#the girl next door | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 2 days

Text

the girl next door 28

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such as age gap, manipulation, chronic illness, noncon/dubcon, coercion, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: A new neighbour moves in and upends your already disarrayed life.

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself.

This lewk but silverfox

As you come outside, your mom sits on the deck, under the umbrella with a pair of sunglasses over her eyes. You can hardly tell if she’s awake. You hug yourself as you come into the summer light and look around. There’s a bottle of sun lotion on the railing of the deck.

You cross the wooden planks and grab the bottle. As you pop the cap, your mom mutters. You turn as you squirt some into your hand. You look at her.

“Do you need some?” You ask.

“What in the lord’s name are you wearing?” She snarls.

“Um,” you look down, once more shocked by the sight of your own body. “A swim suit. I... I’ll put a shirt on.”

“Hey, Hol,” Steve comes out in a pair of lilac coloured trunks, “what do you think? Got the kiddo a swimsuit so she can enjoy the pool.”

“Oh, you did?” Your mom hums as she leans her face in her hand, “how nice.”

“Too bad you can’t join us,” Steve approaches and stops between you and your mom’s chair. “Got myself some new shorts.”

He turns to her as you’re left watching his back. His muscle is thick and you can see it tense with his movement. He’s tall and his shoulders are broad, his arms burly too. Age has only seemed to add to his strong form.

“Those are nice,” your mom says without much conviction, “I got a suit somewhere but... the water makes me sick. It’s these damn meds.”

“Yeah, but they keep you going,” Steve nears her and bends to kiss her forehead. “You can be our lifeguard, how about that? Been a while since I’ve been in the deep end.”

“You’re so...” she pauses and measures her words, “silly.”

“It’s a nice day,” he booms, “did you try the smoothie? I put some vitamin C in it, too. Should help you feel a bit better. Oh, kiddo,” he claps and turns to face you, “did you want a smoothie? I got fresh raspberries.”

“Erm, no thanks, I’m good,” you affirm and back away, focusing on spreading the lotion up your arms.

“Towels are down on the chairs,” he says, “Holly Berry,” he gives your mom a strange nickname, “you sure you don’t wanna move closer?”

“I needa stay in the shade,” she fans herself and reaches for the bright orange smoothie, “that damn inhaler. I told the doctor take me off it--”

“Now, he’s just doing his job--”

“I know. Don’t gotta keep saying so,” she slams the cup down and you glance over as her hand shakes violently. She’s worked up. She sits back as she tries to still herself, only for the tremor to quake through her.

“Right, well, chill out,” Steve shrugs and backs off, “we’ll go cool off in the water.”

He turns to face you and nears, “can I get some of that?”

You offer him the bottle then work at smearing the lotion along your collar bone and around the top of the suit. You bring your hands to your tummy, rubbing the oiliness into your skin as Steve takes the lotion. You notice his eyes linger on you for a moment.

“Come on, gotta check the temperature,” he waves you down the steps.

You follow as you continue to work the lotion into your skin. You still need to get your legs and face. You continue across the lawn to the pool and Steve dollops a health heap of lotion into one hand before giving back the bottle. He slaps his hand against his chest and rubs in the sunscreen, his fingertips pressing into his muscles as he works down to his softer tummy.

You bend to your legs. You would’ve rather a one-piece just so you wouldn’t have to use as much. As you put a light layer on your face, Steve grabs the bottle from where you left it on the lounger.

“Here, turn around,” he squirts out the lotion into his palm. “I’ll get your back, you get mine.”

You can’t argue. Besides, you can barely look at him. You’d rather stare at the fence.

You turn and drop your arms. He puts his hands over your shoulders, jolting you, kneading harder than you expect. You feel his breath fan over the back of your head and he traces his thumbs around your shoulder blade, catching on the tail of the tie behind your neck. For a moment, you think he might pull it free.

He spreads his hands, dragging them down, working in the lotion around your hips and sides, sending shivers through you. A trickle of sweat rolls down your spine and you draw away. His fingertips trail along your lower back wistfully.

“Here,” he snatches up the lotion and hands it to you, smiling. You nod and take it.

He turns his back to you and you gulp. Oof. You don’t know what’s worse. Being touched or touching him. It all seems so... strange even if it’s completely innocent. You’re just helping him. He does have a lot of back.

You squeeze out the cream and rub it between your hands, hovering them before his back before you make yourself touch him. You swipe your hands up and down and side to side, working around the lotion to full cover his back. He groans and twitches as you come along the back of his ribs.

“Careful,” he turns his head to speak over his shoulder, “old college injury. Don’t think it ever really healed.”

“Oh,” you ease up, “sorry.”

“Nah, you can’t hurt me, sweetie,” he insists and leans into your touch.

You finish up and retract, trying to absorb what’s left into your palms. The greasy sensation irritates you. He turns as you reach to fix the tie behind your neck, making sure it’s tight as it feels like the suit is slipping. He blinks and his eyes flick up and down.

“Well, are you gonna dive in?” He asks.

“Erm, uh, I can just use the ladder,” you say as you tiptoe around him to the edge. You look down into the crystalline water, “it looks cold.”

“Got the heater going,” he says, “shouldn’t be too bad.”

He stands beside you and extends his leg to dip a toe into it, “not bad at all.”

“Mm, maybe in a few minutes,” you cross your arms again, “I’m not a great swimmer.”

“Well, I can keep an eye on you,” he reaches to tickle along your upper arm, goose dumps rising across your skin.

“Sure, uh,” you edge away from him and run your fingers along where he touched. His hands are always on you. At least that’s how it seems to you. “Just... gotta build up my nerve.”

“Mm,” he backs up, “sure, well, there’s the diving board and... I guess you could just sunbathe.”

“Yeah, mayb--”

Before you can finish, you’re scooped off your feet. You cry out as Steve lifts you up and launches himself into the pool. He keeps you in his arms as he splashes into the water and you flail wildly. You’re swallowed up as the chlorine floods your mouth and nostrils and you choke beneath the surface.

You writhe against him, his thick arms around you, and try to free yourself. The knot at the front of your bikini catches your pinkie and you struggle to untangle both your hand and your body at once. You finally come up above the water and gasp as Steve follows, laughing as he keeps his embrace loosely around you.

“Sometimes you just need the extra push,” he beams, “isn’t it refreshing?”

You push the water away from your face and cough. As you do, he goes quiet and you spit up behind your hand. You can only taste the chlorinated water as you hack. You look up at him as his hands slowly creep up your sides. His blue eyes are fixated on you but not on your face.

You look down at your chest, the knot on the front of the suit barely clinging together as you spill out from the fabric. The top merely acts to frame your nudity and you sputter as you try to cover yourself and his hands continue to ascend. You back away from his grasp and turn away.

“Sweetie, it’s fine, all good,” he assures you.

“Why would you do that?” You sniffle.

“It was only some fun. I didn’t know... I’m sorry. I didn’t know the suit didn’t fit right.”

“It’s not the suit,” you stretch the wet fabric across your tits as best you can, keeping your back to him. “I said... I told you... I wanted to wait.”

“Ah come on, what good is having a pool if you don’t go in it?”

“It’s your pool,” you snap, your cheek on fire as the rest of you buzzes. You wade through the water with effort. “I never asked for it.”

“Now sweetie, don’t be like that.”

“Please,” you pull yourself up the later, the water slaking off you and threatening to drag down the top once more, “leave me alone.”

You cross your arms over your chest, hooking your hands over your shoulders, and rush away from the pool. You glance up at your mother as you pass the deck, hooking around to the gate instead. She doesn’t react as her head lolls over the back of the chair and her feet are splayed wide. You should get her inside but you can’t stop. You’re too humiliated.

You race through the gate, not bothering to close it behind you. You clammer around into your mother’s yard and storm up the steps, crashing through the front door. The tears spring the moment you break the threshold as it sets in. You can’t believe that happened. You can’t believe he saw it. You just... can’t.

#steve rogers #dark steve rogers #dark!steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #drabble #au #silverfox au #the girl next door #mcu #marvel #captain america #series

185 notes · View notes

darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 29 days

Text

the girl next door 1

Summary: A new neighbour moves in and upends your already disarrayed life.

This lewk but silverfox

“Mom, we should get going,” you say as you check your bag.

Your mother sits at the table. It’s cluttered as always. You can see her inhaler amid the mess. Wait, there’s another one. You cross the kitchen, only two steps, and grab both inhalers. You feel the subtle difference between them.

You take both, putting the full one back in the medicine cabinet and the other in the disposal bin. The doctor said the inhalent would help with your mother’s dopamine levels, balances her out a little, but the new treatment only seems to be another symptom of her disease. She hates doing it, she hates all of it, but you can’t blame her for that.

“We can’t be late for the consultation. We’ll be waiting another six months,” you come back to the kitchen.

She looks at you as she wobbles slightly. The tremor is more prominent than before. Each day you notice it more. All the little things changing about her. She’s a bit slower, her words don’t come easy or always clearly, and her mood grows grimmer and grimmer. So does yours.

You grab your purse and the keys. You’ll clean up when you get home. It doesn’t take very long for living to pile up though. Especially when you’re the only one to keep it in order.

Your mother grips the table and stands up. Getting her dressed was a battle already won. Her posture is slightly crooked as she shuffles around the table, “I’m moving.”

You step back, waiting patiently for her to round the table. She grumbles. Your mother was never bright and bubbly but ever since her diagnosis, she’s lost any glimmer of warmth. It’s like she’s living in a fog, just slowly wading through.

You walk down the hall ahead of her and pick out your shoes from the rack. As you kneel to tie your sneakers, she leans on the wall and slides her feet into the orthotic flats. She’s not very old yet. Neither of you expected her to decline so quickly.

You stand and open the door. You back up though the screen door and hold it for her. Her steps get a bit smoother the more she moves around. The permanent scowl sinks into the lines of her face as she comes out onto the porch. You lock the door behind her as she grunts and leans on the railing, stamping down each step to the walkway.

You follow behind her. That’s another problem. The lawn. The old mower broke. You haven’t been able to replace it.

As you trail your mother to the car, she swats you away. Sometimes you try too much for her. You know she must feel helpless. You back up as she sits heavily in the passenger seat and your eyes skim around the neighbourhood. The white sign on the lawn next to yours catches your eye.

You remember the finely dressed woman, her very image on the sign, and how she grimaced at the weeds and grass. If she’s going to sell the property, the neighbours shouldn’t be living in a jungle. You heard her say as much over the phone as she paced back and forth on the porch.

You mother pulls the door shut but it doesn’t click. You give it an extra push to secure it and round the hood. You get in the car and turn the key, rolling down the windows as the early summer morning crowds the tight space. Your mother mutters and wipes her forehead with a shaky hand.

“Let’s just go,” she sneers, “waste of my time...” she bends her arm over the open window, her fingers quivering, “damn doctors said it enough. Nothing they can do. Charlatans.”

“Mom,” you chide gently, “the surgery could help. If you qualify--”

“I heard ya last night,” she snaps. “Just drive.”

You nod and snap your mouth shut. You shift into reverse and back out of the drive. You know better than to talk too much. Your mother never liked hearing anything she didn’t want to hear. Facts are just an attack on her.

You steer down the street slowly, following the curve of the suburban street. The green lawns and white picket fences are palatial at first glance. It’s a 1950s fever dream implanted in the twenty-first century.

Your house is the black stain on an otherwise pristine canvas. The HOA must curse your grandmother for her leaving a perfectly nice home to a pair of beatnicks. You don’t blame them. You’re the puzzle piece that doesn’t fit, leaving a gaping hole in the picture.

The radio crackles on and you wince. Your mother struggles to turn the knob and the volume pendulums up and down. You reach to help her and she smacks your hand, only softly as she has little strength behind it. You retract and grip the wheel, listening to buzzing struggle of her unsteady. You just hope the appointment goes well.

🏠

Your mother hasn’t said much since the appointment. That worries you. What should be good news is just another dark cloud over her.

She sits as she often does; half-reclined in the chair by the window, watching the neighbourhood just outside the pane. She’s just a resentful of the picture-perfect neighbours as she if of everything else. As she is of you.

You tidy the kitchen table as the unsaid dangles in the air. You know better than to bring it up. She barely acknowledged it when the doctor said it. She’s a good candidate for surgery but it isn’t a cure. It will help with the symptoms but not stop them altogether. It’s not good enough for her but it might just be her only hope of relief, even if temporary.

“Bring me a coke,” your mother calls through and you hear the hollow tin clatter of an empty can.

You bring the dirty dishes to the sink and set them beside it. You go to the fridge to grab a red branded can and let the door shut on its own. As you enter the living room, your mother sits forward, the recliner snapping forward with her weight. She leans on and elbow as she squints through the window and cranes over the armrest.

You pick up the old can and put the new one on the small table by the chair. She sits back and takes the Coke, trembling as she struggles to crack the tab. You know better than to help her. The curl in her lip warns you better.

“Someone’s looking at the place next door,” she says.

“Oh?” You move behind her chair and try to the next house. You can only really see the edge of the porch from here. You could open the side window but that would give more than a view of the siding and might be too obvious. “New neighbours.”

“Eh, if it sells. Could do better without these stuck-up prissy bitches running around measuring grass,” she growls of the Home Owners’ Association.

You nod. She’s right. You’ve had to deal with that nosy blonde too many times.

“We’ll see,” she mutters as she finally gets the can open and slurps. “Just hope it’s not another bitch.”

You cross your arms and step closer to the window. You sense movement just beyond your vision and the realtor in her pantsuit comes down the front steps of the neighbouring house. She turns back to face someone you can’t see and speaks to him. Their words are garbled by the barrier of window and wall.

The woman smiles and spins to strut down to the sidewalk. A man follows after, a slow stroll in his long legs. He turns to face the house again and puts his hands in his pockets as he looks up at the facade. His eyes narrow as he considers it.

His gray hair is streaked with remnants of its former blond. If it wasn’t for the colour of his locks, you might not have guessed his age. He’s tall and his shoulders are broad. He’s built finely for any era.

Your mother leans forward again, “heh, lookie there,” she slurs.

She leers through the window as you stare blankly out. A new neighbour just means another person to complain about the lawn; or another person for your mother to complain about. The man pivots on his sole and pauses, his gaze set in your direction. You don’t think he can see you, not with how the sun reflects off the square panes. He stalls for just a moment before he turns complete, striding up towards the realtor.

You back up and retreat toward the kitchen. You mother hums as she continues to snoop through the window. The recliner squeaks beneath her as she shifts in the seat.

“Bit old for a family man,” she tuts.

#dark steve rogers #dark!steve rogers #steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #drabble #series #the girl next door #au #silverfox au #mcu #marvel #captain america

374 notes · View notes