#dark! captain america

[shybluebirdninja]

Fury

Summary: When Bucky's jealous of Steve, there's only one way to calm the storm— and it involves taking you hard and fast.

Pairings           : Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Note                 : rough sex, blowjob, jealousy

The tension was suffocating the second you walked back into the room. Bucky was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, his jaw clenched so tight you could almost hear the grinding. He didn’t even need to say anything. His eyes—stormy, dark, and fixed on you—were enough to tell you what kind of mood he was in.

You didn’t do anything wrong, at least not intentionally. Steve had been the one who came over, his usual friendly self, maybe standing a little too close, maybe cracking one too many jokes. But it wasn’t like you were encouraging him. Hell, you barely even noticed until you saw the way Bucky’s eyes tracked every single move Steve made around you, like a predator sizing up his prey. The moment Steve walked out of the room, Bucky’s whole demeanor shifted—dangerous, possessive.

And now, here you were, the air thick with the kind of jealousy that could either end in a fight or something way more explosive.

He finally spoke, his voice low and rough. “You looked real comfortable with Steve, huh?”

You froze. Bucky wasn’t one for idle jealousy—when he got possessive, it was something primal, something that burned hot and fast, a storm you either weathered or drowned in. And right now, you were treading water.

“It wasn’t like that,” you muttered, trying to keep your voice steady. But you knew that wouldn’t fly. Not with him.

“Wasn’t it?” He pushed off the wall, taking slow, deliberate steps towards you, each one sending a wave of heat through your body. “Looked like he couldn’t keep his fuckin’ eyes off you. And you? You just let it happen.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but the look he gave you shut it right down. His hand was on you in an instant, his metal fingers curling around the back of your neck, pulling you close enough to feel the heat radiating off his body.

“You think you can let Steve get that close to you and I wouldn’t do something about it?” His breath was hot against your skin, his voice thick with that dangerous edge. “You’re mine.”

You shivered at the possessiveness in his tone, feeling that familiar pull low in your belly, the one that always came when Bucky got like this—jealous, furious, and desperate to remind you just who you belonged to.

“Bucky—” you tried, but his grip tightened just enough to stop you.

“Shut up.” His words were sharp, demanding, and your knees felt weak. He spun you around so fast you barely had time to catch your breath before you were pressed against the nearest wall, his body pinning you there, hard and unrelenting. “I’m gonna fuckin’ show you what happens when you let another man get close.”

His hand slid down your back, over the curve of your ass, gripping it roughly before he yanked your jeans down in one swift move. You gasped, your palms flat against the cold wall as he kicked your legs apart with his foot. His hand came down on your bare skin, a sharp slap that sent a shockwave of pleasure and pain shooting through you.

“Fuckin’ Steve...” he muttered darkly, another slap making you bite back a moan. “Think he can look at you like that?” His breath was hot on your neck. “Hear that, baby? You’re gonna scream for me, so loud, I want him to hear you.”

Before you could process the thought, he was pushing your face down against the wall, his fingers finding your heat, rough and fast, teasing you until you were a mess of whimpers and gasps. “Already so wet, huh?” he growled, pressing himself against you from behind, letting you feel just how hard he was.

You pushed back against him, needing more, needing him to just take what he wanted already, but he wasn’t giving in that easy. He always liked to make you wait, drag it out, make you beg for it. And you were close—so close to begging. But he didn’t give you the chance.

“Fuck this,” he growled, and then he was inside you, hard and fast, filling you completely in one brutal thrust. You cried out, your hands scrambling for something to hold onto, but there was nothing but the cold, unyielding wall in front of you.

“Bucky!” His name tore from your throat, a mix of pleasure and pain as he fucked you, each thrust harder than the last. His hands gripped your hips, pulling you back against him with every rough movement, your body jerking forward from the force of it.

“Yeah, that’s right, baby. Let Steve hear you. Let him know who fucks you like this.” His voice was dark, gravelly, and full of possessive fury.

The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, your moans and gasps echoing off the walls. Bucky didn’t let up, didn’t slow down—he was relentless, driving into you with a raw, animalistic need. And fuck, you loved it. Loved the way he lost control when he got jealous, the way his hands gripped you so hard you were sure they’d leave bruises. Loved the way he made you feel like you were the only thing that mattered.

You were close, so close, and Bucky knew it. He could always tell.

“You gonna come for me, baby?” His hand slipped down between your legs, his fingers finding your clit and rubbing it in tight circles. “Gonna scream for me?”

You were already screaming, your body trembling, barely holding on as he pushed you closer and closer to the edge. And when you finally fell, it was like a fucking explosion, your whole body shattering as you came hard around him, your cries echoing in the small space.

But Bucky wasn’t done.

He pulled out suddenly, flipping you over onto your back, and before you could catch your breath, he was pushing you down to your knees.

“Open your mouth,” he demanded, his voice rough and commanding. You did as you were told, your lips parting just in time as he pushed himself past them, rough and demanding. You gagged slightly as he hit the back of your throat, but he didn’t care. He was too far gone, too consumed by jealousy and lust.

He fucked your mouth with the same intensity he’d fucked you before, his hand gripping the back of your head, guiding your movements as you sucked him. You could feel him twitching, hear his breath coming out in harsh pants as he neared his release.

“Fuck, baby,” he groaned, his hips jerking forward as he came, spilling himself down your throat. He held you there for a moment, making sure you swallowed every drop before finally letting go.

You collapsed against him, your legs weak, your body trembling, and Bucky pulled you up, his arms wrapping around you possessively.

“You’re mine,” he growled into your ear, his breath still ragged. “Don’t you ever forget that.”

[arpicityandneed]

How about a cockholding stucky x black reader

a/n: How about hell the fuck yeah

18+ black f!reader. Husband!Steve. Dom!Bucky. Bi!Steve. Bi!Bucky. Dirty talk. Creampie. Cuckolding.

"Care to share with the class, Rogers?" Bucky drawled before taking a sip of his beer.

"What do you mean Buck?" Steve traced the rim of his beer with his finger, desperately avoiding his best friends eyes. There was no way in hell he was sharing the thoughts running wild in his head.

"You've been staring at your beer for thirty minutes. This is supposed to be our guys night out without y/n. Come on, punk. Talk to me." Bucky could have charmed the birds from the trees if he wanted, and Steve feel his defenses crumbling when Bucky turned his sincere gaze towards him.

"It's nothing." Steve mumbled, his dick already perking up from the embarrassment of the situation. God why was he like this?

"And the sky is green. Bullshit. Alright, you leave me no choice." Bucky took out his phone, showing Steve the screen with your contact on it. "I'll just call your wife and ask her, she'll know."

"No! Please, fuck, alright I'll tell you but you gotta swear you won't laugh." Steve panicked, the last thing he needed was for you to find out what a perv he was.

"That's what I thought." Bucky smirked and settled back into his seat expectantly. "Well?"

"Do you know.. what cuckolding is?" Steve glanced around the bar and kept his voice low, noticing the way Bucky's eyes immediately darkened.

"Now what would goody two shoes Steven Grant Rogers know about that?" Bucky's voice grew deeper. He leaned in close enough that Steve could smell his colonge, spicy and warm and all man. Steve had to readjust himself under the table as he tried to continue, his erection straining in his pants.

"I can't stop thinking about it. I saw a video by accident and..." Steve couldn't finish the sentence but by the way Bucky whistled, low and appreciative his best friend could guess.

"By accident huh. What your fingers slip or something?" Steve flushed a pretty pink at being caught.

"Something like that.” Steve avoided Bucky’s gaze for a long moment.

“So you want someone to fuck y/n?” Bucky asked bluntly, letting Steve choke on his beer for a second before patting his back gently. “Come on Rogers, use your words.”

“…Not someone.” Steve knew his face would be red as a tomato so he kept staring into his beer like it had the answers to the universe.

“Who?” Bucky asked, a slow wicked smile spreading across his lips when Steve refused to answer. “Oh now that’s interesting.”

“She always looks at you anyway.” Steve chewed on his lower lip as he spoke low and quiet. “Plus, I think you’d make her feel good.”

“Steve, if you let me—” Bucky’s pupils were blown wide when Steve finally looked up. “I’d make her cum till she begged for a break.”

~

Steve was having a hard time staying on his feet watching Bucky cup your face in his hands and kiss you for the first time. He sat like a stone on the chair they’d brought into the bedroom, grunting as all the blood rushed to his dick from the sight alone.

“I think he likes it.” Bucky drawled with amusement as he pulled back, noting the hazy look in your eyes as you gazed up at him. “I think you like it too doll.”

“You sure know how to kiss, Buck. Ain’t that right baby?” You called over to your husband as Bucky brushed your braids aside so he could start nibbling on your neck, his hands roaming over your luscious curves so possessively it made you shiver.

“How would I know?” Steve blushed furiously, not realizing how obvious his crush on his best friend was.

“You’ll get your turn Rogers, patience.” Bucky promised as he looked over his shoulder at Steve. “But first I think you wanted a show, right?”

“Fuck yes. Please.” Steve nodded so fast and hard Bucky laughed, some of the awkwardness of the situation disappearing.

“You know your safewords don’t you baby?” Bucky asked you as he started stripping off your clothes, your rich tawny skin exposed one inch at a time. You nodded and Bucky’s hands couldn’t stop pawing at your ass, your tiny waist, even your tits when they bounced free.

“Beautiful.” He breathed as Steve watched the love of his life get manhandled. Steve’s cock wouldn’t stop leaking in his pants, the wet spot growing with each passing moment until he couldn’t resist taking out his shaft and squeezing the base to try and stave off the orgasm that threatened to overwhelm him. He didn’t want to cum until Bucky was balls deep inside you—and god just the thought made his balls ache.

“Flattery will get you everywhere Mr. Barnes.” You ducked your head shyly from the praise but could resist tugging at his shirt with a pout. “Now you, I want to see you.”

“As you command Mrs. Rogers.” Bucky grinned and started tearing off his own clothes hastily, dying to get his hands on you. The second he was fully naked and Steve saw his cock the blond whimpered.

Bucky was fucking hung.

Thicker than Steve’s own cock and with heavy balls Steve knew would knock you up if given half the chance.

“C’mere big boy.” You murmured as you reached out to pull Bucky closer. This time when you kissed you felt his leaking tip pressing into your belly, making your cunt throb with need.

“I’m not gonna last if you keep teasing me.” Steve tried to sound stern but considering he whined the words, neither of you took him very seriously.

Bucky merely gave your ass a squeeze and ordered softly, “Bed. Now.”

Then he turned to Steve and walked over confidently, stopping just shy of shoving his dick in his best friends face.

“You’re going to watch, and you’re not going to cum without permission because that would make you a bad boy. You don’t want to be bad do you Stevie?” Bucky asked quietly, his control over the both of you ironclad without him ever needing to raise his voice.

“No, Buck. Sir. Fuck.” Steve wasn’t even looking at Bucky, not really. He was staring at his cock with shameless longing.

“If you’re a good boy I’ll let you eat my cum out of her. Deal?” Bucky smirked when Steve merely licked his lips. “I need an answer here, Rogers.”

“Yes, yes, I’ll be good. Promise.” Steve blinked like he was waking up from being hypnotized and just for that Bucky decided he’d have Steve on his knees for him after he was done with you.

“Good boy.”

~

Steve had made a deal with the devil.

How was he not supposed to cum when you were getting pounded into the mattress? Bucky had you on your stomach, prone boned until your eyes crossed from how deep he was inside your dripping pussy.

And he wouldn’t shut the fuck up.

“Best fucking pussy I ever fucked, goddamnit Stevie isn’t fucking you right—” Steve whimpered at that. “No way he’s giving you enough dick if you’re still this tight.”

“He,” you hiccuped, tears on your lashes from cumming so many times until the pleasure was almost painful, “He tries!” you cried and Steve’s tip leaked pre all over his fist as he squeezed as hard as he could.

“Not, fucking, good, enough.” Every balls deep thrust squelched its way through your creamy folds, and Bucky loved watching your ass jiggle every time his hips slapped against it.

“I’m gonna have to bend you over more often baby, gotta give you all the dick your hungry little pussy needs.” Bucky groaned as he got close after an hour of just reveling in how your pussy felt wrapped around him. His stamina and control put Steve to shame without even trying.

“Please…” Steve whined as he watched, his pretty baby blues glossed over and his whole face and chest covered in the pinkest blush.

“Need to cum, cuck?” Bucky got a little mean when he realized how much Steve liked being embarrassed.

“Yes, please, please—” Steve begged shamelessly as he tugged at his balls.

“Come here then, paint her face and tell her how much you like seeing her get fucked.” Bucky purred the words and growled when your pussy clenched around him. “You like that huh? Dirty girl.”

Steve scrambled to his feet and made it over to the bed in record time, jacking his cock furiously over you as you looked up at him so trustingly.

“You’re so -fuck- so fucking pretty baby. Taking his cock like you were born to.” Steve groaned as he came within seconds, unable to hold back any longer. But seeing your beautiful face and plush lips covered in his cum, the pearly liquid reflecting off your darker skin made him hard all over again.

“Good boys get rewarded, Stevie. And I gotta big reward for you.” Bucky fucked you harder as he started to cum, slamming his hips into yours so his cum was tucked safe and sound in the depths of your pussy. His load was thick and hot and overwhelming as it made its was into you. When he finally pulled out your pussy couldn’t hold it all in, leaking onto the sheets as your hole clenched on air.

Bucky leaned back on his heels for a second, enjoying the view, before he grinned at Steve.

“Come on cuck, come get your snack.”

[juiche]

I wanted to draw the winter soldier for years but never dared to, I thought I’d definitely mess it up. Late to the party as always, but I finally dared to do it 😊

This one is based on a photo that Sebastian Stan took by chance prior to the Civil War film, having no idea what’s about to come :> I thought it’s wonderfully angsty 😌💅

get your own print here ❤️

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

What a Mess 1

Warnings: non/dubcon and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: thick!Bucky Barnes

Summary: Your new job isn't all that you expect. (maid AU – short!reader)

Note: hate me, baby.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

You punch the code into the keypad. The instructions are in the app, under the corresponding address. It took you sometime to find the building, then a little longer to figure out how to work the elevator. As it stopped on the right floor, the grated door struck you with a glimmer of panic. 

Unlocked, you roll the door back to reveal the condo on the other side. Wow. It’s quite the place. Spacious. High ceilings, polished dark floors, tall counters. Well, everything is ‘big’ compared to you. The world is gargantuan in a way that makes you feel like a spec of dust. 

You set down your kit and roll in your vacuum. It’s a haul and a half and you felt a bit silly dragging it all up the front steps of the building. You always feel a bit ridiculous. Like you don’t belong. Even in a city so big that you’re invisible. 

You tap your earbud twice to turn the music up. You always keep one in to ward off the overstimulation of the New York chaos. It helps you through the hours of cleaning. 

You check the notes in the app. It’s a long list. The work isn’t new, just the place. They chose to give some of your old clients to newer cleaners and you took on the more particular ones. Zuli said it’s because you know how to get in and out without any hint that you were ever there. 

You start your cautious work. The client has included some very direct instructions. What you can and can’t touch. Alright, easy enough. You’re good with that. Details help. 

You get to the spiral staircase that leads up to loft bedroom. The instructions say to dust the railings and sweep the steps. It doesn’t really look like they need it but it can’t hurt. You’re paid to do the job. 

You start with the railings. Going top to bottom as you drag a microfibre cloth down the twisting ascent. You go back to the highest step with the broom, the task made awkward as the broom handle pokes through ceiling that would be the floor of the room above. It’s an interesting set up. 

As you bring the bristles across the metal step, a shadow shifts over you. The windows are tall enough to let the sky in. You ignore it until a voice startles you from above. “Got an extra cloth?” 

Your foot slips as a hand grabs the other end of the broom. You cling to the stick as another hand reaches to catch your arm. You squeak and look up at the man as he bends through the hatch door and keeps you from falling further. 

“Oh, I'm sorry,” you whittle out of your tight throat. 

“Careful,” he steadies you on the step until you get your balance. He lets go and steps back, standing above you as he looks down through the open hatch. “So, a cloth?” 

You tap your earbud to pause the music. You nod and give a wide blink. You turn and scurry down the spiral steps, dizzy by the bottom. You search your kit and take both the roll of paper towels and a microfibre cloth. You go back to him and offer both. 

You bat your lashes as you peer up at him. You know him. Well, you recognise him. The hair, the beard, the bright blue eyes. It's Bucky Barnes. What really gives him away are the metal fingers twiddling by his jeans. He bends to take the paper towel. 

“Thanks,” he rasps and walks away without another word. 

You don’t move for a moment. Then you set back to your work. You’re not there to ogle the famed super soldier. You have your list of tasks. You remember the underlined point on the list. Do not enter the loft.  

You make a slow descent down with the broom and gather the small cluster of dust in the pan. You dump it and begin on the lower floor. You get about halfway around the front room of the open-concept condo before the silence smacks you across the face. 

You hit play on your earbud. That’s better. You finish up with the sweep and start with the mop. You’re sure to use the gentle, unscented, all natural cleaner as specified in the app. You suppose a place this nice requires extra care. 

You bob as you clean, the rhythm of the music soothing your nerves. You can’t help by keep replaying your near disaster in your head. Imagine if you’d fallen down those stairs. That would have been painful and just as torturously humiliating. 

As you finish up, packing up your kit and tie up the trash bag to take out, you sense something behind you. You turn as you wait for the elevator to rise up and blanch at Bucky as he stands at the foot of the metal stairs. How hadn’t you heard him? 

He looks at you then around the apartment. You squirm, too tongue tied to speak. Better off that you don’t. Was that on the list? You can’t remember. 

“Looks good,” he says. 

His eyes meet yours and you flinch. His irises are a blue so bold and deep that they threaten to swallow you up like the sea. And the way he stands. His posture. He’s intimidating without trying. Or maybe you are a bit of a wuss. 

You press on your earbud, once more silencing the music. You wait for him to say something else. He doesn’t. He goes into the kitchen and opens the fridge.  

You hesitate and face the elevator again. Tension roils at your back as you hear the glass tingle followed by the hiss of a cap popping free. You push your shoulders up and lift your kit, hanging on tightly to the hose of the vacuum. 

He must deal with enough leers, he surely doesn’t need that from a cleaner. The elevator doors open and you step inside. You roll the vacuum into the corner and go to close the gate.  

Bucky appears at the threshold as he pulls it across himself. The whole time, his gaze doesn’t leave you. He hits the keypad on his side and the lock clicks before the outer doors roll across and block him from sight. You stay there, frozen, even as the elevator jolts into motion. 

Did you overstep? Miss a check on the list? You hope you didn’t mess this up already. You really hate starting all over again. You prefer to know what to expect than to have to keep guessing. 

[buck-star]

Never say “no” to your husband | Steve Rogers

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 -> Dark!Mob!Husband!Steve Rogers x Wife!Reader

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 -> You say “no” when Steve wants you to warm his cock in front of his men.

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 -> 557

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 -> 18+, Minors DNI Smut, dark!Steve, mention of fingering, unprotected p in v, rough sex

𝐑𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭 -> 🧚🏻‍♀️✨Bippity boppity bow chicka wow oww! You’ve been visited by the Shameless Hoe Fairy, and now you must share a hoe drabble about: Dark!Steve Rogers + covering your mouth @stargazingfangirl18

𝐀/𝐍 -> Thank you for sending that Drabble idea. It was funny.

Masterlist | Steve Rogers Masterlist

“Come on. Don’t be like that, honey.”

Steve groans and grasps your hand, stopping you from leaving the room while he turns you around. Your front crashes almost painfully against the hard wall in front of you. You hiss softly, and Steve pushes himself against you, holding you tight between the wall and his body. You can feel his tensing muscles against your back and the way his fingers dig into your skin.

“Stevie, pl-,” you whimper, but you get interrupted by his forward thrusting hips.

Steve's hand snaps to your face, covering your mouth before you can complain or beg even more. He knows that you would try to convince him to let go of you, but he won’t. He is desperate, and he wants you, your tight pussy. He owns his reward; he is the most popular mob boss, so he deserves to be treated like that. He thrusts his hips another time forward, his growing bulge pressing against your ass, and you whine against his hand.

“Told you to be good. Wanted to bury my dick inside of you earlier, but you made a scene. There were just a few of my men. You're a bad girl. You little slut, now I’m gonna fuck you,” he mumbles into your ear before he kisses down your neck.

Steve’s hand, which isn’t covering your mouth, removes your pants, freeing his cock. He moans loudly when he runs his thumb over the tip of his hard cock, smearing the pre-cum all over his dick, and gives himself a few strokes. Your husband loves to have you like that, begging for him to stop, maybe for his cock - depends on his mood. But now he just wants to fuck the attitude out of you, the way you said “no” to him when he told you to warm his dick. You didn’t want to, since he had a meeting with his men. Steve didn’t like to hear a no when it came to things he asked for. Not to mention that he always gets what he wants, as does his sweet little wife, who has to give him whatever he wants.

Steve’s hand lets go of his dick, sliding around your body until he reaches your pussy, moving them through your already wet folds. Steve chuckles, knowing your body exactly and how to touch you to make you drip like that. He rubs your clit, adding more pressure while he listens to the soft, muffled moans that leave your lips.

“Like that, don’t you? Such a pretty little slut for me.”

Before you can protest in any way, he shoves his dick inside of you. Your walls are stretching painfully, but your arousal makes it easy for him to slide balls deep inside of your tight pussy. Steve can’t get enough of it. Can’t get enough of you and your pretty little pussy.

“Don’t try to wiggle out of my grip. We both know you love that, love being fucked like that by your husband,” he groans, starting to thurst in a brutal pace inside of you.

His hand covers your mouth, your screams and moans muffled by it, while his dick stretches you like no one else could. And as much as you hate to admit it, he is able to fuck you whenever and wherever you want.

Taglist: @kandis-mom @sergeantbarnessdoll @nicoline1998enilocin @mrsbuckybarnes1917 @identity2212 @km-ffluv @lunaalovesyouu @blackhawkfanatic @armystay89 @suz7days @felicitylemon @cjand10 @casa-boiardi @cevansbaby-dove @flstrawberry @capsbestgirl77 @bookishtheaterlover7 @rogersbarber @sebastianstanisahotmf

[tldrthor]

The Princess (and the chaos she brings with her) - steve rogers x fem!reader (1/?)

Summary: when Thor asked the avengers to guard a dear friend of his, they didn't think twice before saying yes. What they didn't know was that said friend is the princess of one of the nine realms, and a lost love of one Captain Rogers.

Part 1 // I thought you were dead // word count: 3.5k

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"(y/n), you have to eject, right now!" Steve screamed over the torrents of wind whistling through the ship. Schmidt was dead, gone. So was the tesseract. But it wasn't over yet. "I have to put her in the water!"

The girl behind him widened her eyes, battling against the elements to reach him. "There's no world in which I let you do that, Captain!"

"I'm not asking for permission!"

"Well then, I guess we go down together!" She painstakingly made her way to him, every step a feat of strength. Her previously neatly pinned curls no longer even resembled what they once were as her hair whipped around her face.

As Steve turned to face her, she somehow still looked angelic. He felt that right now, she was more heavenly than ever. He couldn't let her die with him.

"Buckle in." He commanded, as they began their quick descent. He looked at her, the first woman who had ever made him feel seen, the only person he had ever met who was as crazy as he was.

As the ice flew closer, he turned and placed a hand tenderly on her face. Tears welled in his eyes as his mind wandered to the future they could've had. God, they could have been amazing.

"I'm sorry, (y/n)." He whispered. She could only just hear it, even though they were right next to each other.

He pulled the yellow ejection lever on the seat she had just buckled herself into, watching as her eyes widened. "No! Steve, no!" She lifted her hands to stop him, to jam the lever, anything to stay with him. She wasn't quick enough.

Steve closed his eyes as her seat was ejected, hearing her scream his name. There was no world where he allowed her to go down with him, and he trusted that wherever she ended up, Stark and Peggy would find her. He hoped they would be able to find him, too.

He hadn't prayed in a long time, but as he went down, he bargained with God for her safety.

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"It is my honour to introduce the new and improved Captain America and the Howling Commandos exhibit, in honour of the 100th birthday of Captain Steven Grant Rogers." The crowd clapped as the senator stepped off the podium, motioning for Steve to take the mic. Bucky and Sam laughed at how uncomfortable the Captain was as he stood thanking everyone for an exhibit he never wanted. All part of the job, he supposed.

After the handshakes, and the photo ops, and the autographs and the meet and greets, the boys finally got relative peace to wander around the new exhibition.

"I can't believe you used to wear these stupid suits." Sam laughed, standing in front of the main exhibit. Bucky sighed, budging Sam's shoulder. "Says the asshole who wears a bird suit to fight." He retorts.

Steve laughed at his friends antics, but walked away when he noticed an addition to the exhibit he hadn't seen before. He stared, wide eyed at the name in front of him.

(Y/N): THE MISSING HERO?

Steve found himself drinking in every inch of the gorgeous photo underneath the text, her bright smile and barely visible freckles. The lighting highlighted the different hues in her immaculately pinned hair. She looked just like an angel, as she always did in real life.

Steve looked down, forlorn eyes investigating very few artefacts in the glass exhibit. Her folded uniform, found in her room after the plane went down. The blush lipstick you wore every day. Finally, an object that Steve didn't recognise. A golden ring, encrusted in unidentified jewels and a family crest no one knew. He frowned.

He had known her only a short few months, but he regretted never asking about her family. And now, it would haunt him that he never did until his last breath.

"They never found her, huh?" Bucky placed his covered hand on Steve's shoulder, a sadness tinged in his voice. He had only met (y/n) briefly, but he knew even then that Steve's heart rested in the palm of that woman's hand.

He had asked about her, once, but the look on Steve's face when her name was mentioned told him everything he needed to know.

"No. Howard searched for years, found nothing. Turned out that she had lied on her intake forms for the SSR, too. We don't even know if (y/n) was really her name." He took a beat. "We have no idea if she survived or not."

Steve didn't have to make the subtext clear, Bucky knew he worried that he had killed her by ejecting her from that plane. Bucky also knew there was no sense in trying to tell him she would have died either way, that the ice would've killed her.

"You okay?" Bucky asked, after another few moments of silence.

Steve nodded, looking at the photo. "I'm glad she's remembered. I just wish I didn't have so many unanswered questions."

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"So," Tony started. "Thor is arriving with the guest of honour later today, who we have agreed to protect here for the meantime. We don't have a lot of background for this one. The dark elves are the ones we're protecting her against, but Thor said threat could come from many areas. Do we have any questions?"

The team looked nothing short of bored. Well, most of them. Cap always had the good grace to sit up and look interested. Scott was straight up asleep.

"Is she important? How long will she be staying with us?" Steve asked.

"No idea, and uh, no idea. Anything else?"

"Is she single?" Sam asked, earning a laugh from some of the others. Steve shook his head disapprovingly, but smiled at his friend's levity.

As Steve stood up to go back to training, FRIDAY sounded around the room. "Excuse me everyone, my satellites have detected a bifrost signal heading for the compound imminently."

"Speak of the devil!" Tony clapped his hands as everyone headed out to the bifrost landing site (something that had been instituted after Tony's lawn got scorched one too many times).

Bucky smacked Scott upside the head to wake him up with a jolt. "Oh, where are you guys going?" He called behind them, jogging to catch up. Steve waited behind from him, laughing at his groggy friend.

A bright light connected with the grass just beside the landing site. Tony's hands covered his eyes as he mouthed are you fucking kidding me. When the light cleared, Thor stood tall in his usual armour.

"My friends!" His voice boomed, "I present to you, my fellow avengers, the honourable princess of Alfheim, jewel of the Alfar and ambassador to Asgard." Thor's voice boomed through the halls of the compound. "This is my friend, (y/n)."

Beside Thor stood a girl. She was breathtakingly beautiful, with a heavenly stature. She looked like she could have been carved from marble by the hands of God himself.

A light Asgardian pink dress was covered by a golden chest-plate which fit her body like it had been moulded just for her. It was covered in intricate etchings of suns and stars, which caught the light and shone brilliantly. She wore golden jewellery, which was nothing like the avengers had ever seen. Golden ear cuffs covered her pointed ears, with her long hair pulled into an up-do, emphasising the golden, bejewelled tiara on her head.

"Princess?" Sam squeaked. Wanda smacked him, with a look that screamed don't embarrass us.

Tony tilted his head in confusion at the guest, who he could almost swear he recognised from somewhere. "Thor, you did not inform us that we were looking after the ruler of a planet. We would have been more prepared."

"I am not ruler yet, Mr. Stark." The girl cast her eyes up at Tony, as she smiled sweetly. Her voice was honey smooth, and anyone who heard it felt themselves being charmed by it. "I have heard much about you all from Thor."

"Should we bow?" Bruce whispered to Tony, who shrugged his shoulders. Thankfully, (y/n) took the lead and shook each of their hands.

She looked around at each of the gathered avengers. Thor made his introductions to the rest of the group. "Where are the others?" Thor enquired.

"Here!" Steve smiled at the site of his old friend, his view of the princess obscured by the large man. Bucky and Scott tagged behind him, also happily greeting Thor.

"Captain, it is very good to see you. Please, let me introduce you to the Princess (y/n)." Thor stepped aside to introduce them, but his eyebrows knitted together in confusion when neither of them moved, almost frozen in place.

"Uh... hi." Scott side-stepped the Captain and caught the eye of their guest. "My name's Scott Lang."

The girl tore her eyes away from the captain, unsure really on what to do. But her training kicked in, knowing that being rude was one of the worst sins a princess could commit. "Hello, Mr. Lang. I am (y/n)."

"Holy shit." Bucky breathed out.

The rest of the avengers watched the rather silent exchange with confusion. It was very unlike Steve to get so tongue-tied, and he would never be so rude as to not introduce himself.

"Captain Rogers..." The girl spoke first, confusing them further. "I believed you dead." Tears had welled in her eyes, intriguing the observing crowd even more.

"I thought you were dead." He breathed. "What... what is going on?"

Bucky interjected. "Um, hi. I'm Bucky, we met briefly in '45."

She smiled softly at him, but her eyes betrayed her confusion. "Sergeant Barnes, of course! Didn't you... also die?"

"Yeah, we've all got a lot of explaining to do." Bucky laughed as the absurdity of the situation caught up to him.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Thor's eyes darted between his friend and the captain. When Thor asked the avengers to guard her from the war on Alfheim, he knew some hijinks would ensue. This is not what he expected. He knew you had spent some time on Midgard before and when you returned you were emotionally distraught. He had simply figured the war you had fought with the Midgardians had taken it's toll.

He eyed both the Captain and you, suspiciously. You were his dear friend, but you had never talked to him about any mortal love.

"So, Princess. You've been here before." Tony enquired.

The Princess licked her lips nervously, glancing at Steve, who had barely moved a muscle, his eyebrows furrowed. "Yes, Mr. Stark. I spent some time here during the second world war. I left Midgard when Johann Schmidt was defeated, and haven't returned since."

"Tell us about your world, Princess. I've never heard of it before." Natasha, the red-head in the corner, asked the guest.

"You have heard of it before." The princess smiled, explaining. "I believe we are now known as a fantasy character here - you call us elves." She pointed to her pointed ears as each avenger clung to her words.

Thor smiled at his Midgardian friends' curiosity.

"The Alfar still live amongst you, they are simply unseen. I believe you may know Tolkien?" At the mention of the author's name, everyone's ears pricked. "He was one of my father's greatest friends and many of his book settings were inspired by Alfheim."

"What!" Scott exclaimed. "That's insane."

"Really, Ant Man?" Bucky responded, pointing out that they were all ridiculous, when you thought about it. The world was crazy now.

The princess chuckled, and rose from her seat at the conference table. "Thank you very much for your hospitality, Avengers. I would quite like to rest in my chambers, if you would be so gracious to allow me."

"Um, yeah... consider yourself allowed." Tony stumbled over his words. Very unusual for him, and it did not go unnoticed by the others. "Dinner is at seven."

"Thank you, Mr. Stark. Captain Rogers," She addressed the Captain, who looked up quickly. His face was pale, and he nervously twiddled his thumbs. "Would you be so kind as to show me my rooms?"

He popped up, almost comedically fast. "Yes. Yeah, sure. Um, this way." He walked out quickly, darting his eyes back to make sure the princess was following him.

She followed, gracefully. Her skirts fanned out behind her as she walked. The avengers in the room could scarcely take their eyes off her as she faded from sight.

As soon as the door closed behind them, the room devolved into chaos. People shouting theories and questions left, right and centre. Mostly, everyone was just bewildered. Bucky and Thor discussed how they had both known the couple separately, and whether each had talked about the other.

Natasha watched as Tony sat quietly on his tablet for a few seconds, searching for something she could only assume was relevant to the discussion at hand.

"Bucky, what's the deal there?" Clint asked.

He was interrupted by Tony. "Aha!" Stark called, silencing the room. "I knew I recognised her from somewhere."

He projected a photograph to the wall, and the avengers gasped.

The photograph consisted of Steve and Bucky front and centre. Bucky had his left arm wrapped lazily around Tony's dad, Howard. And Steve was looking directly at the girl next to him, holding her to him by the waist. It was the princess. The gaze he looked at her with... it was like nothing they had ever seen from him.

"They didn't just know each other, they were in love." Bucky replied to Clint's question, a hint of sadness underneath his words.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

(Y/n) followed Steve along the large corridors of the compound, her smaller legs working double time to match his long strides. They walked in silence, for the most part. It wasn't the comfortable kind.

"Captain." She spoke first, again. As she called for him, he stopped walking abruptly, turning slowly. He met her gaze and then cast his eye down.

"(y/n)... I mean, um, Princess." He responded.

"(y/n) is sufficient." She whispered, almost guiltily. "I can't believe you're alive..."

"I can't believe you're alive," He retorted. "I searched for you, when I woke up. They couldn't find any records of you other than your enlistment form, and they found you had lied. People think you're just a ghost story..."

He took a breath. "I can't believe you're here and... an alien princess?"

"I know it's hard to believe, I hope you understand why I couldn't tell you back then." She laughed. "When I found that you and Sergeant Barnes were dead, I couldn't face being here anymore... I returned to Alfheim."

As she thought back on it, a tear sprung to her eye. On seeing her reaction, Steve couldn't help himself but place a friendly hand on her back, rubbing soothing circles. She briefly froze at the contact, but quickly, she moved her own hand down his arm until she was holding onto his hand with both of hers.

So much went unsaid, but the contact confirmed what they had both most desperately wanted to know. Would it be the same?

"If I had known that you and Sergeant Barnes were alive, Captain..." She admitted. "I would have returned in an instant, I give you my word."

He smiled, rubbing a thumb over the back of her hand. A red blush hugged her cheeks as he did so.

It was typical of him that he couldn't concentrate on the moment, "Why are you here?" He asked. "What are we protecting you from?"

She sighed. "The Svartalfar, or the dark elves. You may know them - they attacked Thor in the Midgardian city of London some years ago now." He nodded in recognition.

"They are determined to conquer Alfheim, and have set their sights on my family. They have already managed to get close to killing me."

She pushed the collar of her dress down, showing a large, angry, red scar just above her collarbone. His hands flew up to trace the scar. She gulped at the close contact, her eyes meeting his.

His expression gave away his concern, knowing that Thor had suggested she was in a lot of danger. "Don't worry, Princess. You're safe here." He smiled, softly. "We'll protect you with everything we've got."

"Thank you, Captain."

"It's just Steve." He unhooked their hands, and gave her his arm. She linked her arm in his, and he resumed wandering down the halls to her rooms. "Do you have any bags?"

"No, I fled to Asgard with nothing when I needed healing. The Asgardians were kind enough to offer many gorgeous clothes for me to bring, but I figured they were a bit conspicuous."

Steve laughed, "Yeah, they might be."

They walked for a little while longer, before Steve entered a room to the side. It was rather basic compared to what she was used to, but it would more than suffice for the meantime.

"This is your room." He stood by the door as she entered. "I'm just down the hall if you need anything. I'll get Tony to send you some less conspicuous clothes. See you at dinner."

"Thank you, Steven." He laughed at her inability to be too informal with him. He nodded at her, and turned to walk down the hall to his room.

As he entered, the photograph of her from the Smithsonian caught his eye from the nightstand. He picked it up, tracing her features with his finger - unable to stop the smile spreading across his face. Who would've thought? Not only was his girl alive, she was also alien royalty. Sometimes, just sometimes, he adored his strange, strange world.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Sir," The agent walked into the dark room with purpose in her every step. "The Princess has been spotted."

The man in the chair looked up at the mention of his target. "Show me" he ordered. He watched as agent transferred the images on her tablet to the big screen, showing grainy, far away surveillance of the avengers compound.

As low quality as the image was, the woman arriving with Thor in the distinctive Alfar dress and armour was certainly the princess.

"Oh, my dear..." The man's deep voice dragged out. "You have walked right into our sights."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

a/n: let me know what you think! if you can't tell, this is basically the set up for a longer series... i'm really excited to explore this character and get deeper into the relationships!

i've never really written in the third person POV before, so let me know if it's something you like or not, and i can switch for the next part.

please like/reblog if you enjoy! let me know if you would like to be tagged in the next part <3

[daliaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa]

Bi-panic.

[aphroditelovesu]

can you please write 🦄 for either yan!steve or yan!bucky?

❝🦄❞ - ‘’I... I really can't let you go.’’

❝tw: kidnapping and slight angst.

When Steve found you at home, well, at least he considers it your home, you were lying on the couch, reading a book of your favorite genre. The mere sight of your presence made him smile and he unconsciously moved closer to you.

"Hey, honey." He murmured as he sat down next to you on the couch, close to your feet stretched out and bare beneath the soft fabric. Steve frowned slightly when you didn't respond to him. "Honey? I'm home." He tried again, his voice firmer.

But he got no response.

Steve sighed irritably when he realized what you were doing. The punishment of silence.

Steve ran a hand through his hair, feeling his frustration growing. He knew the punishment of silence was your way of showing that something was wrong, but he couldn't understand what he could have done to deserve it.

Everything he did was for you. Always for you and would always be for you.

He leaned forward, placing his hand gently on your knee. "Honey, please tell me what's going on." He pleaded, concern evident in his voice. "I can't fix what's wrong if you don't tell me."

The book in your hands continued to be your only answer. Steve sighed again, deeper this time, and decided to try a different approach. He got up and went to the kitchen, preparing your favorite drink. Maybe, with a little patience and a gesture of affection, he could break the silence and find out what was going on.

Steve quickly returned to the living room, bringing with him a silver tray with your favorite drink and snacks. He placed it in front of him, on the coffee table. However, you refused to talk to him, or even look at him.

Had he done something wrong?

Steve tried to search his mind for anything he could have done that triggered such a reaction from him, this coldness that hurt him more than anything. He sighed when he finally realized that it may have been the sudden change in your life that caused you to become so cold towards him.

You still hadn't completely gotten used to his presence, to living with him. It had been something sudden when he brought you here, but Steve couldn't leave you alone, not when the world was becoming more and more dangerous. He couldn't even imagine what he would do if something happened to you.

Steve sat next to him again, this time closer. He gently touched your shoulder, trying to get your attention. "I know things changed too quickly." He began, his voice low and full of regret, "I brought you here thinking it would be for the best, but perhaps I didn't consider how much it would affect you."

He took a deep breath, trying to find the right words, "I just wanted to protect you, make sure you were safe. But I understand if you're feeling like you've lost your freedom, your old life. I'm sorry if I was selfish in not realizing it sooner."

Silence still hung between you, but Steve continued, determined to get through to you. "I want you to feel at home here, not like a prisoner. And if there's anything I can do to make this easier for you, please tell me. I'm here to listen."

You finally looked at him and placed the book down in your lap. Your gaze met his and you spoke, your voice loud and clear. "I want to go home. To my real home."

His gaze suddenly hardened and the grip on your shoulders tightened, becoming painful. His voice was low but you could feel the anger, the pain, in them. "No."

Your heart skipped a beat at the sudden change in his behavior. Steve had always been protective, but he had never been so authoritarian. You tried to pull your shoulders away from his grip, but he wouldn’t budge.

"Steve, you're hurting me." You mumbled, trying to keep your voice calm even as fear rose within you.

He took a deep breath, eyes softening a little, but his grip still firm. "Sorry." He murmured, slowly releasing you. "I just... I can't let you go. It's dangerous out there, and I can't risk losing you."

You rubbed your shoulders, feeling relief mixed with growing discomfort. "But I can't live like this, Steve. I need my freedom, my space. I can't be a prisoner. I can't."

He shook his head, visibly struggling with his own emotions. "It's not a prison. It's to protect you. You have to understand that."

Steve grabbed your hands and squeezed them gently, touching you as if you were made of glass, and with any wrong touch, you could fall apart. He rubbed your fingers and replied, "I... I really can't let you go."

His words were painful to hear because you knew he was telling the truth. He would never let you go.

[fernsnailz]

it's time... for the TEAM DARK FEST! 💥💥💥💥

me and @serpentineshine are hosting a little tournament to finally determine who the best Team Dark member is! this week there's gonna be goofs, bits, and even a special prize for the winner 👀

however, the most important prize of all is what awaits at the end of the festival! ...but that's a secret right now.

💥 cast your vote below! 💥

(oh also if anyone makes any propaganda for their fav character. tag me i wanna see)

video transcript below the cut! ⬇️

A blue announcement screen with scrolling text reads “SPECIAL FENSNAILZ ANNOUNCEMENT.” There’s a looping animation of Squeak the cat in the middle. It disappears, cutting to a shot of a studio space.

In the studio, SNAIL, SHINE, SQUEAK, and a VASH PLUSH all sit at a desk with a large CRT TV on it. Squeak and Vash are on top of the TV, and shelves with various items line the walls. Everyone seems to be unaware that the camera is rolling - Snail is reading the script, Shine is drinking from a mug, and Squeak is licking her butthole. Vash remains motionless.

Snail notices the camera zooming in, and throws away the script in a moment of panic. Shine and Squeak sit up to face the camera as well.

SNAIL: Coming at you pre-recorded, it’s Snail, Shine, and The Beasts!

SHINE: We’re here today to announce a special tournament we’re hosting: the TEAM DARK FEST!

SQUEAK: Eep!

VASH: weemp womp :]

SNAIL: You know ‘em, you love ‘em-

SHINE: Or hate them.

SNAIL: It’s all about TEAM DARK this week! Fellas, turn on that TV!

The camera cuts to a close-up of the TV as the screen flips on. Three shitty photos of each Team Dark member appear on the TV under the question “Who is the best member of Team Dark?” Every Team Dark member’s name is misspelled underneath the photos.

SHINE: Time for the ULTIMATE question: Who is the best Team Dark member?

SNAIL: Oof. We’re turning them against each other, huh? That’s dramatic.

SQUEAK: Meep! (HOLY SHIT)

The camera zooms out to a wide view of the studio, but zooms out much further than needed for a split second. For some reason, this is all being filmed on a green screen set, and the shelves behind the cast seem to be edited in. Not only that, but this studio is either widely over-staffed or widely under-staffed, because the boom mic is held by seven Chao stacked on top of each other. The camera zooms into a closeup of Snail before much of this information can be processed.

SNAIL: Well, it’s obviously Shadow. I told him if he won, I would get him ice cream after soccer practice!

The camera pans over to Shine.

SHINE: No way, vote for Rouge! She can carry like. Nineteen mountain lions. Give or take

The camera pans over to Squeak and Vash. Squeak points at a crude drawing of Omega that seems to say “VOTE OMEGA.” It is upside down. Vash holds a cute little sign that says “I <3 OMEGA” that he likely made himself.

SQUEAK + VASH: ?????????????? (we didn’t hire anyone to translate this part.)

Back in a wide shot, Snail and Shine stare blankly at Squeak and Vash. Squeak licks her butthole again. Vash is now Real. Someone off-screen sneezes very convincingly.

SHINE: This poll will run for ONE WEEK before we announce the winner! So little time…

SNAIL: Everyone make your vote count! The winner of this festival will have a special page in my… 

An image of a porcelain snail appears over a white background as an echo-y human voice says “SECRET UPCOMING PROJECT.”

VASH: bweep bwaa :] (Yay! Prizes!)

SHINE: The final verdict will be decided by Twitter AND Tumblr, so commit as much voter fraud as you please!

Squeak bites Vash and he screams. They both fall off the TV and make a surprising amount of noise. Snail and Shine stare in shock.

SNAIL: See you in seven days! And hey, if you want to participate… tag me in any propaganda you make to fight for your favorite Team Dark member!

Squeak and Vash explode.

[shybluebirdninja]

Sleep Striker

Summary: You discover that Bucky sleepwalks—and it’s not the calm, peaceful kind of sleepwalking. You wake up to find him in full-on combat mode with the couch.

Pairing        ��   : Bucky Barnes x Girlfriend!Reader

Note                : fluff

The night was supposed to be peaceful. You’d spent the entire evening watching Netflix with Bucky, eating popcorn, and joking around like any normal couple. By the time you both hit the sack, you were expecting nothing but a quiet night’s sleep, maybe punctuated by Bucky’s usual snores.

But no.

Around 2 AM, you woke up to the sound of something crashing in the living room. Your heart leapt into your throat, thinking for a second that maybe someone had broken in. Instinctively, you reached for the baseball bat you kept beside the bed (Bucky insisted on keeping a knife there, but you’d settled on a less dramatic weapon). Slowly, you tiptoed toward the door, already mentally preparing yourself for some horror-movie showdown with a burglar.

But what you found was so much worse.

There, in the dim glow of the living room lamp, was Bucky Barnes—your sweet, grumpy, 100-year-old boyfriend—throwing punches at thin air like he was in the middle of a battle.

“What the hell…” you whispered, blinking in disbelief.

Bucky, still completely asleep, ducked and weaved as if he were dodging invisible enemies, his fists flying through the air with lethal precision. His face was set in that intense, focused expression he wore when he was in full-on Winter Soldier mode, and for a moment, you couldn’t help but feel a mix of fear and… laughter? This was ridiculous. Your boyfriend was sleep-fighting in the living room.

You set the bat down carefully, still trying to process the situation, when Bucky suddenly spun around and landed a full-force punch on the couch.

The couch.

It made a sad thud as the cushions absorbed the blow, but Bucky didn’t stop. He kicked out at the coffee table next, sending it skidding a few inches across the floor.

“Bucky!” you hissed, trying to keep your voice low but urgent. “Hey, babe, wake up!”

He didn’t hear you. Instead, he crouched low, as if he were avoiding gunfire, and rolled behind the armchair, his metal arm glinting faintly in the darkness. You bit your lip, trying so hard not to laugh, but it was impossible. This was like watching an overgrown toddler reenact an action movie in his sleep.

“Okay,” you whispered to yourself, “how the hell do I handle this?”

You’d heard about sleepwalkers before, and you were pretty sure you weren’t supposed to wake them up. But you couldn’t just let Bucky wage war against your furniture all night. The man had already drop-kicked the coffee table, and at this rate, he’d be suplexing the bookshelf by sunrise.

You crept a little closer, careful not to startle him. “Bucky, babe, it’s just me. You’re, uh, safe. There’s no Hydra agents in the apartment, I promise.”

He didn’t respond. Instead, he launched himself toward the couch again, this time pulling off a move that looked like it came straight out of a Captain America fight scene. He tackled the poor couch as if it had personally offended him, his arms wrapping around the back cushions in a chokehold.

“Bucky, stop! The couch isn’t the enemy!” you half-whispered, half-yelled, trying to stifle your laughter. “Oh my god, you’re gonna kill the couch…”

He grunted, still deep in his dream, and threw a wild punch that just barely missed the coffee table. You winced at the near miss. That could’ve been bad. Like, broken furniture and a pissed-off Bucky kind of bad.

At this point, you realized you had to do something before your apartment looked like it had been hit by a tornado. Slowly, cautiously, you approached Bucky like you were approaching a wild animal—because, let’s be real, that’s kind of what he was right now.

“Bucky…” you said softly, reaching out a hand. “Come back to bed, babe. You don’t have to fight the couch anymore. You won. It’s dead.”

He hesitated for a moment, his muscles twitching like he was on the verge of launching another attack. But instead of another round of couch-punching, he slowly stood up, blinking groggily as if he was coming out of a fog.

You let out a breath of relief. “Thank God.”

But your relief was short-lived. Because as soon as Bucky turned around, he spotted the kitchen chairs—lined up perfectly in a row by the table—and apparently, in his half-asleep mind, they were the next Hydra targets.

“No,” you groaned, as Bucky lunged toward the chairs. “Not the chairs! I like those chairs!”

He grabbed one, flipping it over like it was an enemy combatant, and before you could stop him, he had another chair in a headlock. You stood there, watching in sheer disbelief as Bucky Barnes—the most feared assassin in the world—battled a set of IKEA furniture like it was the final boss fight of his life.

“Bucky, babe, please!” you shouted, a mix of panic and laughter bubbling out. “I can’t explain this to the landlord!”

Finally, in a last-ditch effort, you ran over and grabbed his arm—his metal arm, because that seemed like the safer bet. “Bucky, it’s me! You’re sleepwalking!”

At first, he didn’t respond. His eyes were still glazed over, lost in whatever dream battlefield he was trapped in. But then, slowly, he blinked. His metal arm relaxed under your grip, and he looked down at you, his brow furrowing in confusion.

“...What the hell?” he muttered, blinking again.

You let out the biggest sigh of relief. “Oh my god, thank you. I thought you were gonna destroy the whole apartment.”

Bucky glanced around, still looking dazed. “What… what happened?”

“You, uh… kinda went to war with the furniture,” you said, biting your lip to keep from laughing again. “You were sleepwalking.”

His eyes widened. “I did what?”

“You attacked the couch. And the coffee table. And, um, the chairs,” you explained, gesturing to the wreckage around the living room. “It was… a lot.”

Bucky groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. “Shit. I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

“No, no,” you reassured him quickly. “I’m fine. But the couch… not so much.”

He looked over at the couch, which was now sagging slightly from the multiple punches it had taken. “Damn,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. “Guess I really went at it, huh?”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “Babe, you suplexed the couch. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Bucky winced. “Shit. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s fine,” you interrupted, grinning up at him. “It was kind of… impressive, honestly. I mean, you took out an entire living room while asleep. That’s some next-level stuff.”

He gave you a sheepish look, still clearly embarrassed. “I’ll fix it in the morning.”

“You better,” you teased. “But for now, can we please go back to bed before you decide to fight the fridge or something?”

Bucky let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll… I’ll stay away from the appliances.”

You wrapped an arm around his waist, guiding him back toward the bedroom. “Good idea, soldier. Let’s just stick to sleeping from now on.”

As you both crawled back into bed, you couldn’t help but steal one last glance at the wrecked living room, a smirk tugging at the corner of your lips.

“Bucky?” you whispered, snuggling up next to him.

“Yeah?”

“If you ever get the urge to fight the couch again, maybe, like, wake me up first?”

He groaned, pulling the covers over his head. “Don’t remind me.”

You giggled, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. “Goodnight, Super Soldier Sleepwalker.”

“Goodnight,” he muttered, already halfway back to sleep.

But this time, thankfully, without the couch-wrestling.

[darkmasterlistyouneveraskedfor]

the girl next door masterlist

Summary: A new neighbour moves in and upends your already disarrayed life.

Status: In Progress

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[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The House Guest 1

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Bucky Barnes

Summary: an old acquaintance calls in a favour, leaving you with an unexpected house guest.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

“When I said I owed you,” you whisper and look over your shoulder. 

“Talk as quiet as you want, he’s got super hearing. Can’t even squeak out a silent but deadly with this guy,” Sam chuckles. 

“Wow, that’s gross,” you crinkle your nose. 

“I can be a nasty boy.” 

“Not better,” you give him an apprehensive look as you face him. “I saw him on the news.” 

“Hey, I was there too,” Sam chirps. 

“I know that but...” 

“He got a bit trigger happy. We’re just waiting for things to blow over. He needs a calming personality.” 

“So not you,” you retort. 

“No, not me. I’m into choking but not by him,” he snickers. 

“I can hear you,” the man leaning on the car hood snaps back as the sucker in his mouth hits his teeth. 

“Oh, I know,” Sam shoots a finger gun in his direction. “Also, he’s giving up smoking so he’s a bit testy.” 

“No, I spent eight hours in a car with you so I’m pissed off,” the grumbly sidekick hurls back. 

You look between them. Sam Wilson, the new Cap, superhero, avengers, comedian, and Bucky Barnes, Winter Soldier, assassin, and... mystery. You should refuse. You owe him but that much? A near-fugitive in your house? 

“Sam, I don’t exactly got a guest room,” you cross your arms. 

“Look, if the dame don’t wanna take me, don’t twist her arm,” Bucky sneers and bites into the sucker, scraping the stick with his teeth. “I can figure myself out.” 

“That’s what you said before the explosion. I’m not falling for it again, man,” Sam shoots back and shakes his head. He puts his hands on his hips and faces you. “You’re not just doing a service to me, but to America.” 

“Yes, okay, but this is Canada.” 

His eyes drift in realisation and his lashes flutter, “right, but we’re allies.” He looks at you again and smiles, “I thought Canadians were nice.” 

You roll your eyes. “Goddamnit. Fine.” 

“Like I said,” Bucky approaches, “I can go somewhere else. I don’t wanna be a burden.” 

“It’s not you,” you assure him. “There isn’t much space, that’s all. If you’re fine with that, so am I.” 

“I told him, it’s not a big deal,” Bucky huffs. “But he insists.” 

“I have to insist. I’m the Captain now.” 

“You keep saying,” he turns on Sam. “So why don’t you get that shield and we’ll see if you’re really up to that title.” 

“Alright, alright,” you step between them. You’re not a fan of conflict. Sam knows that and that’s why he brought him here. “No need to argue. You got a couch,” you look at Bucky then turn to the other man, “and you have a long ride home.” 

“Wait, you’re kicking me out?” Sam says. 

“If you stay any longer, I won’t stop him. I said he could stay, I said nothing about mediating whatever this is,” you wiggle your finger between them. 

Bucky snorts. He’s just as bad as Sam. They seem to only know how to goad the other.  

“Fair. I mean, you don’t want this guy getting any grumpier. He’s already such a treat,” Sam smirks. 

“Enough, I just told you,” you wag your index at him. “Well, nice to meet ya,” you turn and offer your hand to Bucky, “welcome to Canada.” 

“Thanks,” he says, though you can sense him staring down the other man. 

“Sam, have a safe trip. You need water or anything for the road?” You offer over your shoulder. 

“Nah, I think I’m good. A nice ride home alone. With good music. Think I’m set.” He cackles. 

“You wouldn’t know good music if it shot you in the face,” Bucky growls. 

“Dude, go get your bag out of my car,” Sam snips. “Good riddance, is what I say.” 

“Drive safe,” you shake your head as you walk toward the house. “I was in the middle of something.” 

You climb the porch steps and leave the inner door open as the screen door snaps shut behind you. Out of sight, you stop to shake off the adrenaline. You only realise then how the unexpected rival stirred you up. You weren’t ready for Sam but especially not a houseguest. Still, the only reason you have this place is because of that man. You can do this. 

You take a breath and go back to the kitchen. If Sam trusts Bucky, you can too. You’re not one to welcome in strangers, especially men, but this is different. And even if he asked, it wasn’t much of a choice. 

You wash your hands and dry them before pushing your sleeves back up. The striped button-up isn’t exactly your Sunday best. You add breadcrumbs to the bowl of raw beef as you hear footsteps on the porch. The door opens slowly and gently hits the frame. You listen to your guest as he sighs in the entryway. 

The house is small. One-floor, a single bedroom, a bathroom, a living room and a kitchen with a small dining table that doubles as your workspace. It isn’t much, but it’s yours. And it’s history. Your family’s. 

You sense him hovering just outside the doorway. You glance behind yourself and hang your hands over the brim of the bowl. You still need to chop the veggies but that can wait. It isn’t his fault Sam decided this would be the balance in the scales. 

“Let me show you around.” You cross the kitchen as he peers through.  

His beard is dark, his hair overgrown and pushed back behind his ears, and tugs at the bottom of his denim jacket. He looks skittish as you approach. He has a duffel bag in his hand. 

“Look, sorry if I came off short. You know how Sam can be,” you say. 

“I do. He assumes a lot,” he mutters. 

“Sure does. So, like I said, it’s not a big house. Kitchen here,” you point over your shoulder, “living room behind you, bathroom down the hall and the bedroom. There’s a back door. Yard’s bigger than the house.” 

“Got it.” 

“So, you’ll have to camp out on the couch but good news, it’s from 1987 so it folds out,” you squeeze by him and lead the way into the front room. 

“Beats a full barracks,” he comments. 

You nod and peek over at him. “Guess that makes sense.” 

He sniffs, “thanks. Really.” 

“Again, not too much,” you gesture to the room. “I gotta finish the meatloaf.” 

“Think I can handle it,” he affirms. 

[giorno-plays-piano]

Hold On To Me

Pairing: mob!Steve Rogers x reader

Warnings: home intrusion, hostage situation, noncon, Stockholm Syndrome, smut.

Words: 3.9k

Summary: Swallowing a lump in your throat, you grow silent, anxiously watching the guy smile at you. He's that type every girl would be eyeing in the club, looking for an excuse to talk to him, to attract his attention, and then, very likely, to get him into bed. Steve seems popular, the I-will-eat-your-heart-like-cereals type, but you can say he isn't. Something in his eyes betrays his nature.

P.S. I rewatched The Hostage again (when I did it for the first time, this was the result), and here we are.

____________

Staring at a little black Ikea table as if your life depends on it, you sit, your body aching from being in one position for too long, but you can't move. He's watching you. It seems he doesn't even blink, his eyes on you since the moment he pushed you into your room and locked the door behind him. He's so close you can hear him breathing.

You know this look. You're not that young and innocent to be unable to recognize interest in man's eyes. It both scares and - unfortunately - makes you a little flushed, and you berate yourself for the latter because this isn't the right way to react to a man who broke into your house and took your family hostage. God knows what's happening to your stepfather right now: the man wouldn't be able to protect himself even if he was inside a tank, and his enemy attacked him with a plastic knife. You're as much worried about your little brother. He was always a bit of a brat, but the second you realized he was in danger, you felt so overprotective over him you covered his body with yours like you were a shield.

Your brother is in his room now, being watched by the youngest guy in the gang, the one who looked the most reluctant when their leader decided to take hostages. Your brother must be safe. The other kid won't hurt him, you don't think.

You, on the other hand, are stuck with Steve. From the moment you saw him move and heard him talk, you realized he was running the show behind the curtains. He's dangerous. The third guy, the one who claims to be the leader, is impulsive, angry, shouting and kicking things, sweating like a sinner in church because of the police cars surrounding the house, but Steve is calm and collected. He smiles with his perfectly white teeth and talks to the boys as if he's relaxing in a bar after work, not in the middle of armed robbery.

He's really, really pretty. Steve has perfectly blond hair and proper facial features like a slightly chiseled jaw, full lips, and that sort of blue eyes that make girls swoon over him the moment they see him. He's perfectly tall, well-built, with wide shoulders and strong, muscular arms and legs: he look like he belongs in those Armani commercials or, perhaps, on the catwalk, but not with the kind of guys your mother warned you about. How did he end up on the darkside? What made him so good at using a gun? He didn't fire it even once yet, but you see it from the way he handles it he knows too well what to do with it. It makes you anxious, thinking that he might point his gun at you and then pull the trigger.

Except he won't. Or, it's rather unlikely. Not when he looks at you like this, always moving so close to you he steals a touch whenever he can as if he is unable to help himself. Besides, Steve is kind to you: he gave you water when you asked and loosened the rope tied too tightly around your wrists; he brought you a pillow so you could rest against it, not the cold wall, and shushed you gently when you cried, saying he wouldn't let anything happen to you or your little brother. You don't know how much of his promises are true, but you think him unlikely to harm a child. He doesn't seem the type.

Your poor little boy. He's only a kid, all alone in his room, forced to face one of his kidnappers as he waits for the police to finally make a move. Since you don't hear him crying - your room is just below his - you think he does his absolute best to hold on, to keep calm and not irritate his unwilling jailer even though he's frightened to death. He doesn't deserve to be caught up in this mess. If only they agreed to let him go... Not that anyone would listen to your pleas, though. He's a valuable hostage, just like you. As long as the gang has you, police won't make a move, you're pretty sure.

But maybe you can still help your brother. Ease his worry a little, give him a bit of hope. That is, if you play your cards right and press the right buttons of your handsome, terrifying warden.

"May I bring some food to my brother, please?" You whisper, gathering all your courage to turn your head to face Steve, look him straight in the eyes. "He must be so hungry."

Swallowing a lump in your throat, you grow silent, anxiously watching the guy smile at you. He's that type every girl would be eyeing in the club, looking for an excuse to talk to him, to attract his attention, and then, very likely, to get him into bed. Steve seems popular, the I-will-eat-your-heart-like-cereals type, but you can say he isn't. Something in his eyes betrays his nature.

He's not a guy winning girls over with his looks. Steve is a deviant, an outcast. His face can't buy him what he wants, and that's why he's here, in your house, holding your family hostage.

Maybe, just maybe, you can use it to your advantage.

"Can you do me a favor, please?" Your whisper is barely audible. "Can you take me to my brother so I could feed him? If you want, you can tie my legs so I won't run."

Not that you would, anyway. You know perfectly well you can't outrun this guy even if your life depends on it, literally. Overpowering him is even more unlikely unless his muscles are just cotton stuffed in his clothes, which is a ridiculous suggestion.

His eyes light up at the word favor. "Happy to oblige," he muses, and your heart starts beating wildly before he continues, "but how will you return my favor?"

You are puzzled. You haven't thought this far. Dumbly, you thought he'd just say yes. It's a small favor, really. He knew you wouldn't give him any trouble, so it was just quickly checking up on your scared to death brother. Why would he want something from you in return when you couldn't as much as move without his permission?

But of course, he would.

"Anything," you blurt out hurriedly as if the words burn your tongue before you realize what you are actually saying.

Steve laughs with delight, his features softening.

"You should work on your negotiation skills," he declares with a wide smile as you tremble, understanding what you just offered. "You shouldn't give up your everything because people will take anything there is to take. Choose just one thing at a time, and choose carefully."

Suddenly, he gets close, and you immediately avert your eyes to the floor, unable to keep his gaze, trembling.

He nuzzles your cheek affectionately as his knife works through the rope around your wrists, and you pray he isn't going to stab you because you really know nothing and all judgements you made of him might be false. "But I'll be nice and choose just one thing for you. You'll feed your brother, and then I'll feed you, alright?"

You blink, your eyes on your warden again. Feed you? He wants to give you food?

Okay, it sounds strange. But who cares when you can finally see your brother? You'd say yes even if he proposed something improper because what else can you do? Steve has a gun, and even without it, you feel like he's a very dangerous person to oppose to.

So you say yes, and he takes your hand in his - so you won't be nervous, he says, but you know he wants to remind you who's in control - and then you two march to the kitchen in awkward silence where you grab whatever you can find. A cheeseburger from that little family café your family goes to every weekend, a pack of yogurt, a toast, a bottle of water... Steve even helps you to carry it all.

When he opens the door to your brother's room, you forget how to breathe for a second. The little boy is safe, sitting on his bed with his hands already untied, his eyes red from all the crying, and you rush to him, forgetting there's another man in the room. Or, well, a boy, because he's surely younger than you, perhaps still at school. His eyes are suspiciously red, too, as if he's scared and doesn't want anything but leave this place for good. For a moment you think it'd be better if he was guarding you, too, because then, perhaps, he'd agree to let you go if you helped him run away from the house without police catching him, and then things would be so much easier.

But the boy leaves in a hurry when Steve enters, and you remember who's a true ringleader. You can never escape on your own.

Your brother cries when you hug him, his little hands wrapped around you as he sniffle, and you rock back and forth to calm him down, whispering words of comfort, like everything's going to be alright even if you don't know where your stepdad is and what Steve is going to do to you if police doesn't do what he demands them to. You tell your brother he needs to eat because it's dinner time, and he nods, suddenly a well-behaved boy he'd never been, and takes a cheeseburger. You don't leave until he eats everything even if it's probably too much for a kid his size, but he says nothing, and you want him to be completely full: who knows when he'll eat again.

Then you give him a hug. It'll be fine, you say, and he does his best not to cry. Just do what they say, be a good boy, and everything's gonna be alright.

Steve smiles at the child when your brother doesn't want to let you go. "Listen to your sister," he says in a tone as if he's playing the role of a big brother, "and things will be fine. She'll be safe, too."

You don't think you'll be safe, not with someone like Steve, but perhaps your brother will be because his jailer is a kind kid, and he isn't cut out for violence. It's enough for you, even if your hair stands on end when Steve gently nudges you into your room, locking the door behind himself again. Once you two are completely alone, you start to panic, your breathing growing uneven, your hands shaking. What will he do to you? Will he rape you? Torture you? Kill you? If you could think rationally, you'd realize at least the last two are unlikely to happen, but you're a hostage, and he has the power to do any of these things. Even if you're unbound, you're helpless against him, a man so big and strong he'd overpower you in a matter of seconds.

So you don't try anything. You go sit down on the floor near your bed with a pillow resting between your back and the wall and then stretch out your arms for Steve to bind them again. He doesn't.

"You've been a good girl so far," he muses, sitting down in front of you, and then you see a couple of fruits in his hands that you somehow missed completely. "Now, let me feed you."

You still when he takes out his knife and peels a big red apple in a single strip before cutting it into even pieces. When he brings one close to you, you try to take it from his hands, but he tuts, tilting his head. "Open your mouth," he says simply instead, and your face grows hot.

Of course, there was a catch. There always is with guys like him.

But you say nothing and do as he says, and then he carefully pushes a piece of apple into your mouth. It's delicious, juicy, just your favorite sort of apples. You try to concentrate on the taste, not Steve's delighted expression when he watches you eat. Soon, he pushes one more piece past your lips, and then one more, and one more until there's nothing left of the apple. He's nowhere near finished, of course, because then starts to peel an orange. It's messier than the apple, but Steve doesn't seem to mind when he brings a slice close to your lips and lets you swallow it. His smile grows wider the closer you are to finishing the orange.

When you're finally done, your mouth full of acidic flavor, he suddenly clicks his tongue.

"My hand is all dirty from orange's juice," he says, eyeing you when you finally register what it is he asks you to do.

You bite down on your lips, eyes round as he brings his hand to your mouth.

"Lick it," he whispers so close to your face you can feel his breath on your skin.

You want to say no, to tell him he's out of his mind, but you don't. He's been kind to you so far, and it'd be stupid to provoke him. Even if he won't stop at this... maybe he'll stay kind, anyway. It's better than having him put a gun against your forehead for refusing to do what he says.

You open your mouth, taking his fingers in one at a time. They taste almost the same as the orange, sticky with juice, and you do your best to lick them clean, making shameless little noises when you suck at them. Steve doesn't seem to mind. On the contrary, he looks at you with a delightful expression on his face, like he's happy you're so good at whatever he asks you to do. He slips finger after finger inside your warm, wet mouth, playing with your tongue, smearing juice and saliva against it as he laughs with joy.

When you're done, he kisses you, sharing the sour taste of the fruit.

You knew it would come to this. It's no surprise, really, with the way he looks at you. But you still tremble and wish for all of it to end when Steve licks your tongue, sucking it into his mouth.

"Open your legs, baby," he commands in a sweet voice, and you shudder but do as he says anyway, and his lips part in a smile. "Yeah, like that."

His hand is already between your thighs, cupping your pussy through the clothes, and you freeze, blood pounding in your ears. It feels surreal, being in this situation, in the hands of someone who might make you cum or shoot you in the head instead. Your heart beats wildly in your chest, but your body is petrified, limbs turning to stone, your tongue heavy when you whisper. "Please, don't hurt me."

It's a plea, a cry, and tears slip down your cheeks as you look him in the face, his eyes dark and perceptive. Then, all of a sudden, he softens. "You're safe with me," he promises, his breath warming your face as his hand lands on your head, stroking you gently like a little girl, and you feel like you're going to cry from the intimacy of his touch. "You'll always be safe with me."

His other hand is already in your jeans, caressing you through the silk fabric of your panties, but as he pats your head, taking your hair away from your face, you lean into him, seeking any comfort he's willing to give. Steve purrs, landing a kiss to your brow, his fingers slowly spreading your gentle folds as you shudder. "Good girl."

You let out a shaky sigh as he circles your clit: surprisingly, he doesn't start pumping his fingers in and out like most guys do, too eager to have their dick inside. No, Steve just draws more sighs from you, makes you meek and pliant and wet as his fingers work your clit just the right way, and you squirm into the fabric of his t-shirt as he caresses the back of your head, pressing you into his chest.

It almost doesn't feel like he's forcing himself on you. It feels like... like he comforts you. As if he wants you to feel good, to be fine with him doing it to you.

"I'm... I'm-"

Your knees tremble as you sense the orgasm coming too soon, snuggling against your captor as his hand closes against your shoulders, his fingers working your clit even faster, circling, pinching, pressing on it like a button, making you squeeze your eyes shut. The coil tightens in your belly and, then, then... you become undone. Disintegrate in Steve's hands when he praises you tenderly for being good to him, kisses your cheeks wet from tears, and craddle you to his chest like a baby. He's painfully hard, you can feel it through his jeans when you lean onto him, but Steve doesn't seem in a hurry for his own release. He waits till your orgasm makes you all too soft and takes your face in his hand, giving you a deep kiss, his tongue coiling around yours.

You barely recognize when he lifts you up, feeling too comfortable and warm, pressed to him like that, but then you feel cool bedsheets behind your back, and then you're scared again.

Steve coes tenderly, giving you a peck on the lips, "Do you want to ride me, baby? Or do you want me to take you on your back, like a princess?"

The way he phrases it makes warmth creep into your cheeks, and you avert your eyes, mumbling, "On my back, please."

It doesn't even register that he forces himself on you right this minute. It feels like... something else. Something not so scary, not so violent. Something... tender.

"Like a princess, then," your captor smiles, hands trailing your jeans as he carefully slides them down, taking them away, living you half naked. "Alright. You'll be my princess."

Your face feels disturbingly hot when he says it, his hands on you as he tugs the fabric of your blouse up, lowering his head to drop a few kisses to your tummy, murmuring something you don't quite catch, his breath hot against your skin. Soon, you are completely naked in front of him, and you'd feel ashamed if he wouldn't caress your head again like you're a little girl, eager for his praise.

He gives you a kiss before inching away, taking his t-shirt off ever so slowly to give you a good look at his undoubtedly perfect body. But you don't look at his muscled arms or wide chest. Your eyes are trailing his scars, so many scars of different shapes and sizes that cover his skin. Many of them are long, undoubtedly deep, as if someone... as if someone stabbed Steve with a knife.

Your eyes water. Even if it's you who's a victim, a hostage, you feel a sharp sense of guilt as if it were you who hurt him.

He blinkes, a little surprised, perhaps, but you can see there's someone else in his eyes. Something like shame. Like self-loathing.

"A princess' knight is supposed to have a few scars here and there, right?" He gives a quiet laugh, getting down again to cage you with his body, but he freezes when your warm hand lands on a long, ugly line on his side, between the ribs. It is long healed, but the touch makes him stop, nonetheless.

You look him into the eyes, and your face is tight with worry. "I'm sorry," you whisper like it's your fault, your palm warming his skin, and Steve becomes alive again under your touch, his lips partying in a smile once more.

His hand caresses your nipple, pinching it between two fingers as he draws a breath from you, watching you intently, his hard, leaking cock heavy on your tummy. Then, suddenly remembering something, he bends over to grab something from his jeans, and you realize he's putting on a condom. You sigh in relief, and he catches that.

"Anything for a princess," he grins, sliding his hand over your thigh, and you still beneath him when he positions himself at your entrance.

You're scared. That moment you're back into your room, with a man who can shoot you hovering above you like a monster eager to eat you alive, and you forget how to breathe. You're not a princess in the care of your faithful knight. You're a hostage, and your captor can do anything he wants with you.

Steve feels the change in you in a moment, and he stops, his hand back to the top of your head. Even though you can feel how painfully hard he is, he waits, caressing you like a little girl, smiling to you, tenderly brushing your hair away from your face, repeating you'll always be safe with him. And then you're a princess again, and he's your knight.

He pushes into you, and you bit down on your lip, trying to relax: he's not monstrous, but Steve is still a bit too big for you to take him comfortably. Thankfully, he doesn't split you on his cock, giving you time to adjust, and with every moment the subtle pain grows weaker before it finally lets go, and you nudge your warden gently, your hands gripping his shoulder and your face in the crook of his neck. It doesn't hurt anymore. It almost feels good to be so full of him, to know what it's like to have him inside of you.

Steve says it's hard not to cum when you clamp down on him so much, gripping him like a vice. Pleasure softens his features, and you brush a strand of blond hair away from his face before you even register what you do. He does, though, and he likes it. He finally starts to move.

Sweat drips down your bodies when Steve keeps slamming inside of you, making all sorts of soft noises while you pant and choke beneath him, snuggling against his form, your legs wrapped around him tightly. His cock is pressing against every right spot of yours, making you forget who he is and what he does to you. You're his princess, his good girl, he repeats over and over again, and you feel safe in his embrace, inhaling his scent, taking his cock till its head presses into your cervix, leaving a pleasant ache and making you whine. It feels good to be in his care when he rolls to the side and presses your head to his chest, his other hand lifting your leg to reach a different angle, and you kiss his jaw, his neck, making it even harder to hold on, he says.

When he cums, you're already far too gone. The pleasure is too intense, and for a couple of minutes you say nothing to each other, panting, his hands still on the back of your head as he caresses you absent-mindedly, your bed a mess of damp and crinkled sheets. You wish to stop thinking. To forget everything. Just being here, being safe, is enough for now.

Until he speaks again.

"You'll come with me," he whispers feverishly, his hot palm on your cheek, almost burning you. "I'll take you away, and we'll go on a big adventure together, princess. With dragons, swords, and gold."

You're quiet against him, staring into his chest as he caresses your head.

You're not a princess. You're a prey.

___________

Tags: ​@finleyjayne @helenaeisenhower @inlovewiththefictionalcharacters @rosalynshields @lookiamtrying @soleil-dor @cosicas-cuquis @buckybarnesplumwhore @lux-ravenwolf @stupendouslovegardener @what-is-your-wish @eralen @magnificantmermaid @typewritersworld @stcrrjoon @sweetxime @imrandomstuffsblog @gachawipes133

[kechiwrites]

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.

[glorystark]

His Saviour | Part 1

Steve Rogers x Reader

Summary: You disobey one of Steve's orders in a mission but you don't think about the consequences...

Warnings: (TRIGGER WARNING!) mentions of self harm and suicide, mentions of killing and torturing, pure Angst no happy ending, mentions of injures, dark!Steve Rogers, swearing, minor spoilers of Black Widow, Steve being an asshole in general

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader

Featuring: The original 6

Disclaimer: please don't read this if you're not comfortable with any of the topics below or/and if they trigger you. This is just a fiction and it's never ok to act like this. I'm not romanticizing any of these topics and this behaviour!

You are sitting in the Quinjet, observing everyone who is injured in different ways. Natasha has been stabbed in her right thigh, Clint’s left ankle has been twisted, and Bruce, although not injured, appears exhausted due to a significant code green call, during which Nat almost lost him trying to retrieve him. Thor has a few scratches on his face. Everyone’s faces show bruising in different areas, and their bodies are still aching. But you, you have been injured the most. Your right wrist is broken, and you have been shot in your left leg, though the bullet wasn’t deep and didn't cause major damage; otherwise, you probably would have passed out by now. You still have trouble breathing, and your voice is sore because one of the HYDRA agents almost choked you to death. Your face is bruised, you can only open your right eye halfway, and your lips are swollen. The numbness has made it so you can barely feel any pain. When everyone saw you upon returning to the jet, they were extremely worried. You didn’t possess inhuman powers and weren't a super soldier, but you used to be a well-trained assassin and spy in the Red Room, closely partnered with Natasha Romanoff before joining S.H.I.E.L.D. So, it was surprising for the team to see you so battered, though they understood the mission was challenging.

Everyone needed a break upon returning to the tower. Initially, everyone thought it was a straightforward mission: infiltrate a high-security HYDRA base, get two flash drives containing vital and dangerous information, and exit. What no one knew was that it was a trap, with far more agents present than expected. Eventually, you managed to escape, but only securing one of the flash drives.

As everyone settled back in the jet, Bruce finished removing the bullet from your leg and bandaging Nat’s thigh. Thor bragged to Tony about his usual lack of injuries on missions, joking that he could have taken down all the HYDRA agents that day if he hadn’t been 'unlucky', which elicited laughter from Tony. Clint checked on Nat while she recounted a memory from Budapest. Meanwhile, you contemplated going home for a long shower until you noticed Steve, whose eyes were fixed on you with intensity. Confused, you assumed he was lost in thought, but you were wrong.

“How could you be so reckless?!" Steve's voice boomed through the jet as he stood up from his seat, his gaze piercing into yours. Everyone stopped what they were doing, surprised by his uncharacteristically loud tone, given his usually calm demeanor, even when upset. You looked at him, uncertain of what to say. You understood why he was angry; you had disobeyed an order. However, if not for your 'disobedience,' you wouldn't have acquired half the information you have now. To you, this seemed like Steve Rogers throwing a typical Captain America tantrum.

“Well, are you going to answer, or are you too stupid to respond to a simple question?" he growled, advancing toward your seat.

“I wasn't being-" you began to mutter, only to be interrupted by Steve.

“Speak up," he demanded, his voice cutting you off. You met his gaze, puzzled by his demeanor.

“I wasn't being reckless; I was being thoughtful. The-" you tried to explain, but Steve interrupted again.

"Thoughtful?! You call that thoughtful?! Really, Y/n? It's clear you don't understand the difference between stupidity and thoughtfulness.” he retorted.

“Will you stop interrupting me?" you interjected, your voice growing louder as you rose from your seat. You locked eyes with Steve, standing almost chest to chest in front of each other.

“I wouldn't have interrupted you if I knew any useful words were going to come out of your mouth," he countered, finally yelling, causing everyone but you to flinch.

“You have no right to yell at me like this, Steve.” you asserted, standing up for yourself.

"I have EVERY right to yell at you, you-" he began, but you cut him off this time.

"Why are you making it seem like I committed a crime? Yes, I agree it was wrong for me to enter that room alone, but I retrieved the flash drive we needed, didn't I?" you challenged.

“That is not the point right now. The point is, I'm your captain, and I gave a strict, direct order not to enter that room, and you disobeyed me.” he stated firmly.

That was all true. When you disobeyed his order, you knew he would be angry, but not to this extent.

You sprinted down the hallway, incapacitating every HYDRA agent in your path. You tried not to use your gun too often, knowing there would likely be guards in the room.

"Steve, I found the room," you said through your earpiece. You subdued the agent guarding the room where the flash drives were, and as the door swung open, more than twenty HYDRA agents stood before you, blocking your view of the drives on the computer table.

“Y/n, what did you just say? Get out of there now! Do you even know how many agents are in there?" Steve's urgent voice echoed in your ear.

“I do now," you replied, still facing the agents, who were also eyeing you cautiously.

"Y/n, this is an order. Get. Out. Of. There. Now.” Steve commanded, his tone almost a shout.

“Sorry, Steve, but people's lives depend on this.” you declared, charging toward the agents, disregarding Steve's pleas for you to retreat.

“Steve, I really don't understand what the big deal is. I got one of the drives, and yes, I went alone, but at least I obtained something that will help us.” you reasoned, taking a seat.

“Alright, y/n, I'm definitely sure now that you are deaf. You entered a room with so many HYDRA agents-" he began, only to be cut off by you.

“They were like 10 and they were really weak-" you defended.

“They were 27 trained assassins!” he corrected, making you widen your eyes.

"And do I need to remind you that your leg has been shot, and you can barely keep your eyes open, not to mention the rest of your injuries." he added mockingly.

“Okay, Steve, I get it, and I'm sorry for being reckless. Can we let this go now?" you pleaded, sitting down.

“Let this go?!" he started laughing, though his laugh lacked any humor. Everyone looked at Steve, unable to believe his behavior. They never expected him to speak to you this way, especially in front of the whole team.

You and Steve had been friends since meeting during the Battle of New York. You had a lot in common and quickly connected. A few months later, at one of Tony's parties, he kissed you, and the following day, he asked you out. It had been six months since then, and Steve treated you like a princess. He called you his savior because you helped him adjust to life after being thawed from the ice. He adored you. You had a few minor disagreements, but they were hardly fights, more like disagreements. You could never stay mad at each other, and now you couldn't believe the man who was laughing at you and humiliating you was the same person.

"Steve, I think that's enough," Nat finally intervened, her voice calm yet firm.

"Is it really? I think baby y/n hasn't learned her lesson yet.” Steve retorted sarcastically.

“Fuck you, Steve. You can't speak to me like that. I'm not a kid. If it wasn't for me, we wouldn't even have that one drive, and god knows how many people could have died. But you can't even realize that because I disobeyed ‘Captain America's orders,' and no one is allowed to disobey America's 'hero.' The only kid between us is you!” you shot back, your voice rising, though not as loud as Steve's had been.

“I'm a kid, y/n? Really? And what are you, a hero? Do you expect me to thank you now? Do you expect all of us to be on our knees thanking you?!" Steve challenged.

“That is not what I said!" you finally snapped.

The tension in the room escalated, and the team grew more uncomfortable by the second.

Steve smirked at your angered state.

“What's the matter, y/n? You seem a little bit defensive. I thought you liked being a hero. You know, because of the guilt, since you started killing and torturing people at the age of 8.”he said, still wearing the hurtful smirk on his face.

The whole team gasped, especially Natasha, whose story paralleled yours. You looked at Steve, unable to believe what he had just said.

“You seem shocked, Agent y/l/n. Oh, and Natasha, don't take this the wrong way. We all make mistakes in our life, but at least after we realize our mistakes, we try to make them up as soon as we can and not run away like a coward.” Steve continued, ignoring your reaction. You and Natasha widened your eyes, understanding what Steve was referring to."Steve..." Nat began, but Steve cut her off.

“I'm not done yet. Some of y'all look confused, well, let me explain it for you," Steve said, addressing the rest of the team.

"Steve, don't." you murmured, your voice weak now. You weren't even sure if anyone heard you, and you were right. No one heard you, but Steve who chose to ignore you.

“Our dear y/n y/l/n was a well-trained assassin back in the years with Natasha Romanoff in a place called the Red Room, which I'm sure you've heard about. Before even Natasha was out of there, Agent y/l/n found a way to leave the Red Room, a way to save every girl, from children to adults, who were mind-controlled into killing, and even worse. But do you know what she did instead?" he turned around the room, looking at everyone as if it was a show. No one said anything; they just kept looking between you and Steve. It was getting harder for you to focus on your breathing.

“Well, in case you haven't guessed yet, she just left everyone who could've been saved, even her best friend who is sitting right here with us.” he said, pointing at Nat.

“And even though she could've killed Dreykov, who was the leader by the way, with her genius plan, she didn't because she was a coward.” he said, emphasizing the word coward.

You've never felt so small and betrayed. You couldn’t believe he was using your awful past against you. When you confided in him, he comforted you, assuring you it wasn't your fault. That you’ve been through a lot and you took the only chance you had to save yourself. And now… now he was a different person.

“Cap that’s enough, it’s not our business what she did in the past. We all did something in some point that we aren’t proud of. She made up for that mistake many times now, since the battle of New York until today’s mission. I’m sure she still feels guilty and you’re just making it worse.” Tony looked at your trembling sight, standing up from his seat and walked towards Steve. The rest of the team nodding along, glad that Tony stood up for you because they were frozen themselves.

“Oh yeah Tony, you’re right I’m sure she feels guilty, don’t you y/l/n?” He looked at you as if you were a kid

Everything about him was hurting you right now. His voice tone that humiliated you in every way, his eyes that sent daggers to your way, his body that was intimidatingly towering yours, his smile which always made you happy and now it was only mocking you. Your throat is dry, your eyes are wet and you feel like your heart is going to come out of your chest in any second. You were hurt and unwell, and everyone could see that, everyone but Steve.

“Agent y/I/n do you feel guilty about your past?" He repeated his sarcastic question.

"I wouldn't worry about that too much since you have a good way to cope with your guilt right?" He continued.

You looked up at him frighteningly, understanding where he was going.

“Steve don't you dare." you whispered, finally being able to say something.

Everyone was confused since they had no idea what you both were talking about.

“you seem scared agent." Steve smirked at you sending shivers down your spine. It hurts so much more that he wasn't even using your name anymore, he felt like a stranger to you.

“SHUT UP!" you had never yelled so loud in your life, the whole jet shook. Everyone flinched but Steve. It seemed like he was waiting for this.

“Come on y/n are you that afraid of everyone knowing how you used to deal with your problems, or do you still do it?"

Everyone was quite once again, something in them wanted to know what Steve was talking about but they also didn't because of the way you reacted.

You looked at him not saying anything but your eyes were begging him to stop. You've never been in such a vulnerable position, especially considering everything you’ve been through.

“oh don't tell me you're gonna cut your wrists open again because you feel guilty you didn't get the second driver."

Everyone froze and widened their eyes, silence filling the jet. No one knew that you used to harm yourself until you started dating Steve, he was the first person to ever know. You felt so comfortable around him that you didn't want to have any untold secrets.

You thought about what if you guys break up but you convinced yourself that even if you guys separate your ways from each other at some point, you're definitely going to stay friends and he's never going to tell your secret to anyone because you believed he was a good man. You trusted him more than yourself and now he proved you all wrong.

You didn't cut anymore, because you found a way to save people. If it wasn't for Nick Fury, making you join the team you'd be long gone by now. But you didn't have a reason anymore, you were happy you had a new family and a new job, everything was perfect for you. Now you felt alone all over again and you didn't even blame Steve, you blamed yourself. You failed.

You started trembling more and started to see black spots. The team walked towards you to see if you were okay. Thor pushed Steve away, "Stay away from her," he warned, before walking to you. You heard Tony and Natasha yelling at Steve, Clint trying to calm them down but looking angry himself, Bruce and Thor asking you if you were alright, but you couldn’t hear anything anymore. It was so loud, but you only heard annoying mumbles. You let out a sob before passing out in the strong arms of the god, the last thing you saw being Steve's worried eyes…

A/N: This was my first (published) fan fiction. I apologise for any writing and/or grammar mistakes considering that English isn’t my first language. Feel free to correct me! If you enjoyed this, please let me know and let me know if you want to be tagged in the upcoming posts! (This fic will make a twist;))

[cece693]

We Belong Together (DARK! Steve Rogers x M! Reader)

Just something that came to mind and couldn't help but write it. Please tell me if you like this style of writing more or prefer my original one. Thanx for reading!

Summary: Dating Steve Rogers was more difficult than you'd imagined. He was a man riddled with insecurities and, unfortunately, this affected your relationship.

tags: dark Steve Rogers, manipulation, the Avengers are no help, toxic relationship, not Steve friendly, gaslighting, no happy ending and ambiguous ending

Your relationship with Steve was rocky, to say the least. And you know it sounded stupid because you're dating Captain America, the epitope of male perfection and respect, but you weren't dating him. You were dating Steve Rogers, the man who was always beaten to a pulp behind alleyways before the serum took over. The man who did everything to fit in, but was neglected due to his health problems and scrawny appearance. And in a way, you sympathized with Steve—he was still the boy seeking acceptance from everyone, and you, who he'd let into his heart after the whole Peggy fiasco, couldn't desert him. But there was a line between what you would label as love and obsession.

It would be fine if Steve wanted to spend each weekend lazing about in bed, arms wrapped around you, not wanting to let you even use the bathroom, but it was another story if he had your location turned on and was texting you hurtful messages implying infidelity. You'd let it pass one time, but when it became a routine, and Steve became more suffocating to be around, you realized you'd fucked up. No breakup was easy, but when you're doing it to Steve Rogers, a man who was known for his determination and unwillingness to change his mind, it would be near impossible.

With his job as a full-time Avenger, there was never a good time for you to sit down and talk to Steve. He was either tired or stressed, with the latter making you squeamish to even interact with. No Steve was pleasant to deal with, as of late, but a stressed Steve was walking into enemy ground. If the damage to the punching bags was any indication. However, it seems whatever God above favored you when your boyfriend announced he'd asked for a week off to spend it with you. His smile was genuine, but you noted the strange twinkle in his eyes when he casually noted that it would be your anniversary.

"Who knows what surprise I have in store for you." He said, but those words, said with so much innocence had you fretting. You hated to do it, but it seemed you'd be breaking up with him before his plan could come to fruition.

"Steve, about that..." You trailed off, looking away from him to gain courage, but found none. "I don't think we're working out. I want to break up." There, you said internally, just like ripping off a bandaid. You risked looking up at Steve and instantly regretted it. He had a look of silent fury and violence??? but then it washed over with indifference. You expected yelling, even begging, but silence stung more. "I'm sorry, but I..." How would you broach the topic of his toxicity without sounding like a total asshole?

"Is there someone else?" Steve interrupted, quite rudely. He tilted his head, mind racing with every person who'd ever interacted with you. Who had convoluted your mind into breaking up with him? If there was another man, Steve would make them regret their existence. Taking what wasn't theirs to begin with. "Is it Thomas? I knew he wasn't just a friend."

"No!" You shouted, hurt by the implication. Thomas was a co-worker who you befriended—he was like a brother to you, nothing more, nothing less. "This is part of the problem, Steve. You think I always cheat, making me feel stupid for overreacting to your jealousy when it's unhealthy as hell."

"But you always seem so close to everyone else." Your ex replied, his voice wavering between anger and insecurity. "How am I supposed to feel when I see you laughing and talking with Thomas like that?"

You shook your head, frustration boiling over. "How are you supposed to feel?! You're supposed to trust me, Steve! You're supposed to know that if I'm with you, it's because I chose you. But you keep pushing me away with all this suspicion. It's exhausting."

Steve clenched his fists, struggling to find the words. "I only act this way because I care about you, because I don't want to lose you. You know how much I love you. If I didn't care so much, I wouldn't be jealous." He knew it was a stupid reason, but Steve was desperate. He wouldn't lose you over something he had no control over. Didn't you know how handsome, pretty, and unique you truly were? Didn't you see the hungry stares people throw your way? It was Steve's duty as a boyfriend to show them you were taken; his completely.

"That's another thing, Steve! You alienating me from my friends and co-workers."

Steve's face twisted in frustration. "So, what? I should just sit back and let whomever get close to you?"

"I can't control everyone's actions, Steve! Don't try to guilt trip me into thinking your behavior is normal...it isn't. Your reaction just reaffirms my decision." Not wanting to face your ex any longer, you stood up from the table and headed to the door. After all, this was Steve's apartment, and as much as he tried to encourage you to move in, right now you were grateful you stood your ground. But not even before your hand touched the doorknob, Steve's whimpers sounded behind you.

Steve panicked seeing you near the door. You had to understand—he never meant to make you angry, he just loves you so much that perhaps his behavior did come off as overbearing. But this was for your own good, Steve thought, you were too naive, too trusting of people who would only take advantage of you. With tears in his eyes, Steve began to whimper and make himself look half his size. "I'm sorry. I'll change, I promise, but please don't leave me. I love you."

It irked Steve that you didn't face him, but when he saw you pause, his heart rejoiced. Just for it to quickly fall again when you did open the door and told him you couldn't do this anymore. Unable to do anything as you finally closed the door, leaving him alone, Steve's anger made an appearance. Grabbing the closest thing to him, he flung it to the wall and continued to do so until every single item in his living room lay in thousands of tiny little pieces.

You're acting irrationally, Steve told himself. You'll soon come to realize the grave mistake you are making. I'm the only one who could protect and love you. I'll give you space to calm down, and then, perhaps you can understand me.

A week had passed since you'd broken up with Steve, and the man wasn't taking the news well. He believed you would've crumbled and ran back into his arms once the day ended, but when you hadn't called, much less answered his messages, the man grew furious. How dare you block his number and change the locks on your door? Did you have a visitor over, taking advantage of his absence to fuck whomever you desired? Didn't he mean anything to you? The week's absence had made Steve spiral out of control.

The reasonable part of him told him to move on, respect your wishes, and cease contact, but this was you. You weren't replaceable to Steve, oh no, he would make you stand by his side until death do part. Didn't you see you guys were meant to be? It also probably didn't help that the Avengers took his side and began feeding into Steve's delusions.

"I don't get it, man. You treat him right and love him unconditionally. How could he break your heart?" Was Tony's response once he heard of your relationship status. "He's dumb to break things off. I can only hope my relationship with Pepper is as strong as yours." Yeah, Tony wasn't really a help in calming Steve down.

Meanwhile, you were picking up the pieces of your life. Reconnecting with friends Steve had frightened off and taking a much-needed vacation from New York. You couldn't escape Steve when he was a public image—Captain America basically ruled over New York and had a place in people's hearts.

Sitting down at the little cabin you rented for the month, you sipped on your coffee and rethought your plans. Initially, you wanted to just start anew in New York, forget about Steve, and continue living your life, but that was thrown out the window. You could sense eyes wherever you went after breaking things off with Steve, and you might be crazy for saying such a thing, but you knew Steve. Knew he would pull strings to keep in contact and have an eye on you.

It also wasn't unreasonable to make such a connection when Steve was the leader of the Avengers—a team of superheroes with varying skills and resources. So your original plan of staying turned into you seeking residence as far away from the U.S. as possible. Yet, when you believe you've found the perfect place, something gets in the way—your bank is unable to transfer funds, the listing immediately reads as sold, the realtor not answering your calls. Every hindrance only makes you come to the same conclusion—Steve.

Yelling when the mug shattered in your hand, hot coffee burning your skin, you realized you weren’t alone. The front door of the cabin was closed, but standing next to it was Steve. The nearby lamp cast a dim, flickering light over his figure, highlighting his state of disarray. His once clean-cut appearance was gone, replaced by stubble, messy hair, and a simple t-shirt with jeans that looked like they’d been slept in. "Get out." You hissed, but the man only stepped closer, frightening you. "Get out! I don't want anything to do with you."

"I tried to be nice, and give you space, but nothing works." Steve said, ignoring your wishes as he advanced toward you. For every step he took, you stepped back twice. You couldn't help but fear for your safety when Steve disregarded your wishes and had this glint of madness in his eyes. "I need you. Can't you see that?"

Your back hit the wall, trapping you as Steve loomed closer. You never took your eyes off him, every nerve in your body screaming for you to escape, but there was nowhere left to go. "Steve, please." you begged, your voice trembling with a mix of fear and desperation. "You're scaring me. This isn't love."

Steve’s hand reached out, brushing against your cheek in a gesture that once might have been tender, but now only filled you with dread. "You’ll see, in time. You’ll remember how good we were together. You just need to stop fighting it."

Before you could react, Steve's hand shot out, gripping your chin with a force that made you wince. In a flash, he pulled you closer and crushed his lips against yours, his kiss bruising and possessive. You struggled against him, trying to push him away, but his arms were too strong, locking you in place as he held you tightly.

Your mind raced, panic surging through you as you fought to break free. This was not the man you once cared for; this was someone consumed by a twisted obsession, willing to do anything to keep you. Tears welled in your eyes as you clawed at his arms, desperate for air, desperate to escape.