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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 5 years

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Damage Control

Part 7 in Getaway Series

Warnings: nonconsensual sex (oral, vaginal and anal intercourse, violence), angst, general assholery.

This is dark!(nomad)Steve and explicit. 18+ only. PLEASE HEED THE WARNINGS. I mean it, I’m not gonna tell you again.

Summary: The reader tries to figure Steve out.

Note: This is shorter than usual chapters in this series but we get the plot moving towards the end and we’re getting so close y’all. So I hope you enjoy this installment. I might not get to post much this weekend or whatever because I have a lot of ish coming up so thank you for reading and for your patience.

Anyways, hope you all enjoy and let me know what you think as always. Love ya <3

...

It was almost a week since the barbecue. Steve had yet to return for another night of torment. It was almost concerning. Before, he dropped in almost every other day to relish in your suffering. You wondered what kept him, not that you longed for his return. You even hoped, by some chance, that the world’s greatest fugitive had been caught.

Well, you’d know if that happened. Everyone would.

You splendoured in the daydream as you sat at your desk. After what he’d done, you only wanted one thing. More than just him gone, you wanted him dead. He had taken more than just Ethan, now he’d turned your own family against you. You hadn’t spoke to Gia or your mother since Sunday. It was too humiliating.

You thought of the headlines; the new reels. Captain America in cuffs, the man’s arrogant blue eyes averted in defeat. You smiled and played with your pen. That would be sweet...if only.

But why not? He was still the most wanted man in the world. Hunted by more than just his former comrades. Steve Rogers had made many enemies in this world. You sat up and your chair squeaked. You glanced around at the office as if another would see your thoughts. Was it possible to bring down the former Avenger? Not on your own, of course, but maybe there were others who could help.

In all this, you’d forgotten that this man was not supposed to be in your life. He was supposed to be in prison. He belonged there. He’d earned it since his exile. Yet, even if you ridded yourself of his oppression, you’d never get back what you lost. What he’d taken from you. But perhaps you could keep him from taking even more.

You slid your chair closer to your desk and minimized your task center. You opened the browser and peeked around again. You swallowed and typed into the search bar. News stories from months ago popped up. The search for Steve Rogers was still in effect but no sightings reported. You scrolled past the hashtags and image results and clicked on the first link.

Stark Industries. Iron Man himself was leading the manhunt for his former ally. The newly repentant superhero eager to atone for the collateral damage of his heroic acts. You tapped your finger on the mouse and read. If you did this, there was no turning back. If you did, it all became deadly.

Well, what was life when it was like this?

You scribbled the number on a post-it and cleared your history. You closed the window and turned your headset on. The first call was easy; second-nature. But with each minute you became more distracted by the pad. The nerves fluttered in your stomach and made you nauseous.

What would you say? What could you say? Steve Rogers ruined my life. Oh, and I’ve been fucking him. Well...it’s complicated. You finished your sixth call of the day and excused yourself to the bathroom. You tucked the small paper up your sleeve with your cell in the other. You locked yourself in a stall and shakily dialed the numbers, hesitation as you hovered over the call button.

The line picked up and you blurted out the words clumsily. "I know where to find Steve Rogers."

When you got home that night, he was there. You didn't acknowledge him as you set your purse on the table and kicked your shoes off. You didn't even look at him; his presence a speck in the corner of your eye.

He was stretched across your couch, his feet propped up on one arm and his head against the other, arms up and bent behind it. You went about your after work routine.

You changed out of your stiff pants and blouse and pulled on a pair of sweats and a loose tee. You doubted you'd keep them long. When you reentered the living room, he turned his head to watch you. His hand slipped down to rub his crotch. His jeans bulged with his anticipation.

You cringed and he reached out to you. "Come here."

You stared at him. You slowly walked over to the couch. He pressed his hand against your thigh and snaked it around to grab your ass as he drew you closer. He squeezed and you flinched.

"Still sore?" He asked. You didn't respond. "Don't push me now."

"No." You answered. He didn't need to know that you were still tender every time you sat down. That he had fucked you so hard that you didn't get off the mattress until your alarm for work. He didn't need to know you had cried in the shower too.

He smirked. "Good."

He tapped your ass and pulled his hand back to his jeans. He lifted his ass as he undid his fly and pushed his pants down. His cock sprang forth and he fell back with a sigh. "Hmmm," He eyed you as he gripped his cock and reached to you with his other hand.

"I'm trying to decide…" He picked at the elastic of your sweats. "Pussy, I think." He poked your vee with two fingers and wiggled his cock. "Right, come one before I change my mind."

You clamped your lips shut as you shed your sweats. You hooked your leg over him and he grabbed your hip as he guided you into place. He aligned himself and pulled you down. It hurt as he entered you. You were dry and tight. He groaned as you strained against him until he finally bottomed out.

"Fuck," He hissed and held you down. He pressed his thumb to your clit and rubbed. "What's the matter, hmm? You miss me?"

You bit down and stared behind him. You couldn't look at him as the tingle began to bloom beneath his touch. Your thighs clenched around him and you let out a deep breath. He moved his hand back to your hip and guided you.

He rocked you slowly as your arousal spread. The noise of your wetness repulsed you but fed your body. You slid up and down his cock faster and faster. He grabbed your ass and kneaded it painfully before drawing his hands back behind his head.

"Keep fucking me," He smirked as you slowed.

You gripped your thighs and kept your hips moving. His eyes were on your pussy. He delighted in the sight of him inside you. You panted and puffed as you rode him, wishing for it to be over even though you knew once was never enough.

"Come on," He grabbed your hips suddenly and brought you down as hard as he could. He lifted you and slammed you back so that he hit his limit each time. It was painful and yet it sent ripples along your spine. "I see it. You're gonna cum. Go on."

You shuddered and wrapped your fingers around his wrists as you tried to slow. He kept you in motion, your flesh slapping against his loudly. Your muffled moans broke loose and you tossed your head back and whined.

You squeezed his wrists as you orgasmed and your body shook wildly. Even as you descended from your high, he didn't quit. He fucked you harder, used your body without a care. Even as he grunted and came, he didn't stop. Not until your thighs were sticky with cum.

He eased you down and stayed inside you. His hands fell and lingered on your thighs. He reached up to tweak your nipple and chuckled at your flinch.

"When I was away, I watched our little video." He grinned. "Very hot."

You hung your head in shame but said nothing.

"I was just visiting a friend but fuck the time dragged by. Thinking about that ass. About those stubborn little frowns, the way you snarl when you know you're going to cum even when you don't want to."

You tried to push yourself off him but he held you there.

"Uh-uh," He warned as his fingers spread across your thighs. "You can't run away now, girl. You can deny it all you want but we both know you fucking love this." He tilted his hips and poked your cervix painfully. "Ethan knew it too."

"I told you not to talk about him." You growled.

He slapped you. Hard. He gripped your throat and threatened to squeeze tighter. "And you don't make the fucking rules here. Goddamn, you're a stubborn bitch."

"And you're an asshole," You rasped.

He chuckled darkly and let go of you only to smack you again. You batted away his hand and he caught your wrists.

"You're fucking fiesty today." Your nostrils flared and you tried to pull away. He barely noticed your struggle. "Fuck, you really want me to send our little romp to the boy? Think he'll watch it all the way through? Or you think he'll cry like he did before?"

You stopped and stared at him. Disgust, hatred, despair. You closed your eyes and sighed. He let go as your strength drained from you. All your anger slaked away and you were left weak and pliant. He always won.

"Now be a good girl and clean me up," He patted your thigh and waited.

You climbed off of him. More cum seeped down your thighs and his cock twitched. He was growing hard again. His length shone with your juices and you shuddered as you turned to him.

You took his cock and bent over him, trying to hide your face as your lips met his tip. He stiffened as you opened your mouth around him. His fingers tickled your side as he hit the back of your throat.

He hummed and you forced yourself to take all of him, almost gagging as he slid down your throat. Your entire body tensed and you drew back. His fingers danced along your skin and you pushed yourself back down.

"Don't stop till I cum... don't leave a mess now."

You almost choked at his words. You hated the control he had over you, the way you so eagerly bent to him. You used your hand in tandem with your mouth, your jaw ached and your throat burned. You gulped and gasped as his fingers sank into your waist and he groaned.

His other hand went to the back of your head and he guided you faster. Your spit dripped down his cock and around your fingers. You struggled to breathe but kept going. Just be done, just be done.

He came with a sudden spasm. He sounded surprised and he pushed your head until he was down your throat entirely. You slapped at his stomach as you fought to swallow around his cock. His cum slid down painfully and he let you go only as tears pricked at your eyes.

You pulled back and stood. You touched your throat and coughed. You wiped your lips as you panted and your head spun dangerously. You were so dizzy you almost stumbled. Steve caught your hand and kept you from backing away.

He sat up and turned his legs over the edge of the couch. He released you and rubbed his thick thighs with a smirk. “Turn around.”

You turned your back to him. You shook your head, thankful you could hide your grimace. He grabbed your hips and forced you back, nearly taking you off your feet. You bent your legs as they hit his and he brought you down into his lap. You hovered over him as he lined himself up with your ass. You planted your hands on his thighs and pushed but he didn’t relent.

“Just relax, it’ll be easier,” He pulled you down until his head slipped inside. It was just as painful as last time. You whimpered and he pushed further. “Fuck.” He swore as he sank into you. “You’re still fucking tight. Shit.”

You strained around him and whined. It hurt terribly. You still felt the pain of the last time. His hands snaked down your hips and over your thighs. He hooked his fingers beneath your legs and brought them up so that they were bent almost flush to your chest. He leaned back and lifted you easily.

He slid in and out as he thrust below you. Slow at first. Testing you. Relishing your feeble cries. You were helpless in his grasp as he rocked his hips into you. Helpless to the peculiar waves that began to build and build. The pain faded as it had before and you were stunned by the new sensation. The intense and overwhelming cluster of pleasure.

He sped up until he was slamming into you mercilessly. His breath was hot against your scalp and he worked below you. Your hands were on his as he folded you in half, your body bounced against his.

“Steve…” You gasped. “Please...st-stop…”

“Stop?” He purred in your ear. “Why?”

“Please…” You were in a haze. You’d never felt this much pleasure at once and it scared you. It scared you that this man you hated so much always found a way to dissemble you entirely. “Sto--” Your breath rushed out and you were left speechless as your eyes rolled back. You quivered as you leaned your head forward and your orgasm constricted every inch of you. “Oh, oh, Steve. Steve…” He didn’t waver as your moans turned to sheer ecstasy, “Yesssss. Oh my god!”

You yelped as you were suddenly turned and he pushed you down onto the couch cushion. He stayed inside of you as he crushed you beneath him. Your legs were trapped under you as he pounded into you, a hand on your shoulder and another on your head as he pinned you down.

“Yeah, you like that, don’t you?” He snarled. “You fucking slut.”

He rutted into you as his breath hitched and the entire couch shook beneath you. You clawed the cushion as another wave washed over you. You came again, your voice trapped in the couch as he held you down. He slowed but his thrusts were just as hard. Measured and sharp as he came with long growl.

He shuddered and stopped entirely. Your body spasmed as it buzzed in the afterglow. You plummeted back down as he pulled out of you and the couch shifted with his weight as he fell back. Slowly, you pushed your legs out from beneath you and kept your face hidden against the cushion. He slapped your ass and you squeaked.

“Don’t let me go soft now, girl.” He chuckled and your stomach turned. You opened your eyes and sat up shakily.

It wouldn’t last forever. Just a little longer.

He didn’t leave. You sat and stared at the super soldier, his bare ass to the wind as he snored on your couch. You expected him to go as he always did, but he didn’t. When he finished with his desecration, he’d let you go and you’d gone to get your robe and hide the bruises and fingerprints that marked your skin. When you returned, he was asleep.

You waited an hour. He still didn’t wake. You frowned and retreated to the bathroom. You kept the door open and stared at him as you twisted the faucet. He was still there. You showered, sore and achy as the heat sank into your bones, and you emerged to find he remained.

What was his game?

You tiptoed to your purse on the table and pulled out your phone. You gulped as he turned over. His hand fell to the floor and you were unsurprised to find him erect. In his sleep, he was insatiable. He snored even louder as he rolled onto his back.

You unlocked your phone and opened your camera. Your heart raced as you watched him. Oddly peaceful despite his depravity. You neared him quietly and angled the lense to his face. You steadied your hand and snapped the picture. You quickly retreated and hid the phone behind you as if he would awake at the silent shutter.

He still did not rouse. You licked your dry lips and scurried to your bedroom. You sat on the edge of the mattress, a shiver ran through you as your towel threatened to fall away. You quickly typed in the address and opened the page. You scrolled past the phone number and clicked on the email.

Submit your tips to our online support to aid in the hunt for dangerous fugitives.

You sighed and clicked again. Your phone call had been less than successful. It was hard to believe a woman from a small city in a different country had actually found the Captain America. They took your tip but sounded less than convinced and you doubted the phone call they promised in return would come. This would seal it thought. This was your smoking gun.

You attached the file and wrote out your claim. The same thing you’d told the operator. I know where to find Steve Rogers. You added your name and your phone number. You hoped this wasn’t some strawman helpline. Hoped it wasn’t some shell set up by Stark to keep his name pristine. You hit send and sighed.

You cleared your history and deleted the photo. You set your phone aside and stood to pull on a night shirt and hung your towel in the bathroom. His snores were almost comforting. He was asleep; harmless.

A thought flashed in your mind. You looked at him from the doorway. You could do it. Take care of it yourself. But if he woke, you’d be dead. The whisper faded and you went back to your room.

You laid down and let out a whimper. Your body hurt. You pulled the blanket over you and buried your head in the pillow. Sleep was unlikely but you just needed to rest. To try to forget.

You couldn’t recall falling asleep. It was late though and your head pounded as you came back to the surface. There was a weight across your middle. You were on your back, your shoulders cramped and your neck sore. It was an arm; his arm. Steve laid beside you, snoring as he had the night before on your couch.

You sat up suddenly. Recoiled from his touch. He growled and rolled over. He grumbled as he woke and his blue eyes found you.

“Fucking Christ,” He swore. “What the fuck?”

“What are you doing?” You hissed. “Go.”

“I’m trying to fucking sleep.” He rubbed his eyes and yawned. “Couch was too small.”

“Mmhmm,” You muttered doubtfully. “Well, I gotta work.”

You stood carefully. You gripped your back as it twinged and you gritted your teeth. You felt like shit, probably looked like it too. He draped his arm over your side of the mattress and you saw the twitch beneath the blankets. You turned away and slid open your closet.

“Call in.” He said. You froze and glanced over your shoulder. “Come on. You’re tired and...you’ve got work to do here.”

You shook your head and pulled out a pair of pants. “I can’t just call in. I need to pay my rent, my bills, buy groceries.”

“I said call in,” He barked as he pushed the blankets down. He cock stood and he stroked it with a sigh. “You’ve got two minutes.”

You hugged and tossed the pants on the floor. You snatched your phone from the night table and stormed out of the room as he continued to play with himself. You stopped dead as you saw the notification that bubbled up on your screen.

Stark Industries. Re: Fugitive Report. [Urgent].

You quickly swiped away the alert and dialed your work number. As the line connected your mind raced. You’d have to wait until he left. What if he didn’t? Well, he had to go eventually, he always did.

The other end picked up and you cleared your throat. “Hey, Donna, yeah it’s me, I can’t make it in, I’ve been sick all night. Yeah, yeah, I think it might be contagious. Okay, yeah, thanks.”

You hung up and locked your phone. You turned and stared at your bedroom door. Could you really take on Steve Rogers?

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je-suis-clarisse · 4 years

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SIX YEARS AGO: TRYST NIGHTCLUB. LAS VEGAS. Newly divorced, she couldn't resist. She wanted an evening of just pure fun. It was a night where old-school rock, hip-hop and r&b would be played. Cover was waived and people of all backgrounds would be there. She had dressed in a strapless purple dress and sky-high heels. As usual, she kept the make up to a minimum and her hair cascaded down her back. Simple enough. And no one knew who she was. Heading down the elevator, Clarisse du Volde meandered quietly into the club, pleased with the turnout. Overhead Metallica played, but the DJ was mixing it into The Notorious B.I.G's 'Hypnotize'. She made her way into the crowd, swaying along with the music before dropping low and bringing herself up slow. She wasn't oblivious to the fact that her ass looked amazing in this dress. That would be why she hadn't been allowed to wear it. Well, f*** him. This was her night. And she'd do whatever she wanted. Her hips swaying back and forth, moving in time with the music, she jumped slightly feeling two hands come to rest on her. For a moment, she feared it was him. The touch wasn't indifferent though, rather it was that of someone who just wanted to have a little fun. But remembering her promise to herself to have fun, Clarisse reached back resting her hand on the stranger's neck, fingers gently brushing through his hair. His left hand moved up her abdomen, resting on her stomach. Tilting her face to get a better view of her dance partner, she laughed softly as his goatee tickled her forehead. The pulse of the music and the strobe lights added to the ambiance and she moaned softly as his fingers kneaded into her, drawing her closer. Her pert backside pressed firmly against him and she could feel his hips grinding into her. Her lips curved upwards in a smirk feeling him press firmly against her; he had a hard-on. To say she wasn't feeling some type of way would have been a lie. "Mm..." she sounded as he turned her around. Bringing her arms around his neck, she strained to hear him as he spoke, feeling a shiver go down her spine as he leaned in and whispered in her ear, "'s your name?'" "Clarisse. You?" "Noah. Nice t'meet you, Clari." "You too, Noah." She replied with a smile, giggling as he rested his hands on her ass, giving it a squeeze as he pulled her in. For the next hour, they didn't part, teasing one another and seemingly hinting what should come next. She was pleasantly surprised when they snuck in things about themselves. She felt embarrassed to say she was newly divorced, but the smirk on his features amused her. She lowered her gaze for a few moments as he leaned in more and she ground herself against his leg. She was tempted to ask him up to the office or the VIP area when he seemed to read her mind. "You want t' get away from here?" Noah asked and she paused. Did she? His face was only an inch or two away from hers. And there was something about him that drew her in. He was a biker, no question, but there was something in his eyes that hooked her. She liked this Noah. "Sure," she murmured and laughed as he drew her away from the crowd and down a hallway, her hand in his. Looking around before pressing her against the wall; his muscled form flush against her soft curves, his hand pinning her wrists above her head. "Goddamn, girl," he smirked at her as he looked over her figure. "The f*** kinda man would leave all this? 'Specially for another chick?'" She laughed, shaking her head. "My ex, obviously, Noah..." Her French accent twisting around his name in a caress. His breath was warm on her face and she could smell tequila...and nicotine. They blended to make a scent she could only call 'Noah'. She tilted her face up and just as she was about to press her lips to his; she could hear someone calling his name. what. the. f***! "Yo, we gotta split! Noah!" A grunt and curses under his breath. "Sh*t. Clari, I gotta go." "I understand, of course..." she began and blinked as he reached into his pocket, taking out a gum wrapper and a pen, scrawling out something."Call me in a few days. Sh*t's gotta cool down. Don't give it out." "I'm gonna write it on the bathroom wall," she teased and he gave her a wink before he left. Looking at the paper, she smirked, memorizing the number. They'd seen one another on and off, here and there until she'd gone back to New Orleans. But that hadn't stopped them from keeping in touch--something she was glad for. -------- PRESENT DAY. She hated California. And yet, here she was. Cruising down the highway on her own bike. Granted it was old, but it was hers and she liked it. She'd learned how to ride on it back during the second world war but of course, that was her own story. To anyone else, she just liked old sh*t. She was tired of being at home. Sigyn was out here, seeing friends. She had looked at her phone and saw a text from Noah. So, it had inspired her. He'd given her the name of a bar near the border. It was ironic. "But that humanitarian crisis!" She had texted back, referencing the foolish man who called himself president. She had cruised through the towns noting how some places looked so rich, others looked like shacks. She wondered about it; was this a cartel holding? 'la casa de diablo.' The House of the Devil. Leave it to Noah to pick a bar with a name like this. As she parked, she took notice of the crowd. Some sort of MC, of course, and a few gang bangers, it appeared. Fair enough. At least she'd dressed in leather and worn motorcycle boots. She would have a Corona; it'd been awhile. Taking off her helmet, her blonde hair coming down over her shoulders and down her back. Setting it down, she pulled it up into a bun. As she went to enter the bar--dive, really--a heavily accented voice greeted her. It took all of her good sense not to cringe. Not because he was speaking to her; but because the line was so lame. Did he really think that she'd fall for it? "Hey mamita, where you been all my life?" He asked, extending his arms as his friends sniggered and elbowed one another. Looking to the bartender, she offered a smile. "cerveza, por favor," she spoke politely, inclining her head and dropping a twenty in his tip jar. The wide grin on his face revealed she'd made a new friend. A gentle tap on his hip told her what she needed to know. He was carrying. Setting a Corona in front of her, the bartender nodded and went to the other patrons. "Pretty little thing like you, you need a real man." The man went on motioning to himself. His hands came to rest on her barstool turning her around. She was of a mind to smash the bottle over his head, but instead, she tilted it and sipped the beer slowly before setting the bottle down on the bar. "Tight lil ass like that, I could tear that sh*t up. You wouldn't sit right, but you'd adjust, right, baby?" She couldn't get a read on him. Was he just a regular guy? Gangbanger? MC member? He was dressed like a cholo. She had nothing against Mexican people; but she loathed men who didn't take 'no' for an answer. Furthermore, she loathed being called baby. Why the hell Noah couldn't have told her where he was, she didn't know. But if he didn't get here soon...she couldn't promise he wouldn't find a dead body. Cracking her neck, she played along for a little longer, mainly ignoring the guy. Her lip curled up, however as the tattooed son-of-a-bitch grabbed her breast and squeezed. Her hand gripped his wrist and her eyes met his dark ones. "I'm sure you learned that's no way to treat a lady," she sneered as she slid off the barstool. The bartender's hand moved to his hip but she shook her head. "Gents, you're going to learn a lesson today. A real man would know when a woman isn't interested," she countered calmly as the bar went suddenly quiet. "He'd know that no means NO. Or that my silence was not permission. That was me ignoring you." His dark pools met her own and he smirked stepping closer, thinking he'd get what he wanted, ignoring her words. Giving him a smirk in return, she grabbed his crotch and looked up into his eyes. She gave a gentle squeeze, listening to him moan. "That's it, ba--" He began and she squeezed tighter, the previous moan turning into her begging to let him go. "You don't feel like a real man. Little small for my taste," she mused, giving another squeeze and laughing as he screeched. "Who's a real man now?" she spat out at him before taking a seat again. "Anyone else?" she asked. "I just want to drink my beer and meet my friend. If any of you vatos have an issue, step up now. Or end up with your now, most likely, impotent friend. ¿y cuando una mujer te ignora? toma una maldita pista, ¿sí?" She snarled before sitting down again and ordering another beer. She was about halfway through when a sense of familiarity filled her. A grin crossed her lips as a tall figure stood behind her, casting a shadow over her. Turning around, she gave him a playful smile before standing up and giving the figure a hug. "Goddamn. It's my favorite Outlaw." He looked just as she remembered, though, his eyes seemed a little sadder. A line or two more but still the Noah she had known. She lingered a moment before pressing a kiss to his cheek. "Of all the dive bars in the world, you had to send me to the one where someone grabbed my tit and wouldn't take no for an answer in five minutes." She teased, motioning to the guy in the corner, still whining about the puta who'd maimed him. "So, catch me up with you, Noah West. It's been far too long."

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