closed the lid, holding it up high as he watched Brock's mouth fill with blood. "What a lovely specimen."

"You two are fucking sick." Natasha, sneered, making you grip the knife from your own holster, throwing it and landing it right in her hand that was held in the air. She screamed, falling to the ground and back up until her back hit the wall.

You kneeled down, gun still pointed in her face, "Talk again and next time your tongue will join his in the jar." Your former friend gulped, nodding as you smirked.

Bucky gripped the front of Brock's shirt, making his back touch Bucky's chest as he held a knife to his throat. "Anything you wanna say before I kill you in front of your girlfriend, Rumlow?"

You laughed, slightly, making Bucky huff in humor. "Oh, that's right. You can't" He whispered the last part before slicing a clean and deep cut across his neck, blood pouring out as he collapsed to the ground, whimpering and sputtering in pain as he bled out, his eyes on you in fear as he eventually stopped moving.

Natasha looked back at you, still clutching her bleeding hand into her chest. You kneeled down, "Why, Natasha?" She shook with terror, hardly being able to force the words out. "Why did he have to pick you?!"

Your brows furrowed in confusion, "What?" Natasha scoffed, looking over at your husband, then back to you.

"Before you came along I thought he could love me. But then you showed up, taking all Bucky's attention. I never stood a fucking chance." You laughed, sighing before standing and walking over to Bucky, placing a hand on the back of his head before smashing your lips against his in a heated kiss. He groaned, biting your lip and making you moan into his mouth.

You chuckled, still holding the back of his head in your hand. You lifted your arm, perfect aim.

"No, Natasha. You never stood a fucking chance." One, two, then three shots rang out through the room as you planted two bullets in Natasha's head, and one in the chest.

Dropping the gun, you saw her body slump to the ground. Dead.

Bucky turned you away from the scene, bringing your face into his hands as both of you had unshed tears in your eyes. "It's over, doll."

You nodded, holding onto his hands as they held your face. "Can we go home, Buck?" He nodded, bringing your face into his chest as he walked you back through the house and into the car. "We're going home, doll. I'm never leaving you."

End

__________________

part one (read first)

masterlist

Taglist:

@yeahyeahyeah23-blog @rinniereads123 @shortnloud @julvrs @unaxv @sapphirebarnes

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sarahowritesostucky · 8 months ago

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Happy Little Family

📖"Taking Back What's His"

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 6170

Tags: dark!Bucky, mafia/mob au, dubcon/noncon, a/b/o, threats and coercion, rape, forced pregnancy, forced domestic "bliss", yandere, kid fic

Summary: You thought you'd left behind the man who turned out to be more dangerous than you'd ever imagined. But one day he walks back into your life and reminds you that, come hell or high water, you're all going to be one happy. little. family.

This chapter: You try one last, desperate ploy to escape, but it doesn't exactly work out. And James hasn't come alone. The next time you wake up, you're a long way from home.

Nickname Dictionary: vorishka = "little thief" mamochka = "mommy/little mother" kotenok= "kitty/kitten" omegya = (made up) Russian spelling of omega omegechka = (made up) "little omega" krasotka = "Pretty(n.)/pretty one" pchelka = "little bee"

2. Taking Back What's His

(Wait! I haven't read part 1 yet!)

He says something to you, after. Words that might as well be in his native Russian, for how well you take them in. But they're soft, and reassuring—he’s pleased. His body weight moves off the bed.

When you finally open your eyes and blink up at the ceiling, it’s the softest baby pink all around the edges, like smoke curling into your vision. It’s nice, peaceful. Feels good-all-over in that way that painkillers do. You haven’t experienced it since the last time you had sex with an alpha.

Which James unfortunately seems to have figured out was with him, almost two years ago.

“Oh, kotenok, You haven’t been fucking anybody.”

You’re still in the afterglow, mind muzzy, all of your previous panic and fear blunted near to the point of erasure with how nice it feels to float, when you hear James’ pleased chuckle from where he’s getting dressed. He comes back and leans over you. “Hey Sweetheart. Feeling good?”

You frown at him, though it takes a concerted effort to make any expression of displeasure. You want him to know you aren’t happy, that this state he’s fucked you into isn’t real. You want to slap that smug fucking look right off his face. All you manage to come up with is a pouty little “no" that makes James laugh.

“Come here.” He fixes your dress, then helps you up off the bed. He seems to be checking to make sure you’re steady on your feet before he lets you stand on your own. “You good?”

“M’fine.” He knows you too well, knows how intense it can be for you, how strongly you react to him. You avoid his knowing gaze. You’re not completely useless like this. You can still remember everything that’s going on, can still remember June. “Please,” you say again, trying to change the tone of your voice. “Let me give her to Hilde.”

James rolls his eyes. “Right, right. Your friend across the street.”

“Please James?” You look up at him, pink edges all around his face, so pretty. Goddamn him. “She’ll be safe there.”

Again, something passes through his eyes too quickly for you to identify. It might be annoyance. He sighs, and the look, whatever it was, is gone. “Sure thing, Doll. Babies need a lot of stuff. You might as well pack up what she needs.”

You nod tearfully, going to your closet to grab a bag. He follows close behind, sending a clear message that he’s not planning on letting you out of his sights while you do this. James isn’t stupid, you’ll give him that.

In the nursery, June is happy to see you and wants you to pick her up. You talk to her in a sweet, placating voice as you go around the room grabbing different things that she’ll need and stuffing them in the bag. At this point you know to be grateful for the haze. Even as it tapers off, it’s blunting the sorrow that you know would otherwise have you sobbing and your voice clogging with tears. This way at least, you’re able to keep June thinking everything is alright. This way she isn’t scared.

It’s when you’re crouched beside the changing table, stuffing diapers into the bag with James behind you that you get the idea: Downstairs: the kitchen: in the drawer. Your gun.

You stop moving long enough that James notices. “What’re you doing? Come on.”

You stand back up. Yes. You have to do it. This is the only chance you have at getting out of this and not losing June. You lick your lips nervously before turning back around to face him. “I … have to get her bottles and stuff from downstairs,” you say, hoping that the lingering post-coital haze is enough to keep your true intentions off your face. Your eyes flick up to James, who’s squinting at your tits.

“Bottle?” He starts to smirk, and you glare at him.

“Yes. Asshole. I won’t exactly be around to feed her, now will I?”

His face softens at that and he gives you an apologetic look. “Right. Well go on, then.”

You move for the hallway, realize he’s not following you, and turn back in confusion. He’s beside the crib, holding his hand out for June to touch. Your heart leaps from your spot in the doorway. “What are you doing?”

He arches an eyebrow. “I’m waiting right here until you come back upstairs,” he says, his message clear.

Your pulse picks up, but you force yourself to nod. You’re useless without that gun. You have to get to it. He narrows his eyes at you while June giggles and reaches for his wiggling fingers. “No games.”

“Yeah,” you whisper, and turn and head for the stairs.

It’s pure torture to move at a casual speed, especially as your mind is clearing and the fearful emotions returning. In the downstairs hallway, you check once over your shoulder that James hasn’t followed you, then pick up your pace, hurrying into the kitchen and heading straight for the drawer where you keep the gun.

Your eyes tear up as you maneuver past the digital lock that you installed for nothing. June’s still crawling. She never even got old enough to toddle over here. You press the code into the keypad, cringing when it does its quiet little two-tone ‘beep’ at being unlocked. You wait, heart in your throat until you hear the mechanism moving, then rip open the drawer.

Your heart stops and your brain freezes and all you can think is: No. No, no no—

“Looking for this?”

You whirl around, and there he is: standing on the other side of the kitchen, leaning against the sink as he holds your only weapon in his hands.

His face is relaxed, Goddamn him, as he pretends to ignore your horror and instead holds the gun up to flippantly inspect it. “I have to say, Doll, I’m impressed. I would’ve expected some puny girl gun. Ruger, Derringer. But this?” He turns the Skorpion in his hands, and chuckles softly when he sees the cartridge. “Jesus. You really wanted to blow a hole in somebody, didn’t you?” His eyes finally drag up to you, the hand he’s holding the gun with dropping down by his side as he starts walking over, slowly, step by step, eyes boring into you with a growing anger.

Oh shit. Dread curls in your gut but you’re frozen. Bolting now wouldn’t even get you to the staircase. He presses in close, pinning you against the countertop. He brings the gun up and nudges your jaw with it, leaning in and breathing in your face, “Did you really think I wouldn’t find it, vorishka?”[little thief]

He’s taunting you with your own failure, and you can’t stop the whimper that breaks from your throat at having your one and only plan foiled so pathetically easily. “James,” you plead, “I didn’t—”

“Shh sh sh. None of that, now.” He’s speaking softly, sweetly, but he’s furious. He drags his lips over your cheek and the barrel of the gun you stole from him over the other. “So what was the plan? How were you going to kill me with my own gun? Pop upstairs and shoot up the nursery?”

“N-no.”

“Ah. Right. You’re smarter than that. You would’ve waited for me to come down and see what the fuck was taking you so long, or put it in the duffle and waited until we dropped the whelp off at the neighbors. Is that it?"

You sniffle and nod, angry at him for being such an all-knowing asshole. “You can’t hold that against me,” you say, trying to defend yourself.

He nods thoughtfully. “Hmm. Yes, I suppose you’re right. I can’t blame you for that.” Your shoulders start to relax, that is until he pulls back to glare at you and holds the gun to you again, this time pointing it right underneath your chin. He looks angrier than you’ve ever seen him. “But do you know what I can hold against you, Little thief?” Your face pinches in fear, sure that you’re about to be shot, and he digs the muzzle cruelly into your skin, forcing you to look at him. “The fact that that pup up there is ten months old, and I’ve never even fucking seen her.”

Your eyes widen as you realize: he knows. You open your mouth to say something, anything, but he beats you to it.

“Did you really think I wouldn’t be able to tell she’s mine?”

“James,”

“All this time!” he hisses, hurt lancing through his features. “You kept her from me! What gives you the right?”

“I—I didn’t—”

He growls and pushes away from you, several steps back, glaring. “Nothing, is the answer you’re looking for. You had no right to do that.”

You try to edge to the side, but freeze when he straightens his arm and points the gun right at you. “James, wait …”

He aims it at your face, but then lowers it for a center mass shot, which is what really convinces you you’re about to die. “Say goodbye, mamochka,” he says, with steely eyes and his finger curling over the trigger.

It’s a submachine gun that fires in three shot bursts, or fully automatic. Either way, you know you’re about to be riddled with bullets, so you start to hyperventilate. It’s an embarrassing reaction, but at least you have the dignity of knowing what your last words on this earth would’ve been. “Don’t hurt her,” you gasp.

His eyes fill with rage and he pulls the trigger.

… Nothing happens, but you’re bracing so hard that it takes you a full two or three seconds to realize it. Then, when you do realize it, and you see James standing there looking grim but completely unsurprised that you haven’t been shot, all of the breath rushes out of your lungs. You feel like you’re about to faint, which is apparently what he’s waiting for.

He ejects the empty magazine, shaking his head in disbelief. “You really thought I’d do it, didn’t you?” He takes a step forward, but pauses when you flinch back. “What the hell have you convinced yourself that I am?”

You step back again when he moves. “Don’t,” you whisper. “Don’t.”

“Don’t, don’t,” he whispers, mocking you. “Don’t what? Don’t take back what’s mine? The mother of my pup? A pup I didn’t get to see grow or come into this world?” Your breath hitches with emotion and he doesn’t miss it, the bastard. “Yeah,” he says darkly. “You robbed me of that. But I’ll get over it, don’t worry.” He leers up and down your body in its flimsy sundress. “I’ll be putting another one in you real soon.”

You see red. Fury sweeps through you and stings your eyes, roars in your ears. You grab the nearest thing to you, which is the edge of the utensils crock on the counter. It spills over and your hand closes around the handle of the meat mallet. You cry out and swing at him, wanting to smash his smug fucking face to smithereens.

“Woah-ho, easy there.” He laughs and takes a surprised step back, as though you’re nothing but a tantruming child. “Stop being so dramatic.”

You growl and lunge for him again, but cut off in a shriek as someone suddenly grabs you from behind. The meat mallet clatters to the floor as you’re hauled back against the hard body of another man. One big arm wraps around your middle, and the other holds a cloth up at your face, pressing it over your mouth. “Mmph!” you yell out, muffled, and get a huge inhale of chlorine-like smell into your lungs for your trouble. You hold your breath and thrash, but it’s less than useless. The person holding you is large and strong. When you try to headbutt him, it doesn't even clip his chin. You bring your hands up to try and claw at the hand holding the cloth over your mouth, but your nails meet metal instead of skin, and you gasp in another inhale of chemicals as you realize who it is. “Mmph!”

James steps up close, smirking fondly as he watches you fighting the urge to inhale. Eventually he tuts and reaches up to cup your cheek. “Shhh, omegechka. Stop. Stop fighting now. It’s all over.”

“Nngh!”

“Just take a deep breath and go to sleep. Everything’ll be alright, I promise. Just relax.” You whimper as you feel yourself running out of air, knowing that your body’s going to force you to draw breath in a second. James leans in and kisses your forehead tenderly. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he whispers, just as your vision starts to fade out, “or our daughter.”

The smell of professionally scented, circulating air hits you first, and then the taste of old pennies in your mouth. Then, a gradually increasing sense of awareness of your body in space and time. At first you think you're somewhere very bright, as colors and rainbows dance through your lashes, but the more you blink your eyes open, the more the brightness fades and your vision comes into focus.

And there he is: holding a crystal tumbler and looking like he's been waiting for you to come round. "Well hello there, Sleepyhead,” he says. “Welcome back." He takes a sip of whatever it is he’s drinking, the ice cubes clinking softly against the sides of the glass. He looks totally relaxed.

You sit up straighter in the seat where you’d been slumped, moving your tongue around inside of your dry mouth and trying to remember what happened. And then reality hits you in waves, each one more devastating than the last:

James—He found you.

June—She's not there.

"How're you feeling? Thirsty?"

You blink, dazed, a few lingering specks still floating at the edges of your vision. You look around the room you’re in, clocking your surroundings. Windows, cabin—Shit. You're already on a plane. Pressure builds rapidly at the backs of your eyes as you fight not to cry, thinking of your baby girl left behind, never getting to see her again.

You didn’t even get to say goodbye.

Bucky’s eyes sharpen on you when your stifled sob breaks out and you throw a hand over your mouth. "Steve,” he says, still watching you in concern. “Get her a bottle of water."

“Sure thing, boss.”

And then the worst realization of all: You look over and see the winter fucking soldier walking down the aisle, holding your baby.

They've got June.

Your eyes widen and you make a distressed little ‘meep’ of a sound. “Steve!” you blurt, and he turns to face you. He looks surprised that you’ve spoken directly to him. He’s not wearing his usual black mask, but he still looks huge and intimidating, and it’s like seeing a wild animal right next to your baby—dangerous, wrong. Your mouth works uselessly as you stare at his hands on June’s body: one supporting her head, and the metal one scooped under her butt. You see her back rise and fall steadily through her bumblebee onesie and you realize that she’s asleep. “I-is she okay?” you ask, heart in your throat.

Steve’s eyes narrow at you, but he nods curtly. “She’s fine.”

Across from you, James scoffs, drawing your attention back to him. “He’s going to put her down. There’s a crib in the back. She’ll be fine,” he says, when he sees you stiffen in protest. “You and I have some catching up to do, vorishka.”

“I thought we did that back in my bedroom,” you snap.

“You still want the water?” Steve asks.

“That’s okay.” Bucky keeps his eyes on you. “I’ll take care of her. You just stay back there with pchelka while she sleeps.”

Steve nods, and you can’t help yourself. “Wait! Please. Please give her to me. Steve?” You sit forward with your arms outstretched, but can only watch helplessly as the other man obeys Bucky and ignores you, disappearing back into the next section of the plane. Bastard never did like you.

“She’ll be fine,” Bucky assures you. “Just sit back and relax. We won’t be in the air for too long.”

You hate it, but you do sit back in the chair. James won’t hurt her. You know that. Especially now that you know he knows. You look around the cabin, taking in the wide, leather seats and gleaming wood finishes. There’s a couch, tv, a bar. A fucking electric fireplace. It's the sort of luxury you used to go starry-eyed over; incredibly rich men, fat or old or ugly, tripping all over themselves to spoil you.

… Only, James was never any of those things.

“This is your plane?” you ask, dragging your hand over the arm of your seat.

James smirks. “What? You thought I’d kidnap you and then fly commercial?”

You purse your lips at his joke. “I guess not.” You relax back, trying to get your bearings. It is bad news that you’re already on a plane with him. You’ll be landing at his private airstrip at the Siberia compound, which gives you no middle ground to run. You bite your lip as your thoughts race and you try to think of anything you might be able to do once you get to—

“Stop it,” James says quietly, drawing your attention back to him. He’s giving you a stern look. “You barely got away before, and that was on your own. Now we’ve got our daughter. Anything you try will put her in unnecessary danger and you know that.” He shakes his head, some of that sadness from before creeping back into his eyes. “You’re not leaving me again, omegechka.”

“I’m not?” you echo, stuck in place by his stare, by the memories you share with him, and the fear you have of what he’s planning for your punishment. “What are you going to do?”

“I’m just taking back what’s mine, Sweetheart. You do realize that?” You fail to answer him and his gaze hardens just a little bit. “That’s okay. You’ll see it eventually. This isn’t a bad thing. If you had just stuck around a little longer instead of lying to me and running off, then you would’ve seen it before, and we wouldn’t have to be going through this right now.” He raises his drink to you in a little salute. “You, me, and pchelka? We’re going to be a family.”

You don’t refuse the water he gives you, or the drink that he mixes for you, after. If James wanted to keep you drugged up until reaching Siberia, he certainly could’ve done so without allowing you to wake up on the plane. You’re only conscious right now because he wants you to be. And because you know that, you don’t protest the drink he prepares for you over at the bar. To be honest, a stiff one actually sounds really good right about now.

“Thank you,” you murmur as he hands it over, still unmoored by this drastic shift in circumstances. A few hours ago you’d been safe in your cottage, then suddenly you weren’t. One minute you’re sure you’re about to get a bullet in the face from this man, and the next, he’s got you sipping thousand dollar vodka on his private jet, calmly explaining how he intends to keep you and force you into some twisted form of domestic bliss.

“I had a whole renovation done for her,” he tells you. “Pchelka will have plenty of room to play and grow.”

You frown, hating the idea of your daughter growing up in that cold, Siberian fortress. You don’t care if he’s bought her an indoor waterslide and a herd of ponies. It’s no place for a child. “What does that mean?” you ask grumpily. “That word: chelk—? You keep using it. You can’t just rename my daughter.”

Hurt flashes in his eyes, but he wipes it away fast. “Pchelka means little bee. The outfit you put her in has bees on it.”

“Oh … Right.” You love that set. It’d been another gift at the shower, from Hilde.

“And she’s my daughter too,” James says tightly.

You gulp at the bitterness in his tone, at his eyes boring into you with reproach. It’s silly, but you do feel bad about hurting him in this one way, at least. “Her name is June,” you offer quietly.

His face draws tight with emotion that’s impossible for you to decipher. Mostly you just sense hurt coming off of him, tingeing his scent and making it into something mournful and awful. He stares at you for a long time. “You made me think you’d lost it,” he eventually whispers. “How could you do that to me?”

You shake your head. “I’m sorry.”

“No you’re not. You’re just sorry that I found you.”

“I saw you kill people, James!” you cry. “I saw who you really are. I couldn’t stay. Not after that.”

His mouth ticks up at the corners. “Oh, Sweetheart. You’ve got no idea who I am, or what I’ve done for you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

His eyes gleam and he lifts his drink, tipping back the last of it. “Do you even remember where we met?”

You frown. “Of course.” You’d met him on a yacht, off the coast of Greece. At a party you’d been paid to attend as one of a flock of similarly hired ‘pretty girls’. Five hundred bucks just to sit around and drink cocktails for a few hours and make whoever owned the yacht look like a successful playboy. James had taken one look at you and made it his mission to charm you off of that boat with him. And you’d fallen for it, hook line and sinker. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“You don’t know as much as you think you do,” he says disdainfully. “Don’t know how lucky you really are. I saved you.”

You scoff. “You’re no different from those boat guys. You think you’re so special, God’s gift to omegas, I get it.”

“No,” he grits. “You really don’t.”

“Don’t tell me what I don’t know! I know what I saw. All over the floor of your goddamn office. I slipped in it for Christ’s sake!”

“Right, right. The men you saw me kill,” he says, referencing the scene you’d walked in on just before you’d faked your miscarriage and fled. “You were eavesdropping outside the door, weren’t you, Little thief?”

You jut your chin out. “Yes. So what?”

“You know, I’d always assumed you heard the entire conversation. Now I realize I was wrong.”

“What?”

He laughs under his breath—at your expense, you suspect. “Who exactly do you think they were?”

“Your business associates. The same sort of underworld, black market scum as you. Only they didn't work for you. You screwed them over and they were there to collect what you owed them, and you murdered them instead.”

James scoffs and smiles angrily, sticking his tongue into his cheek as he looks away in frustration. "Figures," he mutters.

“What?” you snap. “You’re gonna deny it?”

“I’m not denying anything. But I killed them for you.”

“Oh please. Just stop it. Stop lying! I know what you do for work.”

Granted, you'd been a little slow on the uptake back then, too enamored and swept up in the whirlwind romance with your first Alpha that you hadn’t ever stopped to wonder where his money came from, or where it was he jetted off to “on business” every few days. It’d taken a year for you to piece it together, to see the true magnitude of the enterprise he ran, and how dark it really was.

Sitting in front of you now, he doesn’t deny it, which only bolsters your disdain for him. “I don’t want that in my life,” you hiss. “Arms dealing, drugs, smuggling, mercenaries. And apparently human trafficking as well.”

His eyes flash. “They don’t call it that, you know. It’s called the ‘skin trade’.”

“I don’t care.”

He gets up to go pour himself another drink at the bar. “Right,” he snaps, like you’re an idiot. “You’re so fucking naïve, krasotka [pretty (n.)]. So convinced that I’m the devil. But you have no idea how much worse it could’ve been for you.”

“You threatened to sell your own daughter before you figured out she was yours!”

Refusing to be provoked, he returns to stand right in front of you, forcing you to look up at him towering over you. “I knew she was mine from the second I walked in that house,” he says, making your breath catch.

“How?”

He smiles nastily and takes a sip from his drink, then sets it aside. He leans over you with his hands on the back of your seat, caging you in. You can smell the expensive alcohol on his breath as he gets in your face and tells you, “I put that baby in you, moya omegya. She’s a part of me. You think I wouldn’t be able to figure that out? Think an Alpha doesn’t know the scent of his own flesh and blood?”

You tense, fighting not to shrink away. “You’re making that up.”

He chuckles lowly and puts his face right next to yours, cheek to cheek, savoring your reaction. “Sweetheart,” he purrs, “I may not have forced a mating bite on you back then like I should have, but there are other ways to leave your mark on someone.” He dips in to kiss your neck, right over your unbitten glands. “I found you by your scent,” he whispers. “Sniffed you out.”

You shiver at his hot breath on your skin and the deadly soft tone of his voice. The way your body responds to him isn’t anything you can control, and he knows that, but it still makes you flush with embarrassment when he takes a deep inhale in the bend of your neck and hums with satisfaction when he smells the effect he’s had on you. “I wouldn’t have sold her anyway,” he tells you, pulling back and picking up his drink. “I want you to know that. I don’t participate in the skin trade.”

You swallow thickly, watching him watch you as he waits for you to react to him in some way. You don’t know why you believe him about this one thing, but you do. “But you’re aware of it,” you say. “You know it happens, and you don’t do anything to stop it.”

His jaw works in frustration. “I’ve interfered a time or two, when I could get away with it.”

“Well, aren't you a hero.”

“I didn’t say that,” he snaps. “I said I’ve done what little I could. These men make a lot of money dealing in omegas, and they don’t take kindly to being stolen from.”

“I can imagine.”

“No,” he mutters into his drink. “You really can’t.”

There’s something oddly bitter in his tone, like he's working hard not to tell you something. You bite your lip and watch him for a minute. “... How much?” you ask.

“What?” His eyes darken when he figures out what you’re asking. “No.”

“Tell me.”

“It depends,” he grits, glaring at you. "Now cut it out."

Sober, you might have; but half a vodka spritzer after nineteen months of no alcohol has you bolder than you usually would be. You look down at yourself, feigning flippancy. “Well what about me? How much would I go for?”

“Kotenok,” he warns lowly, growling when you continue to press him with a snotty little,

“Come on, I thought you were such a dangerous criminal? You can’t even discuss a little human trafficking with the weak omega you just trafficked?”

He probably knows you’re trying to antagonize him, but he still rises to the bait. He sits back and lets his eyes drag over your body in a way that makes your pulse pick up. “Well,” he drawls, “you just had a baby. So that’s less right there.” Your nostrils flare angrily and he gives you a look. “You’re the one who asked,” he reminds, waiting until you give him a nod to continue. He gives you another onceover, this time lingering in certain places longer, a softer look in his eyes for the softer parts of your body. He almost seems to get distracted. He catches himself overindulging and looks away, like it’s hurting him to consider you this way. “Most people want their omegas untouched,” he says quietly. “Especially if the buyer's alpha, which they usually are. It’s an instinctual thing for us. We’re very driven to possess. We don’t like to share.”

“Yeah, tell me about it,” you mutter.

His gaze snaps back to you, a painful amount of familiarity in his eyes. “You’dve been a couple million, back when we first met.”

Your eyes widen. You weren't expecting that. “But … I wasn’t even a virgin.”

He arches an eyebrow. “I said untouched, not virginal. Not in that way. Alpha buyers want unbonded and never bred, first and foremost.” He leers at you. “Not that there aren’t some who’ll pay a little extra to pop a girl’s cherry. But that’s not the main thing they’re looking for, when they buy.”

You scowl. “Right. So I guess I’m damaged goods now."

“Oh no, mamochka,” he says seriously. “You’ve only gone up in value in my eyes. Though believe me when I say I’m more than happy to contribute to the depletion of your market value." He raises his glass to his lips, looking darkly pleased. “You’re not for sale, and you never will be. You’re mine.”

You're embarrassed to be the one to break eye contact first, but you can’t keep listening to him talk about how much he likes you and watching him look at you like you’re his most prized possession. With any other man you’d just be disgusted, but James has always had a knack for getting you flustered, and he knows it. There’s always been an inexplicable pull between the two of you, and he knows that, too. It’s the main reason why you've always refused his attempts to bond you. You're terrified of what it’ll be like after, since you already know how pathetically helpless you are around him without a bond.

“I have to go to the bathroom,” you mumble quietly. “Where is it?”

“Just down there.” He nods in the direction behind you, opposite from where Steve had gone with June.

You press your lips together and get up without looking at him, but you can feel his eyes on you the entire time you’re walking away.

“Don’t take too long in there, kotenok,” he purrs from back in his seat. “Or I’ll have to come in after you.”

In the bathroom, you splash water on your face and lean against the sink, looking at the girl staring back at you in the mirror. You blink, and she blinks, but it feels like you’re looking at another person, someone you don’t know. She looks fragile. Tired, and dazed. June’s been sleeping through the night for months, but it’s been a hell of a day.

You scrutinize your reflection, smoothing your dress and tucking your hair behind your ears, thinking about how you have zero makeup on. Then you scoff at yourself for caring what you look like in front of him. You think about how much you’ve changed in the seventeen months since you ran away. Not just physically, but mentally. You’ve had to be so strong. For June, for yourself. It’s been awful, and lonely, and you’ve hated yourself for not being able to stop missing him.

You sniffle and splash more water on your face, grumpily thinking that postpartum hormones are so much worse than the pregnancy ones. You grab the towel off the wall, but freeze when you bring it up to pat your face dry and get a smell of it.

Oh.

You whimper, unable to keep from pressing it harder to your mouth and nose and inhaling deeply. It’s James’ scent, and it smells so good. It smells like Safety and Love and Alpha. You hear the sound of your own, needy mewl and you gasp, yanking the towel away from your face and tossing it into the sink, trying to keep your shit together. You brace your hands on the counter and glare at your reflection to tell her to stop it, stop it, stop it, but all it takes is seeing your lower lip quiver, and soon your entire face is collapsing in long-repressed sadness. You turn away from the mirror with a pathetic noise, throat aching from the urge to keen.

Why does this have to be happening?! You’ve tried so hard, for so long. To be strong for June, to get over him, to move on! You bury your face in your hands and choke on a wrenching sob. You know you have to be quiet, have to stop, have to pull yourself together before he—

A soft knock comes from outside the bathroom. “Doll?”

You whine and hastily search for a lock on the door, but there is none, and James hears your crying and pulls the door open. “Honey,” he mourns when he sees you. “What’s wrong?”

You push past him, hurrying in the direction he isn’t blocking. “Leave me alone!” you cry, hating the blubbering in your voice that makes you sound just as weak as James thinks you are. You arrive in a perfectly made up bedroom with no point of egress other than the one you arrived through. You whine in distress, circle around helplessly, and then throw yourself onto the bed when he arrives at the doorway looking worried. “Leave me alone!” you cry, curling onto your side and pulling one of the pillows down to bury your face in. At least it isn’t suffused with James’ scent. You still cry though, unable to keep it in anymore now that you’ve started.

He tuts sadly from the doorway and comes into the room slowly. He stands there for a long minute, silent, before he sighs and his weight comes onto the bed. “Sweetheart,” he says.

“Just leave me alone,” you whine miserably. “Go away!”

“Shh sh sh.” He curls up behind you, arms around your waist and legs pushing in behind yours. He kisses your shoulder and hugs you, but it only makes you cry harder at how achingly familiar it is. “It’s okay,” he murmurs between kisses. He doesn’t try to get you to stop crying, or ask you what’s wrong. He seems to know exactly why you’re breaking down, and he simply devotes all his efforts to helping you calm down in your own time. “S’okay, s’okay. Everything’s gonna be okay,” he keeps saying, soothing you with a deep rumble in his chest. “I’ve got you, Sweetheart. I’ve got you now. It’s all gonna be okay. Shhh.”

At first, his placating makes you angry, but not enough to stop your crying, and once that tapers off from sobs to quiet, sniffling tears, you can’t seem to dredge up the anger anymore. It isn’t there.

“You feeling a little better?” he asks kindly, gently tucking your hair behind your ear and then hugging you again.

You whine when you feel his lips against your neck. “I’m fine,” you rasp, voice coming out scratchy from all of the crying. You cringe and scrub your face into the pillow in embarrassment. “Just got a little sad.”

“Yeah,” he agrees quietly, giving you a supportive squeeze. “That’s okay.”

You hate how he says it, because it’s obvious that he knows why you were crying: Poor, sad little omega, bawling her eyes out over how much she’s missed her Alpha. He nuzzles into your neck, telling you it’s okay and that you’re allowed to cry. As much as you hate him being able to see into you so easily, you’re just grateful that he isn’t rubbing your face in it right now. The way he's holding you and comforting you feels good. You don’t fight to get away from him.

The two of you lie there together for what feels like a long time. Once you’ve stopped crying and are only giving the occasional sniffle for your runny nose, he goes back to running his hand over your side. It’s a gesture of comfort. He’s not groping you, but even still, you blush at the vulnerability of it. You find yourself glad that you’re facing away from him.

The plane shifts noticeably, and James’ hand pauses on your hip. “Pilot said we’re landing soon,” he murmurs. “Should probably go and get pchelka up.”

You sniffle and fight off the urge of resurfacing tears at hearing him reference June. One day of knowing his daughter and already he’s got a nickname for her. You should be annoyed by that, but instead it just makes your heart squeeze with emotion. “Pchelka,” you whisper, trying out the word.

“Yeah.” He hums happily and kisses your shoulder one last time. “Little bee. Come on. Let’s go.”

You don’t think about how it’s far too soon to have arrived at your destination, until you’re back in the main room of the cabin on the way to where Steve disappeared with June, earlier. You pause at the windows, peering out at the landscape. “This isn’t Russia,” you say, confused. The plane is definitely descending, but you’ve only been in the air for a few hours at most. “James?” you ask, as he comes up behind you and wraps his arms around your waist. Together, you both look out at the looming mountains and turquoise waters below. “Where are we?” you breathe.

James rests his chin on your shoulder and sighs happily. “Home,” he says. “We’re home.”

A.N.: See? Much less Rapey! Plenty more mega-dub con to come though, so don't you angst-lovers worry. Thanks for reading!💖Sarah

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georgiapeach30513 · 1 year ago

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Your Mark On Me Masterlist

When you need something to help you stay alert study, you found a whole lot more than you were looking for. Tatted and massive. He was what your dreams were made of, but is he a nightmare? He claimed you, and now he intends on keeping you. No matter what the cost.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14, Part 15, Part 16 ⭐️COMPLETE⭐️

A/N: this story is going to have themes of drug dealing and taking drugs, there will be manipulation, stalking, degradation, and so much more. This is a dark Steve that wants possession of reader. Read ALL warnings before each chapter. You are responsible for the content you consume. Minors DNI

#your mark on me #steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x fem!reader #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers x you #tatooed!steve rogers #tattoos!steve rogers #dark!steve rogers #soft!dark!steve rogers #steve rogers smut #druglord au

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thyme-in-a-bubble · 2 months ago

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Hi! Hope this is ok and got a nsfw idea

What if werewolf steve x vampire reader x vampire bucky

Y/n was all alone ending up entering their turf. They dont wanna end her noo . They wanna keep her as their mate

a/n: you sent this yumminess to me last night literally minutes before i fell asleep, then i couldn't stop thinking about it so i wrote it while eating breakfast lol

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽

masterlist | join my taglist

“Oh, honey…” you heard Bucky purr as he teasingly let his fangs graze across your neck, “I’m older and thereby stronger than you,” his cock throbbed against your bottom as he kept his hold tight, holding your wiggling frame up far above the ground, your back against his chest and keeping you in place for the lycanthrope before you, “so you might as well just stop struggling.”

Slick symphonies accompanied Steve’s movements as he attempted to stuff the big knot at the base of his already intimidating length inside your cunt. Each thrust of his hips gradually grew harsher as he tried needlessly to plug it inside, though still without success, your pussy only drooling from his ruthless efforts though still not able to let that part of him into your warmth.

“Or not,” Steve then smirked as he lowered his fingers to smear more of your messy cream against his bulbous base he so fiercely desired to feel inside of you, “I think it’s kinda fun watching you try.”

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nastybuckybarnes · 3 months ago

Text

Teddy Bear Picnic - One

Pairing: Dark!Steve Rogers x Reader

Summary: If you go down in the woods today you’re sure of a big surprise.

Warnings: Dark fic, dark themes, dub con, language, violence, kidnapping, injuries, eventual smut,

Word Count: 1.3K

A/n: @americasass81 this is for you <3

I might link a playlist to this master list cause there are a few songs that just feeeeed me when it comes to this series.

!!This is a Dark Fic with Triggering and Sexual Content. Read at Own Risk!!

~*~

“Arlo, no!”

The eager goldendoodle puppy goes sprinting into the forest, taking full advantage of his new freedom.

Clutching the broken leash tightly in your hands you swallow hard and walk towards the edge of the trees.

“Arlo! Get back over here! Now! Come!”

Just as anticipated, he doesn’t listen, and his little golden fur disappears beyond the tree line.

You take a deep breath and peer through the trees, hoping to catch a glimpse of your puppy running back to you.

“Arlo!” You call again, taking a step off the flat ground and into the thicket of trees.

You shouldn’t be doing this.

It’s all over the news.

Girls like you going missing near the forest.

But you need to save Arlo.

You slowly follow after him, trying to stay light on your feet and not make too much noise.

You don’t know why the other girls went missing, you just know you don’t want to be next.

“Arlo!” You whisper-shout, stepping carefully through the undergrowth.

Your heart is already thundering in your chest as you slowly venture deeper and deeper into the forest, searching for your puppy.

“Arlo, please! We gotta get home!”

You hear him bark, followed by soft growling.

You follow the sound, rushing toward him with the soul hope of finding him and bringing him home before your mother ever realizes that you strayed from the path.

You spot his golden brown fur and a wave of relief washes over you.

“Arlo!”

He turns at the sound of your voice, little tail wagging excitedly.

You drop to your knees and scoop him up in your arms, hugging him close to your chest. You rise quickly and spin around, ready to head back the way you came only to freeze in your tracks.

“You know, I hear it's not safe for girls like you in these woods.”

A man stands before you, with striking blue eyes and blond hair. A trimmed beard covers the lower half of his face and he would be attractive if he wasn’t so terrifying.

He stands at least a full head taller then you, looking down at you with a smile on his face as if he knows something you don’t.

You swallow hard and take slow steps back, your heart in your throat as he follows you just as slowly.

“What’s a pretty girl like you doing out here, anyway?” He asks, hands stuffed in the pockets of his jeans. He seems so casual, so unbothered, and it makes goosebumps raise on your arms.

You glance past him, trying to judge just how far you are from the road, from safety.

“My boyfriend and I were walking our dog. He got off leash.”

The man nods, eyes dropping to the puppy held in your arms. He makes a few soft kiss noises at Arlo then raises his piercing eyes back up to yours.

“And your boyfriend made you come out here all alone?” He asks, glancing around as if looking for him.

You shake your head, “no, he’s out here too.”

He cocks his head to the side as if listening for another person, only to be met with the soft chirping of crickets.

The stranger grins and shakes his head, “weird, I only heard your voice. But if he’s out here too, I'll take you to him.”

You shake your head again and take a few more steps back, fear icing your veins when your back hits a tree.

You’re stuck.

You’re stuck out in the middle of the forest with a man who screams danger.

No one knows where you are and there’s no way you can overpower him. Outrunning him seems even less likely.

“No, it’s okay. He’s super protective. Doesn’t like seeing me around other guys,” you try.

The man cocks his head to the side once more and shrugs.

“I think I’ll take the chance. I’d hate it if something were to happen to you. You never know what’s lurking in these trees.”

You feel tears prickle at your eyes and you shake your head, a final desperate attempt at getting him to leave you alone.

“Please. I-I have a family. Please leave me alone.”

A soft smile spreads across his face and he steps even closer, reaching out to touch your cheek only to have Arlo snap at his fingers.

He chuckles and pets the dogs head gently, then brings his other hand up to wipe a tear off of your cheek.

“Don’t worry, honey. I'm gonna take care of you. I promise.”

He brings his finger from your cheek to his mouth, licking the tear off of it and grinning.

“Now,” he grabs your chin and forces you to look up at him. “Are you gonna be a good girl and come easily, or are you gonna make me do this the hard way?”

You look up at him then spit in his face and dart under his arm, taking off running with Arlo held tightly in your grasp.

You can hear him following after you, gaining quickly, and you can’t stop the tears from running down your face.

You can see the break in the trees.

You aren’t far.

Just a few more steps...

And then he’s on you.

He shoves your shoulders and you fall to the ground, crying out in pain as the sticks and rocks dig into your skin.

Arlo, thankfully, manages to scurry out of the way before you hit the ground.

He growls up at the man, trying his best to protect you, but you know it's all for naught. You only hope he’ll manage to escape before the stranger does something to him as well.

The man kneels down and rolls you onto your back, forcing you to look up at him again, terror burning through your pretty eyes.

“I guess you’ve decided then, hmm?” He taunts, one hand wrapping around your throat and cutting off your air.

You claw at him, nails digging in wherever they can find purchase and drawing blood. Red drips down his arm, splattering against your face as you thrash beneath him.

You struggle and Arlo barks, biting at the mans leg, but in the end it’s all for nothing.

The edges of your vision begin to cloud and slowly everything fades to black.

~*~

You’ve been sitting in the dark for what feels like forever.

You’ve gone through every possible emotion you can feel, and now you’re sitting, basking in your dread.

You have no idea what your kidnapper has planned for you, but if the other missing girls are anything to go off of, it can’t be good.

He’s got you locked in some sort of basement, by the looks of things. Your wrists are bound behind your back and you woke up on a thin mattress on the ground.

Your stomach does flips as you wonder if this was how the other girls woke up.

There’s a tiny barred window near the ceiling in the corner, and a bathroom with a toilet that doesn’t flush and a sink that only drips a little bit of water no matter which way you turn the faucet.

You have no idea how long you’ve been down here, how long you were unconscious for, or how long it will be before he comes back.

That last part scares you the most.

As it stands currently, you’d rather starve to death alone down here than have him ever come back and subject you to whatever cruel torture he surely has planned.

Your thoughts are interrupted by the sound of a door opening somewhere above you.

Footsteps creak against the floorboards, and then another door is opening and a beam of light shines into the corner of the basement.

Your heart speeds up in your chest as he comes down the stairs and you squirm backwards, trying to get as far away from him as possible.

He walks toward you with something in his arms, his blue eyes watching you curiously as you tremble like a leaf before him.

“Please... please don’t hurt me,” you whimper, turning your face away from him.

He frowns and takes a seat on the mattress, then sets down whatever it was he was holding.

A soft bark grabs your attention and you whip your head around, your eyes widening when you see your puppy.

“Arlo!” Fresh tears spring from your eyes and you yearn to reach out and grab your dog. The puppy rushes to you and climbs on your lap, licking your salty cheek and snuggling against your chest.

“I’ll bring food down for the two of you soon.”

And with that, he takes his leave, leaving you alone with Arlo to wonder what he could possibly have planned for you.

#dark fic #Steve Rogers x reader dark au #dark!steve #dark!fic #dark!au #Dark Series #dark!steve rogers #dark!steve x reader #Steve Rogers x reader #Steve Rogers x reader dark fic #tw: dark fic #tw: dubcon #dubcon #tw: kidnapping #tw

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kechiwrites · 1 year ago

Text

property lines

dark!steve rogers x neighbour!reader

kinktober countdown: day two (facefucking).

synopsis: your neighbour is inappropriate, and you aren’t quite sure how to broach the subject.

wc: 2.2k

cw: dark content, non con, oral (male receiving), femme language + afab!reader, pet names, internal victim blaming, pet names (sweetheart), a touch of misogyny

author’s note: day 2 brings us more dark!steve, i fear i may be incapable of writing him sincerely. he’s just a little too perfect. I like to take off a bit of the shine. thank you @katsukikitten u r my muse.

Your neighbour is inappropriate, and you aren’t quite sure how to broach the subject. Mostly because you can’t be sure if he’s doing it on purpose or if he’s just overly friendly. Maybe it’s the signals you give off, bringing a plate of thick, sweet, cheesecake brownies over to the recently sold house next door, hoping to make a new connection. Suburbia can be isolating, and with all of your friends shaking ass in the city, you need to branch out. It really isn’t the kind of home you figured a single man like Steven Grant Rogers would buy, but then again, you lived in your suburban palace alone, willed to you by your late grandmother and only in need of a few renovations.

He’d been so bright, when you first met him, with a perfect white smile and twinkling blue eyes. He’d been happy to accept the desserts, even happier to return the plate a day later, extolling the praise he and his poker buddies lauded on you over the taste. You’d shrugged it off, “The least I could do for a neighbour. I’m just glad you all liked them.”

Secretly though, the compliments had thrilled you, especially once you’d gotten a glimpse at the aforementioned “poker buddies”, the whole lot of them, handsome, built, big. All too happy to fix leaky pipes and paint fences in exchange for chocolate cream pie or a dish of homemade lasagna. But Steven - “Steve, please” - was your most loyal customer, always lending a hand, pausing during his early morning jog to check up on you while you watered your flower beds, asking how your book is going, what you do in that “big old house all by yourself” when you aren’t working on “the next great American novel”, of course (his words, not yours).

It’s fine at first, a little disarming to be at the centre of his white hot attention, burning your flesh like he had you under a magnifying glass on a perfect sunny day. But eventually it’s not fine, eventually Steve Rogers takes more and more steps over the property line of overly friendly and into the front yard of wildly overbearing. Eventually, Mr. Rogers insists on weekly visits, popping into your house by using the spare key under the mat he shouldn’t even know about. Slinging his muscled arm over you during the neighbourhood block party, and your neighbour’s son’s 5th birthday party, and the Fourth of July barbeque. He fixes your car without you asking, brings in your groceries when he sees you unloading them in your driveway, brings your mail to you during his daily jog. It’s helpful sometimes, yes, but it’s also suffocating. And you were going to set him straight. You were! But it’s hard, hard to stare into the face of a suburban god, the literal king of the neighbourhood and tell him no. It’s hard to tell him that he’s making you uncomfortable, that you’d like for him to stop being so goddamn friendly all the time.

So maybe a little of it is your fault. Maybe you should’ve been clearer on your boundaries. Maybe, when handsome, strapping Mr. Rogers came to your front door to ask you to essentially cater one of his poker nights, you shouldn’t have stayed to serve the food, playing happy little housewife in front of Steve’s friends, bringing them cold beers from the fridge and sitting next to Steve, playfully making faces at his hand, then plating up dessert when he asked you to. But it felt good to have his attention. His favour. So when “the boys” start to head home, laying praise and amazement at your feet, you’re sufficiently buttered up for Steve to ask yet another favour of you. It’s not much, of course. Just a little help with cleanup. Then he’ll escort you home himself. After all, there are some real sickos out there.

So you agree. What’s the harm, right?

The harm, it just so happens, comes quickly after you finish drying the dishes Steve washes. You slide the last plate, towel dried as best you could, into his cabinets, sighing in contentment at a job well done. The harm is when Steve turns you around and presses you against the sink, water soaking into the back of your blouse, making the fabric cling to your skin. You stay there for a minute, not processing what’s happening, ready to laugh off another inappropriate joke from Steve.

You don’t really get the chance.

Two heavy hands clap down on your shoulders, exerting pressure on you until you crumple to the floor, knees hitting the tile of Steve's kitchen painfully. You yelp, struggling against him, pressing, then beating your fist against his tree trunk legs.

"Stev-" you choke on his name when your neighbour unzips his trousers before you, undoes the fly of the pair you helped him pick out, with him bent over your shoulder while you held his phone, his front pressed close to your back. Pulls his half hard dick out of pants starched and pressed with the iron he'd borrowed from you because his was "on the fritz" again.

"Open up." He cajoles, and you pin him with an incredulous, confused stare. No. No. This is all wrong. He doesn’t act like that. Steve Rogers isn’t like that.

The hand he doesn't use to stroke himself grabs your jaw, squeezing until you open your mouth, squeezing til it hurts. A sharp, purposeful punch of his hips is all it takes for him to make use of the opening. All it takes to put every little joke, boundary crossing, and stray touch into startling, horrifying perspective.

“It was the baking.” He whispers above you. “Peggy never baked, which was fine.” He sighs above you like he isn’t pistoning his cock deep into your throat with reckless abandon. “But I missed it, y’know? And you, you bake how angels ought to, sweetheart.”

Tears stream down your face while Steve uses you, dragging your dazed, crying face back and forth on his hard-on. On a particularly strong thrust, he broaches your throat. Your eyes roll up, until he can barely see the perimeter of your irises, and you warble out a miserable moan, begging, all while wrapped around his dick, for a reprieve. Your head is pinned to the counter behind you, and even though you shove against the muscle of his thighs, Steve brooks no quarter.

“Just take it,” he coos, like he wants you to swallow cough syrup, “it’ll be over soon.” his breath stutters when your lips brush against his balls. Steve moves one of his hands to cup the back of your head, keeping you as close as possible when he comes down your throat, groaning in pleasure while you struggle to swallow stream after bitter stream of his seed, lest you choke on it or fucking drown.

He finally releases you, and you pull back so fast you bang the back of your head on his pristine white counters. The pain radiates through your scalp, grounding you in the moment, cementing you to the spotless linoleum floor of Steve Rogers’ kitchen. You’re both panting, eager to fill your lungs with gulps of air.

“Whew.” He sighs, hands on his hips, like that took a lot out of him. “I didn’t mean to get so rough with you, just didn’t expect the struggle.” He chuckles, patting you on the head. “But you settled down quick, didn’t ya?” His tone takes on…contentment? Happiness?

No. That’s not quite right.

It’s pride. Steve is looking down at you, your spit and cum slick mouth, the weepy, watery state of your eyes, and the disarray of the hair he’d used as a handle, with pride.

Your stomach roils.

He bends low and you flinch away from him, smacking your head on the countertop again. He cocks his head at the involuntary movement, and smiles at you. A familiar, warm thing. One that made your heart flutter with pleasure, beat fast with your own surge of pride when he accepted a pie, or offered a compliment. Now it does the same, your heart speeds up, your palms itch curiously, and your brain doesn’t know if you’re happy or sad. Doesn’t know if it craves those smiles anymore.

“Just wanna set you on your feet. C’mon.” He speaks quietly, like he’s soothing a frightened animal, and hooks his hand under your armpits, heaving you up with the same startling strength he'd used to face fuck the fight out of you.

“It’s okay.” You bleat, voice as wobbly and unstable as the pair of legs struggling to keep you upright. And it’s not, it’s far from okay, the taste of him lingers in the back of your throat and if you think about it for even a second more you’ll throw up all over his shiny floors, on those godforsaken pants.

“I admit,” he laughs, ducks his head with that small town charm he does so well, “I wanted to last longer. But you were too good.” He winks at you, like you share a secret. Like you’re in league with each other.

He staring, waiting for you to say something, arches a brow like it’s your line and you’re fucking up the show.

But there it is again, that smile, sunny and open, and so pristine.

“Let’s get you home.” He herds you towards his front door, hand glued to the small of your back, his pinky finger stroking the skin exposed by the riding up of your still wet shirt. The two of you walk into the balmy summer air, and the spaces in between the black night, punctuated with the occasional white streetlight, designate your path home. Some of your neighbours’ houses are still illuminated, their warm yellow windows denoting the presence of life. You wonder what goes on behind their doors, you wonder if someone is having a good night somewhere close to you.

You come across your door faster than you were prepared for, the cheery yellow paint job Steve and James had done for caramel apple pie, mocks you. The way he’d smiled in your face, touched you, laughed. Steve shifts next to you, holding onto your extensive tower of pyrex and tupperware, for an instant your blood runs cold at the prospect of Steve inviting himself in, like he’s done so many times before. Not to bring in groceries or put together a dresser, but to pin you prone to the carpet of your bedroom and smile at you.

“So!” He turns, “Same time next week?” You gawk at him, and when you don’t say or do anything, he stoops and slides your extra keys out from under your Garfield emblazoned doormat. The jingle of two, simple metal keys against the little bell shaped key-chain makes your head pound, your blood boil. He unlocks the door, and gestures for you to take a step indoors. You raise both hands, palms upturned so he can give the keys back, so you can hide them, or melt them, or flush them down the toilet. Instead, you get to watch him slip the key-ring into his pocket, before he places your dishes into your uplifted open palms. “I gotta say, the lemon bars were a hit.” He tweaks your nose between his thumb and forefinger, his compliment tempered by the greedy shine in his eyes. You nearly scratch your own eyes out when you get that pleased, soft tingle in your chest.

He smiles and you salivate. He compliments you and your heart responds. He’s proud and your brain tells you ‘I’m happy’.

Why hasn’t it gone away? Will it ever go away?

“Maybe those brownies again, the cream cheese ones?” His voice is hopeful, soft and pliant, like he’s worried you’ll say ‘no’.

Like there’s a world where he’d take no for an answer.

You nod, a jerky, quick gesture that rattles your brain around in your skull. “Sure. Yeah.” You answer, sweaty hands slipping against tempered glass and plastic lids. “Yes. Brownies.” Steve beams, clapping his hands together, once, loud, drawing your eyes to the brutish width of them.

“Fantastic. I can’t wait.” He jogs down your front steps, and the fist secured around your lungs loosens with every step he takes away from you. He pauses at the side walk, one foot still on your property, the other poised to leave it.

“We make a great team. Don’t we?” He turns to you, and this time, he isn’t smiling. This time, his eyes cut through the night and the streetlight and the foggy haze of misfortune clouding your brain.

And the fear finally comes.

You kick your door closed, and you lock your door, and you drop your pyrex and tupperwear and serving spoons in the sink and you lock your windows and you get into bed, still dressed for a poker night you had no business being at, and you pull the covers up and up and over your face.

But the fear doesn’t go away.

And neither will your neighbour.

god i want him so bad. tomorrow, captain soap.

find the rest of the masterlist here.

support city girls who bought $50 of baked cheesecake today, reblog what you like.

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shybluebirdninja · 3 months ago

Text

Winter Shrink

Summary: When Bucky accidentally gets shrunk to the size of a cat by one of Tony’s gadgets, his girlfriend has to help him navigate life from a dollhouse while avoiding getting squished by her Roomba.

Pairing : Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Girlfriend-Reader Genre : Fluff

It started like any other day. Well, any other day when you’re dating a super-soldier who constantly gets roped into Stark’s science projects. You were lounging on the couch, scrolling through your phone, when Bucky burst through the door with that serious look on his face — the one that usually meant some weird shit had gone down.

“Hey babe,” he called, his voice sounding... odd. You glanced up, expecting to see him in his usual towering, intimidating form. Except... you didn’t see him.

You blinked. “Bucky?”

“Down here.”

You looked down, and your jaw literally dropped. There he was, Bucky Barnes, the Winter Soldier himself, but he was no taller than a freaking cat. Maybe even smaller.

“Jesus Christ,” you gasped, covering your mouth in shock. “What the hell happened to you?”

Bucky, standing on your hardwood floor in his tiny combat boots, crossed his arms over his mini vibranium arm like he was still the most badass thing in the room. “Stark happened. Dumbass was messing with some size-reduction tech. Next thing I know, I’m fun-sized.”

You couldn’t help it—you burst out laughing. Like, full-on hysterics.

Bucky’s tiny face twitched. “It’s not that funny.”

“Bucky, you’re like... like a doll!” you choked between giggles. “Oh my god, I can’t breathe.”

“Glad to see you’re taking this seriously,” he muttered, looking thoroughly unimpressed as he stomped over to the leg of the coffee table. Which, at his current size, was basically the height of a damn tree.

You wiped away a tear, trying to regain your composure. “Okay, okay. I’m sorry. But seriously, how long are you gonna be like this?”

Bucky glanced up at you, his tiny hands on his hips. “Tony said a few hours, maybe more.”

“Oh great,” you said, trying not to laugh again. “So what, I just have to babysit mini-Bucky until he figures it out?”

“I don’t need a babysitter,” Bucky grumbled. “I’m still the Winter Soldier, doll. Just… compact.”

You snorted. “Right, right. You’re so scary right now.”

Bucky’s scowl deepened, but before he could say anything else, you heard a low hum from the other room. Your eyes widened in realization. The Roomba.

“Shit, Bucky, move!”

“What—?”

You darted forward just as the Roomba rounded the corner like a robot assassin, heading straight for Tiny Bucky. He turned, eyes going wide as the thing came barreling toward him.

“Seriously? A fucking Roomba?!” Bucky yelped, diving out of the way just in time.

You snatched him up in one hand, clutching him to your chest like an action figure while the Roomba buzzed past. “Holy crap, you almost got squished.”

Bucky’s tiny heart was pounding against your fingers, but he quickly brushed it off, trying to act like he hadn’t just narrowly avoided death by robot vacuum. “I had it under control.”

“Sure you did,” you teased, still holding him in your hand like a living GI Joe. “Should I get you a dollhouse or something? You know, so you have a safe base of operations.”

Bucky shot you a glare. “Don’t push it.”

But the idea of him living in a dollhouse was just too good to pass up. You carried him over to the coffee table and gently set him down, making sure to keep him out of Roomba’s range.

“So,” you said, sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of him, “what’s the plan, Mini Barnes? Just hang out and hope Tony doesn’t take his sweet time fixing you?”

Bucky, who had climbed onto a nearby book to avoid feeling like a speck on the table, shrugged. “Guess so. But if that thing—” he nodded toward the Roomba, still mindlessly circling the living room, “—comes near me again, I’m taking it out.”

You grinned. “I’d love to see that. You, taking down a Roomba with your tiny fists.”

Bucky flexed his mini vibranium arm like it was still the deadliest weapon in the world. “Don’t underestimate me just ‘cause I’m fun-sized.”

“Oh, believe me, I’m not,” you said, smirking. “You’re still pretty intimidating... you know, for a dude who’s shorter than my coffee mug.”

He sighed, running a hand through his shrunken hair. “This is fucking humiliating.”

“Come on, Bucky, it’s kinda cute.”

His eyes snapped to yours, and if looks could kill, well, you’d probably still be alive because it was hard to take him seriously when he was that size. “Cute?”

You nodded, grinning. “Yep. Cute. Like a little tough-guy action figure.”

Bucky groaned, rubbing his face with both hands. “I’m never gonna live this down, am I?”

“Nope,” you said cheerfully. “I’m taking pictures later, too.”

He glared at you again. “If you do, I’ll—”

“What? Glare at my ankles?”

“Doll.”

You giggled, leaning down so you were eye level with him, his tiny face practically vibrating with frustration. “Okay, okay, I’ll cut you some slack… for now.”

Bucky, finally giving up on the idea of intimidating you, collapsed onto the table like a dramatic action figure who just lost his day job. “This better wear off soon. I’m not built for this.”

“Well, you are built small now,” you teased, earning yourself another mini-death-glare.

You were still laughing to yourself when the Roomba buzzed by again, and Bucky, from his spot on the table, narrowed his eyes. “That thing’s mocking me.”

You had to physically hold yourself back from laughing again. “Maybe it is. Maybe the Roomba’s the real enemy here.”

Bucky crossed his arms, staring the Roomba down like he was ready to declare war. “First Stark, then the Roomba. Everyone’s out to get me.”

“Well, at least you’ve still got me, soldier.” You winked at him, leaning back on your hands. “I’ll protect you from the big, bad vacuum.”

Bucky rolled his eyes, but there was a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah, sure, doll. Whatever you say.”

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krirebr · 10 months ago

Text

Welcome to Your Life

Pairing: dark vampire!Steve Rogers x f!reader

Word Count: ~3.75k

Summary: During a drunken night out on vacation, you're brought to a strange club and presented to a mysterious man. Part of Everybody Wants to Rule the World

Warnings: Horror elements, dark elements, mind control, some blood and gore, feeding on humans, captivity, dub/con, SMUT - All of my work is 18+ - Minors DNI

Divider by @saradika

We're All Monsters

Masterlist

A/N: And here it is, the first part of Vampire Steve's solo story! If you missed his introduction, it was in I Can't Sleep Cause My Bed's On Fire. You don't need to read that before you read this, but some of the world-building (specifically how his club works) might be helpful. Plus, it's a vampire threesome, so 🥵🥵🥵

This is also the first part of the new, super-expanded supernatural universe that I'm doing with @paperweight91, playing off of what I started with my Psycho Killer AU. Big thanks to Chelsea for all her help on this and for just how much fun it's been to come up with ideas with her for this whole universe.

Now, where it might get slightly confusing, but I really hope it doesn't. This story introduces a new character, Cutter, who will eventually be a reader in one of Chelsea's stories in her werewolf half of this au. She is not physically described at all here, other than being a woman. I hope it gets you excited about what @paperweight91 has in store for her.

As always, any comments, reblogs, or asks are very appreciated. You know how much I love this Steve. Please come screech with me about him!!!

You were shaking. That was the only thing you knew. You didn’t know where you were or what you were doing there. Not even how you’d gotten there, just that you were standing in the back room of some club, surrounded by people—were they people? Of course, they were. What else could they be?!—unable to move, and you couldn’t stop shaking.

You’d been on vacation with some friends in Berlin. You’d all decided to have a wild night out together but were quickly separated. While tipsily searching for them at a club, you’d bumped into a man, an American, who told you his name was Cole. And suddenly, looking for your friends didn’t seem as important. He’d told you he knew a great bar just a few blocks away. You didn’t really remember agreeing to go with him, but now you were here, in a room full of strangers who wouldn’t stop leering at you. No one had done anything or even said anything, but you knew in your bones that you were not safe. And yet, you couldn’t move.

Cole, especially, wouldn’t take his eyes off you, your neck in particular. You desperately wished for something to cover up your club attire. A woman was leaning against the wall in the corner, sharpening her ridiculously long nails with a knife. She looked up occasionally, and this time her gaze landed on Cole, a scowl on her face. “You know he gets first taste,” she said, before looking back down in disinterest.

“I know,” he said, his fingers drumming impatiently on his thigh.

“Everything has to get his approval before it goes on the menu,” she continued, still not looking up as she filed her nails to a terrifying point.

“Yes,” Cole gritted out, “I know that, Cutter. I’m not fucking new.”

“Then stop acting like you’re jonesing for your next fix. You’re that fucking hungry? Go get yourself something to eat that actually is on the menu.” Nothing they were saying made any sense.

He scowled at her, but started to leave the room, and then, suddenly, stopped. Everyone stopped. Cutter looked up, listening for something, then pushed herself off the wall and made her way over to you. She brushed one of her exceedingly sharp nails over your bottom lip. Looking you in the eye, she breathed, “Kneel, sweetheart.” And you were on your knees before you had any idea what had happened. She smiled at you and added, “Be quiet,” and you knew, in every cell, that you wouldn’t have been able to make any noise if you’d tried.

One of the doors opened and a tall, broad, beautiful man came into the room and you felt the energy of everything change. It was like it was all, yourself included, suddenly charged with electricity. You’d never felt anything like it. He zeroed in on you instantly and made his way over. You felt the instinct to cower, but it was far away, almost like it was behind a wall. And you still couldn’t move anyway. All you could do was shiver.

The man looked at you carefully. “Pretty,” he said, absently. He brushed his thumb over your lower lip just like Cutter had. Then he gripped your chin and angled it up so you were forced to make eye contact. “Give me your wrist,” he said and you couldn’t explain the feeling that moved through your body, only that you reached your wrist up to him, you had to, and waited for him to take it. He took it in his firm grip and placed his thumb right over your pulse point. He pressed down hard and smiled when you still didn’t move, didn’t react. It was like you didn’t know how. And then, something happened, so quickly you couldn’t process it. Fangs descended into his mouth and he lowered his head to your wrist and bit down hard. It was some of the worst pain you’d ever felt, but you didn’t pull away, didn’t make a sound. It wasn’t until you felt the wetness on your cheeks that you even realized you were crying. It was like all the different parts of you were separated.

He pulled his teeth from your wrist and then licked the wound clean. He grinned at you and said, “You have excellent taste in cocktails, honey.” Then he looked over at Cutter and his smile dropped. “She’s still drunk. You should have known better.”

Her mouth fell open, and then she flung her hand out at Cole who stood sheepishly on the other side of the room. “Cole’s the one who brought her in!”

He was in front of her in a blink, the arm that was still in the air now in his firm grasp. She grimaced. “And you know exactly how good his judgment is,” he growled.

“Steve,” she whispered, just barely loud enough for you to hear her.

The man (could you even call him that? Deep down you knew what he was), Steve, brought his face as close to hers as possible. “When I put you in charge,” he said, so lowly, “I expect you to be in charge.”

She just stared at him for a moment meeting his gaze, then dropped her own and nodded. He smiled fondly, you were surprised to see, and kissed her on the cheek. “You know he needs supervision.”

He made his way back to where you were still kneeling, now cradling your arm. He bent down to you slightly and stroked a hand down your neck. “There’s something there, though,” he said, although you weren’t sure who he was talking to. Certainly not to you. “Underneath everything else. I’ll try her again tomorrow and see how she is when the blood’s pure.”

You gazed up at him, confused, and he gripped your chin in his hand. “You may speak,” he said.

“I don’t understand what’s happening,” was all you could manage.

“Oh honey, of course, you don’t,” he said with a grin that frightened you. “The good news is that you’ll never need to understand anything ever again.” He looked back up at the room at large. “Set her up in a room upstairs.” He released your chin and made his way to the exit, pausing as he was almost out the door to call “Cole!” over his shoulder. The other man quickly followed him out of the room.

Cutter came to stand in front of you. She looked you in the eye and said, “Up,” and without thinking, you were on your feet. “Such a good girl,” she cooed. “Follow me,” and suddenly that was all you wanted to do.

The room she took you to was better described as a cell. There was a cot, a toilet, and a sink. No windows. Painted grey. It was tiny. Cutter left as soon as you were inside and you heard the door lock behind her.

You sat down on the bed and closed your eyes. You felt the urge to panic but it was like your body wouldn’t cooperate. Your heart rate stayed steady, your breaths even. You were calm, even if that was the last thing you wanted to be.

These people must have done something to you. People, right. You knew what they were. Every single one of them had stared at your neck. Steve had fangs and he’d literally drank your blood. You knew, even if an hour ago you would’ve sworn that was just fantasy. Vampires. You were being held captive by vampires. What the hell?

There was nothing to occupy your time in here except for your thoughts, so you curled up on the cot and tried to convince yourself that it was all a bizarre dream. Eventually, your exhaustion overtook you and you fell asleep.

You weren’t sure when exactly you woke up. You hadn’t seen a single window since Cole had brought you into the building last night. Because sunlight kills vampires, you thought to yourself, somewhat hysterically. Your memories of the night before were… weird. And not just because you swear someone drank your blood. They were patchy. And yes, you’d been drunk, but not that drunk. Not so drunk that you blacked out small portions of the night. And certainly not so drunk that you hallucinated vampires. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. There was no way out of the cell. Nothing in it that would help you. All you could do was wait for whatever it was that was coming for you.

Sometime later, hours probably, a slit in the door you hadn’t noticed before was opened, and a tray was slid through. Food. You gathered it quickly and sat on the bed. There was a carton of water and a plate with a large salad that was mostly made up of spinach and lentils. Iron-rich food, your mind supplied. The previous night seemed more and more real.

.You thought about refusing the salad, but you were so hungry, so you ate it. It was surprisingly good, but not what you would have chosen for what would probably be your last meal. You lay back down when you were finished, curled up on your side, and daydreamed of something more satisfying than a spinach salad.

More time passed. You stared at the walls and tried not to freak out. You wondered if your friends had made it back to the hotel. How long it took for them to realize you were missing. Were the police searching for you? Did your family know? You couldn’t help it when the tears started. You were pretty sure you were going to die here.

You dozed in and out for who knows how long. And then the door opened. Steve walked in with Cole behind him, carrying a chair. You jolted up and pressed yourself into the wall. “Stop,” Steve said, and everything did. “Calm down,” and you felt everything in your body slow. Suddenly, you couldn’t access whatever it was that you’d been so scared of. So you sat still and watched him.

Cole handed Steve the chair and he placed it in front of your cot. He sat down and looked at you. His gaze made you feel so small. He reached out his hand and brushed the backs of his fingers against your knee. A chill ran up your spine, not just fear, but an excitement too, that you couldn’t explain. “Give me your other wrist,” he said, lowly, and you immediately did. He took it in his hand and brought it up to his nose, forcing you to lean forward. He inhaled deeply. “Much better,” he said. “You’re all sobered up now, aren’t you?”

You didn’t respond. You knew, deep inside yourself, that he didn’t want you to. His fangs dropped and you braced yourself, something in the far recesses of your mind knowing that you should be scared. With a slight grin, he sank his teeth into your wrist. The pain was just as bad as the night before but soon, so much quicker than the last time, it was over and Steve was pulling away, his eyes still locked on you.

“Shit,” he breathed.

“What?” Cole asked, from his place by the door. “She’s that bad?”

“No,” Steve growled. “She tastes like sunshine.” He stood up and leaned over you, running the back of one finger across your cheek. “Precious thing.”

You looked up at him and blinked. “Please,” you said, “please, I want to go home.”

“No, honey,” he cooed, so gently, “you’ll never go home again.” As you tried to process that through the fog, he turned to Cole. “Put her in my private reserves. I’ll have her for dinner.” And then he was out of the room.

Cole looked at you, a pout on his face. “Goddamnit,” he grumbled, “I’ve been waiting for a taste.”

“You’re gonna bite me, too?” you asked, alarmed.

He sighed. “Not anymore. I’d rather not face the true death, thanks.” He looked you in the eye. “Come with me.”

You felt something move through you at that. There was definitely a strong urge to obey that you wouldn’t resist, but it was nothing like what you felt with Steve, or even Cutter, where it was like your body was on strings. It wasn’t a huge weakness, but you were taking note of everything at this point.

Cole took you through a long series of hallways that you couldn’t hope to keep track of. Cole talked the whole way, mostly inane bits about his frustrations with the pecking order in whatever vampire organization this was. You marveled for a moment at the fact that you were describing something to do with mythical monsters as inane. Finally, just as you arrived at a door not dissimilar to the one you’d just come out of, he concluded with “You’re a really good listener.”

You gaped at him. What did he think was happening here? He’d targeted you, done something to you to bring you here where you were trapped and probably going to die and he thought you cared that he didn’t feel respected enough by his fellow monsters???

But staying alive right now was your primary concern, so you just quietly said, “Thank you,” and let him show you into the room.

It was much bigger than the cell, but still small, along the lines of a spacious walk-in closet. There was a plush rug under your feet, a deep rose color. A four-poster bed was to one side covered in a big, fluffy comforter that was in a lighter shade of dusty pink and piled with pillows to match. The far wall was entirely made of mahogany built-in bookcases that were completely full of books. There was a soft-looking armchair in the corner by the shelves. You turned back to Cole and asked, “What is this?”

“It’s your room,” he said with a smile. He looked you in the eye. “Now,” he said, and you felt his words travel through your body. He pointed at a door without breaking eye contact, “that’s your bathroom. You’re going to use it now to get very clean and smooth. There are lotions you’ll use after to make yourself soft. There are things in there,” he pointed to a beautiful armoire in the corner, “for you to change into when you’re done. Steve will be back in a few hours and you will be ready for him. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” you said, your voice coming out of you without any conscious thought or effort, “I’ll be ready for Steve.”

“Good girl,” he said, and gently patted your cheek. He stood awkwardly, watching you, but now that the command was in you, you were focused on getting to the bathroom so you could get clean. He was in your way.

“I have to get ready for Steve,” you told him, your voice sounding oddly robotic to your own ears.

Cole blinked at you and then sighed. “Right,” he said, sounding almost forlorn. He stared at you again and then shook his head. “I’ll see you again soon,” he said, stroking one hand down your arm. And then he finally left.

It was the most luxurious shower of your life.

When you came out of the bathroom, clean, smooth, and more moisturized than you’d ever been, you opened the armoire to find a small collection of slips in different sizes hanging in it. You found the one that would fit you best and put it on. It was black, a combination of silk and lace. It felt expensive against your skin. You searched the drawers, and next to a collection of silk briefs, you found a pair of black lace panties that would work for you.

Once you were dressed (or as dressed as you were going to be with what was available), you moved to the bookshelves. They were chock full of every genre and category you could think of. Vaunted classics next to dime store romances. Shakespeare collections and airport schlock. You ran your fingers across the spines, when, suddenly, from behind you–

“If there’s something you particularly enjoy, let me know and I’ll have someone get it for you.”

You spun around to find Steve just inches from you. You hadn’t heard a noise when he’d come in. There was a coldness emanating from him that made goosebumps rise along your flesh. Your breath caught and he grinned. You inhaled and asked, “You aren’t going to kill me?”

He laughed. “Oh no, Sunshine. You’re too delicious. I’m going to be feeding from you for a long, long time.”

You tried to back up, but the wall of bookcases blocked you. You pressed yourself into it anyway. He opened his mouth and you hurried to say “Please don’t make me calm down!”

His eyes narrowed and he tilted his head to the side. “Explain,” he commanded and you were obeying before you even registered the word.

“I don’t know what you’re doing to me, but I feel it when you tell me to do things. And I– I don’t know. I don’t know.” You wanted to obey, every part of you was trying, but you had no vocabulary for any of what this was. So you were left chanting, “I don’t know,” over and over.

“Stop,” he said, and of course, everything did. “You can feel it?” he asked. “The compulsion? You actually feel it move through your body?”

The word was new to you, but you knew what he meant. You nodded and he hummed. “Oh, you are very interesting, aren’t you, pet?”

You didn’t say anything to that, just watched him warily. He gave you a sharklike grin that sent chills down your spine and said “Now, calm down.”

And just like before, you felt everything inside you slow. Your body sagged a bit against the shelves, no longer trying to push your way through them.

“There,” he said, cupping your face in his large hand. “Isn’t that better, little pet?”

He guided you to the armchair and sat down in it, pulling you onto his lap. You could feel the supernatural strength in his thighs as you settled on top of him, sidesaddle, as he took all of your weight without any reaction at all. He scratched his thumbnail down your jugular and you closed your eyes. “It hurts,” you said, your tone surprisingly flat for how afraid of all this you’d been just a moment before.

“Hmm?” he questioned, as he nuzzled his nose along your throat.

“When you bite me,” you said, still so calm, “it hurts so much.”

“Oh, is that all?” he asked and you could hear the smile in his voice. “Don’t worry, Sunshine, I’ll make it feel just as good for you as it will for me.”

With that, he moved one of his hands in between your legs, slowly sliding it up your thigh. His face was fully in the crook of your neck when he mumbled “Feel this,” and you felt the command vibrate through your whole body. The calmness that had flattened you faded away and you let out a little whine when his hand reached your mound. He pushed your panties to the side and slid his fingers between your folds. You gasped as he quickly found your clit, tracing slow lazy circles around it. You tried to grind down onto his hand and you felt him huff a laugh into your neck. His tongue darted out, licking a wide stripe all along your vein. You let out another whine, so desperate this time.

He chuckled again. “I was going to make you get wet for me,” he said, as his fingers began to prod at your hole gently, his thumb still working at your clit, “but I don’t need to, do I? Or at least, not with my voice.” He was right, you were already soaking, and there was no resistance as he slipped one finger inside of you. You squirmed against his hand and he added another finger.

His mouth was still on your neck, lapping and nipping at your jugular, but he hadn’t sunk his teeth in yet. He scissored his fingers for a moment, stretching you so good that you cried out before he added a third. They stroked inside your walls, looking for your spot. He found it and you threw your head back.

“Come on,” he growled, “give me what I need.” He curled his fingers, scraping against that place inside you just right. You screamed as you were thrown over the edge of your orgasm and that’s the moment he finally sunk his fangs into your neck. You felt it, you did. The pain was just as intense as before but mingled with some of the strongest pleasure you’d ever felt, you couldn’t bring yourself to care. Your body spasmed around his fingers as he loudly sucked from your neck. You swore that you could feel the blood rushing to both places. You babbled as you coasted along the waves of your orgasm, feeling like it would never end. Even as the aftershocks quieted and slowed down, his mouth was still latched to your neck, taking what he needed from you. Your body was fully collapsed into his now. Everything offered up for the taking.

Finally, his teeth left you and he gently licked the blood from your skin. He slowly removed his fingers from you and you whined at the emptiness. He brought them up to your lips. “Clean up your mess,” he commanded and your mouth dropped open without thinking. He slid his fingers in and you swirled your tongue around them. You tasted yourself, sweet and musky, as you sucked him clean. He pulled them out with a soft pop and wiped them on the bodice of your slip.

You looked at his face. He still had your blood on his lips. You felt the odd urge to kiss him but didn’t have the chance as he pushed you off his lap. Your knees buckled, too weak to stand. He laughed gently, like you might at a cute animal that was struggling, as he lifted you into his arms and carried you to the bed. He laid you down and tucked you in. “Rest up, Sunshine,” he cooed, and your body did as it was told, quickly sinking into sleep. “I’ll be back for more soon.”

Tag list is open

@stargazingfangirl18 @yenzys-lucky-charm @thezombieprostitute @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory @bval-1 @km-ffluv @texmexdarling @ladyvenera @roxyfan14-blog @femefetalelevelingup

#everybody wants to rule the world #we're all monsters #dark!steve rogers #dark!steve rogers x reader #dark steve rogers #dark steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers fic #steve rogers x f!reader #steve rogers x female reader #steve rogers #captain america #vampire au #dark!fic #dark fic #chris evans fanfiction #fanfic #kris wrote something

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bandsofmarv · 29 days ago

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Shattered shield

After discovering Steve’s betrayal, your world falls apart. Heartbroken and doubting yourself, you find solace in the most unexpected place—Bucky Barnes, Steve’s best friend. You realise that the love you’ve been searching for has been with Bucky all along.

Possible TW - cheating, smut, betrayal.

You never thought you’d find yourself here—sitting alone in the quiet darkness of your apartment, the remnants of your relationship with Steve Rogers crumbling around you. You’d trusted him, believed in him, but that trust had been shattered the moment you caught him with someone else. Someone who wasn’t you.

It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. You were supposed to be enough. But the broken pieces of your heart told a different story.

The sound of a knock at the door pulled you from your thoughts. You frowned, wiping at your tear-streaked face as you stood. It was late, and you weren’t expecting anyone. But when you opened the door, you found Bucky Barnes standing there, his steel-blue eyes filled with concern.

“Bucky,” you said, your voice hoarse. “What are you doing here?”

“Steve told me,” he said simply, his voice low. “What happened.” Of course, he had. Steve and Bucky were best friends—brothers, even. It made sense that he’d turn to Bucky, though the thought sent a pang of resentment through you.

“Came to check on you,” Bucky continued, his gaze sweeping over your tear-stained face. “You okay?”

You stepped aside, letting him in without a word. He shut the door behind him, the weight of his presence filling the room as you sank back onto the couch.

“I’m fine,” you lied, though the quiver in your voice betrayed you.

Bucky scoffed, taking a seat across from you. “You’re a terrible liar, doll.”

You managed a weak smile, but it quickly faded as the silence settled between you. Bucky’s expression softened, and he leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees.

“You didn’t deserve that,” he said, his voice steady but filled with emotion. “Steve screwed up. Big time.”

“I thought I was enough for him,” you whispered, your throat tightening with the weight of your heartbreak. “But I wasn’t.”

“Hey,” Bucky said, his tone firm as he moved to sit beside you. “That’s not on you. That’s on him. Don’t ever think you weren’t enough, because you are.”

The sincerity in his voice made your chest ache. You looked up at him, and for the first time, you noticed the intensity in his gaze, the way he looked at you like you were the only thing that mattered. It was a stark contrast to Steve’s wandering eyes.

“I don’t know how to feel,” you admitted, your voice breaking. “I’m angry. Hurt. But most of all, I feel stupid.”

“You’re not stupid,” Bucky said, his hand brushing against yours. His touch was warm, grounding. “You loved him. You gave him everything. That’s not stupid—that’s brave.”

His words struck a chord deep within you, and before you knew it, tears were streaming down your face again. Bucky pulled you into his arms without hesitation, holding you as you cried into his chest. His embrace was strong, steady, and for the first time in days, you felt safe.

——————————————————————

Weeks passed, and Bucky was there for you every step of the way. He never pushed, never asked for more than you could give. But the way he looked at you, the way he made you laugh when you thought you’d forgotten how—it all made your heart ache in a different way.

One night, you found yourself alone with him again, this time at his apartment. He’d invited you over for dinner, and you’d accepted, grateful for the distraction. But as the night wore on, the tension between you became impossible to ignore.

“Bucky,” you said softly, setting your glass of wine down. “Why are you doing all this?”

He frowned, leaning back in his chair. “What do you mean?”

“You’ve been there for me, more than anyone else. Why?” Your voice trembled as you met his gaze. “You don’t owe me anything.”

“Don’t you get it, doll?” he said, his voice raw. “I’m not doing this because I owe you. I’m doing it because I care about you.”

Your breath hitched, and he stood, crossing the room to kneel in front of you. His metal hand rested on your knee, while his flesh hand cupped your cheek.

“I’ve cared about you for a long time,” he admitted, his eyes searching yours. “But you were with Steve, and I’d never do that to him. But now…”

“Bucky,” you whispered, your heart racing.

“If this is too much, tell me,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “But I can’t keep pretending I don’t feel this way about you.”

You didn’t reply. Instead, you leaned forward, your lips meeting his in a kiss that was soft, tentative, and filled with unspoken longing. Bucky responded immediately, his hands pulling you closer as the kiss deepened.

“Are you sure about this?” he murmured against your lips, his voice thick with restraint.

“More sure than I’ve ever been,” you said, your fingers tangling in his hair.

That was all the encouragement he needed. He lifted you effortlessly, carrying you to the bedroom as his lips claimed yours again. The air was charged with a mix of desperation and tenderness as he laid you down, his hands exploring your body with reverence.

“I’ll take care of you,” he whispered, his lips brushing against your ear. “The way you deserve.”

And in that moment, you knew he meant it. Bucky wasn’t just a rebound or a distraction—he was your future.

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 5 months ago

Text

Code of Conduct 1

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such as cheating, noncon/dubcon, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: your boss has a difficult time keeping his personal life from bleeding into his work.

Characters: Steve Rogers, this reader is known as Rosie.

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself💜

💼Part of the Bad Bosses AU💼

“Mr. Rogers’ office. This is Rosie, how can I hel--”

“Where is he?” Peggy’s voice cuts over your own.

“Oh, hello, Mrs. Rogers, he’s currently in a meeting--”

“Get him.”

“Mrs.--”

“Don’t argue with me. Go get him. Are you not his assistant?” She challenges brusquely.

Her accent adds to the sharpness of her words. Her curt demeanour is a stark contrast to her husband. Your boss is always amiable, accommodating even, but the few times you’ve dealt with his wife have been similarly tense. You put a smile on so she can’t hear your anxiety.

“Of course, Mrs. Rogers,” you preen, “I’ll put you on a quick hold.”

“No, you will get him. No hold.”

You suck in a sigh and hold your breath in your chest, “of course.”

You set the phone down. You don’t see how her hearing your desktop will be any better but you wouldn’t want to irritate her further. It must be urgent.

You stand and smooth out your dress. You step out from behind your desk, digging your nails into your palms as you ball your fists tight. You get nervous about most things. Answering the phone took your months to get used to and even now you tend to fumble over your words.

You go to the door and brace yourself. You don’t know why you expect Mr. Rogers to be upset. He’s never been anything close to rude. Maybe short in times of stress but not unpleasant. You knock and wait as you twiddle your fingers against your striped pleats.

It isn’t Mr. Rogers who answers by Mr. Barnes. You give a sheepish smile, “excuse me, doll.”

He steps past you and you bid him a good day. He leaves without further courtesy and Mr. Rogers calls your name from within, “need something?” He asks.

“Oh, yes, Mrs. Rogers is on the phone.”

He doesn’t seem happy about that. His cheek dimples and he nods, wiggling his pen at you, “patch her through.”

You go back to your desk and pick up the receiver, “hello, Mrs. Rogers, he’s available now--”

“I don’t want to talk to you, honey. Where is my husband?”

You transfer her without another word. Phew. You almost feel bad for your boss as you hear him pick up in his office. His tone is low and dull.

You try not to overhear, letting his conversation drone into a buzz. There’s enough work to be done without worrying about his personal life. Your own afterhours concerns are more than concerning. You wouldn’t say you have much going on and that’s the problem. It’s moment like those that ease your envy of others’ full plates.

You haven’t seen the girls lately. The group chat’s been quiet but you suppose you could go ahead and say hi. Your weekly cocktails petered out to biweekly, then monthly, and now you can’t remember the last time you let go with a mimosa.

You peek over your desk and back at your screen. It’s not only on them to keep things going. You pick up your phone and open the chat. The last message is a meme Elfie sent about printers. You shake your head and send a little waving sticker, keying in a message.

‘Long time no see! I’m in need of drinks. Anyone free? When’s best? Hope you’re all taking care.’

You’re professional tone shines through even on WhatsApp. It’s a bit lame but you’re an entirely different person in text. Most people are surprised to meet the mousy secretary hiding behind her screen after the lively back and forth in Outlook.

You set your phone down and try not to stare at it. A reply never comes while you’re waiting for it, nor does water boil when you’re watching it. As you click around and try to remember where you were, the silence sinks in. Your realisation brings your eyes up as quickly as Mr. Rogers shadow.

You bat your lashes at him in surprise, “need something, sir?”

He gives a half-smile, the type weighed down by disappointment. He sighs and crosses his arms, leaning on the door frame, “you hungry?”

“Um, well, it’s only eleven,” you shrug.

“Mm, yeah,” he unfolds one arm to rub his neck, “I’m restless. You feel like getting lunch early?”

“Sure, I can run out and grab you something,” you stand eagerly.

“No, uh,” he drops his arm back over his other, “together. I had a reservation for me and Peggy but she canceled. I’d hate to inconvenience the restaurant and I just can’t sit and mope in my office.”

“Oh, okay, I guess that works...”

“Do you need to ask your boss?” He scoffs.

You laugh at his joke, “do I?”

He smiles, a real smile and drops his arms, “my treat. You know what, you earned it. You work so hard around here, a little employee appreciation is overdue.”

“That’s so nice,” you chime, “uh, sir, I... I should leave an away message, should I?”

“Oh, who cares, come on.”

“Well, I mean...”

“Ah, I get it, boss is a real hard ass,” he winks.

“Sir,” you giggle nervously and teethe your lip. He watches your mouth.

“You can catch up later. Come on, I haven’t played hooky in years.”

“Hooky?” You stammer.

He laughs, “a goody two shoes. It’s why I hired you but it’s okay to let loose once in a while.”

“I know, Mr. Rogers, it’s just... it’s work.”

“Too much of it and you’ll turn into me,” he huffs. “Please, I’m sure your husband would hate if you were never home. Never answered the phone.”

“If I had one, probably,” you blurt out then look away shyly.

“Really? I thought...” he begins and shakes his head, “doesn’t matter. I’ll grab my jacket and we’ll go. I missed breakfast.”

“Um, sure, sir,” you agree and put your hand on the phone.

When he turns, you look down. Missie sent a reply; ‘please, drinks are required!’ Ooh! Yay.

#steve rogers #dark steve rogers #dark!steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #series #drabble #code of conduct #au #bad bosses #mcu #marvel #captain america #avengers

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lilacevans · 11 months ago

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𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝: 𝐚 𝐩𝐞𝐭𝐞’𝐬 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐥𝐞. ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-

✧.*ೃ⁀➷ pete's place | the intro | opening night | the playlist ༊*·˚

✧.* : ̗̀➛ paring: dark!steve rogers x female!reader. (non-descriptive) ✧.* : ̗̀➛ word count: 157. ✧.* : ̗̀➛ warnings: bondage, sweet steve losing his mind a little. ✧.* : ̗̀➛ requested by: @sgtnightwolfinthetardis ✧.* : ̗̀➛ notes: enjoy, my honeyssss. i hope u enjoy this little glimpse into stevie turning a little like the rest of his familyyyy. 𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑣𝑒'𝑠 𝑝𝑙𝑎𝑦𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡 ༊*·˚

*this is an 18+ space. minors are not welcome here.

*this is a dark au. there are no happy endings here.

You whined around the double layer of rope between your teeth, the corners of your mouth tearing at the seams as Steve stroked a hand down the intricate patterns of the taut pink rope bound around your body.

Your skin jumped as he’d occasionally flicked the rope against your skin. Scratchy fibres pricked your skin with every attempt to move in a feeble attempt to find comfort in the wooden chair.

Your thighs flexed over the wooden arms digging painfully into your legs, the creaking of the wood filling the deafening silence between Steve’s long, deep breaths. Steve’s fingertips sent waves of shivers through your body as he painstakingly knelt down between your parted legs, his head dropping against your stomach as he let out a ragged sigh, seemingly battling with something deep within.

“Why did you have to run?” Steve questioned softly against the skin of your belly, before looking up with those deep-ocean eyes, glossy and haunted. “I didn’t wanna do this, angel…”

“Yes you did,” your minds spoke in unison.

#chris evans #cevans #dark!chris evans #steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers smut #steve rogers fic #steve rogers imagine #dark!steve x female reader #dark!steve rogers #dark verse #dark au #lila writes #lila's drabbles #pete's place #pete's place: the drabbles

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cthulhu-calling · 4 months ago

Text

Camisado 1

Dark!Steve Rogers x female!Reader

Summary : You always thought you’d marry someone closer to your age, but you couldn’t complain. Although Steve was nearly seven years older than you, you couldn’t have asked for a better partner. He was kind, sweet and had always looked out for you ever since you moved into the neighbourhood at fifteen years of age. At first, you assumed it was an elder brother-ly thing. Beating up the boys at school who were bothering you, those who asked you to accompany them to the movies even after you said no. But on your nineteenth birthday, when he kissed you in the kitchen while your party continued on in the backyard, everything changed. You’d been going out since then and he’d made it clear to you as well as your parents that he planned on making an honest woman out of you. You and Steve had the perfect life, you couldn't ask for anything more. But that doesn't mean he couldn't.

Warnings : 1950's AU, smut, misogyny, factual inaccuracies, lots of talk of pregnancy (seriously, this is a major content warning)

Author’s Note : Reader has no specified race or body type. It has all the period typical sexism but considering that when I imagine readers, they're always woc, there will be no period typical racism. Not beta'd so all mistakes are my own. I tried to do as much research on life in 1950's America so please be kind and let me know what you think!

Word Count : 5k

masterlist

You fell back on the couch, deciding on taking a small break after having spent the whole morning dusting and vacuuming the house. You still had to do the dishes and hang the clothes out to dry. Your mama always said, a man’s home is a reflection of the woman he’s with, and so you made sure to keep the house in near perfect condition. You looked up at the clock, a wedding gift from Steve’s ma. You adored Sarah Rogers, she was almost like a second mother to you. It was already past noon and you really needed to get a move on. You had less than an hour to take a quick shower and then make a quick lunch for you and Steve to take to the garage.

Finishing your shower in record time, you quickly add chicken soup, flour, pepper and cayenne into the slow cooker followed by stirring in the chicken and veggies. You knew Steve always enjoyed your slow cooked chicken a la king. You could leave it on and it would be ready just in time for dinner. Packing a quick ham and cheese sandwich for the both of you, you placed it in your bag before checking your appearance one last time in the mirror. You had on a sleeveless white blouse with a blue, floral-a-line circle skirt and black kitten heels along with a classic red lip. Steve always preferred you in skirts and dresses as opposed to pants or trousers.

With ten minutes before the clock struck one, you quickly made your way out of the house and began the short walk to the garage where Steve worked. You always brought Steve his lunch and spent the half hour of his lunch break with him and today was no exception. You’d been married for just over a year now and the two of you had decided that you’d wait for a while before starting a family, wanting to just enjoy each other’s company for a while before you added children to the mix. But it was established that you both wanted kids. While two would be more than enough for you, Steve wanted three, at the very least.

You always thought you’d marry someone closer to your age, but you couldn’t complain. Although Steve was nearly seven years older than you, you couldn’t have asked for a better partner. He was kind, sweet and had always looked out for you ever since you moved into the neighbourhood at fifteen years of age. At first, you assumed it was an elder brother-ly thing. Beating up the boys at school who were bothering you, those who asked you to accompany them to the movies even after you said no. But on your nineteenth birthday, when he kissed you in the kitchen while your party continued on in the backyard, everything changed. You’d been going out since then and he’d made it clear to you as well as your parents that he planned on making an honest woman out of you.

And exactly three years later, on your twenty-second birthday, he asked you to marry him. And you said yes, of course. The two of you got married two months after that day, in an intimate ceremony with only the closest of friends and family. Steve worked as a mechanic at Mr. Stark’s garage, making more than enough for the two of you. After the monthly expenses, the mortgage on the house and your savings were covered, you had just enough left every month to go out for a fancy dinner and to the movies once.

As you reached the garage, you spotted Steve bent over the open bonnet of a car, tinkering around. Taking this opportunity to startle him, you walk up behind him as slowly and noiselessly as possible before placing a hand on his shoulder, calling out his name, causing him to startle and hit his head on the bonnet. He curses loudly before turning around, the anger evident in his eyes which burns out a little when he sees you. “You should know better than to do something like that doll,” he whispers in your ear, pulling you close by your waist before pressing a chaste kiss to your lips. You feel the heat rising to your face as you look towards your feet, licking your lips as you mumble out an apology.

“Why don’t you take a seat doll, I’ll be done here in five,” he says before continuing to work on the engine. You nod as you take a seat a little distance away, pulling out the book you got from the library last week, smoothing out the dog-eared edge before diving back into the book. Just as you were about to finish the chapter you’d been reading, Bucky walks out of Mr. Stark’s office, snatching the book right out of your hands. “Hey!” you huff out a protest, reaching out for the book that he proceeded to hold above his head. Laughing heartily at your antics, Steve comes up behind Bucky to snatch the book and hands it back to you before sitting down and pulling you onto his lap, wrapping his arm around your waist possessively.

Rolling his eyes at that, Bucky continues “Nat needs y’all to come over for dinner tomorrow night,” he says as he opens his lunch, digging into the food. Bucky and Natasha were Steve’s friends and had become yours too when you started dating him. The two had been married for five years now. Natasha was probably the most badass woman you’d ever met and while you hoped your mama never caught you saying that, it was true. She was headstrong and never took any crap from anyone. She was a nurse and while you admired her, you were a bit envious of the fact that she was a working woman. Steve didn’t allow you to work. He believed that it was his job to earn money to support you and while you would have still loved to work, you understood that things couldn’t always go your way.

“What for? We’re going to my ma’s tomorrow night,” he questioned as you handed him his sandwich, before grabbing your own.

“Go to Sarah’s some other day. Nat’s going to prepare a feast and she needs you there. Sam and Wanda and Clint and the family are coming too. Come with your appetites prepared,” he said, finishing off the last of his lunch before dusting his hands off and getting back to work, “No excuses, be there by seven. And for god’s sake Rogers, look presentable.”

“Beat it, punk,” Steve yelled as Bucky moved away with a wave of his middle finger. You looked at Steve, giggling, before promising, “I’ll drop by and make her some soup for tonight. I’ll spend the night too if need be. Don’t worry, we’ll go to Nat’s tomorrow,” you kissed his cheek before removing yourself from his lap, packing up your bag. “I should get going, let you get back to work. I have lots to do at home,” you wave a goodbye, Steve watching your hips sway.

Steve knew you were the perfect dame for him. He loved you more than anyone he’d ever loved before. He knew you’d be the perfect wife and mother to his children. He wanted you just to himself for a little time before the two of you started a family because he knew once he got you pregnant, he planned on keeping you round and full of himself for as long as possible. Just the thought of you barefoot and pregnant under his roof, cooking for him and his children, your breasts swollen and heavy with milk for his child. Just the thought of you pregnant and oh, so sensitive because of him, it all turned him on more than you could ever imagine.

He vowed to start trying to get you pregnant soon.

By the time you got done with all your chores around the house, you were exhausted. Dinner was done about halfway and the chicken noodle soup for Sarah was done and packed for you to take to her. She wasn’t feeling too well the past few days so you and Steve were going to visit her tomorrow with dinner, just to check up on her. But now, you’d already called and told her about your plans for tomorrow evening and that you’d swing by today before dinner. She was rather accommodating, claiming that the two of you needed to spend time with people your age. And she sounded much better as well. Her cold seemed to have improved and she sounded more energetic.

At half past five, you decided to get to Sarah's house. She lived close enough, just a couple of houses down the street. When you and Steve got married, you decided to get a house close enough to both his ma and your parents as well. Which reminded you that you needed to visit your mama soon as well. You had borrowed her Vogue knitting books, and it was high time you gave them back. You quickly make the ten minute walk to her house and let yourself in using your set of keys to enter the house, not wanting Sarah to move around too much but to your surprise, you find her in the kitchen, humming a tune you couldn’t quite recognise, cooking what smelled like her famous lasagna causing your mouth to water instantly, the response Pavlovian at this point.

“You’re supposed to be in bed ma, not prancing around the kitchen doing only the Lord knows what,” you say as she turns around, giving you a wide smile.

“Don’t you dare sass me kid. Is that really how you greet your poor old mother in law?” she asked as she walked out of the kitchen, pulling you into a tight hug. Giving you a final squeeze, she grabbed your hands in her frail ones, leading you towards the living room.

Stopping her halfway, you let go of her hand before holding up the thermos full of warm soup that you had brought.

“I’m going to put this away for now. Heat it up before you eat it, okay?” you instructed as you moved towards the kitchen, putting the soup to the side before moving your hair out of your face and tying on an apron.

“And what exactly do you think you’re doing missy?” she said as she followed you into the kitchen, thin arms crossed across her chest.

“Doing your dishes, what else?”

“Is anything I say going to make you stop?” she wondered out loud.

“Fat chance,” you said as you rolled your eyes.

“Well, you better hang around until the lasagna is done, I’ll pack some for Steve. Speaking of which, where is that boy?,” she said.

“Still at the shop I believe,” you answered, almost done with the few dishes.

“I see,” she says, an odd look passing over her face but she doesn’t say anything further so you continue to work in a comfortable silence.

Wiping your hands when you were done, you removed your apron and put it back in its place. “Alright ma, I should get going. Steve must be back by now,” you said as you took your bag, a large oven dish of lasagna in your hands, moving towards the door, only to be stopped by her.

“Tell me my dear, have y’all thought about babies yet?”

Furrowing your eyebrows, you look at her with a confused look. “We’ve decided to wait. And we’ve only been married a year now,” you answer.

Laughing lightly, she squeezes your hand in hers before letting go. “Alright. You tell that boy to come see me soon, okay?” You nod and wave goodbye as you start walking home. Checking the time on your watch, you’re horrified to find it’s already quarter to seven and increasing your pace, almost running to get back home before Steve. You reach home with just five minutes before the clock strikes seven, having just enough time to freshen up and fix your hair before the doorbell rings.

At the sight of you, a smile quickly overtakes his face which you can’t help but reciprocate. As soon as he walks in he has his arms around you, pulling you into a passionate kiss. You quickly push him away with a giggle, “At least wash your hands first!”

“I can’t help myself when it comes to you,” he says, squeezing your ass which causes you to squeak. Laughing, he hangs his cap and goes to freshen up as you get to setting dinner out.

At the table, you tell Steve of his mom’s request and he agrees, saying he’ll go see her on Sunday.

“Any clue what this impromptu get-together at Bucky and Nat’s is about ?”

“I tried but couldn’t get anything outta him. Guess we’ll only know tomorrow,” he shrugged.

“I should call and ask if she needs any help,” you said after dinner once you were done with clearing the table and putting the leftovers in the fridge. Steve was in the living room with a book and a beer. You couldn’t afford a television just yet but Steve had been saving up and according to him, you’d be able to get one in a month or two.

He hummed absentmindedly, which meant he wasn’t really paying attention. Sighing, you quickly rang Nat up. It was Bucky who answered the phone.

“Hey, is Nat there?” you asked.

“Sure, I’ll just put her on,” he said and you could hear him calling out to Natasha in the background.

“Hello dear, to what do I owe this pleasure?” she laughed.

Giggling, you reply “Just wanted to check if you needed any help for tomorrow. It was rather impromptu and I heard that everyone is coming,” to which she only huffed and said “I just require you and Steve to show up, that’s all. Now I got loads to do honey, I’ll see you tomorrow!” she said as she swiftly hung up leaving you a little stunned.

“That was weird,” you think out loud as you sit down next to Steve on the couch, his arm immediately draping itself around your shoulder and pulling you into his body. You snuggle closer, a content sigh slipping from your lips.

“Don’t think so much, it’s probably nothing,” he soothes, his fingers playing with the collar of your blouse. Oh, so he was listening.

“But-“ you start, immediately silenced by Steve shushing you. “Enough about this. We’ll go there tomorrow and find out,” he chastises, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Deciding to just let it go for now, you untangle yourself from Steve who lets you go albeit a bit reluctantly and get ready for bed. It takes you some time to fall asleep but with Steve’s arm around your waist, holding you close, you manage to get a few hours of rest.

You fixed your pretty yellow sundress and checked your hair and makeup one last time in the mirror. Modest but tempting. Perfect. Just as you were about to call out to Steve, he emerged from the bath, freshly shaved. Still not dressed, you tilt your head towards the cupboard, urging him to get dressed quickly.

Rolling his eyes playfully, selecting a simple khaki and the baby blue shirt you’d left out for him. Steve combed his hair back, following you out of your bedroom, watching you pack up his ma’s lasagna. You knew it was Bucky’s favourite, it was almost everybody’s favourite, having not let him eat any of it last night.

You knew Nat hadn’t asked you to bring anything with you but your mama would never let you leave home for a party without a little something for the hosts. So here you were, outside Nat and Bucky’s door, a tray of lasagna in your hands and Steve’s arms around your waist. Bucky opened the door with a wide smile, a bottle of beer in his hand.

“Come on in, kids!” He almost yelled, definitely a little tipsy. Smiling at him, you stepped inside and Steve closed the door behind the two of you.

Sam and Wanda sat on the couch, each nursing their own bottle of beer and a glass of wine respectively. She smiled and waved at you, patting the couch on her side, inviting you to take a seat. Holding up the lasagna, you tilted your head, motioning towards the kitchen.

Natasha and Wanda both drank occasionally. You didn’t though. Steve didn’t like you drinking, not even a beer on the occasion. It was all your fault really.

It was your best friend from school Ella’s twentieth birthday. Just you and a couple of other people from your class decided to surprise her with a little get together near the lake by the old lighthouse. You knew there would be alcohol but as long as you didn’t drink too much and were aware of your surroundings, things would be fine right?

Wrong. Steve had been by your parents house, looking for you and being told exactly where and with who you were, he couldn’t control his rage. He didn’t approve of ‘Ella and her posse of bimbos’, as he put it. You knew that and while you didn’t agree with him, it was the reason you couldn’t tell him about your whereabouts that night.

When he finally found you, you were sitting on a little picnic blanket, half drunk bottle of beer in your hands, chatting away with Ella and her boyfriend. You were a little tipsy but immediately sobered up at the sight of Steve storming towards you.

You quickly got up, dropping the bottle as it rolled off somewhere, the sound of your heart beating and the blood rushing through your veins deafening. Ella tried to intercept him, trying to get him to stop and talk but he just ignored her and continued to walk towards you, grabbing hold of your upper arm. You yelped loudly at how tight his grip was, trying to get him to let go of you as he dragged you away from the lake and towards his motorcycle.

At a distance from the lake, he finally let go of your arm, pinching the bridge of his nose, eyes shut.

“Ste-,”

“Shut up. I don’t want a word out of you,” he spat.

You quickly shut your mouth, taking a step back from him.

“How many times, huh? How many fucking times have I told you to stay away from that girl? And yet, here you are, dressed like a slut, drinking away with that stupid whore and her friends,” he says viciously, taking a step forward for each one you took back until you were backed up against a tree.

You were terrified. You’d never seen him this angry before, at least not at you.

“You are never to see that girl again, do you understand?” he barks, causing you to nod your head so hard, you thought your neck might snap.

“Good. Let’s get you home. Put this on,” he says as he holds up his jacket for you which you promptly slip on, following him to his motorcycle. You don’t even realise when you start crying, the tears streaming down your face making the skin burn against the harsh wind.

When you finally reached home, you got off wordlessly, shrugging off his jacket which was hanging from your smaller frame and handing it to him. You turned to walk back towards the front door only to be stopped by him grabbing your wrist and pulling you toward him.

At the sight of the wet trails streaking your face, a flash of guilt passes in his eyes but it’s gone just as quickly as it arrived.

“You know I’m saying this because I care about you, okay? I don’t want anything bad happening to you, you know that right?”

You can only nod numbly, as he gives you a small smile and a peck on the lips before gesturing for you to go back in, watching you till you’ve gone inside and locked the front door.

Of course, you wouldn’t talk to him for days after that. Ignoring his phone calls or having your mama pick up the phone, telling him you weren’t home when he came knocking.

You made him grovel and plead, letting him know just how angry you were but in the end, you gave in. You loved him, with his flaws and all.

Pulling yourself out of your little daydream, you walked towards the kitchen where you could hear Natasha moving about. As you walked, you admired the picture frames that adorned the walls. You loved Nat and Bucky’s house, so happy and full of memories. You couldn’t wait to have that with Steve.

“Now, didn’t I tell you not to get anything? I’m cooking up a storm here, who’s gonna eat all of this?” She questioned, her hands on her hips, over mitts on her hands and a frilly apron on.

You laughed and moved closer to give her a quick peck on her cheek, putting the lasagna on the counter.

“It’s Sarah’s lasagna. You don’t have to worry about it going to waste,” you tried.

“Oh, I know. But you know my cooking can’t compare to hers!” She complained mockingly. Sharing a laugh, you start helping about, feeling odd just standing there doing nothing. She lets you help but refuses to tell you why she wanted everyone to come over when you tried to ask.

You had to give it to her though, she really had outdone herself. As you helped her take the food to the table, you were in awe. Tuna noodle casserole, beef stroganoff and mashed potatoes completed with the perfect buttermilk pie. The sight alone made your mouth water and tummy grumble.

At the delicious scent wafting from the dining table, everyone slowly poured in, each of them grabbing a plate and loading it up. You couldn’t wait to dig in, everything looked mouthwatering. Jokes were made and compliments given, you made to take a bite but were immediately stopped by the conversation taking place across from where you and Steve sat.

Bucky was urging Natasha to take a bigger helping of the mashed potatoes. While that was not particularly surprising, the next bit caused everyone to stop and stare.

“You really should take some more,” he says, adding another heap of the potatoes to her plate, “you’re eating for two now.”

You’d never heard silence quite this loud, everyone stopped midway, staring at Natasha and Bucky. Not Clint’s children of course, they couldn’t be bothered by much. They were busy stuffing their little faces with the feast Nat had prepared.

After a minute or two of utter silence, a cheer broke out and Natasha and Bucky sighed, exchanging small smiles of relief.

You, along with Laura and Wanda got up almost simultaneously, rushing around to envelop Natasha in a giant bear hug, who had started crying at this point. The boys were all congratulating Bucky, patting him on the back and making lewd jokes. The children seemed clueless as to what the fuss was all about but declared their merriment by making various noises as well.

When everyone has settled down, continuing with their meals, the relative silence is broken by Wanda, “We get to be godparents, right?” She questions, motioning between herself and Sam. That’s when Steve pipes up, “You guys are already godparents to Cooper. I think it’s our turn.”

“Exactly! What do you say Natty?” You wiggle your eyebrows playfully at her.

Huffing a laugh, she adds “We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it. Can we just enjoy this lovely meal I worked so hard to make?”

This shuts everyone up, again passing praises and compliments her way. Once the meal came to a close, it was already well past the kids' bedtime so Clint and Laura took off, followed by Sam and a rather tipsy Wanda. You stayed back to help Natasha clean up, despite her protests.

“You’re a pregnant woman and I’m already mad enough you did all of this by yourself. You should be ashamed of yourself Barnes, letting your pregnant wife do all the work,” you chastised.

“Sorry ma’am,” he says, holding his hands up in mock surrender. Steve chuckles but otherwise stays quiet.

When you’re done with most of the dishes and having packed up the few leftovers, you and Steve take your leave, walking back hand in hand in the silent darkness.

Your Steve, you know him well. And you can tell, just by one look in his face that there’s a lot on his mind. You know better from experience that when he’s in such moods, it’s best to leave him alone. He’ll tell you what’s on his mind before bed, you know it for sure.

So for now, you just walk home, swinging your joined hands back and forth as he’s lost in his own head.

Done getting ready for bed, you slip under the covers, waiting for Steve to join you. You don’t have to wait long, just as you pick up your book for some reading before bed, he slips under the covers, snatching the book from your hand. Your protest is short lived as he pulls you close into a bruising kiss.

His lips travel down your throat, trailing wet kisses down to your collarbone before you stop him as he moves to pull your silk slip over your head.

“What’s on your mind? You’ve been quiet all evening,” you grab his cheek in your hand, making him look at you.

He sighs loudly, moving away to sit back against the headboard.

“C’mon Steve, tell me.”

You move closer to him, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. Just as you’re about to urge him to say something he interrupts you.

“Let’s have a baby.”

You’re quiet for a while and he takes your silence as a request to continue.

“It’s been on my mind for so long. We’ll start with one. For now. I can’t wait for our home to be filled with little ones. I just —I’ve been thinking of this for so long. The fact that Nat and Bucky are expecting just solidified my decision. Don’t you want a baby?”

Swallowing, you plan out your words carefully before opening your mouth.

“We’re not ready Stevie. You know this. We’ve been married what, a year now? I thought we decided to wait,” you try.

“But I don’t want to wait anymore! Can’t you see? There’s no time like now to start trying,” he raises his voice and you flinch away from him.

“I don’t know Stevie. I’m really tired, we’ll talk about this tomorrow, okay?”

“No!” He shouts, “I want to talk about this now. We’re ready. I know we’re ready,” he reaffirms, grabbing you by your arms to hold you close.

“Steve, we’re not. We’re nowhere ready for a baby. We’ve just begun saving, can we even support a child right now?” You try to make him see some sense but it backfires tremendously.

“Really? I work so hard for you, for us, but that’s not enough for you, is it? You’re such an ungrateful little bitch, aren’t you?” His tone and his hurtful words immediately cause your eyes to fill, a couple errant tears slipping down. His grip on you is painful, almost bruising.

At the sight of your eyes brimming, tears streaking their way down your pretty face, his anger dissipates and his face fills with worry. He moves forward to cup your face in his hands, but you flinch away from him, pulling the covers back and stepping out of bed with your pillow in hand.

“I-uh- I’ll take the couch,” you stutter out, sniffling between every word.

“No, no, no. Baby I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean it. I’m so sorry, please come back to bed,” he says, scrambling out of bed as you continue towards the door.

“No, please baby. I’m sorry, please come back to bed,” he pleads, getting on his knees in front of you, wrapping his strong arms around your waist and holding you in place, his chin resting on your soft stomach.

He looks up at you with eyes quickly filling with tears, threatening to overflow. Your heart melts at the sight and you close your eyes, nodding your head slowly and he sighs, burying his face into your stomach, his tears causing your slip to dampen slightly.

“I’m so sorry baby, I didn’t mean it. I’m so sorry,” his voice comes out muffled but you understand him anyway.

You nod your head, telling him you’ll think about kids. You really would. That night he held you close after making love to you, almost as if he was afraid you’d slip out into the darkness in the middle of the night. He whispered the deepest of apologies and praises into your ear as he drew orgasm after orgasm from your prone body.

You knew he regrets what he said. You were well aware that he wanted a big family. Growing up, it had always been just him and his Ma. His father was hardly ever home and when he was, he was too drunk to care about much. He aspired to be everything that his father wasn’t, a real family man.

And you know you want to give him that but you need some time, you haven’t even been married that long. And you will think about it much more seriously now. What’s wrong with having a child? He works so hard for you, to make sure you’re not left needing anything, can’t you do at least this much for him? You’re home all day anyway, it’s not like you have a job like Nat. Plus, you’re lucky to have him and that he cares about you and what you want. Most men wouldn’t have bothered asking their wives if and when they wanted children. You find your resolve weakening. You will tell him that you’re ready to start trying and it’s unlikely you will fall pregnant on the first try. You have some time, you tell yourself all the while trying to smother that voice inside you that whispers, ‘You should wait’.

#steve rogers x reader #dark steve rogers x reader #1950s au #bucky barnes #natasha romanoff #sam wilson #wanda maximoff #sarah rogers #smut #fluff #angst #power imbalance #period typical sexism #abusive relationships #pregnancy

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georgiapeach30513 · 8 months ago

Text

Your Mark on Me, Part 14

Summary: Steve should have paid attention

Pairings: Steve Rogers X Reader

Rating: explicit

Warnings: explicit language, explicit sexual content, teasing, unprotected sex, PIV sex, hard sex, mirrors, creampie, threats, I'm sorry for the pain I have caused, 18+ ONLY

Word Count: 5K

Series Masterlist

*dividers created by @firefly-graphics

Steve gives you a warm smile, watching you as you bashfully eat your food. His eyes follow every movement your hand makes before you drop your fork and try to give him an angry look, “Doesn’t look right on you, Dovey.”

“Stop watching me. You eat,” it’s unnerving how he watches you. Like he needs to memorize everything about your movements. Every moan that whispers off your lips as you eat, every happy dance you do, and even the way your eyebrows reflect how your feeling with each bite. He is obsessed with your very being.

“I already have,” he lowers his eyes, motioning towards your fork before you slowly put another bite in your mouth. Dragging out the utensil at a snail speed. Sucking on the metal hard before it pops out of your mouth, “It would be better for you and that soaking wet cunt between your legs if you didn’t do that. That’s your only warning.”

Oh, you love a warning and what happens when you don’t listen, “Don’t threaten me with a good time,” you tease. Hoping that it amps him up even more.

“Ha,” his voice bellows up into the cabin and you drop your fork. Crossing your arms over your chest as you glare at him. You weren’t the same girl he met a year ago. You were a woman that could fully take and survive Steve Rogers. “Aren’t you just the prettiest little bratty slut. You really want to see exactly how I can punish you for your behavior?”

“I’ve been spanked before,” you remind him with an edge of defiance. Shimmying your shoulders a bit as you start to smirk at him. You have been able to take everything he’s shoved your way. “I wear my badge of Steve’s Dove proudly. Been marked and forbidden for anyone to touch. Would you have claimed me if I couldn’t put up with your menacing ways?”

“I’m a menace now, am I? Tell me, Dovey, who am I a menace for?”

“You’re a menace Steve Rogers, but not to me. All I see is a fool completely in love with me. And my pussy,” you emphasize ‘my’ before you launch out of your seat, and start to run through the cabin. “So in love with me that you will chase your girlfriend around this cabin laughing.”

Steve would never say the words, but he won’t stop you from feeling his emotions. You did make him a fool for you. He would never have been caught chasing you around with the brightest smile on his face. He didn’t even want to catch up to you just yet. He hadn’t felt this way in years. Like everything was just right in the world. In his world. And all he wants is to laugh and have fun with you.

“Oh, Stevie boy,” you smile, spinning around to look at him before you pull apart his button up. Giving your shoulders a shake so he can see your tits bouncing around, and he stops just to gaze upon you. “Not tempted?”

He shakes his head no, but he can’t ignore the shuffle he does with his pants. He is such a horn dog! “What about now?” Cocking up one of your eyebrows you cup your breasts. Keeping your eyes on his, as you start to pinch and tweak your nipples, “Now?”

“Not quite,” liar. You start to undo every button slowly before letting it fall into the floor, and he hisses through his teeth. His eyes drape over every inch of your skin. His gray sweatpants start to tent, and he still wants you to believe he’s not turned on.

“Really? You want to keep chasing me through the house?”

“I’d rather see you try and crack me. That’s what you’re poorly attempting to do, hmm?” He can try to deny it, but even the way Steve speaks is different. Gone was the harsh language. He still had a filthy mouth when he was inside of you, but now he is creating a different Steve. One just for you.

He glances hungrily over your naked body before walking over to the couch. Sitting down smoothly, and even acknowledges his aching cock by rubbing over his swollen pants. Smirking at you while you want to gawk. “You’re craving me, huh, Dovey? You want that sloppy cunt to be hugging this?” Those meaty fingers grip over his covered girth, and you let out a sound that is more animalistic than human.

“Make me lose control. Make me want to show you my cock that is yours for the taking. What is my little cock slut going to do?” You take a step towards him. Trying to be sexy as you saunter closer, but he holds up a finger, “Eh eh eh. Earn your seat on this throne.”

“How?” There’s only a flicker of a moment of Steve going soft. But that twinkle of an eye is gone and replaced with an evil sneer. “Captain?”

“Use your imagination. What do you think I want more of in the world,” how are you supposed to think when your pussy is throbbing. A low hum sounds through your brain and pulses through your entire body. There is only one thing on your mind, and that is you want him to fuck you. You don’t want anything sweet. You want to be destroyed. Since he’s going to be out all day. You wanted to feel him when he left.

Taking a deep breath, you softly close your eyes. Trying to recall a moment that you were the most vulnerable to Steve? When did he feel his own need to destroy you? To own you?

Like a movie playing in your mind, you open your eyes with a grin. If you were going to be destroyed, so was he. You take a deep breath and pretend the trauma that night didn’t happen. Thinking back to when that night was sexy. To the moments of Steve struggling to look at you or your reflection. He couldn’t even figure out what the best view for him was.

Nakedly walking over to the wall, you look at him through that mirror. Biting on your lip as you lean forward. Spreading your legs and sticking out your ass, so he gets a glimpse of your weeping cunt. Feeling more empowered as he adjusts himself. His chest rumbles out a low growl, and you grab both sides of the mirror.

Leaning over it low and slow as you lay it on the floor, and you look at him over your shoulder before straddling the mirror. Shimmying your hips from side to side, and his eyes move to the reflection to stare at your spread pussy. “Do you remember, Captain? You made me watch you fuck me with your gun? Had me coming all over it while I stared at my body taking every bit of what you were giving me?”

“Dove,” he warns as you start to kneel down. Getting down on all fours before you lean forward, and his Adam’s apple bobs with just how uncomfortably hard he is. His cock out of his pants, and he fists it slowly. Beads of precum leak onto the crown of his cock and you whimper. You can already feel him pushing into you.

You are ready to drool with the way he strokes his cock. Knuckles so tense trying to replicate the feeling of your tight walls. Wagging your ass before your hand goes in between your legs, and you gently run your hand through your velvety folds. Your moans match Steve’s, and you dip even lower, using your fingers to spread yourself out, and Steve’s grip gets even tighter.

“I know what would feel better, Captain,” you coo, moving your fingers to push into your warmth. Mewling as you watch him fight the pleasure that is right here. The stairway to heaven is steps away from him, and he was denying himself the greatest high he could ever imagine. “I’ve got a surprise for you.”

“And what’s that?” His eyes are black pools of lust. Mouth hanging open as he watches you fuck yourself. Pulling out your fingers you spread them apart, and he gulps as strings of your arousal stick to the appendages, creating a beautiful webbing of your honey. “You’re soaked.”

“Soaked and ready to be fucked. Filled up with your cum. And I get to watch all of it. Watch how my body morphs to accommodate that big fat cock of yours. Have you ever had a pussy as tight as mine?” He shakes his head no, and you adjust yourself to have your front flat on the mirror. Face on the cold glass as you look back at him. Wiggling your ass and watch him sweat.

“It’s all yours, Captain. Whatever you want. And you know you want it. Want to fuck me so deep and hard that I feel you in my throat. Feel you for the rest of the day, and feel empty because you're not inside of me. Like what you see?”

He stands up, and lets his sweatpants drop down to the floor. His cock is angry and red as he walks over to you. Sinking to his knees, but still he stares at your needy cunt. Inspecting your hole before he spits down on your puckered hole. His warm saliva drifts down your seam before it, and possibly your slick, puddles on the mirror below you. Thick, wet, and sticky. Just the way Steve loved it.

You whine. Pushing your ass into him. Desperate and needing his touch like you need the air to survive. Rocking your body into him with so much desire that you could almost come undone like this. “Please, fuck me. Own me. Destroy me. Kill any desire for another man’s touch.”

“There will be no other man,” he grunts, railing his veiny cock into you so hard, and so deep you see stars. Nails scratching on the carpet as he impales you. Giving you no time to adjust, just raw and dirty fucking, and you go outside of your mind. The pleasured pain surges all the way to the tips of your hair.

Unadulterated euphoria that you have never felt before. This is fucking. A careless need to get off like the animals you were underneath all that humanity. Pulling out the most salacious sounds out of your mouth, and you’re a mess. He is implanting himself into the blood that courses through your veins with every hard thrust into you. Exploring parts of your body that you are sure he has never discovered.

His fingers dig into your hips with such force, but all you feel is fulfilled. He could use you. He could have you. Every last bit of you, and you would still beg for more. Searing himself into your body more than the tattoo could ever do. Choking out your sounds of ecstasy, and he goes harder. Deeper.

His eyes go between where the two of you connect and the reflection. Watching himself burrow into your body like some predator. Leaving behind a trail where his cock is rooted in your body. The vulgarity of seeing your body take him fully like that makes his balls tighten up against his body, and he spanks your ass to help him focus on going harder. Faster.

Crying out into the cabin because your belly tenses up. Heat centers into your core as your juices start spewing out onto the mirror. Filled up with Steve so much that there’s no room for anything else. Nothing but wet skin on wet skin. “You're perfect, Dovey. Perfect for me. My greedy little slut takes me like no other woman. Every inch of my cock is inside you, and every bit of my soul is owned by you.”

You clench your eyes shut as the pleasure becomes too much. Your body goes limp and pliant for him as he spears into you so hard you lose all control. His hands are the only thing keeping you upright. “You’re mine.”

“Mine.”

“And I’m yours,” one more hard and particularly deep thrusts hits you so deep that you travel to another plane of existence. A plane where Steve’s body is bare of all his markings and scars. A place where he is whole again. Your body is able to purify him. Cleansing him of all the turmoil that made him who he was. And you get the innocent man that you deserve.

The love you’ve craved to hear from him, you see it in these moments. He was different with you and for you. Nothing has ever been more clear in this plane than the fact that Steve was irrevocably in love with your bratty ass. It was going to be a hard life, but life would never be worth living without him in your life.

His hands go rigid on your hips as he blows his load deep into your belly. His hold softens as he lowers your body flat to the mirror. Letting his softening cock fall out of you, and you whine at the loss, “Shh,” he starts to pick you up, but you lift your ass up into the air. Getting back on your knees.

His eyes drift to your gaping hole, and he watches his cream dribble out of your body before drops land on the mirror, mixing with your juices below our body, “You’ve ruined me, Dove.”

“Good. We’re equal now.”

“We are,” he agrees, continuing to watch himself leave your body drop by drop. A masterpiece if he had ever seen one. “And I love it.”

“You asshole,” you snort. You didn’t even care to try and get him to say those three words anymore. You were content with him giving parts of himself that he had never given anyone else.

“I was going to say you were my best friend, though. Does that help?” It does. Steve didn’t trust easily, didn’t throw around words like best friend lightly. He meant it. And that means more to you than eight letters.

“It does. Now put me to bed, best friend.”

You are equals.

Steve walks into the club a little taller. Shoulders back as he struts in front of his people. Giving a few nods to them before he makes his way into his office. He has no intention of spending an entire day here. He left you satiated and sleepy, and he would love to get back to you.

He wants to spend less time here, and has even continued to think about what Bucky said. He is getting older, and things were getting more dangerous with Rumlow, and whatever Peggy was cooking up. Her time would come soon enough. You don’t double cross Steve Rogers and get away with it.

He is beginning to think about a future that doesn't include this business. Ways to spend the large quantities of money he had made with illegal bullshit. And none of them were without you. Houses in different locations, preferably at the beach so he can watch you walk around in next to nothing all the time. Maybe catch a glimpse of you dripping of ocean water and laying in the sun.

That is what life is about and seeing Bucky content with his choices had opened up Steve’s eyes a bit more. He’d give this one more year. The longer in the game you had the riskier things became. The more power you owned the more people wanted to steal it away from you. And now they had the perfect tool to hold over Steve’s head for ransom. You.

It became too clear to him that you were his everything. This life didn’t matter. The money didn’ mean a damn thing if he didn’t have you to spend it on. And a family. It looked good on Bucky. He’d never seen Bucky happier, and the desire he had to not just fully claim you and connect you to him forever with a legacy that was both of you hit him directly in the heart he thought had been nothing but ashes. And yet he is feeling things he thought were a fairytale.

You awoke something in him he thought he had lost years ago. Humanity. Passion. Fear. Need. A reason to not just survive but to live. All in this perfect human that he didn’t want to miss a single second with. And there is nothing that he wouldn’t do to keep you alive. Alive and living your life to its fullest potential. He needs that for you more than he needs it for him. His life and soul was burned years ago, but you were the beauty in his dark world.

A world that didn’t deserve your light, or the power you could wield with that light. You are remarkable. And you are his.

His head tilts towards his door as Sam walks in. His brows furrowed and they sit low on his face, “I need you to sit down,” Steve starts to respond, arguing about being told what to do, but in Sam’s calming and deep timbre, he tells him again, “Sit down. You need to see this, it’s about Dove.”

Without hesitation he moves to his chair that Sam points to, and he’s met with a computer screen of his home. He looks up at Sam curiously before the other man pushes play for Steve. The video is a bit distorted, but it was taken this morning. Watching your beautiful body walk into frame, and the teasing show you put on for Steve.

A part of Steve wants to smile at how amazing it is to relive this moment until he realizes this isn’t the location of his security cameras, “What. The fuck. Is this?” His fist pounds on the desk, viewing one of the most intimate moments he has ever had with you. How you made yourself completely vulnerable to him. Trying to erase the night that he branded you as his own in the most humiliating way. You retrieved that moment back this morning, and someone saw it.

“Skip to the end,” Sam answers flatly.

Steve reaches towards his keyboard, and skips towards the end where there’s a camera change. This one in your bedroom as he carries you into the bed. Laying you down and kisses all over your worn body. A moment so pure and perfect and it was stolen from him. Kissing over your heated skin until you completely fall asleep, and it pans over to the floor, and some stupid envelope. Staying on something so unimportant that it highlights the words that he utters, and Steve stands up just as the screen goes black.

A mechanical voice vibrates deep into Steve’s core and he seethes. This moment wasn’t for anyone. Not even for you and it was stolen out from under him. A threat. A fucking threat that makes him see red, and ready to light the world on fire, “You’ve been warned.”

With an angry growl, Steve grabs his computer off the desk and hurls it into the floor. Turning to stomp out of his office and back where he came from. “Steve?”

“How the fuck did you get this?”

“It was emailed to us.”

”You saw and heard fucking nothing. I will destroy whatever asshole did this. And I will start with Lark! But I need to know what my goddamn warning was. FUCK! That night Lark was there, did anybody come into the house?”

Sam stares at him a moment. He knows he should have told Steve sooner, and this wasn’t going to go well. “The footage was tampered with,” Steve bellows out a scream that is feral. His face becomes beet red and all he wants is you. “There’s about three minutes missing from the feed.”

“Shut it down.”

“Steve?”

“No one goes in or out of here until I get to Dove. All phones confiscated. I want Natasha to get eyes on Rumlow immediately. You didn’t see or hear anything!” Emphasizing the last word before storming off.

No road laws are followed as he races to get back to the cabin. His phone propped up with a clear view of you dancing around in your little shorts. He should be coming home to you with a smile, and instead it's anger and anxiety. To see you move about with so much joy pains him to know someone had put you at risk. You’re not going to understand. You couldn’t. Not with what was captured, and he wouldn’t explain it.

Slamming his car into park he stomps up the steps, and you run to greet him, “Hey, Captain,” you give him the brightest smile. Happy because you had already missed him. This morning was perfect, but then you see his face, and you frown. “Steve?”

He doesn’t say a word as his long strides carry him to the bedroom with a few steps. Walking right over to the envelope before he picks it up to rip open. Teeth clenching harder with every line before he crumples it and the contents up, and stares out into space. So many things run through his mind, and a part of him dies. The part he was finally getting back completely burns up, and the ashes start to blow away with the wind.

“Steve, what’s going on?” The sound of your voice hits deep into his soul. He had made a private vow to never see you hurt. And you sound hurt. And it would only get worse. Already hating himself, but one look at you, and the thought of anything happening to you is worse than death. He would rather feel the pain of torture than this. The thing worse than death is to ever see anything happen to you.

“Steve?”

“We need to pack your bags. We’ve gotta go,” his voice is lifeless as you switch the weight of your feet. Something was wrong. Off. It feels bad. He says your real name, and your lip starts to tremble. “Either you pack you some bags, or I will.”

“Are you packing a bag, too?” He wasn’t. But if it is what it takes for you to not crumble right now, it’s what he would do. You see the tenseness in his body, and want to scream at him. “Steve?”

He gulps, standing up to walk towards you. Cupping your cheek, he presses a sweet kiss to your lips, but it’s like he’s seeing right past you. “If you’re going to kiss me make it mean something,” Steve’s hands move to your ass, and he picks you up. Making you wrap your legs around him as he holds you so tight. Deepening the kiss, and you melt into his skin. Holding onto him like you are going to lose him.

Feeling every bit of the love he has for you through this one kiss alone. A kiss that reminds you that he is a man that acts instead of says. And what he says is often a lie. His words never match his actions. He pulls away and sets you on the ground before walking towards the closet. “It’s not safe for you here. Do you want to help me pack your things or not?”

Sighing you decide its best to help him. Even if he thinks he knows what’s best.

Sitting on the hotel bed you curiously watch Steve on the balcony. He spent more time avoiding your eyesight and smoking a joint than he did with you. Today should have been a good day. It started off magical, and ended in — this. Confused wasn’t even the word you would use. Hurt? Maybe.

It’s like playing a game of tug-o-war and you know you’re about to lose. All this pushing and pulling you and Steve have been doing this past year made you feel like you were winning, but now it’s like he is ripping the rope right out of your grasp. Something was off and you didn’t like it. The feeling just festers inside your gut and you want to lash out at him.

He hadn’t kissed you again. Hadn’t so much as been sweet to you. It was mostly this; his back pointed towards you. He was avoiding something. And that something is you or something to do with you, and you hate it. You try and take deep breaths as you glare at his beautiful broad back. You had three bags of things, he had a small duffle bag. He was not staying as long as you, and he was lying.

“Steve Rogers, you’re a goddamn coward,” he takes a long drag of his roach, and still doesn’t look at you. Doesn’t acknowledge you said anything. “You could at least tell me the truth since I walk around with your fucking mark on my fucking neck,” sure add in some colorful words and make him want to punish you.

“You’re the biggest coward I have ever met, and you still won’t look at me,” you watch, ready to take the punishment as long as he looks at you. “Look. At. Me,” your words are harsh and spit through your teeth. You need him to feel the panic that is settling in your body. Putting out his joint, he slowly turns to look you in the face and his eyes are haunted. “Look at me!”

“I am.”

“No, look at me! See me. See all of me,” you scream, pulling off your clothes. “I need you to fucking see me, and you tell me what the fuck is going on!” he twists his neck again, and a sickening pop runs down his spine. “What the fuck are you going to do about my fucking attitude and using this fucking language, huh? Fuck you, Steve Rogers. Fuck you,” adding emphasis you throw up your middle fingers, and he sprints towards you.

Picking you up and he throws your now naked onto the bed. His thick body goes in between your legs, spreading you out and with one hand he messes around with his jeans. Struggling to get them undone, so you reach up and help him. “You see how wet my fucking pussy is from pissing you the fuck off?”

“You better shut your fucking mouth, Dove,” finally. It is violent and intense, but he said the nickname you have grown to adore. Ripping off his shirt, he spits down to your hole. Steve’s hand grips onto his member before he runs it through your slick. “You’re such a fucking slut,” he grits out, soaking his cock in your wet heat.

“Then you better fucking do something about it,” he growls low. Gripping each side of your cheeks with his thumb and fingers before he slams into you. Taking your breath away and rolling your eyes into the back of your head. You pissed him off. Good. “Fuck you! Fuck you, Steve!”

There’s no care in the way he pistons into you. Fucking you like you were some random whore that he was using to get off. Cheapening whatever this bond is between the two of you. Something is off. “Fuck you,” your voice loses the edge to it. It hurts, and not in a physical way. He’s tugging harder and harder at that rope, attempting to take it away completely.

“Fuck you,” your voice now a whisper as he fucks you harder. Still not meeting your eyes. Clenching his eyes close, and it kills you. “Fuck you. I hate you.”

“Good,” you let out a strangled sob with that one word. Giving up as he rips on that rope harder. You are losing your fight, and he was removing every bit of the rope from your hands, “But I’ll make you this promise, Dove. I promise that you will feel me etched in every part of your skin. That when you fuck another man that you still feel my cock buried deep in your body. So deep you can’t escape it. Every time some man looks at you, you remember the way I made you so weak. You’ll hate the ground that those men walk on because they’ll never be me. You’ll crave my touch and the way that I stretch you out.”

The rope is pulled completely out of your hands, and you lie below him, limp and in so much emotional pain you’re numb. His motions, and his words still don’t stop. They cut so deep that tears pour down your face. “You’ll never escape. And no man will ever make you feel the way that I do. I have left my mark on you so deep that you’re forever changed. You’re not longer that girl that I made my slut.”

“I hate you,” uttered words that mean nothing to him. Hate is just as strong as love, and you despise that you feel for him so deeply during whatever the fuck this is. You want to feel nothing for Steve Rogers, and still you feel everything.

“And you, sweet Dovey, have left your mark on me, too,” he pulls himself out of you, and you let out a strangled no as he spurts his cum on your stomach. The last fragment of the rope gone from your finger tips as he comes on your stomach just like a slut, “Don’t call me. Don’t look for me. Don’t reach out to me.”

“I’m just your whore now?”

“You’re nothing. You mean nothing. There’s money for you in one of your bags, I’ve paid for your troubles. Create a new life and forget this,” still he can’t meet your eyes as he removes that rope, and out of your hand and grasp. There’s no emotion in his words. They’re so monotone, and you hate him. But you want to erase every bit of him instead. Nothing could ever hurt as worse as being made to be a paid for slut to Steve Rogers.

“You’re goddamn liar. Spoken like a true fork tongued lying bastard!”

You let out the fiercest scream you can muster, staring right at him, but he robotically dresses himself, throwing a towel over you, “Clean yourself up,” he whispers before he walks out the door and out of your life.

A coward if you have ever seen one.

And you were a goddamn fool.

Masterlist

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