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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 1 year

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Never Too Late 12/End

Warnings: noncon sexual acts, violence, manipulation.

My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Character: Steve Rogers

Summary: You’re turning forty and life seems to be forging ahead on its one way track, that is until you meet Steve Rogers.

Note: Thanks to all who followed from the very beginning. We did it! We made it to the end.

Thank you. Love you guys!

As always, if you can, please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

Series Masterlist

You turned your head to keep the blood from pooling into your throat. You pushed against Steve’s shoulders as he kept you pinned beneath him, legs bent awkwardly as your pants tangled above your knees.

You gurgled and coughed up another glob of blood. You groaned as you shoved against him helplessly.

“Steve, please–” you choked out.

“Shhh, baby,” he snarled into your hairline as he shifted his knees on the seat, “keep talking and you’ll keep getting hurt.”

“Stop! Stop!” You croaked as you curled your fingertips into his rounded muscle, “no–”

He growled, his lips flush to your forehead as he puffed over you. He flicked his fingers up and down your cunt. The hot graze of his touch made you squirm as you hit the window with your hand, his shadow darkening your world as the moon disappeared behind the clouds.

“Don’t–” you pleaded as he danced along your entrance.

“Shut the fuck up,” he sneered and rammed two fingers into you. You back spasmed again and you squeaked as you clutched his collar tightly. “Shh, baby, it’s okay–”

You gritted your teeth and blew out through your nostrils. Pain wracked your hips and spine as he slowly moved his hand, rocking into you deeper and deeper. Your walls clenched him futilely as you threw your fist into his shoulder.

“Ow! Ow! Stop!! Stop! Please!” You begged.

He slid his fingers out of you, scratching along your thigh. You braced yourself against the door and his chest, whining as your back strained with your attempt to get him off you. He felt along the front of his pants as he sat up, his hand on the seat above you as he unzipped his fly.

You gripped the interior of the door as you hit his chest again and again. He pushed his pants down, ignoring your struggle as he bent over you once more. You tensed as he reached between your bodies and brushed his tip along your cunt.

You wriggled and latched onto the headrest, trying to lift yourself up the seat. You exclaimed once more as another bolt of lightning zipped up your spine. Oh fuck. Your back.

You hissed as he prodded you harder. Your insides knotted and your heart beat furiously in your chest. This couldn’t be happening.

You closed your eyes, head swirling still from the impact of his fist. He poked around as you squirmed and clasped your hand around the front of his shirt. He thrust into you, a single motion that scoured your walls as he sank to his limit.

You shrieked and arched your back, another jolt thrumming up to your shoulders. He snarled and exhaled as he held himself over you, his elbow above your shoulder. His other hand groped your chest as he began to thrust.

You gnashed your teeth and clung to the fabric tightly as the pain surged from your core.

“Aw, baby, you’re so fucking tight,” he growled as he rutted, harder and harder. “Fuck, how long’s it been, hm?” He rambled between heavy breaths, “you feel so good on me.”

He slid his knees off the seat as he raised himself above you, slamming back in with all his force. He bent awkwardly in the tight space as you were contorted against the seat, slipping lower and lower with each tilt of his hips. Agony laced through every inch of you.

You unfurled your hand and ran it up to his collar. You felt the skin of his throat and dug in your nails. You scratched him and he grunted, slapping away your hand and twisting your arm up beside your head. The angle put pressure on the joint of your elbow and urged a yelp from you.

He rammed his pelvis down against you, over and over. You snorted back blood and hid beneath your eyelids as heat gathered in your face. Humiliated, hurting, and helpless, you let him use you, bend you, invade you, longing for the end.

This was all he ever wanted from you. You were just too stupid to see that. It wasn’t your insecurity and you were too old to be naive. You were just as indifferent as you’d always been. Watching the world move around you and doing nothing to stop it.

You snaked your other hand down to touch his hip, to try to slow him as the pain mounted. As it grew unbearable. He didn’t relent. He sped up, faster and faster, his grunts and groans matching the pace of his assault.

The slap of his flesh filled the compartment and echoed in your ears. The burning in your cunt underlined the thunderous agony coiled around your spine and hips. You couldn’t fight if you tried. You were done. He won. Good ole Captain America could claim victory again.

He whimpered and hung his head down. He breath clouded around your face as he rode out his orgasm. You cringed and writhed as you felt him cum inside you, coating your walls hotly as his motion staggered wildly.

When he stilled, he collapsed over you, your legs bending even higher as the fabric of your pants drew taut beneath him. You pushed your chin up to keep your horror from leaking out. It was over. It was done.

Get off. Get out! Get away! You screamed internally but kept still. You didn’t want to antagonize him again.

He pulled out inch by inch and you shuddered. He groaned and struggled to move his large body back into the driver seat, dropping down with a growl. Your legs fell limp and you cradled your pulsing elbow. You didn’t dare to open your eyes.

His breath slowly petered out as your heart continued to beat out of rhythm. You heard him jostling in his seat and flinched as suddenly he reached over to yank up your pants. The fly was fucked but he didn’t seem to care.

He pulled out the seatbelt and clicked it into place. You heard a low crick and peeked out from beneath your lashes. He rolled his neck and buckled himself in. He tapped his fingers on the wheel as he looked you over.

“You look fucking rough,” he taunted as he turned the ignition, “this is gonna fucking hurt too so, try to hold on.”

“What–” you gulped in confusion.

“Gotta make it believable, right?” He shifted the car into gear and you shivered out a weak breath, “court Cap can walk away from it, no problem, but not you.”

He sank his foot down on the pedal and the engine thrummed. Suddenly the car shot forward and he smiled through the windshield.

“Don’t you worry, baby, I’ll take care of you,” he snickered as the tires sped down the highway.

He veered suddenly, spinning the steering wheel so that the car spun and your door collided with the barrier. The sudden crushed forced a wail from you, a sound so horrid you didn’t even realise it was your own voice. You blinked at the cracked windshield and the flashing glow of the headlights.

Your head lulled as your skull rattled violently and you felt a brush along your ear, “it’ll be alright, honey. The ambulance will be here soon.”

⏳

Your existence was consumed by a grey haze. The flash of red and blue, familiar and unfamiliar voices, noises all around you. You waded through the fog until finally you broke the cloudy wall. As you came to, so too did a pure white room and the steady beep of a machine.

The only thing you could think or feel was pain. In your hips, spin, and shoulder. Your head throbbed as your eyes would only open halfway. You tried to look around fully but it hurt too much. You groaned and lifted your hand, tubes taped up your arm and a needle inserted into your vein.

“About time,” Steve intoned as he stood and stretched, startling you.

The memories came flooding back. The crunch of your nose, the constriction of your body against his, the crash of metal and blinking lights. You let your hand fall against your chest and grumbled.

“A few scratches, some bruising, nose is fucked up but you can only blame yourself for that.”

Your head slumped forward. You couldn’t figure out if it was whatever was being pumped into you or you actually didn’t care. You stared at the thin flannel blanket and peek of the hospital gown beneath it. It strains your neck and shoulders terrible and you notice the harness around you.

“You shouldn’t have been distracting me. I wouldn’t have lost control like that.” He reprimanded, “we both could’ve been seriously injured.”

“Whatever,” you uttered.

“Whatever? Don’t you know how lucky you are?”

“You should’ve killed me.”

“Don’t say that.”

“It’s true.”

“No, you don’t say that. Especially in front of your mother. She’s been out in the waiting room all night. For you.”

“And who’s fault is that?”

“You just can’t fucking help yourself, can you?”

You lifted your head and it lolled back against the bed.

“I know I can’t help myself. And no one else can either. So whatever. You win. Congratulations, Captain, another mission completed. You got your dick wet.”

“I win? You win. You get everything you ever wanted and more than you need. A husband. A family.” He turned his palms out, “you get me.”

You wouldn’t say it again. You know it would only make it worse. You’d already said too much. You shrugged and let your body go slack. It all hurt too much to argue.

“I know. You’re right, Steve. You’re exactly what I deserve,” you murmur. “Can I see my mom?”

“Now that’s up to you, isn’t it? Are you going to behave?”

“Look at me, Steve, what am I gonna do? I told you, I give up.”

He jutted out his chin and sighed, “fine, I’ll bring you mother in. She’ll be as happy to see you alive as I’m sure you are to see her.”

You paused, staring at him. His threat was clear. You’re not the only person he was willing to hurt. That was obvious enough when he showed up at your mother’s home. He could’ve killed you, could’ve been done with you, but you were still alive for a reason.

His reasons.

"I'll go get her."

You watch him leave the room. You deflate against the bed and let out a long breath. You start to feel the layers of pain that cocoon you. From your face, to your back, to your insides. A great cleft of pain thrums in your clavicle and when you move your arm, you cry out.

As you do, a sole squeaks in the hallway and Steve rushes in. Your mother is just behind him as he rushes to you in a charade of concern.

“Sweetheart, don’t move too much,” he says as touches your arm, “your collar bone.”

Your eyes sting with tears and your arm shakes in his grasp. The agony peaks to meet the height of your anger. Whatever they have you on isn’t strong enough.

“Nurse said if you're in pain, to push this,” Steve takes the small cylinder attached to a cord and pushes the blue button at the tip.

You feel a gradual warmth seep into you as you ease back, the tension draining from you as your eyelids drooped helplessly. Your mother’s figure hazed at your other side. You felt her gently brush along your side.

“Oh, honey, I was so terrified when I got the call. I’m so happy you’re okay!” She sniffles, “you should’ve stayed the night, I knew it. Nights like these, it’s no good to be driving so far.”

“Thanks, Maureen,” Steve says as your eyes list back across to him, “you’re probably right but the important thing is we’re okay.”

“And don’t I have you to thank for it,” she preens, “oh, you saved my daughter, Steve. If you hadn’t been with her…”

“She’s strong,” Steve squeezes your hand in his, “I just wish… I could’ve taken it. If it was my side that hit–”

“No, no, oh, no, don’t even say it–”

“You know I’d give anything for her, Maureen,” Steve’s thumb strokes up your wrist, “I love her so much.”

“Mom…” you murmur weakly. Your head lolls under the sedation. He’s lying. Your in danger. Run!

“Sweetie, please don’t trouble yourself,” she pats your other arm, “I’m here. I’m here for you.”

“Me too,” Steve purrs and bends to plant a gentle kiss on your temple. “I’m gonna take care of everything. Get everything we need at the new place and, hm, I’ll have to call her work, make sure they know not to expect her.”

“Let me know if I can do anything,” your mother says.

“Mommmm,” your voice drones out.

“Shhh, dear,” she cradles your hand between both of hers.

“I’m just…” Steve’s words are stunted as his timbre quavers with immaculately acted grief, “I know we’ll make it.” He shudders, “sweetheart, you’re gonna be okay and we’re going to get married.”

“Oh, you will, Steve,” your mom sniffs.

You groan but can’t form words. They’re not talking to you, but about you. Both planning your life for you. With but without you.

“And… and if kids aren’t… aren’t possible…”

“Don’t talk like that.”

“We can figure it out,” he croaks as you feel a hot tear land on your hand, “can’t we, sweetheart?”

“Oh, Steve,” your mother coos and lets go of you.

Her blurry form moves around the bed and she wraps her arms around Steve. It’s as if you’re not even there. You feel like a ghost, standing in a world where no one sees you. He stoops to hug her back but keeps a hold on you. He squeezes until you think your bones might snap.

“It’ll be okay,” your mother coaxes him, “you’re gonna be a great husband and I couldn’t ask for a better son.”

“Maureen,” he utters pathetically. For a moment, you almost believe him. It must be the morphine.

“I know it and you will be an even better father,” she assures him as you watch them part, her hands on his thick arms, “and she’ll be a good mother for you. Won’t you, dear? When you’re all healed up.” Her tone lightens and she lets out a brittle laugh, “I know my daughter, she’s damn stubborn.”

“Oh, I know,” Steve intones, leaning on the bed rail as he eases the vice of his grip, “but she’ll come back from this. And I’m sure it has put everything into perspective. For both of us.”

His words echo as you let your eyelids close. An ominous chant that follows you into the darkness.

Just as you can’t resist the pull of the drus, you can’t fight the man who dangles your world before you. Just as easily as he holds your hand in his. A villain in the mantle of a hero.

It’s too late to cry for help.

#steve rogers #dark steve rogers #dark!steve rogers #never too late #steve rogers x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #series #mcu #marvel #au #captain america

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 1 year

Text

Never Too Late 11

Warnings: noncon sexual acts, violence, manipulation.

My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Character: Steve Rogers

Summary: You’re turning forty and life seems to be forging ahead on its one way track, that is until you meet Steve Rogers.

Note: Yay a new chapter.

Thank you. Love you guys!

As always, if you can, please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

Series Masterlist

“So hon,” your mother put the pan of meatloaf in the middle of the table, “Steve tells me the lot is almost ready.”

You sat beside the pest in question, fighting not to betray an ounce of true emotion. You're trapped in the battle of simmering anger and latent fear. While you knew Steve wouldn’t let up, while you were fully aware of everything he could and would do, you couldn’t help but be absolutely livid with him and his lies.

“I–”

“So you’re moving in already?” Your mother interjected, “I sent you flowers to congratulate you when I heard the news but I guess the delivery was returned. Said you’d left your apartment.” She carefully cut slices out of the meatloaf, “I really wish you would talk to me, tell me all about all these exciting things. You know I always want what’s best for you’ve and I’ve been waiting so long for you–”

“No, I’m not moving in,” you insisted.

“What she means is… it isn’t furnished yet. So we can’t move in,” Steve laid his hand over yours, a warning, “but we’re so close. After waiting so long, what’s a few more weeks, right?”

“You be sure to have me over,” she sat and scooped mashed potatoes onto her plate, “and everyone else. A nice housewarming for everyone! Steve said the yard is huge. Hopefully the weather holds out and you might able to do a barbecue–”

“Mom,” you begged, “I… we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it. I got a lot going on at work and–”

“You know how she is, Maureen,” Steve squeezed your hand, “she’s had so many things fall through, she hates making plans. She doesn’t want to be disappointed, but we’re working on that, aren’t we, sweetheart?”

He leaned over and kissed your cheek. You gritted your teeth and looked down at your plate. You wiggled your hand free and grabbed your fork.

“Your meatloaf has always been my favourite, mom,” you say.

“I used turkey this time,” she explained, “Steve told me about your diet. Trying to stay healthy for the babies.”

You nearly dropped the bowl of potatoes as you reached for it, “babies?”

“Maureen,” Steve hissed at her, “I haven’t even popped the question yet.”

“Tick tock,” your mother snapped, “she’s not getting any younger.”

“Mom, Steve,” you plunked the bowl down, “please. I can’t handle this conversation right now.”

“Why not?” Your mother frowned, “you can’t keep running away, hon.”

“I’m not–” You held your head in your hands, “I’m not running away but I don’t need either of you talking about me like a piece of fruit, ready to shrivel and rot away. I’m forty, not dead.”

Steve rested his hand on your back and you flinched. It took all your strength not to shove him away. You swallowed tightly and sat back, nearly crushing his fingers against the chair.

“She’s a bit sensitive,” Steve said softly as he lowered his hand to rub your arm instead, “you know how it is turning forty–”

“Yes, but when I was forty, I had three teenagers,” your mother chided.

“Alright,” you pushed the chair out so it scraped, “I get it, mom, okay. Understood.”

“Honey,” she called after you as you spun on your heel, “I’m only worried–”

“I need to use the bathroom,” you snarled without looking back, “you two have fun planning out my life for me.”

You couldn’t help the boil of fury that flowed through you as you stormed down the hall and snapped the bathroom door shut behind you. You turned to the mirror and gripped the sink as you leaned on it and blew out through your lips. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

There was no other option but to grin and bear it. You had no doubt that Steve would follow through on his promises, those spoken and not. Yet it was so damn difficult to sit there beside him as he practically mocked you with his lies and his perfect put-on smile.

A knock rattled the door in the frame and you twisted the faucet on suddenly, “just finishing up.”

“Sweetheart, you doing okay?” Steve overrode your lie with one of his own. The handle dipped down and you snarled at yourself for forgetting to lock it, “you must’ve had a long day…”

He kept his voice loud enough to carry down the hall before he shut the door. You face him as you slammed the faucet off.

“I could’ve had my pants down,” you hissed.

“I was kinda hoping,” he sneered, filling the space with his large body, looming over you, “you’re embarrassing me.”

“Please–”

“No, you, please,” he growled as he framed your jaw, squeezing painfully as he forced you back. He turned you and pinned you against the wall, in the small space between the sink and shower. “Do you think I’m fucking playing?”

“Steve–”

“No, do you? You know, I’m starting to wonder if you even have a heart,” he spat, “the way you only think about yourself. Your mother put together a nice dinner for us and you’re pushing me…” he leaned in until his breath fanned over you, “I don’t want to end this night on the wrong foot. Do you understand?”

You gulped and nodded in his grasp, touching his hand gently, “you’re hurting me.”

“Good,” he barked as he ripped his hand away, “seems to be the only way you take a fucking hint. Now, smile, sweetheart, and let’s go tell mom all about the new place.”

You quivered against the tile as he squared his shoulders. The anger drained from his face and in a moment, he was the placid golden boy, a trace of a smile on his lips as he checked his reflection in the mirror. A shudder rolled up your spine as you watched him. The ease with which he pulled the mask over his true self was more terrifying than anything.

⌛

You stared out the passenger window in silence. Steve drove as a jazzy depression era tune flowed from the radio. You rested your elbow against the door as the streetlights passed in yellow flashes overhead.

The trumpet and the piano tempoed in a happy tune designed to distract from reality. Just like the 1930s housewife and her brood of children, you let the melody carry you away to a different world. A world in which you’re not trapped.

Your chest compressed as you exhaled heavily. You balled your hand and pursed your lips tightly. How did it come to this? How could it have? Steve Rogers? The Steve Rogers. Captain America!

As real as it was. As much as you still felt his grasp on your jaw, you just couldn’t comprehend it. You couldn’t comprehend that he was that deranged, even that you were that pathetic. Your greatest fear, that of ending up stuck in a hopeless relationship, had come true.

Relationship? That wasn’t exactly what you would call it. Coercion, at best.

The sudden dearth of sound shook you from your dread-laced trance. You sat up rigid but refused to look at Steve as he let the music buzz low from speakers. You flinched as suddenly the weight of his hand shifted onto your leg. His fingers curled and squeezed just above your knee.

“Ready to go home?”

You closed your eyes. You knew what he meant. He wasn’t taking you back to the hotel. That much was clear.

“I can hear your heart. Pounding. You’re just as excited as me.”

You snarled and slapped your hand onto his. He didn’t budge even as you tried to peel away his fingers. You felt his nails digging in through the fabric of your pants. You hissed through your teeth and finally turned to face his shadow.

“I’m afraid, Steve.” You uttered, “I’m not excited… I’m repulsed. By you.”

You heard him swallow. Saw the bob of his throat in his silhouette, lit only by the glint of the streetlights. He tore his hand away from your leg and clapped it around the wheel. A heavy breath gristled through him.

The dark hurtled towards you and his knuckles bounced across your cheek. You hit the door from the sheer force of his anger and cradled your face as it throbbed. It was swelling already as you cowered, stunned by the backhand.

“You really shouldn’t speak to me like that.”

You quivered and hugged yourself with your other arm as you leaned away from him. What the fuck? What do you do? Even if you weren’t in a moving car, you could never outrun him, never fight him.

He sighed and adjusted the mirror. You sensed his impatience as he dropped his grip back to the wheel and tapped his fingers. You held back your horror as it stung in your eyes.

“Are you going to say fucking sorry?” He growled.

You nearly choked. You sucked in air and dragged your palm away from your cheek, “sorry, Steve–”

“You know, in my day, women listened. They didn’t talk so goddamn much.”

You were quiet. You didn’t want to argue. You didn’t want another vicious lash.

“A woman as old as you, in 1945? Old, spinster. No man would’ve looked in your direction. Don’t you understand that?”

“Steve,” you pled.

“No, I want you to listen. To hear me. I am not just your last hope, I am your only hope. We both know it.”

You couldn’t speak. You were still too shocked to find the words to answer. The echo of his strike lingered and spread like ripples in water. You clutched your hand together and lowered your eyes.

“If you don’t stop being such an ungrateful little bitch, you’re forcing my hand. It’s a husband’s job to discipline his wife.”

His statement hung in the air. It plucked at the urge inside of you. That fiery feminist whim that had you called worse in your college days. That stubborn streak that was the chagrin of your mother’s life.

“You’re not my husband,” you whispered.

“What?” He snapped.

“You’re. Not. My. Husband.” You bit out each word brusquely.

You shielded yourself as he veered onto the apron. You reached for your seatbelt as the tired skidded and sat back as it retracted, nearly hitting your chin. As you tried to untangle yourself from the belt, his hand found the back of your head.

Before you could stop him, you flew forward, your nose cracking off the dashboard. A surge of blood flowed into your throat and gagged you. You put your hand up as he ripped you back and lurched you again. That time, you got your hand between your face and the vinyl but it didn’t little but crush your fingers.

“Steee–”

“I have warned you, over and over,” he grabbed your throat with his other hand as he yanked you back against the seat, “I have tried being nice. I have tried to help you but you can’t fucking help yourself.”

His hand left your head and he shoved down the seat until you heard metal twist. The backrest fell back limp beneath you as he leaned his weight onto your neck and lifted himself from his seat. He hunched as he moved over you in the tight space of the car.

“Steve–” you gasped through a mouthful of blood, “Steve, please, stop, I’m sorr–”

“Oh, I know you’re sorry,” he snipped as he grabbed the front of your pants, fingers curling against your stomach, “and you’re gonna be sorry for a good long time.”

He pulled until the button popped and the zipper split. You felt your back tweak from the awkward angle. Another reminder of how helpless you were against him.

You hit his shoulders with your fist, choking on your own blood as you writhed. His knee was planted between your legs as he stretched his forearm across your chest to keep your pinned.

“Steve, you don’t–”

“Shut up before I break your jaw too,” he rasped as he hooked his hand around to tug your pants below your ass.

You squealed and hit his chest again, clawing at his shirt with one hand as you clutched at the door with your other. He tore your pants down your thigh and crumpled them there, pushing your legs up as he put his other knee on the seat.

Adrenaline coursed through you, rattling you, pumping through your veins as you stretch your fingers above his collar and scratched down his neck. He grunted but ignored you as he shoved a hand against your cunt. You cried out and smacked his face.

He barely reacted as he puffed out and felt between your dry folds. You hit him again, and again, and again. He retracted his hand from your lips and you gurgled as his fist cracked your nose for a second time. You spat up a mouthful of blood and spit as he tutted and lowered his head.

“I didn’t want it to be like this,” he said as he tickled up your thigh, sending a child through you. “I really didn’t.”

#Steve Rogers #dark steve rogers #dark!steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #Never too late #series #mcu #marvel #captain america

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