VAL•💖✨

“I sent Barnes,” Steve replied with an angry tone. He hates to hurt women, but his mother left him no other choice. “He gave her a warning. I think she got the message.”

Sarah clicks her tongue; her eyes never leave her son’s face. “Did you follow my order or go against it? Again.”

Steve sighs deeply. He sent Bucky to scare the women talking trash about you, not to harm them. “She got the message.”

“You already said that,” Sarah replies, her eyes narrowing. “I told you to brand that woman, not to scare her. I wanted that vile person to feel your wrath. You should’ve made clear that no one messes with Steven Grant Rogers’ wife.”

Sarah twirls around, gesturing to the butler to close the door behind her. She won’t let Steve anywhere near you if he doesn’t prove you are the most precious thing in the world to him.

“Mother!” Steve yells from outside the door. No one, not even the toughest men, dared to deny him. Sarah slammed the door right into his face (more like ordering the butler to do so), making Steve look like a scolded boy. “You can’t treat me like this. She’s my wife and belongs to me!”

“You look like shit,” Bucky comments. He looks his friend up and down, snorting loudly. “I see you are still missing your wife. So, she won’t be home anytime soon?”

“Not now, Buck,” Steve bites back. He huffs and turns around to stare out of the window. His eyes scan the beautiful garden you created without any help. Your roses are in full bloom, and the strawberries are ready for harvest. “She’s abandoning her garden too. Maybe I should call her and tell her about it. Y/N can’t let her flowers die. That’s cruel.”

“Desperate measures, huh?” Bucky laughs about his friend’s problems. The problems he caused himself. “I told you to stop indulging in other women’s attention. Y/N should be the only woman on your mind, and in your bed.”

“I never cheated on my wife!” Steve twirls around to push his friend against the wall. “I’d never touch another woman. Women like them are leeches, hungry for money and social status. Y/N is not like them.”

“Oh,” Bucky cocks his head. “Did you find this out on your own, or did your mommy tell you so, Steve?”

“I knew from the beginning,” Steve huffs and turns back around before he hurts his best friend. “She’s a wonderful wife, loyal, beautiful, and graceful. She’s not into shiny things like the others.”

“I wonder why you give these women attention when you have a beautiful one by your side. She’s not just an accessory, you know. If you don’t change your ways, you will lose your wife. Listen to your mother and start making amends.”

“I tried,” Steve angrily replies. “I chased these women out of town, and you took care of Cecelia. She’ll never harm Y/N again.”

“You didn’t let me take care of her,” Bucky snorts. “Your mother gave you an order, and you ignored it. Yes, I made Cecelia shit her pants, but that’s all. She should be walking around town, wearing a scar across her face. A warning to any bitch daring to mess with your wife.”

“You sound like my mother,” Steve hisses his friend’s way. “I don’t like hurting women, Buck. I don’t cross that line.”

“Whoever hurts your wife pays for it, Steve. These are the rules. You promised your wife on your wedding day to always protect her. So far, you have failed. You are the one hurting her every time you ignore her and talk to other women.”

Steve remains silent. He stares out of the window, missing the warmth of your presence and the way you filled your home with light. “I fucked up.”

“You are telling me…”

“Steven, go home,” Sarah tells her son once again to leave you alone. This time he won’t budge. He stands his ground, demanding entrance to her house.

“Mother, with all due respect, I’m taking my wife home. I want to make amends, but I can’t do so if she hides at your house.”

Steve steps inside, ignoring his mother. He wants to bring you home and won’t stop only because his mother tells him to go home.

“She’s my daughter-in-law, and I won’t allow you to disrespect her even more. Go home and learn how to knock before you expect forgiveness,” Sarah says, stepping between Steve and the hallway.

Steve opens his mouth, ready to argue, but the words die on his tongue when he sees you standing at the end of the corridor. You are wrapped in a blanket, your face missing the softness he loves so much.

He just looks at you, and all the arrogance drains from his face.

“Doll,” he says.

“Don’t,” you say quietly. “Not like that, Steve.”

Sarah folds her arms over her chest. “You heard your wife.”

Steve swallows, unsure how to react to those two fierce women. Men have begged him for mercy in the past, and now, he experiences the same fear, standing in his mother’s house, afraid of losing his wife.

He sighs deeply, disappointed in himself. “Y/N.”

You don’t move closer. “What do you want, Steve? Aren’t there enough willing women out there?”

“I want to apologize.” His voice cracks when he looks at you.

Sarah huffs, still refusing to let Steve pass. “Then do it properly.”

A laugh escapes your throat. You can see the fight in Steve, the need to control the situation. But then his eyes drop to your hand, no ring on your finger. Your wedding band is gone.

He gasps loudly. Steve didn’t think you’d ever take the ring off.

“I’m so sorry,” he says. “For ignoring you. For making you feel unwanted when you were the only person in that room who should’ve mattered.”

You want to say something, but your voice fails you.

Steve takes one step forward.

Sarah’s face softens for a moment, but she doesn’t speak.

“And I’m sorry,” Steve says, his voice rough with emotion, “that I made you fight for a place that has always been yours.”

You don’t smile as expected or give in. All he gets is a huff. “Your nice words won’t fix what you broke, Steve.”

“I know,” Steve says, averting his gaze. “Please tell me what to do.”

You scoff. “That’s a new one. You want to grovel?”  

His head jerks upward.

You take a deep breath before telling him, “How about you admit what you have done? Not because your mother called you out. Because you hurt me.”

“Doll, I was wrong because I hurt you. My behavior is unforgivable. I shouldn’t have looked for confirmation in other women,” Steve says, his eyes full of regret. “Please give me the chance to show you that I can change.”

“And?” you reply. “Is that all?”

Steve doesn’t hesitate. He lowers himself to one knee.

Sarah stiffens while you inhale sharply.

Men like Steve Rogers don’t kneel. Not for enemies. Not for stronger opponents. Not for anyone. But now this powerful man kneels on his mother’s polished marble, eyes glued to your face.

“And I will spend the rest of my life proving that I’m worthy of your forgiveness,” he says. “I won’t force you to come home, but I’m asking you to give me a chance to rebuild what I destroyed.”

You look at Sarah and then at Steve, weighing your options.

“This doesn’t change a thing, Steve.”

“What do you want?” Steve slowly gets back up, hopefully looking at you. “I’d do anything for you.”

“I want you to respect me. Not only behind closed doors but also in public. It doesn’t matter if I’m there or not, Steve. If someone talks shit about your wife, you defend her. If some women want to touch you or chat you up, you turn them down.

“Consider it done, Y/N.”

“Oh, you’re not done, Steven Grant Rogers. You’re starting on square one with our relationship.”

He grits his teeth and says, “Accepted.”

You sigh deeply. “Go home, Steve.”

Steve’s face falls.

“Please let me come back tomorrow. If only for a few minutes.”

“Ten minutes,” you say before turning to leave.

Steve watches you walk away from him. He lingers for a moment before he walks out of the house alone.

Part 6

Outwardly, nothing changes. He still greets you the same way, warmth settling into his bones the moment he sees you. His hand still finds your back, his thumb still traces those small, absent patterns against your skin. His voice stays gentle. Familiar. Steady.

But inside, everything aligns.

He starts with timing.

He adjusts his schedule without telling you, shifting meetings, moving pieces so that his arrivals and departures line up perfectly with yours. You’re never alone, not really. If he can’t be there, someone he trusts is already nearby, invisible, blended into the rhythm of the city. He changes routes quietly, never the same path twice, never predictable. You don’t notice. You’re not meant to.

He walks you home more often now. Insists, but softly. Like it’s habit, not protection.

You notice something, though.

He’s closer. His arm tightens around you more often. He holds you a second longer when you part, fingers curling at your coat sleeve like he’s reluctant to let the night take you away from him. At home, he pulls you into his chest, solid and unmoving, like he’s anchoring himself as much as you are.

You feel it in the way he listens, sharper, more intent. In the way his gaze lingers when you talk about your day, mentally mapping places and times. You know him too well not to sense the tension under his calm.

But he never lets it touch you.

One night, after walking you to your building, he lingers on the pavement instead of following you inside. He tells you he needs to take a call. You hesitate, then nod, trusting him as you always do.

He waits until you’re safely through the door.

Then he turns.

The street is quiet. Too quiet. Headlights glow at the far end of the road, stationary, aimed directly towards him. He can’t see who’s inside, not clearly. But he knows they can see him.

He stands there deliberately, hands in his coat pockets, posture relaxed. Unhurried. He meets the gaze he can’t quite see and holds it, unflinching, like a message carried on presence alone.

I see you.

He doesn’t approach. Doesn’t provoke. He lets the silence stretch, lets them wonder how much he knows. Then he turns away first, walking back to his car like nothing in the world concerns him.

Behind the scenes, everything moves.

His men start mapping, rival territories, recent shifts, unfamiliar faces crossing invisible borders. Phone records are pulled. Surveillance reviewed. Patterns drawn. Names whispered and confirmed. Namjoon watches it all with detached focus, calm to the point of unsettling.

When the answer finally comes, it doesn’t surprise him.

He feels only a quiet, almost disappointed sense of satisfaction. Like solving a problem that should never have existed in the first place.

He handles it himself.

Cold composure. Steady hands. No raised voice. No wasted motion. A weapon rests easy in his grip, familiar as an extension of his will. There is no anger in him, only resolve. The kind that ends things permanently.

Kim Namjoon is very good at what he does.

Too good.

When he comes back to you, the night already feels lighter. You curl into him without hesitation, his body warm and solid behind you. He wraps around you instinctively, forehead resting against the back of your neck, breathing you in like he always does.

You sigh in your sleep.

He tightens his hold just a fraction.

“You’re safe with me,” he murmurs into the dark, voice low and certain. “Always.”

You don’t hear the finality in it.

But the city does.

And anyone who ever considers threatening his peace, you, learns one immutable truth far too late.

You were off-limits.

She was jumping excitedly, sticking out her tongue at Bucky. “Daddy, you’re old!” She squealed as he grabbed her by the legs and pinned her to the bed before tickling her sides. “Daddy, daddy! Stop it!” She cried out through her laughter.

“Is Kobalt gonna be good for daddy?” He asked, mock-stern.

She nodded and sat up, turning to face the wall so he could continue fixing her hair in french braids.

“Mamma’s gonna be picking you up after school, okay?” He asked carefully as he pulled the braid tight to her head.

“Are you going away again, daddy?” She asked as she turned to face him, her big brown eyes shining with sadness.

He sighed. He hated disappointing her. “I’ll only be gone a week this time, doll face.”

“Promise?” She asked as she jumped away from the bed and ran to retrieve her schoolbag.

“Promise,” he said as she put her small hand in his. “And when I come back, I’ll take you to Auntie Nat’s, okay?”