Grace, Too one shot
18+
Pairings: Dark Steve Rogers x reader
Summary: Following up with the reader from grace, too by @darkficsyouneveraskedfor 9 years later.
Warnings: Dub con, kidnapping, multiple pregnancies, children, brainwashing, lots of errors because I just wrote this and didn’t check for grammatical errors, that’s about it I think
A/N: Please be aware of the warnings, they’re there for a reason. Although this story isn’t really going in depth of what happened, I do suggest reading the actual story by the wonderful @darkficsyouneveraskedfor In fact, I’m not suggesting. I’m telling. Go read her stuff becaus it’s legit the best, don’t be dumb. This story couldn’t have been possible without Roo, and I love her so much for allowing me to do this. She really helped bring these dark thoughts I’ve always had out and she has helped inspire me. Thanks for reading, hope you enjoy it! Make sure to give me feedback, it’s my first dark fic/fic in general! Without further ado:
Grace, Too
It has been 9 years. Three of which were spent locked in the basement because I couldn’t be trusted. During the time of the 3rd year I became pregnant. Not a glorious pregnant that you would see in tv, but the kind that makes you feel like you’re actually going to die. Pregnancy with a super soldier baby is regular pregnancy on steroids. Your back hurts 10x more, the kicks are more extreme and happen way before they normally should, and don’t even get me started on the morning sickness. All the while Steve was there being the most dutiful “husband.” We got married the 4th day. I kicked and screamed and punched and all it got me was a sore ass. He insisted I start cooking with the mini kitchen down in the basement. “Can’t trust you with the big guns yet” he had said while chuckling. I wasn’t much of a cook, the most I could afford, really, was ramen. Steve seemed angry at first about this, he face split for just a second before turning into the golden boy America knows and loves. “That’s okay, honey, I’ll get you a cookbook.” So I learned how to cook. It was a bumpy road but all the while Steve was encouraging, even when I totally bombed the food. He’d pat my leg and say “don’t worry you’re meant to succeed. There’s a reason I chose you, right?.” That smile of his I grew to despise. Partly because after a while I forgot what other smiles looked like on other people. Were they usually that perfect? I couldn’t remember. Another part was because I felt a tug at my heart, after a while, every time he smiled at me. I won’t say the tug was love, more like a tug that a prey would feel if it’s hunter found it to be too adorable to eat. I kept the basement spotless. Not very hard considering I only had a small kitchen with a stove, a mini fridge, a closet with utensils and food, a cooler that he filled with ice everyday, and a small counter; a sitting area with 2 chairs and a table (where Steve and I had dinner); a bathroom with a sink, toilet, small bath with legs, and a cabinet for storage; and finally a main room with a bed, and a tiny bookshelf with 3 books, aside from the 5 cooking books he got me. Steve told me I’d be rewarded with a new book every time I was good. I’ll tell you now, I only got 5 more books during those 3 years. I never really read the 3 books. Sure, my eyes glossed over them from cover all the way to the end, but I couldn’t tell you crap about Animal Farm or how it ended. Everyday he would come down after work and ask me how my day was, as if it could’ve possibly changed from the day before. He would inspect the small area I was forced to call my home, and he would smile with approval if it was up to his standards and punish me if they weren’t. The first few weeks were rough to say the least.
“Honey, you haven’t cleaned. You know what my expectations are.”
“Fuck you and you’re expectations. You’re batshit, you kidnapped me and you’re forcing me to be your wife! You need help!”
After that he’d put me over his knee and make me count. If I lost count he’d start all over. That’s the Steve I grew to know. Not the helping old ladies across the street Steve, not the I saved the world again Steve. The Steve that was broken down and tired from all the world threw at him was the one that kidnapped me. After checking to see if I did my chores, he then checked to see if his dinner was ready. One time I made a singular chicken leg. He didn’t find it funny. He didn’t hurt me often, unless it was sex or a spanking, but that day he slapped me in the face and yelled at me for being disrespectful.
“Don’t you see all that I’ve done for you? And you have the nerve to do this? Don’t be a bitch, y/n.”
“Please, Steve, just let me go.”
After that he realized what he’d done and held my crying form until I fell asleep. I woke up with an already made breakfast and an apology note.
After dinner we had sex. No, sex isn’t the right word. That would imply it was mutual, it wasn’t. But what other choice did I have? The first few nights I did try to stop him, but what’s the point? I’d wake up with bruises on my wrists from him holding me down tightly. So I just laid there. Sadly, he wasn’t too keen on that either. He’d just hit that one spot hard over and over until I was a moaning mess beneath him, begging for him. Begging for what, I still don’t know. Most times he’d make me cum over and over, just because he knew I had no other choice. He knew that I thought bed was my last source of self control; he made sure to show me that not even there I could escape the way he wanted me to feel, to think. After he was finally finished he’d roll over and pull me to his chest. We spent every single night together. He’d caress my face and push the hair out of my eye and give me such a lust blown stare.
“You know I love you, right honey?”
He wasn’t really asking
“Do you love me too?”
If I said no he’d climb back on top of me and either deny me orgasms until I was begging for him to let me cum or he’d make me cum until I was too weak to say anything but the banter of his name and “I love you, too”
The “wedding” was stupid. That’s the only word for it. Nobody was in attendance, except the spider in the corner, but he acted like there was a full house. He made me walk down an “aisle” that was really from the bathroom to him in the middle of the main room. I wore a white gown that looked like it was plucked out of a I Love Lucy episode with a pearl necklace that would make Audrey Hepburn squeal. The shoes were kitten heels that made me feel like I was walking on glass. He wore a plain black suit with a bow tie. He gave a speech and gestured to people not there and then motioned to me. I repeated some of his lines like “I knew it was love when I first saw you” and “I couldn’t be happier than in this moment.” Then he slipped the ring on, we kissed, we signed a paper, and then we danced. During which we both cried. He cried because his twisted fantasy was going his way and I cried because I realized the weight of what I’d just lost. My freedom, my job (even if it sucked), my chance at a real beautiful wedding with the wedding dress of my choosing and the man of my dreams. Most of all I wept for my future. Where was I headed?
I don’t know why it took so long for me to get pregnant. For a while I just thought we couldn’t. The serum obviously had a negative affect on his swimmers. I wasn’t going to suggest this, of course. Then he would find another way to get me pregnant, and I didn’t want that. I could handle the cleaning, the cooking, the persona of a perfect 1940’s housewife, but a baby? Before this I didn’t really know if kids were in my future, but now that I was in the situation that I was in I knew I couldn’t bring a baby into these living conditions. Born into a prison they can never escape from. Some part of me feared it was my fault. I swallowed this theory as well, this could be worse for me than the other one. If u were the problem what would Steve do? It wouldn’t be as easy as letting me go, I’ve seen too much of his true side. The fear ate me alive for 3 years, the entire time I suffered in silence just like I did everything else. Steve didn’t seem too upset about my lack of fertility, and if he was he didn’t show it. He was always so... chippy. Three years straight and never once did he get angry about the lack of a child. One day I was cleaning the room when Steve came in. I immediately jumped up while a cold sweat came down my body. Why is he here? I didn’t cook dinner yet, will he be mad? I don’t have on my housewife dress yet, it gets in the way of my cleaning. He strode in like he’d been given a raise.
“S-steve?”
He hummed but didn’t look up from the bag he had carried in and was now looking through on the kitchen table.
“Why are you home so early? I haven’t made dinner and I’m not dressed properly yet...”
“That’s alright, darling, I’ve got a surprise for you.”
“A surprise?”
My heart fluttered at this. Was he going to let me walk outside? Or was it more of an object gift? Did he bring me a cell phone? Or a watch? The only way I could tell time was when he woke me up to tell me he was leaving and that he needed a kiss goodbye. I knew I had a while before he got back but the actual time and date was lost on me.
He chuckled, again not looking up. “Well, two gifts actually.”
I start stepping closer, the anticipation killing me. He pulls out a box. He finally looks up and smiles at me. He pushes it towards me and says “open it.”
I do and inside is a onesie with a Captain America shield on it. Right next to it is a stick I’ve grown very accustomed to seeing with one line on it.
“Steve, I don’t understand..”
“I figured it’s been a while since the last time we checked. Why not give it another go, hm? I’m feeling lucky about this time.”
It was in that moment I became aware of everything in slow motion and HD. Was it always this hot in here? Is the basement really this small? Has the fridge always made such an annoying sound?
Steve walked me to the bathroom while I followed absentmindedly. I sat on the toilet and peed. It was in this moment I realized I couldn’t remember my last period. I also became freakishly aware that my stomach has been killing me for days and my boobs have been extremely tender. But I wrote them all off as being his fault. My breasts were because he was too rough in bed, my period being out of wack because I haven’t had contact with another female to sync up with (or maybe I just couldn’t remember because I had no sense of true time), and my stomach because I had been working tirelessly and I hadn’t seen the sun in years. As a timer on Steve’s phone, that I hadn’t realized he even pulled out, he immediately grabs the test. He grows a wicked smile and grabs me and gives me the tightest hug. Turns out it was his fault I was feeling the way I was feeling, it just had nothing to do with any of my theories.
After that he moved me upstairs. He made it such a big deal, I was just being moved from one prison to another. This prison was slightly nicer, though. He had a full kitchen that was bigger than the whole basement. A living room with a tv (I was on restriction from what I could watch but it was still better than those dusty books) A radio, that told me the time and gave me a date every morning (complimentary from man named Joshua Tucker that played the “best classics”). The biggest room in the house was the room I’d be sharing with Steve from now on. There were locks on the windows and doors that could only be unlocked by Steve’s handprint, but I at least got natural lighting up here. Down there all I got were a few dull lightbulbs hanging from the ceiling.
As Steve put it this meant more responsibility. More room meant more things to clean. He said he believed in me. He said I’d been a good girl lately and seeing as I’m not pregnant, I needed a better place to stay. He also mentioned that he wouldn’t hesitate to put me back downstairs if I didn’t behave. I believed him and decided that up here was better. So I behaved. He gave me prenatal to take and another medicine to help with my body’s pains. He was less rough with me in bed but he still had that edge to him. He always rubbed my growing belly, kissed it good morning and goodnight, and sometimes he would talk to it. Once I woke up to him reading to it. It was almost...normal.
One day while walking (more like waddling) around the house with my 3 month belly that, thanks to the serum, made me look 7 months. I came across a room I hadn’t been in yet. Steve didn’t introduce me to it so I hadn’t felt the need. I was ahead on my chores and the radio said I had a few more hours before I had to start dinner, so I let myself in. I figured if I were to get into trouble for going inside I would just tell Steve that I was trying to clean it, although lying with him was never my strong point. Inside was a nursery. A black toy car ford was in the corner, big enough for a toddler to ride around in. The crib was gray with a stuffed bear inside, the walls were a gray color, matching the crib, with a white accent wall. There was a changing table and the closet was open spilling at the seams with clothes. There was a toy box and a million picture frames that were yet to be stripped of their generic photos of a happy family. I knew this day would come, where would the baby sleep? It nonetheless freaked me out. It was too real. I was pregnant. I was locked in the house like a prisoner. My baby was now going to be a prisoner. Did Steve want a boy? Everything was a generic boy theme. There was even a photo album on the table that said “daddy’s little boy.” What would happen if it were a girl? I quickly leave the room shutting the door behind me. I look down the hallway and realize there’s several other rooms I hadn’t been in. Were they always there? How big could this house get? There were at least 7 other rooms and every one of them was a nursery. One was a boy nursery another was a girl, there was even a twin themed nursery. This was just baby number one.
By the time it was time for me to give birth, I was so big I couldn’t see a good 2 feet directly below and ahead of me. My hips hurt, my back hurt, my feet hurt. If I would’ve felt several kicks I would’ve said I was pregnant with quadruplets. I knew it was just a single birth, though. I always felt two feet kicking me on one side. I had no actual medical care, Steve said I didn’t need it. He said his grandmothers had given birth to both his parents at home with no problem and during their entire pregnancy hadn’t seen a doctor once. I gave birth on our bed. I felt like I was pushing for hours and the pain was the worst thing I had ever felt. Steve delivered the baby. He was a healthy looking baby boy, to which he named after himself. He had my laugh and my smile but his father’s everything else. Steve was right to name him after himself. The next pregnancies went the same way, none of them getting easier. Sarah was next, she was a spitting image of me, but she acted like Steve’s mother (or so he says). Next came the twins Peggy and Joseph, then Mary-Ann then Virginia-Lynn. I had no say in Sarah’s and Stave’s names but I chose the others. He did give me a list I was told to chose from, but I got the final say nonetheless. We filled up the house pretty quickly.
Now here I sit, pregnant, while Steve helps the kids open their presents. I made hot cocoa while the kids and Steve were out playing in the snow. I was allowed out while pregnant with Sarah, Steve said it was good to have fresh air while pregnant and Steve Jr was getting a little stir crazy while being kept in the house all day. I never tried anything, where would I go? What would I do? Who would believe me? It was better to just sit there, look pretty, while pregnant with my husband’s children. All with grace, too.
@jtargaryen18