I love all your fics! Any thoughts on how things turned out for Steve and reader in Break? You packed so much into that fic and I always wonder what was the event that ultimately led reader to leave? How are they now that they're back together? Did they ever end up getting married? I've gone back to re-read that so often!
So I thought I’d answer your ask with this drabble (kinda)... Hope that’s alright? I’m so thankful for your support emberenchanted! ^^
Sorry about potential typos as I wrote this a bit frantically.
Series Masterlist
Summary: You run into an old friend who thinks you’re the luckiest woman in the world following a special announcement. Takes place after A break.
Pairing: Dark! Steve x Reader
Word count: 940 words (It got away from me tbh)
Warnings for: Abuse and forced relationship
DARK FIC. You’re responsible for the media you choose to consume.
As you duck your head and pretend to be uniquely absorbed by a fruit stand, you wonder how long your old friend from high school will keep calling your name before giving up.
When you don’t hear your name shouted across the produce aisle anymore, a sigh of relief slips past your lips. She must have given up. But then you lift your head, and dread courses through your veins as you watch her saunter towards you with a smile. It widens once she’s reached you.
"I knew it was you!" she chimes. Her gaze travels down to your hand, more specifically to one of your fingers, and her eyes grow. "I knew I recognized you in the tabloids. Matt wouldn’t believe me but I knew!"
Self-consciously, you clutch your hand, concealing the exorbitantly priced ten carats ring that weighs a ton on your finger.
Your old friend rummages through her purse and pulls out a magazine, victory making her face glow. She waves it in your face. A candid picture of you with no makeup, holding Steve’s hand as he pulls you along, graces the cover, every flaw you’re insecure about exposed for the world to see. You wince.
You remember that day. Steve was pissed and short with you and you panicked, worried that you’d angered him somehow. You were afraid of him locking you up in the room again. Alone. In the dark. In the quiet. Was he annoyed because he knew you were followed? How many times were you followed?
"I-" you start, gripping the handle of your cart and drawing back a little.
"Don’t even bother trying to deny it," she insists. Her voice lowers to a conspiratorial tone. "You’re Captain America’s mysterious fiancé, aren’t you?"
As she gets in your face, expecting an answer, your anxiety spikes and your throat closes up.
Before you can think of a crafty way to escape the awkward conversation, a heavy hand settles on your shoulder. You flinch as your heart leaps in your chest. You don’t need to look up to know who stands at your back, his overbearing presence, a noose hanging around your throat whenever he’s near.
"That she is. And who is the woman being so chummy with my future bride?"
A different tension flares inside your chest as Steve chats up your friend in his paper-thin disguise. His hand never leaves your shoulder throughout the exchange, the subtle way his fingers press into the skin in warning not eluding you one bit.
Your friend gushes over Steve, shamelessly batting her eyelashes at him as he humors her, flaunting his effortless Captain America charm.
Your heartbeat's an uproar in your ears as he walks you back to his car after wordlessly paying for the groceries.
His large hand is on your arm now, half dragging, half leading you to your seat.
"Steve…" you start.
He cuts you off with a disapproving stare. You gulp and lower your head. You’re not supposed to speak without asking for permission first. The Captain has a multitude of rules, and it is one of them.
"What did we say about striking up conversations with strangers without asking me first?"
"She came out of nowhere to try and talk to me, and she’s not really a stranger..." you try to defend but as his blue eyes storm, ire brewing in them, your voice trails off. Your fingers quiver in your lap.
As his hand tightens on the steering wheel, his jaw clenches. His gaze on you is dark and steady.
"Should I lock you in the room again?" he says, his pitch eerily calm, as if he were discussing something as trivial as the weather. Not locking you up like an animal for days without food or drink or even a proper bathroom to teach you a lesson about disobedience.
"No, Steve, I promise I’ll be good. P-Please, don’t put me in the room again."
He rubs the bridge of his nose and sighs. You try not to shrink as he reaches over to cup your cheek.
"I'm only trying to keep you safe, honey...but you make it so hard." The look on his face is sad, regretful.
Your chest squeezes. You’ve disappointed him. Bad things happen when you disappoint Steve.
"I’m sorry,” you reply, meeting his eyes fearfully.
Steve looks deep in thought as his eyes stray past the windshield.
“We were supposed to meet the caterer for a cake tasting this afternoon… But we should reschedule. This is much more important.”
Unspilled tears fill your eyes. We. Steve always says “we” as if your opinion was ever collected for every unilateral decision he makes on your behalf now.
“Don’t cry, doll,” he coos, wiping the single drop that has landed on your cheek. He smiles brightly. “Save your tears for our wedding day.”
A sob skips past your lips and Steve plants a quick peck on your forehead before turning the key in the ignition.
“Let’s go home. Go over the rules again.”
As he exits the parking lot, air becomes scarce in your lungs.
You have regrets. So many regrets.
Most of all, you regret not running further and fighting harder once you discovered what Steve was doing behind your back, after only three months of dating you.
You still can’t forget the day you went down to his basement and found it.
The pretty vintage blue nursery, with its handmade wooden cradle and classic children’s toys, and your things scattered about the room, still haunts your nightmares.
The very first thing you’ve told Steve when you started to date is that you never want to have kids.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
In the first chapter of "Even if You Don't Mean it" what was Sy originally planning to write in the bits of his letter that were crossed out? I'm diving into the second chapter of that fic and it's simply wonderful! I'm loving every word ❤️. Sorry if this has already been asked 😊
Hi @emberenchanted
I hope this response is coherent, I’m a little hung over (had a good time so it was worth it!) so bear with me!
Under the cut
So both things he ends up telling her. It's not that exciting I guess, but he’s trying not to give too much of his feelings away in the letter. He’s also testing the water here. He’s not sure if she wants more, she’s never given any indication that she's interested in more in their phone calls at this point and he really doesn’t want to scare her off or ask for too much from her. They’re both thinking the same things really, both wanting to see if there’s more than friendship here (Sy KNOWS he wants more, but the reader is confused, but definitely has feelings for him) however, because of the distance, both are hesitant to make the first move. But it's like they both put hints of deeper feelings down on paper at the same time, which I thought was kind of sweet.
The first one:
I also want to apologise for not spending more time with you before I left. I was an idiot, an asshole really. I wanted to, it’s only that I was leaving and thought it would be better that way. I regret that now, I should have made more effort and not been
And not been scared of getting hurt.
He tells her this in part 3
“I thought,” he smiles briefly, “incorrectly, that if I didn’t see you again, it’d be easier on me. I couldn’t ask ya to wait for me, not after just one date. And a girl like you wasn’t gonna be single for long. I figured by the time I got back, you’d be seein’ someone else. Thought if I kept my distance and didn’t start anythin’…”
And again later in the same part
“I fucked up, baby. I never meant for you to feel like I’d lost interest in you,” he says. It takes you a minute to remember what he is apologising for, “I thought walkin’ away early would keep you from gettin’ hurt too.”
Implying he was worried about being hurt by her.
Then this one:
I remember how cute you looked when I kissed you that night. I think about that sometimes. I think
I think about kissing you again when I get home.
So he tells her this later on in this part
“I wanna do that again. When I come home, I’m gonna kiss you just like that,” Your body heats even more at his suggestion. Would you let him kiss you again?
“I want that too, Sy,” you say firmly, despite your trembling voice, “I really want you to kiss me like that again.”
Sy hums, his deep voice rumbles in his throat, “Whenever I imagine that, making you feel good, it doesn’t stop at kissin’, Sugar.”
Oooh, Past Curfew has me intrigued 😅. Care to share a snippet?
Of course, Ember ^^
Glances keep straying down to your watch. You grimace, steps projecting splashes of water from a nearby puddle as you hasten your pace. Shivers ripple through you. The coat is drawn more tightly around your frame. Your gaze darts up to the moon; the silver pearl in the sky is a silent witness to your predicament.
There’s a sizzling weight in your pocket, where your phone rests, its buzzing incessant.
The thought of glimpsing at it twines your insides. You’d rather not.
Too many missed calls.
You take a street corner, and another. The disturbing quiet doesn’t quell the ball of worry nestled in your gut. You fucked up. There are rules, and you ignored them. Blatantly.
Blaming the inebriant daze or innocuous carelessness would be too easy. Yes, alcohol flowed and yes, you neglected to keep perfect track of time. But even in your distant, drink-fueled abandon…you knew.
You were - are - far past curfew.
The blood pumps faster in your veins when the familiar brownstone invades your sight.
Maybe if you’re so so quiet. A mouse sneaking in the darkness to avoid getting caught.
Oxygen is a shaky hostage in your lungs as the keys wobble in your hands. Your stomach turns with each clanking. You squeeze them in your palm, hoping to muffle the sound.
It’s pitch black and the lobby is empty. Hope flares inside you.
The door slowly cracks open as you slip inside on your toes, removing your kitten heels with ginger gestures.
Who knows if anybody is even inside the house?
You could get away with this.
You almost do a victory lap as you reach the kitchen. A few more fateful steps and you’ll be in your room, having not just survived a storm, but dodged it altogether.
Relief floods your mind. Your shoulders sag. A sliver of smugness even sneaks inside you. Why were you even this fear-struck?
It’s not like your whereabouts are even their concern…
"Well, look who’s finally home." Your body goes still, your mouth quaking open. Defeated, you unhurriedly pivot to face your two roommates.
Loved the last Werepanther Bucky installment ❤️. Though it did make me wonder how much Bucky knows of the human world 🤔. Did reader have to tell him that the ER was a thing? Or did he already know that? Did he go to the store first to get her some medicine? Imagining him prowling the aisles and scaring an employee half to death is hilarious to me 🤣🤣. Thank you for sharing your wonderful writing with us. I greatly enjoy every single piece you've written and shared!!
Thanks. That's super sweet. Bucky does know that the ER exists. He just doesn't trust or like humans who aren't his mate. He's tried every way to get her fever down but nothing would work so he took her despite his reluctance.
I love sharing so I'm glad a few like you enjoy it :)
Does reader from Claimed get questions about why she's always scratched and bruised and had bite marks when she's out and about? At work, doing errands, etc. Or does she always cover everything up?
She tries to hide marks sometimes (with scarves and turtlenecks mostly) but Bucky hates it when she does. Her boss, Bruce, notices it and she brushes it off with very lame excuses. She has a friend who expresses concern she's in an abusive situation and she cuts her off at Bucky's suggestion because she feels how sad it makes him through the bond.
Bucky always makes sure to mark her in spots that are tough to hide. When they go out, which is rare, because he prefers his mate safe with him at home, he has her wear clothes that bear enough skin to proudly show off his claim.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
I'm hella late, but I'm definitely dating Werepanther Bucky AND/OR Steve from A Break. You're spot on that reading about all the different facets of Bucky's personality is appealing. He contains multitudes. And Steve from A Break....whew! That short fic really did something to me. It's my comfort failed breakup fic 😅.
Hey Ember ^^
I'm honestly not surprised by your choices. I definitely see you with an overbearing husband like WP Bucky or Steve from a break lol.
WP Bucky is the kind to cling to you with desperation, always wondering if you're okay when you're not with him, hyperfocused on you, his mate, to the point of toxicity. His panther is pacing when you're late. His need to mark you is visceral. It reassures you when he sees traces of him on your skin. He likes this reminder that you're his when you go out into the world.
A break Steve is a little different, as I often write Steve and Bucky quite differently in general anyway. Steve is authoritarian. His word is law. You're his. You're not going anywhere. It's almost sad you don't seem to understand that, always seeking to run away from the inevitable. There's nothing Steve loves more than the way you whimper and moan when he takes you apart. He's addicted to it. How could you dare to even think of giving away to someone else what's always been his.
If you could date any version of a character I’ve written, who would you choose?
