Star Girl

You'd been expecting it for days now—watching the calendar bleed red X's toward this moment, each sunset another coin dropped into death's collection plate. Your father's debts didn't die with him. The Barnes family made sure everyone in Brooklyn understood that much.

Your fingers stilled on the dishrag, soap bubbles trembling against your wrists. Through the kitchen window, October rain slicked the fire escapes black, turning the whole neighborhood into something out of a fever dream. You could run. The thought flickered and died before it could catch flame. Where would you go? Who in this city would shelter someone marked by the Barnes name?

Three more knocks. Harder this time.

Your pulse kicked against your throat as you dried your hands, each movement deliberate, buying seconds you couldn't afford. The condolence cards still littered the kitchen table—With deepest sympathy and May he rest in peace—their pastel flowers mocking in the lamplight. Two weeks since they'd lowered him into Greenwood soil. Two weeks of waiting for this exact sound.

You smoothed your housedress with trembling hands, caught sight of yourself in the dark window—pale face, shadows under your eyes, hair escaping from pins that never quite held. You looked exactly like what you were: a girl in over her head, drowning in grief and debt.

The lock turned like a death rattle under your palm.

James Barnes filled your doorway like smoke fills a room—inevitable, suffocating, impossible to contain. You'd heard about him, of course. Everyone had. The Barnes family's primary enforcer was the kind of man mothers warned their daughters about in whispers, though those same mothers probably dreamed about him when the lights went out.

He was... not what you'd expected.

Tall and broad-shouldered in a charcoal suit that cost more than your father owed, rain darkening the fabric across his shoulders. His hair was slicked back from a face that belonged in those moving pictures your friends giggled over—sharp jaw, full mouth, eyes the color of a winter sky before snow. The kind of face that made smart girls stupid.

And God help you, you could feel your intelligence draining away as he stood there, studying you like a cat with a cornered mouse.

"Well, well." His voice rolled out like expensive bourbon, Brooklyn accent thick enough to cut. A smile played at the corner of his mouth, dangerous and knowing. "Ain't you just the sweetest little thing I've seen all week."

The words hit like a slap disguised as a caress. Heat crawled up your neck, part embarrassment, part something else entirely. Your hand tightened on the doorknob until your knuckles went white. "Mr. Barnes—"

"Bucky." He corrected, already pushing past you into the apartment like he had every right. The smell of him—rain and expensive tobacco, something darker underneath—invaded your lungs. "My father’s Mr. Barnes. I'm just Bucky, dollface."

He turned in your small foyer, giving you his back as he surveyed your apartment. The broad lines of his shoulders, the confident set of his stance—everything about him screamed danger. When he faced you again, his smile had sharpened into something predatory.

"You gonna close that door, sweetheart? Or you hoping the neighbors get a show?"

You pushed the door shut, the click of the lock loud as a gunshot in the tense silence. When you turned back, he'd moved closer—close enough that you had to tilt your head back to meet his eyes.

"I don't have it." The words tumbled out too fast, fear making you graceless. "The money. I don't have it yet, but I'm working on—"

"Sure you are." He reached out, fingers catching your chin. The touch was light but inescapable, forcing you to hold his gaze. "Working real hard in that factory, bringing home, what? Twelve dollars a week? Fifteen if you pull doubles?" His thumb brushed across your bottom lip, and your breath caught. "At that rate, you'll have me paid off in... let's see... about five years. Not counting interest."

Your stomach dropped through the floor. "I can—there must be some arrangement—"

"Oh, there's gonna be an arrangement, sweetheart." His hand slid from your chin to your throat, palm resting against your racing pulse. "Just maybe not the kind you're thinking. See, I got a look at you through that window while I was waiting. Watched you doing dishes like a good little housewife. And I got to thinking—waste of a perfectly good dame, letting you work your fingers to the bone in some factory."

"Please." The word came out breathless, his proximity affecting you in ways that made shame curl hot in your belly. "I'll do anything—"

"Anything?" His eyes flashed with interest, and you realized your mistake immediately. "Now that's dangerous talk, baby. Girl like you shouldn't make promises she ain't prepared to keep."

You tried to step back, but he followed, crowding you against the wall. This close, you could see the rain droplets still clinging to his eyelashes, could count the faint freckles across his nose. Could feel the heat radiating off him like a furnace.

"You're shaking," he observed, voice dropping to a rumble. "Do I scare you, pretty girl?"

"Yes." The honesty escaped before you could stop it.

"Good." His free hand came up to brace against the wall beside your head, caging you in. "You should be scared. But see, I'm looking at you, and I'm not seeing scared. I'm seeing something else." His thumb stroked along your throat, feeling your pulse jump. "I'm seeing curious. Interested. Like maybe part of you wonders what it would be like to stop being such a good girl all the time."

The heat in your face could have lit the whole building. "That's not—I'm not—"

"You know what I think?" He leaned closer, until his breath fanned across your cheek. "I think you've been cooped up in this apartment, playing nurse to your old man, working yourself to death, never having any fun. When's the last time a fella took you dancing? Bought you a nice dinner? Made you feel like a woman instead of a workhorse?"

"That's none of your business—"

"Everything about you is my business now." The words came out flat, matter-of-fact. "Your daddy made sure of that when he put his name on my books. But I'm willing to be... flexible about collection methods."

"What do you mean?"

He pulled back enough to study your face, and his expression shifted to something calculating. "How about we discuss this civilized-like? You got coffee in this joint?"

The whiplash of his mood change left you dizzy. "I—yes?"

"Good." He stepped back, giving you room to breathe at last. "Make us some coffee, and we'll hash this out like adults. Unless you'd rather I just take what I can carry and call it square? Though looking around..." He glanced at your shabby furniture, the worn rug, the water stain on the ceiling. "Doesn't look like that'd cover even the interest."

You pushed off from the wall on unsteady legs, grateful for the excuse to put distance between you. "Coffee. Right. I can—yes."

He followed you into the kitchen, and somehow the small space shrank even further with him in it. You were hyper aware of him as you moved—the weight of his gaze, the sound of his breathing, the way he dominated the room without even trying.

"Sit," you managed, gesturing at the kitchen table. Annoyed at your own automatic hospitality. "Please."

"Such nice manners." But he sat, pulling out a chair and settling into it like a king on a throne. His eyes tracked your movements as you lit the stove. "Your mother teach you those?"

"Yes." The word came out clipped as you measured coffee grounds with shaking hands.

"She teach you anything else?" The question was loaded with suggestion. "How to take care of a man? Make him comfortable? Keep him happy?"

You fumbled the coffee pot, nearly dropping it. "She taught me to be respectable."

"Respectable." He drew the word out like it tasted funny. "That's real nice, dollface. Real nice and real boring."

The chair creaked as he shifted, and when you glanced over your shoulder, he was lighting a cigarette with practiced ease. He caught you looking and winked, the gesture somehow more threatening than flirtatious.

"See something you like?"

You turned back to the stove quickly, face burning. "The coffee will be ready in a minute."

"Take your time. I'm enjoying the view."

You could feel his eyes on you as you worked, cataloging every movement. It made you self-conscious in a way that was entirely new—aware of how your dress pulled across your hips when you reached for cups, how the kitchen light probably showed the outline of your slip through the thin fabric.

"You know," he said conversationally, "most people in your position would be trying to butter me up right about now. Batting their lashes, showing a little leg, trying to work an angle. But not you."

"Would it help?" The question slipped out before you could stop it, curious and appalled.

His laugh was dark, appreciative. "Might. Depends on how good you are at it. You even know how to flirt, baby? Or did your respectable mama skip that lesson?"

"I know how to be honest."

"Honest." He sounded amused now. "All right, let's have some honesty then. Turn around. Let me get a good look at what we're working with."

Your hands stilled on the percolator. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me. Turn around. Slow-like."

"I'm not a piece of meat at the butcher's—"

"No, you're collateral on a debt." All humor fled his voice. "And I'm trying to figure out what that collateral's worth. So be a good girl and turn around before I lose my patience."

The threat in his tone was unmistakable. You set the percolator on the stove with careful movements, then slowly turned to face him.

He'd stubbed out his cigarette and was leaning back in the chair, arms crossed over his chest. His eyes moved over you with clinical precision, taking in everything from your scuffed shoes to your mended collar.

"Come here."

Your feet felt like lead. "The coffee—"

"Will keep." He crooked a finger at you. "I said come here."

You moved forward on unsteady legs until you stood before him. This close, you had to look down to meet his eyes, and the position made you feel strangely powerful for a moment. Until he spoke again.

"Turn." He made a spinning motion with his finger. "Let's see the whole package."

Humiliation burned through you, but what choice did you have? You turned in a slow circle, arms wrapped around yourself, feeling his gaze like hands on your body.

"Stop."

You froze, back to him now.

"You got a nice figure under all that fabric." His voice had roughened. "Real nice. Too bad you hide it under these nun clothes."

"They're work clothes—"

"They're a crime, is what they are." You heard the chair scrape and then he was behind you, not touching but close enough that you could feel his warmth. "A body like yours should be draped in silk. Shown off in pretty dresses that hug these curves."

His hands hovered near your waist, not quite making contact. "Yeah, I could work with this. Put you in something nice, teach you how to walk in heels, how to smile pretty for the right people..."

"I don't understand." Your voice came out embarrassingly breathy.

"Sure you do." His breath stirred the hair at your nape. "Your daddy owes me a grand. You got maybe fifty bucks worth of stuff in this whole joint. That leaves us with a sizeable gap. But you?" His hands finally settled on your waist, light but possessive. "You could be worth something. If you're smart about it."

You jerked away from his touch, spinning to face him. "I'm not—I won't—"

"Won't what?" He moved back to lean against the counter, casual as could be. "Won't let me help you? Won't take the deal that keeps you out of the gutter? What exactly won't you do, princess?"

"I won't be your whore." The word tasted bitter on your tongue.

"Who said anything about whoring?" He looked genuinely amused. "If I wanted a whore, I know where to find them. Hell, for a grand I could have a whole stable. What I need is something different."

The percolator started to bubble. You turned to tend to it, needing the familiar action to steady yourself. "Then what do you need?"

"A girl on my arm. Someone respectable. Clean. The kind of dame you bring home to meet the family, not the kind you bang in the back of a Studebaker."

Your hands shook as you poured coffee. "I don't—why would you need that?"

"Because even bad men got mothers." He accepted the cup you offered, fingers brushing yours in the exchange. "And mine's been breaking my balls about settling down. Finding a nice girl, giving her grandkids, the whole nine yards."

"So find one."

"I did." His eyes locked on yours over the rim of his cup. "She's standing right in front of me, looking like butter wouldn't melt in her mouth."

"I'm not nice." The protest sounded weak even to your ears. "And I'm certainly not your girl."

"Not yet." He set down the coffee, leaning forward. "But you could be. For a price."

You sank into the chair across from him, suddenly exhausted. "What exactly are you proposing?"

"Simple. You be my steady girl. Come to family dinners, work events, anywhere I need a pretty face and good manners. In exchange, I knock a hundred bucks off your debt for every major shindig. Fifty for smaller stuff."

Your mind raced, doing the math. "That would take—"

"Few months, tops. I got a busy social calendar." He pulled out another cigarette but didn't light it, just rolled it between his fingers. "Unless you'd prefer to pay it off the traditional way? Though at twelve bucks a week..."

"Why me?" The question burst out before you could stop it. "You could have any girl in Brooklyn. Pretty ones. Experienced ones. Ones who actually know how to—to be what you need."

"Those girls got histories. Reputations. They know the score and they want things—marriage, money, status." He finally lit the cigarette, exhaling smoke through his nose. "You? You're clean. Untouched. Got that wide-eyed innocent thing that'll make my mother cream her panties."

The crude comparison made you flinch. "Do you have to be so vulgar?"

"Does it bother you?" He leaned forward, predatory interest sparking in his eyes. "Good girls like you probably never heard a man talk about real things. About what we want. What we think about when we see a dame like you all buttoned up and proper."

"Stop."

"You know what I thought when I saw you through that window?" He continued as if you hadn't spoken. "Thought about how easy it'd be to mess you up. Wrinkle that pressed dress. Pull those pins from your hair. Make you look like you'd been properly fucked instead of washing dishes like somebody's spinster aunt."

Heat flooded your face and pooled low in your belly. "You're disgusting."

"I'm honest." He flicked ash into one of the sympathy cards, watching your face as he defiled it. "And if you're honest with yourself, you'd admit you've wondered. What it would be like. What I could teach you."

"I haven't—"

"Liar." The word was soft, almost affectionate. "Bet you've been locked up in this apartment so long you're climbing the walls. Bet you lie in that narrow bed at night, touching yourself, wondering when you're gonna get to live a little."

Blood roared in your ears. "How dare you—"

"Tell you what." He stood abruptly, and you shrank back in your chair. "I'm gonna make this real simple. You got three choices. One: you find a way to pay me cash. Full amount, by end of the week."

"You know I can't—"

"Two: I take what I can get and put the word out that you're in the market for alternative employment. Plenty of houses downtown need fresh faces. Young, pretty, desperate—you'd do real well."

Nausea rolled through your stomach. "Please—"

"Or three." He moved around the table toward you. "You take my deal. Be my girl when I need you. Play the part, look pretty, keep your mouth shut when it matters and open when I tell you to."

You stood on shaking legs, backing away. "I need time to think—"

"No." He caught your wrist, not hard but firm. "You need to decide. Right now. Because I got other stops to make tonight, and I ain't coming back here without an answer."

"You can't just—"

"I can. I am." He pulled you closer, until barely a breath separated you. "But here's something to sweeten the pot. You say yes, and I'll throw in a kiss. Just one. So you know what you're signing up for."

Your heart hammered against your ribs. "That's supposed to convince me?"

"Yeah." His free hand came up to cup your jaw. "Because you've been wondering since I walked in what it would be like. And baby?" His thumb stroked across your cheekbone. "I'm really fucking good at it."

Something unfamiliar and ugly stirred in your stomach. "You're unbelievably arrogant."

"I'm right." He tilted your face up. "So what's it gonna be? You gonna be smart? Or you gonna let pride cost you everything?"

You stared up at him, this beautiful, terrible man who held your future in his callused hands. Thought of your father's debts, of rent coming due, of the factory girls with their hollow eyes and rattling coughs. Thought of your empty bed and empty future and empty stomach when the money ran out.

"Sundays," you heard yourself say, voice wavering. "I get Sundays. To visit my parents' graves."

Something flickered in his eyes—surprise, maybe, or respect. "Done."

"And I want... boundaries. You can't just—just take whatever you want."

"Be specific."

Your face burned, heat flooding your cheeks. Your tongue felt thick in your mouth. "No... expectations. Beyond what we agree to. I won't share your bed. Won't be your—your kept woman."

"Kept woman." He seemed to taste the words. "That's real delicate, dollface. But let's be clear about something." His grip on your wrist tightened slightly. "You'll be living in my house. Wearing clothes I buy. Eating food I provide. If that ain't kept, I don't know what is."

"That's different—"

"Is it?" He released your wrist only to settle both hands on your waist, holding you in place. "But fine. I won't drag you to my bed. Won't force nothing you don't want. But baby?" His voice dropped to a growl. "You're gonna want it. Gonna beg for it before this is over."

"Never."

"We'll see." His hands flexed on your waist, thumbs brushing the underside of your ribs through the fabric. "So is that a yes? You'll be my girl?"

The word stuck in your throat. Girl. Such a simple word for such a complex trap. But what choice did you have?

"Yes."

Triumph flashed across his face, sharp and predatory. "Good choice, honey. Now come here and seal the deal."

"You said a kiss. Just one."

"That's right." He backed you against the kitchen counter, caging you in with his body. "Just one. Better make it count."

Your hands came up to his chest automatically, whether to push him away or pull him closer, you couldn't tell. The expensive fabric of his suit was soft under your palms, the body beneath it hard as granite.

"I haven't—" The admission stumbled out. "I don't know how—"

"I know." His hand slid into your hair, pins scattering to the floor with tiny metallic sounds. "That's what makes this so fucking sweet. Now shut up and let me teach you something."

You had just enough time to suck in a breath before his mouth covered yours.

The first contact sent lightning racing down your spine. His lips were softer than they had any right to be, warm and sure as they pressed against yours. You made a sound—a squeak of pure shock that would have mortified you if you could think—and your entire body went rigid.

He pulled back just enough to murmur against your lips. "Relax, baby. I ain't gonna bite. Not this time."

Then he was kissing you again, slow and patient, like he had all night to take you apart. His hand in your hair tilted your head for a better angle while the other splayed across your lower back, holding you steady. The counter edge dug into your spine but you barely noticed, too overwhelmed by the sensation of his mouth moving against yours.

You'd been kissed before—brief, dry pecks that left no impression. This was something else entirely. This was... consumption. He kissed like he was trying to brand himself onto your soul, like he wanted to ruin you for anyone else who might try.

Your hands fisted in his shirt as the shock began to wear off, replaced by something hotter, hungrier. Your body softened against his without your permission, melting into his heat like wax near a flame. He made a sound of approval that rumbled through his chest and into yours.

"That's it," he murmured, breaking away to trail his lips along your jaw. "Good girl. Such a good girl, opening up for me."

"I'm not—" But your protest died as he found a spot just below your ear that made your knees buckle.

"Yeah, you are." His teeth scraped against your pulse point, light enough not to mark but sharp enough to make you gasp. "So sweet. So fucking innocent. Makes me want to wreck you."

His mouth returned to yours before you could respond, and this time there was nothing patient about it. He kissed you like he was starving and you were a feast, like he wanted to crawl inside you and live there. When his tongue traced the seam of your lips, you understood what he wanted without being told.

The first slide of his tongue against yours pulled a sound from your throat you'd never made before—desperate, needy, completely involuntary. Your whole body shuddered, a tremor that started at the base of your spine and rolled outward like an earthquake.

"Fuck," he groaned into your mouth, and the profanity should have appalled you. Instead, it made heat pool between your thighs in a way that had you pressing them together. "Christ, you're shaking for me. You that worked up from just a kiss?"

You tried to answer, but he was already kissing you again, deeper this time. His tongue stroked against yours with devastating skill, teaching you a rhythm that made your head spin. You tried to follow his lead, to give back what you were getting, and when your tongue tentatively met his, he growled like a man possessed.

His hand tightened in your hair, holding you still as he plundered your mouth. The other hand slid down to grip your hip, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise through the fabric. You should have protested the possessive handling. Instead, you arched into him, seeking more contact, more pressure, more everything.

Time lost meaning. The world narrowed to his mouth on yours, his hands holding you in place, the solid weight of him pressing you into the counter. Your lungs burned for air but you couldn't bear to break away, too drunk on the taste of him—coffee and cigarettes and something darker, essentially male.

He bit your bottom lip, a sharp nip that made you gasp, then soothed it with his tongue. The alternating pain and pleasure short-circuited something in your brain. Your hands slid up to tangle in his hair, messing his perfect style, pulling him closer.

"Jesus," he panted against your mouth. "Look at you. Coming apart for me already. I barely touched you and you're about to combust."

"Shut up," you managed, and pulled his head back down.

He laughed into the kiss, dark and delighted. "There she is. There's that fire I knew was hiding under all that propriety."

His hips pressed forward, pinning you more firmly against the counter, and you felt—oh God. The hard length of him pressed against your belly, obvious even through layers of fabric. The evidence of his arousal should have terrified you. Instead, it made you feel powerful. You did that. You, with your inexperience and nun clothes and good girl manners.

He must have felt your realization because he ground against you deliberately, making sure you felt every inch. "Yeah, baby. That's what you do to me. Got me hard as a fucking rock just from kissing you."

The crude words made your face flame, but lower, between your legs, something clenched with want. You pressed your thighs together harder, trying to ease the ache building there.

"You feel it too, don't you?" His mouth moved to your throat, sucking at the sensitive skin. "That need. That empty feeling that wants filling. Bet if I put my hand under that ugly dress, I'd find you soaking wet for me."

You shuddered. "Don't—"

"Don't what? Don't tell the truth? Don't make you face what your body already knows?" He bit down where your neck met your shoulder, hard enough to mark, and your vision whited out. "You can lie to yourself all you want, dollface. But your body's honest. It knows who it belongs to now."

His mouth returned to yours, swallowing any protest you might have made. This kiss was filthier, deeper, his tongue fucking into your mouth in a rhythm that made your hips move involuntarily. You were making sounds—desperate, needy little whimpers that would have mortified you if you could think. But thinking was impossible with his hands on you, his mouth devouring yours, his body caging you in like you were something precious he refused to let escape.

You didn't know how long he kissed you. Minutes? Hours? Days? Time meant nothing in the face of such overwhelming sensation. You were drowning in him, in the taste and smell and feel of him, and the terrifying part was that you didn't want to surface for air.

When he finally pulled back, you both were breathing like you'd run a marathon. His perfectly styled hair was completely wrecked, sticking up where your fingers had gripped. His lips were swollen, slick with your shared saliva. And his eyes—God, his eyes were nearly black with want, only a thin ring of blue remaining.

You probably looked worse. You could feel how swollen your lips were, how flushed your face must be. Your hair had come completely undone, falling around your shoulders in waves. And between your legs... you squeezed your thighs together, mortified by the wetness you could feel there.

"Look at you," he said, voice rough as gravel. "Thoroughly kissed. Marked up. Looking like somebody's been taking real good care of you."

His thumb traced your bottom lip, and you couldn't help the way your tongue flicked out to taste it. His eyes flared with heat.

"Fuck." The word came out strangled, and something shifted in his expression—a flicker of vulnerability that disappeared so fast you might have imagined it. His jaw clenched. "Christ, no wonder your old man kept you locked up. One kiss and you're ready to spread your legs for the first man who shows you a good time."

The cruel words hit like cold water, shocking after the heat of his kiss. You flinched, and his smile turned mean.

"What? Thought this was some fairy tale? Thought I'd kiss you and fall in love?" He laughed, but it sounded forced. "You really are green, aren't you? This is business, dollface. Nothing more."

"I know what this is," you managed, though your voice shook.

"Do you?" He pulled out a wad of cash, thick enough to make your eyes widen, and tossed it carelessly on the table. It landed next to your father's sympathy cards, the bills fanning out like an insult. "Buy yourself something that doesn't look like it came from a church rummage sale. Something that shows you got tits. Maybe some lipstick that won't come off so easy."

Your face burned with humiliation. "I don't need your money—"

"Yeah, you do." He was already at the door, not looking at you. "Eight o'clock tomorrow. Don't be late. And dollface?" He glanced back, but his eyes didn't quite meet yours. "Try not to read too much into this. You're a debt and a convenience. That's all."

The door closed behind him with a soft click. Your knees immediately gave out, and you slid down the counter to sit on the floor, fingers pressed to lips that still tingled from his kiss.

What had you done? What had you agreed to? And why did his cruel dismissal hurt more than it should?

You could still taste him. Still feel the phantom pressure of his hands, his mouth, his body holding you in place. Your skin felt too tight, like you might burst out of it at any moment. And between your legs...

You pressed your thighs together harder, but it only made the ache worse. He'd kissed you like he was drowning, held you like you were precious, then tossed money at you like you were exactly what he'd implied—a piece of goods to be purchased and dressed up.

But you'd felt the way his hands shook, just slightly, when he pulled away. Heard the rough catch in his voice before he covered it with cruelty. He could pretend all he wanted that you were just business, but his body had told a different story.

You sat on your kitchen floor until your breathing returned to normal, staring at the money scattered across your table. More cash than you'd seen in months, thrown at you like scraps to a dog. Part of you wanted to burn it. The practical part knew you'd spend it on exactly what he demanded—a dress that would make you look like you belonged in his world, even if you never would.

You'd agreed to be Bucky Barnes'... what? Pretend sweetheart? Fake companion? The terminology from your mother's generation felt antiquated, but his “girl" seemed too modern, too casual for whatever this arrangement was.

One thing was certain—you were in deep trouble. Because despite his cruel words, despite the dismissive way he'd thrown money at you like you were nothing, you were going to dream about him. About the way he'd kissed you like he wanted to consume you whole. About the hardness pressed against your belly and the way he'd groaned into your mouth like you were unraveling him.

About the split second before his mask slipped back into place, when he'd looked at you like you'd shaken something loose in him he hadn't expected.

The coffee had gone cold on the table. The sympathy cards lay scattered, defiled with ash and now mocked by dirty money. Tomorrow you'd walk into the Barnes family home on the arm of their enforcer. Tomorrow you'd start playing a role that might destroy everything you thought you knew about yourself.

Tonight, you climbed to your feet on shaky legs and gathered the bills with trembling fingers. You'd buy the dress. Play the part. Be his empty-headed arm candy who didn't know she was being used.

But you knew the truth, even if he didn't want to admit it. That kiss had shaken him just as much as it had destroyed you. And maybe, just maybe, that gave you more power than either of you realized.

You touched your swollen lips one more time, remembering not just the heat of his mouth, but the way he'd said "fuck" like the word had been punched out of him. Like you'd affected him in ways he hadn't anticipated.

Eight o'clock tomorrow. Less than twenty-four hours to figure out how to play a part you'd never auditioned for. How to be the kind of girl who belonged on Bucky Barnes' arm. How to survive in his world without losing yourself completely.

But as you got ready for bed, the money tucked away in your kitchen drawer, you wondered if the real danger wasn't in losing yourself.

It was in finding out that maybe, underneath all his cruelty and dismissal, James Barnes was just as lost as you were.

Now, you wail in frustration, falling back down on the king-sized bed with a cute thump. Steve almost smirks. He knows you’re in no condition to walk – not when your legs won’t stop shaking and you’re still bleeding. And sure, maybe he should’ve called the physician about twelve hours ago, but you were way too delectable to neglect for even a second. He wanted to savour your loveliness some more, ruin you a little more, break you down just a little more before the doctor examines you.

 And then he’d do it all over again because he deserved to.

“Two agents will be here shortly to help you get ready.” Steve says finally.

Your head whips over in his direction, and he loves how your entire body jumps when he speaks to you. He knows he still holds that authority over you, that special importance that only a man of Steve’s calibre could possess. Despite the fact that he’s undoubtedly the villain in your eyes, which he doesn’t give a single fuck about. He knows deep down you still hold him in high regard – after all, he was an important, respected government figure. A hero. Your saviour. And you? You were just a dumb little girl.

“G-Get ready?” You squeak.

Steve feels his dick harden again – not that it had ever gone fully soft to begin with. He doubts he’ll ever not be hard in your presence ever again. Not when you were so deliciously sweet and broken and cute right in front of him.

“Your family has sent a bag of your belongings. The agents will help you get ready so the physician can see you.” Steve says, keeping his voice level and emotionless.

He can practically see your heart lurch up to your throat as you sit up even straighter.

“My family? They know I’m here? A-Are they coming to get me?”

This time, Steve allows himself to smirk freely, ever-amused by the tiny bit of hope in your voice.

“They know. And they happily provided my agents a bag of your belongings once they were informed that you were under my care, and will be for the foreseeable future.” His tone is smooth and calculated, knowing this information will hurt you. Of course, being Captain America had its perks – including the undying love and adoration that regular civilians like your parents had for him. They’d been happy that Steve had plucked you up and wanted to keep you. As they should be, because they knew what was best for you.

Your face crumples like a piece of paper, and the now familiar sight of your sweet tears as they glisten down your cheeks gets Steve even harder. Fuck, all he really wants to do is grab you, push you back down on his bed and fuck the living daylights out of you again. You were such a goddamned baby, crying your eyes out like a little fucking girl because your mommy and daddy didn’t give enough of a fuck about you to save you from the big bad wolf.

Well, you were young after all. At some point during the previous night, in between the animalistic fucking and the touching, he’d had you beneath him. Kissing the life out of you because he couldn’t get enough of your salty sweet lips, and the taste of your pure submission. “How old are you?” He’d asked.

You’d told him, in that sexy breathless whisper of yours, the one that let him know that you were half scared, and half overwhelmed with the pleasure he was drawing out of your body. Between pretty gasps and some more kisses, his tongue probing your mouth whilst he’d lazily fingered you (a short reprieve for you both before he’d inevitably fuck you again, over and over again all night). You’d told him you had one year left of college, how you were so close to graduating.

And that was exactly why you were so perfect for Steve – someone young and pretty and innocent like a little flower, someone he could defile over and over again. Someone with which he could let his inner darkness take over, and then watch while you cried your little baby tears as he put you through everything he deserved to put you through.

“Th-They don’t care?” You sputter now, hiccupping and crying like it’s the end of the goddamned world that your parents hadn’t given more of a fuck about you, and Steve relishes every second of it.

“They know what’s best for you.” He rises to his feet and fixes his tie. He’d woken up and gotten ready hours before you, as he’d had a press conference to attend. Of course, the first thing he’d done in the morning was fuck your sleeping body, nestling his fat dick between your peachy-warm ass and taking your tight, broken little pussy one last time before he had to go. You’d woken up with a start, crying and trying to fight him off with renewed vigour, but he’d had you settled down on his dick soon enough. Clearly, since he’d gotten you off three times before he’d unloaded inside you, revelling in the sound of your sobs.

He'd gone on to stand on a podium at the press conference and give a speech about HYDRA’s attack at your university yesterday. How, thanks to him and the Avengers, there had been no casualties. Not a single life lost. He’d received a hero’s welcome from the general public, with reporters scrambling to ask him question after question on how brave he’d been, how countless students now owed their lives to him. As he always did, he’d painted a gracious smile on his face – the perfect poster boy of bravery and humility. And then he’d come home to precious, little you. Stirring on his king-sized bed after a night of ruthless fucking.

Now, he had a meeting to attend, which meant he didn’t need you or your body for the next few hours. Therefore, the doctor could check up on you.

But, before Steve leaves, a thought enters his mind. In two long strides, he crosses the room. You gape as he nears you, cringe away from him when his thumb and forefinger grab your chin roughly, making you look up at him. And fuck, you look so innocent and sweet, so afraid of him. It makes him want to ditch his meeting and get back into bed with you. Show you and teach you everything about sex that your innocent mind undoubtedly didn’t know. Hell, he’d popped your cherry last night but he’d been so preoccupied with your cute little pussy that he’s still yet to use your mouth or your other hole.

But he needs to set something straight first.

“You are my property.” He says it plainly, matter-of-factly. Long ago, Steve had mastered the art of keeping his face neutral, and he knows you’re intimidated by him. He can see you, feel you, shaking under his grip. “That means you do not speak to any other man without my permission, or without me there with you.”

You suck in your breath, but you don’t say anything. Not that you could even if you wanted to, since he’s holding your jaw so tightly. One little jerk of his wrist and it would all be over for you. Sweet little girl. Life over before it even began. Of course, Steve has no intention of killing you, but he wants you to believe that he could, and he knows that you, sweet naïve little you, will believe it.

“No talking unnecessarily with the doctor or any other men you may encounter whilst I’m gone today.” Steve continues. Of course, he has a lot of other rules for you too but he’d let you know them in due course. “As my personal property, I expect you to obey what I am telling you right now. If the doctor has any questions for you, you are allowed to answer him but nothing more than that. Just know that I have eyes and ears everywhere, and I’ll know if you disobey me in any shape or form.”

He lets go of you roughly, pushing you down till you’re lying on your side. He takes one last look at you, a long, lingering look filled with lust and want. You look scared out of your mind, and he wouldn’t have you any other way. He exhales slowly, before beginning to make his way out of the room once more.

“I’ll tell him you raped me.”

Your voice carries across his bedroom like a whisper, and Steve probably wouldn’t have even heard it had it not been for his enhanced hearing. His jaw tightens, a wave of irritation rumbling inside him at your choice of word. Expressionless, he turns back around. You’ve pulled yourself up into a sitting position, and you look so tiny on his huge bed. So tiny and scared and shaking – like a little baby who has no idea who she’s up against. He meets your sad, accusatory eyes, his dick hardening even more when he sees the fire’s back within them. But all he does is look at you, daring you to say more.

You swallow, as if trying to harness all the strength you possibly can from within you. “I-I’ll tell him you kidnapped me and raped me. And he’ll see for himself once he looks at me, anyone would!” Your voice breaks as you glance down at yourself, at your bruised and bloodied body. You sniffle, “You’re a rapist and everyone’s gonna know!”

This time, Steve takes his time, leisurely making his way back in your direction. And it’s comical, how quickly your bravado dissipates. You cringe back again, crawling to the edge of the bed in a bid to get away from him. But where would you go? You could hardly take a single step without falling over your shaking legs. It makes Steve’s lip curl in amusement, watching how you start to scramble, terror evident in your eyes. Along with the immediate regret for what you’ve just said to him.

“I-I’m sorry, I’m sorry, Captain, please, I didn’t mean to, I didn’t–”

Your breathing sounds laboured once Steve finally reaches you, and you look like you’re about to pass out.  Scared out of your mind like the stupid little girl you are. A rapist. Who the fuck did you think you were, calling Steve that? Comparing him to the vermin who prowled the streets and took advantage of women, the very same low-lives who Steve himself had personally put behind bars numerous times. He’d never be like them. No, this was different. He deserved this. He deserved you and your body. You were his. He could do whatever he wanted with your body, after everything he’d done to save you, to save the world.

You look up at him, swallowing harshly as if expecting the worst. But all Steve does is stroke your cheek softly. His fingers trail the smooth expanse of your face, your cheekbones, your temple, your forehead, your jaw. He strokes your face like you’re his little pet, and predictably, you start to relax. He can feel the goosebumps he’s leaving against your skin, and he knows the effect he has on you no matter how much you fight against him, or how much you accuse him of wronging you.

That’s when he draws his hand back and slaps you hard across the face.

The shock of the blow has you opening your mouth in a silent cry, but nothing comes out except for a pathetic squeak. You fall back down on his bed, clutching your face as tears of pain stream down your cheeks.

“Tell him.” Steve says softly, “Tell anyone you want. Let’s see what they do about it.”

***

Steve is hard throughout his meeting. All he can think about is you, his perfect little secret locked away in his room. None of the others could ever even dream of having a girl as lovely, soft and sweet as you.

Bucky’s girl was unruly and wild – he’d found her at a nightclub of all places, which meant her pussy was probably as used as the toilets in the dinky joint he’d met her at. And no matter how happy Bucky seemed now, Steve knew it was all a farce. That unkempt slut would never truly be the right fit for Bucky, and Steve knows his best friend deserves better. Steve would never settle like that; he would never be like him.

Tony’s wife – Pepper – was a vapid fool whom her husband had just made VP of Stark Industries. A woman in such a high-ranking position meant clearly for a man? Steve still feels revulsion when he thinks about it. No wonder Tony was a raging alcoholic – allowing his wife to wear the pants in their relationship had clearly chipped away at the old man’s sanity. Steve would never be like him.

Then there was Bruce. He had Natasha but he didn’t know how to control someone like her. He was too busy locked up in his laboratory, doing countless experiments per day. Tinkering with machines and chemicals and whatnot. All while Natasha ran roughshod all over town. Steve had heard stories of the redhead’s promiscuity. Bruce was a fool not to keep her in check. Steve would never be like him.

Thor still pined over Jane, the woman he’d claimed was the love of his life. But she’d gone and died on him. Steve doesn’t believe in love, but Thor’s situation reminds him of Peggy. What a fool he’d been back in the day, allowing himself to fall for someone as rotten as Peggy. She’d played him, danced circles around him and laughed while he’d scrambled after her. Made sacrifice after sacrifice for her. Then he’d woken up one day and realised she, like most women, was an airheaded whore. Steve didn’t think about Peggy at all anymore. In fact, he was happy she was dead now. And unlike Thor, Steve never pined over his past. He’d never be like that.

Clint and Sam, thankfully, had their heads screwed on the right way. Both of them had nice little housewives tucked away in their homes. A baby on their hip, an apron over their dress. Barefoot and pregnant, hidden away from anyone else. Steve could respect that. Sure, Sam partied a lot and stepped out on his wife more often than not. But he was a man and men had needs, and Steve could understand that.

Although neither Clint’s wife nor Sam’s wife were half as beautiful or innocent as you. No, Steve had won in the end, picked the best of the litter, the cream of the crop. And soon, you’d be his little wife, too. Tucked away in one of his suburban properties, hidden from the public eye. And, of course, he’d knock you up too. If he hasn’t already, that is.

That’s all Steve can think about throughout the whole meeting. Not that it’s anything important, anyways. Tony is droning on about something or the other – Steve doubts anyone is listening. Tony was a fucking fool, and everyone knew the true leader of the Avengers was Steve. He was the one everyone listened to, the one everyone reported to and responded to. Steve knows he holds all the power in the world. Presidents, kings, world leaders, they all practically bowed down to him. Tony was nothing but a shrivelled up, coked up, alcoholic that Steve chose to keep around out of pity.

He makes a few pleasantries once the meeting is over. Bucky invites him over for lunch with him and his girl, but Steve declines. He knows Bucky just wants his best friend and his girlfriend to get along, but Steve doesn’t view women as equals to get along with. That’s why, if he had his way, Natasha wouldn’t be a part of the Avengers at all. Anyways, he knows Bucky’s girl is temporary – nobody kept whores around for too long. Sure, Bucky was infatuated right now, but soon his best friend would want to settle down – and it wouldn’t be with a slut like his current girlfriend was. No, Bucky needed a nice, quiet, bookish, innocent, young girl. Like how Steve had you.

And with that thought, he quickly makes his way back to his apartment, back to you. The physician is leaving as soon as Steve arrives, ready with a full report.

“She’s hurt bad, Captain.” The doctor says, his face not revealing a single emotion, which Steve prefers. It’s not the first time Steve has sent a girl to be checked up by him, and it probably wouldn’t be the last. “Her pelvic region is in a very vulnerable state. Sprained in many areas, and she’s lucky she didn’t break anything down there.”

Steve feels nothing. He knew you were injured, that much was expected. How could you not be? What with how small you were and how big he was? There was bound to be some type of damage. No surprise there.

The doctor continues: “She needs time to heal, Captain. Apart from her sprains, she is also suffering from some tearing and bleeding. It will heal, but only with time. I have prescribed her medicine for the pain, but in order for her to heal properly and fully, she cannot be subjected to any vaginal sex or penetration of any kind for at least two weeks.”

Steve’s mood sours immediately. Not being able to enter your heavenly little snatch for two weeks sounded completely absurd to him. Now that he’d had your tight little pussy for one night, he expected free access to it whenever he wanted. But to be barred from what he surely owned? It was insane torture. Half of him wants to throttle the doctor right then and there.

But all he does is nod, and waits till the doctor shows himself out.

Quietly, Steve makes his way through his apartment, heading straight for his bedroom. He tries to formulate a plan of action in his head. How was he to navigate these next two weeks? Of course, he’d still keep you in his room, even if he couldn’t use you sexually. You were his property after all, and two weeks wasn’t forever. It was a long time to not fuck, however, and Steve makes a mental note to inform his agents to have a few girls sent up to one of his other apartments for the time being. They wouldn’t compare to you, but they’d have to do.

He opens the door to his bedroom and immediately pauses. There you are, sat in the middle of his bed. You’ve changed into a pair of pyjamas; a silk button up top and matching shorts with little hearts printed on them. Steve doesn’t think he’s seen anything more girlish and cute – they must have been sent along with your other stuff from back home.

Sure enough, you have a pink backpack open in front of you, and you’re sifting through it like it’s a treasure chest and not some cheap piece of luggage that looks like it’s been through several rounds of tug-of-war. Pulling out clothes and holding them close, as if he’s fucking smuggled you out of the country or something, and you’ve finally gotten a care package from home.

But then you shriek in delight, grabbing what looks to be a stuffed animal from inside your bag and hugging it close.

“Chester, you’re here!” You squeal happily – the happiest Steve has ever seen you in the short time that he’s known you. And fuck, the blood rushes straight down to his dick as he watches you hug the teddy bear close to your chest, nuzzling its fur against your nose. And you’re so preoccupied by the dumb toy that you still haven’t noticed that you’re not alone in the bedroom. “I missed you so much! I’m so glad Mom and Dad sent you!”

It’s the rawest, fucking sweetest sight of innocence Steve has ever fucking seen. You, all soft and tiny on his huge bed, in your silky pyjamas, all freshly showered and looking like a goddamned angel. As if that wasn’t enough to get Steve all riled up, that sheer juxtaposition between your softness and naivete compared to Steve’s own roughness. But you had to get your goddamned childish toy out, hugging it like it was your lifeline, looking like the sweetest, most corruptible baby girl he’s seen in his entire goddamned life. Fuck, it’s like you were begging for it.

With a guttural growl, Steve lunges for you. He feels something animalistic take over his entire body. And he’s always prided himself in being disciplined, trained his body and mind to show restraint, self-control. But all that goes out the fucking window when he sees you sitting so pretty on his bed with your goddamned teddy bear. The sight goes straight to his fucking dick and now he feels like a fucking animal.

You realise a second too late that you’re not alone, and you scream bloody murder as Steve grabs you. But even if you’d had a head start, you wouldn’t have been able to escape him. Even if your body was a hundred percent healthy, even if you were in an open field or somewhere public instead of the closed quarters of Steve’s bedroom. Even then, you wouldn’t have stood a single chance. Steve feels lust like how he’s never felt it before. Lust like fire, catching all over his body, searing his fucking soul.

For a moment, he feels incensed to the point of madness. How dare you be so fucking perfect? Like a fucking doll laid out to tempt him. Looking all heavenly and sweet, youthful wonder in your eyes that had been scared away the moment you’d noticed him there.

He grabs your calf, savagely dragging you to the edge of the bed. And you look so fucking terrified, shaking like a goddamned leaf just like how you were last night when he’d first ravaged you. And it feels like the first time again, in some ways. Except now that he knows exactly how your tight cunt feels around his big dick, he’s even more incensed to have you as you continually fight against him.

“The doctor said no!” You cry out desperately, kicking at him in a bid to get away except you’re so fucking weak, it’s like fighting with a goddamned ant for all the good it’s doing. “C-Captain, please don’t! Please don’t, the doctor said no!”

“Shut the fuck up,” Steve seethes through clenched teeth. He straddles you quickly, a knee on either side of your waist, his palm plastering over your mouth to silence you. “I know what he fucking said.”

And yet all he can think about is how you smell like strawberries and fucking cream. The female agents must’ve bathed you – your face and body all look scrubbed clean and glowing. No longer looking like how he’d left you this morning – covered in your own virginal blood. Part of him is completely enamoured by your sweet-smelling innocence, but the larger, darker part of him wants to corrupt you once more, leave you bruised and bloodied once more just how he had last night. He always wants you like that, because you’re his and he can do it.

He knows he shouldn’t, he knows it’s a danger to your health and wellbeing. But goddamit, Steve deserves this! He deserves your body whenever the fuck he wants it. He’d fucking saved you from HYDRA, saved your entire university and you were his forever reward. Fuck the doctor’s orders, you were his. He’d do with you exactly what he wanted, when he wanted to do it.

You wail as he rips your silky pyjama shorts in half. And it only takes Steve half a second until he’s forcing himself deep inside your tight cunt once more. And it feels like fucking heaven, entering back into what was now and always would be his property. Your tight, pulsating softness strangles his fat cock like a goddamned vice, choking it. And it’s like the past twenty-four hours of him ravaging you hasn’t made a single difference because you’re just as virgin-tight as you were last night.

“STOP, PLEASE! IT HURTS!”

You instantly start crying and screaming, flailing underneath him just like you had last night. And you bring that goddamned stuffed animal up to your nose, cuddling it and nuzzling it as you cry into its fur. All that does is incense Steve further – you’re such a fucking baby – and he lets out a low growl.

“Call me daddy,” he commands you, holding you down with one hand whilst his other grabs for the lube once more. He’s inside you, but he wants to go in deep, go in all the way like how he had last night. And you’re not wet, so the lube is a necessity. He pulls out and squirts it all over his dick, jacking off as he looks down at you. All crying and pathetic with your teddy bear and your silky pyjama top with the hearts on it. “Say it. Right fucking now.”

“Daddy,” you cry, sounding like a dejected fucking baby, “Daddy, please! Please no more! Th-The doctor said no more!”

“I don’t care,” he breathes, drinking in how hot you look when you cry. How hot you look with your legs splayed open, lying underneath him like you’re nothing more than a worthless little doll. A part of him is so turned on by the fact that he went against the doctor’s orders, the fact that the animal inside him just couldn’t wait to get inside you again. “You’re mine. I can use your body whenever the fuck I want.”

“B-But it hurts!”

You’re a pouty little mess, hugging your teddy bear close like it’s your only form of comfort. Which it is, because Steve wasn’t about to comfort you ever. Not now or any time in the future. But he’s just so fucking enamoured by how sexy you look – like an innocent angel sent down from heaven just to seduce him. Physically, you’re everything he wants, craves, dreams about. Like a pretty little doll, so innocent and cute yet beautiful like a fucking vixen. Like it’s written in your stars to be owned by him, to be ruined by him, over and over and over again till he consumes you entirely.

Once upon a time, Steve thought it was written in his stars that Peggy was the love of his life. Well, he didn’t believe in love anymore, but the sight of you beneath him right now, teary eyes glistening as you look up at him with an almost revered expression… The power trip it gives him almost knocks the wind out of him. It wasn’t love, it could never be love… But it’s a strong feeling that practically consumes him in this moment.

Overcome with something he can’t quite explain, Steve kisses you hard. Driven by possession or perhaps something else, but he presses his lips against yours like he’s fucking parched and you’re the only one who could ever quench his thirst.

You cry as you kiss him back, and he wonders if it’s muscle memory or if you’re only responding because you’re scared. Either way, it excites him. And he’s too busy making out with you that for a second, he forgets to press his cock back inside you after coating it with the lube. But then he does, and fuck, you’re wet now. Wet from just a little kissing. Fuck, you were so perfect for him. He couldn’t wait to marry you.

“Call me daddy again,” he says against your lips as he pushes his cock deeper inside you. With your wetness and the aid of the lube, he fits into your pussy like a snug fucking glove. He holds your hip with one hand in a bid to keep you in place, and his other hand finds its way up to your face. He cups your cheek, “Tell daddy how good it feels to get fucked like this.”

You shake your head desperately, “I hate you! I hate you so fucking much!”

Steve frowns, a new darkness spreading across his chest like a spilled vial of poison. His hand hardens, gripping your face harshly as he bucks his hips, pistoning his dick inside you with renewed force. You squeal in pain, your tiny fists hitting against his chest and grabbing the lapels of his suit which he hadn’t even bothered to take off.

“I don’t fucking care if you hate me,” he hisses, his face inches from yours. “Your feelings don’t matter, and they never will. But you better fucking listen to me and do what I say, or else I could make this a lot more painful for you.”

The threat has your eyes round as saucers, and your lips pursed, wet from his saliva and your own mixed with your salty tears. Then he feels the tenseness leave your body, sees your limbs stop thrashing as you finally go limp in his arms. As if you’ve given up and accepted your fate.

“Good girl.” He smirks, granting you one single praise because you didn’t need more than that, lest it built up your confidence. “Now, tell me exactly how daddy’s cock feels right now.”

You scrunch your eyes shut, either from embarrassment at his dirty talk or just from the sheer hate you’re feeling for him. Again, Steve doesn’t give a fuck. He gives you one extremely hard thrust that jolts your eyes back open, as if warning you he’d go even harder if you didn’t comply.

“B-Big,” you breathe out softly, shyly, “It feels big, Captain. I mean daddy.”

“Yeah? You ever thought you’d get fucked by a cock as big as this?” Steve asks, pulling out and admiring how his huge length is covered in your juices. And your blood, because of course, despite not going as hard as he had last night, he’s made you bleed once more. God, you were such a goddamned baby.

You shake your head, only earning a slap to your face and a menacing look that has you crying out: “No!”

“No, what?” He knows he has a sick gleam in his eyes, because he wants to hear you say it. “

“No, I never thought I’d get fucked by a cock as big as yours!” You cry out, your sentence ending in a piercing scream as he slams into you once more. The teddy – fucking Chester – slips out of your grip because of the force of which you’re being fucked. But Steve won’t have that, he shoves it back into your arms, wanting to watch you hold it and cuddle against it. Use your little toy as the only source of solace while your daddy ravaged you.

“That’s right,” Steve says lowly, drinking in the sight of you crying into Chester’s fur, “Cuddle your fucking toy like the little baby you are. Getting fucked by a man more than twice your age,” he licks his lips when your pussy clenches around his cock at his words, “And you like it, don’t you baby girl? You like how much older I am than you.”

“No, I don’t!” And yet you moan desperately, rutting against him now, clutching at your teddy bear yet at the same time thrusting your hips upwards to meet his animalistic thrusts.

Steve smirks, “Your cunt likes it.”

He ruts into you with wild abandon. And the whole time, he’s wondering how you’ve just walked into his life and awoken a wild beast inside him, this innate animalistic need to fuck your little body over and over again like he was put on this Earth to do so. With others, he’s always showed restraint. But you? Restraint went out the window with you.

And you squeak so fucking cutely when you cum. And Steve knows you’re in pain, what with all your bruises and injuries, and yet your hips meet upwards with his thrusts, riding out your orgasm as your hands clutch at his suit which he has yet to take off. Like you can’t help but accept the pleasure he gives you, because it feels so fucking good and he knows you’ve never felt pleasure like this before. Not before him.

“Feels good, huh?” He hears himself say, “Thank me for making you feel good.”

“Nngh, thank you, daddy!” Now, you don’t even hesitate, don’t even fight back. Your head’s thrown back and you’ve got that dazed look in your eye, forever lost in the throes of pleasure as he mauls your body to his liking.

Tamed once again.

He makes you orgasm twice more before he unloads inside you, holding your hips upwards with your legs bent back against your chest to make sure it sticks. He wants you pregnant by at least the end of the month. Hell, between last night and now, there was no way you weren’t pregnant already. And you look so fucking dazed, your fists grabbing his suit jacket so tightly, your face contorting in pleasure as you cum over and over again, and your little pussy eagerly swallows up his cum.

It's only once he’s stood back up, once he’s buckling his belt again that you seem to come out of whatever sex-crazed stupor he’d reduced you to. That’s when you start crying once more, your lips curling in anger and that fire returning to your eyes as you look up at him in absolute contempt. But he revels at the sight of you; Chester still clutched to your chest, your hair dishevelled, your eyes red, your legs shaking, his cum dripping from between your thighs. And the fresh white sheets once more stained with dark, scarlet blood.

***

“Wow, Steve. I’m really happy you found someone. I can’t wait to meet her.” Bucky says earnestly.

It’s been two days since the last time Steve fucked you directly after the doctor had advised him not to. Knowing he has no restraint when it comes to you, he’s deliberately kept well away for the time being. He’d temporarily moved to one of his other apartments, quietly making arrangements for the future whilst also making sure his agents kept you well fed and taken care of in his room. He’d left you in such a bloodied state, he supposed you deserved the brief retrieve. But in the coming few days, he planned to move you to his house in the suburbs. But he had to go public with you before he did that.

Steve nods smoothly, “Yes. She’s extremely shy, which is why I kept our relationship a secret for so long. We’ve been together six months, but I’m certain I want to marry her.”

Lying always came easily to Steve. Just another mask to slip on, just like how he did every single day when he donned his suit and a smile on his face. His words painting a rich tapestry of lies while the darkness behind his eyes remained at bay and nobody was any wiser.

“Well, that’s great. I can’t wait to meet her!” Bucky slaps Steve on the back, a wide grin on his face.

“Yes, Steve. I’d love to meet her too. It would be nice to have another girl around here.” Bucky’s girl – Kira or Kiara or something like that – pipes up.

Steve nods at her, feeling a wave of irritation build up inside him. Couldn’t she see that the men were talking? Stupid, insubordinate little bitch. Clearly, Bucky didn’t plan to keep her around for long as he hadn’t even bothered to teach her basic manners. In Steve’s ideal world, women were to remain silent unless spoken to, especially in public. Under the arms or on the laps of their husbands like pretty ornaments, made to be admired, not heard. Clearly, Kira, like most females of the twenty-first century – had no idea what it meant to be an ideal woman. Unlike you.

“Yes. Buck, as I said, she’s very shy and suffers from strong bouts of social anxiety. But I’ve been working on it with her, and I think she’ll be ready to meet the team soon, at the very least. I’d like to propose to her soon.”

Kira claps her hands together excitedly, “Oh, how exciting!”

Steve does his best to ignore her and keep his face impassive.

“I’m really happy for you, man,” Bucky says, “Me and Kira would love to meet her. When do you plan on proposing?”

“Soon,” Steve says vaguely, plans of a big, public proposal clouding his thoughts. Little did Bucky know; Steve had already privately proposed to you. He’d done it the very same night he’d met you, between your wanton moans and his heavy thrusts, when he’d demanded that you marry him, and you, in your soft breathy voice, had agreed to do just that. Not that he even needed your agreement, it’s not like you had a say in the matter either way. And a public proposal would be just for show, so every single person on his team and in his country would know that you were Steve Rogers’ property. Yes, his plans would come together soon. Very, very soon.

***

“I-I want to see my parents!” You demand shakily the moment Steve enters his bedroom. He licks his lips at the sight of you, sat on his desk wearing what looked to be a pair of embroidered jeans and a cute pink top. More clothes that your parents had packed for you. And you look just as sweet as he remembers from two days ago, and he feels his cock twitch to life in an instant. But he knows he can’t fuck you now, if he did then he’d risk even more damage to your body. Permanent damage.

“Greet me properly.” Steve says, keeping his voice level and impassive. “It’s about time we went over certain rules that you need to follow now that you are mine.”

“I need to see my parents!” You repeat, “You’ve kept me locked up here for days, and I know they’d be worried about me.” Clearly, spending two days away from him has given you some sort of amnesia with the way you’re acting so brave all of a sudden. Well, Steve has no problem reminding you what exactly he was capable of.

He crosses the room quickly, smirking at how you shrink back in fear. That was more like it. Grabbing you by the neck, he easily lifts you up off his desk chair and throws you not-so-gently onto his bed.

“Captain, please!” Your face crumples in desperation, “I’ve been here almost three days now, and I just don’t understand why you won’t just let me go! You’ve used me countless times, but why can’t you just be done with me now? Why do you have to keep on torturing me like this!?”

Steve wants to roll his eyes. Women.

“Did you not hear me? I asked you to greet me properly,” Steve says softly, completely ignoring your impassioned plea. He grabs you by the chin. Hard. “Rule number one, as stated before, is that I own you. This means you must greet me any time I enter this room, or any other. You stand up,” he yanks you to your feet, and you yelp in pain, “and you approach me with your gaze lowered in respect,” he pushes your head down like you’re a dog, till your eyes are looking straight down at his shoes, “and you greet me whilst properly addressing me. Now do it.”

You don’t do anything, and the insubordination bristles Steve. He’d have you tamed soon enough. Quickly, he grabs your chin again, squeezing it hard till it hurts and you cry out in pain. “You and I both know the pain I am capable of inflicting upon you, sweetheart. Don’t make me do it now.”

“H-Hello, Captain,” you speak through angry tears, teeth gritted and eyes downcast, “Good morning – uh – sir.”

He would have preferred you to call him daddy now, but that would come with due course. He wanted you to call him that outside of sex but he knew it would take time for you to not be mortified enough to do that.

“Good girl,” he praises, before pushing you back on the bed. Throwing your tiny body around was very easy, and he liked exerting that power over you. “You will see your parents soon enough, but we need to go over some things first.”

You open your mouth to speak but Steve quickly raises his hand as if to silence you, also giving you a look menacing enough to make you shrink back again.

“Next week, we will make our first public appearance together.”

Your jaw drops open “But–”

“There will be a party in our honour, and I will introduce you to my colleagues and the general public. You will be on your best behaviour as there will also be press there.”

You start shaking your head, a dazed look on your face as if you can’t quite believe the words coming out of his mouth. Steve doesn’t give a fuck, and continues to speak as if your reactions don’t even matter. Which they do not.

“It will also be where I propose to you in front of everyone, and you will graciously and quietly accept, or else.”

“WHAT!?” You blurt out loudly, a horrified look spreading across your features, “P-Propose? What do you mean? C-Captain, no. No, no, no, that can’t be right. You can’t propose, there must be some kind of mistake–”

Steve’s jaw twitches, but expressionlessly he waits for you to stop stuttering like a goddamned fool. Your eyes look wide as saucers, shocked beyond belief as if you couldn’t wrap your head around the very idea of being married to him. Well, it hardly mattered as you were a woman and women had no say in matters such as these.

“You will be on my arm and under my supervision for the entirety of the event. Your behaviour will reflect my values, which means you will be polite and demure. Only speak when spoken to, and remain silent when it comes to worldly or political matters that do not concern you or women in general.”

“I’m not going to– Captain, this is a mistake–”

“Your parents will be present at the event. You will not talk negatively about me to them or anyone else, nor talk in detail about the circumstances under which we met. I will do all the talking, and you will nod and agree to whatever I say.”

Fire blazes in your eyes, your incredulity forgotten for a second. “You can’t stop me from telling my parents what you did to me!”

Quietly, Steve nods. He sits down next to you on the bed, making you jump in fear. You try to shuffle away from him but almost too easily, he picks you up and places you in his lap. Your back to his front, just how he had held you the night he’d first had you. It makes his cock harden immediately, but he knows he can’t fuck you. Not for another week and a half. Instead, he places his hand in front of you, almost in your lap, where it looks so goddamned big compared to your own tiny hands.

“Do you see my hands?” He prods you when you don’t reply, “Answer me.”

“Y-Yes.”

He watches you grudgingly look at his hands, take in all the roughness, all the callouses. His bruised knuckles, the burns and scars that would heal and fade away over the next few days. Hands that had seen everything, hands that were capable of acts that your tiny, girlish mind could hardly comprehend. Horror for you was submitting your homework late. The horrors his hands had seen and committed would make the hairs on the back of your neck rise in trepidation. You were lovely and sweet, and had no idea the evils and gore he had witness and contributed to. All to keep the world safe. To keep you, his beautiful little bride to be, safe.

“The night I met you, these hands choked three grown men to death.” Steve says tonelessly.

Your tiny gasp makes his dick harden even more, and you jump in his lap, his statement catching you so off-guard.

“I wrapped my hands around their throats, and I watched the life drain out of their eyes,” He continues, revelling in how you’ve begun to shake in his arms. “And it meant nothing to me. They were evil. Vermin. Disposable. I could have killed ten more of them and it wouldn’t have mattered. Killing them meant nothing to me. Ending a life no longer damages my psyche.”

Slowly, almost tenderly, Steve cups your face. He angles it sideways till you’re facing him, and he can see the beginnings of your delicious tears well up in your eyes. Your beautiful, wet eyes that glisten in total horror. You’re frozen, paralysed in fear. Breathing erratically in his lap while he holds you, holds you like you’re a little doll. He presses a soft kiss to your temple, taking his time in inhaling your sweet, beautiful scent. Another kiss, this time your hairline, and he can feel you shuddering underneath him.

He moves down to your cheek, kissing you there too. And the same with your other cheek, and he hears you whimper softly, your body on high alert, as if you don’t trust his gentle demeanour. Finally, Steve presses a soft kiss to your lips, sucking gently as if to savour your taste. He kisses the corner of your mouth, down your jaw; he peppers kisses up your neck before returning to your lips. Now, you’re quivering on top of him, unsure and nervous and scared. That’s when he opens his mouth and utters his next words.

“Would you like me to kill your parents, sweetheart?”

A broken noise falls from your mouth at his nonchalant question. A mix between a whimper and a cry, and you gape at him in total fear.

“You could tell them the truth about everything, just like I know you’re thinking of doing,” He casually tucks a piece of your hair behind your ear, “You could cause a scene at our engagement party, too. Cry for help and run your mouth to whomever you think will listen. And then when all’s said and done, you’d find that no one would believe you. And you’d turn to your parents for comfort, thinking surely, if anyone would take your word, it would be them, right?”

You say nothing, and Steve pinches your side cruelly, making you cry out and nod your head out of pure fear.

Steve smirks, “Sweetheart, I’d have your parents out of the room before you’d even know what’s happening. I could make them disappear in a heartbeat, and no one would know any better.” He starts kissing your neck again, marvelling at how soft and sweet-smelling you are. “I could choke them out with my bare hands just like I did those HYDRA bastards. And in their last moments, as they try to hang on to their pathetic lives and take their dying breaths, I’d tell them it was all because of you. Their own daughter’s insubordination would be the reason for their demise. And when that’s all said and done, you’d still be mine. Dead parents and a guilty conscious, but my property all the same.”

He finishes his speech with a final kiss to your lips, before turning you around fully to face him.

“So tell me, sweet girl. Are you going to be on your best behaviour at our party?”

He wishes he could capture that delicious horror in your eyes, and keep it in a jar as proof of your innocence and subordination to him. You take a few gulping, shuddering breaths, as if trying to calm your own self down, as if trying your hardest not to cry. Finally, with your wet eyes downcast, you nod, and in a breathy whisper you answer him:

“Yes. I’ll be on my best behaviour.”

***

“Bruce, I’m glad you were able to tear yourself away from your lab long enough to attend my party,” Steve says good-naturedly, a mask of friendliness on his face as he elbows the scientist jokingly.

“Of course, Steve. This is a great event.” Bruce looks forever like his dishevelled and distracted self, as if he’d just blindly stumbled out of his laboratory and put on a sports jacket before arriving here. “Nat and I couldn’t wait to meet this secret girlfriend of yours.”

He’s got Natasha on his arm and all Steve can think about is how pathetic Bruce is for allowing his girlfriend to attend a public event dressed in such an indecently cut gown. Steve himself would never allow you to wear anything indecent where other men would be able to lay their eyes on you. Of course, in the privacy of his room, he’d have you wearing all types of scantily-clad, vintage lingerie. But in public? You were Captain America’s soon-to-be wife, the picture of modest femininity and demure innocence. Which was why tonight he’d personally chosen your dress – a beautiful baby blue gown with a respectable neckline.

Steve would never be like Bruce.

“You must be the lucky lady who finally managed to capture Steve Rogers’ heart,” Natasha shoots you a friendly smile.

Steve feels you stiffen next to him, and he knows you’re scared because someone has directly addressed you. Since the party started half an hour ago, he’s had you snugly tucked by his side, his arm around you and hand firmly pressing against the small of your back lest you try to slip away. Although he doubts you’re capable of that at all, since you look like you’re scared shitless. Undoubtedly, his threats from earlier are still looming over your head, as they should.

“She is,” Steve answers for you, making sure to keep his voice light and good-natured. “She’s had me head over heels for her since the moment we met in front of that local art exhibition late last year, right sweetheart?”

He pinches you lightly, nobody else would’ve even seen it. But you jump, swallowing hard as your stupid little mind tries to keep up with his smooth lies. “Y-Yes,” you answer shakily, “I was volunteering at the art exhibit and that’s how we met.”

A flimsily executed lie, but Steve supposes you haven’t had half as much practice as he’s had with being dishonest. Hell, his whole life revolved around dishonesty and facades, so much so that he’s perfected the art of putting on mask after mask. His agents had coached you on what to say so your story would match Steve’s, and they’d made sure all the details lined up before the false story was leaked to the press. Besides, Natasha was too much of an airhead and Bruce was too distracted to question your less than stellar lie.

“Well, welcome to the family,” Natasha leans in to give you a warm hug which you return after glancing up and receiving an approving nod of permission from Steve. And then the redhead looks up at him, “And Steve, I can’t believe you hid her from us for six whole months! You didn’t even tell me, and I thought I was more special than that!”

Steve resists the urge to roll his eyes. Natasha had always been under the impression that her and him were exponentially close. As if Steve would ever be close friends with a woman. Everything he did, he did for his image – and that included having the world think him and Nat were some sort of crime-fighting duo. When the reality couldn’t be further from the truth – if Steve had his way, a woman wouldn’t be part of the Avengers at all.

“Yeah, well, I didn’t want to jinx a good thing,” Steve answers good-naturedly, giving you a warm squeeze. He can feel your breath hitch, feel your eyes dart over to him warily before you look down at the floor again. He can sense that you’re nervous, scared of breaking the façade of picture-perfect happiness you’re supposed to be presenting, wary of the consequences if you were to break said facade. You’re also jittery and skittish, holding on to his arm with your tiny hands like the naïve little girl you are, a little girl forced into the spotlight of his world. On the arm of the most important person in the room. No, the most important person in the world.

“Nat, Bruce, if you’ll excuse us. We’ve got to make the rounds and greet everyone before this one gets too tired.” He says, and it’s not even a lie; as you’re still healing from all the injuries he’s inflicted on your body after that first night of fucking. In fact, it’s one of the reasons why your weak little body is clinging on to him so tightly – he’s sure your legs would give out if he wasn’t there to keep you up. And that thought, the fact that you’re relying solely on him, gets his dick hardening in his pants.

Steve leans over and softly kisses your temple, letting his lips linger for a second. His nose twitches, taking in your sweet scent. Two female agents had bathed you in rosewater and rubbed and lathered all sorts of sweet-smelling oils and creams on your skin, till you were glowing and smelling sweet like a flower. Then they’d slipped you into the dress he’d chosen, and applied light makeup to your face (as well as heavy makeup on your body to conceal any bruises) as per his instructions. And so when he’d seen you for the first time earlier tonight, standing there in the middle of his bedroom like a girl straight out of his wettest dreams, all he’d wanted was to shove you down on his dick and use you as a goddamned fleshlight, ruin you for daring to look like such a sweet little angel, for daring to seduce him like that, all while you stared up at him with fresh tears in your eyes and a naïve indignance in your face. Fuck, he’d been hard ever since.

He waits for you to croak out a goodbye to Natasha and Bruce before leading you away. And he hears them whispering to each other as the two of you leave:

“Gosh, isn’t he so gentle with her, Bruce? I’m so happy Steve finally found someone to settle down with!”

“Mmhm,” Bruce agrees, “I didn’t even know he was dating anyone. He always seems so busy, putting everyone else’s needs over his own. He deserves this.”

Everywhere Steve goes, he’s used to people worshipping him. Praising him, his bravery, his selflessness, his good looks. Tonight is no different, as he parades you around the banquet hall, introducing you to everyone in the circles he hangs around in. Not that he enjoys the company of any of these people – but they think he does. Just another part to play.

And he knows how jealous every man in this room is right now, how their hungry, pathetic gazes follow you around as you cling to him. Because you’re so lovely, so pure, so soft. Unhardened by the hardships of life, your face brimming with innocence and that delicious fear because of the control Steve has over you. And he knows that every other man wants you like how he has you, but they never would. He’d kill them if they tried.

He feels you stiffen, and he follows your gaze to the edge of the ballroom where the engagement party is being held. Right in the corner by the entrance, sticking out like two sore thumbs, intimidated and out of place, are your parents. Not that he’d even bothered to find out what your parents looked like from the background checks his agents had done on you in the past week, but he can tell it’s them now. And he smirks and makes a beeline straight for them, with you in tow beside him.

They’re immediately in awe of him, just like he knew they would be. Most people are in awe of Steve, and he’s used to the way they look up at him as if he’s some kind of God. Like he’s the epitome of what every other man strives to be, both physically and otherwise.

He shakes your father’s hand, gives your mother his warmest hug. Smiles and holds you close, apologises to them for keeping his “relationship” with you a secret all these months. Tells them how in love with you he is, how the two of you have so much in common, how he’s never felt like this about anyone else in his life. How he vows to take care of you and keep you safe for as long as he lives. How he’d love it if he could have their blessing as he asks for their daughter’s hand in marriage.

That last line has your parents practically falling apart. Your mother starts crying, thanking him for being so kind and generous. Telling him that she knows he’ll take good care of you. Your father is similarly affected, although he clears his throat and nods and claims the two of you make a beautiful couple, and of course you have his blessing. And it’s laughable almost, how the two of them don’t even spare you a glance. Because if they did, they’d see your face crumple in dismay, your body go stiff, your tiny little hands forming fists by your sides.

“M-Mom, please, we need to talk–”

Steve drags you away before you can croak out another word, and swiftly leads you to the centre of the banquet hall, a bone-crushing grip on your hand.

“Remember what I told you,” He warns, and he doesn’t have to say anything else. The memory of the threat he’d made earlier settles on your pretty face like a ghost, your delicate features etched in pure fear of him. And fuck, it gets him so hard how completely at his mercy you are in this moment. So tiny, fresh like a fucking flower, soft and feminine and perfectly afraid of him, clinging on to his arm while every other man looks at him in awe, and you in desire.

“I-I just wanna talk to my mother!” You squeak out softly, and it’s the first full sentence you’ve spoken to him all night. And of course, Steve could answer you. He could tell you that you’d have the opportunity to talk to her later (if you behaved). But he says nothing, because nothing you say is important, nor would it ever be.

One by one he goes over to each guest in the banquet hall, your little body firmly pressed to his side. And it turns him on so fucking much, how small you feel against him. Like a quivering little mouse. It reminds him of the fear he’d seen the night he’d first had you, and it thrills him how you’re still just as scared of him as you were then. In fact, even more so.

But he dons the mask he always does, the mask of the happy, humble Steve Rogers, as he makes his rounds, acts like the perfect host. Thanks every single person personally for coming, and for meeting his beautiful girlfriend.

“Bucky, I’d like you to meet my girlfriend.”

As Steve introduces you to his oldest and closest friend, he regards Bucky’s face carefully. He wants him to see how lovely, soft and feminine you are. See how Steve has chosen the perfect girl and Bucky should discard Kira and closely follow his example with someone who was more like you.

Instead, his enhanced hearing picks up the slight hitch in your throat and the sharp intake of your breath as Bucky shakes your hand. He notices how you swallow hard, almost like a gulp, and a different kind of nervousness takes over your being, your eyes glistening like stars as you look up at the Winter Soldier. 

“H-Hi,” You utter softly, and it’s the first time all night where Steve hasn’t had to prompt you to speak. 

“It’s great to finally meet you,” Bucky straightens after letting go of your hand, and Steve makes it a point to yank you up against his side, keeping his arm firmly around your waist. “Steve did an amazing job of keeping you a secret all this time, but he hasn’t been able to shut up about you now that we all know.”

You laugh shyly, and it’s the cutest little laugh Steve has ever heard. But it also incenses him, to hear you laugh at something another man has said. Even if that man is his best friend.

“She’s not used to big events like this,” Steve rubs your hip, eyeing Bucky carefully. “I think I’ll take her home soon.”

“Remember how much we hated these kinds of events back in the day, Steve?” Bucky elbows him before his gaze settles on you again. “Don’t worry, you get used to them. Well, Steve certainly did since he’s a pro with people now. Me on the other hand? I get shy too, so you’re not alone.”

Steve feels you perk up, feels your whole energy shit. Those stars in your eyes, he can practically see them. They make him want to crush Bucky’s head into the ground.

 “R-Really?” You sound all breathy and cute, all innocent and hope-filled, your pathetic little heart no doubt thinking you’ve found an ally of some sort. It’s almost comical, and yet Steve does not feel like laughing.

“Of course. But it gets easier over time.” Bucky straightens his suit and looks around, “I wish my girlfriend was here - she’s been dying to meet you, but I have no idea where she ran off.”

You wilt like a flower in slow-motion, your cute little mouth down-turning and your gaze retreating to the floor. Steve’s heightened senses notice all of it, and it sears him from the inside out.

“Girlfriend?” You echo softly, pathetically shrinking into yourself.

“Yes, my girlfriend Kira – you’d love her! Steve, have you seen her around?”

“No, but we better get moving. Lots of people to meet,” Steve tugs you along, watching as your eyes trail back to Bucky, a roaring fire in his heart igniting like something he’s never quite felt before. He pushes it back down quickly, extinguishing it before it affects his mask. But not before digging his fingers into your hip hard enough for you to whimper.

He guides you over to the remaining groups of people he has yet to greet. But you’re a million miles away, despite the fact that he’s physically holding you up and prompting you to speak every now and again. More than once, he catches you looking across the ballroom with a pathetic, yearning look in your eye. He follows your gaze to find it fixated on Bucky, who’s now embracing Kira in the corner of the crowd.

“Eyes on the ground or on me,” Steve mutters lowly. Of course, up until a few moments ago, he was not the least bit bothered by where or who you looked at. But those stars in your eyes when Bucky had spoken to you, and that twinkling laughter that Steve had never heard before now? His fists curl at his sides, and he wonders if he hasn’t made it clear enough who exactly you belonged to. Perhaps the brief retrieve you’d gotten when he’d been barred from fucking you these past few days had caused you to forget.

He finds he doesn’t have a problem with reminding you, even if it means going against the doctor’s orders again.

After a handful of more wooden hellos and fake pleasantries, he decides it’s time. Everything has been set up meticulously, and he leads you up to the centre of the small stage. He doesn’t even have to clear his throat to get everyone’s attention, he knows every single pair of eyes in this ballroom is plastered on him now, as he finally, officially makes you his property and brands you as his. He clears his throat.

“I know you’re not a huge fan of public declarations of love and whatnot. Quite frankly, neither am I and you know this. But I just… I always felt so out of place and,” he makes himself chuckle charmingly as he takes both your hands in his, “pardon the pun, like a man out of time. Until I met you.” He utters your name softly, slowly. Playing a part like he always does while you look up at him like a deer caught in headlights. You look uncomfortable, shy, nervous, caught-of-guard despite his agents drilling tonight’s plan into your dumb little head like how they’d been ordered to.

He squeezes your hands, hearing sighs and simpers all around him. But all he can focus on is you, looking so breathtakingly beautiful and innocent in the intimate candlelight of the ballroom. Like you’ve stepped straight out of his dreams and into his arms. Like his very own dream-girl that he’s hunted down and caught, and will now keep forever caged as his.

“You taught me that there’s more to life than just work, you taught me how to enjoy things without feeling guilty about it…” he pauses, and as if on cue he hears more sighs erupt from the crowd of guests. “You came into my life when I least expected it, and for so long, I wanted to keep you a secret from the world because I wanted to keep you safe and,” again, he makes himself laugh softly, “And I guess a part of me just wanted to keep you all to myself. But now, I want nothing more than for everyone to know just how much I love you…”

Steve would be bored by the whole thing if it weren’t for your innocuously animated facial expressions, your eyes shining with bewilderment, your luscious lips forming the shape of an o. He’s memorised speeches like this more times before than he can count. As an avenger, it’s something that’s become second nature to him – playing a character, smiling for crowds of people he couldn’t care less about, spewing out line after line that he no longer believed in. It was all in a day’s work for him.

But you… You look like you want to break into a run as you stare up at him, too scared to look away. And he’s so infatuated by that look of yours, that deliciously pure look of fear for him, he almost wants to take you into his arms there and then, shield you from everyone else because they don’t deserve to look at you. You’re like a pure little flower, delicate against the forces of nature, and despite his primal need to ruin you, there’s a part of him that wants nothing more than to protect you.

He gets down on one knee, earning many a gasp from the audience. Everyone’s waiting with baited breath, and that’s when he sees it. A lone tear meandering its way down your cheek, almost like a final plea for him to rethink his proposal. Your lips purse slightly, as if silently begging him not to go through with this. It almost makes him want to laugh. God, how great it would feel to snuff the hope right out of your eyes. Stupid little girl.

“Baby, will you marry me?”

He’s got the box open between his thumb and forefinger, the ring sparkling brightly against the velvet interior. He watches you carefully, not a doubt in his mind what your answer would be. You know the consequences were you to defy him now, or at any point. But it’s mildly amusing to watch you all the same, watch a plethora of different emotions flit through your face. Fear. Helplessness. Anger. Defiance. Sadness. Resignation.

“I-I…uh…” your eyes blink back tears, and you look past him, undoubtedly at your parents. Your plump lips part, and Steve’s itching to kiss them in front of every single person here as he claims you as his. But instead, he waits, wearing a mask of charming patience as he looks up at you expectantly. And when he finally catches your eye, all he has to do is blink, as if to say: see what happens to them if you disobey me.

“I do.” You whisper. A tidal wave of applause and exclamations follow. Mindless people crying, screaming, whooping, hollering, clapping and snapping pictures as if they had a personal stake in this proposal. But they don’t matter. The only thing that matters is that he’s made you his in front of all of them.

Slowly, he slips the ring on your dainty finger. There’s no sentimental value to it; his agents had picked it out. But it’s a mark of his ownership over you, with his initials delicately inscribed on the inside slightly protruding outwards so they’d brand your skin when you put it on. A taken woman, a kept woman. His forever reward. All his. And nobody else’s.

“He deserves this,” a woman in the audience says, “oh, he’s given so much to our country, hasn’t he? All he does is give, and make unselfish sacrifices for us.”

“Yes,” the man next to her agrees as they both clap, “Steve Rogers deserves this happiness more than anyone else in the world.”

Delicately, Steve gathers you in his arms. You’re so small and trembling, half in a state of shock over what’s just happened, over the weight of the sparkling rock now on your finger. But it doesn’t matter how you feel, not when he’s got the most beautiful girl in the world on his arm, now when he’s just marked his ownership over you. And fuck, he can feel himself harden in his pants at how small you are against him. How weak and helpless and in shock after agreeing your life away to a man you’d only just met a week ago.

“Good girl,” he praises as he hugs you close, the two of you being showered by applause and yet all he can focus on is you.

“I…I…” you can’t speak, can’t stop stuttering, and so all you do is rest your cheek against his chest, and let him hold you, and hug you, and rock you against him. Before he dips your head back and kisses you all sweet and gentle, when all he wants to do is ravish you. Kiss you like a damn caveman and taste your blood simply because he owns you and he can.

He presses his hard crotch against your midriff till he feels you gasp, looking up at him with pleading, wet eyes. And it gets him even harder. You’re his. He’s essentially bought you from your parents, and now he owns you. Your sole caretaker, he’s the one you answer to, cater to, listen to, worship.

God fucking damn… Fuck the doctor’s orders. He wants to shove his cock inside you now, even if it means he’ll permanently break you.

He kisses your forehead, looking beyond you for a moment. Thor’s clapping at the back but he’s got a sad, forlorn look in his eye. Undoubtedly thinking about that bitch Jane who had died. And Bruce and Natasha, hugging each other as they look on happily. As if their sham of a relationship could ever compare to what Steve has with you. Bucky’s there too, arm in arm with his girl, a look of pride on his face.

And right at the back, in the very corner of the ballroom leaning against the wall, is Tony Stark. Nursing a brown bottle of liquor, hair unkempt, face hollow and unshaven since God knows when. And yet his eyes are alert, and he looks straight at him in a way that makes Steve bristle.

“W-Will I get to go home? For a little while? J-Just until the…the wedding?” You ask softly, and Steve looks down at you, the sound of your breathy, quiet little voice going straight down to his cock. There’s something about you asking him that, because he’s who you’d have to seek permission for anything from now on. And it incenses him all over again, and the thought of Tony is wiped completely out of his mind.

He doesn’t even bother answering your pathetic question, instead leaning down to kiss you again. You taste sweet, beautiful and salty with tears. He doesn’t mind. You don’t kiss him back. He doesn’t care about that either. You were completely and irrevocably his, and there was no reversing it. A sudden carnal need has him biting down on your lip. Hard. You whimper. Fuck.

He wants you. Suddenly, he can’t wait anymore. Grabbing your wrist in a crushing grip, he yanks you down the stage. Like the red sea, the crowd parts for him. Clapping, congratulations, more applause. He doesn’t care about any of it. You whimper beside him, the shock of the proposal clearly having yet to wear off because your feet drag against the floor. He huffs in impatience, scooping you up bridal style in one quick, fluid motion. The crowd erupts with more simpers and applause, none the wiser to the dark, carnal thoughts swirling in his head.

He carries you down the side of the ballroom, out into the hallway and towards the bathroom. He can’t wait. He shouldn’t have to wait. You were his bride to be. His little fiancé. His to do with as he pleases. Nobody could stop him. He was Captain fucking America. He’d kill anyone who stopped him. Crush their fucking skulls and paint the hallway with their worthless blood.

It’s like a wild animal has taken over Steve’s mind and soul as he pushes past the bathroom door and all but throws you inside. You wail weakly, and it gets him even harder how fragile you are, how easily he’s able to toss you from one corner to another without even using one percent of his strength.

“Y-You can’t–” You gasp weakly, that delicious pleading look still in your big, wet eyes as you realise his intentions, “The doctor, h-he said–”

Steve can’t get his eyes off your dainty little hand as you hold it in front of you, as if trying to shield yourself from him as you back away till your back is against the wall. The glimmer of your engagement ring as it brands you as his forever. Fuck, he doesn’t think he’s ever been harder than he is right now. A large part of him wishes he’d ended his proposal by fucking you in front of every single guest, letting them watch as he deflowered you and took ownership of your body again and again and again till he’d fucked you into unconsciousness just like he had that first night.

Because now you were forever his. Branded by the ring on your finger, forever tethered to him in every single way possible. Every single person now knew you were the sole property of Steve Rogers. Hell, your own parents had signed you away to him, and now he was your God, your saviour, your caretaker, your everything.

He wraps one hand around your tiny, delicate little throat, lifting you up off your feet in a crushing grip before he kisses you. Really kisses you. Forcing his tongue into your mouth in a display of total dominance and ownership, licking and exploring every part of you. Biting at your lip till he knows you’re crying against him, your little fists pounding on his chest as he kisses you. Your breathless little gasps against his mouth because he knows he’s depriving you of oxygen, choking you while he kisses you, knowing there’s not a damn thing you can do about it because of how weak and little you are.

Abruptly, he puts you down. Undoes his fly, grabs his rock-hard dick and pumps it as he watches you cower, gasping for breath and trying hard not to look at his crotch.

“N-No, Captain, no, please not here. Please, please, please–”

“Get on your knees.”

Steve loves the look of earnest confusion on your face. You’re so pure, so innocent, you truly don’t know what he’s ordering of you. Your pouty little mouth purses, your brows furrow, but Steve’s so fucking hard, that animal inside him roaring at the chance to feel your warm, wet, virgin mouth on his dick. And he’d rather be balls deep in your tight snatch but he knows he can’t, not when you’re so close to healing, not when he’s already abstained for so long.

He shoves you down onto your knees, and it’s the realisation on your face that does it for him. That sweet realisation of what’s about to happen, and the image of you in your pretty little dress, face done up all sweet, not knowing just how ruined he plans to make you look by the end of this. That’s what makes him grab his hard, fat, throbbing cock and smack you across the face with it. Hard.

You cry out in pain, and Steve does it again. Slaps your poor cheek with his fat cock just so you know what’s about to go down your fucking throat with zero mercy.

“Tell me how happy you are to be my wife,” he orders, tracing your lips with the tip of his dick. His precum paints your face, mixes with your tears and makes your cheeks shine.

“I-I’m not, I don’t want this – Captain, please don’t!”

 SMACK.

Another smack to your face, and you burst into baby tears as if you can’t take it anymore. As if you’ve been holding them in for this whole function and now you’re really letting it all go. Crying for everything you’ve lost – not that Steve gives a single fuck.

“Say it.”

“I-I’m happy to be your wife, okay?! Please, I can’t do this here, Captain, please don’t make me!”

He grabs your hair and yanks it, and it’s when you scream in agonising pain that he shoves his huge cock down your throat. And again you scream, but this time it feels like fucking heaven – feels like vibrations on his cock as he holds your head down, shoving as much of his huge member as he can fit inside that tiny, tight fucking virgin mouth of yours.

“God fuck,” he hisses, tapping your cheek hard with his palm, “Daddy needed this, sweetheart.”

He can’t help the pet-name, not when you look so sweet and ruined already. On your knees on the bathroom floor in front of him, his huge dick in your mouth, his balls in your face. Tears streaming down your cheeks, your pretty dress spread like flower petals around you. He wonders if you’re wet from how rough he’s being, and the thought sends him into a frenzy, and he bucks his hips against your mouth, making you scream around his dick again.

“You should get used to this,” he hisses, “This is your life from now on, baby girl. This is what you were meant for. You’ll serve me like this every fucking day if I want you to. On your knees like a goddamned whore wife for your husband.”

Except you’re not a whore. No, you’re his innocent little bride. The epitome of elegance and class, of feminine purity. Except for when he’s got you behind closed doors, where he can reduce you to a sniffling, slutty little mess because you’re his and he can and he deserves this.

His cock is so big, you’ve barely taken a quarter of it in your mouth and you’re already struggling to breathe. Choking on his fat cock while you start to panic, your tiny fists pushing and shoving at his abs through his three-piece suit. He takes no heed, instead reaching down to rip your dress down its front, wanting to see your pretty breasts bounce as he truly begins to fuck your face.

You whine and cry on his cock, and that’s when he grabs fistfuls your hair from either side and truly begins to fuck your face. Your eyes widen like saucers with dread pooling in them. You punch him with all your might, try to push him off you but there’s no hope. The bathroom echoes with sounds of struggle, your gasps and screams against his dick that he pushes further and further down your throat with each thrust.

“You like that, don’t you?” As suddenly as he’d started fucking your face, he pulls out of your mouth. You gasp for breath, ready to fall into a heap on the gleaming, tiled floor had he not had a strong grip on you holding you upright.

He spits on your face, taking his time spreading his saliva across your forehead, cheeks, lips, nose. But even that isn’t enough, and he takes his heavy dick, covering in your spit and his precum, and rubs it all over your face. And it gets him so fucking hard, almost like he’s scenting you. Ruining you for anyone else despite the fact that there never would be anyone else.

“Say you like daddy’s dick in your mouth,” he orders you.

“Captain, ple–”

“Say it or I’ll drag you out in front of everyone and fuck you like the bitch in heat I know can be.”

You cry and cry, tears streaming down your cheeks as you look up at him with a mix of fear and revulsion. Your spunk kept coming back, no matter how many times he tamed and broke you. No matter how much he threatened you, hurt you, pushed you around. And it makes you so much fucking sexier to him that he almost can’t stand it. You’re everything he’s dreamed of and more, and it thrills him how scared you are of him, and yet how at the same time you push your luck and keep trying to fight back against him.

“Say it, or I’ll fuck you in front of your parents before I kill them.”

A gasp dies in your throat, and you look up at him with a peculiar kind of hatred. Like almost a revered kind of hatred. Like you’ve never seen anyone so powerful in your life, and he knows how helpless he’s making you feel. And it gives him the biggest fucking power trip he’s ever had.

“I–I like daddy’s dick in my mouth,” you try to downcast your eyes but he’s holding your face in a death-grip, and holding your gaze too.

“I know you do,” Steve sighs, pressing his fat, throbbing cock back into your mouth with such force, he almost knocks you backwards. But with a steel grip in your hair, he begins to move your head up and down. Using your mouth like a goddamned fleshlight as he fucks it. His tip hitting the back of your throat and making you gag around him and he still doesn’t let off.

You’re his pretty little mess, on your knees serving him like he’s your fucking God. Face ruined, dress ripped, your tits bouncing for him. Fuck, he wants to take your nipples in his mouth. Suck and bite them till they’re bruised and sore. He’d take you home and do just that, because you were his. His girl. His fiancé. His bride to be. His little toy. His forever reward.

Now, he takes his dick out from your mouth once more, resting it on your face as he roughly guides your tired, chapped lips to his heavy balls.

“Suck,” he orders, slapping your face lest you pass out on him again. This time, you don’t question him or even protest. Your lips wrap around his balls, sucking like you’re a goddamned pornstar, a half angel, half seductress put on this Earth especially and only to service him.

It doesn’t take long after that for him to blow his load. Not when you’d been teasing him all night, dressed up in your innocent blue dress like you were seducing him. Pressing your little body against his all night because of how weak you were from how hard he’d last fucked you. And it turns him on so fucking much, your physical weakness compared to his brute strength. He could kill you if he wasn’t careful. But he was always careful. He couldn’t lose you now. Not when you were the girl of his dreams and he’d finally made you his.

He cums on your face, wanting to brand you even more. And you blink up at him in delicious confusion, you lashes sticky with his seed, your pouty lips shining and downturned. It gets him hard all over again, and roughly he yanks you up to your feet. Holding you up with just one arm, he drags you to the bathroom mirror, grabbing your chin to get you to look at your reflection.

He drags his finger across your cheek, gathering his cum on it before prodding it against your lips. Your eyes widen, that delicious innocence shining through once more as you gape up at him.

“Lick it off.”

You’re too weak, too scared, to worn out to argue this time. And Steve almost blows another load when you suck on his finger, tasting his cum for the first time. And he takes his time, feeding you his seed till your face shines clean. And he suddenly has this wild urge to fill you up with his cum. Blow a load down your throat, then flip you over and fuck your pussy so savagely before filling you up, and then, when you’re on the verge of passing out again, he’d force his cock straight up your virgin ass and cum in there too.

It excites him, knowing he has the rest of his life – and yours – to subject you to whatever he wants to. And as his wife, it would be your duty to just take it. Sweet little girl, your life was his now. He’d make your decisions, decide what you wore, when you slept, who you spoke to, what you did. And he’d use your body how he deemed fit because it was his, and you were his.

He takes his jacket off and drapes it over your front to protect your modesty before hoisting you up bridal style once more. You’ve practically passed out again, but he doesn’t care. He carries you out of the bathroom and down the hallway. There’s a back elevator that takes him down to a private parking lot underground. His agents have the black car waiting, and he lays you across the backseat.

“I almost forgot you prefer ‘em barely concious.”

Steve blinks, his lip curling at the familiar voice.

Tony Stark steps out of the shadows. Or staggers, rather; his suit creased, and liquor bottle in hand. Steve keeps his face impassive, shutting the door of the car behind him.

“What, you’re leaving so soon? Got tired of dragging that poor thing around like she’s some kind of toy?”

Steve smirks, signalling for his agent to start the car, “Go back inside, Tony.”

“Is she one of the ones you get delivered to your apartment after missions? I’ve seen a fair few of them being carried out once you’re done with them.” Tony downs his drink, “Poor girls. Never knew what hit ‘em, huh?”

Jaw tensing, Steve crosses his arms over his chest, “Take it easy on the drinks tonight, Tony. I think they’re making you hallucinate.”

“She’s too young for your PR circus bullshit, Rogers.”

Of course. Tony was jealous.

“I’ll have one of my agents escort you back upstairs if you’re unable to find your own way.”

“She looked terrified up there. What did you do, threaten to kill her family?” Tony brings his bottle to his lips again, only to realise it’s empty.

Steve only watches him quietly. Studies him, like how he often does. Old, unkempt, borderline crazy old man. A once great leader turned into a punchline. The butt of every joke. Forced to drink himself into a stupor in the shadows whilst Steve was worshipped and revered by the masses like how Tony once was.

Steve smiles easily, “Go to bed, Tony. You’re drunk.”

“I see you, Steve,” Tony slurs, shrugging off an agent who attempts to grab his arm, “I see the real you. At least what you’ve become. And you’re riding this high now, but soon they’ll all see what you really are. Hell, her face will give it away each time you bring her out in public.”

The conversation is hardly stimulating, and Steve finds himself growing bored. He opens the car door, getting a flash of your smooth, pretty legs as you lie unconscious in the backseat.

“Shout it from the rooftops, Tony. Nobody wants to believe a drunk. Nobody wants to take orders from one either.”

Tony sneers, “You’re not taking my spot, pal.”

Steve doesn’t bother answering him. He gets into the car, draping your legs over his lap before shutting the door. Tony was never someone Steve took seriously enough to waste any more energy on him than he really had to. Nor did he think of the man as a serious threat. Steve had already taken Tony’s spot. That fact was as plain as day.

Now, he strokes your bare calf, and watches as you lie in the car. Deathly still, blinking up into the darkness. Morose as you stared out the window, so ruined and deliciously used. He wonders if he’ll ever get used to seeing you like this, seeing you so utterly ravished and broken. He traces shapes against your smooth, supple skin, before pressing a soft kiss to your calf. It’s oddly gentle, especially after the animalist display he’d put on in the bathroom. But you’re like an angel in the backseat of his car, an angel with a sparkling rock on her finger, an angel that was all his. His forever reward.

He has the female agents bathe you once he’s carried you back up to his apartment. He has some things to attend to in his office, and by the time he comes back to his bedroom, they’ve laid you out on his bed in a pretty pink negligee. Fresh and pure like a flower, eyes blinking up like a deer caught in headlights the moment he walks in.

He’d ordered the agents to give you something to knock you out for the night, and it’s clear the drug has yet to take its full effect. Perhaps that’s why you’re not your usual skittish self as he sits on his side of the bed. In fact, he can feel you watching him, your breathing shallow and slow. He was supposed to go back to his other apartment after dropping you off, but he feels an inexplicable need to stay.

“I…I wish you were nice,” you croak out softly, so soft he barely hears it, and yet it surprises him, because you’ve all he’s heard from you up until this point is begging, cries and insubordinate accusations. The drug has you slurring your words slightly, and yet you’re perfectly clear, “It would be so much easier if you were just a little bit nice.”

He doesn’t say anything. Your words are stupid, foolish, childish. To Steve, it doesn’t matter what you think of him. It doesn’t matter what’ll make things easier for you. Instead, he lies down, dragging you till your body’s flush against his. Tiny and peachy warm, smelling like strawberries and cream, the negligee silky soft, your bare skin even softer. It gives him that animalistic urge where he wants to just consume you.

Instead, he holds you closer, till your cheek rests on his chest and your body’s practically on top of his. And he doesn’t quite understand why he requires this closeness right now, only that he just does, and you’re his bride and therefore there to provide him with whatever he wants.

And right now, he wants to hold you. Feel your body against his. Remind himself how small you are, how much power he yields over you. As your husband, your provider, the man you look up to, the man who owns you. He was rough with you in the bathroom after the proposal, but now it’s like the animal is sated, and all that’s left is this almost strange, alien need to have you close.

He lifts you up and presses a kiss to your lips. A soft peck at first, then another one before he deepens it. He wants to feel you kiss him back, just like how you’ve done in the past despite pretending not to want him. But your soft lips remain lax against his, and he draws back to see you sniffle.

“Would it hurt you to be nice?” Your voice comes out so small, so beautifully weak. “Just a little bit nice? Like how you are on TV. I wish… Oh, I wish you’d just…”

You’re babbling, the drug pulsing through your system. And Steve knows better than to respond to your wistful, girlish, drugged up chatter. And yet…

“Niceness gets you nowhere,” he answers quietly, his large hand running up and down your back, his pointer finger tracing against the smooth skin of your arm. “Now go to sleep. That’s an order.”

“He was nice,” you say it so faintly that if it wasn’t for Steve’s advanced hearing, he wouldn’t have heard you. And there’s a certain dreamlike quality to your tone that incenses him to his very core. “He made me feel like a person, and his eyes were kind. I couldn’t stop thinking about them. He… he…”

You pass out, the drug finally kicking in. And you lie there in his arms, all soft and small and asleep. All while Steve remains deathly still, a certain darkness that he’s never quite felt before coursing through his veins.

A darkness that makes him want to choke his best and oldest friend to death.

Whew! Did you make it till the end? I sure hope so! I'd really love to know what you guys think! I am so nervous about this. I know that The Captain's Reward is probably my most popular story, so the sequel has big boots to fill. I really, really hope you guys enjoyed it. Please please do let me know what you think! Feedback, likes and reblogs would mean the whole world to me!

I've also come up with a few questions. But as always, you guys don't have to answer these! They're just for fun hehe. Any type of feedback would be amazing!

What did you think of Steve's proposal? LMAO.

Do you think Steve will grow softer towards reader? Or will he remain how he always is?

What do you think Steve will do to Bucky?

It struck him as bizarre and sounded Bucky’s internal alarms. But he silenced them as best he could. He wasn’t going to let himself get worked up, not when you had a perfectly good reason for not messaging him.  

This was your first time leading a mission with a new recruit under your wing. Bucky knew you devoted your full attention to your trainee, giving him absolutely everything you had. You took this position- as well as your pupil’s safety and success- very seriously. He knew you were probably busy helping your recruit learn a swath of new things, and who was he to interrupt?

Bucky opened the log and saw your jet had been marked as ‘incoming’ only minutes ago. A sigh of relief left his chest and eased his muscles. Sure, he would’ve rather heard that information from you, but it didn’t matter. Your jet would be here soon; he had no reason to worry. 

The moment he saw that your jet was homeward bound, he lost the ability to think about anything else. He counted the minutes, the seconds. You had to be close, right? The log wouldn’t have said ‘Incoming’ if you were still hours away. 

To pass the time, he folded laundry, answered emails, reread a few chapters of The Hobbit- but he couldn’t focus. He thought of you, only you. And no matter how hard he tried to distract himself, he couldn’t hang around his room any longer. He couldn’t stand it. He needed to be there when the jet landed. He needed to meet you on the steps of the aircraft and wrap you in a bear hug. 

And there was no real harm in waiting near the hangar, was there? ‘If anything,’ he told himself, ‘It’s actually more convenient for her if I meet her there. That way, I can carry her bag- she’s probably tired.’ 

Anything to rationalize his desperate need to be near you.

He knew in his heart of hearts that you didn’t need him to carry your bag or help you off the jet. But this lie was all the convincing he needed. Without hesitation, he ditched his room and set off down the hall, your impending homecoming pulling him forward. 

It was in that moment he noticed just how far the elevator was from his room. The walk seemed to stretch on and on, the hallway growing longer with each step. And how had he never noticed how slowly the elevator moved? It slid downward at a glacial pace, toying with his patience. For such an expensive, state of the art building, the elevator moved like an ancient piece of turn of the century machinery. Bucky cursed Tony’s engineering. 

Everything seemed to add time, multiplying his moments without you. The universe liked toying with him, teasing him. And this was just another cruel joke. 

The moment the doors opened, Bucky sprang free out into the hallway. He knocked into Clint and his group of trainees and called an apology over his shoulder without stopping. He couldn’t stop, couldn’t waste time- not when you could arrive at any moment. 

His field of view narrowed into tunnel vision, only allowing for visualization of the path toward the hangar. He didn’t greet his fellow team members or allow for distraction. You were his one-track mind. That is, until something stopped him. 

“Shit, sorry, man,” your trainee, Jake, laughed as he bumped into Bucky. He took a step to the side and attempted to continue down the hall, but Bucky blocked his path. 

“Jake?” Bucky eyed a bloody gash on Jake’s eyebrow, “when did you guys get back?”

Jake gave a casual shrug and checked his phone, “I don’t know, five minutes ago?”

“Oh, okay…” Bucky reached for his phone, but found his screen void of notifications. If you landed five minutes ago with your trainee safe and sound, why didn’t you send him a message? It was out of character for you. 

“Well, where’s your partner in crime? Or crime fighting, I guess,” Bucky tried to joke, but his tone was strained. He eyed each person who came around the corner, hoping to find your face. “Did you see which way she went?”

“Nah, she’s not here,” Jake was scrolling through Instagram, only half paying attention.

Bucky’s disappointed sigh left his chest deflated, empty. “Oh, did she say where she was going? Or when she’d be back?”

Jake pulled his focus from his phone and stared at Bucky with confusion on his face. His brows pulled together, his mouth hung slightly ajar. But finally, he made sense of Bucky’s words. “OHHH, okay, my bad- I think there was a miscommunication just now.”

Bucky sighed again- this time, with relief. 

“Yeah, no, she’s not here,” Jake continued, “because she didn’t make it back.”

Bucky’s ears started ringing. 

The sharp, piercing sound blocked out voices. Footsteps on the tile. Maybe Jake was trying to speak to him, but Bucky heard only the shrill sound of shock. Seconds later, his nerves fell numb. The utter absence of sensation disconnected him from his body. He was lost in a liminal atmosphere with no stability, no purchase. His entire being was shutting down, one sense at a time.

Bucky told himself to focus, to compute what he’d heard. He did his best to make sense of Jake’s words, but to no avail. His mind simply couldn’t understand the phrase “she didn’t make it back”. The words had shed their meaning entirely and sounded foreign to Bucky as they rattled around his skull. Goosebumps rose over the surface of his skin, and a cold sweat created a sheen across his face. He feared he might get sick. 

“I- I’m sorry,” he forced himself back into his body, back to the present. “I don’t think I understand.” 

“Things got pretty hairy- this was not the easy mission they said it would be,” Jake scoffed and rolled his eyes. “It’s not fair, I definitely got a way harder assignment for my first mission than all the other new agents, and I think it’s-” 

Bucky’s glare could’ve sliced Jake in half, “get to the point.”  

“Right, um,” Jake continued, “I told her over comms that I was leaving. I gave her plenty of time to meet me at the jet, but she didn’t answer. And she never came outside.” He shrugged, “I had to leave for my own safety.”

“So, you just-” Bucky felt himself losing his grip. “You left her there? Alone?” He didn’t realize he was shouting, didn’t realize he’d drawn attention to himself- until Agent Hill showed up.

She placed a light hand on Bucky’s tense shoulder, but instantly withdrew. He was shaking, practically vibrating under her palm. “Is there a problem here, guys? I don’t want-”

“He left her behind,” was all Bucky could manage.

Maria stared at Jake in disbelief, “you did what?”

A strange mixture of rage and heartbreak seethed behind Bucky’s eyes, “You don’t just abandon your partner-”

Jake’s attitude disgusted Bucky. He was detached, irritated. He rolled his eyes like an insolent child. “Relax, man. Jesus Christ, this isn’t the army. I didn’t promise to ‘leave no man behind’ or whatever-”

Bucky had heard enough. He lifted jake by the collar of his shirt, twisting the material in his metal fist. Jake’s head sent a sickening thud resounding through the space as Bucky forced him against the nearest wall.

“What the fuck?” Jake squirmed in Bucky’s grasp, “There are casualties in the field all the time, why am I being punished for-”

Bucky released Jake at once, sending him crashing to the floor. 

His voice was quiet, hollow. “Casualties?” He swallowed hard, “Is she-”

Jake shrugged at he rubbed at the bruise forming on his neck. “I don’t know, I assume so. I didn’t stick around to find out.” 

And just like that, Bucky was gone. 

He took off down the hall, forcing himself forward as a soul-crushing panic swallowed him whole. No matter how many times he blinked, no matter how fervently he shook his head, he couldn’t rid his mind of the picture Jake painted for him. Each time he shut his eyes he saw you- alone. Your bloodied, broken body laying collapsed against a wall of a Hydra base. Your skin slick with blood. Your skin cold. Void of life. 

He moved quickly, but not quick enough. He simply couldn’t outrun the familiar feeling closing in on him. His heavy, well-worn cloak of grief wound its way across his shoulders and twisted itself around his neck. He knew the suffocating sensation all too well. It weighed him down but couldn’t dampen his pace, nothing could; not when your life hung in the balance. 

He was too well acquainted with loss by now, too familiar with mourning. There’d been a time when he wondered if he’d ever grieve again. He’d lost his family, his friends, himself- what else was there? What more could he possibly lose? But the moment he met you, he knew he’d one day mourn again. He just didn’t realize that time would come so soon. 

A startling cold prickled at his skin, his lungs refused to inflate. How much time did you have left? How long would it take him to get to you? Were you even-

Hill’s voice yanked him out of his spiral, “Barnes, hey-” She made a grab at his shoulder, but her feeble attempt was no match for Bucky’s pace. “Where are you going?”

“To get her back.” Bucky’s tone was firm, resolute. He was going to bring you home or die trying.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Hill nearly tripped over her own feet as she tried to keep up with Bucky’s long strides. “You heard what Jake said, it’s a dangerous location- more dangerous than we thought. I think it might be best to wait it out for a few days, let things calm down and then-”

Bucky turned suddenly, stopping Maria in her tracks. “I’m not just going to leave her there.”

Maria shrunk away from the fierceness in his eyes, “I know you’re upset, but she might not be-”

“I don’t care.” His gruff tone dissolved, making way for the fear he’d so desperately tried to hide. “Whether she’s alive or-” he couldn’t bring himself to voice the alternative. 

Bucky knew what it was like to be assumed dead. He knew what it was like to be left in the field. 

“She deserves to come home,” he said.

Maria couldn’t argue with him. 

“Round up as many members of the med team as you can and have them meet me in the hangar. We’re leaving in ten minutes- sooner if we can.” Bucky turned and resumed his previous path, “I’ll be in the armory.”

Bucky grabbed as much weaponry as his duffel would carry without splitting at the seams and made his way to the hangar. He hoped to find ten, maybe fifteen members of the medical team waiting for him on the jet. He wasn’t sure of your condition, didn’t know how many breaths you had left. He wanted to give you the best possible chance at surviving the onslaught you endured. 

But when he turned the corner into the hangar, he found only three scrub-clad bodies. 

“Is this it?” Bucky boarded the jet and dropped his bag to the floor. He eyed the scant amount of medical support, their uncertain expressions. His hopes of bringing you home alive dwindled.

A nurse who’d stitched Bucky up more times than he could count gave him a nervous smile. “The med bay is swamped, the team could barely afford to let us come with you.” 

Bucky didn’t want to hear it. He didn’t want excuses or rationalizations. All he wanted was to bring you home with your heart still beating. And three medical professionals, he decided, was better than none. 

The flight to your location only gave Bucky more time to worry. He obsessively checked his weaponry, hovered over the med team’s supplies. But no amount of double and triple checking could save him from the spiral. He traveled down the path of every possible “what if?”, leading him only to heartache. No matter where he searched, he couldn’t find a positive outcome. And though he didn’t want to acknowledge the odds, he knew yours were slim- impossible, even. 

And as the jet grew closer to your location, Bucky steeled himself for what he knew he’d find: you, his best friend, his reason for living, his everything- dead. Cold. Lifeless. None of the horrors he faced in the past could compare; no pain could ever be greater. Bucky knew he’d hurt for the rest of his life.

The clouds parted as the jet began its descent. Slowly, a large stone building appeared out of the fog like a monster in the horror movies you loved so much. It stood in an otherwise empty clearing, its shadow looming over the dying grass. Smoke billowed from holes in the roof, the walls. Whatever happened here was catastrophic. Disastrous. 

Bucky’s heart sat lodged in his throat as he imagined you trapped in there. Goosebumps rose over the surface of his skin as he stared at the looming structure. He had to get you out, even if he died trying.

Just before the jet touched down, an idea popped into Bucky’s head. It scaled the high walls he’d tried to erect to protect himself from thoughts of your demise and grabbed him by the throat. It was smart- brilliant, actually. He was shocked he could even think straight given the circumstances.

“FRIDAY,” Bucky called out, “is comm 1209 working?” He shoved his own comm in his ear and waited for a response. 

“Comm 1209 is on and in range,” Friday said. “Would you like me to connect you?”

He couldn’t say yes fast enough.

A few staticky clicks and pops vibrated against Bucky’s eardrum as his comm connected to yours. But he was too scared to speak. What if you didn’t answer? What if he heard you take your dying breaths? Just the thought was enough to make him sick.

He owed it to you, though, to at least try. He’d always said he’d do anything for you, that he’d risk it all for you- and he meant it every time. If reaching out to you over comms exposed him to something horrible, something traumatic and unforgettable, at least he tried. At least he attempted to keep his promise. And after everything he’d been through, what was one more life-shattering, soul-crushing nightmare?

“H- um…” Bucky swallowed the large lump obstructing his throat. “Hello?” He waited a moment, holding his breath the entire time, and tried again. “Hello?”

He waited. 

No response.

“Doll? It’s me. It’s Bucky…” 

The dead silence on the other end of the line dragged on. It seemed like his words disappeared into the air, unacknowledged. Unheard. Maybe the sound of his voice was reverberating inside your ear as you lay dying. Or maybe he was talking to your corpse.

 The thought made him nauseous.

“Please, sweetheart. If you’re there- if you’re able- just say one word. Say anything,” he pled. A long bout of silence followed.

He clenched and released his metal fist again and again, desperate to rid himself of the panic settling into his bones. He was stupid to think you survived, stupid to let himself be optimistic. He made it here as quickly as he could, but he couldn’t save you. He was too late. 

He wanted to take one of his many weapons and turn it on himself. 

But a small sound stopped him.

“Buck…”

He almost fell to his knees. At the sound of your voice, an overwhelming warmth banished the cold that infiltrated his bones. Against all odds, you were alive.

A deep sigh of relief seeped from Bucky’s lungs, “Sweetheart…” 

A hurricane of emotion rattled against the storm doors inside Bucky’s mind. He couldn’t stop thinking about the ‘almosts’. How he almost lost you, how you almost died alone in a Hydra base. But he couldn’t allow it to swallow him- not yet. There was no time for a breakdown. He needed to move, he needed to get to you. 

He shrugged off the grief that rested heavy on his shoulders and swallowed the impending sob that vibrated inside his throat. “I’m here- I’m gonna come get you. Just tell me where-”

A staunch refusal came from your end of the comm, “No- no…” You took a sharp, rattling breath, “no way.”

Bucky didn’t like the way you had to fight to get your words out. You were clearly struggling, doing everything in your power to stay on this side of consciousness. He wondered how much time you had left.

But still, there was a familiar strength to your voice. Maybe it was the adrenaline, maybe it was the renewed hope of rescue; something was keeping you alive. 

“It’s okay, sweetheart, just tell me where you are. The jet just landed. I’m gonna get you out and-”

“I said- I said no,” you breathed. “You can’t c-come in here, it’s too dangerous… we were a-ambushed.”

Even in your condition, even when Bucky was your only hope of rescue, his safety was your first thought. You’d rather die alone than put Bucky’s life at risk; the thought made his cheeks pink and filled his chest with a fuzzy warmth. But he didn’t have time to enjoy the feeling.

“If you don’t tell me where you are, I’ll just sweep the whole building,” Bucky said, using your worry against you. “That means more opportunities for me to run into Hydra operatives. More time inside the base- it’ll be way more dangerous.” He could practically see you rolling your eyes, “so it’s probably better if you just give me a direct route, don’t you think?”

Bucky smiled to himself as he envisioned you on the other end. He was certain you were arguing with yourself, cursing his rationale. 

He waited for you to come at him with a sharp retort or a sarcastic quip but heard nothing. The silence on your end of the line dragged on. And on. It lasted far too long for Bucky’s comfort. Surely, you couldn’t still be thinking about his proposition? He’d given you more than enough time to make up your mind, more than enough time to come up with a response. It was time you didn’t have. 

What if you’d fallen unconscious? What if, in those quiet moments, your soul vacated this earth?

Bucky couldn’t take it anymore. He disembarked the jet, resolving to search every inch of the base. But just as he reached the dark, unsettling building, you spoke.

“F-fifteenth floor. Northeast… northeast quadrant,” you sighed, defeated. “There’s a- a room at the end of this hall, I think it’s maybe an office?” Again, you took a long pause. The energy required to think, to speak, was energy you didn’t have. “Just f-follow the trail of blood.”

Bucky’s breath caught in his throat. He shuddered at the thought of your blood leaving a path down the stark white, sterile hallways of the base. But he didn’t have time to focus on anything other than getting you out; this was a rescue. He owed it to you to keep his head level. To focus on getting you out as quickly as he could. 

“The power is… it’s out”, you said. “You’re gonna h-have to take-” 

Bucky wanted to save you from wasting any extra energy, “The stairs. Got it.” 

And while he normally didn’t mind getting a few extra steps in, he knew the time required to climb fifteen flights of stairs would push the limits of your survival. 

But he pushed the ever-encroaching sense of doom to the side and put on a brave face for you. For himself. “Okay, I’m coming to get you,” he promised. “Stay awake, and don’t move.”

“As if I h-have a choice,” you laughed a breathy, hollow laugh. A long groan followed. 

Your pain radiated through Bucky’s chest. He didn’t want to climb stairs or scour hallways- he just wanted to be there. To instantly materialize at your side. To bring you instantaneous comfort. He lamented the super soldier serum’s lack of teleportation abilities. 

“You know what I mean, doll. Just stay awake, okay?” Bucky drew his gun and stepped inside the building. “Don’t fall asleep. Do anything you have to do- just stay awake. Can you keep talking until I get there?”

“W-what am I…” You let out a raspy exhale, “supposed to talk about?”

Bucky cleared a long hallway and found the stairwell, “Anything, just keep talking.”

Another extended silence filled the air; it nearly drove Bucky crazy. Your silences held limitless possibilities, horrifying ‘what ifs’.

“It w-wasn’t supposed to be… to be like this,” you finally said. “It wasn’t supposed to be this dangerous. This was Jake’s first mission- it wasn’t f-fair to him.” Heartache coated your every word. Even after your partner abandoned you, even after Jake forced you to suffer and bleed all alone- you still sympathized with him. Still felt sorry for him. 

Bucky felt no such thing.

“I know, doll. Keep talking, okay?”

You sighed. “We s-split up for recon… that’s when they- when they came at me.” Your next few breaths were so shallow, your lungs barely inflated; the lack of oxygen left you dizzy. A thin veil of glittering spots sparkled and danced on the edges of your periphery. “It all h-happened so fast… there were so many of them. I just- I remember pain. And I hoped Jake was okay, w-wherever he was.”

Your heart was too good for this job. For people like Jake. Bucky admired your kindness, your empathy, your selfless nature. Even in the face of pain, of death- you thought about others. You often told Bucky how unfair life had been to him, lamenting his treatment at the hands of fate. Bucky found himself doing the same for you and your kind heart.

“I called out for h-him, I needed backup… I kept asking him to come help me-” A sharp cough rattled out of your throat. 

Bucky cringed at the sound. It was the only sound in the building. He hadn’t heard anyone else. Hadn’t seen one Hydra operative- at least, not a live one. He came across their bodies every now and again but didn’t see a single living soul. He was sure they deserted after the explosion. Just like Jake. 

The destruction, however, was everywhere. Bullet casings littered the floor. Blood stained the tile floors. Fluorescent lights flickered overhead. He had to get you out of here.

“But he n-never answered. And then he told me he was leaving. He said he was- he was outside already. He gave me n-ninety seconds to meet him at the jet…” Your words were tinged with devastation, with hopelessness, with betrayal. “I tried- I did my best to make it down the stairs. But I was- I was dizzy… I was b-bleeding.” The memory stung like your fresh wounds. “I kept slipping on- on my own blood. I just c-couldn’t move fast enough. It hurt too much.”

Wrath burned inside Bucky like a raging forest fire. But his utter heartbreak doused it completely, extinguishing the rageful flames. He found himself unable to think, to breathe. It took everything in him to keep moving forward. Who could ever leave you behind like that? Who could ignore your suffering and sentence you to death without a second thought? The image of you stumbling, struggling to run for your life gutted him.

“And then- and then I heard the jet t-take off,” you sighed. “And I listened as it got farther and farther away… until it was g-gone. And I was- I was alone.”

He thought of you sitting alone in cold silence as the noise from the jet quieted. As your hope dwindled. The entire base must’ve felt like a tomb, like a massive, lonely grave meant just for you. 

Bucky almost fell to his knees. Sobs throttled the inside of his chest, begging for release. Tears burned inside his lash line. Jake didn’t just leave you behind, he marooned you without care. And in his departure, he sealed your fate. 

“I d-didn’t have a way to call for… for help. My phone was on the j-jet with jake.”

The sorrow that stained your words was all too familiar to Bucky. It was the same hopelessness that accompanied him every day that he was at Hydra. When he laid in the snow for hours upon hours after falling from the train. He never wished that kind of despondency, that kind of  misery on anyone. And knowing that you, the person who deserved it the least, experienced it for even a moment shattered him.

“I realized I… I didn’t h-have any options,” you breathed. 

A collapsed column blocked Bucky’s path as he tried to make his way from the sixth floor to the seventh. The concrete was too high, too precarious to scale. If he tried to climb it and got hurt, it would only serve to diminish your chances of survival. And he wasn’t willing to risk that. With a huff, Bucky exited the northwest stairwell in search of another route. This was a waste of time- time you didn’t have. 

He painstakingly checked every hall until he finally found another stairwell. His breathing came a little easier as he rocketed his way up the stairs, growing ever closer to you.

“So, I found this- this room. It’s quiet. It’s out of the w-way. I needed somewhere to hide. S-somewhere to…” A small crack of emotion cut through your voice, “somewhere to die.”

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that Jake got to return home safe and sound while you struggled to stay alive. It wasn’t fair that you had to seek out your own deathbed. Bucky wanted to scream, to break things, to spill every last drop of Jake’s blood. But he was a soldier, and this was a rescue mission.

“This seemed like as g-good a place as any,” you choked on a weak laugh. “Beats dying in the middle of a h-hallway, I guess.”

Bucky’s automatic response was to swear that you’d make it out. To promise that you weren’t going to die. But he bit his tongue. He couldn’t make those kinds of assurances. He’d do anything to bring you comfort but swearing that you’d return home alive seemed almost cruel. 

He pushed himself to move faster. He couldn’t let you die alone, especially not in this godforsaken place. As he sprinted up the last flight of stairs and ripped open the door to the fifteenth floor, he struggled to orient himself. You were in the northeast quadrant, but where was he? He searched for anything to indicate his location- but found no signage. No directory. 

Everything inside of him rattled with dread, with anxiety. Any moment now, you were going to die. You were going to take your last breath. All alone. A thick, suffocating wave of panic crashed over Bucky as he realized- you were going to die disappointed. You were going to leave this world knowing that he hadn’t gotten to you in time.

It was then that he noticed a faded arrow painted on the wall, with “NEQ” painted below it in block letters. Northeast quadrant. He was closer than he thought.

“I’m gonna be there in just a second, doll,” he said as he followed the arrows.  “I think I’m right around the corner.” 

This was just his way of making you feel better, you were sure of it. The hallways were long and winding. Each floor was a maze of its own. Even with your vague instructions, it could take him a while to find you. Still, Bucky’s words brought you comfort in the way that only he could.

“I know, I t-trust…” A metallic taste filled your mouth. A warm ooze trickled down your chin and dripped onto your chest. The warm, fuzzy feeling brought on by Bucky’s assurances faded. Of course, you knew you were in bad shape. But as blood leaked from your mouth, you wondered if these were your last moments.

Instantly, you searched for the words to say goodbye to Bucky. Time was slipping through your fingers, life draining from your body with each passing second. But before you drifted off into a never-ending sleep, you had to tell Bucky what he meant to you. You’d use all your strength, your last few breaths- whatever it took. He just had to know. 

But how does one say goodbye to a soulmate? You didn’t have the energy or capacity to make a grandiose speech. And the blood filling your mouth impeded your ability to speak. You wanted to tell bucky everything- how he comforted you, cared for you, made your life worth living. How your life revolved around him as though he were your personal sun. But nothing quite encapsulated the things you felt for him. Every word in the English language, every sonnet fell short. And the lack of oxygen getting to your brain sabotaged your phrasing.

“Buck, I think it’s… I think it’s almost t-time,” you rasped.

But just as you opened your blood-stained mouth to proclaim every feeling you ever had for him, the door flew open. Alarm coursed through your veins at the threat. Surely, a Hydra agent had stumbled upon your hiding place and was here to finish you off. The severe blood loss was no match for your training, thought. And, on instinct, you pulled your gun on the tall, dark silhouette standing in the doorway.

“Woah, hey!” Bucky raised his hands in surrender. “It’s me, it’s just me.”

At the sound of his voice, your arm fell limp. Your gun clattered to the floor. Your head lolled back against the wall. It had taken everything in you to try and protect yourself one last time. And now that your energy reserves were nearly depleted, you allowed your eyes to close.

“S-sorry…” A barely-there smile pulled at your lips. “My… my bad, Buck.”

“No, don’t be sorry, doll.” 

Bucky knelt in front of you, taking in your broken, bloodied body. He’d seen carnage before, witnessed more death than anyone should. But this, you- it was different. It hurt in places he didn’t know he had. But he didn’t let it show. Knowing you, you’d spend your last few moments comforting him, trying to make him feel better. And so, he forced a warm smile and tabled his breakdown for the moment.

“I’m actually impressed. I mean, you might be hurt, but you were ready to take me out just now,” he forced a chuckle. “That’s my girl.” His cool metallic hand brushed against your blood-stained cheek. 

And in that moment, something within you changed. Your eyes shot open. You blinked a few times before forcing your eyes shut once again. You gave your head a few good shakes. Surely, this wasn’t real- it couldn’t be. 

You opened your eyes wide once again, taking him in. “Bucky?”

With one shaking hand, you reached for him in the most pathetic attempt he’d ever seen. You were weak, dangerously so; it scared him to his core. But you were alive. 

He leaned in, meeting you in the middle, and let you stroke at his stubble for a moment.

“Yeah, I’m here,” he kissed your palm. “I’m so happy to see you.”

“You’re…” you other hand reached for him, but made it only a centimeter or two before falling into your lap. Bucky opted to take it in his. “You’re here?”

He nodded, “I could never leave you behind, sweetheart.”

He may have continued speaking after that, but you didn’t quite hear him. The emotion you’d tried so hard to swallow came bursting forward, crushing your every attempt at remaining levelheaded. Your fingers smoothed over Bucky’s cheek again and again. His name fell from your lips in what resembled a prayer. Tears rolled down your cheeks and mixed with the blood crusting over your skin. 

A soft, warm wave of peace rolled in, covering you like a well-loved quilt. The pain disappeared; the sorrow evaporated. All that remained was Bucky. This was the warm spring that followed a dark, bitter winter. The first rays of sun after a vicious storm. The first taste of home after a long time away. You let the familiar warmth of Bucky’s presence drown out the rest of the world until only you two remained.

“Sweetheart, did you hear me?” With a gentle squeeze of your hand, Bucky called you back to the present. “I need to look at your wound, okay?”

A sharp rush of pain nearly blinded you as you lifted your shirt, exposing the bloody mess. But even as Bucky appraised the gunshot wound that turned your abdomen into horror scene, you couldn’t find it in you to worry. Your hands lazily found his shoulder, his chest, his face; you just wanted to touch him. To know, without a doubt, that he was there. That he was real.

“Hey, we… we need to t-talk,” you whispered as Bucky did his best to quickly bandage your wound for transport. “I n-need to talk- to talk to you…”

Bucky nodded, “sure thing, doll. Absolutely. We can talk about whatever you want. But right now…” he returned your shirt to its rightful position and met your gaze. “Right now, I need to get you out to the jet, okay? We can talk later.”

He guided your arms around his neck, lifted you into his arms, and moved as fast as he could through the winding hallways. His quick gait set your nerves alight with pain. Every bump, every jostle had you gasping for breath. And though it was a necessary evil, the guilt still sat in Bucky’s stomach like a rock. His repeated ‘I’m sorrys’ were nearly constant, doubling with your every grimace and groan. But he couldn’t slow down, couldn’t let the time slip away; you didn’t have much left.

Between pained sounds and twisted expressions of discomfort, you said the same thing on a loop. Again and again and again, you pled with him, using energy you didn’t have. 

“We need to… to t-talk.”

“I h-have to tell you.”

“Can I talk to y-you about- about something?”

And though Bucky would’ve loved nothing more than to have a long heart to heart with you as you two often did, you weren’t strong enough. He couldn’t let you waste your finite energy on a conversation with him. And so, he responded to each of your requests with an ask of his own, begging you to save your strength. He promised that the two of you could talk tomorrow, that there was plenty of time for a conversation later. 

But ‘plenty of time’ almost seemed like an empty promise. And ‘tomorrow’ felt like a lie. Would you have a ‘later’? He didn’t know. But he didn’t want you wasting your oxygen, not when he feared it might be your last breath.

Boarding the jet with you alive in his arms almost felt like a win to Bucky. Almost. Sure, he’d gotten you out with your heart still beating, but your condition worsened by the second. And the grave looks the med team wore as Bucky gently rested you on the treatment table dug a deep pit in his stomach. 

They sprang into action, placing IVs and delivering medications. Scissors glided through your shirt and exposed your broken body to the med team. Bucky knew they’d seen their share of gnarly injuries over the years, but he swore that they recoiled at the sight of your wounds. 

With a shake of his head, Bucky refocused. He had to get you out of there- to get you home. He headed for the controls and planned to set the jet in motion. But he made it only a step toward the cockpit before a hand caught his.

“S-stay…” you whispered. “Please.”

His heart shattered. “I’m not leaving you, doll, I promise. I just have to get us in the air, okay?” With great care, he placed a kiss to your hand and set it at your side. “I’ll be back in just a minute.”

Bucky’s body operated on muscle memory alone as he initiated take off. His mind was occupied, completely and totally, by the sound of your weak voice begging him not to leave. The sound played on a loop inside his brain, cutting him deeper each time. You’d already been abandoned once today; he was certain you feared it would happen again. 

With a deep breath and a quick reset, Bucky did what he had to do. He needed to be on his A-game for you, needed to be his very best. Only a few hours ago, you’d trusted someone with your life, and they failed you. Bucky wasn’t about to do the same. He worked carefully to chart the fastest route back to the compound, opting to forego FRIDAY’s proposed path. It kept him from your side longer than he would’ve liked, but less time in the air seemed like the best option. The sooner he could get you to the med bay, with its massive, brilliant medical staff and unlimited resources, the better. 

Just as he finalized the flight plan and asked FRIDAY to notify the med bay of your impending arrival, an unsettling sound pulled his focus. It was an ominous beeping, alarming your care team of a sudden, life-threatening change. 

Gloved hands moved at lightning speed; voices yelled medical jargon back and forth. And you laid there on the table. No heartbeat. No respirations. Deathly still. 

Bucky stood on the periphery, too horrified to get any closer. 

He thought it best, of course, to stay out the med team’s way. But knew deep down it was an excuse. He was simply too terrified to lose you. If he got closer, if he saw you struggling to stay alive, all of this would suddenly become real. And he couldn’t handle that. 

“Barnes!” A nurse screamed at him, “did you hear me?”

Bucky forced himself back to the present. “No… I, um-”

“She has no pulse- get over here, we need you to do compressions!”

Bucky’s desperate need to help you, to save you, overpowered his fear. And in an instant, he was at your side. He loomed over you, his hands locked together, preparing to help resuscitate you. But once again, his fear reared its ugly head. You were already so badly injured, so weak. And he was far too strong. What if he made your condition worse? What if he-

“Come on!” The nurse yelled at him, “start compressions- now!”

He did as he was told. He pressed into your body with a measured pressure, careful not to crush your chest. But his cautious compressions didn’t cut it. The nurses instructed him to push harder. To “actually compress” your chest- and Bucky followed instructions. 

But as he did so, a sickly snapping sound exploded from your body. Bucky recoiled instantly; his face contorted in horror.

“What are you doing? Keep going!”

“I can’t- I think I broke her ribs,” Bucky shouted at the doctor. “What do I do?”

“Keep going!” The nurse yelled, “It happens- just keep going.”

Bucky broke out into a cold sweat. His stomach turned at the thought of hurting you, of causing you even more pain; you’d been through enough as it was. But he did as he was told. With each round of compressions, he swore he created new fractures. He felt every splinter, every crack as he put pressure on your chest. 

He wanted to sever every last nerve-ending in his hand; anything to rid him of the sickening sensation creeping through his palm. But if doing this saved you, it was worth the nightmares.

He watched as the two nurses provided your supplemental breaths and tended to your endlessly bleeding wound. The doctor called ‘clear’ every so often, shocking you with a defibrillator in an attempt to restore your heartbeat.

Round after round of compressions, breathing, and shocks passed by without signs of improvement. You remained lifeless, unresponsive. A syringe of epinephrine delivered straight to your chest did nothing. And Bucky felt what little hope he had slipping through the cracks in your ribs. He couldn’t believe he was about to lose you; couldn’t believe he’d have to watch you die. Hot tears blurred his vision and streaked down his cheeks. His legs went numb. At any second, he knew his knees would give out, knew he’d crumble to the floor under the crushing weight of grief.

The doctor deemed the next shock your last, and Bucky almost doubled over. 

“Come on, doll, just-” He swallowed a sob, “just stay. Stay. Do it for me, I’m begging you. Please?”

The doctor called one last “clear” and delivered your final shock, only to be met with the rhythmic beeping of your heart monitor.

“Sinus rhythm restored,” announced the nurse to Bucky’s left. She appraised the waves on your EKG and gave a nod. “She’s stable.”

After what felt like an eternity, Bucky took a breath. He stretched his tense fingers and did his best to  relax the rock-hard knots forming in his shoulders. A new crop of hope bloomed cautiously inside his chest, but he couldn’t allow it to blossom and flourish just yet. You weren’t out of the woods; there was a very real possibility that your heart might stop again. And he wasn’t sure how many times the doctor could revive you before throwing in the towel.

Less than a minute after Bucky’s cautious optimism sprouted anew, a soul crushing sight dashed it completely. A sharp gasp filled his lungs, a shudder rocked his frame. Shades of deep, dark blue bloomed under the skin of your chest. Black and purple splotches stained your sternum. Some spots were already starting to swell. He extended a hand in your direction but recoiled in an instant, fearing he’d hurt you yet again. 

“Happens all the time,” one of the nurses said with a shrug. “Believe me, broken ribs are the least of her worries.”

Somehow, her words didn’t make him feel any better. He ached to hold your hand, to sweep a gentle caress across your cheek. But he didn’t dare touch you after what he did. Every glimpse of your bruised, swollen chest sent bile rushing into his throat. 

The three dedicated members of the med team worked tirelessly for the rest of the flight. They did everything in their power to keep your condition steady, to maintain the life they worked so hard to save. It brought Bucky comfort to see them staying so close, ready to jump into action if need be.  

Bucky, like the med team, hovered. He couldn’t bring himself to leave your side. You seemed too fragile, your condition too tenuous. He counted your every breath, took stock of every beat of your heart on the monitor. Stepping away for even a second felt wrong. He needed to be there if you crashed again, if the doctor needed extra hands. He needed to be there to help.

And if you woke up, he wanted to be the first face you saw. 

But you didn’t wake. A groan here, a muscle twitch there- that was all you could spare. And though Bucky wanted nothing more than to see you open your eyes, he thanked the universe for keeping you unconscious. He knew tsunamis of pain rippled in the wings, waiting to overtake you the second you woke.

Bucky held his breath as the jet landed. Every jarring bump, every vibration, forced his heart into his throat. He feared that even the slightest impact would send you into cardiac arrest. He flicked his eyes from the rising and falling of your chest to the rhythmic flashing of your heart monitor and back again. Nothing changed, no alarms sounded. And when the jet finally stilled, Bucky breathed a deep sigh of relief. He just needed to get you to the med bay for treatment, and this whole nightmare would be over. 

He didn’t like being optimistic. It felt like a set-up, like false hope. If he told himself you’d survive and you didn’t, the fall would be that much harder, that much more devastating. 

But being realistic wasn’t any better. Telling himself that you were too far gone, that you weren’t going to make it, felt wrong. To him, it seemed like he was cursing you. Like willing your death into existence. Like begging the universe to end your life. 

And so, he opted for a neutral mantra. “She’s home,” he told himself. “She’s home. She’s home. She’s home.”

The distance to the medbay felt longer than usual. The hallways seemed to stretch on forever, the double doors to the triage center seemed to grow farther and farther away. Bucky followed your gurney closely, only allowing a few inches of space between the two of you. He couldn’t be separated from you again. He wouldn’t. He needed to be with you every second, watching over you. 

A dark cloud of impending doom loomed over his psyche. It whispered to him, telling him that if he left your side, if he let you out of his sight, you’d die. You’d be gone forever. And it would be his fault. He knew it was nonsense, that this was just his anxiety operating on overdrive. But he couldn’t shake the fear. And risking it wasn’t an option.

“No visitors past this point,” a security guard placed an arm in front of Bucky as he tried to enter the triage unit.

Bucky tried to go around the man, watching as the medical staff carried you farther out of reach. “I’m not a visitor, I’m an agent-” 

“No agents past this point, then,” the guard rolled his eyes. “Only patients and medical staff. You can have a seat over there.”

A small table sat against the wall, flanked by two chairs. It was a sad, makeshift excuse for a waiting room that operated as a device to keep people from hanging around. But bucky couldn’t be discouraged. He took a seat in one of the chairs, determined to wait there as long as he had to. He knew he’d missed a number of important phone calls by now, and probably several meetings. But he didn’t care; all that mattered was you. 

Dread circled Bucky like a buzzard as he waited. It was taking too long- why was it taking so long? How much time did the medical staff need? You were stable when the jet landed, the nurse said so. Why were there no updates? All Bucky needed was a nod, a bit of information. But he remained in the dark, wondering if you died on the operating table.

Maria found Bucky slumped in a chair with a zombie-like air about him. He was expressionless, his gaze hollow. His palms traced the same track up and down his thighs in a never-ending cycle. One look and she knew: something was very wrong.

“Hey,” she called softly, hoping not to startle him.

But Bucky didn’t respond- he didn’t even react. He just sat there, his unblinking stare burning a hole in the tile. An uneasiness enveloped Maria. She’d never seen Bucky so empty, so despondent. As she stared at him, she found herself fearing the worst. ‘Maybe he just received terrible news’ she thought. ‘Maybe he’s grieving’.

“Hey,” she tried again, nudging her foot against his. 

He came back to life with a start. A sharp inhale filled his chest, his eyes blinked wildly. But his palms never stopped moving in their endless cycle against his tactical pants. And he never actually looked at her.

“Hi…” he breathed. 

Hill took the seat opposite him. She conjured the gentlest, warmest tone she could find, “is everything okay?”

Bucky balled his hands into tight fists and stretched them out again. Maria noticed blood- your blood- crusting under his fingernails and staining his skin. But before she could get a good look, he grabbed the arms of the chair. His palms rubbed fervently against the plastic handles for a moment until they moved to his face. He ran his hands along his jaw, his spiky stubble poking into his skin.

“Barnes, what happened? Are you-”

Finally, his head snapped in her direction, “I can still feel it…”

“Feel what?”

Bucky’s head fell into his hands. He pressed his palms against his eyes and dragged them down his face. Maria watched him fall apart in slow motion. He seemed to be unraveling, one cell at a time. And when he finally spoke, shame made his words almost unintelligible. 

“She crashed on the jet…”

“Oh...” Maria did her best to keep a calm, even tone. Her concern for you vibrated in her chest, but she didn’t dare let it free- not when Bucky was moments away from a meltdown. “Is she-”

“The med team needed help. There weren’t enough of them- they needed me to do chest compressions,” Bucky said, his voice low. “And I broke- I crushed her ribs.” 

A sharp shudder rocked his entire body. Just thinking of that moment, when his too-strong hands destroyed your chest, was enough to make him sick. To scar him for life. To haunt him. Of all the horrible things he’d done in over the years, this was the worst. He gave his hands a quick shake, hoping to rid his nerve endings of the sensation.

“I felt her bones snapping under my hands,” Bucky’s words dripped with shame. “And I can still… I still feel it.”

“Okay,” Maria said gently. “Well, if she-”

“She was already in such bad shape,” Bucky swiped a tear from his cheek. “And I… I hurt her. I made it so much worse.” 

His head fell into his hands once again and did not reemerge. 

“Hey, look at me,” Maria gave his arm a gentle touch. 

Bucky only shook his head. 

“Come on, Barnes, just look at me for a second.”

Again, he refused. 

Maria abandoned her chair and sat instead on the small table. She never got this close to Bucky. Usually, she preferred to give him his space. He wasn’t the touchy-feely type- unless you were around. But he was lost in a shame spiral, adrift with no hope of return. And he needed rescuing. She placed her hands on his and gently removed them from his face. 

“You saved her life,” Maria said. “Twice. You rescued her from the base, and when the med team needed help, you came through.”

“But I-”

“Did it work?” Maria asked, her tine almost stern. “Did the chest compressions work?”

Bucky nodded. 

Maria gave him a shrug, “That’s all that matters. She can recover from a few broken ribs, but if you hadn’t been there-” 

Bucky averted his gaze as his eyes filled with tears. 

“Hey,” Maria grabbed his face, bringing his focus back to her. “If you hadn’t been there, she’d be dead.”

Maria’s words fought hard against the demeaning voice that lived inside Bucky’s head. It screamed at him, telling him that he shouldn’t believe her, that he was a monster, that he almost killed you. Usually, Bucky allowed his inner demons to run free. He listened to them without pause, believing anything and everything they told him, no matter how vile. But Maria was steadfast and unshakable in her sentiments; she truly believed what she was saying. And by some miracle, Bucky did, too.

“Thanks…” He granted her a hollow smile and a small nod. 

Hill sat in silence with him for a few hours. She didn’t try to make small talk or ask what was going on inside his head. She simply existed near him, sharing the space so that he didn’t have to be alone. She ignored important texts and sent every call to voicemail. She knew it was exactly what you’d do for him, if you were able. And she did her best to fill your shoes.

Abruptly, Bucky’s head snapped in her direction. His pulse thrummed against his skin as a new wave of anxiety crashed over him. “She kept saying…” he sighed. “She kept saying we needed to talk. She wanted to talk to me about something.”

Maria cocked her head to the side, “About what?”

He shrugged. “I told her we could talk later because there would be plenty of time,” Bucky’s words grew shaky. He found himself near tears for what felt like the millionth time that day. Guilt sucker punched him. “What if… what if there isn’t more time for us? What if that was all we were ever going to get? What if-”

“You’ll get more time,” Maria said with certainty. “The universe has a way of evening things out. You were robbed of time once; it won’t happen again. Plus, you’re deserved some fucking karmic retribution- you’re owed this.”

Bucky wondered how she could be that sure of something so ethereal. But she was steady, solid as a rock. She didn’t waver in her words or add caveats at the end. She, somehow, knew it to be true. And Bucky couldn’t help but believe her.

But when Fury called her for the eighth time, she knew quiet time was over.

“I have to go, okay? Fury can’t do anything without me, he’s hopeless.” She stood from her seat and rested a hand on Bucky’s shoulder. “Call if you need anything.”

Bucky thanked her a million times over and, for the first time, gave Maria a hug. She would never know how much her reassurances helped him. She’d pulled him from the ledge and gave him what he desperately needed: perspective.

In the hours that followed, he let her words play on a constant loop inside his mind. “If you hadn’t been there, she’d be dead,” he heard her say. “You’ll get more time.” The sickening feeling of your bones snapping under his strength never faded, and the fear of losing you still had him in a chokehold, but Maria’s words quieted his mind. 

In the sad, empty waiting room, time seemed to mutate. Some of the hours dragged, others whizzed by. Bucky wasn’t sure how long he’d been there. Was it ten hours? Or twenty? He didn’t really care. He’d wait lifetimes for you. 

He saw the security guards change shifts once, twice. It was the only thing alerting him to the passage of time, as part of him believed it was standing still. On the third shift change, they told him to go home. 

“They’ll call you if there’s an update”, said one of the guards. “It’d probably be a good idea for you to go get some sleep, or something.”

Bucky knew he looked like hell. Your blood left crimson streaks across his face and neck. And the dark circles he usually wore under his eyes were a deep shade of plum. But he couldn’t leave, he couldn’t sleep. Not when your life hung in the balance. Not when you needed him. 

A few more hours passed with no news, and Bucky found himself teetering on the edge of insanity. An angry, desperate voice bellowed inside his head. It told him to bust through the doors and find you, no matter what it took- even if it meant hurting people in the process. The gun secured to his hip and the knife strapped to his ankle became eerily attractive. His hands itched to reach for the weapons, to hold someone at gun point until they allowed him to see you. But he couldn’t to give in to the fear, to the violence. It took him years of therapy and long talks with you to stop seeing himself as a monster- and he refused to destroy the progress you helped him make. 

A doctor stepped out of the double doors and looked in Bucky’s direction, “Sergeant Barnes?”  

Bucky was on his feet before he knew what hit him. This was it. After what felt like an eternity of not knowing whether you lived or died, he was about to have an answer. Sweat dampened his palm, his brow as he stood in front of your doctor. 

He didn’t know he was even capable of this kind of fear, this kind of agony. And though he was an impossibly strong physical specimen, Bucky knew he’d never be able to lift the weight of the grief that followed your loss. He knew that, if you died, he’d spend the rest of his life dragging himself from place to place, unable to stand, unable to push back against the overwhelming, oppressive force of losing you. 

Your doctor spoke quickly and professionally about your condition, but the words turned to mush the second they reached Bucky’s brain. The combination of medical jargon and pure panic made their meanings imperceptible. But one phrase managed to cut through the fog of Bucky’s anxiety and exhaustion: “you can see her now.”

And just like that, Bucky took off. His fatigued body did its best to carry him through the halls, stumbling every now and then on the smooth tile of the hospital floors. But he didn’t dare slow down. He had to get to you. 

By the time he reached the door to your room, he found himself shaking- almost shivering- with anxiety. He knew you were alive, of course. Knew that the doctors had been successful in saving your life. But something in him doubted their handiwork. Something in him swore that if he didn’t get to you in the next half second, you’d flatline. Again. 

He could practically feel his brain rattling around inside his skull, his teeth chattered against one another. And the sharp tremors in his hands made it nearly impossible to get a grip on the door handle. Panic and frustration coursed through him as the he tried again and again to gain entry to your room with no luck. A strangled sob forced its way out of his chest and caught the attention of a nurse- one of the nurses who helped keep you alive on the jet. 

“Hey…” Her eyes drifted to Bucky’s shaking hands. “Need some help?” Before Bucky could answer, she’d abandoned the medication she was prepping, discarded her gloves, and made her way to his side.

“Here, let me.” Her soft, sympathetic tone was almost too kind; Bucky’s eyes blurred with tears. She turned the door handle and gestured for Bucky to go inside.

His “thank you” was for more than just the door. 

Bucky took a few steps inside and drew in a sharp breath; he’d never seen you in such severe condition. Over the many hours that Bucky waited for you outside, all of your bruises grew darker, more menacing. They stained your throat, your face, your arms. He didn’t even want to think about the ones on your chest- the ones he caused. Dried blood crusted in your hair and formed a path down the side of your face. It sat caked under your fingernails and rested in the creases of your palms. Thankfully, your gunshot wound was covered by gauze and concealed by your gown. But knowing it was there was enough to make Bucky sick. He, of course, witnessed and inflicted, his fair share of carnage over the years. But he knew your wound would haunt him for years to come- simply because it was yours. 

All he wanted was to be near you. To sit at your bedside and hold your hand. But he didn’t dare to get any closer. Electrodes attached a dozen wires to your chest. IVs sat lodged in the crooks of your elbows, in the backs of your hands. Machines and monitors kept track of your vitals. And who was he to disturb this fragile, vital ecosystem? What if he accidentally pulled out one of your IVs? What if he detached a wire by mistake? He’d already hurt you once today, he wasn’t about to do it again. 

He, instead, opted to stand at attention. A few feet away. For your safety. He didn’t touch you, didn’t even say your name. He simply stared at you, counting your every breath. 

An hour- or maybe two- passed by with him like this. Nurses checked on you, doctors poked their heads in. And every time, they told him he was permitted to sit by your bedside. But he just shook his head. Sure, slipping his hand into yours, being close to you- it would provide him with incomprehensible comfort. But he couldn’t, not when you were so severely injured. 

After the third hour, Bucky feared his sanity was slipping. A wicked voice lodged deep in his psyche suddenly awakened. It whispered to him, taunted him. Maybe this was all a dream. Maybe he was asleep in the waiting room. Maybe you didn’t survive. Maybe…

And he would’ve believed it, had you not snapped him out of the vicious spiral. 

“Buck?” He feared he’d never hear you voice again, but there it was. Hoarse and weak- but yours.

Bucky flew to your side. He cradled your face gingerly in his hands, completely consumed by the need to touch you, to feel you, to know that you were real. His palms laid flush against your cheeks, his thumbs sweeping over your skin. And in an instant, the sickly sensation of your snapping bones vanished.

A hurricane of tangled thoughts and emotions crashed over him. He had so much to he wanted to say, so much he wanted to confess to you. But the words refused to arrange themselves properly. Suddenly, Bucky wished he’d used his ample time in the waiting room to better organize his thoughts. He wished he’d sought out a pen and a scrap of paper and used them to plan and articulate his sentiment. But even if he’d found the supplies he needed, he wouldn’t have been able to jot a single thing down. Not with his shaking, unsteady hands.

Anxious words and broken sobs got stuck in his throat and formed a garbled, unintelligible mess as they left his mouth. But it was the best he could do. He stared at you, waiting for your response.

“I, um…” you looked at him for a long moment. The haze of head trauma, blood loss, and pain killers made you foggy. You did your best to trace your steps back through Bucky’s words, certain that your condition was the cause of your confusion. But after a significant pause, you came up empty. “Sorry, I- what?”

Bucky slid one of his hands into yours and gave a soft laugh. “Sorry. I tried to say-” He sat quiet for a moment. What had he tried to say, exactly? He wasn’t sure. With a small shake of his head, he re-rerouted. “Um, it doesn’t matter. Here, how’s this:” He cleared his throat and spoke with the sharpest pronunciation possible. “How are you feeling?”

Your laugh- Bucky’s favorite laugh- bubbled up to the surface. But regret swallowed you whole as pain shot through your head, your chest, your side. The hurt radiated through your entire being. It rendered you breathless, and left your face twisted in an agonized grimace.

Bucky didn’t like how long it took you to recover from the small chuckle you shot his way. A pang of worry shot through him.  “Don’t exert yourself, okay?” He swept a thumb across your cheek, “you don’t wanna tear your stitches or...” He cleared his throat, “aggravate any, um, broken bones.” Bones that he broke.

“No, I’m…” you squeezed your eyes shut for a long moment before opening them again. The pain slowly receded. “I’m good, I’m okay. I just- breathing is hard. I forgot how shitty it feels to have broken ribs.”

Bucky nodded. His teeth sunk into the smooth flesh of his cheek. A metallic taste coated his mouth. He didn’t want to tell you the truth. Didn’t want you to know that he was the cause of your severe pain. But you deserved to know, didn’t you? With a deep sigh, he opened his mouth, intent on telling you what really happened. But you cut him off. 

“Thank you, Buck. For coming to get me. I really thought I was…” Hot tears stung your eyes and blurred your vision. “I thought that was it for me, you know? And I just want you to know how-” you sniffed, “how grateful I am.”

Bucky left your side for only a second, retrieving a box of tissues from the counter across the room. He was back in no time and swept a tissue across your cheek to catch your tears.

“I know we always say that we have each other’s backs but you… you meant it,” you said. A small smile pulled at your lips, “thank you for meaning it.”

Bucky nodded. He did his best to keep his breathing steady, to stop himself from falling apart at the seams. He knew exactly what it felt like to be left behind, to wait for your last moments- alone. 

“I wasn’t gonna leave you there, doll. I couldn’t.” 

You gave a small nod. “Yeah, I- I wish my partner had felt the same way…” The hurt in your voice was unmistakable. It sliced though Bucky’s chest. “I didn’t think he would ever do something like that. I mean, I thought we were friends.”

The mere thought of Jake brought a familiar rage to the forefront of Bucky’s mind. He didn’t understand how anyone could be so callous, so uncaring- so indifferent to the well-being of others. The part of him that swore off unnecessary violence remained quiet as the rest of him imagined Jake’s demise. He wanted your disloyal partner to suffer. To squirm and squeal and regret that he ever left you behind. But that could wait- you were the priority.

“Yeah, I didn’t expect him to be that kind of person,” Bucky sighed, “he seemed like a stand-up guy.”

Silence filled the room as you thought over Jake’s desertion. His abandonment hurt. It stung in places you didn’t expect. You’d taken Jake under your wing and did everything in your power to be the best leader possible. All you wanted was to help him. To set him up for success. 

And after working alongside Bucky for so long, you’d forgotten that disloyalty to one’s partner was even an option. 

“He probably panicked,” you tried to rationalize. “And then once he realized what he’d done, maybe he…”

There was no rationalizing this. 

An ugly realization slithered into your mind. “After he left, I think he probably hoped I’d just die… that way I wouldn’t be able to give my side of the story.” The weight of Jake’s actions hit you like a train. Rivulets of warm tears rolled down your cheeks, only to be swept away by Bucky’s gentle hand. With a small shake of your head, you did your best to banish the feelings of abandonment and betrayal. Wallowing would only make you more miserable. And you didn’t need emotional pain on top of the physical agony that already plagued you.

“Well, joke’s on him,” you shrugged, “cause I’m still alive.” Pain radiated through your chest, bringing a grimace to your face. “Kind of.” 

Bucky didn’t understand how you could just dismiss the bad feelings. Couldn’t understand your propensity for levity. Your partner left you for dead without a second thought- and yet, you found a way to joke about it. It was something he’d always admired about you, something he wished he was capable of. 

You gave a strained laugh, “I can’t wait to see the look on Jake’s face when he finds out that I didn’t die.”

Bucky wasn’t sure what prompted him to say it. It left his mouth without his brain’s authorization.

“But you did.”

He wished to take the words back, but it was too late. They hung in the air, just out of his reach. 

“I…” you struggled to grasp Bucky’s words. “I what?”

This was not the time- or the place, or the way- to tell you the truth. But he didn’t have a choice. His clumsy words made his bed, and now he had to lie in it. 

“You, um…” Bucky didn’t want to think about what happened, let alone say it out loud. But he owed it to you to be honest. Especially after Jake had lied to you about being a trustworthy partner. Bucky scratched at the stubble on his face, ran a hand through his hair. Anything to delay the inevitable. But he couldn’t put it off for long. “Your heart stopped- you died. On the jet.”

Only one word fell from your lips, “Oh…” 

“And while I’m at it, I might as well tell you that…” Bucky took a deep inhale. He was in too deep now. And keeping this from you any longer felt like lying. “That your ribs are broken because of me.”

A quizzical look crossed your face, “what do you mean?”

“I mean… the med team was short staffed on the jet. There were only three of them. And when you crashed, it was- it was an all hands on deck situation.” He flashed back to the moment when the alarms sounded. When your EKG flatlined. A shudder ran through him. “They needed me to do chest compressions. And I- I didn’t want to hurt you, but the nurse said I wasn’t pushing hard enough to actually help you. And when I pushed harder- I broke your ribs.”

Bucky searched your face for something- anything. Anger. Fear. Betrayal. But he found nothing. Your expression was as neutral as they come. He feared that something lingered just below the surface. That once you fully processed his words, you’d erupt into a perfect storm of disgust and disappointment.

He told himself to wait silently until you made up your mind. But the outburst exploded from his lips before he could stop it. “I’m sorry- I’m so sorry, sweetheart. You know I’d never want to hurt you, I would never do anything to hurt you. But I… they told me I had to push harder. Or it wasn’t going to work. And I just wanted it to work, I wanted you to be okay, and-”

It took almost all of your strength to raise your hand and place a finger to Bucky’s lips. He fell silent.

“Buck, it’s okay.”

He tried to form a rebuttal, but you cut him off. 

“You didn’t have to rescue me, but you did. No questions asked, no hesitation. You saved my life by getting me out of there. And you saved me again by helping the med team.” Your hand drifted from Bucky’s face and landed in his palm. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Bucky didn’t say anything else. His fingers traced gentle patterns on your palm. His eyes fell downward. You could almost see the shame eating him alive from the inside.

 “Hey,” you intertwined your fingers with his. “I can handle a few broken ribs.”

“No, I- I know you can. I just…” A sad smiled flickered across his lips. “I feel terrible. You went through a lot. And I just don’t like knowing I made it worse.”

A long silence filled the room. You’d seen this side of Bucky more times than you could count. And you knew him well enough to know what followed. He was going to feel bad- terrible, actually- about this for a while. There was no accelerating the process or absolving him of his guilt. No amount of reassurances could save him from it. He just had to sit with it. One day, the weight would diminish. But it was going to take time. And that was okay. 

You gave his hand a squeeze. “I thought your voice was a hallucination, you know.”

Bucky lifted his head.

“And when you came into the room, I actually thought that was a hallucination, too.” A smile stretched across your face, “I mean, I thought I was losing my mind.”  

Bucky gave a half-hearted chuckle. He didn’t want to think about you in that room by yourself. About you struggling to tell what was real.

“But then you touched me…” You raised your hand and brushed it across your cheek, mimicking him. “And that’s when I realized that you were real- that you were there.” You fell quiet for a moment, lost in the memory of Bucky’s rescue. “It was like, in that moment, I wasn’t scared anymore. I wasn’t scared of the pain. I wasn’t scared of dying. I was just scared that…”

“What?”

“You have to promise not to laugh,” you told him with an authoritative tone. “Cause I know it’s corny, or cheesy, or whatever.”

“Sweetheart,” Bucky drew an X over his heart. “I’m not gonna laugh at you.”

You stared at him with narrowed eyes, sizing up his promise. But, of course, you knew Bucky would never tease or ridicule you about something like this. 

“Okay, fine, I um… I was scared that I’d never see you again. If I died, I mean.”

Bucky’s lungs emptied. He couldn’t remember how to breathe, how to speak. A sudden ache ripped through his heart as it splintered and shattered into a million pieces. To know that you thought of him in what you believed were your last moments somehow ripped him apart and put him back together all at once.

Your voice cracked. Tears filled your eyes. “I was afraid that we’d already run out of time. I was afraid that we weren’t going to get any more.” A few soft sobs escaped from your throat, followed by a pained groan. But you pushed passed the throbbing in your chest. “But I was so relieved. Because I got to see you one last time. It was the most intense sense of peace I’ve ever experienced.”

Bucky struggled to hold on to his composure. He felt himself crumbling, weakening under the weight of your words. 

“But then I realized- I realized I’d never get to tell you. And you kept saying we could talk later, but I didn’t know if there would be a ‘later’. And when I blacked out, I was so full of…” You shook your head ever so slightly, sending a few tears dripping onto your cheeks. “I had so much regret. Because I needed you to know.”

“To know what?” Bucky leaned in close, searching your face for any inkling, any clue. “Doll, it’s ‘later’. Tell me- whatever it is. You can tell me now, it’s-”

Your lips met his in a soft kiss. In it, everything you’d ever felt for him came rushing forward. Admiration. Longing. Lust. Obsession. Adoration. Love. 

A sting of pain jolted through you as your split lip brushed his, but you didn’t care. His hands found your face, your fingers curled into the collar of his shirt. It was always supposed to be this way. 

When the two of you finally separated, Bucky simply stared at you. He didn’t move, he didn’t speak. He wasn’t sure he knew how. 

“I love you, Buck. I’ve loved you- for so long.” A huff left your chest, “So. Long.” 

Still, Bucky remained silent. Nerves began crawling through you like vines, twisting their way through every fiber of your being. But you owed it to yourself, and to Bucky, to tell him the truth. 

“And I just… I know how you see yourself. And I know you don’t think you’re even worthy of my friendship, let alone love. But I was so anxious, cause I thought you’d never know the truth. I thought I’d die without getting to tell you. And you’d live the rest of your life thinking that you’re not worthy, that no one could ever love you. But I- I love you. I just needed you to know.”

The silence made your ears ring. Bucky’s face still wore a mask of bewilderment. And you feared you’d ruined everything. 

“You don’t have to say it back, though,” you said. “I’m not gonna stop being your friend if this is an unrequited thing.”

Finally, Bucky came back to life. He rolled his eyes and let a scoff escape his lips. He leaned in close, the tip of his nose almost brushing yours. “Unrequited? I broke every SWORD rule and policy. Abducted medical staff. Stole a jet. And went on an unauthorized mission. All to get you back. I didn’t even know if you were alive, I just- I had to bring you home.” 

He closed the small gap that remained between your face and his and granted you warm, gentle kiss that tasted like home. “I did all that- and you thought there was even a chance that I didn’t love you back?” Bucky gave a playful roll of his eyes, “you don’t know me at all, sweetheart.”

You returned his eye roll. "Well, you're a really great friend to me. And you always have been. So, I didn’t take a rescue as a proclamation of love,” you gave a strained chuckle. “I just thought-”

“I’ve loved you for…” Bucky thought back over the course of your friendship. The day you first met, the first time you helped him through a panic attack, the time he made you the ugliest cake in the world for your birthday. He saw his life in two parts: before he met you and after he met you. And he so preferred the after. 

“I don’t even know how long,” he shrugged. It was almost automatic. His feelings for you didn’t need a slow, gradual build up. They descended upon him all at once, like the world’s most beautiful avalanche.  “It’s been a long time- an embarrassing amount of time, probably,” he laughed.

“Oh, so we’re both cowards then,” you shot him a wink. “Too afraid to tell the other how we feel.”

Bucky nodded, “It seems that way…”

“But you weren’t too scared to steal a jet and run into possible gun fire?” you quipped.

“Nope. Didn’t even think about it,” he said matter-of-factly. “I just wanted to find you.”

You’d never experienced a love- a commitment- like that. It sent a rush of warmth into your cheeks and somehow eased the pain plaguing your body. You knew in your heart you would’ve done the same for Bucky without a second thought. But knowing that he was so fiercely determined to bring you home felt almost unbelievable. You had the proof, though, right there in front of you. This man, who you loved, loved you too. And loved you enough to risk his life for you. It wasn’t something you’d ever ask him to do, and you knew you’d never have to. He’d do it without hesitation. Without reservation. He’d walk through fire for you if it meant bringing you home. 

--------------------------------------------------------

You should’ve known better the moment you stepped inside. The facility was too quiet, too intact. Dust settled thick on the floors, but the lights still flickered dimly overhead, and the security systems were half-alive, humming low like they were waiting.

You were the one who found the sealed door- reinforced, heavily protected, and drawing power. It was locked down tight, tucked at the end of a corridor where the flickering lights didn’t quite reach. You called the others over.

"You think it’s storage?" Bucky asked, frowning at the biometric pad.

"Locked and powered," you muttered. "Could be data. Or maybe just a lab they forgot to scrub."

"Let's not poke the bear," Steve said, but he stepped up beside you anyway, scanning the door. "Looks like it's sealed for a reason."

That should've been the moment you backed off. But your fingers were already dancing over the keypad, overriding the old security system. The panel blinked. Clicked.

"I’ve almost got- "

The door hissed. Not wide- barely a few inches.

A soft spray hit you all in the face.

It came fast. Silent. A puff of pressurized mist like compressed air, followed by the faintest scent- ozone, chemical sweetness, almost floral.

You stumbled back, coughing once.

"What the hell was that?" Bucky barked, wiping his face with his sleeve.

Steve grabbed your arm, pulling you away from the door. "You okay? Did you breathe it in?"

"Yeah, but- I don’t feel anything."

"We’re all covered in it," Bucky snapped, glaring at the faint sheen settling over Steve’s shoulders. "Fucking hell."

"Close it," Steve ordered.

Bucky slammed the door shut, sealing it again with a growl. "Old security measure. Shit."

"We’ll report it," Steve said, but his jaw was clenched.

The spray clung to your skin. Sweet. Heavy. And whatever it was, it was in all three of you now.

~#~#~#~#~#~#~#~#~

By the time the jet touched down back at the compound, you were already flushed and aching, your heart thudding too fast in your chest. Whatever had come out of that door- it clung to your skin, settled in your lungs, and made everything inside you feel off. You weren’t the only one affected. Bucky was pacing the perimeter of the quinjet like a caged animal. Steve hadn’t spoken for the last twenty minutes, but his white-knuckled grip on the back of a seat said everything.

You’d hoped the decontamination shower would be the end of it. But blood was still taken. Swabs run over your skin. Scans. More questions. Until finally, they left the three of you in the quarantine room- one sterile space, no outside contact, and cameras in every corner.

You wanted to apologize. This had been your mistake. But Bucky’s expression was pure storm as he continued to pace like a tiger in a zoo. Steve’s face was unreadable- steely, distant, controlled. So you kept your mouth shut and tried not to scratch at your skin like you desperately wanted.

Soft static crackled, and then Tony’s voice filled the room over the speaker. "It’s biochemical bonding serum," he said. "Looks like it's engineered to push subjects into a state of hyperarousal and submission, designed to override inhibition and drive instinctual behaviors."

Your stomach dropped. What kind of mess had you landed yourself in?

"How long?" Bucky snapped, voice sharp.

"We'll have to check back on the decay and metabolic rate, and we- "

"What Bruce means is- we don't know," Tony cut in. "For you guys, it might be a matter of hours. Little Miss Curiosity might be stuck with it in her system a little longer."

You flinched and shied away from the speaker, burying your face in your hands.

"We're working on it, don't stress. It shouldn't kill you," Tony added casually.

"Big fucking whoop," Bucky growled, pressing a fist into the wall. Steve shot him a look of disproval. 

"Buck.." His tone warning. 

"Just, try and stay calm, guys," Bruce said, trying to sound optimistic. "It'll be alright."

"Don’t make a mess," Tony said, his voice laced with sarcasm. "We’ll keep you posted."

And just like that, you were cut off again. Biochemical- engineered arousal.

"Well, you heard him," Steve sighed, leaning back against the wall, scrubbing a hand over his face. "We just have to keep our heads. It can’t last forever."

That was easy for him to say. Both Steve and Bucky had super soldier serum in their veins- enhanced bodies that could regulate, adapt, maybe even resist. You… you were human. And you could already feel your body reacting in ways that made your skin itch and your blood feel like it was boiling.

You didn't say anything. Just shifted your weight, trying not to squirm. The heat beneath your skin pulsed steadily now, like it was alive.

"This is fucked," Bucky muttered, pacing again. "They just dumped us in here like we’re some kind of experiment."

"They’re doing what they can," Steve said, tone calm but tight. "We don’t know enough yet. Getting worked up won’t help."

"Worked up?" Bucky turned on him, eyes flashing. "You don’t feel that?"

Steve’s jaw flexed. "Of course I feel it."

"Then quit acting like you don’t."

You glanced between them, heart racing. The tension in the room was building again, only this time it wasn’t from anger- it was something heavier. Thicker. Clinging to the air like smoke.

And under it all, that hum beneath your skin only grew louder. 

Hours had passed.

You'd started pacing a little while ago, unable to sit still. Movement helped. Not much- but it was something. You were going through the water they'd left in the room like you were dying of thirst. You were hot, sticky, your tank damp and clinging to your body, and you were doing everything you could to ignore the throbbing pulse between your legs.

You kept moving. Pacing. Trying to shake it off.

Steve watched from the far cot, jaw tight. His shirt was damp, his breath shallow, but he was sitting like he was trying to pretend everything was normal.

Bucky was pacing again, eyes locked on you more often than not, his jaw clenched so tight it looked like it might crack. “She smells different,” he muttered. “Fuck.”

His words made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. The rough, raw sound of his voice made your head twitch like it was a physical thing pulling at you.

"Gonna try and sleep," you muttered, not looking at either of them.

Maybe you'd be able to sleep through the worst of it. Maybe if you were lucky, your body would calm down. You slipped behind the thin curtain, stepping into the tiny corner of privacy around your cot. Laying down, the heat of your body only seemed to intensify. Your skin felt suffocated, and with a frustrated sigh, you peeled your tank top over your head, leaving you in just your bra, hoping the exposure would help you breathe easier.

It didn’t.

You curled onto your side, arms around your stomach, thighs pressed tight together. The ache between your legs was a constant, heavy throb now. Maybe… maybe you could just handle your own needs. Just enough to take the edge off. Anything to ease the ache.

Your hands trembled as you pulled the thin blanket around you and lay on the cot. There was a small curtain for privacy, but it did nothing to muffle the sounds when your fingers slipped beneath your waistband.

You tried to be quiet. Tried to hold your breath. But your body was on fire, and even the gentlest brush of your fingers sent you bucking.

A whimper escaped, broken and desperate.

And then you heard it- Steve’s voice. Low. Strained.

“Don’t- don’t do that.”

You froze. “I- I can’t- ”

Still, you didn’t stop. You rubbed faster, then slower, your fingers diving inside of you, pressing deeper, trying every angle- but nothing worked. Every shift of your hand sent sparks across your nerves, your breath hitching with each pulse of pressure, but the fire wouldn’t break. Your legs trembled, your toes curled, but it all stayed out of reach.

You changed angles, tried circling your clit with trembling fingers while your other hand held onto the edge of the cot like it could ground you. You rocked your hips up, whispered pleas into the dark, but it wasn’t enough. Not even close. You needed more- needed them- but all you had were your own shaking hands and the unbearable ache growing between your legs.

Your breath hitched again as frustration bloomed hot and frantic in your chest. You were soaking, your thighs slick, the air sticky with the scent of your arousal. Your skin was flushed and clammy, your body locked in this endless loop of need- and yet you still couldn’t fall over that edge. Not like this. Not alone.

"You gonna keep pretending you don’t want her?" Bucky asked, voice low and rough, growling on the other side of the curtain.

Steve didn’t move at first, but his voice followed, strained. "I can smell her arousal from here, Buck. You think I’m not affected?"

"She’s whimpering, Steve. Sounds like music to me."

"We’re not doing this. We can’t- "

"Fuck this. She needs someone."

"Don’t you fucking touch her," Steve snapped.

"Then you do something," Bucky fired back.

Silence followed. You pressed your fingers deeper, hips rocking, but it wasn’t working. You were going to explode- your body was wound so tight it hurt.

Your fingers weren’t enough. You begged, voice cracking, desperate and broken.

"Please... please someone- "

Someone pulled the curtain back. Bucky’s eyes were dark. Blown wide. He didn’t speak. It hurt. “I can’t…” you whimpered, barely able to speak. “It’s not working…”

Your hips shifted again instinctively, your fingers still caught between your thighs, but the tension was unbearable. You were so wet, so swollen with need, it was maddening- and yet release stayed just out of reach. Your body craved more than your own touch could give.

They both appeared, stepping past the curtain without a word. You could see it in their faces- this was affecting them just as much. Steve’s eyes were dark, jaw clenched. Bucky looked wrecked, barely human with how sharp and hungry his expression had become.

You writhed again on the cot, body shaking, and Steve moved first- his weight shifting over you as he pressed your shoulders down into the mattress with steady, unyielding hands.

"Stay still," he said, voice gravel-thick.

At the same time, Bucky grabbed your wrist and gently pulled your hand away from you.

You whined, hips arched up, as Bucky’s gaze dropped to your slick fingers. He looked transfixed. Obsessed. His mouth parted before he dragged his tongue along your digits, groaning low in his chest at the taste.

Then- without breaking eye contact- he brought your hand to Steve.

"Tell me again we shouldn’t do this," Bucky said, voice rough and knowing.

Steve hesitated, staring at your hand, your eyes, then your body.

"...Steve?" you pleaded, chest heaving. A bead of sweat slid down your ribs, slicking your skin as the heat inside you pulsed like a second heartbeat. "Help... please."

Steve’s jaw flexed. His eyes raked over your flushed, trembling body, lingering where your bra had ridden up from the way you were squirming, the curve of your thighs glistening in the low light.

Bucky didn’t speak. He just stood there beside him, wild-eyed and rigid, chest rising and falling with short, shallow breaths. The scent of you filled the air. Thick. Sweet. Desperate.

Steve exhaled through his nose, heavy and slow like he was trying to exhale restraint. It didn’t work.

"You’re going to regret begging so pretty, sweetheart," he murmured, finally moving closer, the promise behind his words like thunder rolling through your veins.

~#~#~#~#~#~#~#~#~

They were both on you.

You didn’t know who moved first- Steve’s hand slid up your thigh, firm and sure, while Bucky’s mouth was suddenly at your neck, teeth grazing the sensitive skin just below your ear. The tension shattered. Clothing came off in frantic tugs- your joggers peeled away, your bra unclasped and discarded. Steve’s tank was tossed aside. Bucky’s sweats hit the floor with a low rustle.

Heat and skin and breath surrounded you. Their bodies pressed in, solid and hot and overwhelming. Steve's chest pinned you down as he kissed you- hard and consuming- his tongue sliding against yours as he groaned into your mouth. His hands cupped your jaw, fingers splayed, tilting your head how he wanted it.

Bucky moved lower, lips trailing down your throat, teeth scraping along your collarbone. His hands gripped your hips, dragging you down the cot toward him with a roughness that made you moan. He kissed your stomach, your ribs, your inner thighs, worshipping each inch like it belonged to him.

You gasped, arching into the touch of both of them. Their mouths- wet and demanding. Their bodies- slick with sweat, grinding against you like they couldn't get close enough.

You'd all held out for so long. Now there was nothing but the letting go.

Every nerve ending in your body sparked like live wires with every touch- every graze of skin against skin sent jolts of unbearable sensation through you. It was impossible to stay still. Your limbs twitched, your hips rocked, your breath came in short, gasping pulls as your body tried to process too much, too fast.

“Don’t move,” Steve growled, voice rough but laced with something gentler beneath. “Too sensitive? No. You’re just not used to being handled right.”

Bucky pushed your legs open wider, guiding your knees apart until your calves hung off the edge of the cot, completely exposed, completely theirs. “She’s soaking,” Bucky breathed. “Fucking hell- she’s dripping down her thighs.” The cool air kissed your slick folds and made you shiver. Then his hand slid between your thighs again, and fingers plunged into you- two, maybe three. You didn’t even know whose they were anymore.

Steve’s mouth found your chest, teeth grazing over the top curve of your breast before his lips closed around your nipple. You sobbed, your body already arching upward from the overload.

The blonde growled against your skin, one hand gripping your jaw while the other tangled in your hair, yanking your head back just enough to bow your spine upward. You gasped, helpless, writhing between them, your body trembling from overstimulation.

“You’re taking it so well,” Steve murmured, voice low and rough. “Just like that. Good girl.”

“Look at her,” Bucky snarled. “That’s it, sweetheart- ride my hand. Come on. Take what you need.”

His fingers worked deep inside you, curling and thrusting, hitting that spot that made your legs twitch and your hips lift off the cot. His palm pressed against your clit with every motion, grinding you into the edge of bliss, holding you there with cruel precision. You could feel everything. Every ridge of his knuckles, every flex of his wrist. It was too much and not enough all at once.

You whimpered, your hands scrambling against the sheets, seeking something to hold onto as your body rocked with each relentless stroke. Steve bit gently at the underside of your jaw, his hand still twisted in your hair as he whispered praises that barely reached your ears over the rushing roar of need building inside you.

Steve’s mouth was on your chest again, sucking one nipple into the heat of his mouth while his hand massaged the other, groping you with a needy rhythm that only made it harder to breathe. His other hand had tangled itself in your hair again, gently tugging until your spine arched up off the cot, your body straining toward both of them.

Bucky’s metal thumb pressed into your clit, circling with just enough pressure to make your thighs jerk. Your breath hitched, head tipping back as you let out a broken moan.

"OH FUCK." you cried, fingers clawing at the side of the cot, knuckles white.

He didn’t stop. His fingers pumped into you, slick and steady, coaxing the sound out of your throat again and again. You felt like you were vibrating- nerve endings lit up with fire, each touch sparking through you like electricity.

“You hear that, punk?” Bucky’s voice dripped with ego. “That’s the sound of my fingers making her cry.” Steve shifted beside you, sitting up to watch, his eyes locked on where Bucky's fingers slid in and out of you. One of his hands moved down, low and out of sight, and you could see the tension in his jaw as he fought to keep control.

Bucky glanced back at him, grinning as he curled his fingers just right and made you cry out again.

"Look at her, Stevie," Bucky growled, his voice rough and ragged with arousal. He didn’t even look up, just watched his fingers slide in and out of you like it was the most important thing in the world. "She’s writhing just from my fingers. What happens when I put my cock in?"

"You’ll wait," Steve snapped, voice sharp, strained with barely checked control. He was flushed, jaw tight, clearly fighting the same battle Bucky was already losing.

"God, look at her," Bucky muttered again, breath coming faster. "Fuck, I want her mouth. I want every part."

You couldn’t answer. Your vision blurred. Every nerve in your body felt like it had snapped tight, vibrating with unbearable pressure.

And then it broke.

You came- hard.

Your whole body convulsed as the orgasm tore through you. Your legs kicked against the cot, arms flailing blindly for purchase. Steve had to hold you down, one hand braced across your chest, the other still tangled in your hair as your back arched and a strangled sob tore from your throat.

It didn’t end quickly. The drug made it last- your climax dragging on and on, crashing over you in waves so powerful they left you gasping, wrecked.

You felt Bucky’s fingers slow inside you, easing off just enough to let you ride it out without breaking. But they didn’t stop touching you. They didn’t let you go.

And worst of all, the haze in your head didn’t clear like you hoped it would.

You were still shaking. Still needy.

Still burning.

You were a panting mess, your skin still hot and your chest tight when one of them scooped you up and lay you out on the cool floor. The shock of it made you gasp, the chill a sudden relief against your fevered skin. You blinked your eyes open, dazed, limbs slack and breath ragged.

"You’re such a mess for us, baby," Bucky murmured, crouched above you now. His voice was low, ruined with hunger. "That sweet little body of yours wasn’t made to handle all this, was it?"

Your eyes found him- Bucky, kneeling near your face now, his cock hard and leaking, so close it blurred your thoughts. He looked feral, undone, lips parted like he was barely restraining himself.

Your tongue slipped out to lick your lips without thinking. The taste of your own sweat clung to your skin, but all you could focus on was him. The way his chest rose and fell, the way his fist clenched at his thigh.

Your mind narrowed to a single point of clarity.

You wanted him in your mouth.

You leaned forward slowly, licking the bead of precum off his tip before taking him in fully- hungry, needy, your lips stretching around the thick, velvet length of him. Bucky’s breath stuttered, and he let out a ragged groan as your mouth sealed around him.

“Fuck, that’s it,” he gasped, one hand flying to your hair, not to guide but to anchor himself. “So fucking pretty like this- taking me so deep. Look at those lips- look at that mouth.”

You moaned around him, the vibrations making him hiss. He was hot, heavy, pulsing against your tongue, and you hollowed your cheeks to take him deeper, until your nose pressed against the base and he swore low under his breath.

“Messy little mouth,” Bucky panted. “So eager. You needed this, didn’t you? Needed something to suck while we ruin the rest of you.”

You were lost in it- the taste of him, the heat, the way he twitched when your tongue flicked just right. Spit gathered at the corners of your mouth as you worked him with sloppy desperation, gagging slightly as you bobbed your head in a steady rhythm.

Just then, you felt Steve’s hands at your hips, steady and sure. He shifted your lower body, pulling your legs open and up until you were spread out for him on the floor.

“You liked Buck's fingers? Let’s see how you do on my cock,” Steve growled against your ear, his voice dark and thick with restraint.

You gasped around Bucky’s cock, the moan caught in your throat turning into a garbled sound of pleasure as Steve aligned himself behind you. His fingers dug into your thighs, holding you wide as his tip pressed against your entrance- already slick, fluttering, aching.

He pushed in slow, filling you inch by inch, and every nerve inside you lit up in electric spasms. Your muscles fluttered around him, clenching and pulsing as he stretched you open, the thick drag of him stealing your breath.

The pressure, the fullness, the stretch- it was overwhelming. You sobbed around Bucky, the vibration of your moan making him groan above you, his hips twitching as he fought not to thrust.

Steve bottomed out with a hiss, his hands gripping tighter like he needed the anchor. Inside you, he throbbed, deep and perfect. You felt stretched to the edge of your limits, your inner walls fluttering in frantic spasms around him, struggling to adjust and clench all at once. Your body didn’t know what to do- pull him in deeper or push him out.

It was too much. It was everything. Your head was spinning.

They started to move- slow at first. Steve dragging back only to sink in again, deliberate, controlled, while Bucky’s cock bumped the back of your throat as he rocked forward with a groan. You gagged, whined, clung to them both with your mouth and body.

You were stuck in it now. The lust. The drug. The heat. There was no thought left, only sensation. Only how it felt to be stretched open in two directions, trembling and gasping.

They didn’t talk to you anymore. They talked about you.

“She’s so sensitive,” Bucky growled. “Poor thing doesn’t know what to do with herself.”

Steve grunted, his pace picking up. “Tight as hell. She’s pulsing like she doesn’t know whether she wants to come or cry.”

You tried to moan but it came out a broken, garbled sound around Bucky’s cock. Your tongue dragged along the underside of him as he pushed deeper, your throat fluttering as you swallowed around the stretch. Spit dripped from the corners of your mouth, tears tracking down your cheeks, but you didn’t stop. You couldn’t.

Bucky’s hand tightened at the back of your head, not forcing, just holding you there, gazing down into your wet, dazed eyes. “That’s it, baby,” he groaned. “Fuck, look at you drooling all over me. You love it, don’t you?”

Your hips rocked back into Steve without meaning to as he thrust forward again, harder this time, grinding deep. Your nerves fired like sparks, the friction of his cock dragging against hypersensitive flesh sending bursts of pressure low in your belly. Your insides coiled, pleasure building with every thick, deliberate thrust, your body wound so tight it felt like you might snap apart.

“You’re doing so well for us,” Steve grunted, leaning down, his mouth hot at your ear. “Such a good girl, letting us use you like this.”

He hooked one of your legs over his shoulder, changing the angle, driving in deeper. The stretch made you cry out around Bucky’s cock, throat flexing as your moan turned to a sob.

"That's it," Steve growled, pace quickening. "Fuck, so fucking wet and warm... you gonna cum, sweetheart? Gotta feel you squeeze me while you swallow Bucky."

Your body arched, heat crashing through your spine as Steve hit that perfect spot again and again, each thrust sending a jolt through your core. Your throat tightened around Bucky's cock, the vibration of your desperate moans making him curse under his breath.

“Fuck- she’s so close,” Steve panted, driving harder. “You feel that? She’s fucking pulsing.”

You sobbed around Bucky, tears streaking your cheeks, the pressure in your belly a coil tightening with no escape.

“She’s gonna lose it,” Bucky panted, watching the way you writhed. “Look at how she’s trembling. She needs cock.”

And then it snapped.

Your climax hit like a bolt of lightning, seizing your body with white-hot tension as your inner walls clamped down around Steve’s cock. You wailed around Bucky’s length, the cry vibrating through him as he let out a guttural groan.

“Fuck, that mouth- ” Bucky growled, watching your teary eyes roll back. “I’m gonna- shit- ”

He spilled down your throat with a grunt, his cock twitching between your lips, his hand holding you steady as you swallowed every drop of him while he pulsed. 

The clenching spasms of your climax milked Steve mercilessly, dragging his own orgasm from him with a ragged curse. He slammed in deep, staying buried as he came hard, filling you with warmth that only made the pleasure burn hotter.

“Take it,” he groaned, his breath broken against your shoulder. “Take it all. Good fucking girl.”

Bucky sat back on his heels, pulling himself from your mouth with a wet pop, still hard, his cock glistening with your spit. “"Fuck... you’re unreal..." he panted, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing..pupils blown as he looked down at you.

Steve finally pulled out with a groan, the loss of him sudden and jarring, making you whimper. His cum followed, warm and slick as it dripped from your stretched pussy, pooling between your thighs.

His gaze dropped between your legs, transfixed. His eyes went heavy-lidded as he watched it leak from you, dripping down to your slick, twitching rim. Slowly, his fingers moved to your core, smearing the mess down lower, spreading it deliberately to your other entrance.

You gasped, twitching from aftershocks, your body still sensitive everywhere. His fingertip teased your tight hole, rubbing softly, slicking it with a practiced ease. You whimpered, already overwhelmed, but the moan that spilled from you was pure need.

“Damn, Stevie- you didn’t fuck her right if she’s still aching like this,” Bucky drawled, voice hoarse and edged with a smirk, watching the way your hips shifted restlessly on the floor.

You whimpered, the heat still rolling inside you, every nerve ending alive and twitching. The aftershocks made your muscles flutter, your body too sensitive and still so hungry. Steve didn’t bite back. He was too focused- his fingers slick with his own cum as he spread it lower, smearing it over your pussy and then circling your tight, twitching rim.

And then one thick finger pressed inward.

You gasped, whole body jolting, a broken sound catching in your throat as your body tried to clamp down instinctively. But Steve worked slowly, steadily, easing the finger deeper, the stretch sharp and slow as he began to work you open.

You felt your core clench around nothing as Steve worked his finger deeper. “I need- please, I need more, I can’t- ” you gasped, voice trembling. Your head was a mess, fogged with lust and the aftershocks still sparking under your skin. Steve kept up the slow pump of his finger, pushing in deeper, working more of his cum into your ass to keep you slick and open.

“Hear that, Steve?” Bucky said, voice thick with amusement, already fisting his own cock in lazy, slow strokes. “She wants more.”

Steve’s gaze didn’t waver, his finger sinking deeper, curling. You whimpered again.

“Can’t say no, can we?” Bucky added, grinning.

“Oh, I think I know exactly what our girl needs...” Steve muttered, voice thick with heat and control, as his hand disappeared between your thighs.

Steve pulled his finger from your ass just as Bucky got down onto the floor, reaching out to haul you up into his lap. Steve’s arms hooking under yours, supporting your limp, boneless body as they moved you together like you weighed nothing.

“Let’s get you on Buck now...” Steve purred near your ear, voice thick and smooth, a slow heat curling down your spine.

Bucky’s cock was already there- thick, hard, and waiting. They guided you together, Steve steadying you from behind while Bucky angled his cock to your entrance.

As Steve lowered you, your legs wrapped weakly around Bucky’s hips, and you felt the first stretch as his tip slid inside. A guttural groan ripped from Bucky’s throat, his hands tightening on your thighs.

“Fuck, baby,” he gritted out, voice rough and reverent. “You always take me so damn good. Still so fucking tight- even after Steve blew you open? Shit.”

“That’s a girl,” Steve murmured, voice low with praise. “Nice and slow... Want you to feel every inch of him, don’t you?”

You just whimpered and nodded, the need to be filled consuming, overwhelming, as the pair of them helped you sink down onto Bucky’s cock, inch by perfect inch.

Your head fell back against Steve’s shoulder as you settled fully onto Bucky, who thrust up into you with steady pressure. The heat and stretch made your whole body tremble. You could barely breathe, still twitching from your earlier climax. Then Bucky's hands gripped your hips tight.

“Oh fuck,” he hissed, hips rolling upward as he began to move you, guiding you into a rhythm. “Look at you. Still aching. Like how I feel doll?”

The moan that spilled from your mouth didn’t even sound like you anymore- wrecked, raw, and desperate.

You were unraveling under Bucky’s rhythm- the way he filled you had your mind slipping, your thoughts scattering with every deep, slow thrust, how every thrust hit deep, high inside, brushing against that spot that made you shudder. Your head lolled back onto Steve’s shoulder, eyes fluttering, lips parted around desperate little gasps.

“She bites her lip when I go deep. You see that?” Bucky said with a rough chuckle, voice wrecked but smug. “She likes my rhythm.”

You didn’t even notice the way Steve bent you forward over Bucky, hands guiding your body like you were something precious and fragile and already ruined.

You didn’t have time to think too much before you felt Bucky’s hands grip your ass, pulling you open as Steve shifted behind you. It wasn’t until the thick, spongy head of his cock pressed against somewhere you’d never let anyone touch that your eyes snapped open in surprise.

The first inch pushed into your ass slowly, carefully, but it still stole your breath.

“It’s too much- I can’t- wait- ” you gasped, voice cracking with overwhelmed panic as your body instinctively tried to jerk away.

But Bucky rocked his hips upward, pushing deep into your pussy again, and the shockwave of pleasure was enough to paralyze your resistance.

“Shh... it’s okay,” Steve murmured, arms wrapping around you from behind as he continued to press in. His voice was thick and coaxing, his control iron-tight. “I’ve got you. You’re doing so good for us.”

You sobbed, your whole body fluttering around them as Steve sank in deeper, the thin wall between your holes trembling with every inch he took. The two of them groaned in unison, voices rough and reverent as they filled you together.

You were caught between them now. Two super soldiers, all three of you lost in lust and need. Your face twisted with sensation as they held you there- one thick cock filling your pussy, the other spreading your ass open inch by inch. Both sunk to the hilt. You were impossibly full. You were shaking. Overwhelmed. Unable to process the stretch, the heat, the drag of their bodies inside you. It was too much. And you needed more.

“You’re both so… big- I’m gonna- fuck- ” you sobbed. You couldn’t believe how sensitive you’d become- how just being filled, just being stretched, could reduce you to this. You weren’t even moving, yet your body was already bracing to come undone again. There was no going back. No holding on. Just surrender.

You came without moving, the sensation of fullness alone tipping you over. Your body seized in the middle, core clenching violently, squeezing down on both of them at once as pleasure ripped through you like a lightning bolt.

Your voice cracked into a scream. You were gone- shaking, convulsing, burning from the inside out as your orgasm dragged through you with devastating force.

Both of them groaned at the way your body squeezed them- tight and hot and trembling.

“Fuck,” Bucky grunted, rocking his hips once more. “Didn’t even have to move. Just had to be inside you.”

Steve chuckled darkly, voice low and wrecked in your ear. “She’s that sensitive. That fucking perfect.”

You couldn’t even answer. Your lips parted in a silent gasp as Steve’s hands slid up to cup your breasts, thumbs brushing across your stiff nipples as he started to move again. Slowly at first, easing back before pressing forward, dragging against that thin wall with every thick stroke.

Bucky's grip returned to your hips, steady and possessive, guiding you to rise and fall on his cock. Your body jolted with every motion, your moans soft and slurred.

“That’s it,” Steve cooed, hips snapping gently. “We’ll start slow…”

“I-I can’t- ” you whimpered, but your body was already moving, driven by instinct and need.

“I know you can take more,” he murmured. “Look how beautiful you are when you come apart. It'll feel better- just gotta keep going.”

And it did. It felt better than the denial. Better than the ache that came from holding back. The pleasure rolled through you like a drug, heavy and all-consuming.

Your hips started to move again, slowly grinding into Bucky as your walls fluttered around him. You didn’t know if it was need or instinct- maybe both- but you couldn’t stop. You were cock-drunk. Barely aware of anything except how good it felt to be filled this way.

“Breathe,” Steve whispered. “Just like that. Hold it- good girl.”

Then Steve pulled your hips back into him and pressed all the way in.

“You think you’re fucking her deep?” Steve growled at Bucky, voice low and wild. “Watch this.”

Bucky shoved his hand flat to your lower stomach and lifted his hips with a brutal thrust. You cried out, the stretch making your eyes roll back as he ground up into you. It was obscene how deep he reached, how thick he felt. You pawed at his chest, clinging to him with trembling fingers.

“..fuck fuck fuck...” you gasped, the breath knocked out of you before he eased his hips again, smug and steady.

“Told ya,” Bucky muttered with a grin.

But it didn’t stop there.

Bucky answered your gasps with harder thrusts. Steve listened for his name and answered with praise. His mouth latched to your neck, nipping and licking along your skin as he squeezed your breasts roughly, molding them in his palms.

“Did you hear that one? That was mine,” Steve muttered against your skin when you gasped his name.

Bucky answered with a sharp thrust that made your breath catch. “She moaned louder for me, sweetheart. Don’t get cocky.”

Each of them was locked into the game- testing reactions, adjusting pace, trying to claim the sounds that spilled from your lips. One made you cry out, the other drew a gasp. They used your body like a live wire for their competition, and you were helpless in the storm.

“She whimpers when I kiss her right here,” he growled, biting just beneath your ear.

Bucky’s hands gripped your hips tighter, fucking up into you hard enough to rock you against Steve’s chest. “She clenched around me when you said that,” he rasped. “Bet she’s trying to pick a favourite.”

You couldn’t keep up. Couldn’t think. You only managed to gasp whatever name escaped your lips first, and they both heard it- every time. And they responded with sharper thrusts, filthier praise.

“You’re so cock-drunk, you don’t even know who’s making you come anymore, do you?” Bucky said, voice rough.

“She’s beautiful like this,” Steve murmured, licking the sweat off your throat. “All wrecked. All ours.”

Then Bucky’s metal hand slid between your thighs again. His fingers brushed your clit, the coolness of steel a shocking chill of metal against your heat made you jolt, gasping as sparks danced up your spine.

“Oh- god - fuck- ” you sobbed, trembling uncontrollably as sparks shot up your spine.

“Breathe,” Steve ordered again. “Just like that. That’s our girl.”

They started to move faster now- driving into you in sync, pistoning in perfect rhythm. The slap of skin echoed, the slick sounds of your soaked cunt and the obscene wet pressure of being filled from both ends breaking whatever was left of your mind.

“You want to make her come, punk?” Bucky growled. “You gotta fuck her harder than that.”

“Shut up, jerk,” Steve snarled, thrusting harder. “We don’t need to break her. Just ruin her a little longer.”

“She’s shaking so bad. You keep her steady, Steve- I wanna see her face when she comes again.”

Your next orgasm ripped through you with a small wail, your features contorting as your body locked up tight. You clawed at them both- gripping Steve’s forearm, Bucky’s shoulder- as your walls fluttered around their cocks, milking them, begging for more without a word.

They didn’t stop. Didn’t give you time to come down. Steve groaned, his thrusts picking up as he rolled your nipples between his fingers. Bucky cursed, gripping your hips tighter, lifting and dropping you into him with growing urgency.

You felt them both losing control- felt their restraint slipping with every second you squeezed around them, heat and slickness pouring down your thighs.

“Fuck- fuck, she’s doing it again,” Bucky grunted.

Steve’s voice was a low growl in your ear. “She wants it. She’s not done. Not till we are.”

Then the pace shifted- harder, rougher, deeper. Their moans grew louder, matched only by the slap of skin on skin. Your head spun, your vision blurred.

And then they were coming again- Steve first, pulled tight to your back, his groan muffled in your shoulder. Then Bucky, buried deep beneath you, eyes locked on yours as he spilled inside you with a strangled moan.

You collapsed between them, limp and boneless, your body a trembling wreck held up only by their hands. You didn’t even try to move. There was no fight left in you- only the slow hum of satisfaction and overstimulation. Somewhere in the haze of your mind, a flicker of disbelief passed through you- how had you endured that? How had you survived the storm of them inside you? But there was no room for shame or second thoughts. Only surrender. And the quiet, overwhelming hum of being utterly, deliciously wrecked. You were too dazed to understand what was happening at first, the haze still thick behind your eyes. The humming under your skin hadn’t stopped, but it had dulled- muted to a low thrum that echoed in your bones. They were careful, even if your overstimulated body didn’t register it that way.

You whined, squirming, as they slowly pulled out of you. The stretch reversed, the heat slipping away, leaving you empty and raw. It wasn’t pain, but your body protested the loss with soft whimpers.

Someone pressed a water bottle to your lips, coaxing you to sip. You obeyed without thought, the coolness trickling down your throat a small mercy.

Another set of hands gently wiped you down. A cold, damp cloth slid between your legs, easing away the slick mess with slow, tender strokes.

Then your head was lowered into someone’s lap. Fingers carded through your hair.

“You did so well,” Steve murmured. “Look at you- perfect.”

You blinked slowly. Steve’s voice again, closer now: “Easy, sweetheart. Just breathe. I’ve got you.”

Your limbs twitched weakly, still responding to phantom pleasure. A quiet laugh came from Bucky.

“Still twitching. Still fucking gorgeous.”

You felt him kissing up your leg, mouth trailing along your calf, your knee, your inner thigh.

Then your legs were being moved again- lifted, spread with a gentleness that contrasted starkly with the earlier frenzy. There was no rush now, no urgency- just the soft reverence of Bucky's hands as he cradled your thighs like something precious, something breakable, as though he hadn’t just wrecked you minutes ago. You blinked, barely aware, as Bucky settled himself between them, laying flat, his breath hot against your oversensitive core.

He pressed a kiss there, soft and reverent, and your whole body jolted in response.

“And I’m not done tasting her,” he muttered, voice thick with need.

“Buck- she needs to recover,” Steve warned again, but his voice had softened to something indulgent.

“I’ll be gentle…” Bucky promised, his mouth already lowering, tongue dragging slow and careful over your aching folds as your head lolled back into Steve lap, eyes fluttering closed, lost to the warmth and the wetness and the impossible pleasure building again

She stood tall, though her hands trembled slightly as she faced Steve. "I came to see if there's anything I can do to help," she said, her voice steady despite the situation.

Steve's eyes flicked to her, taking in every detail—the determination in her eyes, the way she held herself, the subtle strength she tried to project. For a moment, he said nothing, simply observing her.

"Your sister?" Steve asked, turning his gaze back to Mr. Walker.

HE nodded quickly, his breath coming in short, desperate bursts. "Y-Yes, she's my sister. Please, Steve, don't involve her in this. This is my mess; I'll find a way to fix it."

But Steve was no longer listening to him. His attention was fully on Y/N now, and an idea began to form in his mind. He could see the fear in her eyes, yes, but also something more—an unspoken strength that intrigued him.

"You came here to help your brother," Steve said slowly, standing up and walking around the table toward her. He was towering over her now, his presence as intimidating as it was commanding. "But helping him may come at a price."

Y/N held her ground, refusing to back away even as Steve loomed over her. "What do you want?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

A slow, cold smile curved Steve’s lips. "Your brother's debt," he said, glancing briefly at her brother before turning back to Y/N, "is substantial. But, I could be persuaded to forgive it."

his eyes widened in shock, his breath catching in his throat. "What… what do you mean?"

Steve didn't answer him. Instead, he took a step closer to Y/N, his eyes locking onto hers. "You," he said softly, though his voice carried an undeniable weight. "You stay with me. In return, your brother walks away, debt-free."

The room fell into a deathly silence. Y/N's heart pounded in her chest, and she could feel the weight of her brother's desperate gaze on her. She knew what this meant—what Steve Rogers was asking of her. The choice was impossible, yet she knew, deep down, that she had no real choice at all.

"I—" she started, but the words caught in her throat. Steve’s eyes softened, but just barely. There was no real kindness there, only a calculating interest.

"Think carefully," Steve said, his voice low, almost a whisper. "Your brother's life hangs in the balance. But with me, you will be protected. No harm will come to you—as long as you stay by my side."

Y/N swallowed hard, her mind racing. She glanced at her brother, who was shaking his head frantically, tears streaming down his face. But she knew, just as well as he did, that there was no escaping this. Steve Rogers had made his offer, and she had to decide.

With a deep breath, Y/N nodded, her eyes never leaving Steve’s. "I’ll do it," she said, her voice trembling slightly. "I’ll stay with you."

Steve’s smile widened, and he reached out, gently lifting her chin so she was forced to look up at him. "Good," he murmured, his voice dangerously smooth. "Very good."

He turned to Mr. Walker, who had collapsed to his knees, sobbing uncontrollably. "The debt is forgiven," Steve said coldly. "But remember this day, Walker. Remember what it cost."

Without another word, Steve took Y/N by the arm and led her out of the warehouse. As they stepped into the cold night air, Y/N felt a shiver run down her spine. She knew she had just made a deal with the devil—a deal that would change her life forever.

But she also knew that, in doing so, she had saved her brother. And for that, she was willing to pay any price.The car’s engine purred softly as it sped through the quiet streets, the city lights flickering past in a blur. Inside, the atmosphere was thick with tension. Steve sat beside Y/N in the backseat, his gaze shifting between the road ahead and the woman beside him. She was a picture of nervousness—her fingers twisting together in her lap, her eyes fixed on the window as if the passing scenery could offer her some escape from the reality she was now facing.

Steve couldn’t help but notice the way her shoulders tensed with every passing moment, the subtle rise and fall of her chest as she struggled to keep her breathing steady. She was trying so hard to hold it together, to hide her fear, but Steve saw right through it. And yet, there was something about her—a quiet strength, a kind of gentle resilience—that only drew him in further.

“I’m a mobster, but I’m not a monster,” Steve said softly, his voice cutting through the silence. He watched her closely, hoping for a reaction, but she remained quiet, her gaze still locked on the world outside. “I’ll win your heart,” he added, more to himself than to her.

From the moment he had seen her in that warehouse, Steve had felt something he hadn’t experienced in a long time—a deep, inexplicable longing. There was a beautiful kindness about her, a shyness that was endearing rather than timid. She was withdrawn, yes, but in a way that made him want to draw her out, to uncover the depths of who she was. Her quiet demeanor, so different from the harshness of his world, had caught him off guard. And in that moment, he knew—he wanted her to be his.

As they drove through the city, Steve found himself imagining a future with her, a future he had never allowed himself to consider before. The thought of a family, of someone to come home to, someone who would see past the darkness in him, was almost foreign, yet the idea planted itself firmly in his mind. He had taken many things in his life—power, respect, fear—but this was different. This was something he wanted to earn.

“I’ll give you everything,” Steve promised, his voice steady, carrying the weight of his resolve. He glanced at her again, hoping for a response, but Y/N remained silent, her fingers still fiddling nervously in her lap. She continued to look out the window, as if the outside world was the only thing grounding her in this moment.

The silence was heavy, and Steve felt a pang of frustration mingled with a strange kind of vulnerability. He was used to getting what he wanted, used to commanding obedience and loyalty without question. But this—this was different. Y/N wasn’t someone he could intimidate or control. He knew that if he wanted her heart, he would have to earn it, piece by piece, and that would require patience, something he wasn’t accustomed to.

But he was willing to try.

He reached out slowly, his hand brushing lightly against hers. The touch was brief, tentative, as if he were testing the waters. She stiffened slightly but didn’t pull away. It wasn’t much, but it was enough for Steve. For now, he would be patient. For now, he would wait.

Because deep down, he knew that the moment he had laid eyes on her, he had decided that she was going to be his. And Steve Rogers always got what he wanted.The car pulled up to the gates of Steve’s mansion, and as they swung open, Y/N couldn’t help but feel a mix of awe and apprehension. The mansion was enormous, an imposing structure of stone and glass that loomed over the perfectly manicured lawns. It was the kind of place she had only ever seen in magazines or on television, and now, it was to be her home—or prison, she wasn’t sure which.

Steve led her inside, his presence commanding as he moved through the grand foyer. The floors gleamed under the soft glow of the chandelier overhead, and every piece of furniture, every detail, spoke of wealth and power. Y/N followed silently, her eyes wide as she took in her surroundings. She had never been anywhere like this before, and the sheer opulence of it all left her feeling small, out of place.

“This will be your room,” Steve said, stopping in front of a set of double doors. He pushed them open, revealing a suite that was larger than her entire apartment had been. The bed was massive, draped in silk and velvet, and the walls were lined with art she couldn’t even begin to put a price on. There was a walk-in closet that seemed to stretch on forever, and the bathroom was more luxurious than any spa she had ever seen.

Y/N stood in the doorway, unable to hide the surprise and disbelief on her face. “Feel free to roam around,” Steve added, his voice softer now, almost hesitant. “You’re free to go anywhere in the house.”

She nodded, but didn’t say anything, her gaze still wandering over the room, trying to process everything. Steve watched her, a part of him hoping for some sign of excitement, some indication that she was pleased, but she remained quiet, reserved.

Days passed, and Steve made it his mission to shower her with everything she could possibly want. He arranged for an entire wardrobe to be delivered to the mansion—clothes, shoes, jewelry, all of the finest quality. He took her to dinners at the most expensive restaurants, their tables always the best in the house, their meals prepared by renowned chefs. But through it all, Y/N remained distant, polite but reserved, offering him nothing more than a few words at a time.

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Hmm.”

Those were the answers she gave, nothing more. And though Steve tried to engage her, to draw her out of her shell, she remained quiet, her eyes often turned inward, as if she were lost in her own thoughts. It wasn’t that she was ungrateful—Steve could tell she appreciated the gestures, but she never asked for anything, never demanded more than what she had.

If anything, it seemed as though she didn’t care about the wealth, the luxury, or the attention. She accepted it, but it was clear that none of it mattered to her. And that only made Steve more intrigued, more drawn to her.

He found himself watching her more often, studying the way she moved, the way she spoke, even the way she would pause before giving him those simple, measured responses. She was introspective, always thinking, always considering, and that fascinated him. She wasn’t like anyone else he had ever met.

In his world, people were always wanting, always taking, always demanding more. But Y/N didn’t seem to want anything from him. She was content to be quiet, to keep to herself, and that quiet strength, that calm demeanor, made Steve want to know her even more.

He knew he was falling deeper into something he hadn’t expected—a growing affection, a need to be close to her, to see her smile, to hear her laugh. But he was patient. He knew that she had been thrust into a world that was unfamiliar, overwhelming. And so, he waited, knowing that someday, she would open up to him, that someday, she would see that his feelings for her were genuine.

For now, though, he was content to be near her, to slowly earn her trust, to show her that he was not just the ruthless man the world knew him to be. He wanted to show her that he could be more—that he could be the man she needed, the man who would protect her, care for her, and, one day, win her heart.

It was another one of their dinner nights, set in the private dining room of Steve's mansion. The table was elegantly set, the flickering candlelight casting a warm glow over the room. The atmosphere was intimate, but as always, Y/N was quiet, her presence reserved, her eyes focused on the meal before her.

Steve watched her for a moment before picking up his fork and taking the first bite of the ravioli. The moment the flavors hit his palate, his eyes widened slightly in surprise. The dish was incredible—rich, savory, with just the right balance of textures and flavors. He hadn’t expected it to be this good, even for the high standards he was accustomed to.

“This is delicious,” he remarked, his voice filled with genuine appreciation. He glanced at Y/N, hoping for some reaction, perhaps a smile, or even just a nod of agreement.

Instead, she responded softly, “Thank you.”

Steve paused, his brow furrowing in confusion. He hadn’t expected that response. “What?” he asked, his tone laced with curiosity and surprise. It wasn’t the kind of polite acknowledgment he expected; it was as if she was personally accepting the compliment.

Y/N hesitated for a brief moment, her fingers playing with the edge of her napkin. Then, finally, she looked up at him, meeting his gaze for the first time that evening. “I cooked it,” she said quietly, her voice steady but carrying the weight of a small, significant revelation.

Steve blinked, momentarily taken aback. He hadn’t known that she could cook, let alone that she had been the one to prepare the meal they were eating. For a few seconds, he just stared at her, processing this new piece of information, feeling a strange sense of pride mixed with intrigue.

“You… cooked this?” he repeated, his tone softer now, almost gentle.

Y/N nodded, her eyes dropping back to her plate. “Yes. I used to cook a lot before… before all this,” she added, gesturing vaguely at the mansion around them.

A slow smile spread across Steve’s face, a rare, genuine one that reached his eyes. For the first time since she had come into his life, she had shared something about herself, something personal. And it wasn’t just the words—it was the act itself, the fact that she had chosen to cook for him. In a way, it was the most meaningful thing she could have done, more significant than any material gift she could have offered.

“Well, you’re a hell of a cook,” he said, his voice warm with appreciation. “This is the best meal I’ve had in a long time.”

Y/N’s lips curved into the smallest hint of a smile, but she quickly looked down, hiding it before it could fully form. “I’m glad you like it,” she murmured, returning to her meal.

But Steve’s smile remained, and as they continued eating, the silence between them felt different—less heavy, more comfortable. It was as if a small barrier had been lifted, and in that moment, Steve felt a new sense of hope. He knew she was still guarded, still unsure of him and her place in his world, but this was a start. She had let him in, just a little, and that was enough for now.

As they finished the meal, Steve found himself thinking not just about how much he enjoyed the ravioli, but about how much he wanted to know more about her—what else she liked to cook, what other interests she had, what made her smile. He realized that he wasn’t just drawn to her quiet strength anymore; he was beginning to care about her, to want her happiness.

And that realization only made him more determined to win her heart, one small step at a time.It wasn’t that Y/N was blind to Steve’s appeal. He was an incredibly handsome man—tall, muscular, with chiseled features that looked like they were carved from stone. His blue eyes could be both icy and warm, depending on his mood, and when he walked around shirtless after his workouts, the sight of his sculpted physique was undeniably captivating. In another life, under different circumstances, Y/N knew she might have found herself falling for him—dating him, maybe even imagining a future together.

But that wasn’t the life she was living. Instead, she was here, in this gilded cage, with a man who had taken her into his world without giving her a choice. The fact that he was a mobster, someone who lived in a world of violence and crime, made it all the more difficult for her to reconcile her feelings. Yes, Steve was doing everything he could to make her comfortable—showering her with luxuries, trying to get to know her, even cooking meals together—but she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was being held against her will, that her life was no longer her own.

Every time Steve smiled at her, every time he tried to be kind, she felt a pang of guilt and confusion. She didn’t want to resent him—he was, after all, trying to make things right in his own way—but she couldn’t ignore the reality of the situation. She was with him because she had no other choice, and that sense of obligation weighed heavily on her heart.

It wasn’t easy, living in this liminal space between attraction and apprehension. On one hand, she couldn’t deny the chemistry that simmered between them, the way her heart skipped a beat whenever he was near. On the other hand, she was constantly reminded of the circumstances that had brought her here, and the darker side of Steve’s life that she couldn’t ignore.

Steve seemed to sense her hesitation, but he didn’t push her. He was patient, almost painfully so, as if he knew that forcing her would only drive her further away. But his patience only added to her confusion. How could someone who was capable of such ruthlessness also show such tenderness? It was a contradiction that left her feeling unsettled, unsure of what to believe.

In the quiet moments, when she was alone in her room or wandering the halls of the mansion, Y/N often found herself questioning everything. What did Steve really want from her? Could she ever truly be happy with someone who had taken away her freedom? And most importantly, could she trust him? Could she trust herself around him?

These thoughts haunted her, even as she tried to navigate this strange new life. And while Steve’s efforts didn’t go unnoticed, Y/N couldn’t shake the feeling that she was living on borrowed time, that the life she had known was slipping further and further away. And in its place was something she wasn’t sure she could accept, no matter how much her heart might betray her.The club was buzzing with energy, the low thrum of the music vibrating through the walls and the steady pulse of the lights casting shadows that danced across the crowd. It was one of Steve’s many establishments, a place where he conducted business under the guise of pleasure, blending the two effortlessly. He sat in his usual spot, a private booth overlooking the main floor, his sharp eyes taking in everything around him while his mind worked through the intricacies of the deals being made, the power plays being executed.

Beside him, Y/N sat quietly, as she often did, her presence a stark contrast to the chaos around them. She had never quite adjusted to these outings, but she had learned to blend in, to become almost invisible in her silence. Steve had grown used to her quiet demeanor, but tonight, something was different. She shifted slightly in her seat, her gaze moving from the bustling bar to Steve’s watchful face.

“Can I go get a drink?” she asked, her voice soft yet steady, breaking the silence between them.

Steve turned to look at her, his expression unreadable for a moment. The request was simple enough, but in his world, even the smallest actions carried weight. “Hold on,” he replied, already signaling to one of his men. “Let me get someone to get it for you, doll.”

“No, it’s okay,” she interjected quickly, her tone gentle but insistent. “Please,” she added, her eyes meeting his.

That one word—please—had a way of unraveling him, and she had no idea how much power she wielded with it. Steve felt something inside him soften, a sensation he rarely experienced. She had no idea how she had wrapped him around her finger, how much he enjoyed the subtle control she unknowingly held over him. It was a strange feeling for a man like him, one who was used to commanding every situation, every person around him. But when it came to her, he found himself powerless in the best way.

“Sure, doll,” he finally said, his voice low, almost affectionate. “Go get it.”

Y/N offered him a small, grateful smile before standing up and making her way through the crowd. Steve watched her go, his eyes following her every step, the way she moved so gracefully, even in a place like this. She wasn’t like anyone else here—she didn’t belong in this world of shadows and secrets. And yet, here she was, standing out like a beacon of light in the darkness.

He leaned back in his seat, a slight smile playing at the corners of his mouth. She had asked him for something so simple, and he had given in without a second thought. It wasn’t just about the drink; it was about the way she made him feel, the way she had slowly but surely worked her way into his life, his heart. She had no idea, of course, but Steve found himself enjoying this new dynamic between them—the power she unknowingly held, and the way it made him want to be better, to be someone worthy of her trust.

As Y/N reached the bar, Steve kept his gaze on her, subtly directing his men to ensure she was safe, but not interfering. He knew she needed this moment, this small taste of independence, and he was willing to give it to her. For now, he would let her think she was just a quiet presence in his life, unaware of the profound effect she had on him.

But he knew the truth, and that was enough to keep him anchored in the storm of his world, all because of the power she unknowingly had over him.Y/N stood at the bar, waiting patiently as the bartender prepared her drink. The club was a whirlwind of activity around her, with people laughing, dancing, and losing themselves in the music. She took a deep breath, momentarily closing her eyes to steady herself. Being in Steve’s world was overwhelming, but moments like this—where she could feel a sliver of independence—helped her find her footing.

The bartender handed her the drink with a nod, and she thanked him softly, wrapping her fingers around the cool glass. As she turned to head back to Steve, she felt a sudden, unwelcome presence behind her.

Before she could react, a hand brushed too close against her body, lingering in a way that made her stomach churn with unease. The grip was firm and inappropriate, the touch invasive. It wasn’t an accident, and she knew it.

Y/N gasped, the shock causing her to lose her grip on the glass. It fell to the floor, shattering into pieces as the liquid splashed across the ground. She spun around quickly, her heart pounding in her chest, and found herself staring at a young man who was clearly drunk, his eyes glazed over with a mix of alcohol and poor intentions.

“What the hell?” she whispered, her voice trembling as she instinctively stepped back, putting distance between them.

The man leered at her, seemingly unbothered by the mess he’d just caused or the discomfort in her eyes. He moved closer, his breath reeking of alcohol, a sleazy grin spreading across his face. “Aw, come on, sweetheart,” he slurred, reaching out as if to grab her again.

Y/N’s pulse raced as panic began to set in. She knew she needed to get away, to put even more distance between them, but before she could make a move, a shadow fell over them both.

Steve had been watching the entire scene unfold from his booth. His relaxed demeanor evaporated the moment he saw the man touch Y/N. A slow, burning rage began to boil in his chest, his hand tightening around his glass until his knuckles turned white.

The man was oblivious, too drunk and too arrogant to realize that by touching her, he had just signed his own death sentence.

In an instant, Steve was on his feet, his expression a mask of cold fury. He moved through the crowd with a purpose, the clubgoers instinctively parting for him as they felt the shift in the atmosphere. There was something deadly in the air, something that made everyone step back and give him space.

Before Y/N could react further, Steve was there, positioning himself between her and the drunken man. His presence was commanding, and the drunken fool finally seemed to realize that he had made a grave mistake. Steve’s eyes were dark, filled with a quiet, terrifying rage that sent a chill down the man’s spine.

“Get your filthy hands off her,” Steve said, his voice low and lethal. The words were quiet, but they carried the weight of a threat that was impossible to ignore.

The man stumbled back, suddenly sobering as he registered who he was dealing with. “I-I’m sorry, man, I didn’t—” he began to stammer, but Steve cut him off with a look that could kill.

“Too late for apologies,” Steve snarled, his hand shooting out to grab the man by the collar. He yanked him close, their faces inches apart. “You have no idea who you just messed with.”

Y/N, still shaken, watched in stunned silence as Steve effortlessly manhandled the man. The transformation from the quiet, contemplative Steve she had seen earlier to this vengeful, protective force was startling. She could feel the tension radiating off him, a deadly promise that he wouldn’t let this slide.

Steve glanced back at her for a moment, his expression softening slightly when their eyes met. He didn’t say anything, but the look was enough to reassure her that he was in control, that she was safe.

Then, without another word, Steve turned his attention back to the man, who was now trembling in fear. “You’re going to wish you’d never laid eyes on her,” Steve growled before nodding to his men, who had quickly surrounded them.

The man was dragged away, his protests and pleas for mercy falling on deaf ears. Steve didn’t need to give orders—his men knew exactly what to do. The club returned to its usual rhythm, as if nothing had happened, though the regulars knew better than to forget this night.

Steve turned back to Y/N, his expression softening once more as he gently placed a hand on her arm. “You okay, doll?” he asked, his voice quiet, filled with concern.

She nodded, though her heart was still racing. “I’m… I’m fine,” she whispered, trying to steady her breathing. She looked down at the shattered glass on the floor, the remnants of her drink, and then back at Steve. “I didn’t mean for—”

“Don’t worry about it,” Steve interrupted, his tone firm but caring. “None of this was your fault.”

He guided her back to the booth, his hand never leaving her side, as if he was afraid to let her out of his sight. Once they were seated again, he turned to one of the staff members, his voice authoritative as he ordered them to bring her a new drink.

As they waited, Y/N couldn’t help but feel a mix of emotions—relief that Steve had been there to protect her, but also a lingering unease about the world she was now a part of. The way he had dealt with the man was a stark reminder of who he was, the power he wielded, and the dark side of the life she was caught up in.

But as Steve gently squeezed her hand, offering her a reassuring smile, she felt a strange sense of comfort in his presence. Despite everything, she knew that, in his own way, Steve cared for her deeply, and that he would do anything to keep her safe.

Even if it meant becoming the monster others feared.Steve watched Y/N intently, every detail of her expression etched into his mind. The bustling noise of the club faded away as he focused entirely on her. When she finally spoke, her voice was so soft that it could have been lost in the din around them, but Steve heard her perfectly.

“Steve,” she called out quietly.

He turned to her immediately, his expression softening at the sound of her voice. In that moment, nothing else mattered. “What is it, doll?” he asked gently, his concern evident.

Y/N hesitated, biting her lip as she tried to find the right words. “What will happen to that guy?” she asked, her voice almost a whisper.

Steve’s jaw tightened, but he kept his voice calm, not wanting to scare her. “Don’t worry about it, doll,” he replied, his hand reaching out to tuck a loose strand of her hair behind her ear.

But Y/N wasn’t satisfied. She shook her head, her brows knitting together with concern. “You know he was drunk, Steve. It happens… People get out of hand when they drink.”

Her words were a quiet plea for mercy, but Steve couldn’t let it slide. Not when it came to her. His eyes darkened, a shadow of the anger he’d felt earlier returning. He leaned in closer, his voice low and firm as he responded.

“No one messes with my queen,” he said, his tone carrying an unyielding edge. “Drunk or not, he touched what was mine.”

Y/N’s breath caught at the possessiveness in his voice, and she looked up at him, her eyes searching his. “Steve, I—” she began, but he gently interrupted, taking her hand in his.

“Doll,” he said softly, his thumb tracing circles over her knuckles in a soothing motion, “you’re the most important thing in my life. I won’t let anyone disrespect you. Ever.”

As he spoke, his gaze softened, the fierceness giving way to a deeper emotion. “He crossed a line,” Steve continued, “and he has to face the consequences. It’s not about him being drunk; it’s about him thinking he could get away with touching you, thinking he could violate what’s mine.”

Without thinking, Steve leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to her cheek, taking a chance he wasn’t sure he should. For a moment, his heart raced with anticipation, but when she didn’t flinch, didn’t pull away, a wave of relief and elation washed over him. She was letting him in, even if it was just a little.

Encouraged, Steve held her gaze, his voice a quiet promise. “You’re mine, Y/N. And I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you safe. Even if it means being the monster they all fear.”

Y/N swallowed, her eyes flickering with a mix of emotions. “But… I don’t want anyone to get hurt because of me.”

Steve’s grip on her hand tightened slightly, and he leaned in closer, their faces just inches apart. “No one’s going to get hurt because of you, doll,” he assured her, his voice soft yet firm. “They’re going to get hurt because of me. Because I won’t let anyone think they can touch you and get away with it. Not in my world.”

He lifted her hand to his lips, kissing her fingers tenderly before brushing his lips against her cheek again, this time lingering just a moment longer. “You’re mine, and I’ll protect you with everything I have. You’ll warm up to me soon enough.”

She didn’t pull away, didn’t recoil from his touch, and that was all the encouragement Steve needed. The walls she’d built around herself were starting to crack, and he knew it was only a matter of time before she let him in completely.

Neither of them spoke after that. They didn’t need to. The silence between them was filled with understanding, a mutual recognition of the bond that was slowly forming. Steve might be a mobster, feared by all, but with Y/N, he was something else—something more. And as he sat there with her, feeling the warmth of her cheek against his lips, he knew that he would do whatever it took to earn her trust, to make her feel safe, to make her his in every way that mattered.The morning sun filtered through the large windows of Steve's mansion, casting a warm, golden light across the dining room. Steve sat at the head of the table, sipping his coffee as he watched Y/N quietly eat her breakfast across from him. The past five months had been a slow journey for both of them, with Y/N gradually opening up, bit by bit, to the man she now shared her life with. Steve had learned to cherish these quiet moments, her presence a soothing balm to his often chaotic world.

As he reached for a piece of toast, he heard her soft voice break the silence.

“Steve.”

There it was again—the way she said his name. No matter how many times he heard it, it never failed to make his heart skip a beat. The simplicity of it, the way it rolled off her tongue, was his undoing. He couldn’t help the smile that tugged at the corners of his lips, his usual stoic demeanor softening instantly.

“What is it, doll?” he asked, his tone warm and affectionate.

Y/N looked up at him, her eyes reflecting a hint of something different—something hopeful. She hesitated for just a moment before she spoke again, her voice tentative but clear. “Can we go out?”

Steve’s brows lifted in surprise. In the five months they had spent together, Y/N had never once asked for anything like this. He knew she was a homebody, content with the comfort and safety of the mansion. She never demanded anything extravagant, never sought out the kind of luxury that his wealth could provide. She was content in her quiet world, and Steve had grown to love that about her.

But this request—this simple question—caught him off guard in the best possible way. He set his coffee cup down and leaned forward slightly, his full attention on her. “You want to go out?” he asked, his voice laced with both curiosity and excitement.

Y/N nodded, a small smile playing on her lips. “Yes. I was thinking… maybe we could spend the day outside, together.”

Steve’s heart swelled at the thought. The idea of her wanting to spend the day with him, outside of the safety of their home, was both surprising and incredibly touching. He would take her anywhere, do anything she wanted. The entire world was at her feet, and he was more than willing to give it all to her.

“Anywhere you want, doll,” he said, his eyes shining with warmth. “Paris, Rome, a world tour—just name it, and we’ll go.”

Y/N blushed at his enthusiasm, but she shook her head with a soft laugh. “No, nothing like that. I was thinking something simpler.“Yes. I was thinking… maybe we could visit a bookshop.”

A bookshop. Steve hadn’t expected that, but the idea of it filled him with a warmth he hadn’t anticipated. He knew how much she loved to read—how she would often lose herself in a book for hours, her expression soft and content. The thought of sharing that with her, of seeing her in her element, made him smile.

“A bookshop?” he asked, his voice tinged with surprise and affection.

Y/N nodded again, her smile growing just a little. “Yes. There’s one I used to visit all the time. I’d love to go back.”

Steve didn’t answer right away. He leaned back slightly in his chair, his gaze steady on her as he took in the moment. This request, so simple and yet so personal, meant the world to him. It wasn’t just about going out—it was about her letting him into a part of her life, a part of herself that she hadn’t shared with him before.

Finally, he smiled, a genuine, warm smile that reached his eyes. “Doll,” he began softly, “you’ve got it. We’ll go to that bookshop today.”

Y/N’s eyes lit up with a mixture of surprise and happiness. Steve felt a thrill of joy at her reaction, knowing that this small gesture meant more to her than any grand outing he could have planned. The idea of spending the day with her, doing something she loved, filled him with a sense of contentment he hadn’t felt in a long time.

“When do you want to go?” Steve asked, eager to make her day special.

Y/N shrugged slightly, her smile lingering. “Whenever you’re free.”

Steve didn’t need to think about it. “I’m free now,” he said, standing up and reaching out his hand to her. “Let’s go right now, doll.”

Y/N looked at his outstretched hand, then up at him, her eyes wide with a mix of surprise and anticipation. She hesitated for just a moment before placing her hand in his, letting him pull her up from her seat. Steve’s heart raced with excitement as he led her out of the dining room, already planning how he would make this day perfect for her.

As they walked toward the door, Steve glanced down at her, his heart swelling with affection. “Thank you,” he said softly, squeezing her hand.

Y/N looked up at him, puzzled. “For what?”

Steve smiled, shaking his head slightly. “For asking me to go out with you.”

She still looked a bit confused, but she smiled back, a quiet understanding passing between them. Steve knew that this was more than just a visit to a bookshop—this was a step toward something deeper, something real. And as they stepped outside into the fresh morning air, he felt a deep sense of contentment.

He might be a powerful man, but right now, all that mattered was the woman beside him and the simple joy of spending the day together in a place she loved. Whatever she needed, wherever she wanted to go, he would be there, making sure she knew just how much she meant to him.Inside the cozy bookshop, Steve found himself more captivated by Y/N than by any of the books around him. He watched her as she moved from shelf to shelf, her eyes lighting up with excitement as she discovered new titles and old favorites. There was something incredibly endearing about the way she browsed, her fingers gently grazing the spines of the books as if she were greeting old friends.

Steve leaned against one of the nearby shelves, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He could stand there all day, just watching her like this. She had a few books in hand already, and he couldn’t help but admire how she carefully considered each choice. Little did she know that he would gladly buy the entire bookstore for her if she so much as hinted at wanting it. But what he loved most was how she valued money—how she never took anything for granted. It made him want to give her the world, to spoil her in ways she couldn’t even imagine.

After a while, Y/N approached him, her arms full of books. She had a stack in one hand and another book in her other hand, a thoughtful expression on her face.

“Can I purchase these?” she asked softly, looking up at him. She then hesitated, holding up the book in her hand. “This one’s an imported version. It’s slightly expensive… I’m not sure if I should get it.”

Steve’s heart melted at her words. Here she was, worried about the cost, while he was ready to buy anything and everything she wanted. Her modesty, her thoughtfulness—these were just a few of the things that made him fall for her even more.

“Doll,” Steve said, his voice filled with affection as he stepped closer to her. He gently touched her cheek, his thumb brushing against her soft skin. “Just take everything you want. Don’t worry about the price.”

Y/N looked up at him, her eyes wide with surprise. Steve could see the uncertainty in her gaze, but he smiled at her, hoping to ease her concerns.

“I mean it,” he continued, his tone full of love. “If you want it, it’s yours. You don’t have to hold back.”

She bit her lip, her eyes flickering between the books in her arms and his reassuring expression. Steve knew that she was still getting used to this—his world, his way of doing things—but he was determined to show her that she deserved all of it and more.

“Thank you, Steve,” she finally said, her voice soft but sincere.

Steve’s smile widened as he leaned in to press a gentle kiss to her forehead. “Anything for you, doll.”

He watched as she carefully added the imported book to her stack, and he couldn’t help but feel a surge of happiness. This wasn’t just about the books—it was about showing her that he would always be there to support her, to make sure she had everything she needed and more. And as they walked to the counter together, Steve found himself already thinking of ways to make their next outing even more special.Steve had grown more confident with his touches lately. It started with simple gestures—a hand on her lower back as they walked together, a brush of his fingers against hers when passing her something, a gentle kiss on her cheek when she least expected it. Each time, he watched with a certain satisfaction as her cheeks flushed, a clear sign that his touches were having the effect he intended.

He found himself seeking out excuses just to be close to her, to feel the warmth of her skin under his fingertips. When they were sitting together, his hand would casually rest on her knee, his thumb lightly stroking the fabric of her jeans. If she passed by him in the house, he’d catch her hand, pulling her closer just to press a soft kiss on her forehead. Every little interaction seemed to draw them closer, and Steve reveled in the way she got flustered, her usual composure slipping just a bit.

He enjoyed watching the changes in her, seeing how she was beginning to respond to his affection, how her body seemed to lean into his touch rather than shy away from it. The more he touched her, the more natural it felt, and he couldn’t help but feel a deep sense of satisfaction knowing that she wasn’t pushing him away. If anything, it felt like she was slowly beginning to welcome it.In her own mind, Y/N was conflicted. At first, she had told herself that Steve’s touches were simply part of his possessiveness, a way to remind her that she belonged to him. But as the days passed, she found herself anticipating those moments—those little touches that sent shivers down her spine, the kisses that left her cheeks warm and her heart fluttering.

She couldn’t understand why she didn’t stop him. She could have pulled away, could have told him that it was too much, too fast. But she didn’t. Instead, she found herself enjoying the attention, the affection he showered her with. It was unlike anything she had experienced before—gentle, caring, almost tender. It was so different from the way she had imagined a man like Steve would behave, especially considering the circumstances under which they had met.

The way he touched her now wasn’t just possessive; it was loving, almost as if he were trying to communicate something deeper. Each caress, each kiss felt like a promise, like he was trying to show her that he could be more than just the ruthless mobster she had feared. And slowly, without even realizing it at first, she began to see herself less and less as a prisoner.

Instead of feeling trapped, she started to feel cared for, cherished even. Steve’s touches were no longer something she endured—they were something she found herself craving, something that made her feel wanted in a way she hadn’t felt before. The walls she had built around her heart were beginning to crumble, and she wasn’t sure whether to feel relieved or terrified by that realization.

But for now, she allowed herself to enjoy it, to savor the warmth of his affection. Maybe, just maybe, this wasn’t as bad as she had feared. Maybe there was something real between them, something that could grow if she let it. And as she looked up at Steve, catching him smiling at her with that familiar, affectionate look in his eyes, she felt a spark of hope—hope that perhaps this was the beginning of something new, something that might just change everything.In the heart of the mansion, Y/N found herself wandering aimlessly through the expansive hallways. The silence was palpable, wrapping around her like a heavy blanket. She felt unusually lonely, an ache in her chest that she couldn’t quite place. Perhaps she missed Steve more than she realized, his presence a reassuring constant in her life. The thought both surprised and confused her.

Dressed in shorts and an oversized sweatshirt, she absentmindedly tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, glancing out of the window at the sprawling grounds below. The sun was shining brightly, yet the warmth outside only deepened her sense of isolation. She couldn’t fathom why she felt this way; it was as if a part of her craved the chaos that accompanied Steve’s world, the vibrancy of his energy.

In an attempt to shake off the loneliness, she grabbed a book from the coffee table, deciding to venture downstairs. After all, Steve had told her more than once that she could roam around freely. With each step down the staircase, she felt a mix of anticipation and unease. What if he was busy? Would she be intruding?

As she reached the lower ground floor, she was greeted by an unsettling noise that made her pause. The sound of shouting and grunting echoed through the hall, sending a shiver down her spine. Y/N hesitated, her instincts urging her to turn back, but curiosity propelled her forward.

As she stepped into the basement, the scene before her unfolded like a nightmare. Steve stood there, his powerful frame towering over a man who was being restrained by two of Steve’s trusted friends, Sam and Bucky. The man was battered and bruised, clearly having received a severe beating for whatever betrayal he had committed.

“Who did you pass this information to?” Steve’s voice was low and threatening, a stark contrast to the warmth she usually experienced from him.

Y/N’s heart raced as she watched, rooted to the spot. She felt a mixture of fear and concern, her instincts battling against the unsettling sight. The tension in the room was thick, every punch landing with an unsettling force. She had always known that Steve had a darker side, but witnessing it firsthand left her feeling more vulnerable than ever.

Suddenly, the man was thrown toward the door, collapsing at Y/N’s feet. She gasped, instinctively bending down. “Are you okay?” she asked, her voice laced with genuine concern. The words slipped out before she could stop herself, a reflex born from her caring nature.

Steve groaned, a mix of love and frustration coursing through him. He couldn’t help but admire her innocence, how it shone through even in the midst of chaos. But that innocence also made him want to protect her from the world he inhabited, a world that was all too cruel.

“What are you doing here?” he finally asked, his tone softening slightly as he turned his attention to her, his expression shifting from fury to worry. The juxtaposition of his strength and her fragility was stark, and he felt a protective instinct surge within him.

“I… I was just roaming about,” Y/N admitted, her cheeks flushing slightly under his intense gaze. “I thought I’d come see if you were around.”

The raw vulnerability in her voice tugged at his heart, and he felt an overwhelming urge to gather her close, to shield her from everything that lurked in the shadows of his life. The sight of her standing there, book clutched in her hand, made him realize just how much he cherished her presence, even in moments like this.

“Doll,” he said gently, moving closer to her, the tension of the moment fading slightly as he reached out to touch her shoulder, grounding her. “You shouldn’t be down here. It’s not safe.”

Y/N met his gaze, her expression a mixture of confusion and concern. “I just wanted to see you,” she replied softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Steve’s heart swelled at her words, and he couldn’t help but feel a profound sense of love for her. “I appreciate that, but I need you to stay away from situations like this. I’ll handle it, I promise.”

She nodded, her eyes flickering to the man on the ground before returning to him. Despite the chaos around them, all she could focus on was Steve and the warmth of his hand on her shoulder, a comforting presence amidst the turmoil. Y/N felt a wave of panic wash over her as she realized the gravity of what she had just witnessed. The harsh reality of Steve's world pressed down on her, and she suddenly felt overwhelmed by it all. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to interrupt!” she exclaimed, her voice trembling. Without waiting for a response, she turned on her heel and hurried back upstairs, her heart racing.

As she ran through the halls, she felt the warmth of tears stinging her eyes. Once she reached the library, she quickly sank into one of the oversized sofa chairs, wrapping her arms around her knees and burying her face in them. The plush fabric was comforting, but it couldn’t ease the turmoil within her.

In the library, surrounded by shelves filled with books, she felt both isolated and safe. The soft light filtering through the windows provided a stark contrast to the chaos she had just left behind. Yet, despite the sanctuary of the room, she couldn’t shake the images of violence she had just witnessed, nor the realization that Steve was capable of such brutality.Downstairs, Steve watched her retreating figure with a growing sense of unease. He felt a conflict brewing within him, his heart heavy with concern. Had he scared her? Had he hurt her with the violence she had seen? The thought gnawed at him, and he felt a surge of guilt wash over him.

“Damn it,” he muttered under his breath, running a hand through his hair in frustration. He had always tried to keep his world separate from hers, to shield her from the darkness that came with his line of work. But now, it felt as though he had failed miserably. The last thing he wanted was for her to feel uncomfortable or afraid because of him.

Sam and Bucky exchanged glances, sensing the shift in Steve’s mood. They had seen how Y/N looked when she entered the room, the concern etched on her face, and now they could see the tension radiating from Steve.

“Hey, man,” Sam said cautiously, “you okay?”

Steve shook his head, his brow furrowing. “No. I don’t think she’s okay. I didn’t want her to see that. I never wanted her to see that.”

Bucky shrugged slightly. “You know how it is. She’s tough. But maybe you should check on her. You know she’ll be thinking about it.”

Steve nodded, guilt swirling in his gut. He knew he needed to talk to her, to reassure her that everything was alright, that she was safe. He glanced down at the man on the floor, still recovering from the beating, before turning back to his friends. “I’ll handle this later. I need to go to her.”

Without another word, Steve made his way upstairs, his heart pounding as he approached the library door. He hesitated for a moment before pushing it open, the sight before him pulling at his heartstrings.

Y/N sat curled up in the chair, her face hidden against her knees. The sight of her vulnerability made him feel like a storm was brewing inside him. He stepped inside quietly, not wanting to startle her.

“Doll?” he called softly, his voice gentle. “Can I come in?”

Y/N lifted her head slightly, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “I… I’m fine,” she replied, though her voice wavered, betraying her.

Steve felt his heart break a little at her attempt to reassure him. “You don’t look fine,” he said, stepping closer. “I’m sorry you had to see that. I never wanted you to be involved in any of this.”

She blinked at him, and he could see the conflict in her eyes—the fear, the confusion, the concern for him. “I just… I didn’t know, Steve. I didn’t know it was like this.”

“I know,” he said, sinking to his knees beside her chair, so they were at eye level. “And I’m sorry. I should have kept you away from it.”

“I just wanted to see you,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t think…”

“I know,” he interrupted, his expression softening. “You don’t have to apologize. You have every right to be curious, but I need you to understand that this world isn’t safe for you. I can’t bear the thought of you getting hurt because of me.”

Y/N searched his eyes, and for a moment, it felt like the weight of the world was pressing down on both of them. “I’m not afraid of you, Steve,” she finally said, her voice steady. “I’m just… scared of what this means for us.”

Steve felt a lump form in his throat at her words. “I promise you, I’ll do everything in my power to keep you safe. You mean too much to me.”

As they locked eyes, he could see her tension start to ease, even if only slightly. In that moment, he knew they would have to navigate the complexities of his world together. And despite the chaos that surrounded them, he would protect her, always.Y/N's question hung in the air, raw and unexpected. “What do I mean to you, Steve?” The directness of her inquiry caught him off guard, and he blinked at her, momentarily speechless. He had never anticipated she would be so bold, so willing to confront the unspoken tensions between them. In the past, he had been surrounded by people who rarely asked him direct questions—most were either too afraid or too wary of the man he had become.

Steve felt a rush of emotions coursing through him, a mixture of fear and exhilaration. He had built walls around his heart, convinced that no one would understand the darkness he carried. Yet here was Y/N, her gaze steady, her vulnerability laid bare, asking him to expose his own feelings. It was both terrifying and liberating.

He took a deep breath, searching for the right words to express the depth of what she meant to him. “You… you mean everything to me,” he finally admitted, his voice steady despite the turmoil inside. “You’re not just someone I’m protecting; you’re the light in my life.”

As he spoke, he noticed the flicker of surprise in her eyes, the way she absorbed his words as if they were a lifeline. It encouraged him to continue, to delve deeper into the emotions he had kept at bay for so long.

“I’ve never been good at this,” he confessed, running a hand through his hair, trying to gather his thoughts. “But you’ve changed me. You’ve shown me a side of myself I didn’t know I was capable of—kindness, tenderness. I’ve spent so long in this world of chaos and violence, and yet with you, I feel… different. Better.”

He hesitated, grappling with his emotions. “I want you to know that I love you, Y/N. I love you in a way I never thought I could love someone. You’ve made me want to be a better man.” The admission was like a weight lifted from his chest, freeing him from the chains of fear that had held him back.

Her expression shifted as she processed his words, and he could see the conflict in her eyes—a mix of surprise, hope, and uncertainty. “But I’m just… I’m just me,” she replied softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

“No, you’re so much more than that,” Steve insisted, leaning closer to her, his gaze unwavering. “You’re strong and kind, and you have this ability to see through the darkness that surrounds me. You don’t let it define who you are, and that’s something I admire so much.”

Y/N’s cheeks flushed at his praise, but her brow furrowed with concern. “But what does that mean for us? For your world? I’m still scared of what I saw earlier, Steve. I don’t want to be a part of that violence.”

“I know,” he said gently, reaching out to cup her cheek in his hand, feeling the warmth of her skin beneath his palm. “And I never want you to feel like you have to be. But you’re in my life now, and I’m committed to making sure you’re safe. I’ll fight for you, for us.”

As his thumb brushed over her cheek, he could see her softening, the tension in her shoulders easing. The vulnerability that had once filled her eyes was slowly being replaced with something warmer, a flicker of trust. “I want to be here for you, Steve, but I also want to understand. I need to know that I’m not just a part of your life because of the circumstances,” she said, searching his eyes for reassurance.

“You’re not just a part of my life because of that,” he vowed, his heart pounding. “You’re here because I choose you. I choose you every day, no matter how complicated my world gets. You’re my priority, and I will always do everything in my power to protect you.”

As the weight of his words settled between them, Y/N felt a swell of emotion. The love and determination in his eyes melted away her fears, replacing them with a budding sense of hope. It was clear that despite the chaos that surrounded them, there was something beautiful emerging from their connection—a bond that could withstand even the darkest storms.

“I love you too, Steve,” she said finally, her voice steady and strong. The declaration felt like a promise, a shared commitment to navigate the challenges ahead together. And in that moment, amidst the shadows of his world, they found light in each other’s hearts.Y/N’s heart raced as she whispered, “May I kiss you, Steve?” The words felt both bold and terrifying, a leap of faith that laid bare her emotions. She watched him closely, searching his face for any hint of hesitation, but instead, he chuckled softly, the sound warm and inviting.

“Doll, I have a gun upstairs,” he replied, his voice teasing yet earnest. “If I ever answer no to that question, shoot me with that.”

A playful smile tugged at the corners of her lips, the tension between them dissipating as she relaxed, buoyed by his lightheartedness. The teasing tone in his voice made her feel bold enough to push forward.

Steve closed the distance between them, his gaze locked onto hers, searching for any signs of uncertainty. But all he found was determination mixed with a hint of shyness. The world around them faded into the background, and the only thing that mattered was the moment they were about to share.

His hands came up to cradle her face, his touch gentle yet firm, and Y/N felt her breath hitch in her throat. The warmth of his palms against her skin sent a rush of electricity coursing through her body. She could feel the intensity in his gaze, the way he looked at her as if she were the only person in the world.

“Are you ready?” he asked softly, his voice barely above a whisper, the air thick with anticipation.

With a small nod, Y/N felt her pulse quicken as Steve leaned in closer. Their lips were mere inches apart, and the world outside disappeared entirely. He hesitated for a moment, giving her a chance to pull away if she wanted, but she didn’t move.

As their lips finally met, it was like a spark igniting a fire. The kiss was tender at first, soft and explorative, as if they were both savoring the sweetness of the moment. Y/N melted into him, feeling the warmth radiate from his body, the solidness of him grounding her.

Steve’s lips moved against hers with a gentle urgency, deepening the kiss as he pulled her closer, wrapping his arms around her waist. Y/N felt her heart soar, the kiss igniting a warmth within her that chased away all her fears. It was a kiss that spoke of promise and passion, of vulnerability and strength.

As they parted, both of them breathed heavily, foreheads resting against each other. Steve’s eyes sparkled with delight, and Y/N felt a soft smile creep across her face, their hearts racing in unison.

“Wow,” she breathed, her cheeks flushed with warmth.

Steve chuckled softly, brushing a thumb over her cheek. “Wow, indeed,” he replied, his voice low and filled with warmth. “I could get used to this.”

In that moment, everything felt right. The chaos of the world outside faded away, leaving only the two of them and the undeniable connection they had forged. It was a beginning—one filled with love, hope, and the promise of a future they would navigate together.Y/N looked down, her voice barely above a whisper as she said, “I’m sorry I came downstairs without permission.” The weight of her words hung in the air, laced with a mixture of regret and uncertainty.

Steve couldn’t help but smile softly at her. “Sweetheart,” he began, his tone gentle but firm, “and I say this for the final time: don’t apologize to me ever.” He reached out, lifting her chin so she would meet his gaze. “You can kill me, and I’ll still be happy, as long as it’s you.”

Her eyes widened in surprise, the unexpectedness of his words leaving her momentarily speechless. A warmth spread through her, and she could feel her cheeks flush.

“Okay?” he pressed, searching her eyes for understanding.

“Okay,” she replied, her heart swelling with affection. The sincerity in his eyes reassured her, making her feel cherished rather than confined.

“Good,” he said, his voice softening. “You have the right to be where you want to be, and I want you here with me.”

As they stood in that moment, the connection between them deepened, a bond forged not just by love but by understanding and acceptance.“Now I have to finish something downstairs, and I’ll be back, okay?” Steve said, his voice warm but tinged with a hint of seriousness. He wanted to ensure she understood that he would return, that he would never leave her alone for long.

Y/N nodded, a small smile creeping onto her lips. “Okay,” she replied softly, her heart still racing from their earlier exchange.

“Just stay here and relax,” he added, brushing his thumb across her cheek one last time. “If you need anything, call for me. I’ll be right back.”