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#dark!steve x reader
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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
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“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
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kechiwrites · 5 months
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property lines
dark!steve rogers x neighbour!reader
kinktober countdown: day two (facefucking).
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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.
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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.
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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.
616 notes · View notes
timidpumpkin · 1 year
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Can you do a stucky little reader? She wakes up sick ( flu symptoms) and they take care of her. Angst and fluff with cute nicknames. 🥺🥺❤️❤️
You had me at angst…and fluff…and cute nicknames…okay you had me at the whole thing🙈🙈💞💞heheh i hope you like it!! I set it in little light universe🫶🫶❤️💙❤️💙
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(pictures are not my own)
More Than Anything (Stucky x reader)
Pairing: Dark!Stucky x f!reader
Warnings/tags: Dark!Stucky, Daddy!Stucky, Female reader, Implied forced age regression, Sick reader, Meanie bucky, Implied reader has small hands in comparison because Stucky is gigantic (fact), Angst, Fluff, Comfort. Reader baby-talks as well, Lots o' cute nicknames.
Word count: 4.2k
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It hurts.
“Mornin’ Doll,” Bucky says after flipping your lights on. The illumination now burning your vision makes you pull the covers over your head as you flip over, hiding from the bright room. You hear him making his way to your bedside. The mattress beneath dips you sideways a bit as he sits beside your dormant form. 
“Come on now, time to get up.” he pulls lightly at the duvet covering you. He can tell you’re gripping it with all you can. Though he could easily unveil you, he decides against it, knowing that ripping the blanket from your delicately curled-up fingers might hurt them. Instead, he leans his body over yours, one hand placed on the other side of your hip as he hovers above you. He dips his head close to where yours is concealed by the warm blanket. “Don’t make me carry you down there,” he whispers teasingly, figuring it’s likely what you’re hoping for. 
Instead, you only groan in response, mumbling something about getting a little more sleep. It wasn’t an uncommon request from you, and Bucky knew how much babies needed their sleep. Usually, he would let it slide, loving how adorable you look in dreamland, but he can’t. Not this time. 
It was almost noon. He peers around your room. It’s not the cleanest, but it looks pristine compared to the current state of your playroom. He had asked you yesterday to clean it, noticing the myriad of toys and their respective accessories scattered across the carpeted floor.
You, preoccupied with dressing your doll so she could ‘go on vacation,’ promised him you’d do it after dinner. Bucky apprehensively agreed, and even let you fall through on your assigned chore after you quickly fell asleep on the couch, much before your usual bedtime. Figuring you played your little heart out, he carried you upstairs and told himself to remind you in the morning.
Having already slept almost twelve hours, he knows if he lets your slumber last any longer, you’ll never sleep tonight. He sighs.
“I know you want more babygirl, but Dada already made breakfast and lunch. You need to come eat,” he waits a few moments for you to respond, but you don’t let out a sound or groan. “I'm serious, Doll, time to get up,” he states, standing up, hoping it’ll prompt you to follow. You peel your sheets back to look at him.
“Daddy…” you whine, unsure of what you're asking for. All you knew is that it hurt. Everything. It wasn’t just that the lights were too bright. It wasn't just that you were sleepy. Your whole body felt…bad. Just bad. You couldn’t exactly explain it, but you did know that moving didn’t seem like it would help. 
Bucky only looks at you, unsatisfied. You try sitting up, which you find is more difficult than it should have been. Once you’re upright, you feel pressure in your head. Your cheeks and forehead feel as if there's unwanted gunk smooshed inside. It makes you want to lie back down immediately. 
“m’ tired daddy,” you say groggily. 
“That’s ‘cause you slept so much,” Bucky knew messing with your established sleep pattern too much would likely make you feel more cranky than it seemed you already were. So, as much as he knew you didn’t want to, he believed it would be for the best to make you get up.
As you start to get out of bed, it feels as though the air is made of thick jello with every movement you make.
“Daddyyy…ughhhh” you groan unhappily at him, and kick at your sheets frustrated that you’re being forced to move.
Bucky’s eyes narrow at your agitated action, never liking that kind of behavior from you.
“Don’t be that way, Doll. it’s too early for that,” he warns.
“Mmm,” you groan again. “noo, don’t wanna, wanna sleep!” you say crankily, flopping back down on the bed again with your arms crossed to prove your point. That point being: you. did. not. want. to. move.
Bucky rolls his eyes, and takes a deep breath, debating internally on how to approach your grouchiness. He decides, only since it’s so early—for you—that he’ll go easy on you, hoping this attitude will fade as you wake up. 
“No more sleep, but,” he leans down closer to you, “if you promise to be a good girl all day, Daddy will carry you down there.” he offers as a compromise.
Truthfully, you’d still rather lay in bed, but you knew you had to do what Daddy asked. More so, you didn’t want him to be upset with you, so you nod your head in agreement. 
“Okay, Daddy.”
“Okay daddy, what?” he questions.
“I-i’ll be good,” you say, having a hard time remembering what he asked. He slides his hands under you and begins to pick you up. Once you’re in his hold, you quickly let your head fall to his shoulder, wishing you could now sleep there instead.
“And you’ll eat your breakfast this morning?” he asks into your heavy head. You nod into his neck and mumble a ‘yes daddy’ assentingly.
Once he places you in your chair downstairs, Steve greets you with a bright smile, and a kiss to your forehead after setting down your food. When he does, he notices how hot your skin feels against his.
“You feel warm angel, you feel okay, babygirl?” he asks, gently checking the temperature of your cheeks with the back of his hand.  
“Oh, she just got up, she’s probably still warm from sleep,” Bucky answers before you get the chance to speak. “Somebody really didn’t want to get up this morning,” he pokes. 
“Ohh,” Steve coos, “you still sleepy, babygirl?” he asks. You shake your head weakly, eyes drifting closed. You think about telling him how bad you feel, but you don’t really have the energy to try to explain it.
Instead, you decide to focus on eating, hoping the sooner you finish, the quicker you can return to resting. However, the very first swallow of your otherwise pleasant meal scratches at your throat. You still try to get some down, thinking the pain will go away if you keep trying. When it becomes evident that won't be the case, you poke at your plate and begin to speak up.
“Daddy, m’done,” you push your plate away, “my thro-” 
“Uh-uh, a few more bites,” Bucky pushes the plate back in front of you, knowing you’ll never feel more awake with an empty stomach. “And after you finish, you can go clean your playroom,” You look at him puzzled.
“But-”
“No buts. I already asked you to do it yesterday,” he explains, not looking up from whatever he happened to be reading at the table with you. Your face twists in confusion for a few moments before you remember how tired you felt last night. Truthfully, the fatigue was all your body could focus on, making you completely forget about the room.
“But daddy-”
“What did I just say?” he looks up at you.
“I’m tired!” you snap at him, voice raised high and whiney as you bemoan at him. You cross your arms and huff grumpily back into the chair.
“I don’t care if you’re tired. Do what Daddy says, or you can say goodbye to your playroom for the next week” he threatens. Not wanting to get out of bed was one thing, but directly disobeying him with that attitude was another. 
Still, you only groan angrily in response, not feeling like you could do anything right now. 
“Ugh!” you flop your head down on the table dramatically, hiding between your arms. Bucky lets your stew there for a moment before speaking up.
“Are you gonna finish eating or not?” He asks eventually, eerily calm. You remain silent, unsure of what to say. “Fine, you can go clean your room now,” You look up to him at that, suddenly confused and disoriented. Surely your daddy should know how bad you feel. 
“But Daddy! I don't wanna now! I don't feel g-”
“Did I ask if you wanted to? I don’t care if you don't feel like it. Now. Or no playroom for a month.” your jaw drops, your muddled brain beyond baffled on why he’s being so harsh. Still, you know he means it. It wasn’t outside his usual punishment by any means. You almost think you should consider yourself lucky he hasn’t bent you over his knee already with how you’re fighting him.
Feeling defeated, you drag your body out of your chair. Before you can go, he grabs your arm with a warning.
“and quit with the attitude.” 
“Yes, Daddy” you squeak lamentably, noticing how your throat hurts as you speak.
You drag your feet upstairs, physically resisting your legs from stomping as you go. Anger and confusion mix together in you as you think about what he said. You didn’t want to be grounded from your playroom. So many of your favorite things were in there. And, again, more importantly, you didn't want to make daddy upset with you. You never liked it when he was. You always tried so hard to be a good girl for them. But right now, it was so hard. In actuality, what you wanted more than anything was for him to cuddle with you. You felt Daddy and Dada could always make you feel better. No matter what, you were convinced your Daddies loving embrace could cure you from any ailment. 
Maybe, you think, if you just cleaned your room like a good girl, you could ask to cuddle with him after. 
You try your hardest to ignore the pain that ignites at every move you make, but truthfully, you're already abnormally out of breath just from your quick walk up the stairs. The room feels uncomfortably chilly against your skin. 
After you get a small portion of the floor cleared, you decide to take a little break. You practically collapse beneath yourself, curling underneath the cozy play tent filled with askew fluffy pillows and dismayed blankets. You shut your eyes and tell yourself you’ll only rest for a few minutes…
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“Angel?” Steve's voice echoes back at him from the loft balcony where you should easily be able to pick up his voice. He can’t hear you moving around. “Are you sure she’s in there?” he asks Bucky.
“She better. It’s where I told her to be.” he retorts disdainfully, hoping you're not again disobeying him by being somewhere else. 
Steve stills himself, and listens closely, he can tell you’re there, but your breathing doesn’t sound normal. 
Concerned, he makes his way upstairs. Bucky follows, recognizing Steve’s ‘something’s wrong’ face. 
Steve panics for a brief moment when he enters the empty but disarrayed room. Then he spots you. Your delicate form hidden amongst haphazardly arranged fabrics. He approaches you slowly, not wanting to startle you. 
He kneels down, overshadowing you as he gently caresses your cheek to wake you. 
“Babygirl?” he calls softly. Puffs of hot air escape your mouth. Labored breathing is all he can hear. All they can both hear. 
“Babygirl,” he calls again, shaking you slightly. To his relief, your eyes slowly open. They look sunken, tired, and devoid of their usual playful sparkle. 
“Dada…?” you question quietly. “m’cold” your murmur softly, eyes begging to be closed again. 
You’re not cold though. Not to Steve. You feel a million degrees too hot under his touch. 
“Babygirl…” he says for the third time, this time preparing to move you. “Dada’s gonna pick you up okay?” he explains, remaining calm so as to not worry you. “We're gonna go downstairs,” you feel limp in his arms, no different than if you were deep in sleep. But you are certainly awake, even if barely. He mumbles something to Bucky you don't make out, but his tone alone tells you he’s not happy.
Once you’re downstairs, he sets you on the kitchen counter. You don’t let go of him though, your body weight is leaned almost fully onto his.
“Can you sit up for me, babygirl?” he asks encouragingly, but gently. “Daddy and I are gonna check you out okay?” you groan a bit, still just feeling tired. 
“Here,” Bucky speaks up softly, snaking his arms around you, and taking Steve’s place in front of you. As you’re shifted from one body’s hold to another, it wakens you a bit. You almost go back to leaning fully onto his chest when you realize who’s holding you.
“Daddy?” you shift back a little to look up at him. One hand of his is resting at your hip, the other helping support the rest of your body.
“Hey, babydoll…” he says softly, voice drifting, and stomach sinking as he sees how sick you look.
He almost wishes he could somehow shut his hearing out. Your heartbeat is quicker than usual. He knew it better than his own. How it sounded while you slept, when you’d play, how it picks up when you laugh, giggling for breath and telling him ‘daddy, stop it tickles’ with the brightest grin lighting up your face. Now…now he can’t stand it. It’s thumping too fast. Faster than it should be for when his little girl hasn’t moved an inch herself. 
Why didn’t he notice it before? He thinks back to how heavily you held onto him when he carried you this morning. How quickly he was to interrupt you. He realizes you probably tried to tell him. And he didn’t listen. Even worse, he made you clean. Guilt seeps deep into his guts as he remembers how funny your voice sounded today. 
“Daddy,” you break him from his thoughts, he sees tears beginning to form in your doleful eyes. “Daddy m’sorry,” you breathe in sharply, beginning to cry “m’sorry didn't f-finish-i just-i gots so tireds daddy I’m-I'm sorry,” you sob pathetically, knowing you’ve disappointed him. 
Bucky’s face falls. 
All you had to do was one simple thing, and you couldn't even do that right. You weren’t being a good girl by disobeying him like that. Even if you felt bad, you feel you should have tried harder.
“Doll, no-” you cry sorries to him more, your own hands reaching to cover your shameful face. He catches them before you do, gently taking them into his and guiding them around his neck for you so you can be more level with his gaze. “Babydoll, look at daddy,” He pulls you, hands drawing you closer so he’s flush with you in between your legs. Needing to feel your skin, his right hand tenderly guides your face to look at him. “I’m not upset with you. Daddy’s not upset with you,” he reassures, silently pleading for you not to cry. 
“But-but-I didn’t cleans-I-I just-I-I not good girl,” you sob miserably at the admission, never wanting to be bad for him.
“My little girl, my sweet girl, no, please no” he assures, hating how skewed shut your eyes are. “That’s not true, Doll, it’s just not. Daddy…” he carefully wipes at the wet tears on your cheek, “Daddy should have known.” he admits shamefully. You finally blink your eyes open at him, a timidly unsure expression written on your face. “I should have known. You...you tried to tell daddy huh?” he takes one of your hands and gives it soft kisses. 
“N-n’your not mad at me?” you sniffle as your cries begin to slow down.
“No, Doll, never.” he couldn’t be, never for something like this. His mouth opens again, he wants to tell you how sorry he is. He’s the one who should be, but he only finds his own tongue twisted, unsure of how to fully express his remorse. Before he has time to puzzle the words together, Steve interrupts, thermometer in hand.
“Open wide, babygirl,” you do as he says. “tongue up,” he mimics the motion for you. The cold metal feels uncomfortable in your mouth. They must know this as Bucky squeezes your hand soothingly, and Steve tells you ‘just a little longer’ with a sympathetic gaze as he holds your jaw with the hand that’s not keeping the thermometer in place. 
When it beeps, Steve removes it and frowns when he reads the displayed numbers. 
“Can you tell us what hurts, princess?” Steve asks. You point your hand towards your neck. “Your throat?” he confirms, and you nod your head. “What else babygirl?” you then squeeze your eyes together, remembering how squished your brain feels.
“Head,” you mumble quietly, before crossing and rubbing your arms together in discomfort. “Everything.”
“Your body hurts? Feels sore?” He asks. You nod your head weakly at him, closing your eyes and wishing you could be laying down right now. Even just sitting somewhat upright felt hard at the moment. 
“Okay babygirl, why don’t you let Daddy take you to the bedroom,” Steve suggests. “I’ll be there in just a minute.” he smiles at you comfortingly, before placing a kiss on your forehead with his hand cradling the back of your head. 
“m’I sick?” you ask Bucky as he carries you to their room.
“Yeah, but it’s okay, Dada and I will help you feel better,” he carefully sets you on their large bed. 
It's soft. Yours is soft too, but Daddies always felt so much softer for some reason. Maybe it’s because you got to sleep next to your favorite people. He arranges the pillows and blankets around you to make you more comfortable, then slides next to you. You rest your head on his chest, almost instantly falling asleep again. 
Some time passes, particularly how much time is beyond you. All you knew in this moment, is how comfy Daddy felt.
After some time, Steve’s voice brings you back to reality. He instructs you to sit more upright so he can give you medicine. 
The odd color liquid he brings toward you makes you cringe. You can tell just from looks how bitter and unpleasant it will taste. You recoil into bucky, small hands gripping at the buttons of his shirt as you whine.
“Daddyyy…” you tug on Bucky's shirt more, trying to force your head into his flannel to hide from Steve and his icky medicine, practically begging Bucky to not make Steve give it to you.
“Doll,” Bucky chuckles a bit at your attempt to hide inside his outer shirt. He still holds you close, hands supporting you on your bottom as you have now completely crawled on top of him.
“Angel…you know I can still see you…right?” Steve teases.
“No you can’ts…m’not here” you proclaim, muffled into Bucky’s chest.
“The sooner you take it, the sooner it will be over, come on princess.” Steve encourages. You’re still not convinced and instead mumble out one word: ‘pill.’
For a second, Steve isn’t sure if he understood you correctly before his lips tighten with a displeased look on his face. 
You’ve had this conversation before. He thought surely by now you understood it, but he figured since you’re sick, it might be hard for your little head to remember. 
“Sweet girl, babies can’t take pills, you know that.” Steve explains patiently. You did know that. It was early on when Steve refused to let you take any medication you needed through a pill. It didn't matter what you needed, he was always able to find a way to get a liquid version of it from Uncle Bruce. Or, as you like to think, a much yuckier version of it. 
Still, you groan in disagreement, not wanting to taste something that bad, let alone when your throat hurt as much as it did. 
“Doll,” Bucky speaks up. “I know you don’t want to, but it’ll make you feel so much better.”
You shake your head against his chest, disagreeing with both of your daddies now. 
“it’s yucky dough daddy,” you whine.
“I know it’s yucky, babydoll,” Bucky pats at your back comfortingly while he thinks. He knows how hard this is for you, especially when you feel so bad. “Hey,” he peels you back from him a bit, unburying you from his shirt as he has an idea. “Look,”  he instructs, “Here,” he takes the small cap of medicine from Steve’s hands and–to your horror–throws it back in his mouth. You look at him in horror as the icky liquid disappears from the cap into Bucky's mouth. You stare at him wildly. 
Daddy’s crazy, you think.
“There. See? Daddy took it. It’s not so bad.” Bucky says nonchalantly in an attempt to convenience you. He hands the empty cap back to Steve so he can refill it. Steve shares your look of bewilderment, before you can't help but break out a smile at his action.  
“Daddy,” you giggle at him.
“What?” He fakes surprise. “Daddy took it, so you can too.” he assures happily, taking the now filled-again cap from Steve. Still, you recoil from it a bit. 
“Yeah…” you look between him and the medicine suspiciously. “but daddy also drinks other yucky stuffs,” you defend, referring to the strong-smelling caramel-colored stuff he likes to drink sometimes. Daddy never lets you have that. 
Bucky chuckles a bit when he realizes what you meant. 
“Okay, true…and little baby definitely can’t have that stuff…” he says pointedly. “but this,” he gestures the cap towards you. “you have to take.” You look between him and Steve warily. 
“Please angel, I know you can do it. Do it for Daddy and Dada princess,” Steve encourages. You agree this time, mentally pepping yourself up and telling yourself if daddy could do it, so could you. 
You scrunch your eyes closed as Bucky brings it closer to your lips. You feel Steve’s hands reach down to hold your face. One hand holding your jaw up firmly, with the other around the back of your head. This way, you aren't able to move should you change your mind. Steve knew you’d be a good girl and take it, but he always had to be sure just in case–not unlike what has happened before–you decide to spit it out.
When it hits your tongue, it’s just as yucky as you had imagined. Maybe even worse. Instinctively, your face contorts in displeasure as you squirm around from the gross sensation. 
Steve and Bucky hold you firmly in place the whole time and instruct you to swallow. 
Once you do, Steve asks you to open your mouth for him, just to make sure you really swallowed it all.
“Good girl, my brave little girl. I knew you could do it.” Steve praises you. “Dada’s so proud of you.” he beams at you, making you smile. 
“Daddy proud too?” you ask shyly to Bucky.
“Super proud doll. The proudest of them all.” he winks at you, making you giggle a little bit, but it tickles your throat, causing you to start having a coughing fit. 
Bucky brings a sippy on their nightstand to your lips and lets you drink some cold water. It helps calm your throat. 
Steve asks if there’s anything else you want right now. You ask for some juice in your favorite sippy, and he lets you know he’ll bring it after he’s done making some soup for you.
Bucky gets out of the bed, making you confused. You promptly grab at his hands. 
“Where going?” you look up to him, eyes big and sad. 
“I was just gonna go help Dada, why don’t you get some rest, Doll?” He says, knowing it’s what you need most right now. To his surprise though, you don’t let go.
“Nooo,” you say, tugging feebly at his hands. “Stay…wanna…can…cuddle daddy?” you ask bashfully, suddenly feeling shy. 
Bucky’s eyes turn soft. Soft. Just like his little girl. Soft. Like how your voice always sounded. Soft. Something, an emotion, a feeling, a sensation, that only you made him experience. 
Even after he made you clean your playroom, even after he snapped at you and didn’t listen, you still asked in your softest voice, doleful eyes, and small grabby hands if he would cuddle with you. Sometimes–he’s not sure what he did to deserve you. 
“Of course, princess,” he climbs back into the bed with you and you grin happily as you curl yourself around him just like before. He suggests again that you to get some rest, but that too comes with protest. 
“Wanna watch ‘toons wif Daddy…can we’s?” you ask. Bucky smiles to himself and kisses your head. Even though he knows you’ll likely fall fast asleep no more than five minutes into it, there’s nothing more he’d like more than watch shows with his little girl
He turns on your favorite show and makes sure you’re perfectly comfortable, tucked around him and under blankets. 
“Doll?” he whispers softly after a few minutes. To his surprise, you’re still awake. You mumble a questioning ‘hmm?’ he takes a few seconds to respond, trying to gather the words correctly for you. He breathes in. 
“I’m sorry Daddy didn’t listen earlier,” he admits, lips ghosting the top of your head, before placing a kiss there. “I should have listened.”
“It’s okies Daddy,” you hum sleepily into his chest. It wasn’t okay. He knew that. But you—you and your never-ending soft and kind heart—forgave him. And that’s all that mattered to him. He truly was more than lucky to have a little girl like you.
“I love you Daddy,” you squeeze him softly, voice quiet. And even though he can’t see you, he knows you're smiling when you say it. 
“I love you, Doll.” more than anything.
2K notes · View notes
cherienymphe · 7 months
Text
Love Bites III (Steve Rogers x Reader)
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Warnings: NON-CON, suicidal thoughts, vampire!Avengers, mentions of Peter x reader, bloodplay, violence, MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH, jealous!Steve, modern setting they just wealthy af
➥ banner by @vase-of-lilies​ | divider by @firefly-graphics
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➥ series masterlist
summary: In a coven, the master’s word is law, and humans are nothing more than pets to symbolize wealth and prestige. They tell you that being the master’s pet is a great honor, but the poorly constructed façade is broken when you forsake honor for love.
~
Your reflection stared back at you as you gazed into the mirror, feeling so far removed from your body as you brushed your fingers over the faint bite marks on your neck. They were something to be worn with pride, something to be admired—coveted even—but as you stared at them, all you could see was the physical evidence of your imprisonment.
As your lips parted, memories of a sweet-natured and soft-hearted vampire came to mind.
You absentmindedly wondered if you would’ve worn Peter’s mark with pride had you been given the option, and the silent question seemed almost silly because the answer was obvious. You would’ve happily let Peter leave whatever mark he wanted on you, because that would’ve been different. It would’ve been a mark you consented to, a mark that came from you willingly giving yourself to the dark-haired vampire. That kind of mark would’ve been the result of you surrendering yourself to him with perfect trust, and he in turn choosing to handle your trust and vulnerability with care.
It would’ve been a mark of love.
Such a thought almost brought tears to your eyes, but you pushed them back, refusing to let Steve smell them and come running. The thought of the blond angered you in a way that was hard to even describe. Since that night he’d raped you again, unable to stomach your refusal of him any longer, you hadn’t so much as given him a hint of anything less than a cold disposition.
Yes, you smiled at him when it was important, and you responded when he asked you things, but it was never with anything more than a tight and forced curve of your lips. Your tone never went beyond anything that could be deemed a polite neutrality. Even when he drank from you, you closed your eyes and held yourself as still as you could be.
A mere tolerance of Steve and your situation had turned into nothing short of repulsion.
It really hadn’t occurred to you just how much you hated all of this until Peter was no longer around to make it easier to swallow. You didn’t have a single friend in this place, every person in your vicinity loyal to Steve above all. It was lonely and depressing in ways that were too painful to think about, and with the knowledge that you were so close to one more year around the sun, you found yourself wondering if you had the strength to do this until the end of your days.
You had never considered ending it all until Peter was gone.
With him around, you’d at least still had something to look forward to, something to put a smile on your face when you woke up in the morning. Now…you had nothing. Your days consisted of nothing but Steve and his every whim, and when you stopped to think about living out the rest of your life exactly like this, it overwhelmed you.
“Steve is starting to get impatient, Y/N.”
The sound of Nat’s voice accompanied by a knock on your bathroom door was enough to pull you from your depressing thoughts. With a sigh, you straightened your dress and swiftly joined her in your bedroom. She was focused on fixing her lipstick when your gaze met hers, and she closed her compact with a comforting smile.
“I was starting to think you’d taken a swim in there,” she teased, gently pulling you along. “You know how Steve gets when you keep him waiting.”
You resisted the urge to roll your eyes, swallowing down what you were initially going to say.
“I’m sorry,” you evenly apologized, knowing that Steve could hear. “I just got lost in my head for a bit.”
You could feel the redhead’s eyes on you as she guided you towards the hall, and she let out a hum.
“You’ve been doing that a lot lately,” she mused. “Should I talk to Steve about having someone come and see you? You know how important it is that you’re healthy.”
You both knew that she wasn’t just referencing your physical health, and such a comment almost made you laugh. If any of them had genuinely cared about your mental health and happiness, then someone would’ve talked Steve out of turning Peter to ash. The bitterness was hard to swallow, but you managed, turning to look at her with a small smile.
“No, it’s nothing more than birthday musings.”
At the mention of the date just around the corner, her beautiful face lit up.
“Are you excited? One year older…”
While the powerful beings around you celebrated their own birthdays, it wasn’t the same nor nearly as exciting as physically aging and literally being one year closer to death. At least, that was what Peter had told you once. He’d made it known just how fascinated they all were by the subtle signs of aging, the smile lines that weren’t there before, the maturity in the face that wasn’t there before. Something about the fragility and tragedy of it all, he’d said.
How funny that he had met his end before you.
“As excited as I was last year,” you told her as she walked you down the hall.
That wasn’t entirely true. You were much more excited last year for reasons that were obvious to you, and this year, you couldn’t muster up anything beyond a dreaded anxiousness. There was nothing to be excited about in your opinion, but to make matters worse, you would swear that Nat seemed more excited this year than she was last year.
There was a twinkle in her eye whenever the topic came up, and whatever they had up their sleeve, you only wanted them to get it over with.
It was a cloudy and starless night when you both made it outside, Steve standing by the car with a slightly pinched look on his face. You said nothing as Natasha apologized to him for the delay, quickly joining Bucky before they both disappeared into the other car. You ignored the feel of his intense gaze as the driver opened the door for you both, Steve’s touch almost nonexistent as he guided you into the back seat.
This was the first time you would ever be leaving the grounds, and instead of feeling something akin to excitement, you only felt…numb. Something about a gathering every hundred years or so, and how lucky for you that the next one coincided with your time as Steve’s pet. It was another mansion full of more vampires who’d see you nothing more than Steve’s property.
There was nothing in you that looked forward to this night.
“We’re almost late because of you.”
Steve’s voice filled the car, the partition providing some privacy.
“I’m sorry,” you halfheartedly murmured. “I lost track of time.”
You could feel his eyes on you as you looked out of the tinted window, and your silent prayers that he’d leave you be for the duration of the ride went unanswered. Your heart sank when you felt his hand reach for yours, cold hand clasping with yours.
“Natasha has impeccable taste per usual. I hate when the dresses she picks out are better than anything I come up with,” he told you.
At that, your eyes fell to the black fabric, the sheer extravagance of it all, fingering the bow around your waist. Natasha enjoyed playing dress up with her human doll while Steve had a habit of wanting you to look like the piece of meat you were. It had sparked many an argument between them with the redhead always walking away a winner.
“I’d die before letting her know that though,” he hummed, tone mirthful, and with a deep breath, you threw him a polite smile.
It wasn’t lost on Steve, and so you shouldn’t have been surprised to hear him heave a sigh, letting you go.
“I understand that the technical age difference between us is monumental, but you are still an adult. This…habit of refusing to act like it as of late is getting old. Don’t you think…?”
You fought with yourself on whether or not to engage in this back and forth with him or not.
“I don’t understand what you mean, Steve,” you breathed, gaze still on the passing trees outside.
You sharply inhaled when your breathing was suddenly obstructed, Steve’s hand around your throat and only growing tighter by the second. Losing your cool for a moment, you reached up, grasping his arm and looking at him through wide eyes. His own baby blues were unreadable, pink lips pressed together as he studied you.
“You’re behaving like a child.”
“I haven’t-.”
“Do you think just because you’re not cursing my name that the whole coven can’t see you’re angry with me?”
Steve’s lips brushed your cheek as he leaned in, and when he loosened his hold ever so slightly, you knew that he actually wanted an answer.
“I’m not,” you forced out.
Steve hummed, tightening his hand a bit.
“You are…but that’s okay,” he quietly said, pulling away. “Let’s just get through tonight.”
He fixed the top of your dress as well as the choker around your throat.
“You will not embarrass me,” he continued, and you stared ahead as he stroked your cheek. “For your sake…because you know how much I hate it when you force my hand.”
You blinked, ignoring the sting behind your eyes as Steve leaned back in his seat, heaving a heavy sigh.
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“She is quite the pretty thing, isn’t she?”
The smile on your face was tight, fingers around your drink tighter as the strange woman reached out to touch your chin. Nakia, if you remembered correctly. She was just as breathtaking as the rest, her dark eyes drinking you in as she talked to the woman next to her.
“I’d heard years ago that Steve had taken a new pet. I’m so glad you’re still alive so that I could meet you,” the other woman said, her dark hair contrasting with her fair skin. “He has such a temper, that one. Hardly a tolerance for anything.”
They chuckled amongst themselves, and you forced yourself to swallow down your disgust and disturbance at how casually they spoke of the death of innocent people before your time. Yes, you’d heard the odd comment here and there over the years of how you weren’t the first of Steve’s trinkets.
You were just the first to last this long.
Your oh so gracious owner was off mingling with the host of this soiree, a burly blond man with the deepest voice you’d ever heard. You recalled the way his multicolored eyes had appreciatively taken you in, nodding to himself and Steve as if he was congratulating the other man on a job well done. You really hated that it took Peter’s death to fully realize just how much you really detested all of this.
You felt like you were in hell.
…and the devil himself was fast approaching.
The women with you quieted at Steve’s advance, quietly slipping away after acknowledging him. You, however, were focused on the woman at his side. You’d only seen her once, and that was earlier in the night when you’d been introduced to her husband, Thor. They made an attractive couple, positive that the brunette’s natural beauty had only been enhanced after her transition.
“Y/N, you remember Jane.”
Steve hadn’t been happy with you most of the evening, and the slight warning in his blue gaze had your tight smile softening some.
“Of course, it’s lovely to meet you again,” you told her.
“You as well. I mentioned to Steve here that you must be so lonely with so few of your kind around, and he suggested we get to know one another better. He thought it might be good for you,” she gently replied.
She seemed kind enough, kinder than most you’d been around, but there was something in her smile that seemed…off. She and Steve shared one last look as he left you, and the woman with the kind eyes looped her arm with yours.
“Every century the neighboring covens get together to discuss their discretion and orders of succession and all that,” she eventually started as you both slowly made your way outside.
Where Steve’s estate was dark and imposing and stereotypical in every way, Thor’s mansion was much brighter and welcoming. There was a Norse quality about the architecture, and something in you—when combined with the origin of Thor’s name—wondered just how old the blond was. Jane paused in front of a happy statue, gazing up at it with a small smile.
“This is my first time too, and I don’t doubt that you find it as boring as I do,” she confessed, shocking you.
You frowned at her a bit, having not realized just how young she was in their years, and you blinked. Even Peter had been over a hundred, and you silently wondered when she’d been turned. You didn’t dare ask, both because it wasn’t your business and also because a good chunk of you couldn’t care less. However, your interest was piqued when she answered your silent question.
“I’ve been like this for maybe…seven years now?”
Your eyes widened at that, meeting her honey brown gaze.
“I think you’re the youngest I’ve ever met,” you told her, voicing your thoughts.
Her kindness and softness suddenly made a lot more sense. There was still so much humanity left in her, her human life still fresh in her spirit, her short years as a vampire unsuccessful in desensitizing her and leaving her void of empathy. So far, anyway. She tilted her head from side to side, seemingly mulling it over with a hum.
“Probably,” she agreed. “I’m definitely the youngest I know of…as of yet.”
She looked back to the statue at that, and something about that last comment made your chest ache. Only you didn’t know why.
“Thor made me,” she breathed, sounding happy about the fact. “He decided that he didn’t want to be without me, and I’d felt the same for some time at that point.”
The details that she was leaving out had your mind whirling, and she soon put you out of your misery.
“There was a time where I belonged to him just as you belong to Steve.”
She finally looked at you again as she told you this, and you were unable to hide your shock, lips parting.
“…what?”
It wasn’t unheard of, but it definitely wasn’t common either. Humans were pets, and pets were property, but let Natasha tell it, there had been the odd case of a human pet becoming a lover and eventually…a consort. An eternal companion.
“I see,” you eventually added, getting a hold of yourself. “Well…I suppose I’m happy for you.”
The way she studied you made you uncomfortable, and you found yourself playing with your hands.
“Thor was kind to me, always had been, and he treated me like nothing less than a princess.”
You didn’t really have a response to that. After all, how kind—how well could he really treat her—if he had been keeping her prisoner to feed off of for years? Jane certainly seemed happy enough, but you kept your thoughts to yourself on how you saw her situation as nothing more than a glorified victim. She’d fallen for her captor, not unheard of, and no less tragic just because she was like him, now.
“Steve is quite taken with you.”
That came out of nowhere to you, and you looked at her again. Again, there was something in her small smile that unnerved you, a glint in her eye that made your stomach twist. For the strangest reason, you felt like there was something you were missing, and you didn’t like it.
“After all, the rumor is he’s never kept a human this long before. I hear he doesn’t tolerate much,” she continued.
“That’s not untrue. I dare say I have another…one…maybe two years before he’s finally fed up with me,” you lightly teased although there was a hint of seriousness in your tone.
Deep down, you hoped that it was less.
Jane laughed, and your eyes met hers as she reached out to adjust your necklace.
“Silly girl,” she gently admonished. “I can’t foresee Steve ever being rid of you. He’s much too obsessed with you for that. Watches you like a hawk, that one does.”
You swallowed uncomfortably, stepping out of her reach a tad and watching as her hand fell.
“Well, he’ll have no choice someday. I am human, after all.”
Jane tilted her head, shoulder length brown hair kissing her skin as she studied you. There was a slight frown on her face as she dragged her gaze over you.
“For now.”
Those two simple words had your heart stuttering, and your face fell as you gave her your undivided attention.
“There’s quite an easy fix to ensure you’re at his side forever,” she reminded you, and it was then…
That you understood.
You took another step back from her, almost stumbling in your heels, and you couldn’t fix your mouth to form the words that your mind wanted to say. This entire conversation was stirring up thoughts you didn’t even want to entertain, didn’t even want to consider, because the thought was preposterous. Horrifying even, but why else?
Why else would Steve think it’d be good for the two of you to talk? Of all the new vampires in the world, why the one whose former master had made her like him so that she could be with him forever? Why her? You tried to push it down, but it assaulted your mind anyway, and you dazedly shook your head at her, apologizing before excusing yourself.
There was blood rushing in your ears, and you pressed your hand to your chest as you stumbled back inside, fighting to calm your heart for multiple reasons.
No.
Absolutely not.
You didn’t even want to think it, but it couldn’t be helped. Steve wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t, but as you repeated that to yourself, you wondered how true that was. Wasn’t it months ago that he’d killed the love of your life out of jealousy and some misguided belief that he loved you? Hadn’t he killed a vampire he’d known and had been intimate with for centuries for the same reasons?
Tears kissed your eyes as you stared at the floor, feeling just as cold as Steve did to the touch.
There had been a time when the prospect of eternal life called to you, back when the man you loved was till around. You’d only wanted to live forever if it were with him, and once he was out of the picture, all thoughts of that had ceased. You had never entertained the thought of becoming a vampire anyway, and especially not with Steve. Why would you?
You leaned against the wall, a few tears spilling over as you fought with yourself, telling yourself that you were just getting a head of yourself, that’s all. Jane’s own thoughts in regard to your mortality didn’t mean they were Steve’s. Maybe it was all in your head, a mere coincidence, but the refusal to believe otherwise didn’t prevent your legs from faltering, hand sliding along the wall as you struggled to keep yourself upright.
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“Steve, she’ll be fine. Listen… She’s waking up, see?”
Sam’s voice seemed so loud in the otherwise quiet room, and you grimaced as your senses came back to you, greeted with none other than a headache. You really didn’t want to open your eyes, but pretending to be asleep in a room full of vampires had never and would never work. With reluctance, you peeled them open, staring up at a familiar ceiling.
You heard a deep exhale, and it wasn’t long before you were joined on the bed, a hand on your forehead.
You didn’t need to look over to know that it was Steve.
“…and you’re sure she’s alright?”
“No concussion or anything of the sort. Nothing to be concerned with either. It appears she just fainted, perhaps lightheaded or hungry.”
Dr. Banner’s voice was surprising to hear. It had been some time since you’d seen the dark-haired vampire, and you slowly looked over as he wrote something down on a clipboard. Sam was standing behind him while Natasha and Bucky sat on your couch, the redhead the picture of concern while her husband appeared as if he couldn’t care less.
“So, she’s been neglecting herself.”
Your heart dropped at the drop in Steve’s tone, and you hesitantly glanced up, finally looking at the blond and unsurprised to find his gaze already on you. He didn’t look happy, and you looked away, mentally preparing yourself for an earful.
“I wouldn’t say that. Humans are fragile, Steve, you know this. Any number of things could’ve caused her to feel faint, and seeing as no one was around to witness the moments prior, who is to say what really caused it. All that matters is she is healthy,” Dr. Banner argued.
You crossed your arms over your chest as they finished discussing you, and when Steve dismissed the other three after Dr. Banner’s departure, you sighed.
“Had you eaten?”
“Yes, Steve, I ate,” you assured him. “I just got lightheaded is all.”
You could feel his eyes on you, and you knew that he wouldn’t be looking away anytime soon, so you finally lifted your gaze again.
“I found you,” he confessed, jaw taut, and you almost wished he hadn’t.
There was no telling the thoughts in his head when he saw you lying there.
“I heard your heart beat faster than it ever had before…and then it slowed so suddenly I thought you were dead.”
“Well…I’m not, so…”
“You scared me.”
“Why?” you harshly asked, gaze accusatory as you narrowed your eyes at him. “I’m easily replaceable. If I die…I’m sure you can find another woman to kidnap.”
The blond harshly looked away at that, and you eyed him as he rested a hand on his hip.
“You say that so callously…like it wouldn’t hurt me to bury you,” he murmured, and your frown deepened.
“It shouldn’t. Who am I to you other than a warm body and a nightly cocktail?”
You jumped when he swiped a figurine off of your table. It had been a gift from him years ago, and you swallowed when his cold eyes met yours. Right. Let Steve tell it, he loved you, and that same thought that’d made you faint hours earlier threatened to overtake you again. You dismissively looked away from him, and considering how many times it had been pointed out to you tonight, you wondered what line you’d eventually cross that would push Steve to just…drain you dry.
“I’ve told you before Steve…you don’t know what love is,” you quietly said, staring at your sheets. “…and while I don’t doubt the worry you felt when you found me tonight, I do doubt that it had anything to do with love.”
You desperately wanted to ask him why he’d been so keen on you talking to Jane tonight. You wanted to ask him if he’d ever entertained the thought of turning you for himself, keeping you at his side forever and dragging out what should’ve been one miserable lifetime into infinite. You wanted to…but you were so terrified of the answer.
You were confident that Steve wouldn’t, but there was some small part of you that said otherwise, and the more you laid there, the bigger that part of you became. The voice became louder, whispering the unthinkable, and you turned over, quietly and politely asking Steve to leave you be. You were sure he wouldn’t drink from you tonight, but you wanted him gone, nonetheless.
…because if there was truth to your newfound fears…
You would slit your throat in a heartbeat.
Steve listened to you, albeit reluctantly, but not without nearing your bed and resting his hand on your forehead again. He stood there for some time, just standing over you and watching you, and you squeezed your eyes shut when he brushed his thumb over your skin. Your eyes burned when he leaned down, pressing his lips into your hair and deeply inhaling. It was too reminiscent of something he wasn’t, too much like a lover, and you only relaxed again when he was gone.
The morning of your birthday was greeted with the finest of foods and finest of gifts. No different than the years before, but all the more depressing. Last year, you’d eaten your breakfast with the excitement of seeing Peter afterwards. You had smiled at Natasha as she ran you a milk bath, playing with the rose petals because you knew that you’d be spending most of your day with Peter. His presence had made the grand fanfare of your party something meaningful instead of the conceited and egotistic brag of Steve that it actually was.
Today, however…
Today you had nothing and no one to look forward to.
You were polite as you opened gift after gift, thanking Natasha for the dress or Sam for the bracelet or Bucky for the wine. The last one was done with a barely hidden sneer. After all, the wine was more so a gift for Steve than for you, the saccharine drink given with the purpose of making your blood taste sweeter.
Nothing about this day was actually for you.
Every gift and every praise were done to exalt Steve.
You had to look your best at your party tonight because anything less, and you’d embarrass Steve. Everyone had to ooh at the pretty jewelry Steve’s pet wore. Everyone had to aah at the gorgeous dress Steve’s pet wore. Everyone had to see how lavishly he spoiled you, how well he looked after you, how wonderful a master he was.
It made you sick.
“It might get old after some time, but it really is so exciting to celebrate an actual birthday,” Natasha told you as she dragged the small brush over your lips. “It’s so miniscule or even non existent with human eyes, I’m sure, but you do look a whole year older.”
“I feel ten years older,” you half joked.
She chuckled at the comment, either unaware or completely ignoring the implication that you felt so aged after Peter’s death.
“A mortal life is really so fleeting. A blink of an eye to us,” she mused with a small frown. “I swear, it was just yesterday that you were first brought here.”
The redhead paused, looking down at you with a wistful gaze.
“So young…so terrified…”
She hummed, continuing with her work.
You tried not to think of those first few months you were here. They were too painful, to be honest. After all, what was there to look back on but the loss of your best friend by the very same man you were forced to be around all the time? The years gone by had done nothing to lessen the anger and hurt every time you looked at Bucky.
An average day to him was one of the worst of your life.
When Natasha felt satisfied enough with you, she smiled, brushing her hand along your cheek.
“You look so radiant…like a birthday girl,” she praised. “Steve will be pleased.”
Your face fell some at that, reminded that once again, a compliment for you was never actually for you.
Like last year, the manor was full of vampires with the occasional human pet tagging along. Unlike last year though, there were way more people in attendance. You even caught sight of Thor and Jane, and you thought it was ironically fitting that the one year full of more extravagance and fanfare than the others was the one year you just wanted to drop dead.
Natasha was right, of course.
Steve was more than pleased with your look for the night, and he gave her a thankful nod as he took your hand. His own was gentle in yours, and you pointedly ignored the way he brushed his thumb over the back of it. Steve looked as impeccable as he always did, and your gaze passed over him as you looked around the room.
“You look beautiful tonight.”
You took a deep breath before looking at him with the perfect smile.
“Thank you, Steve.”
He stared into your eyes for a few moments before his own smile grew, satisfaction crossing his features at your dedication to be on your best behavior. When his small smile shifted into a small smirk, you were tempted to be defiant just for the hell of it.
He brought your hand to his lips as he walked through the room, leading you to the head table.
You spent so much of the night repeating empty thanks to faces both familiar and those not. You were positive not a single compliment was genuine, every one accompanied with another compliment to Steve. She looks as radiant as always. You take such good care of her. She’s the perfect reflection of you. It was dehumanizing in a way you couldn’t even articulate, and you thought that you’d be used to it after years, but again…
With Peter not around to soften the blow…
When you danced with Steve, you didn’t look at him. You kept your gaze on the guests around you, giving the impression of a thankful birthday girl when in actuality, you couldn’t really stomach the sight of Steve. An entire day that should’ve been dedicated to you being dedicated to him in a roundabout way instead was too disheartening.
“You look better,” he whispered in your ear. “You heart sounds strong too.”
You swallowed a sigh, your smile falling some.
“If I didn’t…would that stop you from coming to me tonight and doing what you’ve wanted to do for days?”
“Didn’t it stop me already?”
You didn’t respond to that, only sending Natasha a forced smile when you caught her eye. Steve’s hands fell to your waist, and he lifted you a tad as he spun you, sharp teeth winking at you as he grinned.
“It’s your birthday, my love…” your heart dropped at that. “Smile and be happy.”
You were still looking at him strangely when he led you back to the table, wondering where on earth such a term of endearment had come from. You pushed it away when he left you there, Natasha immediately pulling you into conversation. It was hard to focus, the feel of Steve’s hand in yours and the sound of his voice in your ear on your mind.
My love?
You wondered if centuries on this earth could drive a vampire mad. Nothing about what you and Steve had was loving, and it seemed that no matter how many times you pointed that out to him, he only became more deluded. It was like trying to get through a brick wall, and when the time came for Steve to give you his gift, you only wanted this night to be over.
“Y/N has been a part of this coven for years, now,” Steve said, standing beside you as you sat. “Something both surprising to others and myself…but I’ve come to find great comfort at the sight of her face every day.”
You looked up at him in wonder, thinking to yourself that his birthday speech from last year was far less intimate and more appreciative of the blood you unwillingly provided him a few times a week. You watched as he opened the jewelry box you’d seen him fiddle with all evening. The light glinted off of the necklace.
The diamonds were plentiful, but what caught your eye—and what was probably meant to—was the green stone at the center of it. Everything Steve had ever given you was excessive in some way, but this was different. It didn’t look like something passed down through the generations or some nice ring to compliment your fingers.
This was a necklace bought with intention.
You felt uneasy as Steve guided you to stand, fingers lingering on yours a bit before moving behind you. You looked everywhere and nowhere all at once, afraid to catch anyone’s eye. You were used to the attention, especially on this day, but you couldn’t stop the heavy feeling in your chest from growing. The necklace was cool against your skin, and you shuddered as it pressed into your throat with the tightening of Steve’s hand.
You swallowed, tempted to reach up when he finally loosened his hold, hooking it closed and adjusting it to his liking.
“You deserve nothing but the best on your birthday, but this necklace is fit for a queen,” Steve said, speaking to you now. “A mistress of the house.”
You slowly turned to look at him at that, face falling. Steve reached out, touching your face, and you couldn’t ignore the way your heart pounded in your chest. Your eyes burned at the meaning behind his words, telling yourself that it wasn’t what you thought.
“I’ve ruled this coven by myself for centuries…”
“Steve…”
“…and you’ve only been by my side for a few short years of that, but I intend to rule centuries more…with you right next to me.”
Your hands shook, and you realized that the loud noise in your ears wasn’t the rush of your blood or even your loud heartbeat, but instead the awed excitement of all the vampires before you. Steve took your hand, pulling you closer, and in your confusion, you stumbled towards him.
“As my wife…my eternal lover…my consort.”
~
tags:@xoxabs88xox  @mcudarklibrary @darkficsyouneveraskedfor  @notyourtypicalrose @sebabestianstan101 @opheliadawnwalker3 @pinkzsugar @villanellevi @cheeseburgersstuff @navybrat817 @my-favorite-fics-and-imagines
 @nightsinneverland @alexakeyloveloki @grayxswan  @undecidedsworld @fanfic-fangirl @peach-buns-unicorns @vicmc624 @virtualpeanutartisanjudge @weird-mumbling @outlawedmando @izzfizzh @spideydobik @everything-isawesomesauce @donutloverxo @wondergal2001  @rosalynshields @mandiiblanche @stinkywhore @lunaticgurly @shippers-heart @van0413 
@local-witch-of-mn @youlovetkay @eralen @chimaeracabra @dontbescaredtosingalong @lokislastlove @coconutqueen21 @hurricanerin @trinittyy @hyoyeoniie @gotnofucks @oneoftheprettynerds @doozywoozy @melli0112 @buckybarnesplumwhore @kvzctam @mansaaay​  @lipstickstainedred @thanatosfic @avengers-goddess @emberenchanted
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steves-sub · 9 months
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Prologue
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Summary: Steve comes up with an idea
Warning(s): Dark!Team Cap (Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes, Sam Wilson, Wanda Maximoff, Natasha Romanoff), MINOR DNI, Drinking, Implied non-con, and kidnapping. 
WC: 312 (I promise these will be longer)
Taglist; @marvel-fandom23
Since the events in Germany, Steve Rogers has been hiding out in the cabin with Sam Wilson, Bucky Barnes, Natasha Romanoff, and Wanda Maximoff. On the run from the law, they only had each other to rely on. Since then, nothing has happened with his sexual life. Due to the fact that everyone there was a Dom, he couldn't turn to his teammates for assistance. So while sitting with the rest of the team outside, Steve decided to propose an idea. 
"So, I've been thinking recently," he said to the group of people around him. “Anyone else been extremely horny?” He questioned as he took a sip of his beer. In response, Bucky offered a chuckle, "If you are proposing what I think you are, I’m out.” Sam agreed, "No way." Steve realized his mistake and stopped them. "Oh no, not like that.” 
“So what are you thinking then, Captain?” Natasha asked as she crossed her legs. “Look, we've been stuck in the cabin for a while. It doesn't seem like we're getting out anytime soon. So," he paused, "how about bringing someone in to help us?" Wanda looked at him with a questioning face, “Like a stripper?” He laughed at her answer with a smirk. “I was thinking of a more permanent solution.”
Suddenly, the only sound they heard was the cackling of the fire they sat around. Steve knew this was a big proposition. Bucky was the first to speak. “If we do it, how do we go about it?” He spoke as he twisted the top off the beer with his metal arm. “We can figure that out together, but I think that we all need to meet the person before we take them,” Steve responded. “Sounds like you already have someone in mind,” Natasha smirked.
Steve let out an exhale, “I got the perfect little sunflower for us.”
PLEASE LET ME KNOW IF YOU HAVE ANY IDEAS FOR THIS SERIES!! Would love input
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allherfuckingtears · 1 year
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Got a secret, can you keep it?
Summary: Certain news leave you devastated as you walk into the hands of your not so gentle husband.
Characters: dark!Steve Rogers x wife!reader
Warnings: non/dubcon elements, allusion to sexual content, violence, (forced) pregnancy, power imbalance, dark elements
This story contains dark elements, be aware. 18+
Note: Just a little something for @cockslutpadalecki 15 sentence challenge. Haven't written anything in a long time, so bare with me.
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Soft snowflakes dance down the sky, landing on three inch blankets of snow covering once pristine green gras. The suns shines proudly, making the snow glisten like the 24-carat diamond resting heavy on your ring finger. But even the beautiful scenery doesn't reach you. A picture that once would have made you smile like a child on Christmas, now only suffocates you further. Fingers play with the tiny charm on your necklace, a nervous habit picked up when you were younger, as you stare out of the window of your prison, trying desperately to keep the tears and screams inside as the two blue lines mock you. 
You refuse to accept your fate. It can't be true. Not again. 
Tiny hands grab onto your forearm. "Mommy, Mommy", the voice startles you. "What is that?", curious fingers fish for the plastic stick sitting next to you. 
"Nothing, Jay", you push the test out of his reach, as it disappears in your back pocket. "Don't worry about it, baby." 
"Mommy, you've been crying! Why have you been crying?"
"What…" Your fingers meet wet cheeks. - You have been crying. "No, no", you stumble on your words, desperately wiping your face. "I'm okay"
"But you… you've been crying!" The blue eyes looking down at you start to glisten as James' voice turns shrill. 
Panic rises as you desperately try to placate the little human in front of you. You sush him as you pull him down on the floor and into your lap, "Mommy's fine - see", you force a smile on your lips. "Everything's fine, baby. It's okay", you whisper into his hair as tiny arms wrap around your throat. "Have you seen the snow? It's crazy, look", you turn him towards the window. 
"So pretty…" he mumbles, eyes gleaming. "Maybe we can go out and play?" Excitement rises and he's out of your arms and in front of the window before you can even blink. "Please, Mommy!"
"Sure, Jay. But you'll have to wear something warm, okay? It's very cold outside" Standing up you brace yourself on the wall as your head spins.
"Not Jay, Mommy. James. Daddy doesn't like it", he scolds you, voice serious.
A shudder crawls down your spine at the mention of his father. You swallow as you look at the blonde toddler, his spitting image. "Daddy, doesn't have to know".
"Daddy doesn't have to know what?", a deep voice echoes. You jump turning around, heart beating as Steve stands in the doorway. 
"Daddy!", the little boy in front of you squeals, running into the arms of his father. Steve scoops him up off the floor as his cold eyes meet yours. You gulp. 
"Steve…", the whisper escapes you before you can think of what you actually want to say. He's not supposed to be here. Not for the next four hours. Bile rises in the back of your throat as the plastic stick stabs you in your lower back. You're going to vomit, you're sure of it. He looks at you expectantly, gaze turning sterner when you don't move. When you don't greet him like he trained you to. 
"Y/N", his voice snaps, jaw ticking. "Now." 
But you can't. You can't. If you go to him now, if you give him the kiss he wants from you, he'll feel it. He'll feel the test. He'll know and there will be nothing you can do about it. No escaping your fate. Just like the last two times. You know you're done for when he lowers Jay on the ground, gaze still on you. 
"Go, check on your brother, James." He dismisses the boy. Jay looks at you before turning and running through the door. Leaving you alone. To unknowingly suffer at the hand of his father. 
"Kneel", the command comes as soon as his son is out of sight. "Before I fucking make you." You know you have no choice. If you don't do as he says, then he'll make you. This way, you might at least get a chance to hide the doom lingering in the back of your pocket once you inevitably have to ready yourself for your punishment. 
"Steve, please…", you plead as your knees hit the floor. You resume the familiar position, eyes down, palms up. You know exactly what to do. At this point it's basic instinct, a second nature forced onto you for the last four years. A barely audible whisper leaves your lips, a final entreaty before you inescapably have to give into his perverse fantasies, "Please… I'm sorry".
Colds hands find your chin, making you look at him. His thumb catches on your lip, pushing into your mouth. You hollow your cheeks, tongue swirling around the digit. Eyes pleading with him. His thumb presses on your tongue before he releases it with a loud pop. "Go on, baby. You know it's more fun for me when you beg."
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stuckymonkey · 5 months
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Kinktober Day 7: Forced Orgasm
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dark!steve rogers x reader
word count - not a lot of k
a/n - i was not in the mood while writing this, so i'm sorry if it shows! it's also pretty short because this week/weekend has been a little hectic!
i hope i wrote this right! feedback is always appreciated!
warnings - use of y/n, kind of noncon (reader uses safeword but steve doesn't stop), filth, absolute filth,
READ AT YOUR OWN RISK AND NEVER IGNORE TRIGGER WARNINGS
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Y/n was a very giving person. It was engraved into her sunshine-y nature to be generous and selfless, often times putting her own happiness (and pleasure) on the backburner.
This is why Steve was pounding into her from behind on their kitchen counter, absolutely railing her.
"You need this, Y/n, let me make you feel good," His beard tickled the back of your neck as her thrusted into your pussy.
Your hips were banging on the counter at a bruising pace, your boobs bouncing with each of his thrusts.
"Ahhh!" Steve's tattooed fingers came down to expertly rub at your clit. The pace he set was the polar opposite to the lightning fast snap of his hips. His fingers instead rubbed slowly and sensually, making your core burn.
If this wasn't your fourth orgasm of the night, you definitely wouldn't be so sensitive, but this was number four for crying out loud! Every touch of his fingers, lips and cock had you burning hotter and hotter as it took less and less time to push you over the edge.
To say you were overstimulated was an understatement, your cunt and inner thighs had gone numb about half way into your third orgasm, your clit puffy from all of Steve's generous attention.
Even though you were being pushed past your limits, you trusted Steve and knew that he would do what was best for you.
You squealed as his cock brushed against your g-spot at the same time his fingers pressed on your overused clit, causing your walls to spasm around his length. "Ah, Fuck," he moaned, nibbling at the skin between your shoulder and jaw.
"One more love, you can take it," He said. Steve had briefly stopped thrusting and pulled out, once again stopping his orgasm. Four times he had done that, making sure that tonight was all about his princess.
Unlike the last four rounds, Steve didn't make you change positions. He re entered you, making you scream in pleasure and pain. "Steve, no, please, I can't," You sobbed, fingers white from gripping the counter so hard.
"You can do it baby," He encouraged, slowly starting to move. You wailed out, begging him to stop. He slapped you cheek, "Shut up," He snarled before regaining his brutal pace. You screamed again, begging louder for him to pull out. He shushed you and kept fucking into you like you were his little toy.
Steve ruined you, fucking you so hard your toes lifted off the floor. His fingers found your mouth, shoving them down your throat to shut you up after you had started screaming your safeword. "Such a good little cumdump," He praised, twisting your nipples before moving back down to your clit.
He fell forward, your face hitting the counter top. "Be good princess, let me fill you up. I know you want it, slut,"
Whines and moans accompanied the sound of wet skin hitting wet skin, your thighs and ass cheeks coated in your own cum.
Soon Steve's thrusts got sloppy, and he started rubbing you harder, trying to get you to cum before he did. "Steve, RED, NO, PLEASE!" You begged, right before your blinding orgasm overtook, wrenching a blood curdling scream from you.
Steve's hips stuttered as he emptied himself into your cunt, letting himself ride through his orgasm, his now empty balls hitting your ass.
You sobbed as he pulled out, deep in a subspace. "Good girl," He cooed, turning you around and brushing hair from your face. "Aren't you glad I pushed you, doll?" You slowly nodded. "Yeah, that's right. I always know what you need."
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😶😳this was filthy and dirty and...just wow.
I honestly didn't know i could write this kind of thing....i hope you enjoyed some dark!steve this saturday night🥵
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dungeonpuppykai · 10 months
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|| Back To Him ||
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Description: He was flawed, but so was she. 
Pairing: Dark!Enhanced Witch Hunter!Steve Rogers | Dark Witch!Female Reader.
Disclaimer: I (unfortunately) do not own Steve Rogers. This story contains dark and mature content so browse at your own discretion, please. Minors do not interact.
Warning(s): Dub-con just to be safe, stockholm syndrome, possessive!Steve (if you squint idk it's 3am), mentions of blood and death (not reader), degradation, angst, broken!reader, no mentions of body type or ethnicity but Steve is bigger, age gap (Steve is older), dumbification, slapping, panty sniffing, p in v, unprotected sex, hair pulling, back scratching, squirting.
Note: More unedited than my life. Basically monster reader getting fucked by captor Steve. I needed to get this out in one go or I would never have finished it. So here's to doing this instead of studying for my upcoming exam! English isn't my first language. Feedback is much appreciated 🩷
MASTERLIST
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Steve felt a slight burn in his lungs as he willed his legs to push harder, feet thundering against the withered leaves littering his path to his destination; her. He hated how slow everything turned each time this happened. His body screamed for him to stop, heart fighting against it's cage, cold droplets of sweat trickling down his forehead. But he didn't stop. He refused to stop. Instead, the witch hunger blinked his eyes, ignoring his physical turmoil that was the consequence of his unprepared marathon, focusing on his path, the only chant in his mind being the place a fellow witch hunter had informed him of being the victim to her unbiased wrath. 
Hold on, Doll. Just hold on. Despite being enhanced by the potions of the very creatures he hunted and torched, his body struggled to battle against his will to make him stop. But Steve didn't. 
He couldn't. 
. . .
"Please, please, please, Miss! I just had a child!" The man in front of her begged, holding his hands in a prayer-like way as he shook on his knees in terror, bowing his head as tears rained down his face. "Please, please…"
She smiled, her silver irises contrasting against her otherwise coal hued eyes. The man clenched his jaw to find some control for his shaking when her floating body lowered itself to come closer to him. Not so much that her feet touched the ground, no. Just enough to come in close proximity with his kneeling form. 
A chill ran down his spine when she bent forward and took a long and rough sniff. "Hmmm~" her voice was dark, deep and gravelly. "You need not worry. I will honour you by eating her heart out and quenching my thirst with her sweet blood~" Y/n cackled as the man broke out into sobs, shaking his head profusely as he incoherently begged out pleads but to no avail. 
The chaos of flame, smoke, blood and bone around them was a personal fun fair to the overpowered witch ironically victim to her own strengths as she rose back up in the air, twirling in it as people shrieked and cried, running around them. 
"Hm~" Y/n hummed after a while of enjoying the sounds, her blissful expression morphing into one of boredom as she curled her lips outwards. "Boooooring~" a quick dismissive motion of her hands was followed by everyone around her flying around her into thin slices of blood and flesh with so much force that they sprayed all over her, accompanying their kind on her skin. 
The young witch walked on the air, hands wrapped behind her back as she hummed like a little girl playing with her friends, searching for survivors as she grinned in delight, her canine/like teeth gleaming like pearls in the sun.
"There you are!" Y/n clapped her hands in delight when she found a group of people hiding in a ditch. "I could smell your fear from miiiiiiles away~!" She chirped like it was nothing but a harmless game of hide and seek among friends. "Now," tilting her head to the side, she smiled as one of her hands raised in the air. "The fun part-" her words came to an abrupt stop as she felt something grip one of her feet, pulling her downwards. 
"Hm?" The witch snapped her head in the direction of the mysterious force, eyebrows furrowing in confusion when she saw a blonde man almost twice her size calmly pulling her towards him on the ground, hand on her calf now. I know him. "But from where?" She wondered aloud, both the inherited and self acquired powers bubbling inside her like molten lava. 
"Come on now, doll." His voice was as deep as hers, no trace of the fear she loved so much present in his bright blue eyes. So human. "Come back to me" Y/n suddenly forgot her basic instinct to slash first ponder later. "That's it, that's a good doll." Steve's coaxing was ironic to say the least. For she looked nothing like the name he called her. 
Must not hurt him. 
The witch didn't know why, but the same thing played over and over in her foggy head like a mantra. Must not do anything to him. It wasn't like it would be fun anyways. 
Because he was not begging. He was not scared. Not even close. 
Steve clicked his tongue once he had finally eased her on the ground in front of him slowly and carefully. "Look at yourself, bunny. You are not allowed to go out to play alone, remember?" He knew she didn't. Not yet. Not in this state. But this was the way. The trick. It was a sequence he had perfected over the years since he first caught her during one of her rampages.
Y/n had looked so beautiful in her rotten glory. So radiant under the silver moon of that night, her hair swaying along the cool winter breeze, skin decorated by the raining snow as she slow danced by herself in the air amidst the havoc that she had caused by flooding the village with blood that night. Oh, how beautifully the red on her skin had contrasted the snowflakes clinging to her. The young witch was basking in the chaos and smiling to herself as she chewed on a piece of flesh, humming that sweet melody he had loved from that night on. One that came with a price everytime. One that he had to suppress in order to protect the universe around them. Each time he would have to choke his own hummingbird dead to silence to rescue the universe from the brute wrath it accompanied. 
But it rose from the ashes like a phoenix. Every single time. 
"Pretty eyes" was Y/n's only resolve after she tried to find strength within herself to do something but felt herself paralyzed under his soft gaze that she knew was everything but. A giggle escaped her as her index finger reached out for his eyebrow, another one accompanying the first one when he lightly smiled in response to the girl tracing his features out with the claws she had for hands. "Nice man?" She wondered aloud, voice suddenly childish. Vulnerable. 
Exactly how he had moulded her for himself all those years dating back to the night he had caught her along his hunting party. 
"Now I have to kill all these people because of you, doll." Small cries arose from the group that had been watching the scene unfolding in front of them in horror.
No one could ever find out that the great Steve Rogers could, indeed, not completely control the occasional power outbursts of the witch he had for a house pet. Where her lack of experience and training with the powers she had been blessed with by birth as well as the ones she had developed by doing small spells and tricks would overcome her conscious, blinding her humanity as the smell of fear, melodies of pained screams and thundering of strained hearts replace every other thought. 
And that was why she needed her owner, the witch hunter, both her captor and savior, Steve, to bring her back to him every time it happened. To remind her of all that mattered. All that was worth killing the dark sorceress every time she mustered enough energy to attempt a take over. 
It had been easier said than done. But he had centuries to perfect her for himself. What was lifetimes to many around them were mere moments to the two. The world was theirs if they wanted it. Y/n as the brainless executionist while Steve held her leash. But they only took what they wanted, leaving the world to its own devices for the sake of amusement as the hunter made it a point to keep their true identities unknown except to those in his order. 
"I can do that for you~" Y/n giggled as she waved her hand in the air and silenced the people trapped in the ditch. She could not exactly recognize him. But she knew not to hurt him. Her power drunk mind did not even go there. Instead she poked at him in curiousity, narrowing her eyes at him before licking her lips as she tried to make sense of her thoughts. Something impossible for her in this state. 
Years of conditioning can do that even to the most powerful of witches at their most supreme. Especially young and impressionable ones. 
"Dumb bunny" Steve clicked his tongue again as he suddenly pushed at the girl's chest, earning a gasp even in her horrifyingly elevated state. She fell on her ass against the crunchy leaves with a thud. Must not use powers against him. She wanted to scream and ask why. But instead, Y/n maintained her position on the ground, letting him kick her legs apart as he slowly lowered himself on his knees between them. 
"You fuck me?" The girl barely form coherent sentences against him, monstrous eyes blinking up at him like those of an innocent doe, dumbly tilting her head to the side as her upper body rested against her elbows. 
"Dumb bunnies like yourself need to be fucked back into the pathetic little places, remember?" Steve was calm as he spoke to her in a mentor-like voice, undoing his pants before curling the bottom side of her panties that she wore under her blood stained sundress between his fingers before ripping them off. 
"I am dumb bunny?" Y/n's gravel-like voice was in stark contrast to her tone. 
"One that gets wet every time she slaughters a village, apparently" Steve sniffed the torn fabrics in his hand before he put them aside, gripping the witch's thighs before pulling her closer. She blushed under the blood covering her face, biting her lip as she stared at him through 'shy' eyes. "You're lucky you have me, you know?" Aligning himself against her trained entrance, the man controlled the waver that threatened to take over her voice. 
The trick was to appear stronger than her. Unaffected and better. As if she was nothing if not for his mercy. 
Exactly like he had taught her. 
To the point where his 'teachings' eventually started to bleed into her hazed mind during these occurrences. 
The young witch hadn't always been this compliant. 
"Because no one else would ever love an abomination like you" were the words that acommaonied his first thrust into her tight but welcoming walls of flesh. "Tsk, you're so pathetic. Going around hurting people like a mad hound." His words were harsh and condescending as he worked his hips, pushing her dress up to reveal her breasts that had bruises of his passion littering them. "You disgust me as you would anyone" Steve's words were brutal. They always had been. 
But they were exactly what Y/n needed. 
What had sheltered her away from a pyre for this long. 
The thick intrusion in the witch's pussy was too much for her to form any words. Not even incoherent ones. Her elbows had given out and she was writhing against the ground now, moaning in pleasure as her claws gripped fistfuls of the dead leaves underneath her, back arched. Steve felt an icy shudder run down the back of his thighs. She was gorgeous in her nudity, glowing under the sun despite being covered in particles of flesh and blood.
"Yet I am so kind. Showing you the benevolence you do not deserve by still giving you shelter, asylum and food" and poison your senses with the craftings of my personal witch. "And what do you do, huh- look at me!" The hunter's voice raised a few octaves as he gripped her jaw to position her face to look at his, slapping her cheek to get her to open her eyes that she had shut in pleasure. "You try to run away from me like an ungrateful bitch?!" Steve pinched her nipples roughly before swatting one of her breasts with the back of his hand, pairing it with a proper slap when his hand boomeranged back. 
"More, more, more~" she hissed out in an animalistic way, the silver in her eyes shining brighter as the black around them seemed to get even darker. "More, more, more- so good~!" 
The man chuckled, shaking his head at the slut he had made out of her. If the girl whom he had trapped all those years ago were to see this right now, she would not believe it. It was how stubborn and egoistic she had been that made the sight before him even better, the knowledge that he had managed to make a puppet out of what had been predicted as the end of the world made him go faster, the skin atop his spine covered in droplets of cold sweat. 
"Say please" Steve growled, taking his cock almost all the way out before slamming it back in, toying with one of her tits as the other held her head in place by her hair. She seemed to be drunk on the pleasure, dark and silver eyes dazed as her red mouth let out lazy and broken words that drowned in her own moans. "Tell me how much you want it and I might consider" a small whine left her when he slowed his hips down for emphasis, enjoying the warmth of her pussy as he waited for her to comply. 
"Give me" he wasn't surprised. The man knew he had not broken her down completely yet. 
"Not when you demand like that, doll." A protestant sniff left her nose as she narrowed her eyes down at him.
"Give. Now!" The hunter slowed his hips down even even more. 
"Not with that attitude, I won't." Steve went to pull away. "Tsk, some things are just shameless. Demanding and bratty like they have any rights" he could barely finish his sentence before she jumped up on him, straddling his thighs as a loud moan escaped her due to his cock that was barely in at this point suddenly pushing all the way back inside her as the tip collided with her sweet spot. 
Other than the rough and quiet exhales of breath that were forcing their way past his lips, Steve was mostly unbothered as he twirled and pinched one of Y/n's nipples, kneading one of her ass cheeks by his other hand while she braced herself by his strong shoulders, chasing her orgasm as loud noises of skin slapping against skin filled the air. 
"You're truly pathetic, you know?" His blue eyes bore into her monstrous ones as he maintained his icy demeanor. "Fucking yourself shamelessly upon a man who could care less about even touching a shadow birthed heretic like you" Y/n did not reply. She wouldn't have been able to even if she wanted to. Instead, she just moaned through her open mouth as she fucked him like an animal, tits bouncing up and down as she felt a tangle of warm knots forming in her abdomen.
"That's right, keep at it" Steve grunted now, feeling himself getting close due to how inhumanly fast the witch was sliding back and forth on his cock, her wetness allowing pleasant access to his ballsack inside her wet cavern. "Such a cock starved imp. Doesn't even care what her dead coven will think if they saw her riding the cock of the man that killed them" nothing but desperate, pained and frustrated grunts left her. 
But she just couldn't cum. 
It wouldn't come. 
"Have had enough of your high cloud yet?" Steve raised an eyebrow, knowing she couldn't cum unless he let her. 
Because if she did, his personal witch would be the next one on a pyre. One whom he had given secret asylum in exchange for personal hexes and crafts.
Y/n's eyebrows furrowed as she seemed to contemplate for a few moments, crying out when she failed to bring herself to an orgasm. "Please…" Was the only thing she could let out. "Please…" The stiffness of her demeanor dissipated a little, so did the unnatural colours in her eyes. "Sir…" Steve couldn't help but smirk. His favourite method of grounding her always worked. 
"Good doll~" she was back on ground before the next breath, her captor on top of her as he trapped her smaller hands above her head, the other hand reaching for her vagina as the hunter cupped the vertical curve between the witch's legs, rubbing circles on her clit by his thumb. "See? Being a good bunny for your Master isn't so bad."
Y/n cried out loud enough for the trees to tremble with the vibrations of her banshee-like shriek, body violently spasming as it tried to break free against his hold on her arms, back arching as she squirted her orgasm out. 
"Thank you, sir! Thank you! Oh, thank you!" The witch cried out, voice not as deep anymore as it came back to her usual one, eyebrows furrowed in pleasure while her teeth nibbled at her lips. Her eyes were almost back to normal and so were her 'claws'. 
"There she is" Steve easily overpowered her now that the worst was over, whatever was still possible being restricted by his firm hold on her wrists which denied her hands any moment. The hunter knew she wouldn't and couldn't hurt him. But a last accidental surge of power might just level the village which would bring people asking questions. "There is my good bunny~" he started to empty his load into her, thrusts slowing down but not halting as she squirmed from the overstimulation, pouting up at him. 
"W- Was I a bad girl again, sir?" Y/n's eyes were finally back to the ones Steve adored. Even if in his own tainted way. She wasn't exactly an angel either. So they made it work. Or rarher, he did. "Hmmm-!" She tried to move her hips away in discomfort as she felt him fuck his seed deeper and deeper up her walls, well aware no consequence would follow.
Unless he wanted it to. 
Letting go of her hands as the hunter knew the witch would keep them in place herself now, he pushed strands of hair clinging to her sweaty face away from it, stroking them as he lazily moved inside her now. Her eyes were sad. 
Oh, he had broken her so good. 
All for him. 
"What d- did I d- do?" He wanted to scoff. The wretch knew exactly what she'd done. She wasn't fooling anyone with her innocent voice and doe eyes after deliberately not taking the potion that delayed these episodes. 
"Nothing a few days in the dungeon won't fix" Steve secured his promise with a chaste kiss against her lips, cupping one of her cheeks before stroking her cheekbone with his thumb. "Nothing I can't fix." 
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lilambs · 2 years
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(not agere safe. contains smut. please do not read if you are regressed.)
stepdad!steve (stepdadstevestepdadsteve!/$/)
x
innocent! stepdaughter! reader — short
c/w: ddlg ish, smut, STEP-family incest
as always, pls be kind and bare with me <3
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steve slowly parting your legs; sliding off your pink panties and pulling your dress up to your belly.
“lay back princess.” he tells you. “mommy doesn’t love daddy anymore. she won’t let me make her feel good. but daddy knows you will. because you love me peach. don’t you?”
you nodded. your mom and steve fought constantly. you had seen him crying in the bedroom, alone, on more than one occasion.
he liked to shout at her and call her mean things. to you, they were just nonsense words shouted in the darkness, when they both thought you were asleep.
steve bent his head down and ran his tongue across your soft skinned tummy, making you giggle. it felt like when you and him would play the tickle game with one another.
but there was something deep and dangerous about it, too. you wanted to scream for him to stop. to tell him that he wasn’t supposed to lick you there.
then he used his fingers to part your sweet little lips, the ones down below between your legs. soon, his tongue was there; roughly running in and out between your excited slit, it felt like you were being split in half.
you can’t really explain what it felt like except that it was like suddenly shooting out among the stars. one moment you were in the living room watching television, the next you were lost in all of these overwhelming, hot and wet sensations you never even known existed. it all too much, you started to whine.
without a care in the world steve just kept licking your precious ripe cunt, your warm slick helping with the tightness of your newly touched hole and it drove him crazy.
you grabbed his head, burying your fingers in his soft, brown hair. he told you what a good girl you were being for him and how good you tasted, much better than your mom. you started to wiggle and tried grinding your swollen clit against the bridge of his nose. the wonderful feeling of his mouth beginning to overstimulate you. leaving you wanting more and more of him.
your very first orgasm in life happened with your step father’s tongue gently probing the opening of your small virgin hole.
you were his break in, and his to use.
steve suddenly lifted his head and undid his belt while unbuttoning his jeans.
“are you ready to be daddy’s big, brave girl?”
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hansensgirl · 2 years
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☾ 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐬𝐚𝐥𝐯𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 ☾
summary. | no matter what—he’s been there for you. at your pretty, at your ugly, and always at your vulnerable.
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warnings. | dark themes, drugging (chloroform-ish but something stronger), obsession, stalking, kidnapping (the act), steve has a saviour complex, stockholm syndrome*, manipulation, breaking and entering, taking advantage, angst, fear of sexual assault, mental health issues, mentions of an accident (up to your interpretation), crying, self-isolation, introversion, insecurity, hurt/comfort, reader daydreams, pet names (doll, baby, sweetie), and more. 18+ MINORS DNI!
pairing. | soft dark!stalker!Steve Rogers x fem!reader.
word count. | 3.4k
author’s note. | just a little bit of burnt sugar bc why not! un-beta’d, all mistakes are mine. the reader is quite literally Me… *steve’s care for the reader causes her to not have bad feelings towards him. it’s why she doesn’t fight him that much. MINORS DNI 18+ ONLY!
my taglist. @hansensfics. <- please follow!
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When you wake up, you’re not covered in sweat like you were when you fell asleep. The fan was oscillating, and the room was far too sticky for you to keep it directed at your bed. 
It’s hard to collect your thoughts when you’re already starting your mindless routine. Brush your teeth. Get your things ready. Shower. Eat. Waste your time. Grab your readied things. Stare at the fan?
The setting is different. Switched from turning left and right to pointing where you always lay. 
You can’t dwell on it for too long, so you trust you’ll forget it and rush out the door before you’re late for work.
The shop doesn’t open until nine o’clock, but by your standards, you’re late. It’s just twenty minutes and some change past eight, and you pin your name tag just before the first order shows up on the primary device.
Your job is nice—better than what it used to be. Customers’ decisions are set in stone, and you don’t have to persuade them to buy anything else or sign up for an email subscription. You do what the app and instructions tell you. Nothing more, nothing less.
Receipts are stapled outside the brown paper bags, placement forever the same. The patterns are always a variation. Old ones from the holiday season or the minimalist logo that doesn’t go well with the tan material. You hand them to the delivery drivers, who go on with their days, driving to and from wherever the app demands them.
Lunch is forty-five minutes that go faster than anything else. You eat quicker than your supervisor yet linger longer than the youthful man. He’s much too sluggish for his young age. But hey, it’s a new time and another spoiled brat who’ll always be above you.
You scroll mindlessly through social media, liking and bookmarking videos and photos you’d like to admire in the future. Dogs that put smiles on your face and resources that you’ll start swearing by.
The notification comes without a sound. Your phone company loves to send promotion codes with conditions and contingencies. Your mother loves to spam you until you tell her how you’re feeling or when her package will arrive. You’ve long had your phone on silent, yet the lack of alerts has you feeling lonely.
The phone number is different—unknown, of course. It’s not one or two digits off your own to claim it’s a scammer. It’s not a wildly suspicious email address from a swindler. But it has your area code and the same prefix as you.
It’s a picture. Your neighbour’s flowers that you admired from your bedroom window. You’re not sure the elderly woman has a cellphone, let alone your number. You still text back, though, wanting to make her day—make her smile.
Beautiful flowers. 
She replies sooner than expected.
Do you like them?
Of course. Who wouldn’t?
You’re left on delivered for the rest of your shift. 
The hours go by in a blur. Every day is distinct, yet it all turns into the same colour. You bid goodbye to your boss and try to leave, but he’s pulling you back with a hard hand on your elbow. He’s red all over. The ears, the eyes, the lips, the hair, the skin. You yank your arm away as quickly as possible, banging it on the green-coloured wood.
An annoying feeling strikes up the hurt limb. “I need you to take off for the next few days,” he tells you, and you’re confused. The request of staying late and spending more time in the dreaded place was on the tip of his tongue—you swear it. “Why?” 
His mother has never asked something like this of you, but her eyes are gentler than his, and she’s lived quite the life.“My girlfriend’s sister needs a job, so she wants to test the waters here, y’know? You’ll still get paid, don’t worry. Just stay at home. Don’t come here.”
If you know any better, you’d think you’re getting kicked out. Ousted, as these rich people love their fancy words and lowly intentions. And since you know better, you’re sure you’ll find a horrid sight that neither you nor his girlfriend will enjoy seeing if you come tomorrow.
The walk home is quick. You keep your head bent down and curse yourself for forgetting your earbuds. Men in suits and women with briefcases move slower than you, but you just can’t wait to deadbolt your door. You’ve got priorities bigger than their egos. 
Like a sore thumb, the vibrant flowers stick out at your doorstep. Your home is nice, nicer than the price led on. Well, not quite. Up for two million, then one million, then nine-hundred ninety-nine thousand, then a shocking six-hundred thousand. 
You look around. It’s a developing community with barely any neighbours. The lady lives down the road, and you stare at her house for a good amount of seconds. Her once pretty plants are now green—ripped of colour, and the flowers are in this basket. 
It could harbour more romantic, expensive things. Champagne for a celebration or a tennis bracelet that costs a limb. But nature is pricey. All the time, all the energy, all the things necessary—they amount to an expense that your house wishes it could have. 
In the basket is a widely contrasting piece of paper.
Sweetheart,
If I had known you like these flowers, I would’ve gotten them for you sooner. But I should've figured that out myself. Pretty girl loving pretty things… You’re so perfect, baby. You can admire them on your day off. They’ll wither, but you can enjoy it while it lasts. Until I’m with you.
Love, 
Steve.
The handwriting is neat yet a bit messy. Traditional print that you’d switch to when cursive takes too much time. You’re not sure what to think of the note. It doesn’t invoke nausea, but it plants a seed of worry in the pit of your stomach. Maybe you have a new neighbour, and most definitely not a secret admirer.
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True to the letter, the flowers wither on your third day off. Each day you email your supervisor, asking if it’s time to return. He only responds a few hours later, his tone curt and unfriendly even through a screen. He’s different from his mother and deceiving of the business’ motto. 
It’s upsetting to throw them out, but the once-velvety petals are brown and crumpled. The leaves are as dismal as your room. You haven’t changed formats from your previous home, scared that your peace will ultimately be disturbed. 
But some days you find your belongings… different. 
The business card you like to keep is facing down when it should be up. The perfume bottle has been turned, no longer showcasing the limited-time-only label. Maybe you have quick hands, or perhaps your fan is just stronger than it should be. 
You search for your socks underneath your bed when your phone lights up. You’re quick to look at it, reading the notification with excitement. 
You took good care of the flowers. 
You knew they were going to die. 
It’s the unsaved number again. You’ve come to realise that the old woman is very much technology inept and lives with a caretaker. She’s more sociable than you, though. She goes on walks and talks to the birds and shoos away the bees. 
Can I ask you a question?
You close the app quickly as soon as you hit send, worried you’ve already made a mistake. Is there a limit for those? You’d like to think so. You’d also like to believe this is the last one, but it never is. 
Of course, doll.
Who are you?
Whoever it is doesn’t reply for a few hours. You’re a nervous wreck from four in the afternoon to nine at night. 
Steve. 
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There once was a fire here. In this very neighbourhood, down a few houses, there was a fire. You remember seeing it on the news, yet you still passive-aggressively watch the video that a bystander took. 
Half-built houses aflame, you’re a poet when you call it a young couple’s relationship once they get engaged. The wood falls into the hot pit. You’re fantastical when you pretend a phoenix can rise from those ashes. 
Neighbouring homes are engulfed with orange. Smoke billowing, swirling in the sky, and you wonder how it would look if the wind blew.
You remember that day. It was humid and sticky—you could barely breathe in the confines of your own room. 
The reason why you continuously watch this horrid, horrid video isn’t entirely unknown. You think that you need to remind yourself that bad things can happen. You’re too stuck in those sweet mental stories and forget that life isn’t as lovely as you’d like it to be. 
But honestly, you won’t let yourself live for a good thing. Or maybe it’s because you want to see a fault you aren’t responsible for. 
Months have passed, but you can’t entirely use your paint brushes the same way. Your shaky hands won’t let you trace properly, and your colours end up a mess before they find a home on your canvas.
Fires are pretty, but that one wasn’t. No. The sky didn’t turn into an amber colour, and it was too explicit for you to be ignorant. You used to create pretty things like how flames used to be charming. But ever since that day, you’re unable to make a nice thing. 
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When you wake up, your throat is dry. Your mouth feels like cotton, soaking up any amount of moisture there is. You haven’t had this feeling for a while. The five minutes you always plan to use for stretching and recalling your dreams are kissed goodbye when you remember you drank all the water in your bottle.
You roll over and slowly get up, disoriented and colder than you were under the blankets. Feet balance on the floor, and you swing them when the inner child in you takes over. A wet, frosty thing touches the side of your left foot, and you jump. 
Looking down, you see your water bottle filled up. Nearly untouched, save for the cleared spot that disrupts the thin layer of condensation. You rack your brain wondering if you’re smart enough to do something thoughtful for future you. 
You slept too well last night, unable to get out of bed even when you swear you heard something drop. Cowardice belonging to you comes back and bites you in the ass—teeth sharp and wound fresh. 
You take a second to soothe yourself before scanning the room, finding little things different. 
Your phone, set on the floor to charge, is at a different outlet and sitting on a higher level. Your purse is on your dresser, and your book is no longer sitting face first, split in half to mark the page. There’s been an intruder who cares more for you than you do. 
Another day off, but now you sit in confusion and worry rather than a mix of boredom and self-loathing. When you near your phone, the screen lights up with a notification. The timing is ‘now,’ and the contact is ‘Steve.’ You didn’t do that—the intruder did. 
Good morning, doll! How’d you sleep? You were out like a light, weren’t you? 
I’m so glad you got some rest. You work really hard. You deserve it. 
Drink some water for me, please. You’re doing so well already with your hydration.
You’ve never met a Steve in your life, nor have you ever heard of one. You wish you could say it’s a wrong number, but when the picture he sent loads in, there’s no way you can live a lie.
A man—pale skin that shines through the darkness. He wears a cap without a logo, and the colour matches the night sky. He presses a kiss to your forehead, and you’re unbeknownst to it all. There’s been an intruder in your home, and he kissed you and took a picture, yet your stomach doesn’t drop.
The shock is numbing—you think you’re sick but not in a nauseating way. A way in which you’re not exactly right, and you’re the outcast—a way where you’re not bothered by this creepy thing because it’s not the worst thing that’s happened.
When you brush your teeth, the gravity of the situation hits you, pulling you down onto the ground. The mintiness of your toothpaste burns and your lips are covered in pastel froth. You do whatever nervous tick you have and try to convince yourself that you’re safe—you’ve been spared. 
You’ve blocked the number and put a knife under your pillow. The water has been dumped, and you can’t stomach anything other than a simple, bland breakfast. Now, you can’t wait to go to work and maybe even spend more time outside your house. 
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If you’re not working, you’re away from your residence. You take walks with slow steps and visit places on the least busy days. You go far away from your address and only return when your body tells you to. And you’ve kept your phone on ‘Do Not Disturb’ mode, worried about facing the loud music that is this ‘Steve.’
However, he hasn’t relented. Your house is sparkly clean when you come home from the museum one day. It smells of your favoured candle, and the windows are free of fingerprints. Hell, your laundry was done for you. Your favourite detergent and softener were used. 
After a trip to the grocery store and a detour to the bank, you opened your fridge and cabinets to find the food you had picked up and put back down. Things that were too expensive or simply piqued your interest until you danced with the possibility of disliking them. 
He works contrary to the phantom of the opera—when the victim isn’t looking. You contemplated filing a police report, but it’d be useless. You’d sound stupid anyway, you know it.
Can you arrest the guy who looks out for me? Who takes care of me? Who is there for me more than anyone else? His name is Steve, and he buys food for me and gives me money, and he treats me like his lover. 
You once believed you were a lost cause, and you still do. You go from trying to force Steve out of your life—to letting him come and go whenever he likes—to convincing him it’s not worth it. 
Sighing, you pick at your croissant. It’s good, a little too good. You’re starved, but you want to savour this delicious treat. Today is a beautiful day. The wind blows gently, and the sun is kinder than it was about a week ago. 
You walk around the pond where the bright blue sky is reflected. There are no swans nor lilypads, just water. One or two elderly people sit on the distanced benches, and a little kid throws a frisbee for the family dog. A golden retriever who is happy, jumping about and barking affectionately. 
A tree gated by flimsy metal is your designated spot. You stand next to it and hope that by next year, it’ll be large enough to shade a family of four or more. The water ripples when the breeze comes, gently shifting before returning back to its still state.
You think deeply about Steve. He often leaves drawings behind. Sometimes, they’re of you. Other times, they’re self-portraits. From what you’ve gathered (before you crumple up the papers and throw them out), he’s as handsome as he is kind. 
But that doesn’t excuse how he’s let himself into your life and won’t leave. 
The last bit of your croissant is shovelled into your mouth, and you crinkle the bag it came in. Though, you should’ve folded it nicely instead. You let out a sigh that’s riddled with frustration.
Looking on, you watch as the dog catches the orange frisbee in its mouth before handing it back to the little kid. 
You should get home now.
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The place is too quiet. It’s eerie. 
There are boxes in the kitchen—ones you didn’t pack. Labels for where they belong and the warning of fragile objects are written on the brown cardboard. You recognize the handwriting. 
Things have disappeared. Your house is more of a hotel now. 
“You went far today, doll. Did you enjoy your croissant? Y’know, I’m not that good at baking, but I’m sure I can master that one,” a low voice says, and you jump. Behind you is the intruder who’s taken such good care of you. Too good. “Butter, right?”
“Y– Yeah. What are you doing, Steve?” you question, your tone full of confusion and a tad bit of anger. “Packing. Don’t worry, I took pictures of everything so we can set it up the same. I did make a pile of stuff you might not want to bring with us, though…” Steve explains, adjusting his cap and pointing his foot at an arrangement of some of your items.
“Go where? Steve, I live here. You don’t. If anyone is leaving, it’s you,” you tell him, stepping back to keep space. “Go home, doll. We’re going home! And if I’m leaving, it’s going to be with you. Don’t be difficult, sweetie. Just come tell me what you what to keep, and I’ll put it in a box,” he sighs, bending down to pick up a tube of sunscreen you accidentally purchased two of.
“Let’s get rid of the one you used the most,” Steve says, not even letting you decide. “What about this o— Doll, what’s wrong? Did something happen? Did anyone hurt you? I swear to fucking god, if anyone hurt you, I’ll hurt them back.”
His jaw clenches and unclenches as he works himself up at the thought. Why does he care? Who is he for you? 
“Steve, please. I don’t know you—you don’t know me. Just leave. I won’t call the cops or tell anyone. …They wouldn’t believe me, anyway… Let’s just forget about this and live our own lives without each other,” you propose, gesturing towards the door you walked through only a few minutes ago. 
Did he come while you were gone? Or was he here all along?
“I can’t leave you, doll. Especially not by yourself. You need me, baby–”
“—I don’t need you–”
“Yes, you do.”
Steve’s voice booms, his eyes as sad as a kicked puppy’s. Sighing, he looks down and curses under his breath. “I don’t like getting strict with you, doll. But you need to listen to me, okay? I’m here for you—I always have been. When no one else was. Just let me do what I need to do.”
You’re dumbfounded. A man twice your size and far more stubborn won’t leave. There’s nothing you can do.
He shuffles around a little more, and you squeeze your eyes shut. Maybe it’s a dream. Maybe this isn’t real. Maybe you’re pretending to be the badass hero once more, and you’ve got your music blaring louder than necessary. 
Steve looks up at you and watches intensely. You so desperately want to be alone as usual. In your mind, you think he shouldn’t be here—that he doesn’t belong within your four walls that soaked up your sobs for it all to just stop for once. 
You pretend he’s set fire to your life—destroying it, and this time there are no underpaid workers to build it back up, so you’re left as a heap of ashes. Unsaveable, only admirable by those who watch the videos recorded by bystanders.
Yeah, right.
No matter what—he’s been there for you. At your pretty, at your ugly, and always at your vulnerable. You are your own antagonist—the dark reflection in the mirror that you never seem to notice. Steve is here to save you because he knows you need his help.
So he’s not really upset he has to knock you out. In his hand and against your face is a chemical-soaked cloth that smells horrid (Steve is terribly sorry for that). 
He’s not really sad that he has to take you away from your house and put you in a home—his home. The boxes are heavy and littered everywhere (you don’t have to do any work. Steve will take care of it all).
Steve doesn’t really mind that he has to take further measures and put a tracker on you. You forced his hand—he has to keep you safe. 
He does it all because he cares. Because he’s tired of lurking in the shadows.
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dearramiel · 1 year
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𝐓𝐚𝐠, 𝐘𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐈𝐭 | 𝐒𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐇𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐭𝐨𝐧
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✧ - fluff in the beginning of the story, will eventually get dark, undertones of off setting steve, he's kinda stalking her in the beginning, anxiety/paranoia, steve is 28, reader is at least 21, yes I want to be steve's housewife(a lot of those undertones are present throughout the story so steve has a housewife kink), we listen to stevie nicks and honestly it was by pure coincidence, domestic vibes,
You look beautiful..
In that cute little dress, you'd make the prettiest housewife in town, if you'd just let him in. But all he can do is look, as you walk down the driveway of your house, a little empty basket on your arm. He figures that you're running Saturday morning errands. He shuts the blinds of his window, quickly running out of his own house.
"Y/n!" His voice calls out to you, you whip your head around and spot Steve Harrington jogging towards you, car keys in hand. The rattling of his keys come to an end when he catches up to you.
"Steve, Good morning!" You greet, your voice melting his insides.
"Morning, Sweetheart." He says, trying to ease his nerves when he notices the visible reddening on your face, or the way your smile gets bigger.
"Heading out to the markets?" Steve asks, to which you nod.
"I need to pick some stuff up for dinner today." You reply.
"In that little thing?" He motions to the basket.
"Well I'm only making something for myself, my mom and dad are out on vacation.." You giggle, "Unless, you want to join me?"
The older male is a little shocked, is that even a question?
"I don't wanna bother, but I also wouldn't want a little lady like you to be all alone." He grins. "How about I drive you there?"
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The next two hours were spent with you trying to politely decline Steve paying for your groceries. You couldn't deny what it made you feel. You felt like you and him were together, walking around the market places as you picked fresh vegetables and canned goods, shoulders bumping by accident, accidentally brushing your fingers against his, even eying a dress.
All which Steve noticed, encouraging you to try them on in a makeshift dressing room that looked to be an extra storage room, mirrors in place where you could twirl in the dress. After deciding on a couple, you step out, showing Steve who was sat on a chair.
"What do we think?" You say, "it's a little long but maybe I'll grow into it." You joke. Steve doesn't speak for a solid second or two, his heart is racing because you look gorgeous.
"I think you look amazing. You should definitely get it." He smiled, looking at how it hugged your upper body, hoping one day he would see underneath.
"There's another, but I'll save it for later." You say, twirling another time to really show him everything. And again, he's nearly speechless.
"I'll be back." You say, going into the room to change back into your own dress. Carefully untying the little bow, blushing when you remember Steve's face.
Once out, you see Steve with the old lady, the owner of the shop. He's smiling to her as he gently pushes her hands full of change back to her, where she then bows her head to him, smiling ever so gratefully. The act is enough to make your pulse pick up, she hands him a bag big enough to fit the articles of clothing on your arm.
Steve noticed you close the door of the dressing room. "Here." He opens the bag, to which you then put everything in.
"You didn't have to, you know ..pay for it.." you say, feeling bad that he's practically been spoiling you all day. You weren't fortunate to have the money he did, and you definitely didn't want to make it look like you were trying to take advantage of his generosity. Most of what you did have was hard earned money coming from your parents, the house you lived in from your grandparents. It's why you pushed them to take a vacation for themselves.
"Don't worry your pretty little head about it, besides, I think that little dinner will make up for it." He suggests, a sweet smile on his face. You return it.
"Well, thank you for doing this." You play with your fingers, forgetting that he's holding everything. And he doesn't mind because it plays more into his fantasy.
"It's really not a problem."
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It's 12 p.m by the time you get back home, Steve has walked you to your front steps, promising to stop by at 6:30 for dinner with you. The thought has you excited, almost throwing yourself into the shower before remembering that you already had, prior to stepping out.
After the excitement settles down, you realize that an unsettling feeling begins to wash over you. Being alone in a big house comes with perks like those, paranoia.
It leaves you feeling unnerved, and it's hard to shake off. It's not the first time you've felt this way, but it's also never been so intense.
You figure that the only way to ease the tension that begins to weigh down on your shoulders is by putting a vinyl into its player. A sense of relief comes down as Stevie Nicks plays throughout the living room, spilling into the kitchen. It helps just enough that you're able to focus on what you want to make, especially now that you want to impress Steve.
You settle on spaghetti and meatballs, after that, a pie to go as dessert.
1:00 p.m. becomes 2 p.m., which becomes 3 p.m., 4 p.m, and then 5:30 p.m, cleaning, cooking, and baking had you distracted, you wash your hands before quickly rushing upstairs to your room, bag in hand, the dresses Steve had bought you now on your bed. You figured that wearing the one he hadn't seen you in would be perfect.
You weren't sure why you were trying to impress Steve, maybe it was the growing crush you had on him, whatever it was, it began to make you feel a little insecure. Trying to live up to his standards, he was known to have any woman wanted, and they were usually really pretty.
You shake away your nagging and negative thoughts, choosing to put on very light makeup, a little bit of eyeliner, lipstick, blush, and eyeshadow, going for a natural look.
You slip out of your dress, embarrassed as you think about also changing your undergarments. It's not like Steve would see you in your underwear anyway.
But.. just in case...
You pick out a matching white lace bra and panties set, then slipping the dress on. You button up the dress, until you reach the last two buttons, leaving a very visible sight for your cleavage. Your chest on display, collarbone showing. Your hair is simple, a low messy bun with some loose hair scattered everywhere aside from your face. By the time your done, it's barely 6:15 p.m, giving you 15 minutes to yourself. With those spared minutes, you slip into your black flats, hanging the other dress in your closet, walking to the kitchen, serving two plates of food, two cups of water, and taking the pie out of the oven, setting it on the counter for it to cool off.
Setting the plates and cups on the table, you're finally done.
Then the ring of the doorbell has your heart jumping out of your chest. You smile and pat down your dress, quickly rushing to the door, opening it swiftly, face heating up when you see him.
Steve Harrington in a suit, holding roses in one hand, the other in his pocket, and you can tell that he's nervous.
He's not moving, stuck in a trance as he looks at the dress you're wearing, down to your legs, before looking back up to your face. An innocent smile on your pink lips, Steve finally moves.
"Hey Sweetheart."
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mariaxxxxx · 2 months
Text
Blackberry (Steve Rogersx fem!reader)
Summary: You shouldn't have had too much to drink at that party, honey. (+18)
Warnings: 18+ ONLY/ Minors DNI, Angust, Hurt comfort, Sex, Apologies, Crying, Creampie, Passionate sex, virgin!reader, size difference, smut, soft!dom!, HEA, good ending, somnophille, slight degradation, duvious consent, menstrual sex, pregnancy, arranged marriage, inexperienced reader, abortion commented, unprotected sex (don't do that wrap this thing), kidnapping, aftercare, curse words.
series masterlist
A/N: English is not my mother tongue. I apologize for any errors.
A/N: The following chapter has graphic descriptions of non-consensual sex. I ask that you carefully observe the warnings to avoid triggers.
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The party at the Stark mansion was a success as always. The cream of society was made up of businesspeople and new candidates for a seat in the American Congress. Dresses and hats fluttered in the cool spring breeze. You devoured a bowl of sugared blackberries, leaning against the bar counter, while watching your parents talk with friends animatedly about some topic involving economics and money. For God! You were so bored not even one of your friends decided to join you in this den of ostentation and hypocrisy.
And nothing, no matter how exciting it was to be in a superhero's house, could appease the enormous boredom that consumed his insides. Not even alcohol could keep you company at this point, your father would die before allowing a drop of alcohol to wet his tongue, so you were left with sugary blackberries that proved to be a good aphrodisiac on a hot afternoon.
You swallowed the last blackberry and left the empty bowl on the counter. He walked to his mother and whispered ‘’I’m going for a walk’’ in her ear and left the room before his mother could retort. You easily dodged the hundreds of guests and headed to the farthest drinks tent where an efficient bartender was juggling. The tent was outside, near a clump of trees, away from the watchful eyes of his parents.
“A blackberry margarita, please.” You asked, leaning slightly over the ivory surface.
"Identity." He asked.
“I didn’t bring it, but I guarantee that I’m of legal age.” You smiled as convincingly as you could, but he didn't seem inclined to help you. You rolled your eyes. “I’ll give you 100 bucks for the drinks.”
The bartender looked at You in disbelief. You felt internally angry; The childish features still hadn't left his face like the cute cheeks and plump lips, and that always got him into trouble.
“Not happening, girl.”
"Please! This party is a big mess, if you know what I mean. I need to stuff my face or I’m going to go crazy.”
Again he looked at her in disbelief. He was probably one of those people who only saw parts published in gossip magazines about young heirs who got into trouble.
"It went badly."
You sighed. Your father didn't even let you bring your cell phone. It was not polite, in his opinion, for a rich girl to interrupt an important conversation because of a message.
“A straight whiskey, please.” The deep voice next to him. “And a blackberry margarita.”
Without having to present ID or leave a tip to guarantee efficient service, the man, the damn Captain America, got both orders at incredible speed. The only thing You could think about was how tall and handsome he was.
"Here." He handed her the drink. “I got the impression that you forgot your identity and are being massacred by the damn bureaucracy.”
You smiled; by the drink and the wording so changing coming from a man considered by many to be an American God.
“Thank you, Captain.” You said as you took a sip of your drink.
“Steve. Just Steve.” He said taking a generous sip of his own drink. “I hope he really is of age. I don’t want to get in trouble.”
"Right. Steve. Just Steve.” You repeated with a mischievous smile. “I promise I will show you my ID as soon as possible.”
“What’s your name, pretty girl?”
You found yourself smiling and blushing at such a flippant compliment coming from such a divine man. You told him your name.
“A beautiful and delicate name. It suits you." He took another generous sip of his Whiskey and you took advantage and drank some more of your drink. It was sweet and went down as light as water.
“How can I thank you for the drink?” You asked.
"Talk to me."
You drank more of your blackberry margarita.
"About what?"
"Anything. Just… entertain me at this boring party.”
“Anything…” You took another sip. “As long as we can help ourselves to one more of these.” You got ready for your now empty glass.
“I wouldn’t have it any other way.” Steve said, finishing the whiskey with a hint of a smile on his lips.
At some point, between conversations and glasses of margarita, Steve convinced you to show him every corner of the mansion. You accepted, looking excited about taking a tour with such a handsome man by your side. You and Steve left the tent, avoiding curious glances and boring conversations. He showed you the room where the Avengers met, the works of art that Tony insisted on buying, the training room and finally a long corridor with similar doors. He opened one of them and you entered a large room without windows, with a large sofa in the center, a minibar, a large TV that took up the entire wall and a strange device that you thought was a stereo.
It was large, clean and richly decorated. It felt like a sanctuary for leisure time. Steve pointed to the sofa and you sat down, he went to the minibar and returned with a bottle of reddish liquid. He sat down next to her.
  “Do you want to drink more”? He reached out his hand, wrapping his long fingers around the bottleneck. He extended this to You as if it were not a trap that You were about to willingly fall into. “It’s a liqueur made with blackberries. I got it from a senator at a party at the White House. I noticed how much You like the fruit and I would like You to try it.”
You had already had too much to drink. There were glasses and more glasses of margaritas, and you already felt your body a little soft, but you couldn't refuse the proposal of a man as beautiful as that. The man who sacrificed a lot for this nation. It's just a drink, You thought. Getting drunk next to Captain America, who is a hero, is a much better idea than getting drunk alone in a mansion. And you loved blackberries.
"Yes please." You mumbled, and Steve looked so proud of your response. He poured you a generous dose of drink. You drank. It was strong and very concentrated, very different from your sweet and light margherita. You didn't care you just drank more while Steve looked at You with a big smile. Beautiful. It was a beautiful smile.
One drink turned into two, then three and four.
“You’re blushing.” He smiled, he said drinking some of the liquor. “Your first kiss wasn’t that bad.”
You didn't notice. But You started sharing very personal things with Steve; You told him how your first kiss, as a child, was a disaster with a classmate you liked. You said how it was drooling and clumsy.
"It was horrible". You made a cart.” I did it because my friends wanted it. I should have waited longer.”
You don't feel it, but your knees spread of their own accord as a warm hand, not yours, lifts your dress a little and exposes the inside of your thigh and begins to massage in gentle circles as you finish another glass, laughing hard. , the heat growing whenever he got closer.
“A girl as beautiful as you should have someone.” He says in a reprimanding tone. He was close, very close. You drank more.
“No” You laugh, louder than usual, You feel so good, so light. But you feel a wave of disappointment wash over your body when you remember that you had no one. She couldn't even remember the last time she was touched or praised by the opposite sex.
“With such a beautiful face like that, it’s hard to believe.” He smiled. “Such a beautiful body and...”
He pauses.
“And…” You encourage him to continue.
“With breasts as beautiful as yours, I’m sure everyone…” He stops, looking embarrassed, his hand on your thigh about a little more. "Forgive me. This is inappropriate.
"No." You say quickly, urgently, although more slurred than usual.” I don't mind. You can praise them.”
"No?" He asks, his voice perfectly steady, with fake surprise behind it. Had you and he already had so much to drink because he didn't seem any different? “Would you mind showing them? I would love to see."
You shake your head and mumble no. With one hand, the other held the glass of drink, You released the bows on your dress that held your breasts, You didn't wear a bra, you didn't need them to make your breasts look beautiful, something you were secretly proud of. Her breasts bounce out towards him.
Steve reaches out his hand and gives it a nice squeeze. You let out a small moan at the intimate touch.
“I want to suck your six.” He blurts out.
His smile disappears, mostly in shock at such a bold revelation. But a part, a big part, of you feels flattered that Captain America wants to play with your breasts and all you wanted at that moment was for him to touch you.
"All good." You mumble in a slurred, broken voice.
Steve pushes your body until his head is between your breasts. You feel him take a deep breath, smelling you, his right hand grabs one of your breasts. He tilts his head and wraps his lips around your closest nipple.
The sensation is strange, it tickles, cold, but it warms up quickly. You had never felt someone do it like this before, it was much more like a brief lick or a clumsy and seductive suck like many boys did. But with Steve it was different. He was grasping as if trying to extract fluid that will never come out. He moans lewdly. You drop the glass and place your hand under his blonde locks, pressing his head against your breasts.
“Steve.” You let out a moan as he takes a long nip before releasing your breasts in a wet pop.
  “Where is your glass?” He asks.
You don't respond, because you're too oblivious to pay attention to his words. His body was hot, his vision blurred and his nipples hard and sensitive. You were oblivious when you felt Steve put a full glass in your hands, he mumbled a drink and you obeyed, wanting to leave him satisfied.
You drank more. Maybe four or five or six more glasses. You do not remember. The last one ended up kind of spilled because you couldn't hold it while Steve helped you take off his dress. You feel his head being placed on a soft pillow or perhaps a cushion, You couldn't tell; his vision was blurred and his senses were weak. Warm hands slide down your legs to your panties and gently remove them. Your blurred vision is bathed in the sight of Steve shirtless on top of you. Beautiful. He was so beautiful.
You're moaning and shaking with nervousness, or at least you would be if his grip wasn't holding you in place. Her pussy burned with heat and desire, it was like rough sandpaper that moved in and out, swinging a seesaw from hell.
“It hurts.” You mutter. You were a mess and you know it, the words come out slow and slurred. Humiliation rises deeper than pleasure can reach, and disgust crawls over your skin with a sheen of sweat. He had touched her before. Stimulating your clit until you came on his long fingers, but it wasn't enough, it never would be. He was big and thick, with powerful hips that caused her great pain with each thrust.
You weren’t expecting it when he tilted his hips just to rub the fat head of his cock against your aching pussy. You moan at the small shock waves caused by the brief contact with your clit, but he smothers your moans with a wet, hot kiss, taking away your oxygen. He shoved his cock back inside her ripped hole.
He moaned against You, his mouth open panting, as if he was feeling something that You didn't. The intrusion not only stretches, but burns and hurts. Dry fiction mixes with rough movement. The tears flow, You feel the wet trail they leave on your cheeks. The disorientation left You dizzy and contained, a prisoner of your own body, but that didn't stop Him from exerting his strength against You. He was heavy. Upon noticing your whimpering, the hand that was on your hips goes up to cover your mouth, spreading tears and saliva everywhere.
“It’s okay, my love.” He said between moans. “You are so beautiful and as sweet as berries.”
The blackberries. The damn blackberries were the ones who brought her here. Steve gives another powerful thrust, preventing any further thought. You scream into his hand. He begins to fuck with desire, with strong thrusts, riding his own release. You moan, writhe, scream when a sensation begins to blossom at the tip of your toes that rises to your abdomen causing your muscles to contract slightly and then relax. Steve doesn't stay far behind, he pulls out of your pussy and with one last thrust spills all of his semen inside of you.
You are sleeping too deeply to understand, but not too deeply not to hear. You hear some loud footsteps, a door closes, before you feel someone approaching.
"Mommy." You speak as you sit up, try to open your eyes, your mind is still spinning. A great light hits your eyes and you close them quickly. Little by little you open your eyes slowly until you get used to it.
You wish your mother had killed the man who enchanted you with smiles and drinks so that you would give yourself to him, you may fear that strange conversation and the lectures, but you longed for your mother's safety and her lap. But it wasn't his mother who was sitting next to him. It was him.
“It’s okay, sweetheart.” He says as he brushes the strands of hair out of your face. “Your parents are a little upset now, but they will get over it little by little, you'll see. They will be happy for their little daughter who has won over the national hero and is about to walk down the aisle.”
"What are you talking about?" You say roughly, trying to get up, but the quick action made your body weaken. Steve picks you up and sits back down on the couch.
“I will take care and spoil you a lot, my love. You will see. I will fill you with gifts and love. We're gonna have a lot of fun." Steve says with a scary look on his face.
"You are crazy." You say in tears. “My parents will...”
"Do not worry about a thing." He pulls away and stands up, walking over to the minibar counter where a red bowl awaits him. He pities her and returns to You. “I'm already taking care of everything. All You need to do now is eat.”
Fear flooded your body You had already trusted that man and look what happened, but You had already seen too many documentaries and police series to know how much this type of person hated being contradicted. Maybe being his sweet, obedient girl would provide you with some benefit. With your body shaking, you stretched to see the contents of that bowl. A sound of disgust escaped his mouth when he realized they were blackberries.
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timidpumpkin · 9 months
Text
Little Light (Stucky x reader)
Part 4: Retribution
Pairing: Dark!Stucky x f!reader
Word count: 5.8k
Summary: While you're left feeling hopelessly confused, it's clear to Steve and Bucky that you have a lot to learn about being their good little girl.
Warnings for this part: Dark!Stucky, Daddy!Stucky, Forced age regression, DDLG themes, Female reader, Manipulation, Violence against reader, Being tied up, Hints to sexual themes, This one's dark folks, Mean Steve and Bucky, 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI
As always, lemme know if I missed any!!
Notes: Thank you to everyone who has supported me since I posted Part 1 many many months ago. I love you all and appreciate your support and kind words more than I can express. I'm super nervous to post this one so i'm really hoping everyone likes it. ^.^
Tagging: @ppatricia34me @canyonmooncreations @haleyhunwritess
(lemme know if you wanna be added to my taglist!)
P.S. Please feel free to comment/ask questions as they are a million times appreciated as I ALWAYS love to read you guy's thoughts!
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(pictures are not my own)
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Warm. 
The cozy temperature surrounding you beckons you to sink further into its comfortable drowsy feeling. It feels nice–good. It’s comfortable as you pull at the blanket wrapped around you to cover the cold tip of your nose. 
When you do though, adjusting as you move, adrenaline rushes through you. 
All sense of tranquility leaps out of your body to be replaced by standing hairs and cold blood as you realize you’re not napping in your bed. 
No–you’re napping on your capture’s lap. 
Hazy memories from just a bit ago replay in your mind. The picture they paint is fogged up by an overcast of intense emotion. 
Worry. Fear. Shock.
The panic you felt is now an almost disembodied ghost, content with hiding in the closet as it knows you can’t handle its presence anymore. 
Not right now. 
It would be too much. Your body and mind having already fought till every single cell within you is doused with exhaustion. 
The wispy wave of relief you felt–feel–now molds into another feeling. It rips the comfort your body so desperately clings to at this moment of peril and unkindly reminds you that you shouldn’t have let your guard down. 
But you did. 
You–as you see it–involuntarily allowed the very person, no, the very people who have snatched you, took you from your, albeit, unexcitingly ordinary–but otherwise stable–life, to soothe the very predicament they have forced you in.
As you recall their hushed voices anchoring you, steady hands smoothing your trembling ones, and sweet comfort that you somehow found in their pacifying of you, the one emotion you painfully feel now is…embarrassment. It aligns with disgrace you feel within yourself for giving into…this. 
You stiffen, body frozen in place as you become acutely aware of your situation again. Both the larger reality of being held hostage, and the other–ever so slightly smaller issue–that currently places your head nestled right in your captor’s lap. Bucky’s lap.
This is what you found so comforting in your sleep state? 
Head wedged exactly between his legs, resting heavily against his lower half. Your hands curled up. You stare at them. They lay right in front of your view. Almost too close to your vision where you watch them resting, palms nestled down between his thighs.
But it’s not just your position. It’s his too. One of his arms is resting against you, draped over your side, his hand sprawled just at your navel, adding to the welcoming warmth you felt upon waking up. The other, languidly stroking your head with his thumb. 
It’s an intimate position–close–in more ways than one. It’s not one you should be in, it’s not one you’re in voluntarily–despite what your last memories torturously remind you.
“You get enough sleep there, princess?” Bucky’s voice calls. You haven’t spoken a word but he must be able to tell you’re awake. Whether it’s from how your muscles have tensed, or the way you’ve been holding your breath since, is unknown to you.
You can’t see him. Your eyes are too intensely focused on how your hands rest with faux intimacy at his thighs and the realization of how long you’ve been in this position makes your lungs feel as if they don’t work anymore.
“You really scared Dada you know,” he moves his hand from your navel to caress your arm as he lends forward a bit to get a better view of your face. Still, frozen in place, you don't meet his gaze. Your self-preservation response only knows how to freeze now as you don’t move, but keep looking forward, completely unsure of how to tackle the situation you’re in. 
Waves of memory come back to you. It’s blurry as you remember how scared you were. You remember how Steve calmed you. How his voice led you to placidity. How could that be? It’s what led you to the position you're in now.
Vulnerable. Again. And yet, you let it happen. 
But you didn’t, no–you couldn’t–you don't remember exactly with anxiety fogging up your memory. 
You knew one thing for sure; you couldn’t give in. 
“Not going to ignore Daddy now, are you?” Bucky questions, taking his hand to your chin and facing it upwards so you’re looking up to him. Somehow, it’s still shocking how large he looks. You feel as though you've somehow been shrunk down a third of your size when looking at him. His hand is mostly just ghosting your face, guiding it up as he looms over you, one cheek smooshed against his navel now as his hand remains on the other.
“Hmm?” he questions, his pointer finger tapping methodically on your cheek, prompting you to answer. “Don’t tell me you forgot your manners already now, doll.”
“I-I wanna go home,” You try to sit up, not exactly sure why you said that, as recent events have told you already it’s not what he wants to hear. But you’re just not sure about anything at the moment. He looks at you with a displeased look, face dropping into an unkind frown.
His hold on you tightens; his forearm presses down on your chest lightly, silently reminding you that trying to move would be a bad idea. You don’t fight it, knowing you wouldn’t be able to succeed in getting up even if your life depended on it.
“You are home.” he declares curtly, before swiftly picking you up, dizzying you as he turns you around. You feel as though you’ve barely blinked before you’re in the new position. Your back is to his stomach as he situates you on his lap. His right arm wraps snugly around your waist, firmly securing you against his body. His left hand reaches in front and clasps around your cheeks, the cool metal instantly raising goosebumps on your once warm face as he slowly tilts your head back and forth for you, forcing you to look around the room. 
“You see all this?” he lilts with a scolding undertone. “This is your home. All of it.” he pauses before–somehow–squeezing you closer to him. He brings his head to the side of your ear. His chest flush against your back, engulfing your body, and encapsulating your very being with how he maintains his grip on your face. His breath dances lightly against your ear as he speaks, adding to the chilling feeling overtaking your insides.
“Now what would you call a house where two Daddies take care of their little baby?” He speaks in a low, hushed tone. Not a sweet one–like the hushed subdued one Steve used on you just hours ago–No, Bucky’s tone is polar to that. It’s mocking, and sardonic as you can almost feel the smirk gracing his face without even looking at him. It’s as if he’s asking the most rhetorical question known to man. “Hmm?” 
You feel your own breathing pick up. It becomes evident with how every millimeter your chest moves, your lungs have to fight against the pressure of Bucky’s heavy arms around you. Your mind is blank as fright starts to fill it instead. How were you supposed to answer that? 
When you take too long to respond, Bucky promptly pinches at your side and simultaneously squeezes your cheeks harder, causing a retaliatory yelp out of you. 
“Ah! I-I don’t know!” you squirm around at the pain that certainly doesn’t help you think. 
He promptly covers your mouth with a shush, his sizable metallic hand swallowing up your face as you squeak dully now into his solid palm. 
“No yelling now, doll.” He turns your face towards him so he can look at you as he speaks. He glances quickly at the closed bedroom door before looking back at you. “Answer Daddy’s question.” He directs, “I know you’re a smart girl.” he grins at you, and though–in most contexts–that would sound like a compliment, his tone is decidedly condescending as he continues. “But I’ll repeat my question, just in case my silly little girl forgot.” he smiles snidely at you for a brief moment before continuing. “What do you call a house where two Daddies take care of their little girl?” He says the question more slowly this time, eerily calm but just as patronizing as he goes.
You stare at him with wide eyes as he carefully removes his hand from your mouth. He doesn’t have to speak the words as his eyes alone tell you not to yell again. His fingers remain on your face, retaking their previous position of gripping your chin as he looks at you expectantly.
“...home…” you breathe meekly, voice almost cracking as you do, hoping that was the right answer. 
“Good girl,” he roughly pats at your cheek with a slightly more authentic smile. “that’s exactly right.” he praises. You then hear some movement coming from the bedroom. Bucky glances that way before speaking to you again with a stern glare in his eye. “Now when Dada comes in here, you won't say any of those silly little thoughts, will you?” he asks presumptuously. You shake your head agreeably, and when Bucky’s head tilts with a clench of his jaw, you answer promptly out loud.
“Yes, Daddy” you quiver. He smiles at you, and as if on cue, Steve emerges from the door. There's a towel around his neck and he ruffles it around his hair before spotting you, his face lighting up when he does.
“Hi there angel,” he beams and leans down to you, instantly taking in the sight in front of him. 
Your adorable frame sitting atop his partner's lap. You looked so perfect right there. As if you were the last puzzle piece missing his entire life, now fitting together so seamlessly that it just looks like a painting. A beautiful one. Steve isn’t sure how they went without you before. Your soft face still holds a frayed look. His poor girl. He was hoping a little bit of rest would ease your frazzled little mind.
“You feeling a bit better after your nap?” Steve asks with a loving tone as he carefully picks you up from Bucky’s lap. He situates you so that you are on his hip, one arm supporting your bottom with legs wrapped around his side as he guides your arms around his neck. You fit so nicely around him like this. He almost wishes he could stop time and freeze this moment forever. Being able to hold you like this, he’s never felt so whole, so complete. You feel tense in his arms, but he knows one day…that won’t be the case. You’ll lean fully in, wholly relying on and giving yourself to them both. He’s eager for every moment leading to it and each subsequent instant after. 
Steve’s cold and wet hair tickles your arms. Being so close, you can’t help but notice the crisp comforting aroma that emits from his warm skin. 
For some reason, you look to Bucky as if he holds the answer to Steve’s question. He just glares at you with a slight scowl that dares you to misbehave before standing up after too long of silence on your part. 
“She’s still feeling a bit confused.” Bucky caresses you, palm enveloping the side of your face. “Huh, doll?” 
“Awh…” Steve joins in on stroking your face by soothing the back of your head. “well that’s okay angel. Babies get confused so easily.” he says with that underlying patronizing but sweet tone he uses. “Why don’t you let Dada check you, huh?” he asks while looking you up and down. You then feel all blood draining from your face as your eyes go wide, having no idea what he means by that. 
You look between him and Bucky frantically as Steve gently grabs one of your hands from behind his neck. You instinctively try pulling away but his grip tightens before you’re able to. 
“Now now, don’t be scared,” Steve assures sweetly, a stark contrast to the death grip on your hand. “Dada just needs to look at those pesky little marks we had to leave on you last night,” he explains while unraveling you from him and setting you back down on the couch where he kneels in front of you. Your body trembles in anticipation–for what exactly, doesn’t matter. 
You can’t control it as he diligently peels your socks off and rolls your leggings up to look underneath. He takes his time tracing the deformed marks with his fingertips, lifting up your ankles as he goes before making his way to your arms. He tugs on them gently in front of you and repeats his previous examination as if he’s mapping out every little laceration. “You don’t want any more of these…do you, babygirl?” Steve lilts, an ever so slightly threatening tone lacing his otherwise calm voice as he presses his fingers down, digging just harshly enough into where a bruise must be forming and causing you to jolt at the pain.
“Ah!-n-no!” you yelp pitifully quick at the discomfort.
“No…what?” Steve prods with false grace before pressing harder into your skin.
“N-no Dada!…ah!...please.” you shakily breathe the last word with a plea, pathetically pulling on your arms that don’t move an inch under his hold.
“Good girl,” he praises with a mischievous smile, and unclenches his painful grip, but doesn’t let go completely, instead, keeping a firm hold on you. 
He steadily lifts your wrists up…to his lips. They ghost your skin as he glints at you with a soft smirk before placing slow…slow kisses along the marked-up lines. 
Warm lips meet the welts that are painted all across and up your arms from where you were bound–corporal reminders of what disobeying meant–he trails each one of them, dragging his lips and dousing each inch of burning skin with tender kisses, his grip remaining its powerful hold so you remain immobile. 
When he makes his way to your upper arm, you physically resist from full-on screaming. A quick glance to Bucky with your sorrowful eyes reveals no mercy from him. He just glares at you, a deadpan look on his face but a teasing smirk in his eyes that dares you to make a noise. 
Steve lifts his head up to face you after planting his last kiss on your upper arm, just a hair's breadth from your face. Your head has already pushed itself back as far as it’ll go as the rest of your body is ensnared by his that hovers atop yours. Thick air surrounds you as your trembles turn to full-on shaking, watching him as his eyes don’t even meet yours. His blown pupils are intensively fixated on your lips now.
They look so soft.
Time itself seems frozen, all except a slow-motion icy droplet that falls from the tips of his hair. It lands atop soft cotton, dampening the fabric on your chest that ripples chills throughout you. He follows it, dark eyes lowering to where sensitive skin is hidden by the dainty onesie Bucky dressed you in earlier. You feel heat taking over the arctic sensation within you as he looks at your body with what you can only prescribe as desire–want.
But to your–very minuscule–relief he looks back up to your eyes, and gives you a quick smile, before leaning back on his knees again in front of you with a satisfied smile adorning his face.
“Might take a while for those to heal up,” he remarks, “but don’t worry, Daddy and I will give them lots of kisses to help them heal.” he smiles at you. 
“What do you say, doll?” Bucky speaks up, crossing his arms. 
A confused and worried look that causes your eyebrows to furrow comes over your face, unsure of what he wants when you’ve barely gotten your heart to stop pounding from the previous predicament.
Bucky decides–for now–he’ll key you in. Mostly because he doesn’t like seeing his Stevie all upset when you don’t do as you were told. 
He mouths a “thank you” with a cock of his head motioning towards Steve below him. 
“Th-thank you…D-dada” you squeak, voice uncontrollably shaky. 
“Oh, such a good girl. My good little girl,” Steve beams at you before standing up. “Oh…poor thing,” he remarks while looking down at your trembling form. “You must be freezing,” he states like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Dada will go get you a sweater. Stay right here,” he instructs before trailing off. 
When he comes back, there's more than just an extra garment in his hand. 
“Now later you can play upstairs all you want, but right now,” he speaks while setting down a few colorful-looking books and a box of crayons on the coffee table. “Daddy and I need to watch you and make sure you stay safe,” He then motions for you to move your arms up so he can put the sweatshirt he brought for you on. He carefully moves your arms and head through the holes and then leads you to the coffee table. “You can color as long as you like, angel, just make sure to tell us if you need anything, like water…or juice, okay?”
You nod your head complacently at him while he holds your hand looking down at you.
“Okay-I mean-I-yes…Dada” you fumble before kneeling down on the carpet yourself in front of the variety of coloring books. 
You don’t want to color. But–genuinely–what choice do you have? You could protest, but it wouldn’t lead anywhere beneficial. 
You scan the playful books in front of you, trying to find some solace in the fact that maybe focusing on this would at least mean less nerve-wracking interactions with…them. 
It shouldn't matter–which picture you settle on–with your brain still rattled from before, only you can’t help but feel choosy about the drawing you pick. You flip through the books, dog-earing the ones that pique your interest before settling on a foresty scene that depicts two large sleeping wolves and a little rabbit nestled right in the middle. 
For some perplexing reason, the crayon box decides it doesn’t want to be opened by your frail fingers. Steve quickly notices your frustrated struggle with it and instructs you to hand it to him so he can open it for you. You groan at the box and mutter something about how you ‘got it.’ 
You don’t see his eye squint and eyebrow raise as he watches you fumble with it for a moment longer, but you do feel him taking the box from your hands. 
“I don’t want you hurting those precious little fingers of yours now,” He smoothly opens the box and hands it back to you with a pet to your head. 
At some point, Bucky notices your tired posture and offers you a pillow to sit on before moving the coffee table closer to the couch so you can rest your back on the cushiony sofa. He moves it effortlessly as if the table wouldn’t break your back if you tried to move it. 
You mumble an assenting “thank you daddy” to which Bucky responds. “You’re welcome, sweet girl” with a wink and you withhold from sticking your tongue out at him.
Either one or both of them remain in the room with you for the rest of the evening, checking on you every so often. You attempt to keep your attention on remaining within the lines when you color, but you can’t help the way your unnerved hands still shake, causing you–to your annoyance–to occasionally strike outside the lines. 
By the time the sun has long set, and the only thing illuminating the paper in front of you is warm artificial light, you find yourself yawning with your head sideways on the table as you color. Whiffs of savory smells dance through your nose as Bucky has been in the kitchen for the last little bit preparing dinner.
“Getting sleepy babygirl?” Steve asks, peering down at you and your drawings. You shrug your shoulders, unsure of which answer would allow you the most leniency. 
“Oh, that one is just perfect,” he remarks while bending over and picking up the forest scene you colored first. It was hidden amongst other drawings that you had shuffled to the side. He holds it up and takes a good look at it. “You did such a good job,” he compliments. “I think this one deserves a place on the fridge” he boasts.
You turn your head back and watch in curiosity as he really does make his way to the kitchen and secures it with a little magnet. He stands back and smiles in satisfaction while you go back to coloring, feigning that you never even noticed the proud expression radiating off his body, and positively pretending that your insides didn’t go soft for a brief moment watching him. 
Steve and Bucky chatter while setting the table. You try to tunnel in on their voices but you can’t exactly make out what they’re saying as they speak quite lowly to each other. 
Steve makes his way to you and takes your hand to guide you to the table. He sets you in the seat furthest away from the door as they both sit rather closely to you–practically trapping you in. You poke at your otherwise appetizing plate as you have little desire to eat with your stomach still turned in tangled knots. 
They both encourage you to eat throughout, but you only manage to get a few bites down. Neither of them look particularly happy with you and your full plate. Nevertheless, they stop pushing after a bit and share a knowing look that you can’t make out the meaning of. 
You huff a quiet sigh of relief when they take your plate and start cleaning the kitchen, silently feeling as though you won this trivial round of control.
Bucky catches you from the corner of his eye as you take it upon yourself to get out of your chair. He tenses, preparing to snatch you before you can move until he realizes you’re only going to the living room, opposite of where the front door is. He decides to just watch you for a few moments as you go back to coloring with criss-crossed legs.   
Innocent little thing. His naive little doll shading away, having not a clue in your pretty little head of how erroneous it was to make your own decisions like that. It really was much too soon for you to truly understand what consequences will come when trying to think for yourself. He can’t exactly blame you though. His poor little baby had to do it for so long before they found you. It’s probably why you’re benignly coloring away with not an idea in your head of what’s really in store for your life here. Such a sweet, sweet little girl they had. All to themselves. Forever now.
He observes how you ferociously analyze and juxtapose the colors before you, even testing them on other miscellaneous paper before choosing the right one for the job. 
He already knows you better than you can even comprehend. He knows you’ve likely already thought you’ve gotten away with it.
“What do you think you’re doing little girl?” Bucky’s scolding voice startles you, causing you to jump a little in your spot. After just a second, he roughly yanks you up by your arm, spinning you around to face him as he holds you. “Did Daddy tell you you could leave the table? Hmm? Did Dada?” he fumes, the sudden escalation in action and tone making you want to just cry. 
“I-I-” you fumble, squirming uncomfortably below him. “I thought-”
“Oh I don’t think you were thinking anything in that silly little head of yours,” he chastises while pinching one of your cheeks harshly with his free hand. “And did you really think you could get away with not eating?”
“Ah!-” you fight, struggling against him, confused and disoriented on why he’s suddenly being so harsh when you thought you were off the hook. 
“Hey-hey, it’s okay,” you hear Steve speaking up behind him. “Let me talk to her Buck,” he says, allowing Bucky to let go of your arm and cheek. You tearfully rub at your hurt cheek while Steve kneels down to your level. “Sweet girl…remember yesterday when daddy gave you apple juice?” he asks, circling his hand behind your ear and gently cupping the cheek that Bucky previously inflicted harshly. You nod smally, glancing away around the room as you recall the unfond memory of being bottle-fed against your will. “Good, then you should know that little girls need their nutrients. And that means no skipping dinner,” he explains with a kind voice that makes you feel as if he's quite literally talking to a child.
“I-okay…Dada” you add, grateful for Steve at least being gracious enough as to not yell at and pinch you like Bucky just was. 
“Good girl,” he smiles at you before telling you to sit tight on the couch while he goes to get your dinner. You sit there, a bit perplexed on how he planned on giving you a meal when you’re pretty sure you saw Bucky scrape the remnants of your food into the trashcan. 
Steve returns with no plate in hand and sits a bit away from you, causing your eyebrows to furrow in confusion until you see it. 
You watch in horror as he reveals a milky white bottle that he shakes in his hand while speaking to you.
“Come here,” he beckons, patting his spacious thigh. You grimace at the granule liquid that swirls around in the bottle, not unlike the one Bucky used on you yesterday. If you didn't know better–which you don’t–you’d say it quite literally looks like baby formula.
“Uhm…I just…” you trail off, trying to come up with a reason, any reason not to be literally bottle-fed like you were yesterday. “I’m-I’m really not hungry-my-my stomach hurts,” you reason clumsily, but truthfully as well since the only thing filling your stomach right now is queasiness. Most of it coming from your situation, but the grainy texture swirling around in the bottle certainly doesn’t help your appetite either. “And-and I can just eat the other stuff,” you add frantically while looking back to the kitchen and wringing your hands.
“Now this is going to help my sweet girl feel a lot better and sleep real tight,” Steve remarks, completely ignoring your words and requests. 
“I-I said I'm not hungry.” you say a bit louder, but with a mild tone as to not sound too combative. 
“And I said this will help you sleep,” he asserts while dabbing the tip of the bottle on his wrist. “Now come sit on Dada’s lap,” he demands while patting his thigh again. You shake your head while subtly scooting away from him. 
“Mmm-mmm” you hum a no while sliding back even further. “Please, I don’t wan-”
“Did Dada ask what you wanted?” he cuts you off with a cock to his head at you. “No,” he shakes his head, answering his own question patronizingly. “I didn’t. You don’t get to decide what’s good for you. Only Daddy and I know that. Now I won’t ask again. Come here. Now.” he insists sternly. You debate quickly in your head, weighing out your limited options. When you still sit there not moving an inch, Steve sighs and reaches for you. He grabs your arm and pulls you towards him.
“No!” you say in response to the action. He’s not necessarily yanking or being particularly rough, but without thinking, you push back at him, your free hand overshooting and accidentally hitting his shoulder. Of course, it’s like you’ve hit a brick wall, the small action hurting your wrist much more than it likely hurt him at all. But something about it felt…cathartic. And something inside you just…snaps. 
You had played nice all day, letting them hold you, touch you, kiss you. Hell–you even sat on the floor for hours and colored while wearing a onesie. And now he wanted to bottle feed you actual formula. You had to draw the line. 
You couldn’t give in. The silent promise you made to yourself earlier rings in your head. You weren’t going to drink this stupid bottle.
Steve still has you in his grasp and is pulling you closer to him so that you can be in his lap. Only, you take this opportunity to fight. Hard. 
With all the strength you have, you wrench yourself back. Steve quickly encapsulates both your hands, making you feel as though you’ll sooner break your own wrists before you ever successfully free yourself from his grip. You take it upon yourself to switch strategies, maneuvering yourself into a position where you just start kicking at him feverishly. It felt childish. It looked childish. But you didn’t care right now. You weren’t going to play along any longer. 
You realize halfway through your nonsensical thrashing fit that Steve is likely just letting you play this out before he decides he’s had enough. He decisively stands up, dragging your combative form with him as he roughly swings you up to throw you over his shoulder. You still fight him, your flailing is joined with nonsensical shrieks as you lash out on him physically and verbally. Steve holds you down atop him firmly while hauling you upstairs. Before you realize it, you’re roughly tossed down into a mattress. The otherwise compliant spread hurts you on impact from the height you fall from. Your swirling vision from being upside down and lack of oxygen in your lungs from screaming leaves you disoriented until your dazed eyes focus on structured parallel bars. 
Steve’s thrown you into the very crib he showed you just hours ago. 
“That’s just for when you’re feeling extra little,”
You instantly try to stand up only for Steve to effortlessly push you back down, sending you to roughly bounce on your bottom. You clumsily try to regain your balance and breath while Steve reaches for something besides the crib. Before you know it, Steve’s grabbed both your hands and starts heatedly tying them together. Tightly. He ensnares your fingers together and weaves the rope around every inch of your digits up to the middle of your forearm, completely restraining the hands that fought him. 
You try getting up again only to find it’s surprisingly hard to move with your hands bound in front of you. 
He mutters to you something about ‘not moving’ while making his way to the end of the crib. He abrasively yanks both of your legs down to the edge of the caged mattress and begins tying those together too. You flail hopelessly, hurling unkind words at him while he secures your ankles to the bars, completely immobilizing the legs that were just unabashedly kicking at him.
When you finally catch a glimpse of Steve’s face, his expression is unforgiving. Furrowed eyebrows highlight his intense dark focus as veined arms secure you to the crib.
Steve straightens himself up and towers over you from beside the crib. He just watches you until you decide to give up on fighting, realizing you can’t free yourself from your binds. Your anger slowly turns to just pure sorrow, as you find yourself crying hot tears into your already burning face. You murmur pointless cries asking over and over again to just be let go…
“Angel…” Steve says softly, his features appearing less angered now, but still unhappy nonetheless. “I’m going to give you one more chance,” he kneels down, leveling himself with you from outside your confines. He reaches through the bars and caresses your rope-covered hands. “If you do what Dada says, then I might go easy on your punishment,” he slides his hands up, open-palmed, slowly inching his way to your face. He lingers on your throat for a moment too long before laying his hand across your cheek. “But that’s only if you stop being a bad girl…is that what you want?” he asks patronizingly, with a cock to his head, faux sympathy lining his tone. “You want Dada to treat you like a bad girl?”
You squeeze your eyes shut, heavy tears pitifully falling as Steve watches you. He doesn’t catch them as he awaits your answer that doesn’t come. 
He then tries to give you the bottle from before again but you only resist. Shaking your head and crying profusely while mumbling sorrowful nonsense.
Steve sighs, and hangs his head. He doesn’t enjoy seeing you like this. He wants to hear you laugh. The same laugh he heard over anything else the first night he found you. He wants to see you smile. The same way you beamed at him that night he helped you find your way back. He wants to draw you close when you fall asleep next to him. The same way he’s watched you fall asleep all by yourself for months. He wants to replace the teeny little thumb you always stick in your mouth when you think no one is watching with his. He knows you want this. He knows you need this. 
But it’s obvious his poor girl just doesn’t understand that yet. 
Steve knows babies have a hard time listening when throwing tantrums anyway...  
For now, if you won’t listen, he’ll just have to show you. 
“My sweet girl…” Steve grabs your face, turning it towards him. “You just won’t learn unless Dada shows you, huh?” he releases your face dismissively and stands up. 
“If you want to act out…” he speaks while reaching across the crib above you, 
“and think you’re a big girl…” he lifts something weighty that’s attached to the top of the crib, 
“that’s fine,” parallel bars intrude your vision of Steve from above you, 
“But this is what happens when you act like a bad girl.” Steve’s voice turns more ireful with every word he speaks, as he works his way around the crib, latching multiple locks together that you hadn't noticed before with increasingly aggressive force. 
“You get treated like one. Bad girls get left all alone by themselves without Dada. If you really want Dada to let you go. Fine. You’ll stay right here until you understand what it means to listen.” he slams the last latch shut.
You barely have time to process his words while your wobbly vision interprets what’s happening above you. By the time you comprehend that there’s a top to this ‘crib’ that Steve has locked you in, he’s already left the room, truly isolating you.
Anguished sobs that were falling on deaf ears during Steve’s spiel to you now meet the equally deaf silence of the room itself. 
The only sound that accompanies you now is your own cries, echoing back pitifully to you from the horizontal bars above…
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bunnybearmarvel · 2 years
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*:・゚✧*:・゚✧ Bunny Instincts.
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pairings. | steve rogers x hybrid!bunny reader
summary. | It’s an animal instinct to be wary when a predator is near; your little baby bunnies, are well aware when daddy is near.
warnings. | soft!dark steve rogers, hybrid!bunny reader, allusions to kidnapping, manipulation, daddy!kink, language.
ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ
Letting out a soft giggle, you watch in amusement as the twins prattle about in the grass field, hopping here and there, attempting to race eachother but getting distracted by butterflies and flowers along their path.
You were lying down on a blanket, basking under the warmth of the morning sun, a book in hand and a basket full of treats for you and your little babies. You enjoyed the breeze, the serenity of these mornings, the quiet and the slow; for you, it was perfect.
Cooing, you reach out a hand to your baby who sneezed, it seemed as if she was allergic to pollen, her pink snout twitches involuntarily. She leans into your touch, and you lift her up to your chest.
“It’s okay, bubba.” You utter, softly stroking her soft fur. Her blue eyes were watery, the cirulean blue akin to her father’s; yet, hers merely blinked up at you with parts reliance and innocence, so different to the shrewd and calculative of his. “We can’t play with those kind of flowers, but there are others; i know, honey. It’s itchy?” You tut, brushing her nose when her whole face twitches.
The twin, who had been curiously hopping after a colorful butterfly suddenly stilled, gazing faraway, to barely registered footsteps, his discerning ears perking up in attention. The ominous presence of something.. strong, had caused him to clamber back to his mother, tail tucked in between his legs.
Your head darts up to the door of the house, and you gazed at your baby who was shivering in freight. Bunnies are easily frightened, and when they’re still small and unable to shift into their human form; their bones brittle, and their autonomy limited until the age of two, they’re extremely delicate and sensitive.
Especially to sound, and their environment; the instinct of an animal, much more, one who have been hunted since eons ago such as bunnies, was heavily engraved into his consciousness.
“It’s okay sweetheart,” you gently coo, bringing him closer to your chest also. Allowing him to hear the thrum of your heartbeat, in hopes it will calm his erratic beating heart. “Mama’s here, i’ll protect you.” You whisper, placing a dainty kiss on each of their forehead. The trembling toned down a little, much to your relief.
“Trying to act tough, bunny?" His baritone voice held a tone of amusement, large frame coming into view, still decked in his navy blue tactical suit. Your breath hitched in your throat once you lay sight on his almost, lazy smile, clearly patronizing you; and your feeble attempt at protection.
He looked rough, yet not in an entirely bad way. Just that Steve left with a thin stubble framing his jaw, and his hair cut cleanly, into his smart and put together fashion; he looked the golden boy, the personification of true and honest american values.
But the month long mission had certainly, changed his appearance— his true disposition, a little more evident by the longer hair and thick beard that framed his face. He looked mean. Yet the mere sight of him had inevitably brought a shiver of want through your body.
“Daddy,” you whisper, stunned, pillowy lips parting in surprise at his arrival. You were expecting him a couple of weeks later, but things must have changed which made him arrive home early.
“No welcome kisses for daddy?” He raises a barely amused brow, expression shifting to stern, and despite yourself; you slowly rose, not before placing your little bunnies in the blanket, and whispering gentle words of comfort into their ears, and crept towards him, pressing a sweet kiss to his lips.
He deepens it, the kiss quickly turning passionate and starved. He conveyed his yearning through the punishing brush of his lips to yours, hands finding purchase on the small of your waist in order to bring you closer. You whimper, and yelp once he squeezed the globes of your ass, yet he only took the opportunity to plunge his tongue into your mouth, sucking and tasting your mouth.
He only lets you go once you were breathless, eyes glossed over to his satisfaction. Steve rubs your lower lip, eyes roaming your face as he takes in your otherwordly beauty, noticing the lightness and glow of your visage. He has always thought you were breathtakingly gorgeous; and coupled with motherhood, your ever blossoming maternal instinct, that chipped at your defiance and made you his soft, pliable little bunny.
Steve knows knocking you up had been his best choice at keeping you; little bunnies like you, helpless and innocent, were made to bend over and take cock like a fucking pro— not wander around, nor integrate into society as something you, very clearly was not made for.
You were made for breeding, is what you were. A fertile little thing. An insatiable, needy little bunny that deserved to be stuffed full of his cum, until you’re swollen with his children. And again. And again, until you’re pathetic and begging with soft and musical cries that only every fueled his desire to fuck you until you’re passed out.
His cock strains painfully in his jeans, gaze flickering to your swollen breast; your pert nipples evident through the filmsy sundress, they were plump and round with milk, and heck, if he wasn’t already rock hard with just the sight of you. He places a lingering kiss on the swell of your breast, and your cheeks heated.
“Stevie,” you whine, placing a hand to his chest. “It tickles.” He chuckles.
“You’re too sensitive bunny,” Steve snorts, but relents. He has plenty of time to bother you later, now, however he glances behind you, and towards the huddled pair of his children. “What are you doing so far away?” His voice was gruff, and you saw the tremble wrack their little bodies.
They had always been afraid of Steve. Shaking whenever he touches them; whimpering whenever he’s near. It’s like your children knows to what extent, Steve’s nature and how truly sinister the huge man was.
“Daddy,” you utter with a silent reprimand, “Please don’t scare them.” You touch his chest.
His brow furrows, “They’re afraid of their own father?” Disappointment colors his tone, he had always been brash and domineering, indeed. But he’s tried several times to connect and bond with his children, but they were ultimately frightened of him for some unknown reason. He calls their names, “Come here.” He orders firmly.
You bite your lower lip, “Daddy.” You warn, eyes wide and pleading. You wish he was more tender, softer with them. They’re feeble, which your husband can’t seem to understand. “Gentler, please. Don’t call them as if you’re about to grab them by the skin of their neck and haul them.”
“Isn’t that what animals do, sweetheart?” He quips back, blue eyes narrowing. “Besides, i ought to teach them a little thing about what happens to children who disobey.”
“They’re still babies; they can’t understand alot.” You appease him softly, looking back at your children with encouraging eyes. “You have to comfort them, coax them. Be a little more patient, please, daddy.” You place a hand on his chest and blinked up at him with doe eyes. One you know he finds hard to resist.
Steve’s jaw clenches, the tough façade crumbling slowly. “They got that from you, little bunny. Always needing persuasion, promises; coaxing.” You hum and nuzzle your face into his chest, awarding the broad expanse of it with butterfly kisses and inhaling his scent. He smelled of rich cedarwood and pine, insanely addictive and for you, comforting.
“Come here,” He orders, a little softly now and you smile at him encouragingly. “Papa’s not mad, i promise. He just wants to kiss his babies.” Steve’s gruff voice utters, and he beckons the twins over with a wave of a hand. Once they were at arms reach, he bends down and lifts them up, pressing a kiss to their head.
“My bestest babies,” you whisper adoringly as you hug them inbetween the two of you. “So brave, and sweet.” You continue to whisper words of encouragement in their ears, the twins responding to you with wriggling movements, and rubbing up at you, while Steve watches with satisfaction and awe.
He truly made the right decision to making sure you’re well and truly his. Only his. Afterall, Steve Rogers does deserve a family of his own; he’s done so much for his country, fought and thrown himself on the line of his work just to make sure that the world remains at peace and he deserves his own piece of happiness.
Even if he had to steal you away. He will break you apart and build you up all over again if it meant he would have you. Steve will tear anyone, limb to limb if they dare to steal you away from him. So what if you had a life ahead of you? Did he not give you, your own piece the world; a nice beautiful house, a white picket fence, a large and expansive garden and every luxury you could ever think of. He satisfies your every need and whim; he fucks you good, he satiates you, he loves you. Steve loves you a fucking lot. Loves you that he will do anything for you— expcept let you go.
“I love you, daddy.” You murmur, reverently. It took alot to mold you into his perfect little wife, but everything was worth it when you look at him and tell him those perfect words.
“I love you, bunny.” He replies, equally reverent.
You’re his. But more evidently, he is yours.
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steves-sub · 9 months
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Submissive Sunflower
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Summary: While Team Cap hides from the world, they take you in to be their permanent submissive, whether you like it or not.
Warning(s): Dark!Team Cap, MINOR DNI Smut, Non-con, Hypnosis, Dom/Sub, Drugging, Kidnapping, will add more later on.
MASTERLIST
Prologue
the Flower Shop Invite
Time for Action
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darkdarkstucky · 2 years
Text
Pretty, S. Rogers and B. Barnes.
Summary; You were anything but expectant after spending a night between the ellusive lawyers, James Buchanan Barnes and Steve Grant Rogers; it was a supposed fling. Something to spice up their marriage. So you weren't exactly prepared with their advances nor the possessiveness that came with their attention.
Pairing; Soft!Dark Stucky x Reader, Soft!Dark Bucky Barnes x Reader, Soft!Dark Steve Rogers x Reader.
Warnings; Sexual themes, Adult content, Manipulation, Possessiveness, Soft!Dark Stucky, Married Stucky, Gaslighting Stucky, Age Gap (Steve is 40, Bucky is 39, Reader is 19) Please do not interact if it makes you uncomfortable!
A/N; This is my first time writing something of this nature; but this is more self indulgent than anything, because who wouldn't want to be a hole for daddy stucky's schlongs. This is a fun little something to repeat; if the man does not exist, so does my morals.
CHAPTER 1
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The first time you laid eyes upon the infamous pair of lawyers, you couldn't fight off the awe and astonishment at their perfectly sculpted faces and chiseled bodies; they were the picture perfect male specimen, coupled with their confident visage and such charming upturn of their lips and straight posture telling of their self assurance. And while they winked at you simultaneously as they caught you staring- you still weren't certain it was you they had graced the wink with, but nevertheless, it made your cheeks flush in embarassment.
You chastised yourself, Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes were not only business associates in their ridiculously elite law firm, they were also very much married which entails they were thoroughly committed to one another. In the business sense, and in the literal sense of the word aswell.
Which is why you were quite... speechless to say the least when they approached you and introduced themselves. Steve extended his hand for a formal handshake, your soft palm touching upon his much rougher one, and he couldn't help but brush his fingers upon your delicate knuckles before he presses a lingering kiss on the back of your hand. His blue eyes held you in that position, as if encapturing you in a trance which was enough to make you squirm.
Bucky chuckles as his hand finds its way to the small of your bare waist emerging from the sideline. "Forgive him, doll, he forgot to take his medicine." You shuddered at the proximity of his lips to your ear; their presence made you uneasy, if only slightly, because you were unsure why they were paying attention to you.
"What did you say, punk?" Steve jerks his gaze away from your stunning face, jokingly narrowing his eyes at Bucky's smug grin.
"I said you forgot your rabies injections, and you're drooling on her pretty fingers," the brunette says sarcastically, taking your other hand and kissing your fingers as well. You laugh at their impasse.
"I don't believe I've ever had the honor," You almost whisper, fluttering your eyelashes as you cast a provocative glance at the men. You were naturally flirtatious, if not a people-pleaser, knowing when to smile and politely take compliments to keep the banter going, and given the nature of your current employment, it wasn't far from the addendums in contracts you were asked to sign.
Growing up attractive meant you get the pretty priviledge often. You'd flirted out of pretty expensive tickets, drinks and the likes, easily having every man you meet wrapped around your dainty fingers. Neither Steve nor Bucky were exceptions; yet you weren't aware.
“Bucky Barnes.” He introduces himself with darkened blue eyes, you missed the bob of his adams apple as his eyes rack your scantily clad body. You were worth salavating for, the tightest of ass, the smallest of waist and hips- his jaw flexes as an image of himself driving deep into you and gripping your love handles. He would fill your pretty pussy with cum, your toned stomach with even more of his essence until your belly was bulging from what he had given you.
“Steve Rogers.” The blond replies with a smile, not making the effort to conceal his wandering gaze; in appreciation and parts possessiveness, both men making a quick work of scanning the room and throwing dirty looks that could make grown men shiver and look away in fear, just with the offense of staring at you.
The moment you had descended the stairs, after Stark's dramatic monologue; “.. While all of my friends, hammer industries, in particular, have their own philosophical pursuits, a tedious tax break, yada yada, I've pooled some of my resources into an establishment that is both... pleasing to the eyes, and satiating to the loins. Hefner had his bunnies, allow me to present you to my kittens." he says, his grin widening as a seductive music reverberates throughout the mansion.
And there you were, among the army of attractive women walking down the stairs, their gazes drawn to you and only you; breath taken from their lungs by your bearing and beauty, innocent doe eyes and exquisite features but pretty fuckable body that they had felt the immediate stiffening of their cocks. It stood in attention as you flash your prettiest smile that they almost ached with raw and primal need to bend you over and fuck you senseless.
Probably infront of the large audience too, to ward off the hungry gazes directed to you. A feeling of possessiveness surging in their chest, and they looked at eachother wordlessly. In understading. In want. You were the missing piece in their life; all you, perfect and theirs. You wouldn't need to prance around in only a nightwear in such a setting, and it took all they had to be able to hold conversations with other business associates before running to you.
Despite the fanfare, watching you from the corner of their eyes as you were pulled into conversations after conversations, Steve and Bucky barely containing their temper once they overhear the other man's lewd proposal- almost storming the distance until you shut off his proposition with a smart reply that had him excusing himself.
They felt a surge of pride; but not really. They wanted to be the one to protect you, wanted to depend on them, wanted you to run to their arms with even the slightest bit of inconvenience. It was not fair that their little girl has already been roughed around the edges by the cruelty of human nature, but no longer. You were going to be kept and safe under their unwavering love and care.
As the night drones on, you didn't even realize the gravity your smiles and slightly flirty remarks had done to the men. You had assumed they were only being polite, their touches merely platonic. Their interest at you were quite overwhelming but you credited it to their naturally inquisitive nature; out of propriety, politeness. A way to get to know the helpless kitten. One of Stark's playthings to be able to keep their clientelle away from a potential lawsuit.
Yet the drinks were poured, one of their jackets on your shoulders as you were pulled into the back of their limo. Heartpounding, nails digging in their formal shirts, Bucky's chest to your back, Steve feasting on your lips as if he were a starved man and you were the oasis.
Lips swollen from their attacks, the coat discarded elsewhere when things got more intense; pushed to the bed, wrapped and tossed from muscular arms to another, you cried out profanities as both men took sweet turns thrusting their fingers to the knuckles and lapping at you until you were mewling and trembling, tongues sucking at your juices with an even more darkened gaze than usual.
You didn't know what it meant for their relationship, or whatever you were doing- letting men twice your age, in a committed relationship lap at you like you were their dessert. There was a twisted burn of heat once more as they kissed infront of you, your essence coating their lips and beards.
“Fuck princess, you're so sweet.” Steve pants, licking his lips.
“So good and sweet doll.” Bucky murmurs in a praise, both men looking at you hungrily as you braced yourself when Bucky mounts you.
You didn't tell them, you had no reason to because you were so deep into that cloudy haze of desire, you would have allowed them to wreck you and you would walk out the door with a grin, and a thanks.
“Ready, doll?” Bucky pants, basically hearing his heartbeat thrum in his ears. You were such a sight, sprawled in the bed your hair on their sheets, looking more than appetizing that his mouth was dry. His cock was slapping his navel, so hard it was pulsating. He lines up the head of his cock, coating the head with the heat from your folds, before thrusting himself to the hilt. Then freezing- your pained jolt, and the way you crawled at his arm clearly in pain.
Steve and Bucky coos at you softly, wiping the tears from your watery eyes and whispering sweet nothings.
“You're okay, princess.” Steve whispers in your ear, kissing you heatedly to shush the whimpers escaping your lips. “You're being such a good girl.” He hums, hands crawling to soothe at your nub making your hips buck.
Bucky hisses, the sensation of your warmth wrapping around him like a vice grip almost made his orgasm materialize, but he couldn't have done that to you. So instead, he kisses your skin gentle and assuring at first until your sobs subside from their ministrations. They made your body rock and tremble with shattering sensations that the pain was forgotten and the only words you can mumble were lewd encouragements.
Soft whimpers, heated kisses- your legs wrapped so deliciously around their waist when they each drove into your slick and warm heat with frantic and passionate thrusts. Their seed coats your walls, dripping from your tight hole to your legs and overflowing, you felt the fingers dip from your inner thighs gathering essence before carefully shoving it back.
“So fucking full, princess.” Steve pants, pupils blown with barely contained possessivenes as he looks over your spent and tired body, chest heaving up and down from tiredness, skin flushed with heat and abso-fucking-lutely fucked with cum leaking out of all possible holes and stomach.
You were a sight to behold, “So pretty dollface.” Bucky pants to your ear, a smile present on his plump lips as he looks at your body on the bed.
Bucky and Steve shared an all knowing look, a conversation of understanding without needing too much words to be said.
You didn't know you had been marked to be theirs. A possession to be perpetually owned. Because there was no way they were going to let you out of their sights, because as they both flank your sides, your pretty face nuzzling to their warmth, body seeking their protection, they wrap their arms around you securely it wasn't just their bodies that were satiated, there was a warmth flowing through their chests and consuming their rationality above all.
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