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#dark!steve x you
vampy-doll · 5 months
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Dark!Steve Rogers: Blizzard❄️
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Dark!Steve Rogers One Shot: Blizzard
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Words: 2.1k
Tw:// 18+, yandere!Steve, smut, dubcon/noncon, somno, forced orgasm, references to previous stalking, breeding kink, brief daddy kink, sheathing, if I’m missing any pls let me know
A/N: when is Ai gonna make Steve Rogers whimper audio asking for myself not a friend. This is like a lowkey sub vibe Steve but still dark dominating Steve, personally I just like men whimpering like sluts. Written, edited, posted from my phone so my bad if it’s not up to par but also fuck you
You are responsible for your own media consumption. By continuing reading you confirm you are 18+, I do not give permission to have any of my work reposted or translated in any other platform even if you give credit.
The sleeping bags, extra blankets, and the two jackets wrapped around you weren’t enough to keep you warm enough to fall asleep. You’d never be able to fall asleep when the sound of your teeth chattering together vibrated your head.
A recon search, a pointless one at that given that you found no new information, left you and your infamous partner Steve Rogers stranded in a blizzard that the forecast claimed wouldn’t be arriving until the morning that started to come as you tried to leave your mission base. This was barely a mission, it shouldn’t have even needed two people to do let alone with Captain America. But in your stint of working with Steve you knew that he believed in safety in numbers and to never send someone alone.
Leave no soldier behind
It was a three mile trek back to the jet but regardless of how far it was, each step was pointless when you could barely see in front of you. Steve had even gone through the lengths of wrapping a rope from your wrist to his to keep you from getting separated. There was no way you could make it there, you might’ve made it a mile total and yet it felt like you’d been walking for days.
“We need to get shelter,” Steve yelled over the wind that screamed like a banshee. “We passed by that abandoned house twenty minutes back there’s no way we can make it to the jet or fly home right now. We’ll have to wait till morning.”
You didn’t argue, only giving a nod, as you followed him turning back towards the mansion, glad that the walk back followed the current of the wind making the hike less unbearable without the wind beating against your face.
Despite how creepy it was that abandoned mansion was your saving grace. White sheets cast over the furniture all the furniture, dust accumulated over everything, it was likely some rich person’s summer home currently unoccupied for the winter.
In the living room past the foyer and dining room, the bare fireplace felt like a gift sent. Steve was quick to start a fire as you pushed two sheet-covered couches as close as possible to the fireplace without becoming a hazard.
The mansion surely had to have had an overabundance of bedrooms but you hadn’t bothered to explore more than needed. Just enough to make sure you were the only ones here. But those bedrooms might not have a fireplace and you’d end up having to share a bed in order not to split up.
Although the fire probably saved your life you still felt like you were in a morgue with the shivers that raked through you.
You’d love to fawn over the architecture but right now that was the last thing you could think of.
Thanks to the scientists that made your favorite lab rat, Steve always ran hot, the fire was all he needed and you didn’t try to protest when he gave you his coat.
“Out of all the places I’ve used as a safe house,” he quipped, breaking the loud silence of the crackling fire and wind whistling against the windows. “This one is definitely the fanciest.”
You chuckled to yourself remembering that one time you, him, Nat, and Bucky all arrived at a safe house that looked like it had a tornado run through it.
“Couch may be uncomfortable but still the best thing I’ve used to sleep on during one of these trips.” You added. You both kept the sheet cover over the couches, their aged antique condition made you wonder how long they’d been abandoned and it’d probably be better than changing if the couch was home to some creepy crawlers.
“How much longer are you gonna be shaking like a leaf over there until you just come over here and lay with me?”
You’d thought about it before you had even started the fire but there’s no way you could’ve asked him.
The team took humor in your relationship or lack thereof. The tension wasn’t blind to you, it felt like a classic rom-com will-they/won’t-they trope but you wouldn’t wanna chance ruining the dynamic of the friendship you did have. So you had to pretend like seeing a super soldier fawn over you with heart eyes didn’t make you blush. At this point you were pretty sure that the two of you being the only ones sent on this trip was the team trying to set you up, they weren’t as patient nor forgiving as the two of you and your silent agreement.
“I’m fine, I don't know what you’re talking about.” You shook your head, too stubborn to admit defeat.
“Get over here or I’m gonna take my jacket back.” He playfully threatened causing you to huff and painfully leave the heat of your cocoon and shuffle over to his couch the marble tiling too cold on your feet.
As you began to realign the blankets for your new arrangement you were distracted by the muscular man taking his long sleeve shirt off. “The fastest way to stay warm is skin to skin.”
You couldn’t help but audibly laugh at him. “I’m not getting naked, but nice try.”
“C’mon, don’t you wanna stay warm?” He smiled as you tucked yourself next to him, the couch not being very wide so you had no choice but to lay tightly pressed against him. “If there’s anyone who knows what it’s like to be frozen, it’s me.”
You tried to muffle your giggle. “If I wasn’t so cold I’d hit you.”
Steve readjusted his position around you, spooning you to rest your head against his muscular arm as a makeshift pillow. “Better not hear a word of this from anyone else, the teasing will never stop.”
“My lips are sealed, angel.”
You hoped the chill that ran down your spine as his deep husky voice calling you angel in your ear passed off as just being a symptom of the cold. Angel was new, maybe he was getting a fever and starting to become delirious.
His smell was so hypnotizing. No fancy colognes, after being occupied on a mission all day, just Steve. Thankfully you hadn’t sweat much on the trip or else you wouldn’t let him touch you with a ten-foot pole.
The sound of the crackling fireplace and Steve’s fast heartbeat with his breath brushing past your ear you tried to hide the girlish glee you felt. You didn’t do relationships, you were too busy, and the fewer connections you had the less someone could use against you. But the affection Steve was giving was enough to break any stubborn spell and melt into him. You were so touch-starved just him holding you was better than sex but you hadn’t had that in quite a while either.
You swore to yourself no matter how horny you got you would never fuck your coworkers. It’s not like a normal job where you can just resign when things get too awkward. You didn’t have an HR to go to if details of your affair started whispering through the locker rooms.
You fell asleep so quickly in his arms, your body became so instantly exhausted once you were warm enough to stop shivering. You hadn’t fully registered the fact Steve had begun pulling your shirt up. “Steve?” You grumbled. “M’ not getting naked.”
“You don’t have to,” he corrected. “Pulling your shirt up to your stomach so you can at least get some skin to skin even if it’s just your waist. I’d never do something to you that you didn’t like.”
“Fine,” you grumbled, snuggling back into him. You would surely kick yourself in a few days when you realize how close you were to being curled up next to a naked super soldier waiting out a snowstorm beside a crackling fireplace in an extremely romantic trope scenario.
Sleep quickly consumed you like an oncoming wave on an unsuspecting swimmer. A deep warmth buried within you and at the brief moment you had before falling asleep the idea of giving it his charms and crush felt worth any future repercussions. Captain or not, Steve would always take care of you.
———
“Steve?” You whimpered, a jolting forced you awake. His fast breathing, heavy with desire brushed along your ear and it took you a moment to realize what was happening. You didn’t need to look to know what was happening.
Your arms flew back at him, trying to push away from him as fast as you could and force yourself from the couch but he was fast to wrap his thick arms around you keeping you anchored against him.
Your snow pants were shimmied to your knees with your top leg forced to raise high and around his hip. Your shirt and jackets had been pulled up past your breasts and your bra yanked down. As his top arm forced you against him his hand from his arm below you groped your breasts.
“I’m sorry angel,” he whined through gritted teeth as you felt what had to be the tip of his cock poke at your entrance. “I wasn’t planning on doing this I swear.”
“Let me go!” You screamed trying to wrestle out his hold despite knowing it was a fight you’d never win but he tangled his legs around you forcing them to stay open. This wasn’t happening, not with him.
“I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry.”
A breath escaped your lungs as he forced his cock inside you. “Steve…” You cried in utter disbelief.
“I’m so sorry Angel.” His voice was drenched in guilt that you felt no empathy for. “I’ve just loved you so much for so long I couldn’t take it anymore.”
“Please stop!” You begged. “I won’t say anything!”
His hand left your breasts and clapped over your mouth, your cries filling him with too much guilt that he couldn’t stand hearing you in the pain he was causing. He couldn’t stand you asking him to stop when he’s wanted this for so long. It wasn’t a part of the fantasy that kept him up at night.
“I didn’t want our first time to be like this.” The arm he had wrapped around your waist locking you to him had maneuvered its way to between your thighs desperate to caress and rub your clit. “You just kept wiggling against my cock in your sleep and-and I was only gonna make myself cum but then you were so close and I pulled down your pants just enough to look at you and then I co-couldn’t stop myself.”
You wrestled in his arms trying to get free, your sobs still audible over his makeshift gag. “Please stop fighting,” he begged. “Just wanna make you feel good as your pussy is making me feel. Just let me do this, I promise I’ll make it feel good if you just let me.”
You didn’t want to stop fighting, you wanted free, but even if you did where would you go? You were at least a mile and a half away from the jet and he’d catch you before you could even make it out the front door. And even if you got out, got away, made it to the jet, survived flying home, what was the point when no one would believe you? You aren’t even sure you could believe yourself this was happening.
“Just let me rub your pussy and make you cum. I’ve watched you do it to yourself so many times I know how you like it.”
You screamed against his hand. There was no horror movie as scary as his confessions.
“You’re starting to get wet it won’t hurt much longer, you’re being so good for me. You’re my good girl.”
The shock had overridden the pain that you hadn’t even fully realized until now. You’d surely be sore and bleeding for days after this but you hadn’t started to feel it until the abrupt confessions had pulled you from your adrenaline-filled trance.
“I needed you, I’ve wanted you for so long I just didn’t know how to tell you.”
Steve fucked into you harder and harder each thrust nearly throwing you off the couch if he didn’t have a hold on you, the base skidding slightly across the tile.
A shameful moan vibrated against his hand as his fingers caught onto a rhythm that was enough to drive you crazy.
“Atta girl, your little cunt needed this. You need me to take care of you and I always will. I’ll never let you go.”
Beaten moans and heavy breathing ricochet off his hand until he finally let go and you gasped for air. “You like my cock, angel? I know you do, I can feel you squeezing me so tight, you wanted me to do this to you, didn’t you?”
Violently shaking your head and biting your lip to keep a pleasure-soaked cry from leaving you. “I’m gonna fill you up, you have no clue how much I cum I’m gonna flood your tight cunt and get you pregnant.”
“Steve don’t!” That was the only thing you could get yourself to say. “Please don’t, please.”
“Don’t make me silence you again.” He scolded as his thrusts became more forceful. “Don’t you wanna make me a daddy? You wanna be the lucky woman who gets to carry Captain America’s children.”
Pleading cries quickly dissolved on your tongue as his touch became too powerful and brought you to the edge.
“That’s it, angel.” He grunted you could feel his cock twitch deep in you. “Need to feel you cum, wanna hear it n’ feel it.”
“Fuck…” you gasped as you shamefully met your hips back into his forcing his fingers to rub harder how you needed until you finally came squeezing him involuntarily.
“Fuck, I’m gonna…” Steve breathily whimpered as his hips jackhammered into you until he abruptly stopped and let out a growling grunt.
It took only a moment later you felt his cum drip out of you and down your thighs and his groin. He really wasn’t being dramatic when he said he came so much.
Steve stayed burrowed inside you, his cock twitching as it softened within you. “You were so good, I’m sorry it had to be like that, I promise when we get back I’m gonna take you on a real date and I’ll make up for it. You are my Angel, I’m so happy we’re finally together.”
———
A/N: damn this foul of me lmao. I could see maybe having a part two to this but it depends on how y’all feel ab it I just don’t want it to feel redundant to the ‘fake happy post dark fic’ endings that we’ve all see and I’ve written before.
Taglist is open for any character! Pls either DM me or send an ask to be added bc if not I probably won’t see it any other way.
Taglist for CE characters: @inlovewiththefictionalcharacters
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stuckymonkey · 6 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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475 notes · View notes
sgrwrites · 11 months
Text
Benign and malignant
Malignant
Pairing: dark!Steve Rogers x reader
Warnings: noncon, kidnapping, yandere!Steve, possessive behaviour, obsessive behaviour, basement, doll maker!Steve, the boi is kinda delusional
Words: 3.1k
Summary: You regret stepping into his shop, but it’s too late, everything is done and dusted. When he’s not here, it’s only you and those eyes that keep staring at you.
Inspired by The dream of a girl doll 
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Steve was tidying his basement studio when the doorbell rang, notifying him that someone, probably a customer, had just entered his shop. He halted his work and headed upstairs. That was how he met you, standing in front of the entrance with your hands clenched onto the handle of your bag, your eyes wandering around the breathtaking interior.
You were here to buy a BJD for your friend’s birthday. Steve showed you his products and conscientiously advised you on which dolls should be the best for her. 
He could tell you were pleased with his service and the handmade doll you chose. He was flattered by your compliments. He always loved when people showed interest and held his creation in high regard. 
A few days later, he stumbled upon you in a coffee shop in the evening. You didn’t notice him though, absolutely concentrating on your tablet on the table. You were drawing, Steve guessed you had been here for maybe half an hour or so, your cup of coffee ceased to steam and remained untouched, the ice cubes in your glass of water were all melted. You must have let your mind get lost in imagination and creation so much you neglected your drinks. He uncontrollably laughed softly through his nose at your face: eyes slightly squinted, one brow raised while the other one frowned, your mouth parted, and the upper lip pulled up. You looked like you were annoyed. Though he knew better. You were just drawing, and it wasn’t uncommon for artists to unconsciously mimic their character’s expressions while drawing them.
Steve didn’t know why he suddenly had the urge to come and chat with you, maybe it was because you admired his art the other day, maybe he’d just learnt that you were also an artist, or maybe both. He liked how you looked up as soon as you heard his greeting and instantly eased your facial expression, a smile bloomed on your face as you recognised him. You were so bonny when you smiled. 
The two of you started a small talk just like that. Mostly, it was about art. He learnt that you were a freelance artist, you even showed off some of your artworks and impressed him greatly. As it was getting late, Steve offered to walk you home for your safety, a spark of exhilaration bubbling in his chest when you grinned and gladly nodded. He was amused that you were the one who suggested exchanging numbers before bidding him goodbye. You even asked him to text you when he got home, were you concerned for his safety?
He followed you on twitter and instagram, spending all night scrolling your pages, your artworks were interesting. Maybe he should commission you to draw him an OC, and he would make a BJD based on that character. It wasn’t that he couldn’t draw one himself, he was also a talented artist though, he just wanted an excuse to have a conversation with you.
You’d been his friend for months, at least that was according to you when you introduced him to some of your other friends. Steve secretly would like to use another word. On special occasions such as holidays, he’d give you dolls and flowers as presents. He remembered every single thing about you, your birthday, your likes and dislikes, a list of your favourite food and drinks, the life story you shared with him when you both sat in the park and drew together, exchanging each other’s drawing every 5 minutes. Everything about yourself that you’d ever told him, Steve memorised it all. 
Moreover, hadn’t he been so attentive to you? He was always here for you. He would definitely stop working and close his shop to go pick you up whenever you needed a ride no matter where. He was willing to stay up all night chatting with you if you were sad and needed someone to talk to. 
He doubted a ‘friend’ would be the right term you should use to regard him.
He smiled to himself as he stroked a BJD. He’d just got home after having a walk with you, and like a habit, Steve descended to his basement studio, where he had a BJD resembled you there, to caress its hair and whisper that he’d had a good time. He always desired to touch you the way he did the doll, always ached for you, so much that he made himself this little thing that looked like you. But, oh, were you clueless about his affection?
Taking a trip down memory lane, Steve recalled in detail how he created this BJD. 
On that day, he woke up around 4 a.m with a craving. He hadn’t seen you for 3 weeks, you were on a business trip abroad at that time. Steve wanted nothing more than to text you, but was it unlikely for a ‘friend’ to contact you in the wee hour? 
So he chose a safer option, one that he always used. He turned on his tablet and went to a porn site while opening the gallery on his phone to look at your pictures that he had collected from your social media accounts. Steve watched some clips while he wanked, constantly switching his eyes from the tablet to the phone, imagining that he was fucking you hard just like the guys in the clips did their sluts. He brought himself to climax just like that. And as usual, after he came, he stared at his cum covered hand, his eyes twinkling with amusement as he entertained himself with the scene of your hot tongue lapping at it.
He missed you so much that an idea popped up in his mind. Therefore, after coming down from his high, Steve decided to walk down to his studio. There, he began to draw you in his notebook with an ecstatic grin on his face. 
First, he made an anatomical sketch of your full body and added joints to certain parts. Once he was done, he carefully chose the materials, the polymer clay, the fabric for the dress, the boots, the hair, everything for his special doll. While sculpting your body, he didn’t forget to carve the most angelic smile on its face, your face. When the doll was finished, Steve moved on to sew its costume. You would look lovely in blue, he opted for Victorian style. He smiled to himself at the thought of you in this dress, he could find a skilled tailor to commission the dress for you later. Steve was pleased with the result, the doll was stunning in its dress. And to add one finishing touch to his creation, he gave it a blue bonnet with a black ribbon tied under its chin.
The little thing was just impeccable. Now he could look at it every time he missed you.
Steve set the BJD on his work desk, this was the best place he could think of since he always spent a lot of time here making dolls. Maybe next time, he’d make another one but life-size and put it in his bedroom.
The following month turned out to be the worst time in his life. You told him you were going to move abroad. The news struck Steve like lightning, but nothing prepared him for when he asked you why and you answered that you had got yourself a foreign boyfriend who you’d like to live with in his country. Were you serious? A boyfriend? One that you said you met on that business trip of yours? What about him? What was he to you? Wasn’t he good enough for you?
 You looked so expectant. Steve could barely believe in his eyes and ears. Really? You did this for a man you’d merely known for several months? All the while be oblivious to his affection for you?
This was purely unacceptable. Every fibre of his being was burning and itching. His blood boiled and he saw red. You hurt him badly. If only you knew that.
Yet Steve kept his composure. He asked for the day of your departure.
.
Slowly cracking your eyes open, you felt utterly weary as if all of your energy had been drained. Your vision was blurry, you stirred and forced yourself to sit up. The last thing you remembered was that you were having dinner with Steve, he’d invited you to have dinner with him at his house, saying that this was probably the last time you two could meet so he wanted to make it special. 
You didn’t recall returning home and hitting the hay. Well, maybe you drank excessively and he had to help take you home (though, if your memory was correct, you only had one or two glasses of wine but whatever). If it was so, it was thoughtful of him. The thought made you unconsciously smile. Your friend was always so kind to you, it was a blessing to meet him. Though it was sad that you wouldn’t get to hang out with him anymore.
Your smile withered away as soon as you fully regained consciousness. Your body went rigid and alarmed as you realised that this wasn’t your room. It was dim here, lit by a single led light on the wall, you squinted your eyes, trying to take in the surroundings. 
Jolting backward was your first reaction, for there were figures and body parts everywhere, they all were in various sizes; on the floor not so far from you was a basket full of heads, several boxes filled with limbs, a variety of figures stood and lied all over the place, two or three miniature houses that looked like dollhouses.
Dolls!
They were dolls and their body parts! They reminded you of your dollmaker friend. Steve. 
Your shoulders sagged and you breathed out a sign of relief. Safe. This must be his craft room. He once told you he had a studio in the basement. So, you were fine and not in danger. But why were you here? Did Steve let you sleep here because you were too tipsy? And where was he? What was the time now? His room had no windows, you had no idea if it was still midnight.
You searched your pockets for the phone but it was nowhere to be found. You frowned, where would it be? You got up, attempting to go find Steve, yet something tugged your leg. Looking back, you froze at the sight of an iron restraint locked around your ankle. Why hadn't you noticed it until now?
It took you a moment to digest, then you gasped. Were you being abducted? By… Steve? Your friend? No no no… this… this couldn’t be… was this a prank? Steve wasn’t the type of person who would mess around this way. Was this a dream? Maybe your hangover was making you see things. What was the meaning of this?
In a panic, you clasped the chain and attempted to yank it, your mind refused to believe that the thing was real. Fake chain. It must be a fake chain. Despite how hard you tried, it was pointless and proof that everything was real. Tears spilled out of your eyes. 
The fatigue of your hangover wore you out fast, soon you had no strength left for the fruitless struggle. So you forced yourself to calm down, getting panicked would do you no good. You scanned your eyes around in hope that you’d find something, anything, to break the chain. Now the dolls seemed so lively and creepy in the dim light, you shivered and cringed, it felt like they were staring at you.
At the moment your eyes landed on a desk, or rather, something on that desk. 
You gawked at the thing, mouth agape in horror. Then you screamed. You thought your eyes and the light deceived you. 
Standing on the desk was a doll that greatly resembled you. Why on earth did such a thing exist? Did Steve make it? Well, possibly, the style looked familiar. But why? It was creepy as fuck to think that he made a BJD identical to you.
You heard footsteps heading to the room, was it Steve? You braved yourself for whatever might happen next. 
A silhouette opened the door and turned on the light. Dazzled, you coiled and shielded your eyes with your hands.
“Ah… you finally woke up,” you heard a sigh, it was Steve’s voice, he was walking towards you. You gulped and cracked your eyes open, seeing that he was getting down on one knee to have a better look at you with a satisfying grin on, “good afternoon, doll face.”
The endearment term had always sounded cute and you'd always liked it when he called you that, but now, it gave you goosebumps.
“What… what is all of this for?” you spluttered hoarsely.
He ignored your question and wrapped his hands around your biceps, making you flinch. His smile dropped. You could tell he wasn’t pleased with your reaction, but you couldn’t help. Steve Rogers used to be your favourite person, a friend you felt safe spending time with, but now he was a walking danger.
“Doll face,” Steve caressed your cheeks, “you always beam when you see me, why ain’t you now?”
You stared at him wordlessly with bated breath. If you could dart away, you could. Being near this man was the last thing you wanted to do right now. But your ankle was restrained and Steve held you so tightly, there was nothing you could do.
“Come on, smile for me,” he urged as his thumbs pulled the corners of your lips upward. Steve praised how pretty you were when you smiled, he leaned forward to steal a kiss then nuzzle your nose.
Did he just lose his mind? What was he doing? You were gobsmacked at his actions and could only give him a freeze response.
But then you screamed and struggled to shove Steve away as you felt his hands roam your body. He wanted to sexually assault you, you didn’t know why your gentle, chivalrous friend was behaving so strangely, though there was no doubt he was having the intention to violate you.
“Stop! Stop! Why are you doing this, Steve? Please, stop!”
It was so futile, you knew that, but a sliver of hope inside you still cried out and urged you to fight, to reason with him. So that Steve might come to his senses and stop, hopefully.
“No, you’re the one that has to stop! Be quiet!” Steve grabbed your shoulders and growled at you, and for the first time ever since you knew this man, you were actually scared of him. He subdued your protest effortlessly, “when will you stop ignoring the fact that I love you?!” 
His words floored you completely, you stared at him with wide eyes. Your mind found it hard to digest everything you heard.
He sighed contentedly and loosened his grip, “there you are, don’t act out again, ok? I don’t like that.” Steve gave you a peck on the head and rested his chin on it, he began to ramble, “I’m sorry I have to do this, but you need to know that I only want the best for us. I forgive you for not noticing my feelings. It hurts bad though, I’ve loved you ever since the day we met but you’re always so clueless, you even have a boyfriend. You wound my heart greatly, doll face. Am I not good enough for you? I wouldn’t have done this if I had had any other choices. You said you were gonna leave me, how can you be so cruel? I was devastated, you know? Is that a test to see if I love you? I do, darling. And I know you have feelings for me too, you must have! The whole moving abroad thing is just a cruel prank, isn’t it? But don’t worry, I won’t hate you for that, I can never. I adore you, my little doll. And from now on, we’re gonna be together forever. You’re gonna love me, I promise…”
Fuck… Steve was delusional. Listening to him made your ears hurt, he was wholly out of his mind. He was still babbling, but you couldn’t listen anymore.
“Hey!” you roared, cutting him off, fear left your body, giving way to anger and fury. Steve fell silent and pulled away enough to look at you, as if you were the one who was acting weird. It only fueled your irritation. “What the fuck are you talking about? I never love you, you’re sick in the head!”
Taking advantage of Steve being taken aback by your harsh words, you shoved him away and continued to snarl at him, “unchain me and let me go, I’ll pretend that nothing ever happened. Otherwise-”
“Otherwise,” Steve chimed in, oddly calm, “what will you do?”  
Speechless, words suddenly stopped flowing out of your agape mouth. What would you do? Actually, what could you do? Nothing. You were no match for him.
“What’s wrong, doll face?” Steve huffed out a laugh and taunted you, “cat got your tongue?”
Gritting your teeth, you barked at him, “people will notice I go missing and report it to the police. You’ll definitely be the first suspect!”
He snickered, “so grateful for your concern, baby. You shouldn’t be though, I know some cops, they’re literally my buddies.”
Steve reached out his hand to touch you, but you smacked it away and glared at him. He just laughed it off and got up to fetch the doll.
“I know everything may be so sudden to you, I’ll overlook all of your flippancies. All you need is time to accept me and my love for you,” he brought the doll close to you and grinned, “see, I cherish you so much I made this. Lovely, isn’t it? Just like you.”
You winced, it was creepy as fuck to even look closely to a doll that resembled yourself. Bile rose up your throat, you couldn’t stand this thing. So you screamed and slapped it away, sending the doll to the floor. Disgusting. 
“Get this damn thing out of my face!!”
Steve gazed at you for a moment, his face unreadable. Then he sighed, “I intend to treat you nicely and teach you to love me,” he snatched your ankle and pulled it, dragging your body closer to his. 
You yelped in surprise and before you realised it, Steve already settled himself between your legs. His hand was at your throat, choking you. His other hand tore your clothes apart with ease. Your body froze as you felt his clothed hard cock nuzzling at your bare core. 
“But it seems like you want to learn the hard way.”
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rustedhearts · 1 year
Text
Severed Lamb Part I: Blessed Be (Pastor!Steve x Fem!reader)
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summary: your visit home for the summer comes with a handsome new preacher, who takes a special liking to you.
uses she/her pronouns and female anatomy.
♰ the steve collection ♰
♰ part ii: poor thing ♰
warnings: religious imagery/trauma, manipulation, abuse of power, age-gap (reader is 19, steve is 35), allusions to child abuse (you gotta squint, but the mom does some icky shit), mention of death/parent loss.
author's note: some dark stuff happening in this series, y'all, so read the warnings and take them seriously! i’m not responsible for your internet-intake. for the sake of this fic, i’ve given you (the reader) the name delilah (because 'y/n' just looks ugly and ruins my vibe). also delilah is a ballerina.
♰ Wyndgate, Georgia June 1981 ♰
The Georgian heat was insufferable.
A stiff, sticky heat that swells in your hair and bloats your cheeks. It made wading through the overgrown field of your childhood backyard a miserable task. But your mother requested fresh cherries from the tree, and you weren't one to deny your mother of her needs. You carried the old porcelain bowl, hand-painted with delicate lilacs, toward the tree in the distance, smacking off mosquitos and shooing away flies as you went.
When you reached the tree, you set the bowl on the ground and began to climb. The bark of the trunk felt just as it did when you were a child: solid, rough, mossy sandpaper against your palms. You wiped off the bark fragments on your denim shorts and began to pluck. Years of picking cherries gave you a keen eye for the ripest selections: plump, gleaming swells of red. You shoved a few into your cheeks before sliding down to fill the bowl.
The bowl was half-full and your stomach was full of cherry stem knots by the time you headed back toward the house. Birds chirped their evening goodbyes in the trees chasing the horizon line. Cicadas shook their wings and crickets rubbed their legs to make a chittering symphony. Just beyond the looming oak trees, the sun began to fade into a blur of gold and pink. The clouds looked like they were delicately etched by hand.
"Those for anybody?"
You jumped, hands slipping around the porcelain bowl clutched against your stomach at the sound of a deep voice before you. You steadied, tightened your grip, and settled your gaze upon the figure standing in front of you—a man. A handsome man. A crop of fluffy chestnut hair, a set of round copper eyes, a perfectly-sloped, straight nose, and a set of properly pink lips. Around his neck, he wore an intricate silver chain. Within the unbuttoned collar of his shirt, you spotted the glint of a small cross.
The man raised his brows, and you licked over your cherry-stained lips.
"N-No, sir, these are...these are for my mother. I got them from our tree, just there," you explained, turning to point toward your tree a few feet back.
The man followed your direction, hands tucked into the pockets of his brown slacks. Your throat bobbed with a swallow when his eyes roamed back toward you—your cheeks burned at the way they rolled over your skim-clothed body.
You weren't expecting company today, and usually the field behind your house was empty, seeing as it was private property. Nobody ventured into each other's properties...except him. Your denim shorts and thin-strapped camisole gave way to the shapes and curves of your body not suited for a man's eye. But what really caught this man's eye was not the way your breasts spilled from your top, or the way your thighs strained against the denim squeezed around them—but the cross resting below the dip in your collarbone. Gold, elegant, clearly hand-crafted for you.
A child of God. A beautiful lamb.
"Surely you can spare one for a lonesome stranger? I've traveled a long way," he cooed.
His voice was smooth and sweet. He had a way of talking and tipping his head all at once that made you feel like he was telling you a bedtime story. You found your fingers dipping into the bowl and plucking two cherries before your mind could catch up. Your hand brushed his as he collected them in his palm, and you followed his fingers as they approached his mouth.
"Mmm," he hummed around the sweet juices in his mouth. He ran his tongue over the front of his teeth and the inside of his cheek. "Sweet."
But his eyes were on you. They twinkled against the low-setting sun, golden light washing over him. You weren't entirely sure he was real, in that moment.
"I'll see you around." He passed by, curling two fingers gently around your elbow before he walked off toward the property next door.
♰ ♰
But that Sunday, you knew for a fact he was real.
The man from the field, the man that left you two cherries short and the recipient of a scolding from your mother, was standing just below the podium at the old evangelical church on Mulberry. Clasping the hands of bright-eyed women bearing crosses, bending into a gentle, respectful bow. Firmly returning the shake of balding men that were already sweating through their nicest shirts, still greased from a day's work at the auto shop. Crouching to cast a straight-toothed, dazzling smile at children not yet tall enough to reach the pews without climbing.
All the air in your lungs seemed to get caught in your throat as you approached him, arm looped through your mother's. Your Mary Janes clunked against the floor of the aisle, and your eyes sought something, anything, other than his handsome face waiting for you ahead.
"Ah, you must be Loraine."
His voice. It sounded just as it did that day in the field—sweet, smooth, like honey from the comb.
"Well now, how did you know that?" your mother giggled, reaching up to fluff her hair beneath her elaborately atrocious hat.
You curled your fingers into a fist behind your back, blunt nails digging into your palm. Your dress, pale yellow and dappled with embroidered daisies, suddenly felt too tight around your waist. Your mother tied it herself in the mirror this morning, pulling until it cinched so tightly that you could practically see the waistband of your underwear. There, now you look like a young lady.
"I've heard such wonderful things about your fashionable hats." He didn't have an accent. At least, not like the Georgians did.
He sounded more like they did in Pennsylvania, where you went to school. They had a certain way about over-pronouncing their vowels that made it clear they were Yankees—
"And this must be your daughter."
His eyes set upon you, and a full-bodied shiver ran down your spine. Your stomach clenched, and your mother squeezed her arm around yours a little tighter until you turned to meet his eye. She grinned toothily beside you, leaning to press your heads together. Her soft, fluffy hair tickled your cheek. You could smell the cigarettes still on her teeth from the car ride over. The man was looking at you with a half-mouthed smile that made you swallow.
He was so handsome. Too handsome for a preacher. Too handsome for Wyndgate.
"This is my baby girl, Delilah. Ain't she pretty?" Your mother reached behind your neck to tuck your hair behind your ear. Her pink nails scraped against the nape of your neck like a chalkboard.
"She's a ballerina, up in Pennsylvania. Came back to visit her Mama for the summer. Ain't that right, Lilah?"
You let your eyes touch the man's chin. The faintest collection of stubble gathered around his jaw. A mocha-colored mole kissed his neck. He watched you intently, hands suddenly returning to his black slacks like they did that day in the field. He donned all black today, and it made his eyes look golden. Under the fluorescents of the church, he glowed like something divine. He looked so young.
"Yes," you whispered.
His hand slipped from his pocket, a gentle whooshing sound. First, he clasped your mother's hand, giving it a delicate bob—and then he reached for yours. You didn't wait for your mother to nudge you, reaching out and slipping your fingers along his palm. His thumb brushed along your knuckles and your spine straightened. A terrible ache gathered between your thighs. You hadn't felt an ache like that since prom night, when Tommy Baker kissed you against his truck in the gymnasium parking lot.
"It's lovely to meet the both of you. Everyone's been so lovely to me, welcoming me into your congregation."
He spread his arms, palms upended, and motioned toward the church. Everyone was getting seated, shuffling about in the rickety old pews, murmuring amongst themselves about the handsome new preacher and his funny voice. In your periphery, you could see the young girls fanning themselves with pamphlets frantically. Mid-morning light blared through the stained glass and cast a violet rainbow over his cheek.
A kiss from God. Wyndgate talked for weeks about how God delivered His handsomest angel to them by hand.
You slipped away from the preacher and wandered toward your designated pew, sliding in beside your mother, tucked against the end. You carefully placed your bible on your knees and adjusted your dress, just as the podium creaked against the man's weight. He spread his arms again, like he was waiting to ascend and welcome in Heaven.
"Welcome, all, I'm Pastor Steve. What a beautiful day to celebrate our Lord, isn't it, church?"
And as the pews murmured their joyous agreement, Pastor Steve's eyes cut over to you. He grinned a half-cocked grin. You didn't know, if standing there behind the podium, was a gift sent from God, or a trick from the devil.
♰ ♰
Before he died, your Daddy converted the old hay barn in the backyard into a dance studio. Floor length mirrors covered nearly every inch of the wooden walls, hand-sawed lengths of log through their middle for balance bars. He hand-crafted all of it for you as a birthday gift just before you went to high school.
When he died, it became your only solace. A place of solitude, of lulling quiet—it was the only place you could think. Twirling on the top of your pointe shoe, watching the room spin and blur while you snatched armfuls of air, fingers delicately tapped together—it was your form of relaxation.
You left the barn door open today, letting the sticky heat billow in. It breezed over your bare arms and legs like a gentle whisper as you rotated and pranced around the room. Your elegant gold cross, a permanent token fixed around your neck, swinging in the air with every turnout.
"You always dance like this?"
A shriek left your mouth like a siren. You shot your foot out to put you at a hard stop, heaving for air and staring Pastor Steve straight in the face. He was leaning on the barn door, arms crossed, the toe of his leather loafer pressed to the shiny wooden floor. His church clothes abandoned, he donned a pair of brown slacks and a blue button down—crisp, pleated, rolled at the elbows. His silver chain glimmered in the soft glow of the evening light behind him.
"You alright?" he asked.
You blinked, hands finding your hips, cheeks burning. You swallowed, bobbing your head. Wisps of hair flounced against your forehead. From across the barn, Steve's eyes licked over your pale pink attire, your sweat-slick limbs, naked and bared for him. He found the cross resting above your breast and tipped his head to admire it.
“Y-yeah, m’ alright. Can I…what are you doin’ here?”
Steve took his lip between his teeth. His chin tipped down, eyes blaring through thick lashes to watch you reach for a water bottle on the floor. Your gold cross caught the sun like a beacon. He couldn’t look away from it. It glowed around your neck. You were divine beauty, a perfect little lamb. He knew it the moment he saw you scaling that cherry tree the other day. He knew it the moment he saw you floating down the church aisle like a bride. He couldn’t stop thinking about you.
God sent him to Georgia for you.
“Your mother,” Steve said, straightening up. He’d been staring too long. “I heard she’s the only woman in town that knows how to fix my robe the right way.”
You nodded along in agreement. Your mother was a talented seamstress—she could fix even the worst tear and make it look brand new. But you didn’t see a robe with him, and as your eyes flickered around to find it, Pastor Steve cracked a smile.
“It’s in my car,” he said.
You flashed a small, tight-lipped smile. Your cheeks swelled with more heat. His voice was so smooth and soft. It tickled your ears like a melody.
“Oh,” you murmured meekly.
Silence filled the barn. In the yard, birds twittered, and the chickens in your neighbor’s pen a few yards down clucked nosily. Steve continued to tip his head and inspect you. You swallowed again, bringing your hands to clasp together behind your back, and tapped your ratty pointe shoes together on the floor. Your good shoes were back at school, on rental for the semester. You scrubbed floors and cleaned the mirrors every night after class just to afford to keep them. Without the scholarship you earned, you wouldn’t be able to afford to dance at all.
“Um, I should probably head inside,” you piped up, rising to the tops of your toes only to press back down again.
Steve watched you closely for another moment. Everything about the way you moved made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. It was thrilling, the way you spun and twirled, the way you walked like you were airless. You were graceful, just like a swan.
You clutched your water to your chest and shuffled toward the corner where your sneakers waited. You opted to hook your fingers in their soles instead of changing—something about the way Pastor Steve followed your every move made you tremble and squirm, and you were desperate to get into the cool confines of your room and avoid his pretty stare.
You lifted your head and cast another small smile that had him clenching.
“Have a nice day, Pastor.”
Oh and your voice. Hushed, delicate, meek. You always sounded like you were delivering a line written by Shakespeare himself. It sent shivers down Steve’s spine, that voice.
You brushed past him in a breeze—a whiff of sweet sweat and rose soap—and Steve broke out of his daydream to catch a glimpse of the nape of your neck. With your hair pulled away from it, your neck looked enticing—a patch of clammy skin, braced with the fragile, glimmering golden rope of your necklace.
“Mhm,” Steve hurriedly hummed, lifting off the door of the barn as you sweepingly turned the corner toward the house. “See you inside.”
And as hard as you tried to avoid it, you did see him inside.
You hurriedly showered and scurried into your room as your mother extended her southern hospitality—soon, the lace dining cloth was covered in glasses of freshly-brewed sweet tea and bowls of cherries.
You sat down at the cushioned stool of your vanity and smoothed cream over your damp face, listening carefully to the murmur of your mother and Pastor Steve’s voices on the other side of the wall. Her laugh was over-joyous and sickeningly sweet, and you heard your name mentioned far too frequently for your liking.
Dressed in a breezy sundress, you settled down on your bed beside the open window, letting in a warm wind that fluttered your drapes, and cracked open an old favorite from your tiny shelf—Anne of Green Gables. You turned to the bookmarked page, letting the breeze from the window and the wind from the ceiling fan cool down your skin, still buzzing with thrumming warmth from your spinning in the barn and Pastor Steve’s heavy gaze.
But every turn of the page came with a glimpse of his eyes in your mind. A hazel color, big and round and penetrative. They followed you like they were pinned to the back of your head. You felt the weight of that gaze all through Sunday’s sermon, and again while you fidgeted in the barn. He was always watching. And something about the way he looked at you made you feel…special. Special in a way you didn’t feel back at school, or anywhere previously in Wyndgate where all the girls who got attention were slender and blonde and giggly.
But to Pastor Steve, you were something worth looking at. And a man of God’s approval, his praise, mattered most of all.
“Lilah! Lilah, come set Pastor Steve a place for dinner!”
Your mother’s voice washed over you like a cold drip, and your book fell from your hands to your floral quilt. Your cheeks bloomed with heat again, cursing under your breath as you shuffled toward the edge of the mattress. Bare legs dangling over, your hand flew to your chest to rub the cross between your knuckles in search of comfort. In the living room, the deep rumble of Pastor Steve’s voice made your stomach squirm.
“Oh, Lord,” you whispered pleadingly, eyes turning toward the portrait of Jesus in a frame above your bed. “Don’t do this to me. Don’t do this to me.”
Don’t make me go out there. He’s so handsome.
“Lilah Anne! I’m not callin’ you again,” your mother’s voice was just on the other side of the door, and a harsh knock followed after.
The door flew open, and you bounced off the bed. Flustered, you watched your mother sigh and ease the door into a crack behind her. She tiptoed toward you, checking over your appearance as she went.
“Lilah, he’s a very important man. I want you to use our nice plates. The ones with the bluebells, alright?”
You bobbed your head furiously. The back of your dress started to cling to your spine. You reached behind to pluck it away, give your skin some air to breathe, and your mother grabbed your arm. She leaned in close, and you knew by the purse of her lips what was coming next:
“Make yourself real pretty, alright? Pastor Steve is such a nice man,” she gushed.
She pinched your cheek and patted the skin, and your chest tightened as the back of her head disappeared through the door. When it closed, you spun around and walked toward the mirror, standing tall in the corner of your room. There you stood, pulling at your pale blue dress, frowning at your bare arms and legs. But Mama would want them like that, on display for Pastor Steve to see. Just like all those times when her friends came over. She’d bring them home from the bar and introduce you in the living room, and you always sat in a chair in the corner, pretending not to understand what it meant when they kept calling you “a sure thing.”
But Pastor Steve was different. Pastor Steve was a man of God. He’d never stray from God’s guidance.
So, you neatly plaited your hair and swept it over your shoulder. You rubbed strawberry chapstick over your lips and nose, and delicately placed your unfinished book on the nightstand for later. The ceiling fan hummed absently over your empty bed.
You gathered the plates—the gleaming porcelain with the hand-painted bluebells—from the china cabinet, and cleared the clutter from the table to fix it for dinner. All the while, as you bent to place silverware beside each place, you gazed beneath your arm over toward the living room. Pastor Steve stood, arms out, in the center of the wood-paneled room. Your mother knelt before him, working her needle through the hole in his deep, swampy green robe. The crosses embroidered on the fabric were golden and shiny.
His head turned, a strand of hair catching over his eye, and you ducked away toward the fridge. Yanking it open, you relished in the cool air blowing from the vent in the buzzing white light of its confinement.
"...should be all ready to—Lilah Anne, what on earth are you doin' in there?"
You hurriedly slammed the fridge closed, rattling the bread box on top and the glass condiments on the inside shelf—and standing on the other side of the table, was a furrow-browed mother and a perfectly well-stitched Pastor Steve. The latter flashed you a boyish grin, and your cheek burned as you looped your fingers together behind your back.
"I set the table like you said, Mama," you murmured softly, tipping your head toward the wooden table, adorned with its white lace cloth and bluebell plates.
Steve followed your gaze, admiring your organized layout. Your mother merely glanced, otherwise focused on the neatness of your braid. She swept the end of it over your shoulder to drape down your arm as she passed by, heading toward the fridge to grab yesterday’s chicken.
"I was just gonna heat up some of this chicken, is that alright, Pastor?"
You turned to the man anxiously, teeth pulling at the loose skin of your bottom lip. His loafers clunked against the tiled floor sharply, and you followed them all the way to the chair at the head of the table, a place set just for him. He placed his hand on the back of the chair—your Daddy's old chair—and set his eyes on you: neck bent, arms tucked behind your back, a picture of obedience and grace.
"That sounds wonderful, Loraine."
The chicken plate clattered on the counter. The tinfoil rustled and crinkled. The stovetop clicked, the pan sizzled. The kitchen became stiff with hot air, and the window squealed when your mother pushed it open. Outside, the cicadas were still chittering furiously. And you stood, exactly where you were, staring at the tops of your bare toes against the linoleum tile.
"Delilah, come sit with me."
Your head snapped up. Pastor Steve stood from the table and stepped to the left, pulling the chair from the table. He motioned toward it with a sweeping hand, and with a glance over your shoulder toward your nodding mother, you took small, timid steps over. You sank down, breath hitching when Pastor Steve came behind you to push the chair back in. His stomach firm against the back of your head, his hands big and warm on either side of your shoulders. They grazed your shoulder blades before he sat back down, and your body tingled with shivers.
A mere foot away from you, Pastor Steve was the closest he'd ever been. He placed his elbow on the table and his chin in his hand. The round face of his watch glinted in the low-setting sun, a warm yellow light. The band of it was brown leather, like his shoes, and fit him well. His robe was gone now, folded neatly and placed on the stool beside the door where you sat to take your shoes off. But he didn't seem concerned about it—his eyes were set on you.
"Your mother tells me your father passed a few years ago."
Your heart squeezed. You paused, eyes turning toward your mother's figure at the stove. She didn't like to talk about your Daddy very much. When she did, her words were usually biting and cruel. To her, he was a "lazy, no-good son-of-a-bitch." But to you, your Daddy was the sun and moon.
You nodded slowly. "Yes, sir. When I was fifteen."
Pastor Steve hummed.
"That musta been hard, especially at that age. I lost my father, too."
Your head tipped up. His heart skipped a beat at the sight of your eyes, peeking through your lashes, blinking up at him. Your cheeks were the loveliest shade of pink.
"Really?"
He nodded. "Mhm. I was twelve."
Your lips instinctually pulled into a frown. Before you could reply, your mother squawked from the stove:
"Oh, Pastor, I'm so sorry for your loss," she drawled.
But Pastor Steve's eyes never left yours. In fact, they were glued to you. And his hand, cupped around his jaw, fell to the table with a quiet thump. Your eyes flittered toward it, watching it slither across white lace. It came to a stop beside your plate, flipping to place his knuckles against the table, palm upended.
"I understand your pain, Delilah," he murmured.
Taking a deep breath in, you slipped your fingers into his waiting hand. It closed around your knuckles, holding your fingers to his palm in a soothing embrace. You met his gaze cautiously, heart thumping in your throat. Pastor Steve's eyes were soft and round like a puppy-dog's, brows furrowed in shared sympathy.
"God understands your pain. And though loss may lead us astray, we must stay strong, and put our trust in the Lord," he preached, voice smooth like whiskey. When a small smile touched your face, Pastor Steve mirrored it. "He'll take us exactly where we need to be."
The last sentiment was whispered, a shared secret between the two of you. His smile slipped sideways, another boyish image of the man before you, and a burst of endearment flooded your chest at the sight of him in your father's chair. You found yourself clinging to his words, replaying them in your head, etching them into your memory to grasp onto forever. And while you pondered, wading in the charming ease of his demeanor, Steve brought his hand under the table, and ran the length of his knuckles across your knee.
During dinner, he conversed with your mother about the historical society, the women's church group, the annual fundraiser at the end of the summer. Every few moments, his hand would brush your knee beneath the table. Each time your head turned to question it, he passed you a lopsided smile. It was comforting, that handsome smile. God will take you exactly where you need to be, Delilah.
Your mother packed him a Tupperware container of cherry pie to take home, and he gathered it atop his sewn robe as he headed toward the door.
"Thank you again," he cooed to your mother, whose smile was blinding.
"Oh, don't mention it, Pastor, we're lucky to have you. Lilah, why don't you walk Pastor Steve out, it gets real dark out back this time a' night."
Your mother pinched the back of your arm when you turned to protest, and you hurriedly stepped toward the door to obey. Pastor Steve flashed a tight-lipped smile at your mother, and swung the door open. The screen door groaned on its rusty hinges when he pushed it, and the sticky heat instantly sought home in the kitchen. You floated through the open doorway past his waiting figure, hands clasped behind your back once more, bare feet scuffing over the chipped paint of the porch.
You walked languidly, but with a refinement to your posture and an upturn of your nose that Steve adored. He watched you as you trailed along beside him, rustling through the grass like rabbit, quiet and small. His car was waiting in the drive around the barn. The license plate was from Indiana.
"Why'd you move away from Indiana?"
You don't know why you asked. The words came tumbling from your mouth like they were exorcised, wretched from somewhere deep inside. It must’ve been the Southern meddler swarming inside you. But Pastor Steve just smiled that boyish, sideways smile, and shrugged.
"I wanted a change of scenery."
You nodded approvingly, coming to a stop at the hood of the car. Pastor Steve scuffled to a halt right after, turning to gaze down at you, still clasping his chicken and green robe. You swallowed, and he watched your face twist with worry. He frowned, brows furrowing.
"What's wrong, Delilah?"
You chewed on the inside of your lip, gazing down at the tops of his shoes.
"Mama...did she say anything cruel about my daddy? They...didn't always get along."
Steve inhaled deeply. Your father. That was your soft spot. Like every fruit, you had a bruise—a soft spot, where he knew, if he pushed with just the right amount of pressure, you would burst.
Pastor Steve took a step closer.
"Don't worry, Delilah, I don't believe a word. I can see how much you loved him."
You nodded, tipping your head back to find his gaze again. His lips were plump and red from the pie.
"You know," he said, cocking his head again. "If you ever need to talk or just get out of the house, you can always come visit me at the church. I'm a great listener."
You grinned shyly. "Thank you, Pastor. I...haven't been to confession in...too long," you admitted lightly.
Steve shrugged airily.
"Oh, that's alright. God leads us exactly where we need to be, remember?"
You nodded quickly. "Right."
The sky had darkened to an inky indigo. In this great big clearing, flanked with bushels of dense oak trees, the stars were on full display. Steve could take count of every single one if he wanted to. But all he could do, in this great Southern expanse, was look at you.
His tongue flicked out to wet his lips, and your eyes followed.
"You're a beautiful dancer," he mused.
You flushed, ducking bashfully. In the back of your head, your mother's voice rang: men like weak and fragile. Men like women that bend to their will. Maybe if you bent, if you weakened, Pastor Steve would see how good you are, and in the eyes of the Lord, that was all that mattered.
All that mattered was that you were good, and kind, and lovable. That's all you wanted.
"Thank you, Pastor."
Pastor Steve's watch caught the moonlight as he brought his hand to your forehead. There, he swiped a stray wisp of hair from your lashes, shaken loose from your braid. He guided it behind your ear, where his hand slipped to fondle your delicate braid. The length of it glided through his palm like a snake. He watched it fall through his grasp while your breath became shallow.
"God's finest work."
Your heart pounded wildly in your ears. You beamed at the praise, glowing beneath his approving gaze. Steve, noticing the way you perked at his gentle, murmured tone, how you leaned into his coaxing validations, gave it a little push. His hand came to your chin, which he cupped in a gentle hold to pull you up. You allowed him to guide you, bringing your forehead to his mouth. There, he placed a gentle kiss.
When you settled back down on your heels, you gazed up at him dazedly.
"You are blessed, Delilah. God has a very special place for you in his heart."
Your throat bobbed with another swallow. His thumb pressed into your chin. His eyes roamed your parted lips.
"And I think," Steve whispered, chest heaving, "he sent me here to make sure of it."
♰ ♰
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labella420 · 11 months
Text
Recognition - Part 3
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Starring: Dark!Alpha!Hydra!Steve Rogers x Omega!Shield Agent Fem!Reader
Summary: Steve captures you, but who is ultimately going to win in a battle of will?
Warnings: NSFW! 18+Only! NONCON!!
Word Count: 2279
Divider by: @firefly-graphics
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The battle waging inside was the worst part of this whole ordeal. One on hand you’re disgusted with Steve, scrubbing sticky streaks of cum from your flesh in the shower with the hottest water you could stand. On the other, you were newly bonded and in pain because he wasn’t with you, the whimpers bubbling up from your throat unyielding as you nuzzled your face into one of his shirts.
Steve’s been gone a while, conducting a mission debrief while you’re kept locked in his room. Fight as you might you’re in the middle of his bed, shirts, pillows and blankets placed with care around you. Curling into yourself you bury your face into a pillow, hungry for the scent that lingers in the fabric. If only your mother could see you now in the perfect little nest you’ve built.
She was old school, perfectly happy with her designation, serving your alpha father and raising his children. They didn’t understand why you fought so hard against what you were since the day you were born, especially your father. He’d barely said two words to you since you traded in your desk position for one in the field.
Wincing as a cramp overtakes you, you grab the bottle of water Steve left on the nightstand. You gulp down half before replacing the cap and tossing it on the bed within reach. Burying yourself deeper into your nest a calm comes over you while you’re inhaling the lingering scent of Steve.
Mentally and physically exhausted, your heavy eyelids close, and you fall into a deep sleep, the pangs of your heat sated, for now. But sleep doesn’t come without dreams, and he invades them. Not this Steve, but your Steve. The man who always tried to do the right thing and hated bullies. Now he’s become one. Sadly, it was easier when you thought he was dead then to be in the presence of what he’s become.
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Steve’s having trouble focusing, adding to his growing frustration. The mission went well, the bait and switch worked, and the Avengers were left following false intel, while he captured what Hydra was really after.
You.
It was much easier capturing you with the suppressant serum pumping in your veins than to break into Avengers compound. With your blood Hydra hopes to replicate the formula that Dr. Banner discovered, in addition to hopefully creating different suppressants to change other designations. Imagine what kind of secrets he could find out if his scent presented as beta and not alpha.
For some reason, even though you didn’t smell like an omega, he knew. His hackles were up the minute he caught your scent. Must be the other guy’s consciousness trying to fight the inevitable. He can still feel parts of his former self, lingering feelings he has to work to suppress. It’s like having your conscience constantly in your ear steering you away from wrong.
That Steve is dead, and he will do everything in his power to keep it that way.
However, he can’t shake the ache in his hindbrain that calls to him to go to you. You’re in heat and newly bonded, which means you’re at your most vulnerable. He’s done this before since he’s turned, bonded an omega and cast them aside without a second thought. It's different with you, and it irritates him that he doesn’t know why. He should have showered before the debrief, your scent is lingering on his suit like a curtain, and he can’t find his way out.
It starts, the all too familiar tingle from the back of his neck radiating down his spine. Heat is pooling in the pit of his stomach, his nostrils flaring as your scent overtakes him. It didn’t matter when his rut hit, any omega hole was enough to tame the raging beast, and there were plenty of willing submissives to happily bounce up and down on his knot for as long as he commanded them to. But right now all he could think of was you. How your soft body would feel under his hands, and your whimpers of need when he slides his cock between your folds.
“Unless it’s pertinent, no one is to disturb me until further notice.” He rumbles over his shoulder, sweat beginning to trickle down the sides of his forehead.
“Cap, the mission report…”
“Leave it on my desk!” He barks back, his cold eyes shutting down Rumlow with just a look. Jogging to the elevators, he presses the down button in rapid succession, willing the car to reach his floor quickly. He feels the shift in pheromones from the omegas in the office, they smell the changes in his scent, stealing longing glances and slowing their gait hoping he picks them to help him through his rut. But he pays them no mind, his focus is only on being buried inside you.
With a “ding” of the elevator doors he’s on his way, his destination set on the residential floor of Hydra compound, inching closer and closer to you.
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The bond startles you awake. You feel a range of his emotions, agitation, aggression, need, want. A chirp escapes from deep within as you sense him coming closer. He’s in rut, and he’s coming for you.
Betrayal is what your body serves when it senses your alpha is near, fresh floods of slick soaking the sheets and coating your inner thighs. Instinct takes over and has you rolling onto your stomach, getting your knees under you, arching your back so your ass is in the air. The first thing your alpha is going to see is your perfectly presented pussy, just like a good omega should.
You’d prided yourself on being strong, but here you are, writhing and ruined in your nest and he hasn’t even touched you. You don’t want his touch, but it's him you crave. Mind over matter means nothing, because all rational thought has clearly been lost.
Heady whines escape when you hear the opening and slamming of the residence door, heavy boots echoing throughout the living space and down the hall. When the door to the bedroom slams open, a peace washes over you, Steve’s emotions clear through the bond. He may not tell you with words, but one look at you and you don’t have to ask. He is pleased.
“My, my, omega, all of this for me?” His boots “thunk” to the floor, and the rustling behind you has you looking over your shoulder as he strips, getting lost in each ridge of sculpted muscle until he is completely bare. He chuckles as he watches you watch him, a sound reminiscent of the laughs shared long ago when he was still at Avengers Compound. A calloused hand runs down your back and over your ass, the bed dipping under his weight as he envelopes your body with his.
“Such a mess you’ve made,” his condescending tone has you shamefully hiding your face in your nest when he runs his two fingers through your soaked petals. It confuses you, the tenderness he’s exhibiting, but it might just make this nightmare all the more tolerable. You’ve always said a little kindness goes a long way.
He shifts, and you’re surprised when he positions himself behind you, his face even with your dripping cunt. “I didn’t get a chance to taste the first time, so I’m going to eat until I have my fill.”
His tongue spears through your slit, gathering your nectar on the tip before sucking your swollen clit into his mouth.
“Fuck, alpha!” You cry out as he eats sloppily, wet lapping sounds resounding in your ears as you fist your sheets. It doesn’t take long for him to add two thick fingers into your channel curling against that spot that has your eyes rolling to the back of your head.
“Cum for me.”
You shatter at his command, soaking his fingers and adding to the mess you’ve left with your juices. He finger fucks you through your high, until your shaking becomes a tremble. However, a reprieve is nowhere in sight, his cock quickly replacing his fingers. Tapping his engorged head against your wet lips you gasp when he rests his cock at the entrance of your cunt. Squirming in his arms you grind your hips into him, desperately trying to get him to sink inside you, but his strong hand stills your movements.
“You get what I give when I decide.”
Steve thrives off this, when he has a needy omega begging for him to fill her. He looks where you two will soon be connected, wet, seeping, and pulsing. He’s been waiting to experience this again long enough. With a deep groan he pushes into you, sheathing a aww himself to the hilt. He pauses, feeling your velvet walls squeeze him tightly, your fingernails digging into his thigh when you reach behind to touch him.
“Please, alpha. Please make me feel good.”
Your soft, shaky voice pleading for him to fuck you makes him snap, the beast inside taking over. The grip on your hips is bruising, he knows his touch will linger on you for days, but you’re going to look even prettier marked. Each snap of his hips makes your ass jiggle, and the movement mesmerizes him.
The slap of skin on skin and the smell of sex spurns him on, as do each of the beautiful sounds you make when the head of his cock caresses that spongy spot inside you that coaxes wave after wave of slick seep out around his cock. He takes a hand off your hip and pushes into your back, exaggerating the arch while holding you firmly against the mattress. You’re a work of art that he wants to keep in his personal gallery forever.
And that in itself is a problem.
“You look so fucking good, taking my cock so well.” He huffs, his words punctuated with two quick slaps to your ass. “Best little pussy I’ve ever had.”
Your mind is wiped from all other thoughts, your focus only on pleasure. Steve fists your locks in one hand, flicking your clit with the other all whilst not missing a stroke. You feel everything, everywhere, the slow build burning within now teetering on explosion.
“Fuck, alpha I’m gonn- fuuuck!”
Your orgasm slams into you like a train, and you lose control. If Steve wasn’t holding you up you would have collapsed. It was endless, each time you thought the ride was ending, new ripples of pleasure shoot through you. You barely register the feeling of Steve’s knot swelling until he cums with a roar, his seed painting your womb and his knot locking the two of you together.
Steve wraps his arms around your waist, maneuvering your bodies so that you’re on top facing away from him. You’re so spent that you couldn’t possibly go for another round, but you have no choice. You’re at his whim, here to serve him.
His knot deflates, yet, he’s still rock hard. He places your feet on his thighs, spreading them so he can spread you wide open. Holding you by the waist he begins to thrust up into you, a mixture of your combined fluids making a mess of his balls. It’s fine, he’ll put your mouth to good use and have you clean him later.
“Mine. All mine.” He grits as your head rolls back against his shoulder, the brief tender look you give him pulling at his heartstrings before he shakes it off, using a hand to grip your throat while he continues to slam into you.
“Gonna make you round, you’re gonna be so full of me when I’m done with you.” He whispers as you come undone on his cock a second time. He plans on keeping you shut in for at least the rest of the week and weekend, you’re going to be so stuffed you’ll be leaking his seed for a week. When he’s finished that’s when he’ll slip away to the memory suppressing machine stored deep within the bowels of hydra compound, a quick zap to his mind to make the former Steve’s haunting memories of you disappear. Your only purpose is to please him until he’s done with you.
You’ll be lucky if he decides to kill you quickly when that time comes.
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“Barnes, tell us everything you remember about Hydra’s mind control.” Natasha paces the large conference room in Avengers compound, intent on planning your recovery.
“The tactics Hydra uses are invasive, but it can be undone,” he sighs heavily. “Problem is we don’t know how damaged he is, or how much of the old Steve is left.”
“What do you mean?”
“My consciousness was still there.” Bucky explains, leaning forward at the expectant faces seated at the table with him. “I could see myself doing the things that Hydra has me do. I was fighting with myself, but the winter soldier always won.”
“But it can be undone, so that’s a start.” Sam pounds his fist on the table. “We go in, knock ‘em out, and bring ‘em back. Case closed.”
“That’s your plan?” Bucky chortles, gulping from his bottle of water, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before continuing. “Hydra base is one of the most protected compounds in the world. Even if we get past the walls, there are soldiers patrolling the grounds every hour of every day.”
“But it can be done, right?”
Bucky shrugs, shaking his head. “No one’s ever tried.”
Natasha smirks, determined, even if that’s all she has.
“There’s a first time for everything. Now listen up.”
Part 2 Part 4
Tags: @buckets-and-trees @peakwak @mrsmischief209 @km-ffluv @elizacusi-blog @jennltellya @emerald-evans @christhickevans @forever-until-theend @patzammit @seitmai @biteofcherry @isysen @litzia22 @marvelwolf @missvelvetsstuff @flowerjewels @late-to-the-party-81 @hamiltonofjakku @saiyanprincessswanie @jennmurawski13-writes
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hansensgirl · 2 years
Text
☾ 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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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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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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bpdtistic · 11 months
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priest!steve harrington x fem!reader blurb
warnings : dark fic , religious kink , confession , degrading , praise , smut , gaslighting (?) coercion (?) nsfw 18+ only .
a/n : I haven't written smut in a while , constructive criticism welcome but be gentle . italics is speaking .
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father, please forgive me for I have sinned
your voice was sweet and sticky and he cursed himself for wondering if the same remained true for what lies between your soft thighs.
you will be forgiven once you confess, tell me of your troubles, child.
your melodic voice strained father steve’s slacks against his cock, as you confessed your sins. each word causing his member to grow harder. as you spoke of the times you let men wreck your body, he wondered how much better your cunt would be feel than his hand.
come here child, let father cleanse you of your sins.
you meekly made your way to the priest's side of the confession stopping just before his feet. once steve’s eyes met yours he knew there was no way of stopping this.
undress, child, I'm going to purify you.
your skin gleamed warmly in the soft lighting, every curve and crevice on display for him to see.
father, I'm scared, won't we be caught ?
he almost wanted to laugh at the question, as if a sinner like yourself was in any place to question a holy man such as himself.
we aren't doing wrong, love, I'm cleansing you . you just need physical cleansing .
he was quick to move, pulling your bare body towards his fully clothed one. the confessional was eerily quiet, you were afraid to breathe not wanting to make any move. you choose to let your eyes wander, father steve's hair was messy and you wanted to interlock your fingers in it.
his lips moved to yours, interlocking, his lips were soft and you found yourself getting lost. forgetting where you are completely. it was like a dream, foggy and perfect.
his hands made slow movements to your thighs rubbing the creamy skin. slipping between your thighs, he swiped through the folds collecting your wetness on his fingers. he moved so fervently like he couldn't believe what he was doing. your lips formed around his fingers as he thrusted them in your mouth. the sweet taste of yourself on your tongue as you cleaned his digits off like a professional. he cursed under his breath.
dirty little whore, gonna be a good toy for me you understand?
it wasn't long before he had your face pushed against the rough wall, his slacks pulled down just enough to let his cock spring open. moans being heard in the cathedral if anyone was there. you were both to lost in the feeling of him feeling up your cunt like it was his favorite hobby.
father, father, please. need you, fill me up, please sir
your whines were ignored as he continues to thought in your tight hole.
do not beg it won't do anything. I will let you come when I'm ready. you should be thanking me, I'm saving you from eternal damnation.
his words made your cunt flutter around him, you both knew it wasn't long before you came. he turned you around planting you on his cock as he sat on the bench.
fuck yourself on my cock, darling, let me watch you cleanse yourself.
you thought he could ask you anything and you'd do it without hesitation. the new angle was life altering, you wished this happened everytime you confessed.
it wasn't long before you felt his warmth envelop you causing you to be pushed over the edge. your legs shaking as he clang to the priest like a lifeline. he wasn't done with you yet, just as your eyes seemed to close he began thrusting into you once more.
a man of longevity, you're not going anywhere just yet, poppet
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assembletheimagines · 2 years
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dark!Steve x reader
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Warnings: Dark!Steve, manipulation? corruption? dirty talk, oral!m receiving, praise, abuse of power, a bit on the darker side, dubcon, 18+ to interact
Summary: Steve saves your life and expects a thank you
Tag List: @getwellsoontana @elle14-blog1 @nana1000night @potatothots​ @avengetheunnatural
A/N: I’ve never really tried to write something like this so I just wanted to see and it’s a little choppy but oh well. Anyways, feedback is appreciated as always!
-
It happened so fast.
Your eyes clenching shut as the stranger pushed you against the alley wall, a cry falling from your lips. This was it.
But as you felt the strangers hand slide up your body, you felt the weight of the stranger disappear. You blinked your eyes open and watched in surprise as Captain America stood before you, fighting the man off of you.
Holy Shit.
You knew this was the perfect moment for you to run away, safety for your well-being and all that but you couldn’t move. Your legs shaking as your heartbeat raced watching the two men fight in front of you. You couldn’t keep your eyes off of your savior. Captain America, your favorite hero had saved your life.
And when the stranger finally ran off, you fully expected Captain America to chase after him. Arrest the man and hand him off to the police. But the tall and handsome blonde didn’t move. Only turning around to face you as you looked at him with wide eyes.
“Thank you!” You had blurted out in gratefulness. Eyes tearing up as you rushed to the man and hugged his arm. “Thank you, Captain. Thank you, thank you, thank you!” You repeated the mantra in happiness but if you had paid closer attention, you would realize the darkness in his eyes didn’t match the hero the world had told you about.
But as you hugged the hero, you realized your mascara had ran down your cheeks from the traumatic experience and you quickly let go of the super-soldier to wipe your face. But before your hand could touch your cheek a strong hold on your wrist stopped you.
“Is that how you thank someone who saved your life?” Cap’s tone sent a shiver down your spine and as his grip didn’t falter your mouth parted dumbfounded. Cap took a step closer to you and you stumbled back, bumping back into the brick wall. “I think I deserve better than that.”
“Oh?” Confusion rushed through you and you looked up, eyes widened as the hero came closer to you. “Wha-what-” you fumbled over your words as Cap caged your in. You were speechless as his body pressed against yours and you felt his hard-on against your hip.
Well?” He asked and leaned his head down, dark blue eyes piercing your own.  
Your heart-rate picked up as you realized what the superhero was insinuating. His presence and everything that happened overwhelmed you. He had saved your life and you were grateful but you didn’t know Steve was that forward. “I- I-” you stuttered and Steve sneered.
“I-I-” he mocked you with a roll of his eyes. You were wasting time and he was over it. “On your knees,” he ordered and began to work at his belt. You froze at the order and were met with a cold gaze. “I won’t repeat myself,” he grumbled and a warm big hand came to your shoulder, shoving you to the ground. “On. Your. Knees.”
The asphalt dug into your knees uncomfortably as your eyes went from his handsome face to the zipper he was pulling down and then to the end of the alley where the public was. You were still far enough where no one would see if they looked but- your eyes went back to the hero. He’d tugged his boxers down and his hard thick cock curved up to his abdomen.
His hand found the back of your head as you stared wide-eyed at his length. His fingers carded through your hair and his other hand pumped his shaft. The head of his cock had pre-cum already on the slit and he pointed it towards your lips. “Are you waiting for an order?” He huffed and you felt a blush raise to your cheeks.
You had never thought you would be in such a situation. Especially since you had always admired the hero from learning about him back when you went to school. And if you were honest, you would be lying if you said you didn’t go through a phase of reading fantasies about the super soldier and even touched yourself to the idea of the man fucking you but you never thought you’d ever meet him or have this happen.
“Oh, so you don’t want to thank me?” He growled and brought you back from your thoughts. His words made your mouth drop in surprise and he took that opportunity to push in. Fingers still holding the back of your head as he bullied his cock into your mouth. “Be a good girl and take it.” He hummed and didn’t stop until the head of his cock pressed the back of your throat. The action of him hitting the back of your throat made you gag and the super soldier groaned in response.
The blonde kept your head still, relishing the feeling of your mouth wrapped around his length and you couldn’t help but whine around his shaft because of it. He was big and wasn’t even all the way in but your eyes watered nevertheless as you tried to breathe through your nose.
Steve looked down at you, seeing your watery eyes as your mouth stretched around him. Fuck weren’t you a sight to see? He cursed and moved his hips back, dragging his cock along your tongue before thrusting back in.
And with each thrust, he made sure to hit the back of your throat, causing you to splutter and gasp around him. “Fuck that feels good, baby.” He grunted and pulled your hair from your face and into a ponytail with his hand.
He increased his pace and began to fuck your mouth more as his other hand rested on the brick wall behind you, keeping you trapped as he buried his cock deep into your mouth over and over again. Your hands rested on his thighs as he used you. Your nails digging into his flesh as he grunted and groaned above you in pleasure.
Your jaw began to ache as your mouth stretched to accommodate the hero’s girth. “You’re taking me so well,” he cooed and you couldn’t help but press your thighs together, his praise sending a needy throb to your clit. “Such a good girl,” he hummed and you mewled, your teeth barely scraping along his shaft as he moved.
The action made his hips stutter as he threw his head back, eyes rolling back. “Oh f-fuck,” he groaned and shoved his length further down your throat. “Do that again,” he ordered and the grip on your hair tightened as he picked up the pace.
You struggled to breathe, feeling lightheaded as Steve moved your head to meet his eager thrusts. His eyes were clenched shut as fresh tears ran down your face and you felt your lungs restrict as a new pool of slick formed between your thighs.
You followed the Captain’s orders, giving him a little teeth as he pounded into your mouth ruthlessly. “Take it, take it all,” he growled and it was your only warning before you felt his cock twitch in your mouth as rope after rope of his warm cum shot from his tip and down your throat.
He didn’t remove himself from your mouth until he felt your tongue lick his cock clean, ensuring you had swallowed his entire load. And once he pulled out, he was quick to man handle you again. Pulling you up and keeping you caged against the wall as he looked at you.
“Mm, I don’t think that was a good enough of a “thank you” to me” he said and you couldn’t speak, your throat feeling raw as you tried to regulate your breathing. “I’ve decided the only way for you to properly “thank me” is by letting me sexualize and objectify you and mold you into my personal porn star. So that at any given moment of the day I can release myself onto you whenever I feel like it.”
As Steve’s words registered, your heart stopped momentarily, realizing he wasn’t going to let you go. “And what will you be?” He asked and peered down at you with dark eyes.
Your tongue swiped over your bottom lip as a shiver ran up your spine. You looked up at him before answering, “a good girl and take it.” You said softly and a wicked grin appeared on the super soldier’s face.
“That’s right.” He hummed in approval and brought his warm hands on your thighs. “Now open your legs.”
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hypnoticsin · 2 years
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The Break In
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Summary: You and your friends break into the wrong house and pay the price. Part one of "The Break In" Series
Dark! Steve Rogers x fem! Reader, I imagine an older nomad Steve
Warnings: 18+ DARK FIC READ AT YOUR OWN DISCRETION, non-con
Note: This took me a lot longer than I wanted to write but I do have at least 2 more parts I want to write for this. I am insanely invested in this story, let me know if you are as well.
Divider by: @firefly-graphics
“Kev how much further?” Amy whines, her steps heavy and in sync with your own. You would have mocked her lack of endurance if you hadn’t been out of breath yourself.
It seemed the daily runs were paying off for Kevin as he led the group already past the slope of the hill and out of view. Malik relays the message of "just a little more" and you roll your eyes at the lack of huff and puff in his voice and curse the sloped ground as you trip for the third time. “Alright, that’s it! You’re not allowed to pick houses anymore!” Amy yells ahead. 
You were never the one to complain but at this point, this “walk up a small hill” Kevin had sold to you guys had turned into a full-on hike and you hated being duped, almost as much as you hated being sweaty. “Seriously Kevin, this house better be golden!” You grumbled, “And I mean it, I want new shoes and at least 2 iPads, ones with the pencil thing.” 
“If she gets the iPads then there better be laptops for me.” Amy adds  
The house screamed golden. One of those rare almost-too-perfect-to-be-true types of houses that the group scored maybe once every 2 years. Big, but not too big that it would take hours to sift through. Plus, it was reclusive; you couldn’t remember the last house you had seen on the way, and contemporary meaning the owner was loaded and wanted you to know it. 
You scan the area for security cameras but come up empty. Even past the house, there seemed to be nothing but open fields of trees and greens. It's puzzling and your concern grows when Kevin plainly opens the door. “Hey, no fair you already went in? That’s rule number... whatever; don’t break in without anyone else.” Amy only remembers the rules when she’s the one not breaking them. 
“Rule 5.” Malik's a stickler for the rules.
“I didn’t break in.” There’s a pause, only broken by Amy who starts laughing, repeating no fucking way, no fucking way. Kevin bows comically and swipes his hands through the air gesturing into the house, “Right this way ladies and Malik.” 
Amy all but jumps through the door with Malik following quickly behind her. You almost expect alarms to start ringing when they step over the entrance but there’s nothing but Amy’s squeals. Kevin's already working on disarming your worry when you turn to look at him.
"Relax, it's all good."
You’re shaking your head, “We shouldn’t. Who leaves their house unlocked like this? And no security?” It just feels off, “We shouldn’t risk it.” 
Kevin’s shoulders drop and he takes your hands in his, it's his way of trying to soothe you. “All we ever do is take risks. It’s probably a vacation house for some rich asshole who was busy on a business call and forgot to lock the door when he left. You know we'll be in and out before anyone even remotely gets close to this place,” He tugs on your hands, "quick before Amy and Malik take all the good stuff." 
The worry settles into a pit in your stomach, “You haven’t seen anyone come by?” Kevin gives a curt no. You push the worry down and decide to be a team player. 
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There is a painting hanging in the living room that catches your interest, it depicts a woman sitting alone staring at a wineglass. She seems mad but that's not the whole story. She's sat hugging herself with one hand and her fingers are eerily too long, desperate to hold more of herself. She is lonely and bitter at the glass for reflecting its emptiness back at her. 
“Well, she’s kinda ugly.”
Amy gives the shelf next to you a quick scan but you've already looked at it and know there's nothing valuable. It's all just generic books, a couple of knickknacks, and some memorabilia. She heads to the couch and lands with a soft plop, “This place is a bust. His bedroom is equally as depressing.” 
"What, nothing good in the closet?" Amy always made a beeline to closets, clothes were easy to pack up and rich people usually had all the luxury brands that sold for a pretty penny. Malik would be searching for a safe hidden under the bed or in the walls and Kevin always liked snatching jewelry and drugs.
“Nothing and I mean nothing in his closet is a brand name. He dresses like one of those poor-looking rich people in tech.” She kicks her feet out and yells out “Kevin you better be coming down to rub my feet after all that walking for nothing!"
The house was expensive and it looked all grand from the outside but whoever lived here was not materialistic at all, you hadn't found much of worth to take. Not much but...
You rummage through the open pocket of your bag and pull out a small brown leather box. Seeing Amy upset was like seeing a kicked puppy so with little hesitation you open the box and present the ring to her. She immediately sparks up, pulling out the gold-plated diamond ring.
“It's too small for me.”
She kisses you on your cheek and slides the ring on. 
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His bedroom is not depressing. Yeah, it's a bit plain but it's also quiet and comforting. You’re lying in his bed, your hair wrapped up in your jacket like always. This was your favorite part, to lie on the soft mattresses and allow yourself to imagine what sweet, got-nothing-to-worry-about type of sleep felt like. But you could never fall asleep, only sort of drift in the in-between.
The four of you had banded together in your first and last year of college; Malik and you were in the same group for scholarship kids and had snuck away during a tour of the campus where the tour guide really put the emphasis on just "how lucky you were all to be here". Kevin, you met in an econ class when you had to wake him up to take the attendance sheet, and sweet little Amy shared a dorm floor with you and you let her bunk with you after her roommate locked her out for being too chatty and yours hadn't shown up yet.
The first house you robbed was Kevin's. No one ever believed Kevin when he said his parents were loaded--he dressed like a bum and was always mooching off someone's plate--but during the ending weeks of summer break he invited everyone back to his place; it was the first mansion you've ever been in. Kevin's family wasn't just rich they were ridiculously wealthy like old money, probably tied to war crimes kind of rich.
Then Kevin revealed why he had brought you all over. He wasn't going to return to school because his daddy cut him off for wanting to change his major so in retaliation, Kevin was going to rob them blind, and like the good friend he was, he decided we could take anything we could carry out the house. Amy turned out to be really good at upselling, Malik was in love with the thrill and you knew you were going to burn out trying to keep up with the good grades and the stealing was just so easy.
The rest in the in-between doesn't last long as you're pulled out of it by a loud thud from downstairs. You're up on your feet at another thud but this time it's followed by the smash of glass and a scream.
Your heart beats in your ears and it's hard to hear anything else, the deafening silence brings the worry bubbling out of your stomach and almost weights you down to the ground. You should move, you really should but your mind is trying to rationalize the noises, "probably just pranking me." It all happened too fast, there wasn't a real struggle. There couldn't have been.
The door swings open just as you were about to grab the doorknob, the seal breaks, and the screams are back until they're cut off with a sickening crunch. Malik grabs you by the shoulders, his mouth is moving but you can't focus on anything but the kitchen knife stuck in his shoulder. Blood is soaking his shirt,
God, his blood
Malik shakes you and you realize how lightheaded you've gotten,
"What,"
"Malik, you're bleeding."
"Where's Amy? Kevin?"
Malik is quick with his movements, opening the bedroom window, pushing you towards it, helping you up until you're sitting on the window stool looking back at him.
"What happened, Malik?"
"They're dead."
The bedroom door opens right as Malik pushes you out the window. The fall isn't bad, nothing feels broken but you land on your back and get the wind knocked out of you. You can still see Malik peering down at you yelling to go, to run.
But you can't, you're just lying there, trying to convince yourself that you're not going to die just like kids do when they fall like this. But this time death is seeming like a very possible end.
You let out sallow grunts as you try to breathe properly, and the spasming turns into crawling. You don't hear Malik anymore but you're too scared to turn around. You don't get very far before a hand is tangled in your hair, the pull is harsh and has your whole body turning around. The sun blinds your eyes, and you can only make out the figure of a man before your face meets the blunt end of his axe.
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Your eyes slowly open to unveil a clear night sky, the rhythmic sound of metal meeting dirt and gentle plops of dirt falling fill your ears. The world spins as you slowly regain your senses.
You're laying on the cool grass and your skin goosebumps in the cold night air. The left side of your forehead is swollen to the touch and when you pull back your hand there are flakes of dried blood on your fingers. You don't know what to do, your head's pounding, and it's frustratingly difficult to move. Crawling didn't help you last time so you decide to ignore the pain pulsing through your body and push yourself up and run; the backyard is pretty empty besides a tall apple tree and it isn't fenced off so you can run around to the front and down the hill.
But when you manage to stand you're quickly bought back down to your knees at the gruesome sight before you. Bloody bodies clumped together, a leg cracked hanging together by what you can only assume as muscles instead of bone, blood dripping down hanging limbs, on top spread open like a Christmas tree topper is Malik's body, and stuck upright in the dirt staring up at you is his decapitated head.
You reach out to close Malik's eyes, it's the least and only thing you can do, but a grip on your ankle pulls you away. You kick out in retaliation but the man doesn't budge, he lets go only to grab a fistful of your hair. The pain in your head doubles and you're screaming as he pulls you up to your feet.
He towers over you, his sweat-drenched shirt sticks to his chest, and parts of his blond hair fall over his face but you can still make out his aggravated scowl. His build, the grip he has on you, and the remains of your friends are all evidence of his deadly strength but as he stares you down, you can't help but be reminded of the painting that hangs in his living room.
He sets you down like a child and you stumble trying to find your balance.
He kicks forward a shovel "Dig."
Your eyes glance from the shove to the man to the remains of your friends and back down to the one hole he's already dug.
He doesn't take well to your hesitation and he doesn't really seem like a man you say no to so before he takes another step towards you, you grab the shovel. The handle's still warm from his touch. Once you have it in a position that feels comfortable you look up at him for some kind of confirmation. He gives a single nod and you start to dig a grave for your friends.
Your fingers are cramping, almost pulsating from the non-stop friction from the shovel. All of your bones are begging for you to just lay down right there but you have another grave to dig, you consider the length you'll need to dig and shuffle a bit away from the first one you've dug but just as you're about to push in the shovel with your foot, he rips it out of your hands and throws it to the side.
He leaves you in confusion and makes his way over to the bodies, lugging Malik over his left shoulder, Kevin on his right, and he drags Amy by the arm, with his hands full he resorts to kicking Malik's head straight into the grave he's dug. You flinched at the sounds of his head tumbling around.
"There are only 2 graves." Your obvious clarification goes ignored.
He carries their bodies like sacks of potatoes and throws them into the grave the same way you'd throw trash down a garbage shoot.
With his hands empty, he makes his way over to you and you want to blame your lack of movement on how exhausted your legs are but you can't help but feel caged as he walks over to you. He grabs you by the upper arm and drags you over to the edge of the grave you've dug. "This one," his grainy voice tickles your ears with dread, "this one is yours."
A shove sends you falling in, the dust from your fall has you coughing, and more fills the air as he lands in front of you.
Tears form in your eyes at the implication as you imagine your body decaying in the ground, no one would know, no one would grieve you. The family you once had; you had disappointed, and you can't help but feel the same about the friends you let be obliterated by the man standing in front of you.
The grave you dug is uneven and narrow and he's close enough for you to feel the heat radiating off of him. When he takes a step forward you hear yourself plea.
"Please,"
It's easy to grovel when you're already on your knees, "please don't... Please I don't want to die."
It's the truth, the threat of death shakes you to your core, and kneeling down in a grave that you've dug, apparently for yourself, has fear creeping in from all angles. There hadn't been a clear moment to think ever since Malik pushed you out that window. But here caged in between a wall and a murderer the only thing you could think of was not dying.
Your plea surprises him, you can see the hesitation in his eyes as he takes a moment to look over you, and you hope it will save you. His hand comes down to wipe the tears away from your eyes, a little too late as some are already streaking down your cheeks.
His touch is soft and you find yourself leaning in as his hand lingers under your face. "Please, you don't have to kill me."
He shakes his head, "I won't." His expression doesn't soften like his hand but you find yourself trusting him, with blind hope, it's all you have at this point.
But it's snuffed out when he twists your body around leaving you facing a wall of dirt.
"You want to stay alive?" He taunts and you feel the need to nod.
Yes, you want to stay alive.
His weight behind you pushes you forward and your hands aren't fast enough to save you from a face full of dirt. He uses this advantage to kick your feet apart as if you weren't weak enough to be malleable to begin with. He wraps one arm around your waist and the other starts to tug at your pants.
His movements are too quick for you to keep up with but when you realize your fate you fidget in his arm, struggling with no real result. "Wait... What..." But he ignores you. You feel your pants tear and drop around your feet. You would have been humiliated if fear hadn't been the main emotion encapsulating you.
"You want to live right?" His gruff voice has you shuttering in tears but still, you nod, "Well, this is how you live."
A whimper of a plea escapes your throat and he pushes you into the wall once more, and with dirt blocking your eyes and underneath your fingernails, you stay willing, his free hand crawls up your body. Groping your breasts and squeezing the tender skin of your waist, his chest rumbles in pleasure. "I had forgotten how soft-" His words die as he leans into the crook of your neck, taking a deep breath at first then placing a kiss, and finally a small bite of the skin by your shoulder blade.
"I had forgotten how soft flesh felt, The hand by your waist dips into your folds, "so soft." you hold in a sob. His fingers part you and play around a bit before he digs into you, harder than the words that leave his mouth. Your new tears are absorbed by the dirt in front of you, "Don't... Don't do this please."
In response, he shoves a finger in you and then another. Shamefully you shift your legs to tolerate his intrusion. He curls another fingers in you, his other hand finding its place at your clit in a way to make up for the pain and he keeps going until you've become slick. You hear the sound of his pants unbuckling and you prepare the next plea of yours but as if he expected it, he pulls your head back by your hair and shoves your face forward, deep enough to have you inhaling dirt and at the same time he finally buries his dick into you.
While you're crying out, inhaling dirt, and using your hands to push back his thighs but he doesn't mind it as he pumps into you. The roll of his hips start to become familiar, his grunts start to fall into a rhythm and your tears subside. You start to choke on the moist dirt as you scratch at his hand entangled in your hair, begging for release. He complies and you cough out the dirt but his free hands grip your shoulders and pull you back onto his cock with a force so strong you let out moans with the new air in your lungs.
As his thrusts become erratic your knees buckle as the build-up of pleasure ripples through you but it's not enough to distract you from your initial fear. You still think death is on the table when he pulls out of you, his hand comes down to catch his seed dripping out of you. He clears his throat and rubs the liquid into your back, almost as if to soothe you. You prepare yourself for a swift death now but it never comes, "You want to live, yes?"
Even after all that has happened you still fear death, so you nod and your voice cracks upon answer.
"Yes."
586 notes · View notes
dungeonpuppykai · 7 months
Note
OMG PROUD NO MORE IS THE HOTTEST THING IVE EVER READ PART 2 pls im on my knees
AHHHH! I am so glad you liked it! Since requests aren't open and I cannot do a drabble or oneshot rn, here's a little something I whipped up. Sorry if you had something specific in mind (you can always talk about it 🥴)
Note: This is a part 2-ish headcanon of my ABO oneshot Proud No More.
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Warning(s): Dub-con, dark enhanced!Alpha Steve, Alpha!Reader, mean!Steve and dark stuff. Browse at your own discretion. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.
After the events of part 1, Y/n remains curled in his legs on the floor after cleaning up and bringing everyone their drinks. 
Steve is drinking his as he discusses the sport on the tv with the other Alphas.
She whimpers each time their eyes meet, him sitting on the couch with his legs spread, her snuggled up to them underneath him. 
Her whole body is wrapped around his but he is not touching her at all.
His blue eyes are so cold to the puppy eyes she is looking at him with. 
He knows it. 
He can see it.
Smell it.
She wants it.
Needs him.
Inside.
So, so bad.
Y/n spends the remainder of the time peppering soft apologetic kisses to his knees, legs and thighs, hoping to earn some mercy.
Because Steve is the worst when it came to denying her where she needs him most. 
Which is his go to punishment for her besides spanking. 
She doesn't even care about the rest of the pack looking at her anymore. 
Pleasing him so he would fuck her pussy numb is the only objective on her mind now.
But Steve doesn't falter.
The Alpha Supreme is a master of endurance.
She's so desperate by the time they finally leave the packhouse and walk towards his vintage Camaro. 
Her eyes are glossy and lips only slightly pouty (because Steve doesn't tolerate brats and she's trying her best to not piss him off more than she already has) when he orders her to go over to get inside with a brief nod towards the vehicle.
She whines just a little, trying to move his hand (that she's desperately holding tight between both of hers) towards her aching core. 
Yes, she forgets all rationality when she's needy. 
What is remaining of her bottoms is covered in a wet mess of her slick and his cum. 
But one sharp look from Steve has her scurrying away to the backseat, not wanting another punishment.
Whenever Y/n acts out, she loses the passenger Princess privilege. 
Because Alpha doesn't like to look at sorry misbehaving puppies.
So she's sniffling and hiccupping as she moves to the back of the car before settling her very sore ass on the seat.
Her head lowers itself as her cheeks burn in humiliation.
He has a way of making her feel so small and pathetic.
Her form feels so tiny against the leather seat right now.
As if she's nothing but a small kicked puppy.
Fuck.
She can not decide if it's the inferior Alpha in her or if she actually feels sorry. 
But all her senses are wrenching with regret.
The stunt was completely unnecessary and not worth it at all.
She's quiet and ashamed behind him, pulling her best sorry puppy expression. 
The Superior Alpha starts the car and drives it off the porch onto the main road.
It is after a few minutes that her whimpers start to get louder to try and attract his attention.
Needy eyes shoot pleading glances up at the blonde man, knowing that he can feel them through the bond.
Steve continues to ignore her, still irritated by the antic she pulled in the packhouse. 
It will take her days of worship and cocksucking to make him happy again.
It always does.
He is very hard to please. 
Until then, the Supreme Alpha will, no doubt, be even stricter than usual.
Calling her out on the smallest of slip ups, punishing her for even breathing the wrong way, denying her as much physical touch as possible (she doesn't like to admit it but the puppy in her is always making her pathetically cuddle into one of his limbs). 
The cruelest cold shoulder. 
It has happened before.
And only Y/n is to blame for it happening again.
Yes, no matter what Steve does to her, she always dry orgasms. 
It is just the effect he has on her.
But nothing compares to his touch down there. 
Nothing, no orgasm, ever satisfies her more than the one his cock fucks out of her. 
And until she can have one of those, she can neither think nor function right. 
On days when she has to face denial as a consequence of her own actions, his dick is all she can think about. 
Even if she refuses to admit it.
That is where the punishment aspect comes in. 
Steve knows how hopeless her body is for his touch.
24/7.
She can lie to herself all she wants.
But Y/n cannot change the effect the bond has on her.
And that's exactly why he uses her everywhere but in her pussy following an episode of her acting out.
The begging, sobbing, kneeling, writhing, hissing, worshipping and trembling for his mercy strokes his ego in the best way.
Nothing makes him harder than all the promises she desperately makes.
All the ungodly things he makes her say.
Because she gets so cock starved during these punishments that she is always willing to do whatever he wants in the end.
Anything at all. 
Just so he would fuck her like the puppy that she is.
Fuck her until she has basically lost consciousness.
Only to make her thank him once she comes back up.
Every time. 
How her pride gradually breaks down.
Peeling away from her stiff form like the clothes that he makes her strip out of. 
There is no better sight or feeling.
To him, that state looks the best on her.
She's so fragile and vulnerable for him then.
It is perfect. 
She is perfect.
When she is proud no more.
Compliant and respectful on her knees. 
Stroking his ego and kissing his feet.
Steve smirks to himself as he turns a corner, refusing to look at the crying mess of drool and cum hanging by his seat.
He has turned a deaf ear to her pleads. 
But his monstrous knot is so worked up by how she's doing her best to remain as silent as possible because she is not allowed to be loud especially when interacting with her Alpha. 
Yet, every part of her body is aching for him (he can feel it through their bond) so bad that she cannot stop the begging even if she wants to. 
It is impossible for her to sit silently (as is expected of her).
Thus piling more and more punishment for herself.
Steve is not complaining though.
116 notes · View notes
sgrwrites · 10 months
Text
Ashes on the fire
Pairing: devil king!Steve Rogers x Angel!reader
Warnings: noncon, gangrape, dark!Steve Rogers, virginity loss, yandere, obsession, possessive behaviour, this is kinda extreme and brutal in a way you don’t expect I guess, harm to the reader
Words: 2.9k
Summary: The king of Hell has got himself a little adorable thing that doesn’t belong to his realm, he wants the little thing to stay in Hell forever.
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You tucked your head into your hands, imagining them as the wings that were no longer there on your back. You just wanted to console yourself a bit by telling yourself that you were covered in those pure wings, safe.
Your eyes kept closing shut despite not feeling asleep. You didn’t want to see the surroundings, reality was atrocious. 
The place you were at, the cage you were in, you’d soon lose your mind if you ever stared at them again, for it was made of corpses of those who used to be divine angels. 
Angels…
Those ill-fated fellows of yours, slaughtered, skinned, or gutted, then burned by the inferno flame that turned them into stones.
The barbarous devils used them to build narrow cages like this to keep their heavenly prisoners as if they wanted to remind the angels how nefarious and brutal Hell was, that the Heaven Tribe was foolish for picking a fight with this realm.
You had been imprisoned here for quite a long time, yet the hellish soldiers didn’t kill you nor befoul your soul like they had done your friends. You had long realised that it was even more horrible than death.
Steve Rogers - the devil king, ruler of the Hell Tribe, angel slayer, the Hydra master, or whatever other aliases he went by - had unexplainably taken interest in you.
The cruel man had made his intentions clear right at the moment his soldiers brought you to him. 
He said he wanted you to turn your back to Nine Heavens and stay here with him, promising you’d be given the rights a noble had.
He revealed you were the descendent of a noble lost child of Hell, one that Heaven Lord had kidnapped and indoctrinated, using him and his descendants as a means to hopefully foster a permanent peace between two realms.
It was absurd! You’d yelled at the king and backed away from him until his soldiers pinned you down. 
How could a devil be accepted by Nine Heavens? How could one’s nature change? Your clan was purely angelic and had served as His Heavenly Lordship and his descendants’ faithful servants for ages. There was no way you were of devilish origin.
Steve Rogers had changed his method as he failed to deceive you.
He had his soldiers dragging your friends to you. Standing behind them with a sword in his hand, he threatened their lives if you refused to comply.
You’d looked on in sheer horror at the king of hell eliminating your friends, who kept staring at you with persistence in their eyes, silently begging you not to lose your faith and believe his false claim.
The other day, the king furiously uprooted your wings with his bare hands, saying you didn’t need angels’ wings and it was blasphemous of the Heaven Tribe to convert children of Hell into their kind.
 You’d screamed and besought him to stop, yet he hadn’t, he kept plucking handfuls of your feathers and broke the bones into pieces. It was beyond agony. You’d screamed until your voice was lost. 
As the blood ran down your shoulders from the two big wounds on your back while you lay face down motionless at the king’s feet, you’d assumed you’d die and the torment was finally over. You cried your eyes out the next day after awakening and realised that you were alive.
You were startled when the door of your cage opened with a shrill noise.
The soldiers had come to fetch you to their king again.
The infamous Steve Rogers was sitting cross-legged imposingly on his throne as he eyed your trembling figure on the floor.
“You have to get your mind around the truth.”
He hummed with a low voice that made you cower, he always appeared so intimidating and powerful.
“There is no truth in your lie.”
You gulped and argued, refusing to become a traitor to Nine Heavens. You didn’t want to betray your late friends.
Rogers sighed, stood up, and approached you. His hand landed on your head, rubbing it gently.
“I honestly have a soft spot for you, little one. In fact, hadn’t the Heaven Tribe kidnapped your ancestor, had you been born here, we’d have been betrothed to each other.”
You cringed, hating the way your body froze and couldn’t avoid his touch. It must be his doing, he was using magic to keep you still. Whenever the king of hell lay his hand on you, it always reminded you of the day he’d violently ripped your wings apart.
“Stop with that falsehood... I’ll leave this place. I’ll return to Nine Heavens and we’ll avenge those you’d killed!”
“Oh, little poor thing,” he got on his knee and ran his fingers across the scars on your back, “if they wanted to save all of you, they’d send an army here already. But how long have you been in hell? An angel without wings, say, how will you fly back to that realm?”
Grimaced, you stared at him wordlessly.
“Let’s make a deal, little thing,” he gently brushed some stray locks of hair off your face, his eyes boring into yours, “embrace your true race, let me take you, stay by my side,” the feeling of his hand roving your body suggestively gave you goosebumps, “and I shall gift you a new pair of wings. How does that sound?”
It took all of your strength to not retch at the proposition. 
Hell and the impure nature of its inhabitants, they appalled you.
“What would you do if I reject that? Force yourself on me?” you spat, “you had tortured and killed countless beings, slaughtered my comrades, cut off my wings. I can’t imagine what else you wouldn’t do, why bother coercing me?”
“Oh, darling. I wouldn’t,” the king scoffed, “I care for you as the lost descendent, not you as an angel. And I don’t breed pure things from Nine Heavens. That’s why I want you to accept your true self first.”
It was aggravating that he insisted you were his kind. Steve Rogers must be plotting to use you as a means against Nine Heavens. He was insane… and foolish if he ever believed his fabrication would have you wavered.
The king got up and went back to his throne.
“You see, angels can, under some conditions, turn into devils and vice versa. For those who are forcibly converted, they will lose their mind and become like that.”
Rogers pointed his finger at the entrance behind your back. 
Feeling unsettled and puzzled, you turned your head around. Your stomach dropped, before your eyes were those you once called friends, but now… you could barely recognise them. 
Their divine appearances were lost. Their pure wings were all tattered. Cracks were all over their flesh, ruining the once-perfect skin. There was no sign of intelligence in their eyes.  
Tears pricked your eyes, you whirled around and looked at him in distress.
“What have you done?!”
“They were Bucky’s doing. He has used forbidden magic to turn them into devils against their will.”
Bucky… Bucky Barnes. You remembered him. Steve Rogers’ right-hand man. The high-ranking sadistic cambion who liked to torture his hostages. It was him who had captured you and your friends on the battlefield. Bucky had come to have his fun with your female inmates every now and then. He raped and maimed them in their cells. He contemplated the dismembered angels lying half-dead on the floor and called them beautiful after he finished his business. If not for his king’s order for your body to be left untouched and your limbs intact, you’d have had the same fate just like them. As for your male inmates, Bucky Barnes had taken them away and you had no idea what happened to them. But now you did. The cambion had corrupted them, making them Hell’s minions.
“Since you abhor me and your birthright that much, I suppose you will accept this with alacrity.” 
Steve Rogers laughed cruelly as soon as he finished and relaxingly adjusted his position on the throne. His temple rested on his hand as he watched the corrupted angels come toward you.
“I would have gently cherished your body and made you feel good, little one. I don’t know if those mindless fallen will, though I assume you’d rather let your ‘divine’ friends ravish you than welcome me. But tell me when you have a change of heart, my dear. I promise I will save you.”
Shocked, you collapsed onto the floor, denying to believe in your own ears. 
You struggled to get up and ran away, yet your limbs refused to cooperate. It felt like all the strength had left your body and the only thing you could do was to stay at your spot, waiting to be molested.
They mauled your body. Their clawed hands were everywhere, scratching your skin and leaving bloody angry marks on their wakes. 
You hissed and squealed, trying to thrash about to avoid their touch but to no avail. 
Soon, one of them pinned you down while the other tore your clothes apart.
“Stop! Guys! It’s me! What are you doing?! Stop it!” screaming as tears vying for spilling out of your eyes, you hopelessly begged for their morality to take over. 
As expected, they disregarded your plea. It turned your stomach when you watched them take off their clothes and palm their cocks. They were too far gone.
Someone seized your wrist then guided your hand to his cock. He forced your fingers to wrap around the length, making you stroke it. Your other hand soon bore the same fate. You struggled to pull them back, yet these guys were stronger, their iron grips didn’t even quiver.
Your legs got forcibly spread, exposing your private part. A violent shiver ran down your spine when the hot breath of one of your former friends touched your sensitive flesh. A sudden sharp pain shot through your system as the guy bared his teeth and bit your folds, making you scream until your lungs collapsed. 
Shame burned your face as you cried helplessly while he was eating your maiden cunt, licking and biting the poor meat until it got swollen and wet with blood and slick. When he raised his head, you saw the area around his mouth covered in your juice and blood. The sight made you sick. 
That same man began to rub his cock against your pussy, gathering your wetness then thrusting into you without warning. He split you apart with his huge cock, paying no mind to your begging. 
It was your first time. You’d never imagined that your first time would be this humiliating and nasty.
Thrust after thrust, he got himself buried deeply into you, brutally hitting your cervix and drawing more blood mixed with slick out of your pussy.
One angel pressed his girth against your closed lips. He snarled, pinching your nose until you had no choice but to open your mouth to breathe. The guy took his chance and stuffed his cock into your mouth. He grabbed a handful of your hair to control your head then fucked you hard, making you gag each time the tip of his cock reached the back of your throat. His swift movements allowed you no chance to breathe, it felt like he was trying to shred your throat. After a long agonising while, the guy withdrew his cock. 
You thought he’d finished his business, but no. You shrieked hysterically and shook your head as he brought his cock closer to you and pulled your eyelids widely apart with his fingers. Pressing your head against the floor, he shot his load at your eyes. 
It burned and stung like hell, you instinctively closed your eyes as soon as the guy removed his hands. 
Some of them manhandled you, settling you on top of a muscular guy who pulled your cheeks apart and rammed his cock into your pussy. 
You jolted as someone spat at your asshole before snuggling the tip of his cock against your rim. Said man ignored your plea to leave your ass alone, he slammed his cock into you and fucked your ass feverishly.
As you opened your mouth to scream, another man took his turn to use it, his movements were even more brutal and faster than the previous one.
In your desperation, your mind turned to the Heavenly Lord, praying for his salvation. 
Would prayers from the depth of Hell be able to reach Nine Heavens?
You just kept praying and tried to focus on some trivia objects on the floor. Trying to ignore the fact that you were getting defiled by your own friends who had lost their minds, trying to dissociate from the pain coming from all of your holes. It didn’t help. The pain was too excruciating. It was mortifying. There was no way to distract your mind from the ongoing suffering. You had no idea if you were silently praying or crying those words aloud through the cock in your mouth.
Soon you had no clue what you were looking at, perhaps your eyes were closed, maybe they were still open. The tears had been spilling out, doing their best to rid of the semen.
It was too much, you could take it no longer…
“HEL-HELP ME!”
Reaching your tattered hand toward the king of Hell, you screamed at the top of your lungs as soon as your mouth was cock-free. The contempt and revulsion you had for him swiftly faded away along with your thoughts of Nine Heavens. As your eyes got a bit clearer, Steve Rogers suddenly looked like a saviour, the only one who was capable of saving you.
“I’M BEGINNING YOU!! I’LL DO WHATEVER YOU WA-”
A hand clutched your hair and forced your head down to the floor, causing your teeth to cut into your lips. 
The corrupted angels who had been fucking you pulled their cocks out. As soon as they left your body, another one got in and turned you on your back. You sensed him settle between your legs and start to grind his huge cock into your bleeding cunt. The hulky guy wrapped his large hand around your throat and squeezed it harder and harder as he chased his climax. Your vision got blurry while you were being smothered to death. 
The man jerked his hips and coated your wall with his seed. 
“Save… me, my k-king…”
You doubted if your feeble cry reached Steve Rogers’ ear. In this new position, you couldn’t see him, you didn’t know if he’d help you as promised.
But you assumed you knew how it would end as your lungs burned and the sound of your bones cracking under the mindless angel’s hand. You were dying just like Bucky Barnes’ female victims.
A sudden sound of a sword being swung in the air caught your attention. The next thing you knew was your rapist’s head falling onto the floor and blood spurting from his neck. Your face and torso were dyed red, his blood obscure your vision. The headless angel collapsed on you, he died while his cock was still bumping cum into your womb.
Through your tear-dampened eyes, you saw Steve kick the corpse away and pick your exhausted body up. He gave you a kiss on the forehead, whispering sweet things into your ears as he brought you somewhere.
He… saved you. 
He ended your suffering…
Gratitude welled up in your heart as you exhaustedly curled up in his arms.
Delirious, you weren’t aware of your surroundings until an insufferable heat pulled you back to your senses. Your breath hitched as you looked down and saw bubbling lava next to Steve’s feet.
Steve was standing at the side of a lava flow, his hands still holding you firmly, yet you doubted if it lasted long.
“What… why are we here…?” you choked out weakly, hands seizing his shirt as you feared the worst scenario.
“The ritual, little one,” he placed a gentle kiss on your forehead, “we need to do the ritual.”
Ritual… What ritual?!
“Once it’s done, I promise you can fly again.”
The king looked at you with loving eyes before crouching down and slowly putting you into the flaming hell water.
Alarmed, you shook your head and attempted to hold onto him harder with your puny strength, hoping he’d change his mind.
He wouldn’t. He wasn’t wavering at your pitiful plea.
He was killing you. He wasn’t keeping his promise. He was betraying you.
The lava gradually engulfed you wholly. It burnt from your flesh to your soul, eating every part of your being. The ablaze liquid got into your mouth, down your throat and destroyed you from the inside. Before long, darkness mercifully took over your mind and consciousness. The last thing you felt was the final beat of your heart before it stopped. 
Your hand, which was above the surface and had been clutching to his clothes, lost its strength and dropped into the flowing lava. Steve Rogers had just killed the angel, who was claimed to be his favourite thing, with his own hands.
After a few minutes, the king pulled your body up. He smiled to himself as he admired you. 
All the wounds and marks the corrupted angels inflicted on your flesh were gone, you were completely healed. Attached to your back were two large and dedicated wings with black feathers, your nails became longer and sharper. 
You looked more gorgeous this way, he told himself. When you woke up, you wouldn’t remember anything from the past, you were now a different being compared to your old self, you belonged to him and the kingdom of Hell.
His little succubus. He’d one day take you to the battlefield. He couldn’t wait to see you fight against Nine Heavens.
262 notes · View notes
darnell-la · 5 months
Text
Back and feasting
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word count: 2.4k
pairing: vampire!eddie munson x human reader x vampire!steve harrignton
warning: chasing, blood, teeth sicking, choking, semi-forced oral on female, orgasm, vampire themed etc.
Here’s a little late Halloween gift. Comment or message for part two. <;3
This is a mini-series, so like, comment, and repost if you guys would like a part two!!!!!!
WE DO NOT CONSENT TO ANY FORM OF COPYING OUR STORY, THANK YOU!
————————————————————————
Y/n’s pov
“He told us to leave, so we did,” Dustin said, confusing me. Steve needs El for this to work. He needs El to bring back Eddie, but all of a sudden he demands them to go home.
“That makes no sense. I’m going to get him,” I said, about to get up from my couch and leave but El shouted. “No! No, it’s very dangerous. Just wait for him,” El said, but I can’t. I can’t just leave him there. I already did that…
“Look, y/n. Vecna is gone, meaning everything down there isn’t alive. Steve is fine and I’m sure Eddie is, once Steve brings him the first aid kit,” Mike said. “I know I said it was bad, but he could have survived until Steve brought him the kit, so just stay home. Please,” Dustin said.
I sighed and leaned back on my sofa, after placing my telephone back on the hook. Why would Steve go alone, but argue with me and tell me that it’s to dangerous. I don’t care. Our friend is down there.
I turned my TV on and turned off most of the lights in my house before sitting down on my couch to relax and forget about Steve. I’m sure he’ll be fine. He’s strong. Like Dustin said, Vecna is gone so everything fine there is dead.
3rd persons pov
Steve shouted out for help, breaking branches and tripping as he ran through the dark woods. Whatever happened to Eddie, wasn’t good. He tried talking to him, but he was furious. He seemed hungry, but Steve couldn’t point out what he was hungry for until Eddie took a fast step towards him and began biting down on his flesh.
Steve fought back, but had gotten bitten thrown around more than he could take. Now he’s tripping and limping to y/n’s house, hoping she could save him. He knows she’s good at nurturing people, and he needs it now.
He can already feel the blood in his body become less. His heart is slowing down. He can barley keep his eyes open, as his head pounds.
But he had to keep going. Eddie could be near, and Steve already knows he can’t want good from him after what he pulled in the upside down. It seemed as if he gained more strength and looked more alive after he molded Steve to the ground and took whatever it was that he needed.
“What the fuck is this shit!” Steve panicked, feeling his heart beat faster all of a sudden. He ignored the sudden adrenaline until he felt angry and hungry. He slapped his face as he picked up his speed, now feeling almost no pain but the pain in his stomach. He feels empty.
“You’ve changed, Harrington. I don’t think it’s safe to go to y/n’s house,” Eddie’s voice echoed in the woods. Steve could hear the smirk on his face. “You’re trying to protect her from me, but look at yourself. You’re not better now,” Steve felt closer to Eddie.
“How about you slow down and accept? I’m not angry, I was just — Hungry. I’m back to good ole Eddie. I promise,” he chuckled, seeming very unbelievable, which only made Steve run faster.
“Stay away from her, Eddie! You fucking loved her. You can’t just s-switch and fucking hurt her!” Steve shouted back, feeling anger run through his body. He’s having trouble controlling his emotions. He doesn’t even know what emotion he’s feeling right now.
“You’re right, Steve. I do lover her. And that’s why I’m here, following you back to her I never switched, Steve. I just know what to do now. I waited, and you gave me that little tasty push to do what I’ve been dying to do since I — Well, since I died,” Eddie said.
He couldn’t have died. He’s right here. Chasing me right now. There’s no such thing as coming back to life. There can’t be. How? How would that even be possible!?
Y/n had made herself some late-night dinner, for the reason she couldn’t get her mind off of the two men down in one of the worst places she could ever imagine. It’s basically hell.
Y/n ate and sipped on the cold mixed drink she usually makes for herself and the adults when the crew hangs out. She can’t keep her mind bushy enough. She can’t stop blaming herself.
Y/n was carried away by Steve while Eddie was screaming in pain. She fought and begged to be let go, but he wouldn’t let her down. They wouldn’t turn around and help.
*Doorbell rings*
Y/n got up with a sigh, wondering why someone was ringing her doorbell so late at night. The town quiet ours are 9 pm, so anything after that is a find if it’s unimportant or bothering.
“I’m coming!” Y/n shouted at the person who keeps ringing her doorbell. She just paid for it a few months ago. She can’t afford another installment if it breaks.
“Yes!?” Y/n angrily asked as she opened the door. Her eyes quickly widen at the sight of a bleeding Steve. “Steve!” She worried as she grabbed his face and touched all over him to see how and where he was bleeding so badly.
“Hurry, come in,” she allowed as she pulled him through her front door. She didn’t bother close the door, as she was to worried about Steve. “What the hell happened down there? I-I thought everything died,” she said, trying to pull him to the living room but collapsed on the ground.
“Not everything,” he said low, weak and scared to tell her how he found Eddie. “What do you mean not everything? Steve, what attacked you?” Y/n asked, hoping he wouldn’t be infected or it’s not in him like it got into Will.
“It’s not what. I-It’s who,” he said weakly, feeling his stomach beg for something to fill it up, but he can’t seems to think about what he wants. He doesn’t have to appetite to eat anything. He can't figure out what this feeling is exactly.
"He means me," y/n heard a familiar voice at her door step. "E-Eddie?" she said, shocked that he's alive. He's covered in blood just Steve, but he doesn't seem hurt. He seems well.
"Yes, it's me, now why don't you let your favorite in?" he asked. "No! No, don't," Steve quickly spoke. "What? Steve, you're hurt and need help," y/n said as he grabbed her arm, trying to warn her, but couldn't seem to tell her.
“Just please, y/n. H-He’ll hurt you,” Steve tried warning her before Eddie does the same attack he did to him when he was alone and just trying to help a friend. What if y/n couldn’t take this much blood lose. Speaking of blood lose, he’s not leaking anywhere anymore. The only pain he feels is still in his stomach.
“Aw, don’t listen to him. He just got spooked down there. I had to help him out and give him some energy, isn’t that right, Steve? That’s why you ran a marathon to get to y/n’s house. We all know how shit your stamina is from PE,” Eddie said, knowing what he’s doing.
“Leave Eddie. D-Don’t touch her,” Steve gripped y/n’s arms tighter. “Ow, Steve,” y/n said as Eddie chuckled. “You hear that right? Her heart?” Eddie asked, confusing y/n but caught Steve’s attention. “You’re not the only one, don’t worry. I hear it took. It’s music to the ears,” Eddie licked his lips.
“Now y/n — Let me in, so I can help you both, hm? Let me give what Steve needs. He’s dying of hunger,” Eddie said, feeling his own heart fasten, knowing he’s so close to getting a taste of her. Harrington already tasted so amazing.
“Eddie, just come in! You don’t have to ask, just- just please, help me,” y/n begged as she rubbed Steve’s cheek. “Good girl,” Eddie growled in a voice that y/n has never heard. That growled earned Steve, but he couldn’t do anything. He’s to damn weak.
“Please, just-“ y/n went to beg again as she looked up at Eddie, until he bent down a bit to grab her neck. Y/n yelped as Eddie lifted her up slowly to her feet. Steve had let y/n’s arm go and curled up, feeling his stomach get worse by the second. He’s never felt so fucking empty.
“Eddie! Eddie!” Y/n chocked as Eddie scanned her neck and face, feeling his body tense up at just the sight of her flesh. Of her. He feels like he’s always felt for her, but way more. He feels hungry for her. He knows he’ll starve to death if he doesn’t take what’s his.
“Shouldn’t have let me in. Stevie was right. I will hurt you. But, not to bad. I want you to enjoy this,” Eddie smirked as tears built up in y/n’s eyes. “Please, Eddie. D-Don’t do this,” y/n begged. “Once we’re done, you’ll thank me,” Eddie said.
“Harrington!” Eddie said as he turned y/n’s body like a rag dog, keeping his hand tightened around her through and her on her tippy-toes. “You smell that, don’t you?” Eddie asked, knowing he does, but doesn’t know where it’s coming from and why he loves the smell so damn much.
“Yes — It smells good, doesn’t it? So fucking good. Makes me want to tear her apart, just for a sweet long night of just her,” Eddie tried keeping himself from drooling.
“It’s day 3, one of the best days to to have her. Come and taste, before your stomach gives out you,” Eddie spoke to Steve. Steve tried fighting his thoughts, not knowing where this sudden desire for blood came from. Why does he smell her so much? Why can’t he get his mind off if it.
“No! No, I can’t. I just- Eddie, I can’t,” Steve eyes began to water as he scratched his own arms, trying to keep himself back. “I’ll just help you then,” Eddie said, and seconds later, y/n’s night shorts were ripped off of her.
“Eddie!” Y/n cried out in shock. “Just so much fucking blood. Don’t make me go first, Harrington. I’ll leave nothing for you, if I do,” Eddie threatened, knowing he’d slurp her until she’s drained of nothing. Not even life.
“What are you doing, Eddie?” Y/n chocked, barley being able to speak as Steve slowly looked up at the sight of y/n in her panties. They’re so tight and thin. Her lips are barley holding on. She even had a wet spot. Fuck.
“Cmon’ now. Don’t leave her so desperate,” Eddie said, knowing everything going through Steve’s mind. He can smell her sweet juice, running out of her, begging for some attention.
“Eddie…” Steve spoke slowly as he crawled over in front of y/n. He looks so tired and out of energy. Eddie forced y/n’s head down to look at Steve. “Steve, h-help,” y/n begged as I tear dropped on his face. Lucky for him, the teardrop rolled over his lips.
He licked the drop, not thinking how messed up it was. Steve’s mind started going through thoughts, so many thoughts until the taste of y/n’s tears set in. “Fuck,” he sighed.
“I’m sorry, y/n,” Steve spoke, not making eye contact as he moved his hand toward her private part and removed her panties. More like ripped them off, making the poor girl yell in shock.
“Steve! S-Steve, no!” Y/n tried yelling loudly, but the grip Eddie had on her, kept her from saying to much. “I need it,” Steve’s voice slightly changed. He sounded unreal in a sense.
“N-No, no! Wait, Steve, wait-“ y/n begged as Steve wrapped his finger around y/n’s tampon string, but he cut her off by pulling on it slowly. “Ow!” Scotlyn cried at the pain.
“Ssh, baby. You’ll love this next part,” Eddie whispered in the crying girls ear as Steve finally got the tampon out. “Jesus,” Steve groaned, staring at the girls bloody tampon. He slowly took a look up at her plump cunt, watching blood slowly drip from her hole.
“Please, stop this,” y/n felt embarrassed as Steve slowly gripped onto her thick thigh. “You smell so fucking good, y/n,” Steve drooled as his leaned towards her heat. “Wait, Steve,” y/n begged once more before Steve took her clit and folds into his mouth like a hungry animal.
“Steve!” Y/n moan loudly, not expecting herself to be this loud just from a pair of lips on her. “Ssh, princess,” Eddie whispered in her ear as he held her head back by her neck. “Don’t make me shush you myself, baby,” Eddie breathed on her neck, hearing and seeing her pulse rise.
“S-Steve!” y/n cried out as he stuck his tongue deep into her entrance. His tongue seems longer than usual. I mean, she’s never done anything like this with him, but his tongue seems longer than the average human tongue.
“Stop it, please,” the weak girl begged for what seemed like the millionth time, but this time, her eyes rolled back and a knot began to form in her lower stomach. “You’re close,” Eddie’s voice echoed in her ear. “Don’t hood back in us, baby. Let it go. Fuckin’ cum in Harringtons face,” Eddie slightly squeezed at her neck.
A few seconds passed, and her mind went blank as she came hard on Steve’s face. “Mhm,” Steve moaned into her skin, tasting what he’s been wanting to taste for years and for the past ten minutes. Her cum and blood.
“That’s it, girl. Let it out,” Eddie licked y/n’s ear as she shook, barely able to keep herself up, but that’s what Eddie’s grip on her neck is for, and Steve’s tight grip on her thighs.
“Heads up,” Eddie growled. Before y/n could process what he said, Eddie’s teeth sunk into the small girl's skin. “Eddie!” Y/n wanted to scream but moaned out instead.
The feeling of Steve’s tongue lapping around her cunt, like he’s searching for the perfect flavor of a lollipop while Eddie’s sucking her neck like a beast feasting on his prey, is only sending y/n into another god-giving orgasm.
Her moans were choked by Eddie’s grip on her neck. This time, she couldn’t gather words. All she could do was sob, whine, and choke on her own moans.
"It's okay, princess, we know it's a lot to handle. Just rest up and we'll surprise you when you wake," Eddie's voice echoed in y/n's ear once again before she slowly faded away into the dark.
part two?
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darkdarkstucky · 2 years
Text
Hidden, S. Rogers.
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Summary: Despite the fanfare and the cult-like following of Steve Rogers; America's golden child, the war time hero and do-no-evil american dream, it was still a startling discovery when it was revealed to the world that he was happily married. And he almost flipped New York upside down just to find you.
Pairings: Steve Rogers x Reader
Warnings: Mentions of Violence, Slight angst, Soft!Dark themes, Sexual Themes, postpartum depression, miscarriage.
Chapter 1
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After their morning training, the Avenger's had been left to their own devices. The heroes were all spent, and tired; and after their stretch, and cooling down they had all left the training room consecutively.
“You okay, pal?” Bucky takes note of the tension in Steve's shoulder, even the serious expression of his old friend. “You seem out of it.”
As if being pulled out of a trance, Steve notices they were the only ones left in the elevator. All through out the day, he has been distracted. There was a nagging feeling in his chest he couldn't quite shake off, and his worries were made evident due to Sam landing a few hits to him during combat.
“Yeah, i am.” He tries to smile, and while Bucky didn't quite believe him, he nodded.
“Great, was starting to think you're not really here.” He chuckles, and they step out of the elevator.
As they walk into the common area, he notices that the rest of the team were crowding someone, Tony was mostly doing the talking while the older woman seemed to be frantic.
His heart drops to his feet, then. Steve walked further, his strides quick and stealthy making it so his presence was only noticed once he spoke, “What's wrong?”
“Great, rogers this lady was saying something about-”
“Steve, i lost her. I couldn't-” the older woman splutters despite the tears falling from her eyes, panic was evident in her tone as she blabbers.
The man could have only heard a sharp ringing in his ears, “Calm down, tia. Speak clearly. How did you lose her?” he tried his best to maintain his composure, but the way his voice wavered in fear had made the team tense despite their questions.
“I was in the kitchen to make her breakfast, i checked in on her- she was in your rooms just moments before that, reading a book. But after, i looked and she was gone. I couldn't find her anywhere.”
“Did you hear any noise? Signs that there could have been forced intrusion?” he questions quickly, swallowing down his urge to bolt right then and there to go on a mad hunt for the love of his life.
The woman shakes her head, “No. None.” and he would have been alerted of forceful entry in their home seeing as he had security measures installed in every part of the house. Yet he asked just for assurance.
“Who are we talking about? And Rogers, you're looking pale and enraged at the same time.” Stark remarks, whereas Bucky and Sam looked at eachother sharing a knowing glance.
Both were closest to Steve and naturally had their own suspicion, through the years Steve had been more so secretive about his normal life and he spends his time away from work in an unknown place, doing whatever he does.
“I've got to go.” Steve states in an emotionless voice, raising his shoulders to come into full height. He looked intimidating. “Will you be okay here?” to her nod, his face turns even more solemn. A look passed in his eyes, one that could only be recognized during important missions; outmost control. This was the super soldier talking, and his mind was clouded with one thing and a sole mission; to find his wife.
•••
As his footsteps thunder away, his oldest friends echoing his steps, while Rogers pulled out his phone and scrolled through contacts with urgency.
“Uhh, are we going to talk about that?” Clint aks, confused at the sudden changes in Steve's person. It was as if he was looking at some cold blooded assassin with orders from the higher ups.
Natasha shakes her head, “He's running on autopilot.” though worry clouded her voice, she was sure that there was nothing she could have said or any of them had done to be able to ease off his tensed stature.
“Never seen the old man with that kind of.. how do i say this?” Tony cocks his head, pursing his lips in thought. “cold blooded intent?”
Although Captain America himself was the personification of moral values and greater good, Steve Rogers was akin to a shy puppy who was polite, so the way he acted was out of character.
“He's a good man.” The old lady spoke once more, still tearful and rattled but with a certain proudness coloring her voice. “He only ever acts this way if his wife's wellbeing is concerned.”
Those present could be seen with their mouths hanging wide open, shocked was an understatement. But Natasha, ever the observant one had only a slight smile for her suspicion was correct.
She had noticed it, a couple of years ago. Steve Rogers usually lived in the tower, trained like it was breathing, worked as if it was his only purpose. But all changed, all too suddenly. He was smiling often at his phone, having secret conversations and was barely seen other than, when he was on work assignments. He lessened committing to dangerous missions aswell, which was obvious changes he made due to having someone significant in his life.
But none of them, even she had expected he would be married. That was a startling discovery, and none of them could have blamed the super soldier for the way he acted.
“He.. has a wife?” Clint stammers. “I mean, i thought i was secretive, but i would have atleast invited you all to my wedding.”
“Ah, yes. The midgardian has chosen a spouse, i was starting to think he was incapable.” Thor interjects.
“He was injected an all capable serum, if anything it would be the opposite.”
“Do you have any idea where she could have went?” Natasha asks the older woman to divert the stream of the conversation. The rest of the team were getting side tracked, probably short circuiting as they couldn't have thought it possible that Captain America could have a private life.
I mean, they eat and basically slept in one tower. Different floors, but still.
“It's... delicate.” She sighs, conflicted. 
Natasha furrows her brows in confusion, Tony who was listening in to the conversation takes a few steps forward. “What do you mean delicate?”
The older woman shakes her head, “I'm sorry but it's not my story to tell.”
Although filled with unanswered sentiments, the team separated to different places, but in most part, they had the intention of helping Steve in some way or the other.
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