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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 2 years

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Paper Doll 1

Warnings: this fic includes dark content including noncon, violence, stalking, and other potential triggering elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

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

Summary: A patron at your family's bar becomes an overly devoted regular.

Characters: Steve Rogers (in this fic, Steve did not get the serum but still served in the war), short! Plus size reader.

Note: you ask me wtf I'm doing and idk either.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. Thanks to everyone who reads this one and thank you for all your energy.<3

Love you all like Fairy Godmother loves Bonnie Tyler. Take care. 💖

The old bar in Brooklyn is akin to those taverns found on every corner in England. At least, your father always said so. His fond memories of home hung on the decades-old walls above the wobbly wooden tables and splintering chairs with their worn seats.

The glasses fog with the years of use, the few wine glasses left are neglected as there is no cabernet or sauvignon to be served. The tapped ales and lagers fill your coffers well enough and the imported bottles are hardly worth the overhead. Your brother insists it is no place for the wine-drinking folk anyhow.

Lionel seems so sure in everything he says but you know he's not as clever as he thinks. Business is different, it cannot depend on chance. Your father worked hard to keep the place above the surface, but in the hands of your brother, it's been set adrift amid the chaos of the borough.

That night sees a similarly squalid crowd, counting coins for another pint as you try not to tap your toe, clutching the round tray against your middle. The man's greasy black hair hangs in messy curls down his face as he gives a drunken lean. You warned your brother he shouldn't be served anymore but Lionel doesn't listen. Once again.

The man hands you the nickels and dimes and you return a smile. There's a scar across his cheek, your mind wanders with the possibilities. The war left many marks on the people, those you see and those you can't. You notice more and more as the fractured veterans shuffle in more and more often.

As you turn to fetch his lager, you feel a squeeze through your skirt. It's clumsy but painful and makes you wince. You give a squeak as you turn back to the man and swing your tray at his head. He leers with a crooked smirk as he dips out of the way, nearly toppling his chair.

"Gimme another and I'll give ya a nice tip," he slurs.

"Get out! Go!" You holler as you throw the coins at him, "before I fetch my brother."

"Your brother? What's that worm gonna do--"

The chair falls back beneath his teetering weight as a hand tips it off its feet. The oily drunkard rolls over his own head and sprawls on his stomach. Another man, one you didn't notice before, steps between you and the lecher.

"She said go, so go," his voice is deeper than his build would suggest. He's short, nearly as short as you, and slender. Your own hips are at least twice the width of his, likely more.

"What're you gonna do about it," the man sits up as his head wobbles on his neck, "she ain't want you neither, you cockroach."

"Get up and leave," the stranger warns again as he crosses his thin arms.

The man on the floor scoffs and climbs to his feet unsteadily, glaring down his adversary. The small man is unfazed by the foot between their heights.

"Don't make me say it a third time," he warns.

"What? Ya think ya tough, huh?"

"I don't like bullies," the stranger snarls and his hand balls to a fist, "so walk ou--"

He staggers back as a tipsy punch snaps across his jaw and sends his hat flying. It only catches him off balance for a moment before he leaps at the other man. You watch, awestruck by the confrontation, a murmur all around as others take notice.

The smaller man gets a jab in of his own as he throws his weight into him. His opponent is drunk enough for it to have affect. The tangle up in each other as they grapple, the skinny man's arm snaking around the other's neck as he forces him to bend at the waist.

"Oi!" Lionel's voice rises as the swinging doors of the kitchen send a guest through the room, "what's all this?"

He storms over and grabs the larger man, tearing him away from the smaller. They part roughly, both stumbling from the force of the intervention.

"Dammit, you know there's no fighting!" Lionel snarls at you.

"Li, please, I..."

"Both of ya, out," he barks.

"Wait, wait," you wave him away from the smaller man, huffing as he daps his bloody nose with his knuckles, "just him."

You point to the olive-skinned man with the droopy eyes.

"Eh?"

"He was..." you glance over at the stranger, "helping. That dolt groped me so I told him to go and he wouldn't."

"Hm," Lionel sneers but doesn't argue, "right, then, buddy, you get out of here."

He drags away the man by his scruff as you grip your tray and peek once more at the kind stranger. You can't help but be thankful. He's more out of his league than you are but took up immediately.

"Thank you, you didn't have to do all that," you say.

"Why wouldn't I? You're a lady, tryna do your job," he shakes his head as if clearing away cobwebs, "any good man would do the same."

You nod and scrunch your lips as you watch him. Blood trickles down over his lips as his right hand shakes, knuckles split from his ill-judged punch. You fidget as Lionel marches back behind the bar muttering.

"Can I... get you a beer?" You ask, "on the house."

His pale blue eyes meet yours. His skin is sallow, almost sickly, but he gives a bright smile.

"Sure, miss, thank you, but I don't mind paying," he bends to retrieve his hat from the floor.

"Please, I owe you," you say as he rights the chair and sits, placing his hat on the table before tidying his hair. He looks ridiculous as blood still trickles down unstemmed.

You leave him and go to the bar. Lionel shoots you a look as you set down your tray and fill a glass.

"Pip squeak over there's got a lot of nerve," he utters.

"He was sticking up for me, and where were you?" You hiss back.

"Working," he puffs, "don't. Not right now."

"Me?" You shake your head, "sure."

You go to grab a fresh cloth from the folded stack on the shelf and round the bar. You place the pint on the table and clutch the linen in your hand.

"Um, can I... clean you up a bit? You got..." You point to your nose.

"You don't mind?" He says.

"Not much business tonight," you peer around at the few locals slumped over their foamy cups, "I never had no one but Lionel fight for me and he's more likely to give me a talkin' to."

"Here," he stands as you go to grab the chair, pulling it out before you can, "please."

He's definitely a gentleman. You thank him and sit before he resumes his seat. He pulls close to you, paying little heed to the pint. You unfold the cloth as you hover at the edge of the chair.

"Tilt your head back," you instruct as you reach for his chin.

"Yes, miss," he obeys and you hold his sharp jaw as you wipe his nose clean, "so Lionel, that your husband?"

"Oh, oh, no," you chuckle, "brother. Pa left us this place."

"Ah," his lips twitches as his golden lashes flick, "reminds me of England."

"England?" You wonder as you press the cloth more firmly to his flowing nose, "you might wanna hold that there, you're bleeding pretty bad."

"Isn't the worst I've had," he puts his hand beneath yours as he takes the cloth and you slowly draw away, brushing his hand. He squeezes the linen around his nose and speaks nasally. "When I went for training we spent some time in England. There were a few bars there like this, same kinds of rats too. I swear, you run into the same types all over."

"You were in the war?" You wonder.

He frowns, "sure was. Why? I know I don't look like a typical soldier but I made it back."

"No, I don't mean that, it's just... I hate to assume either way," you cross one leg over the other, "you must've been a good soldier. You're so brave."

"Nothing brave about doing the right thing," he stops and turns his head as he snorts, "sorry, always happens when it bleeds."

"No I'm sorry, you shouldn't have done that for me."

"I'd do it again," he grins, lowering the cloth as the blood slows, "thanks for the pint."

He shifts and pulls out his wallet. He fumbles around his swollen knuckles as you watch him wiggle out a bill.

"I told you, it's on the house," you say as you stand, "speaking of, I should be back to work."

"It's a tip, not for the drink," he holds it out, "buy yourself something pretty."

"Really, I can't--"

He folds the bill and slips it into your apron pocket. You watch him, dumbfounded.

"You can," he sits back and pushes his reddened knuckles against the cool glass and sighs, "just one thing, can I get your name?"

"Oh," your brows rise as dig your toe into the hardwood, eking out your name.

"I'm Steve," he returns as he grips the pint and lifts it, sipping from it slowly before placing it back down, "maybe I'll see ya around."

"Maybe," you shrug as Lionel closes the register harshly, "I should go, work to do."

"Miss," he nods courteously, "don't work too hard."

#skinny steve #steve rogers #dark steve rogers #dark!steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #series #paper doll #mcu #marvel #au #captain america #skinny steve rogers

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lillywillow · 1 year

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It Started With a Jar

Summary: When Steve can’t get a jar of pickles open, he heads to the gym for help

Word Count: 1452

Written for: @the-slumberparty ‘s Week Four: Across the Universe challenge (Modern AU)

Pairings: Skinny!Steve Rogers x StrongWoman!Reader (No descriptions of body though)

Warnings: Mentions of injuries, use of pet names, some bullying

One afternoon, Steve decided he wanted some pickles for a snack. He grabbed the jar and tried to open the lid but it wouldn’t budge. He tried using a towel, a grip, running it under hot water and banging it against the counter but the lid was stuck tight. Normally, Steve would ask his roommate Bucky with a problem like this but he was out of town for the day. He could ask Sam but he would tease him first. Sure, he could wait until later to have his snack but his desire for a pickle really outweighed his patience. Maybe… maybe someone at the local gym could help him with his problem.

…

As Steve looked around the gym, he felt intimidated. Most of these guys looked like they could snap him in two and they probably could… that’s why he decided not to bother them. He looked around for someone who looked less like they would be annoyed if he asked them something so silly. That’s when he spotted a woman who had just finished a workout and was wiping off her machine.

“Um, excuse me,” Steve began, waiting for her response.

“Yeah?” she replied, taking out an earbud to hear him better.

“I… I know this sounds silly but I was wondering if… if you might be able to help me open this…” he stated, presenting the jar. “I tried everything at home and it just wouldn’t open…”

The woman gave him a warm smile that sent butterflies swarming in the pit of his stomach.

“Sure thing, cutie,” she smiled, extending her hand for the jar.

Steve handed over the item and she attempted to pry the lid off.

“My, it is a bit tight, isn’t it?” she grunted, placing the jar between her knees for better leverage.

The fact that even someone like her was struggling with it proved to Steve how badly stuck this lid was on. Finally, the damn thing relented with a soft pop.

“There you go, hon. That was a tough one…” she softly sighed, handing the pickles back to him.

“Thank you so much,” Steve beamed. “Um… would you like one?” he offered.

“No, thank you, sweets. If you ever have that problem again, just ask for Y/N,” she smiled.

“I’m Steve,” he replied.

“I hope to see you around again, Steve,” Y/N smiled as she headed to the locker rooms.

As Steve headed home with his jar of pickles, he really did hope he would see her again.

…

A few weeks went by and Steve would come to the gym to ask for your help opening jars. It got to a point where you enjoyed his visits. You started getting something to eat or drink with him after your sessions and had pleasant conversations. Sometimes, Steve would help you out with your forms, sometimes, he would bring his art book and draw. It never bothered you. Steve would sit out of the way, occasionally glancing up at you before looking back at whatever piece he was working on. You just smiled and went on with your workout. There were however, some jerks that did object to having this sweet guy on their territory.

One day, Steve was going about his business drawing when some big dude knocked his book out of his hand. He tried to recover it but another guy stepped on his hand. Steve winced and looked up at the two bullies.

“You don’t belong here, string bean,” one of them sneered.

“Yeah,” the other repeated with the same sinister look on his face.

“Hey!” you shouted, abandoning your weights and rushing over to them. “Leave him alone!”

“He doesn’t even work out!” one of the men protested, shifting his foot from Steve’s hand.

“So what? He’s not hurting anyone,” you retorted.

“Let’s see what management has to say about him being him,” the other one threatened.

“Yeah, you go ahead and do that Bruno. I’m sure they’d be very interested in knowing that your membership here expired two years ago but you’re still coming…”

The one identified as Bruno backed off.

“And you, Julian… I’m sure they’d also like to know about that so-called documentary you shot in the men’s locker-room…”

Defeated, the two men walked away. You instantly knelt down to tend to Steve.

“Are you okay, baby boy? Did he hurt you?” you asked, gently taking the hand that had been stepped on in yours to assess the damage.

“I’m okay. I think it feels worse than it looks,” he sniffled.

“Let’s take a break now,” you suggested, helping Steve pick up the pages that had fallen out of his book.

As you picked up the pieces of paper, you noticed most of the drawings were of you. Some of them were of you in your athletic clothes, some were of you posed mid-workout but reimagined into some kind of warrior or goddess engaged in battle. You felt flattered. Steve blushed furiously when he noticed you looking at those ones in particular.

“I’m so sorry,” he began, becoming all flustered.

“Don’t worry about it, Stevie. I did give you my permission to draw me… I just find it amazing this how you see me,” you softly smiled.

Steve smiled back, his blush creeping down his neck and tinting the tips of his ears. You found him utterly adorable. His face suddenly fell as he looked over your shoulder. You followed his gaze to where Bruno was being obnoxious on the other side of the gym.

“Do you think he’s right? About me?” Steve asked sadly.

You scoffed at the idea.

“Don’t listen to those two morons. Between them they share half a braincell. They just pick on anyone that doesn’t fit into their perfect little ideals of what gymgoers should look like. They did it to me when I first started coming, now I can bench-press as much as them if not more.”

This made Steve smile a little.

“Do you think I could try a workout?” he asked.

“Of course,” you softly smiled.

After taking a little break to make sure Steve’s hand was okay, you started him with the lightest weights.

“Shouldn’t I have heavier weights?” he asked, noticing how easy it was to pick them up.

You shook your head.

“The key thing to remember with weight training is that it’s a marathon, not a sprint. You move too fast, too quickly and you’ll end up hurting yourself. I’ve seen guys who have had muscles pull off the bone because they tried to go too hard,” you explained.

Steve nodded slowly. You slowly guided him through his workout, giving him advice on which exercises he should be doing. By the end of the session, Steve was sore but felt good.

…

After that day, Steve started to join you in your workouts as a partner. You added him to your friend pass so he could continue coming without being harassed by staff or any other jerks like Julian and Bruno. Within a few weeks, Steve could already see some improvements. It was becoming his favourite part of his day because not only did he like the post-workout feeling but he loved spending time with you. He also enjoyed going out for a bite to eat after.

You also admired Steve’s commitment to getting stronger. He was so passionate about everything he tried and listened to your advice when you gave it rather than trying to push through and damaging his body.

After one really good session, you and Steve were just wrapping things up.

“Good job today, Steve. I’m proud of you,” you praised.

Steve beamed at your words. They meant a lot to him.

“Um, Y/N?”

“Yes, Steve?”

“I was just wondering… we’ve known each other for a while now and I was wondering if… maybe we could go out on a proper date? It’s cool if you say no, I just…”

You cut off his rambling with a kiss to the cheek.

“I’d love to go on a date with you. Shall we discuss over our usual lunch where we could go to dinner?”

Steve grinned and nodded. As he watched you head to the lady’s locker room, he couldn’t help but think how lucky he was to have met you. And to think, it never would have happened if he didn’t a craving for pickles all that long ago.

#navy and roo's sleepover #navy and roo sleepover #Week 4 #marvel #marvel fanfiction #marvel one shot #Steve Rogers #steve rogers x reader #Skinny Steve #gym

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