No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.
Warnings: non/dubcon, cheating, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.
My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.
Character: Steve Rogers
Summary: you had a one night stand. Or did you?
As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️
Your phone wakes you. The room tilts as you open your eyes. A dull hammering thrums in your temples. The morning light makes your brain rough as sand paper.
Dregs of vodka stick to your dry tongue. The hangover weighs you down like an anchor. Just the thought of moving hurts.
You reach blindly for your jittering phone. Bubbly music tinkles from the speaker. Shit. It's Barrett. What did he forget this time?
You answer and put your clammy palm to your forehead. You squint at the ceiling then your eyes slowly round. Where the fuck are you?
"Hey, babe. You at Wendy's?" Your husband asks.
You gulp and peel your tongue off the roof of your mouth. This isn't Wendy's house.
"Yep," you croak. Your eyes ping side to side.
"Look, I'm sorry about last night. Things got heated and I know I was an ass--"
You cough as you sit up in the strange bed. "Yeah, you were."
"So why don't you come home and we can talk it out."
You peer around the room and your lips curve in a frown. Where the hell would you go besides home your loyal best friend's? You scratch you scalp and turn your legs over the edge of the bed, "let me get myself together."
"Babe. Please. I'm sorry."
"When I get home." You hang up.
It was a hell of fight. The minute he started yelling, you bailed. He knows better. You're not doing a ten hour day and coming home his nagging. So you left out your coffee mug. Big deal. You didn't say anything about the garbage bag he left out to be torn apart by raccoons.
Whatever. Fighting over dishes. Not of it matters right now.
Your clothes are on the floor. Someone's floor. Who it is is far from the point. You stand and stagger. You catch yourself on the nightstand. Your hand moves instinctively between your legs.
You're naked and tender. Did you have sex?
Think! You ran out with your purse. You went to Wendy's. She was up for a night out. A night to forget and body did you. First drink, second, third, then it gets blurry.
Fuck! You didn't. You wouldn't. You're pissed at your husband but you wouldn't cheat on him. You're not that type of person. Right?
You don't have time for that. You have to get out of here.
You dress as you search the room. It's tidy. Half the bed is mad and the other half messed from your drunken slumber.
You shake out your hands trying to shoo away the flurry of guilt and denial. Just get out. You'll think better with some coffee in your system.
You push down the door handle slowly. You listen to the silence of the hall. You tiptoe out warily, checking left and right as you advance. It's a nice place. A condo. Much nicer than your cramped one bedroom.
Not important!
You come out into the spacious front room. It's as empry as the rest of the place. The kitchen too. The bathroom. No one.
Your purse is by the door. Your shoes too. You grab both and let yourself out. You'd rather not face your mistake.
No, you didn't do anything. You wouldn't.
You hurry down the hallway to the elevators. You don't look back, just keep going. You don't think, just go.
It isn't until you're outside the familiar cafe marquee that your let your mind settle. You enter and join the queue. Your order a black coffee and drink it at a stool by the window.
You lean your elbows on the high table that stands inside the pane. You take a slow, savouring swig of coffee and let it trickle down your throat. You shield your face from the New York morning and put your hands over your ears.
You can't remember anything but Wendy. Your anger had you ordering round after round, trying to drown out the bile. The thought makes your stomach lurch and you gulp thickly.
You shake your head and groan. Your phone chirps. It's probably Barrett. Several messages from him and missed calls. All through the night. It's bad enough you betrayed him, you had him up worrying.
No, you didn't!
It can't have happened if you don't remember it. A generous stranger took you home so you didn't wake up on the curb. That's it.
That's the story. Nothing happened. And you'll let Barret believe you were with Wendy. It won't make a difference.
Your mind is set. Nothing happened.
Nothing. Happened.
Because you don't remember. Because you were too drunk to do that. Because you're married and it can't happen.
You're going to finish your coffee and go home. Everything will be just like it was before... after you tell Barrett where to put that coffee mug if it's such a big deal.
No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.
Warnings: non/dubcon, cheating, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.
My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.
Character: Steve Rogers
Summary: you had a one night stand. Or did you?
As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️
You’re not ready but you have to be. The taxi ride doesn’t give you much time to get yourself together. You tip the driver and thank them before you get out to face the music.
The red brick building lures you back to reality. You barely get a step into the apartment before your name rings out. Barrett appears at the end of the hall and you shut the door.
You sigh and hang up your keys and purse. You keep your phone in your hand and face him.
“Hey, I called work. Let them know I’d be starting late.” He sways at the threshold to the front room. He’s nervous, maybe even guilty. You ignore that tickle in the back of your head.
You’re silent as you veer into the kitchen. He follows and looms behind you. He teeters in the doorway as you put your phone on the counter. You focus on making another coffee.
“Are you feeling okay? You look tired.” He’s pandering just like he always does after a fight. He won’t apologise, he’ll just act like a dog with its tail between its legs.
“Yeah, I’m tired. Exhausted. But don’t worry, I’ll make sure to wash my mug out.”
You open the cupboard and take out a cup. He sniffs. “Honey, please, I swear, it wasn’t about the mug. I’m stressed and I miss you--”
“So, you call me lazy? You yell at me?” You slam down the lid of the machine. The surge of anger quickly swells and erases the night already washed away with the vodka. “I told you, if you ever yell at me--”
“I know, I know. It won’t happen again. I was emotional. I was stupid. I don’t know why I started it all. Really. I think...” he shakes his head and drops his chin. He looks up at you shyly and gives a sad smile. “I miss you. I guess having you mad at me is better than you ignoring me so--”
“I wasn’t ignoring you. I asked for five minutes to change and you wouldn’t get off my back.”
“Yeah.” He rubs his cheek and mopes. He stares at you and you stare back. You wait. The air roils between you as he thinks. You see the frantic glimmer in his eyes. “Oh, uh... I’m sorry?”
“Are you apologising or are you just saying what I want to hear?” You challenge.
“No, I’m sorry,” he says more firmly.
“For?”
His brows furrow and his lips part. “For... uh... babe... you know... what I did.”
The machine quits grinding and you throw your hands up. You turn around and pour yourself a cup. You inhale the scent and it eases the hangover thumping in your skull.
“Just go to work.”
“Babe--”
“Take some coffee, I don’t care,” you swipe up your phone and shuffle toward the other door. “But go. We need space.”
He doesn’t speak until you reach the doorway, “I’m trying.”
You don’t respond. You go to the bedroom and shut the door. You need a shower and sleep. You want to wash off yesterday and forget it all.
You can hear Barrett in the kitchen. Your phone vibrates and you check the screen. You expect a call-in but find a text instead. It’s from a strange number. The message makes your heart skip.
‘Last night was amazing. Would love to see you again. Let me know when’s good for you.’
Your hand shakes and you gape at the text. You tap your thumb to expand the options and hit the center; ‘block’. Last night did not happen. You put your coffee on the nightstand and chew your lip.
As soon as the message swooshes away, another flies in. It’s Wendy; ‘hey, you good? You left before I woke up.’
Your blood slows and your head pulses. You have to sit down. You grimace at your phone. She doesn’t remember either. She has no idea you didn’t go back to her place. Good. That means it can all stay forgotten.
You press reply and steady the phone with both hands. ‘Sorry, had to get back. Barrett called. Thanks for the night out.’
You hit send. As soon as your fingertips touches the screen, your stomach flips. You throw your phone on the bed and race to the door. You swing it open and scurry into the bathroom.
You hurl into the toilet as your husband calls from the kitchen, “babe? Everything okay? Want to me to stay home and take care of you?”
You groan and lean your head on your arm. You heave and swallow back another wave of nausea.
“Just go!” You snarl back.
Maybe it’s what he did. Maybe it’s what you can’t remember you did but you need him gone. You just need a chance to get your head straight and figure it all out. Not just what happened or didn’t happen, but what’s going to happen next.
You can’t keep doing this with Barrett. This is the last fight you’re having about a goddamn dish.
No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.
Warnings: non/dubcon, cheating, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.
My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.
Character: Steve Rogers
Summary: you had a one night stand. Or did you?
As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️
A week passes in a tense slog. Barrett continues his pandering penance and you wallow in irritation. You want to put it behind you. You want to get past it but every time you do, it just happens again.
If this was the first time, it would be easy but you’ve lost count of all the times you’ve had this fight.
Your menial office work does little to distract. It only allows you to think about all the bullshit. The way Barrett dismisses everything you do and has to list of everything you don’t. The way he can’t see his own flaws or how you’ve never once rubbed his nose in them like a dog.
Is it passive or weak or just acceptance? You can’t say. You just always put up with it. It’s just easier not to make an issue of every little thing. Problem is, now it’s a big thing.
When you come home, you’re worn out but you still have work to do. Dishes, tidying, cooking. Even your weekends don’t allow you must rest. You need to sort through the bills and go get groceries. All along the way, he’s in the way. You’re not sure he’s trying to help, more so trying to force his way to forgiveness.
You grab a bundle of reusable shopping bags from the cupboard overflowing with them. It only took about a hundred of the things to start remembering to take them with you.
As you shut the cupboard, Barrett’s on the other side of the oven. Watching and waiting. He’d be a lot more help if you didn’t have to tell him what to do. You forgot a mug and to him, that’s high crime, but he can’t remember to pay the power bill without six texts on the due date.
“So... what’s going on today?” He smiles.
It used to be that that smile made you melt. It would make all your troubles flutter away like butterflies. Now it’s just another irk.
“Groceries.” You wave the fistful of bags.
“Oh, cool, want me to come?”
You nearly scoff. Every weekend you ask and every weekend he’s too busy. His pals want him to jam in their garage band or go fishing down at some dirty river. Another tick on the wrong side of the Pros-Cons list.
“Sure,” you shrug. It’s easier to just let him come along. You don’t need another argument and you could use the extra hands.
You shove the bags into the folded shopping cart and put your shoes on. He toddles behind like a lost child. You’re repress a glare as you grab your keys and purse. You’re going to have to talk this out sooner than later our you’re really going to hate him.
He follows you out to the bus stop and you wait in silence. You had a car but it broke down last year. Ever since, he gets a ride off his coworkers or friends and you flash your bus pass. It’s cheaper than leasing a car, even a used one.
You don’t know what stresses you out more; thinking about all the stuff he does or just thinking about your life. You get on the bus and sit near the back. He reaches over to grab your hand. You wince but don’t pull away.
“Nice day,” he says.
“Mhmm,” you grumble.
His attempt at small talk doesn’t go much further. You get off at your stop and walk the block to the grocery store. You unfold your shopping cart and pull out your list. Barrett grabs a bag of gummy bears and dumps them in the cart.
“Those aren’t on the list,” you say.
“I know but it’ll be a nice treat for later. We’ll have some tonight after dinner.”
“Oh, alright.”
You factor in the extra cost and mentally cross off the avocado from the list. You can go without. You roll through the produce section and work your way down the list. Barrett trails behind you.
You stop in the cereal aisle to grab a bag of oatmeal. As you stand, you flinch and cry out at a surprise peck on your cheek. Barrett puts his arm around your shoulder as he presses his lips against you.
“What are you doing?” You ask.
“Baby, giving you a kiss.” You look at him and he grins, “I miss you. I love you. I’m tryna be better, honey.”
“In the grocery store?” You challenge.
“It’s cute.”
“Mm, it’s... let’s wait ‘til we get outta here. It’s starting to get busy.” You glance around at the other customers, hoping none of them noticed his little act. “How about you go grab some drumsticks? Flyer says they’re on sale.”
“Oh, I can do that. Be right back!” He proclaims.
He shuffles off and you shake your head and turn back to the shelves. The store brand on discount is all out. You hiss in disappointment. You search the rest of the selection. That’s the cheapest on the shelf and you really can’t stretch the extra dollar.
You look up at the overstock along the top. It’s right up there but you’re just too short to reach. You give a poor attempt then stand flat on your feet. You peer up and down the aisle. You could find an employee.
“Need some help?”
You turn to face the stranger and give a start. They aren’t so strange after all. You know him. Well, not know-know him. Everyone in the city knows Steve Rogers, the Captain America.
“Uhhh...”
“What’s your brand?” He asks. “They don’t run restock until before closing. I usually come then, less busy but I got... ha, sorry, I’m rambling. What can I grab for you?”
You lick your dry lips and glance at the shelf. You appreciate the help but telling Captain America that you need the cheapest bag on the shelf isn’t exactly dignified. You point to the price tag on the shelf and he reaches on his toes to grab the edge of the box on the top. He wiggles out a bag and stands flat.
“Here,” he offers it with a handsome smile. “You know, it’s made at the same factory as the regular brand.” He taps the back of the bag, “exact same address. I wouldn’t be surprised if they’re from the same lot.”
“Oh, well, er... thanks,” you take the oats and put them in your cart.
“No problem. Sometimes being a hero isn’t very glorious. Sometimes it’s just reaching the top shelf.”
You force a chuckle. You’re sure the Cap’s life is all sunshine and rainbows. Must be a real ego boost to help the little people.
“Well, I appreciate it, Captain.”
“Steve,” he smirks and stares. Your lower your brows and look behind you. Is he looking at someone else?
“Oh, of course. I should go find my husband.” You roll around him and try to shake off the awkward encounter. You look down at your list as you stop at the end of the aisle.
“Hope he’s not lost...” Steve calls after you. He says your name and you crane to look at him. You meet his gaze and blanch. He turns and struts off without another word.
You turn back to your path and slowly leave the aisle. How did he know your name? You replay the interaction and try to recall giving it but you can’t. Well, you’re not exactly thinking straight right now. It’s nothing. You’re just stressed.
Warnings: non/dubcon, cheating, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.
My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.
Character: Steve Rogers
Summary: you had a one night stand. Or did you?
As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️
You wait. And wait. And wait.
Each day, each week, your hope dwindles. Barrett doesn’t change. He’s not going to change. You know for sure as you watch him storm out.
That’s why you didn’t talk to him sooner. It always ends like this. He gets defensive, you get emotional, and it all erupts. If he would just listen!
You sigh and hold your chin in your hand. You look around at your small apartment. Even when you’ve just cleaned, it feels cluttered. You hate this place. You feel trapped. Or maybe that’s your relationship. Probably, both.
You don’t think it was that bad to ask for a bit of understanding. All you want is for him to communicate. Instead, he sits on all his gripes until the bubble over in another rant about the squeaky bathroom faucet or the way you fold his shirts. It’s always on you. You’re the one who has to make him happy. Never the other way around.
This time, it wasn’t the dishes or the mopping or the recycling. Nope. You’re not attentive enough. You’re depriving him. You’re punishing him by not having sex with him after working overtime four nights out of five. It can’t be that you’re tired or hurt. No, it’s an attack on him.
That’s where it all fell apart.
You tried. Once you got past the frustration and tried to just let the waters calm. When you started talking to him again and fell back into your routine. You were both too busy to keep the fight going. And a few nights, you let him initiate but something would keep you from going all the way.
Something...
You saw Wendy last week. She didn’t mention anything about the night you went out. Didn’t mention a guy. She said she had fun and you should do it again. You told her you can’t afford it. Besides, you’re too tired. She called you boring. She’s not wrong.
You get up and distract yourself. Well, it’s not really for you, is it? You’ll clean everything from corner to corner so he has nothing to complain about. You don’t need him to nitpick another reason to hound you.
So much for time off. Once more you’re spending it in misery. You finish vacuuming then spray the couch with some freshener. Feeling accomplished but not less addled, you go to the bedroom and pull out some clothes for tomorrow. You’ll go to bed early and get a head start. If you’re lucky, you’ll be asleep before he drags his sorry ass home.
You yawn as you stare at the time. It’s barely five o’clock and you could keel over. These days, you’re beat to the bone. You can’t remember the last time when you didn’t feel like a sack of dirt. You put your work clothes on the dresser then grab a fresh towel for the shower.
You wash up, soothed by the warm water, and emerge in a hazy cloud. You go through the motions of applying the discount bin toner and moisturizer. You feel a little fresher.
You tuck into bed and scroll on your phone for a while. Six-thirty. You black the screen and close your eyes. It takes as much to put you to sleep.
You dream about flashing lights and the clink of glass. You’re swaying to a drone of music, spinning and swirling. The place is painted in streaks of colours as you keep moving. And when you manage to stop, the room turns on an axis, keeping you dizzy.
Arms wrap around you from behind and pull you back into a thick body. You can’t escape. You look down and know those aren’t your husband’s hands. Where are you? Who is holding onto you?
You try to turn around but it’s impossible. You’re stuck in the strange embrace as the neon lights melt and the air pulses with shadows. You push on the arms around you and wriggle desperately.
“Let me go,” you beg, “let me go.”
Your words rise to a shriek and you wake up with a start. There’s a figure in the room watching you, as if waiting for you to wake up. You almost scream for real as Barrett stares at you. He doesn’t ask if you’re okay before he turns away.
“I’ll sleep on the couch,” he grumbles.
You don’t argue as you catch your breath and lower yourself back to the pillows. You can smell the tinge of beer left behind. He’s been drinking. You can’t begrudge him that, not really. Last time it got bad, you did the same thing. At least he came home.
You cringe. No. Stop. Nothing happened. No one can prove it happened. Not even you. So, it didn’t.
Your stomach mulches and you turn onto your side. The nausea roils in your stomach. You must be hungry. You didn’t eat. Yet the thought of doing so makes you even sicker. You burp and swallow down the mouthful of acid that sears your throat.
Stress. It’s stress. And it’s not going to get any better. Not with everything you’re running away from.
Warnings: non/dubcon, cheating, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.
My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.
Character: Steve Rogers
Summary: you had a one night stand. Or did you?
As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️
Guilt. You can't deny it any longer. Your stomach is chaos. Everything you eat threatens to come back up or churns like cement.
Something happened. Something you can't remember but you know what it was. Yet it isn't just that mistake that eats away at you. It's the one keeping you awake. The one draining you of energy and money alike. Your marriage.
Stupid is an understatement. You didn't think any of this through. It's catching up to you. You didn't just fuck around because you’re angry. No, you're unhappy.
But you did fuck around. For all you can say about Barrett, he didn't do that. It's over but you just don't know how to end it. He doesn't either.
Tonight? You say that every day but you find an excuse not to do it. You're tired, you have to make dinner, you'll do it tomorrow when he isn't in a mood.
That night you delay the inevitable with a trip to the pharmacy. You need something for your stomach. Once you get it under control, you'll be able to think.
You grab the cheapest anti-nauseant on the shelf and read it over. May cause drowsiness. Well, what doesn't make you tired?
"Got a bug?" The deep timbre scares you for more than its abruptness. It's familiar. Your vision flickers like a strobe light as you look over.
It's him. Again. Captain America. What are the odds?
"Ate something, I think," you murmur.
He watches you. It's like he's waiting for something. You stare back.
"Anyway..." you glance around him. "Sorry, if I'm in your way."
You take a step back to clear the view of the shelf.
"Nah, this stuff doesn't affect me. Can't remember the last time I had a stomach ache," he scoffs and turns. He grips the edge of a shelf as he faces you. "You never texted back."
You flinch and flutter your lashes. "Texted?"
He grins and puts his hand across his chest and drags it down. He laughs, "we had a good night, didn't we?"
"Huh, I don't know what you're talking about."
"Really, you don't? 'Cause I can hear your heart racing."
You blink and look around, "really I don't--"
"I'm sure that works with your husband. You two did look awfully happy at the grocery store. I could see the disgust crawling all over you," he snickers.
"Excuse me, I don't know you. So please, go away."
He clucks and stands straight. He drops his arms and frames his hips, "is that how you talk to your Captain? You're not how I remember you. You were a lot... nicer."
"Shut up. That didn't happen."
"Keep telling yourself that," he shrugs.
"I-- I can't remember..." you whisper. Your voice cracks, "please, I don't remember."
You look up at him with teary eyes. It was him? Of all people you had a drunken one-night stand with Steve Fucking Rogers. This can't be real.
"I remember," he steps closer. "I can't forget."
"No, please, I'm married. Alright? It was a mistake. Just a drunken night."
"Not for me," he insists. His earnestness makes you shudder.
"Look, I'm flattered but my life is complicated enough alright? I'm sorry but I'm sure you can find someone else, Cap. Someone who isn't twenty shades of fucked."
You shake the box of tablets and cringe. You turn and sweep away. You head to the checkout and go to one of the self-service machines.
He surprises you as he puts his hand on the plastic divider and looms over you. You focus on scanning the pills and paying.
"Look, Cap, I'm sorry I didn't reply." You slip your card out of your wallet.
"You ran out. I came back to an empty apartment." He juts a leg out as he leans on the divider.
"Sure, but I woke up in a stranger's bed, all alone. I was a bit freaked out."
"I went to get breakfast," he says.
"Did you not notice the ring on my finger?" The machine blares in rejection of your card. You curse under your breath and try again.
"You didn't seem to," he retorts.
You swallow as your card is rejected again. You toss the pills on the little ledge next to the till and huff. "It happened and I'm sorry I didn't say goodbye but I got enough going on."
He sucks in through his nose and lets it out slowly. You turn away and he snarls, "I can hear the other heartbeat too, you know?"
You stop short. What the fuck is he talking about? You gather what pride you have left and set your chin high. You march out without looking back.
Other heartbeat?
The nausea, the exhaustion, the aversion to the candle in your bathroom. No. It makes sense but it can't be true.
You can't handle anything else. You just can't. You can't afford a pregnancy test, let alone a baby.
Warnings: non/dubcon, cheating, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.
My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.
Character: Steve Rogers
Summary: you had a one night stand. Or did you?
As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️
The clinic waiting room reflects the silent turmoil of your existence. You sit in the rigid plastic chairs and stare at the wall. Your mouth still tastes of bile. Only minutes ago, you were in the bathroom, spewing up your guts. It’s as if you’re own body is trying to convince you of reality. You don’t need this test, idiot, you’re fucked.
When your name is called, you follow the dour nurse to a room. She goes over your chart and your reason for coming. She puts the clipboard in the plastic pocket mounted on the door and shuts it behind her as she goes.
The doctor is thirty minutes behind. She gets you a stick to pee on and takes blood to send to the lab. The first test comes back positive but the second will take longer to process. It doesn’t matter. It’s really just repeating what you don’t want to hear. You are pregnant.
The detached treatment has you feeling even more dejected. You’re given a stack of literature at the front desk before you go. You toss it in the bin by the building entrance and trod on.
It isn’t just the child, it’s the father. You know deep down it can’t be your husband’s. It’s been too long since you... did that. As much as you want to lie to yourself, you can’t. All that’s done so far is dig the hole deeper.
So, you don’t have much of a choice. You can’t afford it. Not financially, physically, or emotionally. An innocent child doesn’t deserve to be dragged into the mess you’ve made.
First, you need to leave. You already have a plan. You’re packing your bags as soon as you get home. Wendy said you can crash for a while. You’ll have to figure it from her couch. Once you’re settled, you’ll go to another clinic and do what needs to be done.
It isn’t the baby. Your marriage was already over. It just hurts. It’s not acceptance, it’s giving up. You can’t fix this. You tried so hard and it just didn’t work. The wasted time if worse than the wasted effort.
A car honks but you barely notice. There's always someone raging in the streets. It comes again, shorter than before, and an engine whirs up to the curb, sliding in between two parked cars. The silver paint glares in your vision.
“Hey,” the window rolls down, “how’d it go?”
You stagger and face Steve Rogers as he hooks his elbow over the open window. You shake your head, “Excuse me?”
“I was right.” He says. It’s just a fact, not smug. Just a statement.
“Stop. Please. Leave me alone. I told you--”
“You can’t run away from me.” He clicks free his seat belt and opens his car door. Before he can get out, you’re on the move. He catches up to your easily. “It’s mine.”
You splay your fingers in frustration and keep walking. Please, just go. “No, I’m married. It’s up to me and my husband.”
“I know you haven’t been fucking him.” His language has you skidding to a stop. You turn to him, aghast. “I can smell it. For a few days after.”
“It would be more than a few days ago,” you snap.
He scoffs, “yeah, it would be.” He stares at you and your heart flips.
“Have you—have you been following me?”
He doesn’t answer, just looks back at you. He doesn’t need to say it. You know.
“How long?” You hiss.
“Look, that night...” he begins.
“No. That night nothing! It’s over. One night and it’s not going to be the rest of my life. Alright?”
“I’ll take care of you and the baby. Your husband won’t be happy to know that you and I--”
“He’s not going to know, Captain.” You snarl. “He can’t know. Alright? This is a mistake but it can be undone. Got it? So go and live your superhero life while I scrape the barrel.”
“You’re going to leave him anyways so why are you doing this?” He asks. His tone is so fucking annoying. As if it’s all so easy.
“How do you—oh my god, oh my god. Please, back off.” You put your hands up and take a step back.
“You can’t just get rid of my baby,” he follows you as you fall back into step.
“Go.”
“No, I won’t let you.”
“I’m begging you--”
“Just like you did that night. I know you didn’t forget.” He grabs your arm and pulls you around to face him. “You can’t. It was the best night of my life and you just disappeared. I can’t let you go again.”
“Let go of me,” you wriggle in his grasp.
“I’m trying to help you. I’m telling you that you don’t need to do all this. I can help with the baby. Please.”
You stare up at him defiantly and tear away from him, “I don’t need you to save me. That was my first mistake. Thinking that a man could ever do that.”
You turn and stomp away. He calls your name but you keep going. You can’t look back. You’re terrified. Deep down you know if he doesn’t follow you then, he will find you later. This whole time he’s been playing your shadow and you never even knew it.
Warnings: non/dubcon, cheating, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.
My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.
Character: Steve Rogers
Summary: you had a one night stand. Or did you?
As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️
You sit in on the bed you've shared with Barrett for almost five years. Looking around makes it so much harder. Picking out your things from his, leaving behind all you built together, it's like pulling down a wall brick-by-brick.
You zip up the duffle bag and put it in the front room. Before you can go back to scour the room one last time, the lock clicks and clunks, and the door opens. You look over in surprise. It's early. You're not ready to face him. Especially like this.
Before you can react, Barrett does. He's flying at you, screaming, door open and forgotten behind him. You can't make sense if what he's saying.
"You slut! Fucking whore! Liar!" The worlds hit you like punches as you flinch and shake your head.
"What--"
"You think I wouldn't find out!" He waves his phone at you and you squint, trying to focus on the moving screen.
"What do you--"
"It's right fucking here!" He shakes the cell again then stills it so you can see. It's you, naked, your face a dopey mix of drunkenness and delight. Fuck!
"Barrett, I... I don't remember it. It-- it doesn't matter, it's over." You sputter.
"Damn right it's fucking over! How long have you been fucking around?" He snarls.
"I-- it was once. I swear, I was drunk--"
"Sure the fuck it was one time!"
His phone slams into your nose and the crush of cartilage sends you reeling. You cup your nose as blood floods your throat. You choke and spit up.
"Barrett?" You whimper.
"I ought to do a whole lot worse, you fucking slut!" He swipes the lamp off the end table and it barely misses you.
"What the fuck?" You mop the blood with your sleeve. "What the fuck does it matter when it's over--"
"Yeah, go! Get the fuck out before I break your fucking skull!" He snaps. "All these weeks and I've been tryna make it better and the whole time you've been a cheating fucking bitch!"
"No--"
He grabs you by your neck. You gasp and latch onto his wrists. Your feet slide across the floor as he shakes you.
"Bitch! I should kill you!" He pushes his thumbs into your windpipe and you wheeze.
"Pl--ease." You beg.
"Why? Why couldn't you just talk to me?" He sneers.
You pull on his arms as he blocks your breath completely. Fuck, fuck, fuck. He's going to do it! He's going to murder you.
Suddenly he lurches forward and you throw your arms as he lets you go. You hit the chair and bounce off if it, catching yourself on your knees. Barrett cries out and gurgles and a metallic thunk hits the hardwood.
Silence curdles in the air as you stare at the floor. You sit back on your heels and glance over at your husband's unmoving body. A pool of blood spreads beneath his head as Steve Rogers stands above him, shield dripping in scarlet.
You quiver and look up at him. His blue eyes blaze as his shoulders rise and fall with deep breaths. His nostrils flare and he cracks his neck.
"I saved you." He says. "I saved our baby." He reaches to his pocket and slips his phone out. "That's what you'll tell the police, right?"
You blink at him then look down at Barrett. Your eyes fill with tears and you whine. "You killed him?"
"He hurt you. He could have hurt our baby." He taps the screen and puts the phone to his ear. "What kind of hero would I be if I let him?"
You shudder and cover your mouth. Blood and bile pools in your throat and you wretch through your fingers. You can’t stop yourself from vomiting in your hand. He gives your address over the phone and hangs up.
“Oh, sweetheart.” He sets the shield down against the couch and nears you. You cower as he kneels down and puts his hand on your back. You shrink down as your body spasms in revolt. “I got back-up on the way. Aw, look at you. In your condition, you shouldn’t be stressed.”
He rubs between your shoulder blades as you sob and wretch at the same time. You stay on the floor, quaking, fighting not to smell the blood or look up and see it. You wanted Barrett gone, you didn’t want him dead.
“Hey,” another voice startles you. You look over at the man that enters. He’s familiar too. Of course. Cap’s best bud; Bucky Barnes. “Shit...” he slows as he approaches Barrett and he tuts. “Well, looks like that’s taken care of, huh, pal?”
“Buck, would ya get her some water? Something to clean this up?” Steve demands. “Come on, sweetie.”
He hooks his arm around you and makes you stand. He pulls the chair closer and sits you down. Bucky comes back with a bottle of water and a dish cloth. Steve takes both and hands you the former. He bends to wipe up your puke as you sit stunned in the chair.
You look at Barrett’s blank expression. He died angry. He died unhappy. He died because of you.
Warnings: non/dubcon, cheating, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.
My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.
Character: Steve Rogers
Summary: you had a one night stand. Or did you?
As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️
The world blurs around Barrett's body. His corpse. Dead. Gone. Over. All of it. Even knowing you were on your way out, you're not ready for this.
You stare at him, even as bodies move between you, even as voices talk to you. You can't look away. How could one night end like this?
You stand as someone grabs your arm. You shrug them off and cross the room. Right as your about to reach for your husband, a wall forms between you. And officer comes into focus as he calmly blocks your path.
"Ma'am, you can't touch him." He girds.
"He's my husband. I just want to say good-bye." You sniffle and wince at the fiery pain in your nose.
"You can't." He crosses his arms and nods to one of the men in black. There's more suits than uniforms there.
You look around and take in the crowd of strange faces. They don't belong here. They shouldn't be here. Barrett should be alive!
"She's in shock." A shudder rolls through you as Steve steps up and pats your shoulder.
"She needs to see a paramedic."
"She does. Come on." He nudges you away from the scene. You plant your feet. You don't want to go. You don't want to leave. Not anymore. Not knowing you won't ever see him again.
Steve leans in and lowers his voice, "move or I'll make you."
The sharp whisper pierces. You wince and shuffle away. A new spring of tears flows free. You mop your face and whimper as you touch your swollen nose.
You're taken into the hall. Another uniform approaches. This one white. The woman pulls on gloves and talks to you. You have no answer for her as your eyes zero in on the open door of your apartment.
"Not broken. Should go down." The paramedic declares as she drags a sterile wipe around your nostrils. "Split the bridge but a few days and some ice, you'll be good as new."
She applies a strip over the broken skin and leaves you be. Steve looms. He paces between you and the door. A man in a suit appears and calls him 'Captain'.
"Keep an eye on her," he orders.
Confused, you look around. Bucky's shadow clears and he gives you a dull glance. He tucks his phone away and steps up to lean on the wall next to you. He crosses his arms.
Where the hell are you going to go? Your husband is dead. Your apartment is a crime scene. And you're knocked up woth a stranger's baby. Yes. A stranger. You might know his face and his name but you do not know Steve Rogers.
When he reappesrs, you shrink down. He nears and points down the hall. "Free to go. Come on."
You look to the end of the hall and back to him. Wendy is waiting for you. You stand straight and Steve cordons you off with his arm before you can pass him.
"My bag." You utter.
"Evidence. Let's go."
You lean back in your heel. "I'm not going with you."
He scowls and Bucky sets his feet flst. You glance between them.
"You don't go with me and I'll have them take you to the precinct," Steve sneers.
"Okay," you shrug.
"Okay?" He growls, pausing to peer around. "Your friend is worried, right? Waiting for you. Don't worry, she got your message. You're not going."
"Huh?"
He flips his hand up and wags your phone, "lucky they didn't confiscate it."
"You can't do this."
"I can do what I want for the good of my baby." He huffs and nods at Bucky. "Let's. Go."
You rip away from the other man as he reaches for you. You hug yourself and turn down the hall. There is no argument to be had. Everyone there is on Cap's side.
"One sec. I forgot something." Steve backs up and slides your phone into his jacket pocket.
He turns and strides back into the apartment. You wait with Bucky as he slips his own phone put and taps with his metal thumb. He chuckles and tucks it away again.
Steve emerges with his shield in hand. The edge is stained dark red. You garble and cover your mouth as you gape at the hue of Barrett's blood.
"Alright, sweetheart," Steve steps up next to you. "Can't have a pregnant woman on her feet all night.”
You hesitate before you fall into step. The buzz of activity fades behind you as the elevator button lights up beneath Steve's fingertip. You stand between the super soldiers as you wait for the doors to part. Your head swims and you feel the world drop out from under you. Your ears ring and the air chafes your throat.
“Mind if I take off?” Bucky asks as he steps through the doors. Steve drags you inside when you don't react.
“Sure, think I can handle it from here,” you turn to face the doors as they glide shut and close you in with your new nightmare.
“Thanks, bud,” Bucky snickers.
“She waitin’ up?” Steve asks.
“Doesn't matter. I'll wake her up if need be.”
The men's laughter skews into a cacophony. It's all so funny to them. Your husband is dead, your life is over, but they can stand their and chatter like a pair of frat boys.
Warnings: non/dubcon, cheating, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.
My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.
Character: Steve Rogers
Summary: you had a one night stand. Or did you?
As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️
You sit in the front room of Steve’s apartment. The vague recollection of that morning you fled tugs at your mind. You should have left Barrett then. Maybe if you hadn’t been such a coward, he would still be alive.
It’s not just your mistake you ran from. It was reality. You put off the inevitable for far too long. You didn’t want your relationship to end. Not like that. On top of all that mess, you ignored yourself, your body, for too long.
By the count of it, you’re nearly two months along. There’s no question who the father is. You and Barrett barely slept in the same bed, let alone got anywhere close to intimate.
You drop your head and shiver.
A shadow approaches and something clinks gently on the polished coffee table. You wince and glance up with only your eyes. You don’t move as you feel him looming over you.
“Tea. Uncaffeinated. Gotta be safe--”
“Why are you doing this?” You drone to the floor.
“It’s been a long night. I figured it would help--”
“Not the goddamn tea.” You lift your head and glare up to him. “We don’t know each other. I don’t want to know you. I don’t want this baby inside of me--”
“You’re emotional. It’s hormones.” He says calmly. “I can recognise that. You’re not speaking from a good place right now. A lot has happened. You got big news and you’ve lost someone you loved. Once.”
“You killed him. You—you murderer!” You stand and he shifts to meet you. He’s big. Not that you didn’t notice before but face to face, it’s even more obvious. You’re no match for someone like him. Not for Captain America.
His jaw ticks and his eyes narrow. “I protected you. He was choking you. I could hear his pulse. He was full of adrenaline. He would’ve killed you if I hadn’t stopped him.”
“And? All my problems would be solved--”
“Don’t say that,” he snarls. His veneer cracks and his face contorts in anger. “You won’t talk like that when you’re carrying my child inside of you.”
“I’m not keeping it--”
“It’s not your decision.”
“It’s my body,” you snip.
He takes a deep breath and his nostrils flare as he lets it out. He considers you and his features ease. “Like I said, you’re not thinking straight right now. Sit down and have your tea.”
You stare at him then look past him to the door. He puts his hands on your shoulders, drawing your gaze back to him. He pushes until you sit. Enough to warn you of his full force. You gulp as your butt meets the couch.
“Stop acting like this is the worst thing that could happen to you,” he drags a hand away and grabs the tea. “I’d say it’s the best thing you could hope for.”
He hands you the cup, holding it by the body even as it steams. You take it by the handle and watch him. He releases it as your knuckles touch the searing porcelain and you tremble.
“Besides, where are you going to go?”
His question breaks the last of your resolve. Your shoulders slump and you look down into the depths of the pale herbal brew. You blow over it and drink without feeling the singe on your tongue. That simple act keeps you from devolving into a new fit of horror.
He turns and sits beside you. You want desperately to move away but you don’t have the energy. You’re not sure if it’s acceptance, fear, or just complacency.
You’re done. It’s over. Each time you close your eyes, you see the blood pooling under Barrett’s battered head.
“That’s it, deep breaths.” He reaches to rub your back. “All that excitement, you gotta be exhausted.”
You don’t react. Not even a twitch. He caresses your shoulder and his fingertips flutter across to your neck. His touch creeps up and he pets your hair.
Your eyes search and land on his shield. It hangs from the wall. The edge is still dark red. Your vision blurs as you fixate on it.
“Wash it off.” You grit through your teeth.
“What?” He winces and runs his index and thumb along your neck, resting his hand across the back.
“His blood. His fucking blood!” You slam down the mug and it sloshes, scalding your hand. You yelp and wrench away from him. You stumble to your feet and storm across the apartment. “Get rid of it! Gone! Gone!”
You grab the bottom of your shirt and wipe the reddened metal. The blood chips away and flecks onto your hand. You whimper and drop the shield, recoiling. You cover your face and heave.
“God! Just make it stop!” You shriek. “This can’t be real. It can’t!” You spin and stagger around dizzily. “No, no, no--”
“Sweetheart,” Steve’s footsteps mirror his placid tone as he approaches. “Stop it.”
“What is wrong with you?” You tear your hands away from your face and growl. “Why don’t you care? You killed him!”
He stares at you. His expression is tepid. His head tilts as the corners of his lips curve, just a little.
Warnings: non/dubcon, cheating, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.
My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.
Character: Steve Rogers
Summary: you had a one night stand. Or did you?
As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️
The tears strike like a flash food. Sudden and stormy and completely overwhelming. The world around you disappears behind the wall of your grief.
When you float into a lull, your swollen eyes taken in the room. You lay in a bed, not your own, none of this is yours. It’s all him. It belongs to him. What about you? Do you belong to him now? Is that what this is? Or is this just about what that part of him inside of you?
You hiccup and sniffle, rubbing your raw nose as your head pulses. A ripple flows up your back from an unexpected touch and you wince. You hug yourself and angle to see behind you.
Steve slides his hand up to your shoulder and squeezes, “honey, can I get you anything?”
You shake your head, the movement aching in your skull, and turn back to the face the room. He sighs and drags his hand down your back. Despite yourself, his touch is soothing.
“You’re tense. That’s not good for the baby,” he says.
“Please, not right now,” you plead.
He’s silent. His fingers continue to rove around your back and walk along the curve of your side. “You’re not excited to be a mom?” He asks.
You close your eyes as your lip poke out.
“I’m excited,” he says. “To be a dad. I’ll be a good dad. And a good husband.”
“Husband?” You his and lean forward so that your almost face down. You just want to stop feeling, to stop thinking, to stop being, and he won’t let you.
“Yeah, we’ll get married. Make sure the kid grows up right. With both parents.”
You laugh sardonically. The sort of brittle laugh that hurts. Nothing’s funny, in fact, it’s far from.
“You don’t even ask me. You just tell me? Yes, Captain, whatever you want.” Your eyes well again, this time in futility.
“I’m doing the right thing. I’m being a good man. I’ve seen this world. Thing’s aren’t what they used to be. Men like me, they don’t exist. They have no sense of tradition,” he says.
Tradition? It’s a particular sort of code word that makes all the flags turn red. You suck in your breath and gather your strength. You sit up shakily and look over at him. You can barely keep your head up.
“I don’t remember. You know that, right? That night is... nothing. It never happened. Not a single second. I woke up and I was blank. I didn’t know it was you, not until you found me, mocked me in that store,” you scoff and your vision rings in agony. “That’s how much it meant and this...” you look down at your stomach. “I guess that’s the consequence.”
You hear his breath, feel him shift. He sits up, his torso naked. He stares forward as you drop your head and cradle it, bending your knees to support your elbows. He clucks and reaches over. He brings his phone over his lap.
“Don’t remember.” He taps on the screen so hard you can hear it.
He angles the screen to you and you reluctantly tilt your head to see. You know before you look. Of course, that’s why he didn’t forget. He has it right there. He recorded it all.
“...you’re so sexyyyyy...” you slur towards the camera. Your voice, your expression, the way you sway, it’s plain to see your drunk beyond sense. “Come on, cap...” you shake your naked tits at him, “you said you could do this all day.”
He snickers from behind the lens and approaches the bed. You turn over and show him your ass. You can see a glisten between your legs. It’s not the first time but you wish it could be the last. His hand enters the frame and he dips his fingers between your folds. You moan and wiggle against him. He pushes inside and you can hear how your cunt clings as he pulls out.
“Stop,” you fling your arm over to shove the phone away. “I can’t watch that--”
“You wanted it. You said you wanted me. That night was... magical.”
“It was—I’m married and we’re strangers.” You insist.
“Was. Were.” He snarls. “I told you I loved you and you said ‘if I weren’t married, Steve Rogers, I could love you too.’ You. You said that.”
“I was drunk out of my mind,” you rub your temples as your stomach starts to churn. “I was stupid and angry. Well, I’m still stupid.”
“No, you were unhappy. Your husband didn’t treat you right. We both know it. Everything that’s happened doesn’t change that,” he says.
“Maybe not but...”
“But what? You don’t have to slave away in some crappy apartment. I have a penthouse. We have a penthouse. It has lots of room and if you want more room for the kids--”
“Kids? Plural?” You exclaim, so loud your ears ring.
“One thing at a time, sure,” he says. “I’m telling you, you don’t have to do all of that with me. All I’m asking is for you. That’s all.”
You look at him, your eyes dry and sleepy, your cheeks parched. “Maybe I want to be on my own,” you murmur.
“That’s not what you told me,” he retorts and looks at his phone again. He drags his thumb over it and puts the screen up again. You see yourself. You watch the worst night of your life.
“You love me, baby?” He asks as you slide up and down his dick.
“Yes, yes, yes!” You grope your chest as you bounce. “I love you, Steve. I love you.”
You cringe and shake your head. His fingers whiten as he grips the phone tighter. You slump, defeated.
“You’re not going back to work. Once they see this, they won’t want you,” he blacks the screen. “But I want you, sweetheart. You and our baby.”
Warnings: non/dubcon, cheating, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.
My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.
Character: Steve Rogers
Summary: you had a one night stand. Or did you?
As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️
The glut of tears drains you until you’re forced to sleep. You do so heavily. Your head thrums even through your unconscious and you wake up in no better condition than you dozed off.
You stay as you are, curled up on one side, and arm clutched the edge of the bed, refusing to acknowledge him. That won’t last. You look around the room that takes you back to that first morning after. A similar disorienting waves washes over you.
You feel the change. Maybe now that you know the reason why, the symptoms only seem more intense. Your stomach is hollow but uneasy and you’re achy to the bones. And the fatigue. You can’t shake it. You feel like you could sleep for days and still be tired.
Cautiously, you roll onto your back. You’re alone. He’s not in the bed but he’s there. The muffled clink of dishes assures you of that. You flinch as your heart gives a start.
You sit up but refuse to get up. Standing up and walking out that door means this is real. It means you have to accept that it is and you’re not stupid enough to believe that won’t happen. You just need this moment to think.
Barrett is dead. Your old life is over. Your job, your apartment, even your old body. Steve laid it all out. You’re going to quit or he’s going to get you fired. You’re going to have his baby or he’ll... you don’t know? Would he do the same thing he did to your husband? If you don’t have a reason for him to keep you alive, are you just expendable?
You should be braver. You shouldn’t care. The grief is so gray but gripping that you should want it to be over. Who cares, I’d rather die than live like this. But that’s not true. The thought of death makes you nauseous. Or is that the baby?
You lurch up to your feet and cup your hand over your mouth as you stagger around. You blink and find your way to the ensuite bathroom. You curl over the toilet and hurl into the bowl. You grip the edge of the counter and the seat as your body racks violently.
Your stomach keeps squeezing even as there’s nothing left. Your bones feel like they could snap and your throat burns with acid. You collapse to your knees and hug the porcelain. Every now and them, you wretch but can’t even spit up bile.
Exhausted and panting, you reach to flush, but stay hovering over the toilet water. This is horrible. Like any woman, you’ve heard of the horrors of morning sickness but this seems so much worse.
“Sweetheart,” Steve’s shadow appears in the doorway. You sigh and turn your head to see him. He marches across the tile and comes to bend over you. You flinch as he rubs your back. “You okay? Rough morning , huh?”
You grumble. That’s all you can do. Worse than being in this place that isn’t your own, your body doesn’t feel like yours. It’s as if every part of you is revolting.
“Here,” he hooks his arm around you and stands you up.
Your legs are weak as you lean on him. He flips down the toilet lid and sits you on it. You groan and hug your stomach. He draws away to open the cabinet behind the mirror. He takes out a packaged toothbrush and unwraps it. He puts toothpaste on the bristles and hands it to you. You accept it as he fills a white plastic cup with water and slides it across the counter.
You scrape out the taste of vomit and brush your teeth until your headache is a siren. You stand to rinse and he takes the brush back, placing it in the holder next to his. He coos as he touches your hip and urges you out of the bathroom ahead of him.
“Come on, I got everything ready for you,” he declares proudly.
You bristle in wait of the true him. Those tones he growled through last night. That dangerous timbre you can’t argue with. This feels like a facade. Too soft, to nice. He’s playing out some script and you never got a copy.
The couch has extra pillows and the coffee table has a small lap desk stood on it, a bowl of oat meals and a cup of layered yogurt and fruit, alongside a tall glass of a vibrant smoothie. He points you to sit and you do so only to make your body stop screaming.
As you get settled, he moves the lap desk over you.
“At least you’re small enough to use this still,” he chuckles as he stands back. “Oats with cinnamon and blueberries, yogurt with strawberry and chia seed, and a smoothie with lots of extra vitamins. Oh--” he storms away, leaving your speechless. Well, what can you say?
“Supplements,” he sweeps back in. “The iron won’t help your stomach but the B-6 should. You can try ginger with tea if you still feel off. We’ll hold off asking the doc for medicine but we’ll make sure he gives you the once over.”
“I already went to a doctor--”
“My doctor,” he insists as he sets down the little tray of vitamins. “He knows what to watch for.”
“What to watch for? What--” You wince as your hips pang and your stomach churns again. You tuck your hand down over your middle and force out a breath.
“Well, I have enhanced biology. When they created the serum, we were at war. They never tested it on pregnant women,” Steve explains.
“Huh? Serum?” You stammer.
“The fetus.” He sits lightly beside you and reaches to rub your shoulder. “They assume there would be some effect.”
“They assume?” You shake your head.
“Don’t worry, you only have to deal with Bruce. He’s a good guy.” Steve explains.
You look down at the food. Your nausea blows away like shifting winds and a storm of hunger rises in you. It’s so overwhelming you have the urge to grab the bowl of oatmeal and gulp it down from the brim. Instead, you take the spoon and raise it shakily.
“We’re gonna do this together,” he coaxes as he caresses your arm. “Sweetheart, I couldn’t ask for anyone stronger to carry my child.”
That should make you sick but the hunger is too much to ignore. He keeps touching you as you eat. You're so intoxicated by each bite, you hardly notice. More, more, more. Your stomach mulches greedily with each swallow as the world narrows simply to the smell of cinnamon and tartness of blueberries.
Warnings: non/dubcon, cheating, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.
My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.
Character: Steve Rogers
Summary: you had a one night stand. Or did you?
As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️
You open the cupboard and rummage through the contents. Rice crackers, no. Protein powder, please. You scoff and find what looks to be chocolate but as you rip the wrapper open and bite into it, the bitterness nearly gags you. You rush to the sink and spit it out.
“Glad to see you making yourself at home,” Steve muses from the doorway.
You look to him and fold the wrapper back around the bar. You scowl and go to put it back. You shake your head.
“I’m starving,” you say. “So hungry it hurts.”
You rub your stomach as a wave of dizziness bobbles your head. Between waves of nausea and fatigue, the ravenous need consumes you. You search around, forgetting him for the pang in your stomach. You pull open the fridge and pull out the yogurt. You peel the lid off and grab the sugar dish and pour it into the container.
“Woah, woah, that’s not good for the baby,” Steve rushes forward.
“Don’t,” you warn as you slide open drawers in search of a spoon, “do you have pickles?”
“Pickles? With yogurt?”
“I’m fucking hungry!” You growl, a surge of rage searing through your veins as you grab a spoon. “If I have to be here, let me eat, at least.”
“I don’t mind you eating, but you gotta be careful--”
“Pickles,” you remind him.
“Don’t got any, sorry. But I can go grab some, I guess. If you make a list--”
He gets closer and you recoil. You wave your hand at him and plug your nose, “don’t come any closer.”
“Excuse me?” He grimaces.
“Your cologne or something. It’s setting me--”
You spin and hold the spoon behind you as you puke into the sink. Your body lurches with each violent wretch. The bile does little to deter your appetite. You simply rinse out your mouth and the sink and go back to the hunt for satiation.
“They said the symptoms will probably be worse than usual,” he leans on the counter and watches you. “Nausea, hunger, hormones...”
“Goddamn? Ice cream? Do you have ice cream?” You snarl down at the freezer drawer.
“I’m not much of a sweets guy.”
“No pickles, no ice cream. Baking chocolate and sour yogurt.” You rant.
“I told you, I’ll go get you some stuff-”
“Then go.” You snap.
“Hey, watch it.”
“Or what?” You face him defiantly. “I’m carrying your baby, Steve Rogers, so you can’t do shit.”
“I can do whatever needs to be done. You might require bedrest.”
“Bedrest? I’m fine.” You insist and turn your back to him.
“You’re tearing apart my kitchen and slathering like a dog,” he reproaches.
“Slathering like a dog? Tell me again about how in love you are.” You snip, “Jeez.”
“I didn’t mean—honey, sweetheart, I’m just trying to help you settle. We both gotta learn to live with each other. We only got seven months or so to do so.” He crosses his arms as you pull out the loaf of bread and load the toaster.
“Hmm, you know what will help me settle in? Peanut butter and jelly. Oh and cream cheese. Mmph, yes,” you march around the kitchen and grab the butter. “Also, oreos--bagels!”
“Okay, I’ll head out,” he sniffs and shifts flat on his feet.
“Great,” you go back to the toaster as the scent of the browning bread drives you wild.
He approaches you from behind and you do your best to ignore him. You bounce on your heels impatiently and tap your fingers. You stiffen as he rests his hands on your hips. You have nowhere to go.
“A kiss before I go?” He asks.
You hold back a heave, “I just puked.”
“I don’t care,” he squeezes, “please. It’s been a while since that night. I’m a bit... neglected.”
You lock your jaw and stare at the tiled wall. You force the tension out and steel yourself. You turn to him and your insides coil uncomfortably.
“Fine,” you croak.
He leans in and presses his lips to yours. You hold back an eruption of disgust. Objectively, he’s handsome. He is the great golden Captain America but you’ve seen the real him. You’ve seen his callousness, his cruelty. You have witnessed his delusion. You wonder if the serum did that too.
The toast pops and you tear away just as his tongue pokes out. You grab the butter knife and take the lid off the container. You slide out a hot slice and spread the dairy across it. He sighs and looms close.
“Anything else I can get?” He asks.
“Just food. Lots of food,” you say as you shove a piece of toast in your mouth. “Mmm, ohmagrddddd.”
“Alright, I’ll be back. Call me if you need anything.”
“Sure,” you munch loudly.
Maybe that will keep him away. If you can make yourself as gross as possible, you won’t have to worry about him begging for kisses and touches. Right now, you don’t want anyone near you.
Warnings: non/dubcon, cheating, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.
My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.
Character: Steve Rogers
Summary: you had a one night stand. Or did you?
As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️
“Sweetheart,” Steve’s voice sends a bristle up your neck as his apartment door opens. You crinkle the mostly empty bag of pretzels you discovered in the back of the cupboard. They’re stale. “I got you a surprise.”
He strolls in with his usual valiant triumph. You sneer as you smell something rancid. He has a paper bag in his hands and a reusable shopping bag on his elbow. You clamp your lips tight and gag, putting your fist to your mouth.
“Oh god,” you choke out, “oh--” You race over to the sink and wretch. “What is that?” You spew up the belly full of pretzels. “It smells like dogshit.”
“Shwarma... Tony suggested it--”
“Get it away from me! I asked for pickles!” You snarl and grip the counter as you puke. Your whole body shakes as you empty your guts.
“No problem, don’t gotta be rude about it.”
“You did this to me,” you snap between mouthfuls of bile.
He puts down the grocery bag and walks out with the paper one. You grumble and roll your eyes back against hot tears.
You’re left trembling and barely standing as you cling to the edge of the granite. This is miserable. If you’re not soul-suckingly hungry, you’re sick to the bone. You close your eyes as your mind stirs along with your stomach.
All those things he’s said. The little snippets of what could or might happen. The uncertainties. ‘Your symptoms could be worse’ or ‘we don’t know what the serum will do’. What are you? A lab rat!
You turn on the faucet without lifting your head to rinse the vomit down the drain. You would rather have stayed with Barrett. That thought, that mistaken whim, fades away. No, you wouldn’t. You’d rather not deal with either of them.
“I called a doctor. He’ll be by later to check on you. Make sure everything’s fine,” he affirms. As if that’s some comfort. You’d prefer if he’d just take you somewhere to get rid of the thing. “Hey, I can’t hear what you’re thinking but I can hear your heart. If you’re mad, tell me.”
“Why do you think... I’m mad?” You pant and pause to rinse out your mouth, spitting the water carelessly at the sink. You push yourself straight and huff. “You don’t care at all. You’re not the one...” you clutch your stomach. “...suffering.”
“I care. You wouldn’t be here if I didn’t,” he argues.
“Sure,” you drag your feet over to him, “where are the fucking pickles?”
“Just...” he bends down as you do and catches your hand before you can reach into the bag. “Sit down and relax. I’ll get you whatever you need.”
“What I need is an abortion--”
“Shut the hell up,” he keeps a hold on your hand and yanks you up. “Don’t you say that to me again. Got it.”
“Ow,” you wince and writhe in his grasp. “It was a fucking joke--”
“First, it’s not funny. Second, watch your language.”
You furrow your brow and wriggle until he lets you go. You rub your chafed skin and back up, “fine, Captain. Your order is my command.”
You slump away and sit at the table. Being still reminds you of the small aches that are getting a bit more noticeable each time you stop. In your hips, your back, even your tits. You lean on the table with one elbow and watch him. He takes out a large jar of pickles.
“Chocolate sauce?” You ask.
“You didn’t say,” he goes to the drawer and grabs a fork. He brings both to you and puts them on the table.
You pop the lid off with almost no effort. You hesitate for a moment but your hunger overtakes you. You reach in with two fingers and pluck out a thick dill. You bite into it, the juices flowing down your chin.
“Mmmph,” you gnaw on it until it’s gone. Your cheeks are full as Steve backs up.
“I did get chocolate. Oreos and some candy bars but you really shouldn’t eat too much of them--”
“Give them,” you demand as you shake a hand at him.
He sighs and drops them next to the pickles.
“You should try something more substantial. I could do up an omelette or chicken and rice--”
“Bland,” you dismiss his suggestion as you tear open the pack of oreos. You make a sandwich with two of the cookies and half a pickle. You shove half in your mouth and growl.
“God...” he mutters.
You look at him with a flash of rag. You chew and swallow and stand.
“Now you think I’m gross, huh?”
“No,” he watches you placidly. “I’m just concerned--”
“You weren’t that night when you didn’t put a damn condom on. Fucking a stranger.”
“I just told you to watch your language,” he sniffs.
“You’re not my goddamn father. I haven’t seen him in a decade and good riddance.” You stuff the rest of the cookies and pickle into your mouth.
“Right.”
You tilt your head and munch rapidly, another streak of agitation rising.
“What? You think I have daddy issues? Funny how men say that instead of thinking that they might be the issue.”
“I didn’t say--”
“No, you’re just standing there like—like a dumbass.”
“Last time,” he warns.
“Or what? What are you going to do, Steve Rogers? Can’t get me drunk this time, so maybe you’ll just hold me down and ra--”
“Don’t,” he grabs you by a fistful of hair. He’s fast and strong. You yelp. “That’s not what happened. You wanted it. You said so.”
“I was blacked out. I don’t remember,” you sneer through your teeth.
“You keep saying that but I can hear your pulse pick up--”
“Ouch. What is it, Cap? You only pick on the weak? You can’t fuck a drunk girl so now you gotta rough around a pregnant woman--”
He lets you go and raises both hands. His blue eyes are dilated and his jaw is square and sharp. “Enough. Alright. Enough. I went out and got what you want. Sit down and eat.”
You stare at him and rub your scalp. He sighs and drops his arms.
“Don’t act like you had it better before,” he shakes his head and picks up the shopping bag. “Or that you can do better than this.”
His words slice through you. It must be the hormones but self-awareness can’t take away that ache. He isn’t wrong, even if this isn’t what you want. You stagger back and sit.
Look at you. You’re some pathetic animal eating pickles and cookies. You’re disgusting. You’re... lost.
Warnings: non/dubcon, cheating, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.
My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.
Character: Steve Rogers
Summary: you had a one night stand. Or did you?
As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️
Bruce is nice enough. He does a typical checkup. Says he'll request the ultrasound from your doctor. You thank him and he chats with Steve before he goes.
"Says you're healthy," Steve declares at the door shuts. "Nothing of concern so far."
"Did you ever think...maybe, that whatever they put in you might kill me?" You scowl from the couch as you hug a pillow. "Pregnancy is already damgerous enough."
"Bruce doesn't seem concerned with that. He's a scientist. He's curious," Steve approaches. "You just need to take it easy."
"Take it easy?" You grumble. "Right. It's not very easy. There's a thing growing inside of me."
"Our baby," he sits beside you. "Look, I get it. It's not what you imagined but you gotta think about it. We met for a reason."
"No, we met because I was mad at my husband and my own stupid choices and what did I do? Made another one." You throw a hand up and sink into the cushy couch. "Shouldn't the great cap go out an find someone bubbly and pretty and perfect?"
"You're perfect," he insists.
You stare at him. You're so tired. He's relentless. No matter what you do, puke, gorge, snarl, he's not going to let up. For God's sake, he killed Barrett.
"It really was the greatest night of my life," he leans toward you.
You wince. "Steve..."
"I only want to take care of you." He says. "That night, the woman I met, she wanted that too. That's what you said. You said you were lonely and you just wanted to be wanted. I want you. I need you."
You look away as your eyes gloss with tears. He's not lying. That night you were bitter and dejected. Your husband wouldn't touch you and just that was enough to break you. You were drunk but you were still you.
You cover your face and turn away.
"It's alright," he touches your shoulder gently, rubbing your arm.
"It's not." You snivel.
"But it will be." He squeezes your shoulder. "Shh, sweetheart, relax."
He spreads his hand across your back and rubs. You shiver. He shifts closer. You can feel him. He slides his arm over your shoulders.
He pulls you to him. You don't resist as he turns you and puts your head on his chest. His other hand runs up and down your arm.
That's it. You have nothing left. You crumble. You bury your face in his shirt as another storm washes over you. You sob. You're not just grieving your husband, you're grieving for yourself.
He hushes you, rocking you slightly, and the waves ebb and flow until you're spent. He stays like that with you. You can hear his heart.
He relaxes against you. You let him hold you. Just like that night, you settle for any comfort you can find.
Time blurs and you drift in the haze. When you break through the ambivalence, you're still on the couch. You're on your side, hugging the pillow, numb and dozy. You're not sure you were sleeping, you're still exhausted.
Steve emerges and you watch him. He's in only a towel. His blond hair slightly curls from moisture. He looks at you and rubs his neck.
"How're you feeling?" He asks.
You groan.
"Hungry?"
Your stomach growls before you can answer. You've never felt hunger quite like it.
"I can make you something," he offers.
"No, no," you sit up. "I can manage. I'm not.... helpless."
"I know. I'm just trying to help."
You look at him and stand. You don't say anything. Funny, he keeps saying that word; help. Does he know what that means? It only seems to mean do what he wants.
You pass him to get to the kitchen. You try not to notice or think about his exposed physique. The hard muscle, his thick arms, that inhuman strength.
Remember what he did. You don't know that he wouldn't do the same to you. Sure, he wants the baby but he could find another woman, make another. You're not delusional. You don't think you're special like that.
You'll make a sandwich. Simple. It shouldn't make you sick. Just peanut butter.
Wrong. As you twist open the jar, the smell flips your stomach. You step back and cover your mouth. Steve's shadow moves into the doorway.
"You okay?"
You swallow the bile in your throat.
"As okay as I can be," you drop your hands.
"Like I said, anything I can do."
"Give me some space," you say abruptly. "I need a moment, okay? Like, don't you get it? I planned to be with my husband, not you."
You spin away and put the lid back on the jar.
"I get that," he says tersely.
"I never wanted a kid. Do you know that?"
He hums.
"But here we are so give me a chance to process this," you snap.
He tuts and steps into the kitchen. He crosses his arms.
"You think this is what I want? I never wanted to be in this century. I never wanted to wake up in a world where everyone I know is gone. Where all my hopes and dreams are quashed and this brave new world rejects everything I know."
His voice cracks and takes a deep breath.
You drop your shoulders. No, you didn't think about that. Yet, why would you even consider any of it when he can have anything he wants. Sure, his life isn't what he wanted but why does he get to do the same to you?
"I'm not the one who ruined your life," you mutter.
His brow twitches.
"No, you didn't. You're giving me a chance at that life," he sighs. "So, take your time, but we both know I'm going to get what I want."
Warnings: non/dubcon, cheating, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.
My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.
Character: Steve Rogers
Summary: you had a one night stand. Or did you?
As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️
It’s something. A shower is enough to get you space. You let it run as you stand naked in front of the mirror.
You see it already. You feel it. Your tits are already so sensitive. As you touch your nipples, your whole body buckles. Everything feels so much more intense.
You stare at yourself. You can’t recognise this woman. You haven’t in months, maybe years. This is what you always fought against. When you married Barrett, you never wanted to be so dependent. And then this? How could you prepare yourself for this? For Steve.
He’s lying to you. You know that. You saw the look on Bruce’s face. This pregnancy isn’t like any other. You feel that. Steve might think you’re dumb but you aren’t.
You turn away from the stranger in the mirror and step into the shower. You let the water wash over you. Lukewarm. Steve warned you, no hot soaks. It’s not good for the fetus. It’s not what’s good for you, just the baby.
You put your hands on the wall and lean under the flow. You close your eyes. There it is. That fatigue that’s so sapping you feel like you could just fall right into the void. Your lashes cling as you try to open them. You just want to sleep.
You push yourself straight before you can succumb to the exhaustion. You shut off the water and slide open the glass door. You snatch the towel and dry off.
The knock on the door stills you as you gather your old clothes. Steve clears his throat. You stand dripping on the mat.
“Yeah?” You call through.
“I got something you can wear… picked up a few things when I was out.” He explains.
“Oh… thanks.”
You hug the clothes that smell like your sweat and cross the tile. You open the door. He has a pale blue swathe of silk in his hand. You want to take it and tear it apart. It can’t be cotton, can’t be simple. He’s already curating you into that perfect life he ‘lost’.
“Thank you,” you take it from him. His fingertips brush yours.
“No problem. Tell me what you need, I’ll get it.” He intones.
You don’t look him in the face. Doing that just enrages you. As you back up and go to shut the door, he catches your wrist. You flinch.
“Steve…” you eke out.
He tugs you. The door nearly crushes your arm as you hit it from behind. You angle yourself around to avoid the calamity and let him pull you through.
“You don’t have to hide from me.” He says.
“I just want to get dressed.”
“I’ve seen you.” He growls as his other hand brushes up the towel. “I’ve felt you.” He hooks his hand around and pulls you close. He nuzzles your hair and inhales. “You smell… better than before. I can hardly…” He clings to you and snarls. “I just want to look at you.”
“Steve” you breathe again, pushing on his bicep with your fist as you clutch the nightgown. “Please…”
“Please,” he echoes you. “I won’t….” He twitches and exhales shakily. He untangles himself from around you and shows his palms. “I won’t touch you. Just… let me watch.”
“Watch?” You take a step back and bring the satin to the front of the towel.
“I wanna watch you put it on.” He says and shifts his weight on his feet. “Please. Please. I just need to… see.”
You blink as his tone crawls through you. There’s something behind the desperation. He’s not really asking you. He never asked for anything, he told you. He took it. Took everything. Your marriage, your life, your body.
A vision of Barrett’s blood flashes before you. You shudder and nod. You step toward him and let the towel fall loose. You hold it out to him as you shield only your chest with the nightie. He takes it and squeezes it in his hands.
His blue eyes sparkles as he brings the cotton to his nose and sniffs it deeply. He watches you as he kneads the damp towel and you swear, he bites it. The blaze in his blue irises chills you. You pull the silk away from your skin and let it fall straight.
You hook your arms through the skirt and lift it over your head, exposing every inch of yourself to him. He groans as you pull down the satin and shimmy until it drapes down your figure, ending at the midpoint of your thigh. The skirt is cut above your belly with some extra seaming to allow for your eventual growth.
Your nipples poke against the satin and you wince. His knuckles whiten as he grips the towel and smothers a rumble in the fabric. He lowers it and twists it between his hands.
“Beautiful,” he purrs. “You’re so goddamn beautiful.”
You stare at the wall and cross your arms. “I… okay, I let you… see. I want to… lay down.”
“Mm, can I lay down with you?” He asks.
His behaviour is unnerving. The way his voice tremors, his body too.
“I… guess.” You shrug. “I’m just going to try to sleep.”
“Alright,” he nods. “In bed.”
You hesitate. “I could just…” you look toward the living room.
“The bed,” he repeats strictly.
You nod and sidle away cautiously. Tension slows your steps as you head for the bedroom. He follows. You look over your shoulder as he hangs the towel, running his fingers down the cotton before he draws away.
You go to the bed and pull back the blankets. You slip underneath as he looms at the bottom. He tilts his head until his neck cracks. He abruptly swoops his shirt over his head and flings it away. You lay back and roll onto your side.
He paces back and forth and lingers behind you. You close your eyes but his presence chases away your fatigue. The blankets lift and a coolness brushes over the back of the nightie, quickly replaced by his warmth.
You wince as he nestles in against you and wraps his arm around you. You go rigid as he buries his nose in your hair and feels along the silky nightgown. He stretches his hand wide and presses against your stomach.
“Bruce said I would be able to smell you.” He growls behind your ear. “He didn’t say you’d smell this good.”
