#Doing Time

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Doing Time 10

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, threats, age gap, and possible untagged 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: you try to keep your brother safe in jail but put yourself in danger along the way.

Characters: con/ex-con!Steve Rogers

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. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You stare at Steve's large hand as you fight the urge to fidget. He rests is on your thigh, fingers curled just along the inside. He rubs the seam of your pants as his warmth radiates through the fabric.

He steers with his other hand. His posture is slack with nonchalance. Everything is going exactly as he planned and you're just trying to keep up. 

He hums as he tickles your leg. His hand sidles closer to your pelvis and he squeezes. He idles at the red light and smirks at you.

"You got me worked up again. I just wanna pull you across the car..." his eyes flick up and down. "You got thighs that make a man a glutton."

You twitch. While he scares you, his words send a tingle through you. He's skilled at twisting your flaws into beauty. You almost believe every word he says.

"Steve," you touch his hand gently. "The light's green."

"Oh, yeah?" He flicks his fingers coyly towards your cunt. 

You blink and point through the windshield. He glances at the traffic light and chuckles. He leans on the gas, keeping his hand in your lap.

"You should wear skirts," his nails graze the thick seam again. "You got the legs for it."

"I... I like pants." You say softly. 

"You got a good shape. Not just from the front," he ignores your protest. "That dress you wore... mmmph. I got buy you some more."

"You don't have to do all that," you clutch his hand to keep it in place.

"I want to, sweetheart. Lots of things I wanna do." He squeezes and you squeak at the spark it lights in your guts. "Firstly..."

He peels his hand away and turns into a lot. He draws up to the storefront and you glance up to read the big gold letters mounted over the shining windows. You rub the warm patch he left on your leg as you stare at the jeweler's shop.

"I thought about a crown but I'm thinking that's a bit much," he snickers. "I think a ring will do."

You look at him, stunned. It shouldn't be a surprise. He's been clear. As straight to the point as you wish you could be. Yet it's all so sudden.

He gets out first and comes around to open your door. He pauses and skims your figure with his eyes. He tuts.

"Definitely needa get you a sweet dress."

You stand and he shuts the door. His hand finds your lower back and he ushers you toward the shop. The world around you is hazy with futility. You know you can't stop him but there's that little human urge that won't go away.

He opens the shop door and lets you through first. He struts in behind you.

"Hello, sir," he greets the man behind the counter. "Lovely day."

The chubby man with the long mustache drooping around his lips winces. He looks up from the board of earrings in front of him and gulps. His brown eyes widen.

"Rogers?" He coughs.

"One and the same, Ahmad," Steve affirms as he nudges you forward. "Long time."

"Yes, sir. Very long. I thought you were in bars." The man nervously taps his fingers on the counter top.

"Behind bars." Steve corrects him. "Did my time. Now I'm out. And my lady needs a ring."

"Your... yes." Ahmad peeks at you and bows his head. "Very beautiful. Lovely lady." He clutches his hands together. "And you are such a handsome man, how could you not have a beauty."

"Yeah, yeah, Ahmad, you don't gotta do all that. Not to say she isn't a stunner." Steve nears and crosses his arms. He leans his elbows on the glass display and peers through. His shoulder round and he looks even bigger.

"Well, sweetheart. You want one diamond. You want a diamond covered in diamonds..." he bends his neck and squints at the selection.

"Oh, er, I'm not picky. Something small is fine."

"Be picky," he insists. "I don't want fine, I want perfect." He beckons you forward with a glance. "Come on."

You sniff and come forward. Ahmad smiles at you, "let me know whatever you like, miss."

"Thanks," you look down. The sparkle is too much to focus.

You're drawn to one in particular. A purple oval surrounded with little diamonds. You stare and chew your lip. You should look for something smaller.

"Which one's got you?" Steve shifts, angling toward you as he leans on one elbow.

"Well, that one's not bad," you point to the plain silver band with a small circle diamond.

He tuts. "You know, I see right through you. Be honest."

You rub your neck. "I don't wanna spend too much--"

"Don't fret about my money," he warns. "Which one?"

You drop your hand and point again. "That er, purple one. Sorry I don't know the stone."

"Amethyst, yes," Ahmad reaches underneath and takes out the entire board. "The stone of clarity and control. You must have a good head on you."

"Oh," you murmur and shrug. Not really. If you knew better, you wouldn't be standing here with this man.

Ahmad pulls free the ring and offers it up. You can only stare. The nicest jewelry you have is a hand-me-down silver chain and locket from tour mom.

Steve takes it then grabs your hand. You flinch as he stands at his full height and slips the band around your finger. You watch him push it down to your knuckle. He runs his thumb over it then cradles your hand in his. He lifts it higher to admire the stones.

"That the one?" He asks.

You stare at the ring. It's gorgeous but too much. You don't say so. You can't. 

You nod. "It's very pretty Steve. We could... wait until we get everything else sorted."

"It's sorted," he insists.

He lifts your hand and kisses your knuckle. You lower your eyes as he lets you go. You clasp your other hand over the ring as he turns to Ahmad.

"How much?" He reaches for his wallet.

The number makes your chest drop. That's more than your rent. A lot more. 

He counts out bills. You've never carried anything more than a couple hundred and that was for a deposit or something. He has a whole bank on him. 

It's another clue. He's not just a man with money, the way he wields it, the way others react to him. He has power.

"Th-thank you," you croak and pinch the ring. Steve stops you.

"Don't take it off. Never." He wraps his hand around yours and pushes it down. "That means you're mine." He puts his wallet away and looks back at the jeweller. "I'll be back for more. She'll need a full set."

"Yes, sir," Ahmad puts away the board of rings.

Steve takes you out. The sunlight is warm and bright, a strange sheen on the grey day. You can only watch as he whittles away the pieces of your life and rebuilds to his liking.

His hand slips off of yours and trails up your forearm as you near the car. A low growl rises in his chest as he lets you ahead of him. He spreads his fingers across your ass and kneads. You yelp on surprise.

He reaches around you and opens the back door of the car. You reach back to clamp down on his wrist. You trip on your toes as he slaps your rear.

"Just a quickie," he snarls. "Seeing you in that ring..."

"Steve. Please. We can go--"

"Get in," he commands and pinches your ass again. "On your stomach."

"Huh?" His sudden shift has you off balance. "Steve--"

"Now," he rasps as he grips the door. "Pants off."

You turn to look at him in horror and catch his hand as he tries to grope your chest. "I don't want to... here."

His eyes narrow and his jaw squares. He scoffs and shakes your hand off of his. He frames your face with his thick fingers and leans in.

"I'm not fucking asking. Let's celebrate." He pushes his nose and forehead against yours. "I waited before. No more."

You wince and pet his knuckles. You whimper and he lets you go. You bat your eyes and slowly sit on the back seat.

He's big enough to block your view of the parking lot. You tremble as you unbutton your fly. Disbelief numbs your touch. You lift yourself and peel off your pants, your underwear twisting down inside them. 

He looms over you and taps his fingers on the roof. You untangle your feet and drop the clothes onto the car floor. Steve sighs and it blows through in an icy wind. 

You shimmy back into the car. You turn over and he growls again. As you spread out on your stomach, he crushes in behind you, a knee between your legs.

He shuts the door as he crams into the back seat. He pushes your left leg over the edge of the seat. You quiver as you're exposed to him.

He bends over you and hooks his arm under your neck. He kisses the back of your head and pets your cheek. He inhales your scent.

"Can't help myself, sweetheart. This is what you do to me."

He slips his hand between your bodies, wriggling over you as he plucks open his fly. He grunts as he shifts his weight, the lack of space as suffocating as he is.

He guides his tip down along your cheeks. The fabric of his slacks tickles your skin. He prods along your entrance. He drags his hand free and hooks it beneath you.

He shoves between your folds and rubs your clit. He puffs into your hair as he teases you. His legs are bent up, cramped against the door as he smothers you. He bows down to nibble at your neck.

You slicken against his touch. He swirls and flicks as you close your eyes and clutch the edge of the seat. Humiliation scalds over you. What if someone sees.

He rubs you from clit to entrance and back again. He teases you until you moan, the soft mewl the final surrender. 

He frames your cunt with his long fingers and spreads your lips. He tilts his hips down and guides his tip between his knuckles. You hold your breath as he delves into you.

He rumbles as he dips into you in a single slow thrust. When he's at his limit, he shudders. He rocks his pelvis and you clench around him. His arm tightens around your neck and he kisses your jawline as he groans.

The wet noise of you clinging to him fills the humid space. He pumps into you, the tempo cloying in your ears. You babble as he grunts, each thrust more eager than the last.

His patience shatters as he hammers into you. You arch your back to ease the blunt force of his intrusion and he plays with your clit as your walls quiver around him. You heave down into the seat as his feet bounce of the window. The cacophony makes you dizzy. 

"Oh, sweetheart, you're so good." He snarls as he pounds you into the seat. "Hm, the way you're made for me."

He rolls his fingers furiously and you bite your lip. A fire-laced tide washes over you and floods your brain. You whine through your orgasm as it drips out around him.

"That's it, doll. You know I'm the best man for you," he pushes himself up, staying inside you as he unloops his arm from your neck. 

He pulls your hips up as he readjusts. You hunch down onto the seat, slack as you hang from his grip. He moves you up and down his length, slamming you back against his pelvis. He moves you to his will, growling and grunting, nails digging into your hip. Your insides twine around him.

He buries himself inside you as he holds you in place. He exhales shakily then starts again. He bucks into you as he gropes one side of your ass. The car shakes with his fury.

"Doll, I feel you clinging to me," he puffs. "Mm, you're so sweet... mmm, I'm gonna marry you and do this every day..." he grunts and bends over your again. "I'm gonna fuck you... til death do us... part."

He ruts until he collapses. He flattens you under him as he spasms and gushes inside you. You shiver as he spills out, his hips rocking slow and uneven as he rides out the aftershock. 

Your breaths are shallow, mingling damply in the closed space with your sweat. He groans and kisses your shoulder. He takes your hand brings it to his lips, kissing the wring on your finger.

"That's why you wear a skirt, baby." He pushes in as deep as he can. "I want access at all times."

[spongebobsoundtrack]

Sid Phillips - Sugar Beat Plays in:

45b. "Doing Time"

[hardhed]

(TIME)

MY WRISTS HURT-

THESE STAINLESS STEEL RINGS HAVE LEFT AN IMPRESSION IN MY MIND- AND ON MY SOUL-IN THESE HANDS WRAPPED ROUND COLD RUSTY POLES-INCARCERATION WAS NO INFATUATION WITH ME , BUT WAS MY SALVATION TO BE- A MAN SAVING ME FROM THE DAMNED

SLEEPLESS NIGHTS, CONSTANT FIGHTS, have you ever seen it? You wouldn't believe it.!!! or fathom the fact of lonliness felt on the inside of good men for being locked down as they criy..

THEN , YOU ASK , "CAN YOU GIVE A HAND OR HELP?"

I SAY, "NEGATORY, FOR THAT IS WHY I LAY IN THIS CELL AND TELL MY STORY"

© JUSTIN GIBBS

Circa 1997

[ibenology]

the average twitter vs tumblr community experience

[mail-me-a-snail]

he's free now

[paintedcrows]

Did anyone tell Ford (bonus doodles: Family Movie Night, 70s Classics)

[flamboyantly-understated]

maybe this is just me idk

[jue-jack]

Kirby is a star!!!

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Doing Time 4

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, threats, age gap, and possible untagged 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: you try to keep your brother safe in jail but put yourself in danger along the way.

Characters: con/ex-con!Steve Rogers

Note: Hi hi hi

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. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You don't own many dresses, and those you do, are more office casual than date night. Still, you have no time to stall, no room for excuses. You pick out the only one you think you can still squeeze into.

A button-up black dress with long sleeves, a white collar, and white trim around the sleeves and ruffled hem. It's something that would look much better on Audrey Hepburn. 

You check yourself in the mirror. You shouldn't care but you have to. If you want to get out the other side of this, if you want Vaughn to, you need to go along with it. You need to keep Steve happy. 

You emerge, as content as you can be with your appearance after a day of work and an unsettling homecoming. You keep your eyes on the floor as you wring your hands. You need heels, something to match. 

Before you can pass him, Steve stomps toward you. He pinches the frill around your skirt. "You look amazing, sweetheart." He lets go and drags his hand up your thigh and hip. "Can't believe it's the real thing, right in front of me." 

"Uh, yeah," you agree weakly. "I need shoes." 

"Sure, sweetheart, take your time. Get dolled up," he moves away with a sultry sigh. 

You feel him watching you as you shift around and search the shoe rack. You bend over to take out the black vinyl kitten heels and he purrs. You wince and stand up, wobbling as you step into them. 

"Hate to be too forward but I was away a while. Pretty lady like you has me all hot under the collar," he snickers. "Gotta say that dress hugs you in all the right places." 

"Thank you," you murmur and untangle the thin strap of a small purse. You shuffle around your work bag and slip your ID and debit card inside, along with a tube of lip balm. 

"You don't gotta be so shy," he nears. "I mean, I should be. Being locked up, I forget the way things are out here." He steps close and spreads his hand across your ass. "Just so nice to touch you...but I'll be a good boy and take you on a date first." 

You shudder and resist the urge to shove him away. You force a smile, "where are we going?" 

"Somewhere close," he answers and peels his hand off of you. "Been a while since I had a date," he snorts. "If you can't guess." 

"Me too," you mutter as you back up toward the door. You grab your keys. 

"Oh yeah? How long?" He asks as he opens the door and gestures you through. 

"How... er..." you think about it.  

You've not been on many. Vaughn always kept the men away. Even if they wanted a second date, it was never many more than that. 

"At least a year, I think," you step into the hall and he comes out after you. 

You lock the door as he stays close. You tuck the keys into your purse and he offers his hand. "Ready, sweetheart?" 

You don't hesitate. No more of that. You can't keep pushing your luck. You put your hand in his. You can feel his strength. 

He takes you down the hallway and patiently assists you down the stairs as your heels make your steps unsure. Or maybe that’s him. He’s especially gallant for someone like him. A criminal. Wait, no, he’s been absolved, hasn’t he? 

He slips his hand along your lower back as you come outside. There’s a hitch in his strut. Victory. 

“Got her out of storage, fresh wax,” he announces as he approaches the white vintage car you noticed before.

It’s strange how you can pick every single thing that’s out of place but you can never put them together. It was the same with Vaughn. 

“It’s very nice,” you say. “I don’t know much about cars, my brother...” 

You trail off. You’d rather not think or talk about him right now. 

Steve opens the passenger door for you. You get in and he lingers at your door. He purrs. 

“You really do look just perfect, sweetheart.” he tickles your jawline then draws back.  

He finally shuts you in. You shiver as you watch him through the windshield. You fix the hem of the skirt as it rides up with the two sizes you’ve put on since you bought it. Or maybe it shrunk? You pinch yourself as you do, hoping you might wake up from this nightmare. 

No, you’re already awake. Painfully so. 

Steve gets in and you peek over for just a second. The seat emphasizes his size. Everything seems to remind you of his power over you. Over your family.  

You’re so stupid. You have no one to blame but yourself. What were you thinking? Thanking a convinct? A criminal? A murderer? Or not a murderer? 

“You’re tired,” he says as he backs out, “seat belt, sweetheart. Last thing I need is an accident.” 

You buckle up. You dab your nose as it tingles. Don’t cry. You have to play this right. Pretend. 

“A little, yeah. Work...” 

“At the clinic, right?” He prompts. 

It’s like the phone calls. That familiarity he puts on. Your head spins as you replay all those nights in your head. It struck you then how presumptuous he could be. How he said ‘we’. His presence then reframes every call, every visit. They were not the same to him as you. 

“Yeah, a lot of phone call,” you swallow as your throat scratches. “People don’t like waiting.” 

“Tell me about it,” he chuckles. “After how long I waited for this...” 

You stare at his hand. Huge, thick, gripping the slender wheel. You put your eyes to your lap and play with the ruffle. 

“We’re gonna have a good night, sweetheart. You and me.” He preens. “A lot of them.” 

You nod and turn your face to the window, “yes, Steve. Thank you.” 

⛓️‍💥

The restaurant is nice. As you’re greeted at the door, Steve snakes his hand down your arm and twines his fingers through yours. As he squeezes, you realise how strange it must be to him. You shouldn’t empathize with him, not with all the threats, with how he’s taken your life over in less than an hour, but you do. 

“Table for two,” he says. 

The hostess smiles, “yes, sir. I can find you something.” 

She grabs two menus and a smaller one from the desk. She turns and leads you into the dining room. You walk just ahead of Steve as he urges you on, though his hand stays on yours. She stops you at a round table framed with a crescent bench. 

“Booth alright?” 

“Sure is,” Steve answers. 

He holds onto you until you sit. You slide around and he follows. The hostess lays out the menus. 

“Drink menu,” she points to the thinner folio, “a server will be by soon.” 

“Thank you,” you gulp out of courtesy, Steve echoing you. 

You clasp your hands in your lap as he takes the wine list and opens it. You’re not very hungry. Or thirsty. You’re scared. 

You glance at him, the around the restaurant. To the other diners, to the staff, he’s just another man. The suit hides his true character. If you passed him on the street, you’d assume he was some refined businessman. 

“Red or white?” He asks. 

You look at him again. The silver strands woven into his blond shine beneath the chandelier lighting above. You drag your hand up your sleeve. 

“You know, I’m not much of a drinker,” you murmur. 

“Well, it’s a special night, isn’t it, baby?” He drawls and closes the folder. 

He sets it down and you shift forward on the seat. He touches your lower back again, tickling you through your dress. Your posture goes rigid as you open the menu and focus on the options. He pulls his menu down, leaning it on the table’s edge as he continues to pet you, his other hand cradling the folder. 

“Steak. Mm. Been a while since I had a good filet,” he growls. 

“Sounds nice,” you nod. 

“What about you?” He wonders and traces his finger up your spine. 

“Hm, the pistachio crusted halibut sounds interesting,” you tap your nails on the page. 

“You don’t gotta peck like a bird around me,” his hand falls right back down, right along the top of your ass. “You really got a nice figure, sweetheart.” 

You fidget and flutter your lashes, “thank you. It’s not that. I was thinking... something light for dinner and the rice pilaf sounds interesting.” 

“Ah,” he trails along the cushion of your rear, “god, you’re so...” 

His voice peters off and a server appears across the table. He sits up and clears his throat. The man in his pressed white shirt and black slacks is amiable as he prompts you for your order. Steve lets you go first. You close the menu and hand it over after you order. 

“Of course, miss,” the server smiles at you. He’s young and handsome. These sort of restaurants only hire a certain type. 

“Bottle of champagne,” Steve begins, “we’re celebrating,” his arm curls around your middle, “and the New York Strip...” He finishes up his order and shoves the menu across the table. What’s that about? 

“Yes, sir, I’ll be back with the bottle and put your order in,” the server nods and glances between the both of you. 

He strides away and Steve growls. His fingertips dig into your side. He leans back and sucks his teeth. 

“Is something... wrong?” You twist to look at him. 

“That... guy. Looking at you like that,” he sneers. “He’s supposed to be taking our order, not ogling you.” 

“No, he wasn’t, Steve,” you assure him. 

“Sure as hell was. You’re just too sweet to notice. His eyes were all over you,” he huffs and his leg sways in agitation. “Judging me. Thinks I’m too old.” 

“Steve, he was perfectly polite,” you say, “please, you said it’s going to be a good night.” 

You bite your tongue as you examine his face. His sudden anger, his paranoia, unsettles you even more. His jaw ticks as he grits his teeth. 

“Steve,” you touch his sleeve, “please, I’m not here with the server, am I?” 

His blue eyes flick over to you. They search your face. You force a smile. 

You have to keep from wincing as he reaches for you. He frames your face with his large hand and grins, “you’re right, sweetheart.” He draws you closer. You let him. “All mine.” 

He meets your lips with his and you swallow a gasp. His nose brushes yours as he kisses you, softly, then his tongue glides over your lips. You resist for only a second then let him in. His hand slips behind your head as he locks you in. You brace his chest as he takes your breath away. 

“Ahem,” the server clears his throat. 

You rip away from Steve as he snickers. He wipes his mouth shamelessly as you shrink down in embarrassment. The server uncorks the bottle with a pop, his smile effortlessly hiding all judgment. He’s probably honed against all types of customers. 

He pours the bubbly and leaves the bottle. You watch him go and squirm. Steve sits up and takes his glass, “what’sa matter, sweetheart?” 

“N-nothing, I don’t-- I don’t usually do that... in public,” you sniff. 

He laughs again, “I know, you’re a good girl.” He hovers his glass. You take yours and he clinks his against it, “to us.” 

“To... us.” You echo softly. 

You drink as he does, mirroring him. It’s sweet and bubbly. He sets the glass down and reaches for the bottle. He grips it and drags it closer. 

“Only one for me, since I’m driving, so help yourself,” he says. “You deserve it. A nice night to let go.” 

“Oh, I...” you stare at the dark glass. Why did he order the whole bottle? 

He slaps his hand on your thigh and you squeak. Your hand falls over his instinctively. You look at him and lick the moisture from your lips. He growls and kneads your flesh. 

“Sweetheart,” he rasps. “Aren’t you happy? I’m here.” 

Your eyes dart back and forth, “yes, I’m happy.” 

He pushes his shoulders back and his cheek dimples, he shifts on the cushion. His other hand tugs at the top of his belt. 

“Not gonna lie, gonna be hard to hold out all night,” he smirks. “Six years...” 

You blink at him. You won’t look down. That’s too much. 

“You gonna be nice to me?” He leans in to nuzzle your cheek, tickling the back of your neck so you shiver. “Huh? I’m so pent up, baby, you gotta take it easy on me.” 

You shudder and ball your hand up tightly. Your stomach is roaring but not from hunger. The more you think about what he means, what he expects, the sicker you feel. 

“It’s been... a while for me too,” you assure him. “We can take it slow.” 

“Slow, baby?” He hums. “Oh, I don’t think I can.” 

[spongebobsoundtrack]

Richard Myhill - Surfin' Summer (a) Plays in:

45b. "Doing Time"

[yeepof]

I understand that tall men are our POV characters, but surely being like a foot taller than everyone around them would have some occasional consequences

[veliseraptor]

the weird schrödinger's emotion that is "that character death was narratively satisfying and emotionally impactful and ultimately the best way to handle their character arc" simultaneously with "noooo but I wanted them to live :( :( :("

[sapphic-luthor]

i’m going to hold your hands when i say this and i am only going to be kind about it once: ai does not belong in fandom spaces, ever. not in writing, not in art, not in video, not at all. it does not matter how bad you want to see your favourite characters kiss, or how much you need a bit of help finishing a chapter, or whatever.

make friends with artists. commission somebody. learn to draw yourself. ask for a beta read. try a writing partnership. fandom spaces are communities, so engage with them! it is about the journey and the fact that we all love something enough to create and build together about that thing.

spending 30 seconds to kill a tree and get an AI to push out some soulless empty piece of “content” is antithetical to the entire point of being engaged with fandom, and if you’ve taken to doing this you should really reconsider if you belong in these spaces with the rest of us.

[rioblitzle]

working retail