Chapter 1: Teaser
Suffocated. Constantly watched. Big Brother. ‘1984’.
You were prone to exaggeration, as a living, breathing writer, however, it felt so real. Slowly, but surely, you were starting to lose your mind.
Living under the watchful eye of an A.I., knowing your every movement, every sound you made. Tracking you. Monitoring you. It was to be expected; a reporter living under the roof of the world’s foremost superheroes. You had anticipated some safeguard monitoring.
Or perhaps it was him. Everywhere you turned he was there watching silently, big, soulful, knowing, cobalt eyes. Those eyes devouring you. You could have been wearing an elaborate Victorian ball gown, with three layers of undergarments, and you would still feel naked and vulnerable.
Living in the world’s safest compound, a visitor in your own right did not grant you the freedom to live your life as you had before. No more brunches with your friends on Sunday to soak up the alcohol from a celebratory or commiserating Saturday night. No more farmer’s markets Saturday mornings to pick up your favourite flowers and artisan cheese. No more escaping the city to go for hikes with your friends to gossip and wish your troubles away.
But today, you were finally granted leave from the compound. Steve had insisted you not go alone, or at least drive you to the trails himself. He was convinced you would get lost in the mountains. He was infuriating. You were more than capable of driving yourself in the rental to the trail, thanks to a marvelous invention called “Google Maps” and a physical track you would follow.
In the end, you conceded to texting him every two hours, just to shut up him up.
You were surprised to find the car park empty as you pulled in. Sam’s Point was supposed to be one of the more popular hikes of Minnewaska State Park. The weather was clear, if brisk. However, you were beginning to doubt your research.
Seven point five miles of rough terrain and tight rock crevasses brought you up to the most glorious aerial view of the falls and you couldn’t wait to start taking photos. The view was spectacular.
And for the first time in three weeks, you could breathe. Due to the terrain and your lack of conditioning, it had taken you over two hours to make it up to the peak. You sat down on the rock and helped yourself to some water.
You were supposed to text Steve an hour ago but had lost track of time. Pulling out your phone your heart sank at the fifty missed calls, thirty unread text messages and the countless messages on Instagram. And whilst the guilt gnawed in the pit of your stomach for making him worry, you couldn’t help but roll your eyes. He was quite frankly being ridiculous.
You would probably regret it later, but you petulantly wrote back. Seriously? I’m not a child. I will see you when I get back to the compound. It was freeing being away from his constant nannying and worrying.
The air was frigid at this altitude and you regretted not bringing a coat. Pulling your beanie down over your ears, you took out your camera and lost yourself in the scenery.
And you lost track of time. By the time you had taken your fill of photos, your stomach was reminding you that it would be dark soon, so you packed up your belongings and made the trek back to the car. The journey was not as rigorous on your descent as you knew what to expect.
Through the tree line, you could just make out the car park. God, you didn’t want to return. Perhaps you could just quit, go home and start fresh at a different newspaper. You wouldn’t have to go back to the compound. You would be free to go where you pleased, talk to whomever you choose to. Away from him…
That idea crashed to the ground and combusted. Leaning against your car, his toned towering body stretched out, Steve stood with his arms crossed against his chest. His face and body seething with a cool rage.
You couldn't help but gulp, nerves twisting your gut.
“Oh doll, you should have answered your phone. I was so worried.”
Chapter 2: 1. Summer Bummer
We meet our Avengers, a journalist battling her morals and a lecherous editor-in-chief.
We have chosen to give our chapters names revolving around our beautiful reader’s life, a little nod to our themes of obsession and stalking. This chapter is called “Summer Bummer” which you might recognise as a Lana del Ray tune.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
CNN Evening News
And finally tonight, the small Oceanic kingdom of Tonga is embarking on the colossal cleanup following a skirmish involving the Avengers and an alien race from an unknown origin.
Images and videos have gone viral of buildings on the main island of Tongatapu being destroyed as the worlds’ foremost superheroes battled the alien army. Led by their illustrious leader, Captain America, the skirmish lasted a mere four hours before billions of dollars worth of damage was caused.
And whilst there were few human casualties, the destruction of heritage-listed limestone, a core trading and tourist asset for the small Oceanic nation, has the country’s Prime Minister, ʻAkilisi Pōhiva, deeply concerned.
Fury shut off the TV as the Prime Minister stood beside the rubble of what had been the country’s parliament, ready to address the cameras.
“The destruction of heritage-listed limestone? The decimation of the native flying fox? Three of the four churches destroyed? Would you like me to list the tally of your ‘successful mission’ or can I stop and start to kick your asses?”
Steve Rogers, Captain America, seethed as Colonel Nicholas J. Fury stalked the meeting room; his ‘holier-than-thou’ bullshit attitude seeping off of his cheap leather coat, clearly stolen from The Matrix.
Who the hell did Fury think he was? Had he been there? No. Had he seen those ugly aliens setting fire to the small villages, a nation running for its life? No. Fury was sat in his cushy office playing Scrabble while the Avengers did all the hard work.
“With all due respect, Colonel,” Steve said in as level a tone as he could muster through a sea of red, “the toll would have been a lot higher if we had not intervened.”
Fury stopped in his tracks and Steve immediately knew that he had struck a nerve. “With all due respect, Captain, Tonga would still have a parliament and cute flying bats if it weren’t for your sorry asses.”
Steve clenched and unclenched his hands, imagining the fist giving Fury a piece of his mind.
“The damage you have all caused that poor island is going to be an absolute PR nightmare…” Fury could see that the team sitting around him, the cause of the entire mess he now had to fix were not listening to a damn word he was saying.
Sat beside Steve, Bucky Barnes was flicking through a fitness magazine, his eyebrows occasionally rising at something he found particularly interesting. The same Bucky who had managed to take out an entire ecosystem of Rhizophora samoensis mangroves by himself. Opposite him, Sam Wilson, the sole destroyer of the only supermarket on the island with a rocket, licked his fingers of the yellow icing from the cupcake he had devoured moments before.
And then there was Steve Rogers, their fearless leader, watching Fury with a “don’t try me son” look embellished over his face.
“When I save your sorry asses from the PR nightmare you have managed to create in a mere four hours, you can thank me,” Fury said smugly, dropping the thick file onto the table. “In two days, the New York Times will be sending one of their young gun reporters to stay here. They will be writing a pro-Avengers, holier-than-thou Avengers, American fucking-pie Avengers, blog about their stay here with you over the next two months. They are going to be the sole reason the world will not hate you and people will forget about the cute little bats you destroyed like the dinosaurs.”
This got their attention. Hands scrambled and fought to grab your file, Steve pulling the file into his vision. He flicked through the pages, his eyes drawn to your headshot.
“You might remember her article bringing down Kyle Tucker, the asshat who was overcharging African-American customers for his loan services. Nearly broke a multi-billion dollar industry with one article.”
“Then why is she writing about us?” Bucky asked, his guard immediately drawn up. “Unless of course, she’s going to take us down?”
“She’s the writer the Times recommended and nothing will be published without it going through myself, legal and the great Captain America. I suggest you leave the business side of things to the professionals Sergeant Barnes,” was all Fury could say because, in fact, he didn’t know why your editor had selected you. “It is your responsibility, Captain, to ensure our guest is comfortable and safe. She should be free to come and go from the compound, with your discretion of course.”
Steve nodded, his eyes fixated on your headshot. His fingers longed to caress the photo. Whilst your pose is professional and staged, the laugh lines dancing from your eyes are endearing. You looked kind and gentle.
He couldn’t ignore the flutter in his chest as your eyes met his.
Editor-in-chief, Michael Post, carded his hands as he closely watched you read over the file, your frustration evident, skin-crawling as his heated eyes roamed your body. He had no shame.
“You’re taking me off the Clarkson story to write an “unbiased” blog on the Avengers?” Your voice shook in exasperation and rage. “This isn’t fair, Michael.” You knew you were being punished for turning down his advances at last year’s Christmas party. The prick had waited an entire eight months to extract his retribution.
“I’m sorry, but this is above me. You’re the best person for this story.”
“This isn’t even related to my department…”
“Of course, the Times will give you a rental to get upstate,” Michael carried on, obviously, the discussion about your feelings in the matter had ceased. “The board has decided to cover your rent while you’re away and ensure it’s safe.”
“Won’t I get to come home on the weekends? And what if I refuse?”
Michael smirked. “Then the paper will be sad to see you go. However, if you do comply, on the completion of your assignment, you will get the opportunity to have an exclusive interview with Alejandro Gonzalez.”
“I’m sorry, did you say Alejandro Gonzalez?” Michael nodded and you had to bite down the urge to squeal like a little girl. Whilst business journalism was your passion, sustainability was fast becoming a dominant topic in your department, and Alejandro Gonzalez was the young, hot, up and coming ‘it’ man in the field. This could be a major break in your career.
“You do understand that everything you publish will be checked with a fine-tooth comb by their legal department?” You nod, your head still swirling at the prospect of getting to interview your idol. “Well then, congratulations. See you in two months.”
Leaving his office felt like a weight lifting off your shoulders. Michael had not been subtle about his interest in you. And whilst you found him attractive, you were a professional and having a relationship with your editor-in-chief was a sure way to get yourself fired and tarnish your reputation. But, he found it very hard to take no for an answer.
Back at your desk, you quickly opened WhatsApp and invite your friends out that night to break the news to them. Since moving to New York for college, your group of friends had become your family. The relationship you had with your family was frayed at best, but New York had opened up your world to new possibilities and friendships.
You spent the afternoon researching what you could on the Avengers and their troubled history. You familiarised yourself with the original Sokovia Accords composed in 2016 and drew up a rough comparison table with the newly ratified Avengers Accords. You could not help but reignite irked feelings over the highly biased legal documents.
Michael knew he was punishing you by sending you to stay with and write a bullshit blog on the superheroes when you had vocally criticised the newly-published documents. Of course, when 200-something countries ratified the documents, you had been frank over your feelings for its contents.
Regardless, you had to put your simmering feelings aside and fulfill the assignment given to you. Going toe-to-toe with a man like Captain America would not look good on your resume, although you knew a lot of your colleagues shared your concern over the new Accords and its lack of accountability.
A few hours of research saw you with enough material to paint a pretty picture with, the guilt biting at you. You compiled a packing list though it brewed the anxiety picking at your skin.
The thought of staying with them, living under the watchful eye of the world’s most famous A.I. set you on edge. Your every move monitored and documented, every word you wrote passed through a line of lawyers. They may as well have written the damn blog themselves and just put your name on it.
The familiar feeling of suffocation and ascendency began to cloud over as the afternoon drawled on.
It wasn’t until your third cocktail and announcing the assignment that you finally felt somewhat relaxed. The gin was helping tremendously.
Your best friend, Alice, was particularly jealous. “That Sam Wilson is an absolute snack. Girl, I am going to need you to take all the photos of him shirtless for me.”
You laughed and sipped the last of your drink. “I will not be counted as a source for your porn material.”
As your friends teased you, joked about chains, Bucky and a bed, you couldn’t help but fight the residual gnawing anxiety sitting in the pit of your stomach. You hadn’t studied hard and worked your arse off to play puppet for an international spy agency. You believed and had fought for the ideals of freedom of the press. Your grandmother, a pioneer for women in journalism, would turn in her grave if she knew you were going to play word whore for Captain America’s ego.
And the more you stewed over your situation, you couldn’t help but loathe your would-be colleagues. Perhaps it was time to call it a night, the alcohol clearly adding fuel to your burning fire.
You bid your friends adieu, with the promise of drag-queen karaoke on your return, and slowly made your way back to your apartment.
As you sat on your bed preparing for a long weekend of packing and errands, your mind raced with dread and the overwhelming guilt from betraying your principles.
The vibration of your phone drew your thoughts from the profound black pit and your hand reached for your phone.
You found yourself sitting against the frantic bed head, your knees were drawn up against your chest and staring at an email from Steve Rogers.
I hope this email finds you in good spirits.
On behalf of the Avengers, I would like to formally welcome you to our new facilities in upstate New York. We are honored to have someone of your calibre and talent report on our organization.
I personally look forward to meeting you on Monday. I hope you have a safe journey.
Please do not hesitate to contact me directly if you have any concerns or questions.
Captain Steve Rogers
You rolled your eyes and scoffed. Jesus, he sounded old and full of himself. The email warranted a response but you decide drunk emailing Captain America was probably not the best idea.
Steve closed his email and leaned back into his leather, ergonomic chair. He was pleased with the wording of his email, and he privately hoped you would be impressed.
His eyes fell to your headshot, his smile growing. You were beautiful and smart. You would be an asset to the Avengers.
Giving in to the temptation that had taunted him since this morning’s meeting, he opened your Instagram account and clicked “follow”. He was instantly drawn to the snapshot into your life.
Dinner with your friends at a quintessential New York restaurant, drinks at bars, breweries. Sunflowers. You loved sunflowers. Farmer’s markets. Hikes. Holidays in the Hamptons. Journeys on the subway.
He could spend hours looking at your photography. You were talented.
Yes, perhaps bringing you to the Avengers was going to be a good thing.
We really hope you've enjoyed this chapter. Another fair old warning, this will be a slow burn. There will be plenty of smut splashed out here and there, but this is a dark slow burn.
We'd love to hear your thoughts! Thanks, uglywombat & sophiria x
Chapter 3: Doin' Time
Our reader starts her assignment at the new Avengers' compound and quickly makes an impression.
Guys, we are totally overwhelmed with the comments for the last chapter. Thank you so much. This is going to be an absolute slow burn, but there will be a healthy sprinkling of smut layered throughout... we aren't that mean!
Chapter warning: masturbation party for one
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Years of living in New York, commuting via the subway, had rendered your driving skills useless. It had been a flustering and craze-inducing experience trying to get out of New York and the journey had taken a lot longer than you had anticipated. To say you were grateful to put your feet on dry land, so to speak, was an understatement.
Getting out of the small Golf VW, you stretched your cramped limbs and breathed in the fresh upstate New York air, taking in the sight of the new Avengers facilities. It was as pretentious and over the top as you had anticipated and you silently condemned the huge amount of funding the House of Representatives had approved for the new facilities.
The sound of feet pressing against the gravel driveway drew your attention to the entrance and three approaching figures. You immediately tensed. Captain America, Sergeant Bucky Barnes, and Sam Wilson stood before you and you squared your body.
“It is a pleasure to meet you, I’m Steve Rogers.”
Of course, you knew who he was, it was only last week his image had been plastered all over your TV screen after destroying half an island. His face was warm and kind, and you couldn’t deny that he was incredibly handsome. You shook his hand, trying to keep your cool, calm, professional demeanour on show, whilst you really wanted to reprimand his team for their actions in Tonga.
“It’s nice to meet you too, Captain.”
“Please, call me Steve. These are my fellow commanders Bucky and Sam.” You introduced yourself and shook their hands, Sam gifting you a cheeky smile and a glint in his eye. “Welcome to the new Avengers facilities. You’re the first member of the public and press to step into the facilities. What do you think?”
You bite back the words on your mind. “It sure is something.”
“Not a fan?” Bucky asked coolly, his eyes judging your expression in a very unsubtle manner.
You chuckled and shifted your bag on your shoulder, heavy with your camera and laptop. “I apologise, the new facilities look safe, secure and expensive.” Your response, whilst cheeky, earned you an interested smirk from the soldier. You’d have to watch yourself around Bucky, as he clearly didn’t miss a thing.
Steve watched your exchange with Bucky with interest. You were reserved and put on a professional front, however, he could practically feel you simmering with untold opinions, masked behind sardonic humour.
You could feel Steve reading your face and you cleared your throat uncomfortably. “Is there somewhere I should put these bags?”
“Of course,” Steve all but ran to you taking the heavy messenger bag from your shoulder as Sam took your suitcase from the boot of the car. “Let me escort you to our meeting with Director Fury and someone will take your stuff to your room. Do you need your handbag for the meeting?”
You couldn’t help but note the antiquated tone in his voice, but you remained professional. “I just need my phone,” you said patting against the pocket of your jeans.
You followed the soldier into the bright and modern facilities, the technology was clearly out of this world. Steve introduced you to the head of security; who immediately took your photo for their records.
Steve was silent but courteous as he led you into the elevator, Sam and Bucky closely following suit. It was overwhelming, the air thin as the doors closed.
“Good afternoon, Captain, Sergeant, Wilson.” The invisible voice rang through the cramped space. The sound of your name echoing off the tightening walls was surreal. “My name is F.R.I.D.A.Y., Mr. Stark’s own A.I. If there is anything I can do to assist you during your stay, please do not hesitate to just ask me.”
You weren’t sure if it was the pressure from the moving elevator, the overwhelming presence of three huge soldiers, the invisible alien talking to you or a combination of all three things, but you could feel your head spin. You leant back against the wall to right yourself, feeling Steve’s eyes monitoring you closely.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” you said after taking a deep breath, “just a little claustrophobic.”
His smile was genuine and shy. “If it’s any consolation, it took me months to get used to talking to an invisible man.”
The elevator stopped and the doors opened, a rush of cool air washed through the cramped space. Bucky and Sam exited first, patiently waiting in the corridor as Steve motioned for you to disembark before him.
The meeting room is immaculately clean and styled, the furniture top of the line. You couldn’t help but internally roll your eyes. “You must be Director Fury,” you said approaching the imposing man stood at the head of the long, wooden table. He took your hand in his and politely shook it.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you. We are all fans of your work here,” he said gesturing for you to take a seat.
You shouldn’t have been surprised as Steve stood directly beside you and pulled your chair out for you like a perfect gentleman. You smile politely and thanked him as you took a seat, placing your phone on the table.
Bucky and Sam sat opposite you, their eyes watching you intently as Steve sat beside you, too close. You shifted uncomfortably as the overwhelming feeling of claustrophobia returned.
“Welcome to the Avengers compounds, we are very grateful for you coming out here to cover our organisation for your publication.” You had to bite down the desire to scoff; instead, you bit your lip. “I understand recent events have not shone the best light on our organisation, but I know we can agree that this blog will be our most effective tool to regaining the public’s trust. It is of the upmost importance that the public have faith in us.”
His intimidating, stern expression cooled your blood. “Of course sir,” you said with a forced smile, “I will do my best.” Your hands twisted in your lap as you felt Steve look down at you.
You watched Fury closely, endeavouring not to make eye contact with your supersoldier audience, as he proceeded with his lecture on the Avengers new initiative post-Thanos. He was trying to pitch you a sale, but you weren’t biting, your mind firm in your beliefs, but you played along as best you could.
Steve observed you closely as you watched Fury speak; taking notes on your phone what you deemed important. Whilst you said little, it was apparent that you were bright, intelligent and inquisitive. The slight upturn of your lips as you found something amusing, or the petite crinkles beside your curious eyes. You reminded him of Natasha, reserved and very internalised.
He had to admit, despite your ‘unwomanly’ aesthetic and dress, you were beautiful. The cheeky glint in your eyes as you were clearly unhappy with whatever Fury was saying.
Why were you here? You were an accomplished business journalist, why would you be writing a PR blog? Yes, Steve found you very intriguing and he was determined to get to know you better. The light, sweet aroma of your perfume tickled his senses as he watched you closely. You were intoxicating.
“Captain, perhaps you would like to show our guest around before dinner.”
Steve smiled, though you could see it was forced and feigned. You took immediate note of this interaction. “Of course, Director, it would be my pleasure.”
Your afternoon was spent following Steve around the facilities. He was kind and a gentleman, holding doors open for you and allowing you time to take in your surroundings. He politely answered your questions.
“Captain,” you asked cautiously as you walked around the perimeter of the lake, “will I need to sign out of the compound if I leave the property?”
Steve stopped and looked over the lake, your eyebrows furrowed. “I’m afraid it will be some time before you will be allowed off the property. Our security is a little precarious following the Tonga incident, but I can assure you that your security is of the utmost importance to us.”
“Of course,” you bristled, immediately uncomfortable. “Well Captain, I hope you have Netflix.” He chuckled and you both continued on your tour.
Later that evening, you couldn’t leave your room fast enough. The thought of being in a small, secluded room, under the watchful eye of an A.I. system was enough to make your blood run cold. The room was cold and soulless, the total antithesis of your apartment full of colour, life, photographs, art, textures.
You were surprisingly housed in the private level of the superheroes. After the destruction of Thanos, most of the original Avengers had dispersed around the globe, commanding similar operations. Only Steve, Bucky and Sam remained in the United States, commanding the new Avengers of some six hundred agents.
You sat at the kitchen bench watching on as Bucky and Sam bickered over the style of cutting of their chilli for their chilli mix, taking the occasional candid photo with your camera. In the privacy of their own accommodation, the two men were a far cry from the tact, defensive soldiers you had met on the driveway.
You couldn’t help the smile that grew at their banter.
“Terminator, touch my chillies one more time and I’m going to give you a matching arm,” Sam threatened calmly as he meticulously chopped the bright red chilly. Before he could lower the knife for the final cut, Bucky pushed in and chopped the already cut chillies into tiny pieces at a speed that took your breath away.
You offered a round of applause as Bucky took a bow, Sam unimpressed by his performance.
“Have at it, Gordon Ramsey,” Sam huffed throwing his knife down and storming out of the kitchen.
You watched on as Bucky dropped the chillies into the bubbling chilli mix, it smelt incredible. “So doll,” Bucky said casually turning back to you, eyeing the camera in your hand, “what do you like to do for fun?”
Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Steve stiffen from his seat at the dining table. He’d spent a good part of an hour slowly making his way through a large pile of paperwork, though you could not help but notice his eyes frequently checking up on you. You’d managed to take some good candid photos of him writing. He was classically beautiful and, dare you say, manly. His beard had a beautiful hint of red that seemed to pop in the frame and his focused blue eyes were stunning.
You took a moment to question how personal you should allow yourself to be with these men. As a journalist, you knew the benefit of a good relationship with your interviewee, how the slightest touch of vulnerability could put them at ease; however, you did not trust the Avengers or their Accords.
So you chose to keep your answer vague but unidealised. There was no doubt in your mind they had done a thorough investigation of your social media, as well as a background check. “Well, I love photography. I usually don’t get the chance to do much at work because they have professionals on the payroll; I got lucky on this job. My friends and I go hiking a lot.”
“In New York City?” Bucky asked incredulously.
“My friend Alice has a Jeep so we go further out of the city. You know, there’s a lot more to New York than the city,” you teased picking at the bowl of grapes.
“Like the Hamptons?”
You immediately stilled and the overfamiliar sensation of eyes bearing down on you returned. He’d clearly viewed your Instagram account. “Yes, like the Hamptons. Didn’t get out of the city much when you were a Brooklyn boy?”
The atmosphere plummeted as you and Bucky considered each other, the change of speed taking you by surprise. You could hear a chair scrape nearby and out of the corner of your eye, you spied Steve approaching.
“Remember Bucky,” Steve said, his voice calm, as his hands came to rest on your shoulders and he stood behind you, your body freezing, “friend. Ally. Not one of your aliens you interrogate.”
He was obviously trying to lighten the mood and you saw an immediate shift in Bucky. “I apologise. Sometimes the soldier doesn’t know when to clock off.”
It was hard to relax with Steve so close, his body radiating heat, his intoxicating scent overwhelming your senses. “It’s fine, I’m sure it’s hard to trust people given what you’ve seen and been through.”
Bucky’s eyes softened and Steve removed his hands from your shoulders. You cautiously watched the Captain return to his seat, satisfied that Bucky and you were not going to continue your verbal spar.
Despite the distance between you and the dark blonde soldier, you couldn’t help but shudder as his eyes roamed over you. His presence, his aura… it was all so much. Too much. Everything was crowding in.
Later that evening, as Steve lay in bed pondering the day that had been, his mind couldn’t help but wander to you. What were you doing right now? What did you think of him? Were you thinking about him too?
His fingers longed to pick up a pencil. He hadn’t felt the pencil calling to him since after Loki’s attack on New York. But the image of you, sitting next to Bucky as you excitedly discussed the most recent episode of ‘Chopped’, Sam rolling his eyes occasionally. It was grounding, comforting and, dare he say, homely. He hadn’t felt that feeling in a long time. The feeling was almost foreign, alien.
The image of your pouty, sweet lips wrapped around the straw as you drank your soda, the sweet echo of your laugh as Sam told a joke.
God, he was fixated on you. He wanted you to laugh at his jokes, lightly put your hand on his hand as you passionately discussed your favourite book. The jealousy that had torn through him as he watched you laugh with Bucky had taken him by surprise. Ripped the oxygen right from his lungs.
Your hands; those lips. They were crying out to be put onto paper. Immortalised. Savoured. The pure crinkle of your eyes as you laughed or smiled etched onto paper.
Finally, Steve couldn’t deny or shutout the vociferate. His fingers literally itching as he reluctantly made his way to his closet, to the vintage box he’d locked away his treasure, his passion all those years ago. Why did it feel like he was about to plummet down into the rabbit hole and lose himself?
Despite the small echoes of warning bells in his head, he pulled out the antique cherry wood artist box, filled with pencils and paper.
It did not take long, hunched over his small desk, to lose himself in the motions. First, he started with your eyes; big, bright, beautiful, curious eyes. He sketched your hands; writing, typing, wrapped around your camera. Your pouty lips, wrapped around that god damn straw…
When he finally retreated from the dark space three hours had disappeared and his cock was rock hard, pressing against the confines of his sleep pants. Steve couldn’t remember the last time he had been so aroused.
His mind drifted back to the image of your lips wrapped around that straw as he wrapped his hand around his cock. A husky sigh escaped his lips as he teased the head of his cock, imagining your lips wrapped around it, looking up at him like a tease… no, you were a good girl. You wouldn’t tease.
Instead, Steve imagined you laid on before him, pressing those beautiful, pouty lips to his as he slowly made love to you on his bed in the cabin. Away from the prying eyes of an A.I., agents, and Fury. Your legs wrapped around his waist as your sweet moans echoed against the old wooden walls, your painted red nails digging into his creamy skin.
He’d lavish you with praises because you’d be a good girl. You’d let him take care of you.
And for the first time in a long time, Steve spilled over his hands and into his pants. His pants filled the void left by his grunts and moans as he held his softening cock firmly, the sketches of your lips sitting before him.
As Steve slowly made his way into the bathroom to clean himself and change his pants, he couldn’t help but bite down the minute guilt tapping at his gut.
He had nothing to feel guilty. You were beautiful and any man would… Surely. Yes, it was entirely healthy and normal to be this attracted to someone so quickly.
It was at that moment that Steve made the conscious decision to make you laugh tomorrow. Laugh so hard you put your hand on his and he made your eyes crinkle and sparkle.
Perhaps that would quiet the pencil calling to him.
And on that happy ending (wink wink) we hoped you enjoyed following Steve down the rabbit hole...
We'd love to hear your thoughts/predictions/vents... I see you Hurricanerin and your CAPSLOCKS!
All things going to plan, and in the event we all survive Red Sea Diving Resort, the next chapter will be out next Friday 8/2. I'm not holding my breath.
Chapter 4: Staedtler 430 Medium Ballpoint Pen - Red
Our reader learns a fine lesson in the art of the red pen and working late in the communal kitchen.
Hi guys! Thank you so much from both us for your amazing comments and support for the last chapter.
Did you survive Red Sea Diving Resort? We barely came out alive so we thought why not put this chapter out a day early!
So that slow burn? Yeah... there isn't a lot of creeps here, however, it's an important step in our 'creep' timeline. If you squint, it's there.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
The hot water pelted your skin as you hid in the shower, praying the A.I. did not have access to the bathroom. Captain Rogers had assured you that the A.I. would never be privy to the goings-on in your living quarters, nevertheless, it was still unnerving and you were not sure you could entirely trust him.
Coming into this assignment, you were aware that your autonomy and privacy would be sidelined and you would be subjected to some form of monitoring. You were a guest in the world’s safest compounds; the training ground for the world’s first defenders, the safeguard for the government’s secrets. You would have been a fool to think your every move was not being monitored or questioned.
Why would they trust a lowly journalist from the New York Times around some of the world’s most classified secrets?
But the very notion that an A.I. was watching your every move, regardless of Captain America’s word, was disconcerting.
That morning you were expected to photograph a training session and speak to a carefully selected group of agents. Again, you wondered why you were even here when they could just as easily write the damn blog themselves.
You lingered in the shower as long as you possibly could before F.R.I.D.A.Y. politely reminded you that Captain Rogers would be meeting you in twenty minutes. You shuddered, shutting the water off. Could the A.I. see you? You rushed to cover yourself with a towel before exiting the shower.
You were a bundle of nerves by the time you were entering the kitchen, dressed in warm jeans and a jumper for the cool autumn climate. Your camera hung over shoulder whilst you typed a message to Alice to confirm your Skype date later that evening.
“Good morning.” You jumped at the intruding deep voice, turning to see Steve leaning against the refrigerator, his eyes lingering over your jean-clad legs. “Sorry, did I scare you?”
You laughed, embarrassment colouring your cheeks. “No, you just startled me,” his gaze fixed on yours.
The training session was no less awkward. You sat with Bucky on the sidelines as Sam and Steve trained the carefully selected agents. You snapped the appropriate photos, but you were extraordinarily distracted.
Steve’s t-shirt was sinfully and painfully tight, his muscles flexing as he scaled the wall. Your mouth ran dry, in awe of his speed and strength. You could only compare this experience to being a diabetic in a candy store.
Steve could only smirk. He could feel your eyes raking over his body as he and Sam put on a show. It fed his ego and his need to push your buttons. An idea blossomed as his eyes met yours and your embarrassment was transparent.
The communal kitchen was quiet late in the evenings. Sam and Bucky were in the games room locked in a ferocious battle of Mario Karts. And whilst you would have loved to sit and watch the pair bicker all night, your deadline for the blog’s first installment was looming and you were struggling. You were supposed to hand your first draft into Captain Rogers first thing tomorrow morning. And yet, you could not put pen to paper, so to speak, the words resisting.
You stared at the blank document before typing:
This is a total waste of time. You are a joke. A parrot. A pawn for the government. Grow some balls.
The familiar beep of your phone drew your attention to the screen. Thirty new Instagram notifications from @CaptainAmericaAvenger.
“What the fuck?” It was barely a whisper, however you couldn’t help but cringe at the thought of someone hearing you. When he had first followed you before you left New York you had laughed it off and thought little of it, thinking it was nothing more than a poor investigation tool. “More fool him,” you had joked. ”Good luck finding dirt in puppies and pastries. ”
You felt so uncomfortable and vulnerable as the notifications pinged through one after another; apparently, Captain America was sat in his room going on a liking rampage. You fought the urge to scrutinise the photos he had liked, but it was better than staring at the blog entry you were supposed to be writing.
Opening your phone you were in shock as the notifications fought through. He was methodically working his way through your entire collection of posts. “What the fuck?”
You jumped as the sound of an incoming FaceTime call broke your concentration. Relief set in as the familiar, friendly face of Alice appeared on your screen.
“Girl, where are my naked photos of Sam Wilson? I’m running out of porn material!” You cackled, instantly relaxing back against the chair. “So how is life surrounded by hot, buff men?”
You rolled your eyes and laughed. “Alice, it’s like a smorgasbord of hot men that I’m not allowed to sample. Also, I’m not allowed to leave the compound so I’m essentially a social pariah. I think I already have cabin fever.”
“Please don’t go all ‘Shining’ on me. I’ll never to be able to afford the bail.”
“Tell me about New York. Tell me all the amazing things that I am missing in the real world. I need to live vicariously through you.”
As Alice told you about the gin distillery that had popped up overnight in true New York style, you could not help but be distracted by the constant vibration of your phone, your head occasionally dropping to see the notifications coming through. All Steve.
“Okay, I’m telling you about the hot date I had with that Swedish, Viking model with the man bun and you’re not salivating. Boyfriend texting you?”
You looked at Alice and her crinkled expression. “No…”
“Does this have to do with a certain Captain burning up your Instagram?” You blushed, hiding your face in your hands. “What’s going on there?”
“Nothing. He’s nice, charming, handsome and so vanilla you would eat him with that terrible apple pie you buy from Costco and pretend you baked from scratch.”
“Hey! That pie is a work of art.”
You scoffed and took a drink from your beer bottle. “He just… he stares a lot Alice. Like a lot and it makes me uncomfortable.”
“I thought you would totally be into the All-American Beefcake taking your clothes off with his eyes. Actually, I had money on you fucking the Winter Soldier by the end of the first week.”
“Thanks, you’re a real peach, Al.”
“Honey, I’m kidding okay,” she said apologetically, leaning closer to the screen. “Look, don’t stress about this Instagram thing. The guy is a centenarian, yeah? It’s just like the time that creepy uncle of yours, discovered Facebook.”
Alice slammed the table. “Yes, Uncle Len. Remember when he friended you and commented on literally every post you had made in five years and you had to block him? It’s just like that. He’s an old man who has discovered a platform that he can relate to the kids and he doesn’t get that it’s verging on stalker.”
If anyone could talk you down it was Alice. “I miss you. Thanks for talking me down, I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“I miss you too. So back to my date. Let me tell you about this thing Sven did with his tongue… holy shit is that Captain America shirtless?”
You spun around to see Steve strutting through the kitchen shirtless. “Um, Alice, I’ll call you back, bye.” You hung up on Alice and watched as he searched through the fridge. The muscles on his back were insane. The definition and strength on display right in front of you unashamedly drew a gasp from your lips, the heat rising to your cheeks. “Sorry, Captain, I didn’t realise you were still up. Is walking around shirtless a thing that happens a lot around here?”
You couldn’t help but notice the smirk on Steve’s lips as he scrutinised you. “I should apologise, I thought you’d have retired to your room to write.”
“I don’t like to write in my bedroom. The bed is for sleeping and…” You’re flustered, his naked, sculpted chest distracting. “You know, I think that if you bring work into the bedroom it’s hard to… not work… and…” You coughed nervously, your eyes begging to stray lower down his body, to his loose sweatpants.
“And how is the blog coming along?” he asked with a chuckle, his honey skin glowing in the soft lights of the kitchen. Stiff in your chair, you watched him approach you. He stood directly behind you, his beard tickling your neck as he read over your shoulder. He smelt good; the faint, recognisable aroma of bergamot and cedar wood tickling your senses. “This is a total waste of time. You are a joke. A parrot. A pawn for the government. Grow some balls,” he read aloud as your cringed. “Succinct. To the point. Honest. I like it,” he chuckled, his hands grasping your shoulders before sitting next to you at the large table.
“I’m sorry,” you said as shame warmed your skin and you closed your laptop. “That was totally unprofessional and you shouldn’t have had to see that.”
His large, warm hand rested on your thigh as he smiled warmly at you. “There is no harm, you were just venting, unless that’s what you’re planning on publishing. I am the last person who should judge you about being a performing monkey for the government. It’s exactly what I did during the war.”
You took a mental note to bring this up in your interview with him because now was not the time. “The writing will be easier once I start dropping sentences of glory and majesty, delete them, re-write them and repeat this process until it makes sense.”
Steve chuckled and ran a hand through his hair. “Well, I have faith in you because you are an amazing writer with fantastic lineage.” He smiled as your brow creased. “I met your grandmother once, in Italy, during the war. She was a fine woman with a lot of talent. She would have been proud of you.”
“Thank you,” you said shyly. “I should get back to it. Deadline is tomorrow and I hear the guy in charge of proof-reading it is a right jerk,” you joked trying to lighten the mood and silently begging him to give you some space. He was all-consuming; hot, shirtless, dreamy….
Steve laughed heartily, his large hand coming to rest on yours. “I hear the guy in charge of proof-reading is a pussy cat who will love whatever you write.”
You watched him bid you goodnight and retire from the communal kitchen, calling out to Bucky and Sam as he left. You felt the familiar pinch of nerves against your spine as you thought about your grandma. She’d turn in her grave if she knew you were writing this piece on The Avengers. And if Steve had truly met her, he would know that.
In the privacy of his room, Steve sat at the laptop and watched you mope. A smirk grew as he watched you hang your head in your hands. He had accomplished exactly what he had sought out to do.
“What the hell are you doing?” Your voice was a low growl. “What would grandma say? She’d put you in your place and call you a tramp.” It was comical, watching you chastise yourself. “Don’t trust The Avengers. Get your head out of the gutter.”
Steve puffed his chest in victory before returning to his sketch, adding the final, perfect touches to your cleavage. He was particularly proud of this piece, inspired by your evening in front of your laptop as he had watched on. He had perfectly executed the concentrated look as you typed on your computer, your outfit was more ladylike, your cleavage just visible in the button-down dress. Your glasses perched on your nose.
You were a pretty sight. And this was only the beginning.
Your hands twisted in your lap as you sat opposite Steve, the red pen resting against his lips as he read over your article. It was humiliating. His forehead furrowed once again and he made another red mark on your work.
You had not expected to have such a visceral reaction to watching Captain America, a national hero, edit your work. His soft blue eyes would occasionally fall to yours as you nervously watched on, his smile warm and encouraging. Your heart dropped every time the red pen came into contact with the paper.
“Breath,” Steve chuckled, his eyes fixed on your paper, “it’s good.”
“That’s a lot of red pen for a good paper,” you scoffed, your hands obsessively picking at your pants. You couldn’t watch. “I could come back.”
Steve’s eyes met yours before he put the article down onto the table, his red pen sitting on top. Your heart sank at the sea of red. Lines, questions marks and notes.
“Hey,” his voice was warm and gentle as he leant over the desk, his chest covering the article, “I promise it’s great.” His eyes sparkled lightly in the light as he studied your face. “I just think some word choices could be a little stronger. A little more emotive.”
You seethed, placing your hands under your legs to stop yourself from grabbing the red pen and hurling it in his face. “My word choices?”
You flinched as Steve suddenly jumped from his chair and moved around the table towards you, sitting in the chair beside you. Even his smallest movements commanded attention. He turned your chair to face him, pinning your gaze with his.
“I would hate to tell you how to do your job,” he began, his voice soft, lulling, “but I feel as though you have not allowed yourself to be open with us. You have your walls up and I am concerned that the blog will suffer if you do not allow yourself to be more open to the present. I need you to trust me.”
Your mouth gaped open at his audacity. Who the fuck did Steve Rogers think he was? You knew better than to snap back though, the idea of being chastised by Michael Post incredibly unappealing, or potentially losing your job. “You’re right, Captain. I apologise.”
Steve smiled, his large hands carding on his lap as his eyes roamed over you. “Please, call me Steve.”
We made it?! We'd love to hear your thoughts :) especially naked Chris Evans in Red Sea Diving Resort... ahem. Sorry.
So that chapter title... did you get the metaphor behind it?
Please feel free to leave a comment! See you next week!
Chapter 5: Partie de Campagne
Our reader has a not so pleasant run-in with the Captain. Sam and Bucky come to the rescue. And a warning.
Hi guys! Another Friday another chapter. Firstly, thank you so much for your awesome comments. We love to read them and snuggle them for inspiration.
We've had a few comments about our reader and her attitude about the Avengers. There is a reason and this chapter will give a little insight. This will be examined as we further descend into the madness, but for the time being, we can't give too much away. Let us just say, there are rhyme and reason for everything.
Now, anything in bold and italics is an insight into a certain Captain's spiraling mind. They are NSFW. So enjoy. And not to give ANYTHING away... the last paragraph is INTENTIONALLY not in bold and italics. You're welcome my fellow filthy-minded friends.
That all being said, we really hope you enjoy this chapter!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Your pace was near perfect, the air just cool enough to keep you from overheating. You were close to the compound, making good time. You might have technically been on Avengers’ property, but it felt freeing to be outside, by yourself, jogging and listening to your music.
It had become apparent, whilst living under the watchful eye of America’s Captain and the every present A.I., that you had been taking the simple notion of freedom and autonomy for granted. That very thought turned your gut. You were an American citizen, you should have the freedom to go wherever you choose, but at this time that was not your reality. Captain America was the conductor of your every move.
You leaned against a nearby tree, prolonging your return to your quarters, catching your breath. It was beautiful on the grounds. The leaves were starting to turn golden orange, yellow and bloody red with the change of the season. You loved autumn. You yearned to celebrate Halloween and visit the farmers’ markets on the weekends.
You removed your headphones and listened to the sound of the leaves rustling in the breeze, a squirrel chirping close by. It was relaxing, peaceful away from the watchful eye of the A.I. and Steve Rogers.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Clearly, you had spoken too soon. You looked up to see Steve approaching you at a leisurely jog before coming to a stop near you. His long legs encased in running leggings, a puffer jacket worn over his t-shirt. He looked hot. “I love running this time of the year. The colours, the temperature. It’s just perfect.”
You smiled in return. He seemed to be in a good mood, perhaps now was a good opportunity to test his goodwill. “Actually Steve, I was hoping to bump into you.” You internally cringed as you saw him swell with anticipation. In the distance, you could hear Sam and Bucky approaching thanks to their bickering. “I was hoping, considering it was the weekend, that I could maybe leave the compound for a few hours. I need to pick up some stuff and I was hoping to get some fresh air.”
Steve raised an eyebrow and stared at you incredulously. “Get some fresh air? You’re out in the fresh air right now.” Was he really that dense? Surely not.
“Well hey!” Sam called as he and Bucky came close and their bickering coming to a ceasefire. “Nice day for a run.”
You saw their arrival as an opportunity. Surely they would see the sense in you taking some leave from the compound. “It’s a great day. I was hoping to make the most of the clear weather and go into the nearest town. I need to pick up a few things and just wanted to take in the sights.”
“And get some fresh air, apparently,” Steve said bitterly, his hands resting on his hips.
“But you’re out in the fresh air,” Bucky said incredulously.
You were exasperated. “Seriously? I just want to go into town for a few hours by myself.”
“You can be here by yourself.”
You raise an eyebrow at Bucky and he immediately stilled. “I don’t see what the problem is. I can drive myself and be back in a few hours. I’m not going to go sell state secrets. I did sign an NDA after all.”
Sam chuckled, whilst the look on Steve’s face chilled you to the bone. He was not amused. “I made it perfectly clear,” he said, his arms coming to rest against his chest, “that you would not be able to leave the compound due to…”
“Yeah, yeah. You destroyed an island and the world hates you, which is why I’m here. I get that. I don’t understand what that has to do with me going into town. “
Sam gasped and Bucky’s eyes shot open. You instantly regretted the smart-ass comment, but you couldn’t help but smile inwardly. It was pretty funny and Sam could not hide the fact that he found it amusing.
Steve’s gaze narrowed on you, clearly unamused. “Your request is denied.”
“Oh, come on, I have rights. I’m not a prisoner…”
Steve’s eyes turned dark as he stiffened and you immediately shut your mouth. “That is correct. You are not a prisoner. However, I have been consigned to your stay here at the compound and I have deemed the situation unsafe.” You bristled, your eyes locked in a silent battle. “Of course, you’re more than welcome to discuss this with your editor-in-chief, Mr. Post. I’m sure he’d be delighted to help you find another assignment.”
Your cheeks burned with embarrassment. “That won’t be necessary. Enjoy the rest of your run gentlemen.”
Steve preened like a peacock as the trio watched you job back the way you had come. You were in no mood to hurry back to the compound, even if that meant repeating your four-mile circuit.
“Cap, I know that we are approving everything that gets posted, but we really need to try and keep her on our side,” Sam said as they made their way back to the compound. “I mean, she’s a guest and it could turn in to the most awkward seven weeks of our lives.”
“Sam’s right,” Bucky agreed as they picked up their pace.
“She clearly doesn’t like me,” Steve sighed. God, he wanted you to like him, but everything he did and said seemed to turn you off. “It’s quite obvious she’s already made up her mind about us. What am I supposed to do?”
“Let Tin Man and I figure something out. If anyone here knows the ladies, it’s us, well mostly me.”
And so after showering and a hearty two-course breakfast, Sam and Bucky went about their ‘80’s rom-com marathon as planned, the table laden with popcorn and snacks. They had plans to make; they were going to save this blog and their sanity if it killed them.
Sam found you later that afternoon in the library delving into the Accords. “Hey, sugar.” He laughed as you rolled your eyes. “So, it is a lovely afternoon and it seems like such a shame to be stuck inside here reading up on the Accords. I mean it is like ‘War and Peace’, right? Essential reading, but does not make for an enjoyable Sunday.”
You pulled your reading glasses off and placed them beside your laptop. “Are you getting me out of the dodge? I will pay you. I make a mean batch of chocolate chip muffins. Hell, take me to a bar and I will pay for the drinks.”
Sam chuckled, taking your arm and pulling you up from your place on the sofa. “I have something even better in mind.”
You followed him outside, listening to him talk about the secret ingredient pie his mom makes and he will bring it back for her when he goes to visit, before quickly realising that telling you he can leave the compound is probably not a great idea and quickly changed the subject.
He was leading you to the lake, and secretly you hoped he would let you have a try of his wings, but you were sorely, and epically wrong.
Your breath hitched in your chest as you took in the picnic blanket laden with food and wine, the fairy lights and candles hung off tree branches. It was utterly beautiful and ridiculous, and you would be lying to say if your heart didn’t swell at the sight. Until your eyes came to see Steve Rogers dressed in his beige dress pants, a button-up shirt with a pristine cashmere jumper as if he was going on a date.
You felt inadequate and embarrassed by your torn jeans, oversized plaid shirt, and worn-to-death boots, your hair (desperately in need of washing) pulled up out of your face with a hairband.
“Surprise!” You jumped as Bucky cried out.
“What is going on?” you asked taking another look at your surroundings, praying this was a terrible dream, that you’d fallen asleep on the couch reading the Accords and this was all brought on by the fact that Sam and Bucky were working their way through every terrible rom-com ever made.
“Well,” Bucky said wrapping his arm around your upper body and steered you towards Steve who smiled shyly, “we thought you two haven’t really had the opportunity to get to know each other, and what better way than a picnic.”
Steve’s hands were shoved deep in his pockets as he rocked on his heels. Sam and Bucky had outdone themselves on their presentation. Artisan cheeses, French macarons, champagne. The lighting, the mood. It was so… romantic.
“Why does it look like Molly Ringwald spewed the eighties all over your lawn?” you asked, your body stiff like a board. “You guys need to lay off the romantic comedies.”
Steve’s heart sank, but he wasn’t a quitter. No, he would battle on. He could win you over. “It would be a shame to let all this food go to waste and it’s such a perfect afternoon.”
His transparent disappointment pricked at your heart a little, and then there was the pathetic, perfect pout Bucky was putting on. “I do love macarons.” Steve’s smile blossomed brightly.
“That’s our cue, enjoy guys,” Sam said pulling a gawking Bucky back towards the compound.
“They’re going to spy aren’t they?” you asked as you sat down on the blanket, the ground surprisingly soft, Steve sitting close to you.
“Absolutely,” he chuckled. “I’m sorry about all this. They have a tendency to be selectively blind to the appropriate line.”
“It’s fine. Maybe they should consider event planning if this Avengers gig doesn’t work out.” That drew a hearty laugh from Steve as he fought to open the champagne.
Glasses poured, Steve raised his. “To a successful blog, your thriving career and a budding friendship.” You wanted to roll your eyes; slowly coming to the realisation Steve was a peacock in disguise, but in the spirit of the afternoon you raised your glass and they clinked.
An awkward silence fell over as you both picked at the food and drink. You had to hand it to Bucky and Sam they were nothing but committed and had not cheapened out on their selection of treats.
Steve cleared his throat, his hands fidgeting in his lap. “So, how long have you lived in New York?”
You had two options. You could not answer his questions and spend the next seven weeks in an awkward purgatory. Or, you could play along and appease his curiosity. You knew the latter would result in a better blog and possibly keep Michael off your back. Besides, you could always be selective in your answers.
“I moved to study at NYU. I did my internship at the Wall Street Journal and I’ve been at the Times for three years. But I’m sure you already knew that.”
Steve stiffed, crushing the macaron with his fingers. “You had to expect a background check.” He watched you closely as you bit your lip before draining your glass of the expensive champagne.
“Of course. You can’t expect me not to be uncomfortable though, people digging into your life?”
“Why, do you have something to hide?” His voice was bitter and your body instantly chilled.
Sam and Bucky sat nearby, helping themselves to a mountain of Brie and crackers, listening to your conversation.
“Well, that had been going well,” Sam sighed. “He really hasn’t got a clue about women, does he?” Bucky laughed before shoving three pieces of Brie into his mouth. “Should we intervene?”
Bucky swallowed the cheese and shook his head. “Steve is a lost cause. He just needs to work through this little crush, because our lovely journalist is clearly not interested.”
Steve was too close, his eyes were too inquisitive, and his hands were too big and strong. “I’m sorry,” he said softly, his eyes looking to his hands. “I’m making a mess of this.”
You wanted to stay mad at him, but seven weeks was a terribly long time to be at war with someone who determined your level of freedom in the compound. “No, I’m sorry. I’ve let my preconceived notions affect my demeanor towards you. It’s incredibly unprofessional.”
His hand grasped yours quickly before offering you some macarons. “Is there a particular food you like? We can stock up the kitchen with some of your favourite foods. We want you to be comfortable here.”
You smiled and took a pistachio macaron. “Pretzels and beer. I’m pretty easy to please otherwise.”
You missed the dark smirk that formed on Steve’s lips as he studied your face, his mind reeling. “I will make sure to keep the beer fridge stocked then. We have a weekly movie night, you are welcome to request a movie.”
You smirked, “Anything but a romantic comedy.”
“Not a romantic comedy fan?” His eyes were trained on you, examining you like a fine piece of jewelry.
You sighed, “No. I think they’re idealistic, unrealistic and place too much value on the importance of having a man in your life.”
“Maybe you’re not seeing the right people.” You immediately look to Steve but you fail to see his expression as he looked off into the distance.
It was time to change the topic of conversation; things were getting a little deep for a non-date. “Do you know what this large red cake is, Steve? It looks too pretty to eat.”
Steve smiled and served you a sizeable piece, your stomach all but growling as you breathed in the sweet scent. “It’s a Moulin Rouge. Chocolate coconut mousse, raspberry jelly and coconut mousse on a white chocolate brownie.”
“It’s the prettiest brownie I’ve ever seen,” you sighed happily before your running through the airiest mousse you had ever soon. The sweet textures danced on your tongue as you licked your finger.
Steve’s mind went into meltdown, watching your finger delve into your mouth, covered in mousse, his pants immediately tenting. His imagination went into overdrive.
Sat on his lap, the Eiffel Tower a mere backdrop to your perfect evening, you feed him a spoonful of the decadent brownie. Your body is swamped in his shirt, his scent caressing your skin, your legs encased in those sinfully innocent thigh-high knitted socks. Your lace-clad pussy grinds against his as your tongues dance together, sweet coconut and raspberry chasing the champagne.
“You’re the only sweet delight I need, soldier,” you huskily whimper as your clit brushes his hard cock through his boxers.
Overall, you’d had a pleasant afternoon with Steve, and it bugged you to no end. After dinner, you went outside into the cool night and found yourself by the lake. You had to talk to someone. Unbeknownst to you, Steve watched from behind a nearby tree, covert in the dark shadows.
Hannah, your pragmatic and tactile friend would be able to help you evaluate and analyse your battling emotions. She was a fellow journalist, working for the LA Times and had a wealth of knowledge about The Avengers. She had also been your friend since college.
“Hey, honey, how’s the east coast?” Hannah asked, her face immediately furrowing as she noted your distressed expression. You would usually video call each other once a week, so she had been unsurprised when you called her at the office.
“I’m at The Avenger’s compound. Michael has me working this bullshit pro-PR blog for two months on the compound 24/7.” Hannah hid her face in her hands and let out an exasperated groan. She was no stranger to Michael Post herself. “Captain America is basically my editor.”
Hannah’s eyes met yours. “You’re kidding? So, you’re obviously feeling frustrated.”
You scoffed. “Frustrated. Confused. Claustrophobic.” A rustle in the bushes nearby drew your attention from the call briefly, before seeing nothing. “Han, I’m trying to remain professional but I can’t get her words out of my head.” Steve immediately froze.
“Your grandmother would not have warned you if she didn’t believe they were a threat.”
You sighed and hid your face in your hands, groaning in frustration before whipping your head up to look at your friend. “It’s just… he’s so fucking nice, Han. He’s always saying nice things to me, always complimenting me...”
“Captain fucking America.”
Hannah grinned. “So he’s as good looking as he is in his pictures?”
“He’s hot in that sweet American pie kinda way, but he’s also so ripped. Like, chiseled, Han.” Steve preened at her words, his smile growing. “But then he’s always watching me. It makes me really uncomfortable.”
“I saw the Instagram splurge,” Hannah giggled. “Okay, so what’s on the line if you pull out?”
“My job. Michael threatened to fire me if I didn’t take this on.”
“What the fuck, why?” You told Hannah about the Christmas party, Michael pinning you to the wall and trying to kiss you in the storage closet before you freed yourself and left the party. “You need to report him.” Steve’s gut burnt with rage as he listened. Who fucking touches his girl?
“Who’s going to believe me? Trish lost her job and got blacklisted because she wouldn’t sleep with Michael. He said I would interview Alejandro Gonzalez after. I just need to wait this out.”
“What are you going to do about Captain Pie?”
You smirked at the nickname, however, Steve’s rage boiled. “I need to keep a professional distance. I’m sure this sweet, kind Steve is a façade. I mean, gran wouldn’t tell me to not trust the Avenger’s unless she had a good reason, right?”
“Darling, your gran was the bravest, bluntest woman I’ve ever had the pleasure knowing. If I were in your position, I’d buckle down for the rest of the assignment, don’t let the good old Cap near your vagina,” you laughed out loud and Steve grimaced, “get that interview with the sexy Alejandro and get the fuck out of that paper. Michael is toxic and he will do anything he can to get what he wants. You should be somewhere safe.”
You mulled over her words. “I love you, Han.”
“I love you too. Now, you just write some bullshit about how honourable The Avengers are and make up some bullshit about the cute furry bats were infested with disease.” You laughed again. “Just, don’t let Michael’s threat and Steve’s pretty face influence your beliefs. You are a smart, intelligent woman who is entitled to her opinion.”
Your conversation veered to happier topics as you caught up with each other. In the shadows, Steve stewed and cursed. Oh yes, he remembered your troublesome grandmother. It was a good thing she was already dead.
You, however, were in dire need of punishment.
Steve towers over you, your arse planted on the picnic bench seat, his steely blue eyes bearing down on you. “We had such a nice afternoon, doll, why did you have to call me names behind my back?” His voice was rich and dark, his hand gripping your hair and pulling you back, exposing your neck.
“Please daddy,” you whimper as his fingers trail over your exposed skin, picking at the tears running down your cheeks.
His fingers grip your jaw and pull you to meet his eyes. "Baby, you know daddy is going to have to punish you, however else will you learn? Now, be a good girl for daddy and take your punishment without any complaints. Maybe next time you won't be so quick to run your nasty mouth."
Your lip quivers as he pulls you up and takes your place on the bench. "I'm sorry, daddy."
“I know baby,” he coos spreading his legs, “but you know what happens when you upset daddy.” His hands yank your jeans and panties down. “Now be a good girl and present yourself on daddy’s lap so I can punish you.”
You knew better than to disobey Daddy, so you obediently lay over his expansive gape, your ass high in the air, your back arched and head laying low.
Steve's warm hand ran over the globe of your ass before gripping and pulling your cheeks apart, taking in the view. "You're my perfect little doll," he drawls, "you're going to look so pretty once I'm done with you." His hand came to rest between your shoulder blades before his hand began to rain assault on your sensitive behind.
Your pathetic whimpers, coupled with salacious moans drew Steve’s attention to your increasingly wet passage. The sweet aroma hit him hard, drawing a smirk from his lips as his cock pushed against your ribs. “Oh my sweet doll, you’re dripping all over my pants. Are you enjoying your punishment?” Steve chuckled at the proud damp spot adorning his pants. “I’m beginning to think this isn’t much of a punishment after all.”
Steve pulls you up to sit in his lap, your hands firmly gripped behind your back. “What do you say, baby?”
His thumb caresses the falling tears on your cheeks, your ass burning against his pants, tears staining your cheeks. “Thank you for my punishment, daddy.”
Steve groaned and looked to his hand now covered in cum, his chest heaving, “Good girl, doll. Good girl.”
Well, did you enjoy that little sip of tea? Comments are life, so please let us know your thoughts. 🖤
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Chapter 6: The Captain America Humble Apple Pie with Traditionally Churned Vanilla Ice-Cream
In the best interest of the great nation of the United States and all man-kind, Steve takes sleuthing to a whole new level and discovers a surprising common like between you both.
Mmmmm, how's that slow burn? Is it good? Are we all good okay?
This chapter is NSFW. If you do choose to read this at work, perhaps do it in a closet or out behind a tree.
Paragraphs in italics come courtesy of the mind of one Steve Rogers. Those in bold and italics are a made-up movie that Steve watches.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
The soft thumping of the bass, mixed with delicate humming filled Steve’s office, azure eyes transfixed on his monitor. His eyes flickered across the screen watching you move across your room, your hips swaying to the music, as you stood before your rack of clothes, your body wrapped tightly in your towel. It was becoming apparent that you used music as a tool to calm your nerves, distract you from the thoughts of an A.I. watching your every move.
Your hands moved to open your towel, “Steve?” He immediately shut off the screen before turning his attention to the door to see Sam holding a cup of coffee. “Are we still on for the resistance training this afternoon?”
Steve smiled stiffly, his cock pressing against the confines of his pants a reminder of what he could be watching on his screen. “Sure thing, Sam. We agreed on 2 pm right?” Sam nodded placing the cup on the desk before bidding him farewell.
Steve immediately turned his screen back on to see you sitting on the bed, dressed and brushing your hair. He slammed his fist on the desk in frustration, the coffee cup rattling against the vibrations.
His eyes jerked to his second monitor. Is Daddy Kink Normal? His Google search had resulted in a mixed bag of non-professional blogs and think pieces by various psychology students. Steve Rogers was a man who placed great value in educated and expert opinion. However, this particular article by Vice was proving to be insightful and Steve was beginning to feel less and less like a perverted old man.
He had absolutely no desire to gift you toys and treat you like a child. But you did need to respect him. He was a man who deserved your admiration and love.
“Hey sweetheart,” he heard through the thrum of his ears and his eyes immediately returned to the other monitor to see your door open and Bucky enter your room. “Are you ready to go?”
“Sure, I just need to grab my cameras. I was thinking I’d bring the Polaroid too,” Steve could just make out your smile as you moved over to the small desk in your room.
Steve bristled at the ease you displayed with Bucky. No, he had to stay strong. You were not interested in Bucky, and Bucky was not interested in you. In fact, it was only because of Steve that Bucky had stepped over the threshold of your room. It was under his Captain’s orders that Bucky had invited you out for the day to learn some new photography skills, not that Bucky really wanted to learn how to take photographs. He’d intended on baking a batch of chocolate chip cookies and enjoying a Happy Days marathon.
His breath held as he watched you collect two cameras and follow Bucky out of your room, Steve could not bring himself to move. He needed to be absolutely sure that you were gone before he could commence his task for that morning.
His fingers itched, the daddy kink article resting in his periphery as he waited. The anticipation had gnawed at him all through the night, his mind all but made up as he washed the come from his hands in the lake. He knew he had to do this, despite the small echo in the back of his mind yelling something about morals and ethical violations.
No, he reasoned, this was for the best. It would benefit the nation, no, the entire world, even if it were indirectly.
“Captain, Sergeant Barnes, and your girl have left the building,” F.R.I.D.A.Y. announced, breaking his thoughts.
Steve quickly thanked the A.I. before madly leaping from his chair and racing out of his office. He spied Alan, a junior in the H.R. department approaching timidly. “Captain Rogers,” his voice shook and Steve had to stop himself from rolling his eyes. “Captain Rhodes needs you…”
“Not now Alan, I’ve got something to take care of,” Steve says on his path to the elevator.
“But Captain…” The look Steve shoots at Alan is enough to shut up him and send him back to Captain Rhodes with his tail between his legs. Steve had a job to do, in a limited timeframe, and he would be damned if anyone was going to stand in his way.
His body buzzed and his head pulsed with anxiety and impatience as the elevator ascended to the private living level, his feet trailing around the confined space.
This was wrong. Very wrong. And yet, if he tried hard enough, he could justify his actions.
The doors chimed as they began to part and Steve pushed his way past the opening chunks of metal as he marched out into the hallway, his step mechanical. He stopped before the door and took a long, drawn composing breath. “F.R.I.D.A.Y., override security measures and grant access to the guest quarters.”
The lock clicked and his large hand gripped the door handle, flinging the door open.
Your scent was the first facet that hit Steve as he stepped over the threshold. The lingering scent of bergamot, cedarwood and lemon tickled his senses. Fresh. Clean. Homely. He closed his eyes; his long lashes fluttering against his skin as he took stock of where he was. He was in your room. Your space. Opening his eyes he smiled, taking in the homely touches, the clean, organised home you’d created from the blank canvas you had been provided.
The dark, forest green knitted throw, cascading across the quilt immediately drew his attention. Pressing the soft, heady wool to his face, he took in the soft scent of eucalyptus and could just picture you intricately spreading the throw across the bed. His mind swirled with the image of you wrapped up in the blanket, reading a book, your fingers descending down your panties.
Placing the throw back onto the bed his attention was immediately drawn to the perfectly placed Polaroids decorating the concrete wall. His feet pulled him towards the photos as the small voice in the back of his head attempted to counsel him. Don’t do it, Steve.
His fingers trace the outline of your jaw and cheeks as he takes in the snapshots of your life.
His jaw clicked as he surveyed your bare legs as you posed with your friends in your nurse’s costumes for Halloween. Your happy, blissful smile obviously enhanced by the shot of tequila precariously hanging by your side. God, he would put you over his knee before he let you out in public dressed like that.
His eyes lingered over your legs before ascending to the Polaroid of you wrapped up, a mug of something steaming in your hands, sitting in front of a wood fireplace, your jumper oversized and slouchy, and your legs ensconced in thigh-high knitted socks. Steve groaned, his teeth catching his plump bottom lip.
Familiar wild dark curls drew his attention away from your legs and his eyes rested on Hannah. Her arm draped around your shoulders in the beautiful, candid photo taken at what looked to be a dinner party at a friend’s apartment. The décor and the table setting was bohemian; a mix of crystal, vintage plates, and new cutlery. You took his breath away as he neared the photo concentrating on your beautiful features light-up mid-laugh, your fingers delicately wrapped around your champagne glass. Your skin glowed in the soft candlelight, your nails meticulously painted cherry red, perfectly matched to your pouty lips, your black silk slip dress beautifully feminime and minimal.
A sudden surge of bitterness washed over him as his eyes returned to Hannah, her head thrown back as she laughed along with you. “Stupid, acid bitch,” Steve muttered his hands drawn into fists against the wall as he lay his head against you; his eyes fixated on you once more. “Oh sweetheart, why don’t you laugh like that with me?”
A sad sigh, his lips lingered over your face before he let his forehead rest against the wall. The scent, the warmth of your room, being surrounded by your possessions was intoxicating and calming. For the first time in what seemed like a lifetime, his heartbeat a steady, sedate rhythm. His mind was calm; the tornado of prevention and security a dull, soft hum.
His hands stretched out along the wall as he extended his neck up taking in the remaining Polaroids. Birthday parties. Camping. In all, you were happy and free.
And then his eyes came to rest on the one face that pulled the dagger deeper into his back. “Spiteful, deranged, filthy slut,” he growled, his nails dragging over your grandmother’s face. “Nearly ruined everything, didn’t you?” His lips stretched into a grin as he took in her frail and deteriorating figure, drowning in the filthy, haggard hospital gown.
His grin faltered as he noted the faint tears in your eyes, your arm protectively wrapped around your grandmother as you forced a smile. You knew the end was nigh and you clearly wanted to put on a brave face for her. God, he would have held your hand tight, assuring you that you were so brave, so selfless giving up your family to stay with your crazy grandmother until the bitter end. He would have held you close as you cried over her grave, promising you a safe and healthy future.
Slowly, he pulled his attention away from the Polaroids, the face, your face, that haunted his dreams and thoughts. He made his way over to your chest of drawers and timber clothes rack, adorned with an array of jackets and tailored pants. Tactile fingers caressed the various fabrics, slowly breathing in the lingering scent of your perfume.
On top of the chest of drawers sat a half-empty bottle of your perfume and the cherry red lipstick. That red lipstick. The same beautiful cherry lips that would feel so soft against his lips as he showed you off to the world, your arms dutifully wrapped around his waist, whispering sweet nothings in his ear, eager to leave parties early just to be with him.
Restless fingers stilled against the handle of your drawer. Steve knew, he damn well knew that if he opened this drawer there was no going back. Breaking into your room was one thing but to delve into your private possessions. But, it was a line he was willing to cross, for the safety of the nation, or so he reasoned.
The drawer pulled open with a heavy roll, a stark contrast to the delicate delights it held inside. He couldn’t breathe. Lithe fingers gingerly picked up the diaphanous, vintage style bra, rich in emerald. A shaky breath seeped from his lips as he pressed the delicate lace to his face, breathing in the soft scent of your washing detergent. The intricate combination of lace and silk was heaven against his lips. His cock hardened at the sight of the matching panties and the selection of similar pieces in your drawer.
“Sweetheart.” His voice shook with excitement before quickly placing the delicate lingerie back into the drawer, spying his darkest desire neatly folded in the far right corner. He brought the sheer stockings to his lips, his imagination running wild.
Looking to your bed his head swirled.
Sat on the bed, your silky, stocking-clad legs perfectly stretched out before you, your eyes playfully holding his gaze. “Why don’t you help me out of these, Captain? I would like to thank you for your service to this country.”
A shaky sigh, Steve pulled a pair of dirty panties from your hamper and pocketed them before making his way over to your bedside table. He knew exactly where to find what he needed, after days of surveillance, monitoring your every move.
The groan that slipped from his lips was salacious and borderline pornographic as he held your vibrator up to his face. Watching you tease yourself with the toy last night, after your childish rant, had been a blessing. Being able to watch you ride out your high was a gift.
Steve carefully placed the stockings onto the bed beside the vibrator before sitting down and opening your laptop. “F.R.I.D.A.Y., initialise stealth monitoring.” He typed in the overriding password.
“Stealth monitoring has been initialised, Captain. There will be no trace of your access.”
Steve took a deep breath, steeling himself for what was to come. His mind was in overdrive, the sounds of your sweet, wanton cries still echoing in his mind, as you fucked yourself with your toy watching what he could only imagine was a salacious video.
His lip caught between his teeth as he opened the video, his heart-stopping mid-beat. ‘ Baby Girl Apologises To Her Daddy For Being A Brat’. “Fuck. Sweetheart.” He needed no convincing to press play.
An older, blonde gentleman with an auburn-tinged beard sits at his desk, typing at his laptop.
Steve immediately stilled, his thumb caught between his teeth. “He looks like me.” His chest puffed with pride as a smile curved his lips.
The man’s eyes shift off camera as you can hear the door open. Stepping into the camera shot, a young woman dressed in a man’s business shirt and thigh-high knitted socks comes into view. She has clearly been crying, her body drawn in on itself. As she moves towards the man you can just see the outline of handprints against the skin of her arse. She’s clearly been punished.
The man shoots her a dirty look before returning to his work. The young woman kneels before him, her cheeks wet from her tears.
Steve’s cock pressed uncomfortably against his slacks as he watched the young woman lay her head against his thigh. His mind went into overload replacing the actress with your image and he as your daddy.
“What do you have to say to daddy, little one?” The man’s hand rests against her head, his fingers lacing through her wild hair.
“I’m sorry for being a brat, daddy. I’m sorry for embarrassing you in front of your friends and back chatting you. I’m sorry for being such a needy slut.”
Steve bristled at the vile name. God, he’d never call you that and he would happily put you over his knee if he heard you call yourself that.
Daddy bit his lip, his hard cock tenting against his pants, as his hands crowd his Baby’s face. “Be a good girl and show Daddy that you’re sorry.”
Obediently, his Baby stands up and starts to remove what little clothing she has on, opting to keep her socks on. Daddy stands up and slips out of his pants, his eyes trailing her tight body. Satisfied at her state of undress, he grips her neck and pushes her to kneel on the floor before him. His hands grip her hair as she takes his large cock in her mouth.
“Fuck,” Steve groaned taking his cock from his pants and gripped tightly with your stockings in hand. “Sweetheart.”
What were the chances that his newfound daddy kink mirrored your fantasies? It was kismet. This was the universe putting two people, clearly destined to be together, in the same building to find love. Now, more than ever, Steve felt justified, vilified for coming into your room without your knowledge.
His mouth dropped as his hand worked over his cock, watching the male actor instruct his baby to hold her head still whilst fucking her mouth vigorously.
The control this man had over this girl catered to Steve’s ego, feeding his need to control you. The admiration and respect that this young woman had for her daddy, Steve needed that. He craved it more than anything. It was traditional and satisfying, having a woman beneath him, giving in to his desires, and looking up to him because he knew best. Daddy knew best.
You were a good girl. You would do as Steve instructed. You would kneel before him, ravenous for your Daddy, worshipping him. You would look up to him more than you clearly looked up to anyone. You would live for Steve.
Daddy comes deep down her throat, feeding his girl. He gingerly lifts his Baby into his lap, cuddling her on the chair, sharing soft, lazy kisses.
“I love you, Daddy, thank you.”
Steve came with such vigor and force his head spun, forcing him to lie back on the bed. The stockings lay limp in his hand, covered with his come as his chest heaved, the scent of your perfume more evident than before. He felt more alive than he had in the longest time. His hands shook with adrenaline and satisfaction as he came down from his high. He felt at home.
Later that evening, Steve watched you closely at dinner as you and Bucky reviewed the photographs you had taken that day. He bristled with jealousy at the banter and ease you and Bucky shared.
Your smile was natural and not forced as Bucky leaned over your shoulder to take a closer look at the photo you’d uploaded onto the laptop. “You did an amazing job, Bucky. You’re a natural.”
Steve inwardly groaned, his hand instantly grasping the panties in his pocket.
The movie Steve stumbled upon may not be real, but that article is (https://www.vice.com/en_us/article/8qwze4/why-women-like-to-call-men-daddy-during-sex)
This chapter almost did not come about. It was a little bit of a struggle so I (UW) really hope I've done it justice.
Thank you so much for your kind comments and kudos. They make the hours of writing and (ongoing) research all the more worthwhile. They are like oxygen. We love the dialogue and debate so please feel free to leave some more.
We are both on Tumblr if you're keen to drop by. We have some really insightful moodboards to go with this monster!
Until next week!
Chapter 7: How Do You Sleep?
Nobody ever said Steve Rogers wasn't a man with a plan.
TRIGGER WARNINGS: SEE END NOTES
Hello wonderful humans!
Your patience has been outstanding. We would have cracked long ago 😉 That in mind, trigger warnings are at the bottom if you would like them, if not... enjoy. This is a long chapter, so maybe grab some snacks and a drink.
See you on the other side x
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
This was pure torture. Steve had died and was being tortured in the fiery pits of hell or Mordor. He had somehow, though he was not sure how, pissed off some great deity (Gandalf) and he was now being forced to sit opposite you, the image of your legs encased in those glorious stockings taunting him. Steve was about to lose his goddamn mind.
As Bucky moved on to the intel he had received for his upcoming mission in San Antonia Steve’s eyes slowly shifted to where you sat. You had been given strict instructions not to record any of the classified information regarding the mission, however, you were to report on the power dynamics and rapport between the agents and their commanders.
Steve flustered as you ran your pen along your lips as you watched Bucky breakdown the map of the facility they would be infiltrating, your eyes flitting around the room closely observing how the agents regarded their commander. The pen moved to your notebook as you took a few notes before returning your gaze to Bucky, unaware of Steve’s fixed look.
Your pen returned to your lips, finding its way between your teeth, as you seemed to be lost in thought. Steve struggled to shake the image of those pouty lips teasing his thumb as you sit on his lap.
Arousal mocked him, his pants tightening around his hardening cock as he forced himself to turn and watch Bucky, clearing his dry throat. But it wasn’t long until his mind started drifting back to the dark. That moment when you had walked into the meeting wearing those goddamn stockings. Steve had almost had a coronary.
His eyes strayed to you again, the pen resting in your mouth as you read over the Starkpad Sam shared with you. Steve’s mind raced with lust and endless possibilities.
As subtly as he could, he bent down, feigning tying his shoelace, he dared to sneak a peep at your stocking-clad legs, your thighs just visible under your skirt. Sitting up, Steve knew he was crossing the line, but the dark voice calling out to him was loud and alluring.
Your eyes briefly met his, a small, polite smile curving your lips before you returned your attention to Bucky. Those beautiful, cheeky, amused eyes. Always watching, always regarding your surroundings.
God, to have those eyes meet his, your teeth caught between your lips… Steve had to shift in his chair as his cock began to beg for attention, the damn pen between your lips again. His mind spiralled as he watched the pen delve a little further into your mouth.
He pulls you down to sit on his lap, your panty-clad pussy grinding against his cock, your legs resting against his thighs, your thigh-high stockings silky against his skin. Your kisses are tender and considered as you rest the palms of your hands against his bare chest, his hands relaxed on your waist.
You are a pretty picture, dolled up in your black lace bralette, silky black thigh-highs and pink silk panties, grinding against him. The light fragrance of your perfume tickles his senses…
Steve stilled, his eyes locked on you as you rubbed some lightly scented hand cream into your hands, your eyes fixed on Bucky as you considered his tone as he spoke with another agent.
You bite your lip as your hands caress his rock hard cock, your movements studious and scrutinised. Your darkly painted nails a stunning contrast against his pale member, Steve sporadically ghosting your lips with his as your hand methodically over his cock.
“You’re so big and strong, Stevie,” you moan, catching your painted cherry red lips between your teeth. “You’re so brave.” His chest puffs with pride as your pretty pouty lips tease his. “You’re always taking such good care of me,” your eyes twinkle with a hint of sauciness, “let me make you feel good. Let me take care of my captain.”
“And how are you going to take care of your captain, doll?” His voice is husky, deep and wanton, his hands trailing down your arms.
“Well Captain, I’m going to perform my civic duty and show you just how grateful I am for your service and sacrifice.”
The erring moan that escapes from your lips as you sink down onto his c……
“Rogers,” the faint call cuts through his daydream, “earth to Rogers.” His reverie well and truly crushed, Steve looked to Bucky who was staring at him with anticipation. “Anything you would like to add, Captain?”
Steve, shocked in himself at getting lost in the daydream, looked around the table to see all eyes on him, yours included. “No, no. Great job, Sergeant.”
He could not get out of that room fast enough as Bucky drew the meeting to a close, folder not so discreetly placed over his crotch. Steve locked himself in his office and immediately wrapped his hand around his rock hard cock, his other hand fighting to undo the zip as he leant against the door. He couldn’t wait, the image of you gyrating in his lap etched on his brain, your stocking-clad legs taunting him from under the table.
His calloused hands roughly jerked his cock as he imagined you kneeling before him, wrapping your painted lips around him. Like a teenage boy, he came hard and fast over his hand, spilling onto the floor. Carpet be damned, Steve couldn’t get enough of you. He had to get more.
A failed attempt at cleaning the floor with his handkerchief led Steve to the gym where Sam found him an hour later pounding the treadmill, deep in thought.
“Letting off some steam, Cap?” Sam chuckled setting his own pace on an adjacent treadmill.
Steve just shrugged, his eyes fixated forward on the cute tabby cat clinging to the tree branch, bright, bubbly pink font screaming at him ‘Hang In There ’. Steve wanted to grab the poster and rip it to shreds. He couldn’t hang in any more, stupid cat, he wanted to drag you into his office and fuck you over his desk, bunching your ridiculous stockings in his fists as he rips orgasm after orgasm from you….
“Look, I know the picnic didn’t exactly end in wedding bells, but you guys are on good terms now, right?” Again, Steve just shrugged, his pace infallible. “That was what Bucky and I were aiming for. I’m sure the blog will really help fix this PR mess.” A surge of rage punched Steve in the gut, his fingers instantly reaching to the console and increasing his speed. Sam raised an eyebrow, but he was a dog with a bone. “You just need to get back on the horse, you know what I’m saying?”
Steve did not know what Sam was talking about. Steve was fine. He was just fine. It was perfectly normal to fantasise about a woman, imagine a life with them, start designing your life around them. It was totally natural to get a hard-on in a meeting, sneak a peek under that woman’s skirt and then jack off in your office over said woman. Right?
“I’m fine, Sam,” Steve huffed, increasing his pace.
“Like hell you are. Did you hear a word Bucky said in that meeting?” Sam immediately chuckled as Steve’s ear peaked pink, his pace faltering slightly. “Thought as much. I know you’re keen on our young Anderson Cooper, but Steve dude, she’s not interested. There are plenty of other fish in the sea. So I’m staging an intervention.”
Steve stumbled on the treadmill, the emergency stop setting immediately kicking in. “What, because your picnic intervention worked so well?” he questioned incredulously, his hands resting on his thin hips.
Sam grinned, his pace flawless much to Steve’s chagrin. “Think of the picnic as a pre-contemplation stage of your intervention. Right now we are in the contemplation stage, where you are going to commit to going on a date tonight, your action stage where you will start behaving like a grown-ass man.”
“Sam…” Steve growled, his brows furrowing in frustration.
“You’re going to take Rhodes’ cute little secretary, the one that hits on you every day in the lunch line, to that little steak place in town. You’re going to wine and dine her, listen to her funny little stories. Then you’re going to walk her home, maybe give her a little kiss on the cheek. You can take her out again, or someone else.” Steve huffed and made to leave. “You’re picking her up at six and the reservation is under Captain Loverpants.”
The echoes of Sam’s chortling haunted Steve as he stormed down the hallway to his bedroom. Apparently, he had a date to prepare for.
And as far as dates go, it was fine. The reservation had in fact been under Captain Loverpants, much to his embarrassment. He was going to murder Samuel Thomas Wilson.
Sophie was kind, funny and sweet. Her fifties-style make-up and dress should have had Steve popping a boner at the table. Her sweet, subtle flirtations should have had him gripping his knees under the table to control himself. The salacious, innocent way she licked her spoon of the rich chocolate mousse should have enticed moans and groans from his lips.
And yet, there were no sparks. No fireworks. Just dimly lit, external gaiety. Or something like that. Steve wasn’t entirely sure. He wasn’t invested in this date at all, his mind wandering back to the compound where Sam and Bucky were pre-occupying you in a Lord of the Rings marathon.
God he wanted to be there, tucked under that rich forest green blanket with you, fighting over the warm buttery popcorn and gently caressing each other under the security of the blanket, sleepily resting your head in his lap.
He shoved a piece of steak into his mouth as he feigned attention to Sophie’s dissertation on the most recent episode of The Good Fight . Steve wasn’t entirely sure what she was actually talking about having drifted in and out of the conversation frequently.
Had the steak always been so chalky here? Why was the sauce so bland tonight? In fact, when was the last time he had really tasted food? His mind was a tornado as he calmly chewed the leathery meat, thinking back to your arrival at the compound.
Ah yes, it all boiled back down to you.
He pondered his obsessive behaviour. Yes, perhaps he was teetering on the fine edge of morality and sanity, however, he knew deep down that you belonged to him. He saw a future with you, not Sophie the secretary.
You were smart, Sophie was average. You were beautiful, Sophie was plain. You were natural, Sophie was caked with makeup. Your androgynous fashion was not to Steve’s taste but that could be amended; Steve would walk to the ends of the Earth to fill your closet with the finest clothes.
A forced kiss and a friendly goodbye saw the date finally coming to an end and Steve was a free man. He broke several road traffic rules racing back to the compound from the closest habitable town, breaking his record.
The lullaby of your laugh washed over him like a warm, sluggish tide as he entered the private floor of the compound. His heart instantly settled, his body relaxing as he found you lounged on the sectional, wrapped in your forest green blanket your eyes drooping with exhaustion.
The table was encumbered with popcorn, snacks and empty bottles of beer, Sam and Bucky stretched out over what space remained on the sectional.
The sight of you laughing along with his best friends filled him with so much joy he couldn’t breathe, the tears bubbling at the surface.
It was in that very moment Steve knew, made an oath under whatever deity truly existed, that no matter what, you would be his. He had to have you.
Your eyelashes fluttered against your cheeks as you yawned deeply.
“Oh hey man,” Bucky’s deep, lyrical voice broke his reverie, F.R.I.D.A.Y. immediately pausing the movie, “how was your date?” You and Sam looked to Steve expectantly.
“It was nice. The food was nice. She was nice. You know it was…”
“Nice?” Bucky offered, a warm smile gracing his face.
“She’s not really for me,” Steve offered, retreating into the kitchen, yelling out, “Can I get you guys another beer?”
It was half an hour before Steve returned with your beers, your eyes drooping as you struggled to concentrate as Théoden was freed from Saruman’s influence, the couch dipping as Steve sat beside you, handing over the cold beer bottle.
You battled to stay awake as the movie dragged on and the beer was consumed, the sense of heaviness slowly consuming you. A warm hand pulled your attention from the back of your heavy eyelids to see Bucky kneeling before you, his hand ruffling your hair.
“Come on slugger, time for bed. We can finish this tomorrow,” he teased, drawing a chuckle from you as he pulled you up from the couch. Immediately you swayed, Bucky holding your biceps to steady you. “Are you okay there, lightweight?” Sam’s concerned eyes watched you closely, Steve unusually silent.
Heat rose to your skin with embarrassment. “I only had two beers, I must be more tired than I thought.”
You slowly made your way back to your room after saying goodnight, exhaustion seeping in fast and furiously. It was a chore getting ready for bed and you all but collapsed onto the comforter, sleep quickly taking over.
Steve listened to your languid, soft breathing as he washed his hands, the sleeping powder safely hidden in the alarmed safe in his office. Bruce’s creation was in its infancy but he had assured his Captain that it would knock out an assailant for eight hours, the preferred amount of time for extraction and containment.
“Captain, levels are reading as asleep,” F.R.I.D.A.Y.s voice rang through the ensuite as Steve fixed his hair and ran a comb through his beard. He had to look his best. “Sergeant Barnes and Wilson have retired to their rooms.”
It was time.
A spritz of cologne and Steve made his way to your room, pausing outside to collect his thoughts. There was no going back from this. This would change everything.
“F.R.I.D.A.Y., override security measures and grant access to the guest quarters.”
Your door opened and Steve crossed the threshold, the soft scent of your perfume lingering in the air. His breath hitched in his throat as his eyes came to rest on your sleeping form, clad in a tight singlet and your underwear. The drug had clearly affected you quickly and effectively.
Steve took his time removing his clothes, folding each article neatly and placing them on the fabric stool at the bottom of your bed, as his eyes drank in your body, curled in on itself as you slept soundly.
He moved to stand beside you, his naked body towering over you as a hand reached out to stroked your silky skin, fresh from your evening shower. The sweet scent of blood orange caressed Steve’s senses as he lay down beside you, his eyes lingering over your face.
A smile graced his lips as his fingers trailed over your face, your pouty lips; soft, clean hair. “Hi, sweetheart.” He gently pressed his lips to yours, savouring the sweet berry lip balm you’d applied before bed, the subtle minty flavour of your toothpaste. “You look so beautiful tonight.”
A large hand cupped your cheek as his lips met yours once again, Steve emboldened. His tongue caressed your lips before he manipulated your jaw, his tongue probing your mouth. A lewd groan dripped from his lips as he fervently kissed you, his other hand grasped your neck.
“You don’t know how long I’ve dreamt of kissing you, sweetheart. You took my breath away the first time I saw your headshot.” His voice was low and breathy as his fingers caressed your cheeks. “I know that right now you don’t really like me, and that’s okay. You’re so smart. You see the darkness lingering inside of me. But, over time you will learn to love me as I love you. I’m going to do everything in my power to make sure that you see me as I am.” A single tear ran down his cheek as he pressed his forehead to yours. “I am a good man. I will be a good husband and father. I swear. I’m not like him. I will never be like him.”
His lip trembled with anticipation, pressing a firm kiss to your lips.
“I’m just going to touch you tonight, sweetheart. I want to hold you close to me. I want our first time to be special. And it will be. You deserve our first time to be everything you want and more.” An airy kiss to the lips, Steve savoured your taste. “Don’t worry, tonight will be special too. This is a significant step in our relationship, doll.”
Steve’s lips ghosted your skin as deft hands slowly pulled your singlet up, your chest sedate as it rose and fell with your breathes, resting on your back, stretched out for him. Hungry eyes gazed over your naked breasts as he folded your shirt before placing it beside his pile of clothes on your bench. If you had been awake you would have scoffed at the domesticity of his actions.
Resting on his elbow, Steve trailed his hand over your breasts. “Oh, you are perfect, like a doll. You’re my perfect doll. I can’t believe I get to call you my own.” It took every ounce of control to keep his hands from delving into your panties. No, in time. Tonight had to be special.
His lips pressed oozy kisses to your breasts, his hands fondling and squeezing. He suckled your nipple, relishing as it quickly pebbled against his touch.
“You are so responsive my sweet,” he cooed, his breath warm against your skin. “Such a good girl for daddy.” He chuckled as his hand ran down your stomach before his fingers trailed over your panties. “You like that, don’t you? Calling me daddy? I’ve seen the videos you like to watch when you touch yourself.”
Nimble fingers gently pulled your cotton panties down, meticulously folded them and placed them on top of your singlet. Completely on display for him now, he drank in the sight of your naked body.
“Oh, my sweet, sweet doll. You are perfection. You’re going to let me touch you now, aren’t you, my sweet?” Of course, you couldn’t answer, dammed in the drug-induced slumber. Slim, nimble fingers danced along the juncture of your thighs as his lips traced your skin, before drawing your lips apart and gently drawing up against the fleshy tissue of your channel. “Oh my sweetheart, you are so wet. Do I turn you on? I like that. I love to make you happy.” Sweet, tender kisses frisked your skin as he slowly fucked you. “You’re so much tighter than I could have imagined, my love.”
Steve relished in the warm, citrusy scent from your body as he pulled you flush against him, his finger slowly fucking you. His lips constantly touched and tasted your skin; your warm, moist pussy satiating his raging desire.
“I want it to always be like this, my love,” he whispered against your ear. “When this is all done we can be together. I will find us a place to live and we can wake up with each other every day.” Steve shifted, leaning over you, caging your sleeping form against the bed, his finger deep in your pussy, taunting your g-spot. “I can’t wait to make love to you everyday, my sweet doll. I’m going to keep you satisfied and satiated. I’m going to treat you like the princess you are.”
He knelt up, his eyes observing your body as he drew his finger from your pussy and sucked your juices. “You taste so sweet,” he groaned wrapping his hand around his cock and quickly stroking himself before coming over your stomach.
He bent down, ferociously kissing you, his hands firmly cupping your cheeks. “I love you so much. I will be right back.”
Steve took his time methodically cleaning your stomach with a warm, damp cloth before laying beside you watching you sleep, his hands caressing and memorising your curves.
“Once this is all done, we can be together. Forever.”
And for the first time in what seemed like a lifetime, Steve slept deeply, nightmare free and whole.
Trigger Warnings: non-consensual drug use, non-consensual somnophilia, non-consensual touching
Was the wait worth it? We are well and truly on a moving train now!
Thank you so much for your kind kudos and comments, we are absolutely overjoyed with the response.
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Until next week!
Chapter 8: Avengers Incident Report 2024/10 - High Hills Farmers’ Markets
Steve gives a little and wins a lot.
The response to the last chapter was amazing, thank you all so so much. Here's the next one... We are going to hide in a non-descript bush for a while... enjoy...
TW: panic attack
Also, Bruce’s nighty night powder is a nod to Caffiend - that’s all her x
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Steve was floating on cloud nine. He could dance up and down the hallway, colourful cartoon birds flying around his head. The smile on his face was enough to light up any room.
This was happiness. This is what it meant to be happy. Waking with you cocooned against his chest, your soft hair scenting his cheek, your gentle breath warming his skin.
Stevie, the small, weak, fiery young man who had fought his way into the army; he would be so happy to wake up in your bed. His early years in New York, the army, they were all a rehearsal for this moment.
The dark first reared his head as his body began to change as a young teenager. Stealing panties. Stealing shoes. All petty, innocuous actions that flew under the radar. Over time, the urge to have more became too much for the teenage boy to ignore.
The escalation started innocently enough. Following a lady home from the shop or the hairdresser. When he went unnoticed, the chase became riskier. And then he met Erksine and everything changed.
Steve would have given anything to waste the day away with you tucked beneath his chin, hands wandering and teasing. But Steve had a plan. He had to stick to his plan if he had any chance of winning your trust.
And standing in the shadows, watching your tired eyes dance over the photo, the faint smile on your lips, an idea was born. He finally had this power move, your weakness.
Your attention was focused on the photo in your hands, too engaged to notice Steve in the shadows watching you.
The longer you stayed at the compound the more you found Captain Steve Rogers to be a conundrum, an enigma. How could the young sweet man in the photo in your hands turn into the egotistical, domineering force who could turn the charm on in the blink of an eye?
Your thoughts mulled over your grandmother’s warning.
“Do not trust men in suits or costumes. They use their facade to hide something dark from the world. And do not trust the man who calls himself Captain America. There is a darkness that resides deep inside of him .”
The doctors, your family had cast her aside thinking she had been mentally unwell. Spewing vitriol and prophecies. You had stayed by her side to the bitter end, certain that she was mentally competent. Your grandmother had been the smartest, bravest person you had ever met. She had been revered amongst her peers.
Perhaps it was childish, wishful thinking. Maybe she had been unwell.
Placing the framed photo back on the mantle above the cozy fireplace, your attention firmly fixed on the shield, casually laying on the coffee table. You couldn’t help but scoff at the domesticity of the world’s strongest shield just lying on the communal coffee table.
Kneeling before the table, your fingers caressed over the cool metal. The vibranium, unblemished and smooth, vibrated as your fingers ran along the lines. It was a true thing of beauty, forged back together after the destruction of Thanos.
“Looks good on you, doll.” You turned to see Bucky leant against the doorway, a plump smirk playing against his skin. “Captain wants to see us,” a warm smile gracing his lips. “How are you feeling this morning?”
Your brows furrowed. You had woken up exceedingly hot, your sheets neatly cocooning you and warm, masculine scent faintly teasing the air. Your body felt thirty pounds heavier, you were sluggish and drained, and yet you had slept so soundly you’d missed breakfast. You hadn’t had a hangover like this in years, however, you’d never been so intoxicated over two beers.
“Nothing a pastry and a cup of coffee can’t fix,” you smirked standing up and following Bucky out of the sitting room and into the kitchen where Steve stood. He looked so handsome in his fashionable bomber jacket, tight black jeans and boots, a ridiculously tight t-shirt underneath. His smile was soft and dare you say, shy.
“Good morning,” he said gently after sharing a knowing look with Bucky. “I have spoken to the High Hills sheriff and we have been able to come to an arrangement allowing us access to the local farmer’s markets this morning. We will have plain-clothed agents patrolling the area and you will require an escort…”
“I get to leave the compound?” you asked, excitement and thrill bubbling under the surface.
His smile was warm, genuine and charming and you couldn’t help the slight pull on your heart. You had to stop yourself from throwing your arms around him. Freedom. Freedom with strings, but it was a small win.
“Thank you, Captain. I’ll just go grab my stuff.”
Steve’s heart could have burst with joy as he watched you skip down the hallway towards the bedrooms.
“That was very generous of you, Captain,” Bucky teased. “Are you sure this is a road you want to go down?”
Steve ignored the cool prick at his spine, busying himself with rinsing out the coffee pot. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, buddy.”
“You’re sweet on her. She’s sweet, I like her, but she’s here to do a job…”
“And she is doing an excellent job. The first couple of blog entries have been fine, professional. She needs to be comfortable here and it’s in the best interest of the Avengers that we keep her on our side.”
Bucky scoffed, pulling his hair back into a high bun. “Sure thing, buddy. She’s a sweet kid and I would hate to see either of you get hurt.”
“Why would I…” Steve stopped as he heard your footsteps drawing near. His heart swelled seeing the knitted beanie on your head, boots and jacket, your polaroid camera hung around your neck. “Ready, doll?”
“Absolutely. You’re coming right, Bucky?” Steve bit back the jealousy.
“I wouldn’t miss it,” Bucky chuckled leading you towards the elevator. “I’m going to eat my weight in eclairs.”
The autumn air had a certain bite to it as you make your way around the charming outdoors farmers market. It was all so picturesque. Burnt orange, crisp red and muted yellow painted the trees. The warm, homey smell of pumpkin spice filled the cold air.
Sure, it wasn’t quite as bougie as your local markets, but the produce was outstanding and to be honest, you were enjoying Steve’s company.
Perhaps the overwhelming claustrophobic atmosphere of the compound had been influencing and escalating your feelings towards the Captain. You were aware of the plain-clothed agents subtly surveying their surroundings, but they were a far cry from the ever-watchful A.I. You felt free, normal for the first time in weeks.
Of course, Bucky served as the perfect buffer.
You huddled close together examining the pastry case, salivating over the perfect morsels. “Oh god,” you moaned clutching your hot chocolate to your cold hands, “I can’t choose. They all look so good.”
Bucky chuckled. “I think I’m going to try one of everything.”
You couldn’t help the huff that escaped your lips. “Unfortunately not all of us have serum-enhanced digestive systems. If I tried one of each I’d be the size of a house. It’s not worth the subsequent gym session.”
“I think you look great.” You turned to see Steve, his lips drawn tight, the tips of his ears turning pink in embarrassment. You couldn’t help but blush. What the hell was wrong with you? Not last week you could barely be in the same room as him, the memory of the damn red pen fresh like a paper cut.
Bucky did indeed order one of everything, insisting you try a bite of as many as you could fit in.
You huddled under your jacket at the picnic table, emitting a pornographic moan as you licked the pistachio cream from your finger. “I think I died and went to heaven,” you moaned before licking your fingers clean. You missed the groan Steve stifled watching you closely. “I would actually murder someone to have one of those a day.”
“Was that the pistachio cream on the eclair? Oh, that was amazing,” Bucky moaned, ripping into the peach cider doughnut and shoved it in his mouth. “Oh god, I think I had a foodgasm. Steve, you have to try this,” he cried ripping another piece off and shoving it in Steve’s face.
Steve chuckled, relaxing in the familiar and homely atmosphere. The doughnut was amazing, however, his gaze was transfixed on you as you split a blueberry macaron with Bucky before picking up your camera and taking photos of Bucky stuffing his face with the perfectly blue pastry. His eyes sparkled humorously as he laughed before moaning.
“I’m really glad we were able to get out today,” Steve confessed quietly, turning his coffee cup slowly, his eyes drawn to its lid, coming across timid and reserved. “I can’t remember the last time we got to do something… normal.”
Your heart instantly tugged, your eyes drawn to his crestfallen, distant face.
Your attention was immediately drawn to a tall, built man approaching the table at speed. He was so close Steve couldn’t react quick enough, the man pulling you from the table and all but throwing you across the field. You hit your head against the hard ground, pain shooting through you. You clutched your head, trying to sit up as the man fought against Steve, his fierce, vile eyes fixated on you.
It had all happened so quickly, your equilibrium thrown completely off course. Your body shook violently as Steve crouched before you, but you couldn’t process the words coming from his mouth, his azure eyes pinned to yours.
“Bucky, she’s in shock. Get the car started, we need to get her to Cho,” Steve ordered, his concerned eyes never leaving your face, hands running over your face and hair. “It’s okay, sweetheart, he’s gone. The Sheriff is taking him off to the county jail. We’re going to go back to the compound.”
You weren’t conscious of the comforting hands smoothing your hair, or the calming words directed at you. You weren’t aware of Bucky’s concerned eyes drifting to the rearview mirror, monitoring your condition from afar as he sped back to the compound at speeds most citizens would be arrested for.
You didn’t become aware of your surroundings until the cool touch of metal hit your chest. “What…” Your chest heaved painfully as you fought against hands. “Get off! Let go! God, please… Steve…”
“Get your hands off of her.” Your eyes darted across the room to see Steve blocking the doorway.
“Captain,” Dr Cho approached him cautiously.
“No Dr, I’m giving you a direct order. She has just been through a traumatic experience.”
“I am well aware, Captain Rogers, but…”
“And I am giving you a direct order,” his azure eyes pinned the young doctor down. “Give us a moment.”
The hands fell from your body as the doctor followed her marching orders.
“I’m sorry Steve,” you started, “you didn’t…”
“Am I also going to have to give you a direct order?” he asked playfully, approaching you slowly. “How are you feeling sweetheart?”
“Who was that man?” you asked drawing your knees to your chest. “He came out of nowhere…”
“He was a drunk fool who thought himself bigger than his own shoes.” Steve sat on the bed beside you, so close you could feel the warmth radiating off of his skin. He smelt clean and fresh.
Tears prick in your eyes. “If you hadn’t… he could…” Your throat ached, closing up as you thought back to the moment the man had pulled you from the bench and launched you across the ground.
“Doll?” His voice was but a whisper as your mind raced, the sudden urge to run taking over. You hauled yourself from the bed and began to pace the room, ripping your coat from your body. “Sweetheart?”
“I can’t… I don’t…” You didn’t know what you wanted. You wanted out. You wanted fresh air, to feel your legs pounding against the pavement. You wanted your bed in Brooklyn, in your crappy sublet with mismatched furniture and clashing fabrics.
Everything stilled as your back came into contact with the wall, blue azure eyes pinned on yours; hot, overwhelming pressure against your body.
“Steve?” Shame burned through you as you felt his erection pressed against you and you forced yourself to look away. “Steve…” but you couldn’t look away. His eyes were pinned to yours as his fingers softly ran over your hair. His eyes fluttered to your lips. “Please, Captain.”
The shaky breath falling from his lips stopped you cold, his lips dangerously close to yours. You could feel your heart beating against your chest, the sound almost deafening. You struggled to breathe as his hand drew near, the familiar grinding against your brain, suffocating until the panic set in. Your chest ached, your equilibrium drained out of your body as you grasped onto his shirt.
“Steve,” your voice trembled as tears streamed down your cheeks, “please…”
You could feel the warmth of his hand against your cheek as you gasped for air. “It’s okay sweetheart, you’re having a panic attack.”
“I know it’s a panic attack, shithead…” if you hadn’t been numb with panic it would have felt euphoric to call him names.
“Language, sweetheart,” he said, his voice like a soothing lullaby. His warmth was overpowering, drawing you away from the panic. But it shouldn’t have. “Name five things you can see around you.”
You took a shaky, shallow breath and tried to look around but all you could see was Steve, his hands clutching your cheeks. “Your nose. Your eyes. Your wrinkles. Your hair. Your lips.”
“You need to focus. Describe them, doll. Tell me like the writer you are.”
He was right, but you were struggling to focus in his overwhelming presence. “Your imposing nose. Your oceanic blue eyes. Your old man wrinkles. Your dirty blonde hair. Your rosy lips.”
You barely missed the small smirk painting those rosy lips. “Name four things you can touch.”
Your hands gripped his shirt tightly as a wave of dizziness swept over. “Soft cotton shirt.” Your hands moved to grip his arms. “Insanely strong biceps.” Your fingers trailed over his beard. “Your surprisingly soft beard. Do you use oil?” Your comment earned you a chuckle. Your hands came to rest against his chest. “Your well built-chest. Fuck Steve, it’s like a brick wall.”
The small groan escaping his lips was barely audible, but you didn’t miss it. “Name three things you can hear.”
You focused on the room around you. “The rattle of the air vent. Your small breaths. My racing heartbeat.”
“Good girl. You are doing so well, sweetheart. Name two things you can smell.”
His hand was hot against your cheek as his thumb caresses your skin. “Describe it.”
“Fresh bergamot. Warm cedarwood. It smells good. Comforting.”
“Good, you’re doing so well, doll.” Your chest puffs with warmth at his words. “Name one thing you can taste.”
Your eyes fell to his lips, anticipating the feel of his warm lips against yours, but it never came. “Mint. From my toothpaste.” You seized a large breath, leaning your head against the cool glass as his eyes roamed your body, examining you closely. Your balance returned and your breaths evened out as the cloud in your mind settled. “Shit. I’m sorry, it’s been so long since…”
“It’s fine,” he assured you, his hand resting on your cheek, the other on your waist. “You did really well when you did as you were told.”
You chuckled weakly. “I’m sorry. I’ve been a real asshole to you.”
Steve scoffed, his thumb caressing your cheek, “I don’t feel it was totally unwarranted. Come on, Dr Cho is going to make sure you don’t have a concussion. Maybe after we could all watch a movie together, so you’re not alone.”
Your hands gripped his forearms as you took a calming, but shaky breath. “That would be great. Steve, thank you.”
“Anything for you, doll.” And he meant it.
Later that afternoon, you sat beside Steve on the sectional, wrapped up tightly in your favourite green blanket, Bucky and Sam in the kitchen arguing about the consistency of the caramel they were making for the popcorn.
“They’re like an old married couple,” you teased, your fingers playing with the stitching of your blanket. The scent of Steve’s cologne was comforting, the heat of his body calming.
“Don’t let them hear you say that,” Steve chuckled, his fingers toying with the pillow in his lap. “I would never have forgiven myself if something had happened to you today.”
“I’m really grateful you were there to stop him,” you smiled, putting your hand over his. “Please don’t beat yourself up about it.”
“I just…” he sighed, “all those agents, on my call, and not one of them…”
“It’s okay, Steve,” you said, turning your body to face him. “Nobody was hurt. You’re not infallible. You’re human, albeit a suped-up human.” You looked to your lap thoughtfully, choosing your words carefully. “When I first met you, I thought you were the most egotistical man I’d ever met. You rubbed me the wrong way. But now, I don’t know why, but I see that young kid from Brooklyn inside of you. I was wrong about you.”
“You thought I was egotistical?” Steve asked dramatically, a small chuckle falling from his lips.
“I mean, you did make me watch you tear apart my writing. I’m not going to lie, I don’t think I’ve ever wanted to stab someone before.” You both chuckled. “You also dictated what I was supposed to write, which as a journalist goes against every fibre of morality and ethics that I have. But I’m also at fault because I came in with a preconceived notion of who you are.”
“What made you change your mind?” Steve’s eyes sparkled as he shifted close to you.
“Seeing you come home from that date, actually. You looked so… lost and defeated. I don’t know, it was like seeing that young kid from Brooklyn who couldn’t pick up if he tried. I guess I saw the human side of you.” Steve chuckled. “I’m sorry.”
“You have nothing to apologise for. I’m sorry I gave you the wrong impression.”
“Well, to new beginnings,” you said holding up your hot chocolate. Steve grinned and clinked his cup against yours.
Line drawn in the sand, you settle down to watch the movie, Sam and Bucky putting enough food to feed an army on the table. It wasn’t long, your tummy full and satiated, the adrenalin dumped like an Advil and you were asleep on the couch.
Steve watched you sleep, your face the picture of serenity as a few wisps of hair fell over your face. Long, lithe fingers gently brushed the locks from your face, before idly running over your hair as his attention drawn back to the screen.
Dark, stormy grey eyes locked onto him, but Steve ignored the silent warning from Bucky. His friend would come around to his intentions, your relationship.
Steve lazily hummed as his fingers trailed over your skin, your breathing slow and laboured as you slept soundly. Bruce’s ‘nighty-night’ sleep powder was Steve’s new favourite toy.
Lithe fingers travelled over your breasts and sternum before resting over your stomach. Steve’s hot hand spread over your stomach before pressing hot kisses over your skin, relishing in the shudder of your stomach as his lips came into contact with your skin.
He lay his head against your stomach, one hand resting against your hip.
“I can’t wait for the day I get to come home and see you standing in the kitchen barefoot and pregnant. You are going to be so beautiful pregnant, my doll. We’re going to have a big family, I can just see it. And I will be retired so I can help out as much as I can.” He chuckled. “Who would ever imagine Captain America changing diapers?” A soft laugh and another kiss against your stomach.
“Oh no sweetheart, don’t worry. At home I will be your Stevie. I promise. Once I hang up my shield I will not be Captain America.” He sighed, caressing your stomach, relishing in the scent of your grapefruit body lotion. “I mean, of course, we will have to attend functions, but you will be by my side.”
Kneeling over you, Steve took your hand and wrapped it around his cock. “You were such a good girl today, sweetheart. You were so brave. Help daddy come and I will give you something nice in return.”
Is it safe to come out?
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Chapter 9: Any Moment/Moment in the Woods
Mr Post makes a reappearance. Grand gestures. A moment in the woods.
Thank you SO much for all your kind comments for the last chapter. Things are definitely ramping up. This chapter is an important moment of calm before the storm let's just say.
The chapter title is a little nod to "Into the Woods".
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Steve hadn’t felt this spritely or young in decades. He was hitting goals, beating goals and making new ones, ones he’d never even contemplated. He’d overtaken Sam four times on their morning run and was already finishing his warm-down as Sam finally caught up, out of breath and flagging.
“You alright there, Sammy?” he teased chuckling and standing to full height.
“I hate you,” Sam huffed, storming into the building. “Whatever you are doing I want in, but goddamn you are annoying and chirpy. You want a protein shake?”
“Yeah, I’ll meet you in the kitchen, I just need to grab something from the office first.” And because Steve was that kind of person, he took the stairs, leaping up them in pairs, not breaking a sweat.
The office was deserted, spare the perturbed voice echoing across the room. Taking refuge behind a partition, Steve spied you at your desk, on a conference call with your editor, Michael Post. In your fingers the small turtle origami turned, your fingers caressing the paper as you sighed.
“No, I understand Michael…”
“Do I have to remind you what is on the line here?” The smarmy, older man smirked, Steve instantly curling his hands into fists. “I would hate to lose you, you’re an excellent addition to the team. I’m quite fond of you actually.”
“Yes, sir.” God, you sounded so defeated.
“Good girl. You are not their friend. You are there to do a job. Pull your head in, do your job and stop flirting with supersoldiers. Have some self-respect.” Steve’s blood boiled, and it took every ounce of self-control not to march over, end the call and take you in his arms. “I expect your next draft in my email before the close of business Friday. Have a good day.”
The blip echoed off the wall and you closed your laptop. “Fucking asshole.”
Steve watched you slowly make your way towards the elevators, your hands worrying in your hair. He had to make this right. He had to make you happy.
The best thing about sharing an office space with Bucky and Sam was that Bucky always came prepared with snacks and Sam provided some good tunes. It made for a relaxed, easy environment to work in.
You had been given your own desk and Sam had all but ordered you to make it your own. The wall was covered with postcards and pictures, a sometimes heart-pulling reminder of what you were missing on the outside.
On the little shelf above your paperwork sat the little family of origami animals Steve had made you. They were the perfect pop of colour to brighten up your workspace, and secretly, you were a little flustered at the thoughtful gifts that had been popping up on your desk every couple of days. You hadn’t had a boyfriend leave you gifts since Jimmy in third grade who would leave a fresh worm on your desk every morning. Not that Captain America was your boyfriend, of course, don’t be ridiculous.
The pièce de résistance though was the drawing Steve had left on your desk last week. A sketch of you and Bucky attempting to construct a croquembouche, both of you giggling as you fight to right the leaning tower of chocolate-covered pastry. It was so thoughtful and you couldn’t remember the last time someone had made you something this sweet.
The small gifts were grounding and you found yourself caressing the whale origami as you thought back over your early morning meeting with Michael. Whilst the other editors were amazed by the level of trust you had gained with The Avengers, Michael was feeling a certain sense of loss of control. He’d called your behaviour wildly unprofessional (“you’re getting awfully chummy there, kid”) and had threatened to bring you back to New York.
The sweet, low sounds of Barry White filled the air as you turned your attention back to transcribing your interview with Sam and Bucky, a slow task given how many expletives you were having to translate.
A hush fell over the office, the incoming sound of footsteps drawing your attention away from your screen. Your heart dropped and heat rushed as you felt the eyes of agent’s fall on you.
“Jesus Christ,” Bucky groaned beside you, hitting his head on the desk as Steve approached, his hands full of a vase of sunflowers and a big paper bag. “Seriously, Rogers?
“Good morning,” he said, his grin wide and eyes sparkling, ignoring Bucky. “I saw these and they made me think of you,” he said handing you the monstrous bouquet. The thing weighed a tonne and you had to be careful placing it on the desk. “You don’t have to eat all the eclairs now. I got you a selection of flavours,” he said shoving the bag against your chest. “I have a meeting with Captain Rhodes and Fury now. Have a good day.”
Your mouth was agape as you watched him march out of the office, a sea of eyes flitting between you and the retreating Captain as if this were a match at Wimbledon.
The sudden realisation that all eyes are on you, a hum of murmurs and whispers surrounding you, washed over you. “Fuck.” Your head filled with white noise.
A warm hand came to rest on your shoulder. “Hey, it’s a little warm in here,” Bucky said as your eyes latched onto his calming dove grey ones. “Let’s go do some work by the lake.”
And that was how you found yourself sharing the bag of twenty eclairs with Bucky, your laptops sitting unopened on the table as you both feasted on the sweet pastries, overlooking the lake.
Your fingers nervously busied themselves tearing apart the napkin in front of you, your teeth worrying your lips as you surveyed the remaining few eclairs. Bucky could feel your eyes occasionally rest on his face before darting towards the lake, clearly working up the courage to ask something.
“You know, that idiot might be my best friend, but his little declaration of whatever that was made you uncomfortable,” Bucky said in a tone so calm you would have asked him to narrate your favourite book. “Anything you said to me would be in the strictest confidence.” He held out half a hazelnut eclair that you gratefully took.
“Is he always so... “ you sighed, ducking your head down, “hyperbolic?”
Bucky scoffed, running his fingers over the crumbs on his napkin. “No. Before the serum Steve was so awkward and shy around women. It was like they were speaking Dutch to him. You could say the serum didn’t help his skills with women.” You smiled faintly. “Honestly, I think you’re the first woman he’s genuinely had the balls to approach. Does he make you uncomfortable?”
You sighed again, tapping your fingers against the wood of the table. “At first, yes.” Your eyes met Bucky’s. “In the beginning I came in with a preconceived notion of who he was, who you all were, to be frank. I’ve realised I was wrong.” He smiled faintly. “Today though… I don’t like being the centre of attention. I don’t like surprises. And I really don’t like the idea of being stuck in an office full of people who think I sleep my way around.”
“Wow, hold on doll, no one is thinking that,” Bucky reassured you firmly, his large hands enveloping yours. “If anything, they think he’s an idiot because you’ve been nothing but professional since the beginning.”
You briskly brushed away the tears that slowly fell down your cheeks. “When I first started my internship at the Wall Street Journal my supervisor was a little flirty with me. He was married and had kids so I just played it off, I didn’t want to jeopardize my internship but I also didn’t want to lead him on. One day in the printing room he cornered me and went to make a move. One of the other interns came in just in time, well, until they went around spreading a rumour that I was sleeping with my supervisor.”
“Oh god, doll…”
“I don’t let people in that easily, Bucky. There’s a lot of pressure to live up to my grandmother’s reputation.” His hand reassuringly squeezed yours. “He ended up trying it on with another intern and got fired. But people talk, Bucky and that reputation follows me around. Most people, of course, put two and two together and realise that he was a piece of shit who preyed on young women, but some don’t.”
“I promise,” grey eyes locked on yours, “if anyone says anything I will personally introduce them to my metal fist.”
You chuckled, hoping he was joking. “Thanks, Bucky.”
“Anytime, doll. I will talk to Steve.”
“You don’t have to…”
“I want to.”
Steve knocked his head back against the tree, anger boiling in his gut, the tree cracking against the force. “Goddamit Bucky,” he growled before storming off to the gym.
Bucky found him three hours later taking his frustrations out on the punching bag, a line of shredded bags leading towards the boxing ring. “Good meeting, buddy?” Bucky teased, leaning against the ring, arms folded against his chest, only to be ignored. “We gotta talk about this morning.”
“We don’t gotta talk about nothing.”
Bucky chuckled. “Good English, pal.”
Steve immediately stilled, his chest heaving as he wiped the sweat from his brow. “I think you need to remember who you are talking to, pal .” His azure eyes fixed on Bucky’s, giving his one and only non-verbal warning.
Steve scoffed, ripping tape from his hands. “Is that right? And what are you going to do about it?”
“Steve,” Bucky said straightening up and putting his hands up defensively, “I’m just here as your pal. And as your pal, I can see you are keen on her but you have to back off.”
Steve stalked towards him pinning him against the ring, chest to chest. “What’s it to you? Are you jealous? Do you want her for yourself?”
“Of course not, pal,” Bucky insisted, not willing to engage with his best friend. “She doesn’t like the thought of people thinking she’s the office floozy, sleeping with you just to get a story.” Steve floundered and stepped back. “I’m with you until the end of the line pal, but you need to cool your jets a little.”
“I’m sorry, Buck,” Steve sighed, running his hands through his hair. “It’s just... I’ve never met anyone like her and this is crazy but… it makes me want more than this life.”
Bucky smiled warmly. “I know pal. Maybe just lay off the public declarations of love.”
Steve’s eyes fixated on the curve of your arse, your body stretched over the table as you lined up your cue and broke the balls. He sucked down his beer, quenching his parched throat. Your melodious laugh filled the room as you laughed at something Bucky said.
“Boy, you have it bad,” Sam chuckled placing a fresh, cold beer besides Steve. “You’re giving yourself blue balls here, man. When are you going to do everyone a favour and just ask her out?”
Steve scoffed before draining the last of his beer. He nervously played with the label on the bottle. “I’ve never been real good with women, Sam.”
Sam laughed out loud, “Oh, that’s the understatement of the century. You want my advice?” Steve shrugged, his eyes drifting to where you stood, watching Bucky aiming his cue to the balls. “Lay off with the grandiose theatrics. Show her that you are still that sweet, laid back kid from Brooklyn under the Captain suit. Find an activity that you both like to do, but don’t come on too strong.”
Your eyes met Steve’s, sharing a gentle smile with him.
“Thanks, Sam, I think I might have just the activity in mind.”
The chilly Autumn nipped at your skin as you kept pace with Steve, the sun trickling through the warm colourful leaves. You’d been a little surprised when Steve had asked you to join him on a run, but you knew it would be a great opportunity to get to know the Captain America a little better. If anything, it could prove essential to the blog.
“Autumn is my favourite time of year,” Steve said breaking the silence, not in the least bit winded as you run. You would be a fool to say you weren’t jealous of his athletic prowess “It reminds me of the red tone in the bricks of the old buildings in Brooklyn. Pumpkins for Halloween.”
You smiled, secretly hoping you could rest soon. “It’s my favourite season, too. The colours, that slightly cool, crisp bite to the air. Hot chocolate with schnapps.”
Steve looked down at you, his smile growing. “Do you want to take a rest up here?”
“Oh god, yes please,” you sighed dramatically as you both slowed down and took some time to stretch.
“You know, you remind me a lot of my mom.” You immediately tensed. You hadn’t been prepared for Steve to be so vulnerable or open with you, but you offered him a quizzical look. “You gave up a lot to support your grandmother when she was so ill, it must not have been easy.”
He immediately picked up on your discomfort, his interest all the more piqued.
“My family turned their back on her when she first started showing symptoms. They saw her as too much of an inconvenience, I think they were embarrassed about some of the things she started publishing. I couldn’t leave her to suffer alone.”
A warm, large hand came to rest on your shoulder, his gaze pinning yours. “And I’m sure she was very glad to have your support.”
You watched as he moved off the path and sat on the leaf laden ground, his legs stretched out in front of him. Taking a calming breath, you sat beside him.
“My mom gave up so much for me, protected me. She was stubborn as hell, just like you. I thought my world ended when my mom died,” he said, his hands fussing in his lap, gaze drawn ahead. “She’d given up so much for so many people. To die from such a....” Without thinking, you clutched your hand over his. “She deserved better.”
“She’d be so proud of you. Not everyone survives the way you did, or came against giant purple aliens.”
Azure eyes glistened with tears met yours. “It appears you and I have a lot more in common than we thought,” he said coupled with a weak chuckle, your hand still over his. “I have a confession to make.” Your heart stopped in your chest. “I overheard your meeting with Michael… only part of it,” he flustered as you pulled your hand away. “I’m so sorry, it wasn’t intentional, I had to get something from my office.”
“No, I’m sorry you had to hear any of that,” you said wrapping your arms tightly against your legs. “He’s just…”
You didn’t mean to but you burst out laughing. “I’m sorry, but did Captain America just say a bad word?”
You didn’t freeze or fluster as Steve placed a large hand on your knee, his touch all but burning your skin through your leggings, kneeling before you, his other hand cupping your cheek. Your breath caught in your chest.
“He won’t fire you, because I won’t let him. And he will never hurt you. I promise you.”
Adrenaline coursed through your veins, the heat from his hands overwhelming. His eyes drifted to your lips, his tongue momentarily fussing over his cherry red pout. Your hand came to rest against his soft beard as you moved towards each other.
Stars and Stripes ripped through the air, slicing the tension like a fine knife, Steve growling as he fought to get his phone from his pocket, stalking away from you.
Disappointment with a strange mix of relief washed over you as you fussed over your fingernails.
“I’m so sorry,” Steve said urgently, the disappointment evident in his adrenaline-pumped timbre, “there’s an emergency thingy...”
“It’s fine,” you said reassuringly, “I can make my way back. Go see to your emergency ‘thingy’.”
His eyes flickered to your lips before offering you a dismayed smile and setting off at a ridiculous superhuman speed.
“What the hell are you doing?”
Guess what? We are dropping another chapter on Monday!
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Chapter 10: We're Going on a Bear Hunt
The infamous hike. A one-sided Mexican stand-off. Smut.
Warnings: smut. So much smut.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
The almost kiss never came up again, however, the blazing hot eyes on his lips were hard to forget. He had returned to the kitchen to find you baking with Sam after putting out the actual fire Bruce had started in the canteen after suddenly turning green.
Though, Steve was conscious of the flustered way you would fuss over papers or your hands when his eyes would lock onto yours. And it irked him endlessly that you had not sought him out after your tender moment in the woods.
His thoughts had begun to frequently turn to the perfect moment when your pouty lips would press against his of your own accord, more so than before. The feel of your dainty hands against his cheek or chest.
The moment you knocked on his office door he was imagining you knelt before him, his cock stuffed in your mouth as your doe-like eyes met us.
“Captain, may I please speak with you for a moment?”
Steve inwardly smirked as your flustered face briefly met his, before your lip was caught between your teeth. “Of course, please take a seat.” You fussed over the pleating of your skirt as you sat before him. It reminded him of the first time he had edited your first entry. “How can I help you?”
An encouraging sigh and your eyes met his. “Captain, I would like to request a days’ leave from the compound to go for a hike at the Minnewaska State Park to see Sam’s Point.” You noted the grim, firm line of his lips before continuing. “I would only be off the compound for five hours maximum. It’s a popular route and it would be teaming with hikers.”
Steve slowly leant forward onto this desk, his hands carding together. “Absolutely not. It’s out of the question.”
Your eyes remained fixed on his, though Steve noticed the slight wobble of your pouty bottom lip as you shifted in your chair, you skirt riding a little further up your thigh. “I would like to understand the reasoning behind your decision, Captain.”
Steve smirked tilting his head as he regarded your lips. “In light of the recent attack at the farmer’s market, I have to take your safety into consideration. You have obviously become a target because of your affiliation with myself and The Avengers.”
Your hands gripped each other, and Steve smirked at the faint chipping of your nail polish where you had obviously been anxiously fussing. “Please Captain, it’s my understanding that the assailant has been detained.”
“That is correct,” he said with a tight smile, “however, your safety is my main priority. I would possibly reconsider if I were to accompany you.” Pride swelled in his chest as you froze.
“Sergeant Barnes could…”
“Sergeant Barnes and Mr Wilson were called away on an emergency this morning.”
Steve’s eyes trailed over your face as you fought to regain afoot in this conversation. “Please, Steve, it’s just a couple of hours.”
Steve sighed, standing up and stretched his lower back, smirking as your eyes trailed over his glorious arse. “I would hate for you to get lost.”
“I’m not going to get lost. I’m an experienced hiker. I will have a map, I will stick to the trail and I will have my phone on me at all times.”
Steve stalked around the room, the hard press of his cock against his pants a thrill as he watched you gradually sink further into defeat. “I could drive you myself.”
You cautiously stood up from your chair and approached him. “I have a GPS in the car, Steve.”
Large deft hands came to rest on your shoulders. “I’m just concerned for you.”
God, he nearly came in his pants as your hands came to rest on his biceps. “I know and I really appreciate it. Please, Steve, it’s just a couple of hours. I will text you when I get there and when I’m leaving.”
Steve inched closer to you his hands firm on your shoulders. “You will text me every two hours. You will stick to the trail. The second you come across any issues and I am pulling you out of there. Do you understand?”
Your face beamed as you nodded and quickly retreated from his office uttering your thanks.
Of course, Steve had no intention of letting you go on this hike by yourself. Instead, he followed you to the trail’s car park, giving you a ten-minute head start, the tracking device carefully lodged in the console of your hire car.
You are beginning your ascent up the track as Steve pulled the car into the car park. Years of surveillance training from SHIELD and Natasha made this an easy job. He moved stealthily, gracefully like a jaguar through the trees as he followed you up the mountain to the peak. Your slow pace allowed him adequate time to send messages after messages and call your mobile constantly.
Steve kept his distance as you took in the spectacular view, sipping from your water bottle, a faint smile painting your lips. It took all of Steve’s restraint to stop himself from sitting down beside you and holding you close to him. He watched on as you pulled your phone from your bag to see the messages and missed phone calls.
His phone vibrated and he smirked as he read your message.
Seriously? I’m not a child. I will see you when I get back to the compound.
Steve helped himself to the sandwiches and apples he had packed for himself as he watched you pull out your camera and spend the next few hours taking photos.
He pictured the photos framed and adorning the house you would share. Soon , he promised himself. Stick to the plan. There was still so much to plan. Patience, after all, was a virtue.
Steve relished in the free, relaxed look on your face as you savoured the view and cold air. Time on the compound had wound you tight like spring. He couldn’t wait to unravel you.
When you were ready to make your descent, Steve raced ahead, beating you to the car park with enough time to quickly change into a fresh, tight suit, spritz himself with some aftershave and fix up his hair and beard.
Steve fussed for a good ten minutes, picking the perfect pose before you emerged from the treeline. “Oh doll, you should have answered your phone. I was so worried.” His chest swelled with desire as you hung your head and sulkily walked over. “That text message wasn’t very nice, was it?”
“Oh no, I’m not done, sweetheart. Do you have any idea the worry you have caused not just me but everyone at the compound? We have been sick with worry because you chose not to text me.”
You struggled to keep eye contact with him as your arms wrapped around your waist protectively. “Please, Steve I just lost track of time.”
“And snapping at me like a petulant toddler?” An eyebrow raised and his arms firmly crossed at his chest, he was no unperturbed, the disappointment seeping from his pores. God, he made you feel guiltier than a kid stealing a doughnut.
“I was frustrated,” you offered meekly, flustering as he stood to full height. “I’m sorry.”
“We received a call, not an hour after you had left notifying us of an attack on a nearby track. A female hiker was taken by a man, not three miles from here.” He fought the urge to smirk as tears blossomed in your eyes.
“I didn’t know.”
“Of course you didn’t because you did not answer your phone.” He stepped forward, towering over you, his eyes piercing yours. “Do you have any idea how scared I was for you?” Big hands cupped your face. “God, I don’t know what I would have done if anything had happened to you.”
“No. I don’t want to hear it,” he said withdrawing his hands and stepping back. “I am so disappointed in you.” A sob caught in your chest as you watched him storm to the driver’s door of his car. “Get in. Someone will come by to collect your car later.”
The drive back to the compound was inordinately tense and uneasy. You were on tenterhooks, your hands worrying in your lap, too afraid to glance up at his set face.
Steve practically bathed in the worry and anxiety radiating off your body, your knee jittering the entire ride, wallowing in your self-pity.
Steve parked the dark-coloured car in the underground car park, you both sat in awkward silence, before he took a deep sigh, his eyes locking on yours. “I just thought you had a lot more respect for me than that.”
A smirk grew on his face as you followed him out of the car. Your heart dropped as Steve got out on the office floor, not sparing you a glance as he marched away.
You had fucked up.
Steve bristled to see Captain James Rhodes sat in his chair, patiently waiting. “Captain,” he cheerfully said, plastering a welcoming smile on his face. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
Rhodey smiled, staying put in his chair. “I just wanted to check on the status of our rogue writer.”
Steve sat in the spare chair, looking to his fellow Captain. A lot had changed since the defeat of Thanos, ranks thrown amuck. Steve liked Rhodey and had supported his decision to step down in rank to Captain. He’d needed time to mourn the loss of Tony and his ongoing health struggles with his spine. “Fine, her ego is a little bruised. Unfortunately, her phone had run out of battery.”
“That is a relief. There have been a few whispers around the office revolving around you and your little writer friend. Anything you would like to share?”
Steve stilled, before plastering yet another smile on his face, stretching out. He respected his fellow Captain, however, he was not about to share the intimate details of your relationship. “She’s a sweet girl, Rhodey, but there is absolutely nothing going on between us.”
Rhodey considered Steve for a moment before standing up and moving towards the door. “Steve, I would hate to see you miss out on the chance for happiness, but not at the cost of this organisation.”
The wood of the chair cracked against the force from Steve’s hands as he mulled over Rhodey’s accusations. In a blur, he was sitting in his chair watching you sob in the shower, the water cascading down your body.
“F.R.I.D.A.Y. is the surprise ready?”
It was dark before you had finally worked up the courage to approach Steve. You had found him in the kitchen, head down in a pile of paperwork, a half-drunk beer in his hand.
He’d heard your timid footfalls leaving your room, the smirk on his face dampened as you came closer.
“Steve?” He wanted to falter and give in as he turned to see your crestfallen face, but he had to stick to his plan. “I’m really sorry. I was selfish and stubborn, and I feel like the world’s biggest asshole.” Tears bristled in your eyes. “I’ve never felt this guilty before in my life. This totally beats the time I accidentally overfed my sister’s fish and she wouldn’t talk to me for a month. She called me a fish murderer in the eulogy she gave at his funeral.”
You’d hoped in the least for a chuckle, but your heart sank as Steve sighed, getting off the barstool before walking past you. “I want to show you something.”
You apprehensively followed him out of the kitchen and up a flight of stairs you hadn’t known to even exist. You followed Steve out into the cool night air, taking in the surrounding of the roof.
Your attention was drawn away from the view as Steve took your hand in his large, warm one and led you around to the other side.
“Oh my god.”
Four Adirondack chairs circled a lit fireplace, fairy lights and candles lit and sparkled in the night sky. Thick, knitted colourful throws carefully draped over the backs of the chairs.
“I wanted to surprise you.” Steve’s voice cut through the air, his hand still clutching yours.
You dared to look up, seeing the shy, unsure man looking down at you, hopeful. “You did this for me?” Your voice was a bare whisper, caressing the tension that had built up over the day.
Steve scoffed and stalked away, dropping your hand. “Because I am absolutely nuts for you, doll. Because you deserve nice things. Because I’m selfish and I want to see that beautiful smile.”
Your head swam as you took in Steve, took in the space. God, it was beautiful. You moved to the barrier around the roof and leant against it, taking in the view of the lake.
“I’m not worth all of this, Steve.” Your voice was small and timid. God, you did not want to be vulnerable. You stilled as you felt his chest press up against your back, his breath hot against the back of your neck. “I could lose my job.”
“You won’t, because I won’t let them. You are worth this and so much more,” his voice was husky and lush, a gentle wave of calming heat. His fingers idly curled your hair, the clement scent of bergamot and cedarwood caressing your senses. A warm hand came to rest on your hip as he encouraged you to face him. Those shimmering azure eyes held yours firmly in place before resting on your lips. “I’d give you anything you wanted. Anything.”
The tension, weeks of bantering, all melted away as you pressed your lips to his, your hands resting against his chest. It was sweet and charming, his doughy lips melding against yours, the rhythm of his heartbeat thumping against your hand.
Tears pricked at Steve’s eyes as he led the kiss, pressing his body firmly against yours, his tongue breaching your mouth. You were intoxicating, your body pressed to him, pliant and willing to his touch. The sweet scent of your perfume tickling his senses.
A brief moment to catch your breath, hot eyes gazing into each other, Steve grinned ear to ear. “You are so beautiful,” and his mouth was claiming yours, his arms wrapped tightly around you. Your hands gripped onto his biceps for balance as your kiss grew more heated.
Everything was a blur as Steve pulled you over to the chairs and onto his lap, your lips locked in a frenzy. His hands fussed over your face and back as yours gripped his neck, any modicum of self-control flying out the window as he pulled your chest flush against his.
Those hot lips mapped your jawline and the bridge of your nose as he lavished you with praises. You couldn’t remember the last time a man had called you beautiful, well, besides Michael at the Christmas party. Your usual bar-conquests did not feel the need to wax lyrical with you whilst spending the night in your bed, or theirs, or the occasional alleyway on particularly hot and heavy dates.
Your body blazed under his precious, heart-felt words and hot, polite hands. You grasped his face and held his gaze. “You can touch me, Steve, I really need you to touch me.”
A coquette grin and his lips claimed yours again, his hands gripping your hips as he encouraged you to grind against him. His large, strong hands tentatively moved under your jumper and cupped your breasts.
A satisfied gasp fell from your lips as his fingers tweaked your nipples through your thin lace bra.
Steve’s heart flip-flopped at the wanton moans emanating from your lips as your ground your hips against him, your hands cupping his face, your lips exploring each other.
“Sweetheart, you sure are something,” he purred, lips trailing along your neck, his hands once again falling to your hips and dictating your movements. “You are perfect.” Your eyes trailed over the shirt straining against his chest, your bottom lip caught between your teeth. “Tell me what you want, sweetheart.”
Your head was swimming, overwhelmed by his hot hands against your bare skin, your crotch pressed against his hard erection, those lips leading a blazing trail along your skin. “Please, Steve.”
“Please Steve, what?” A large hand cupped your cheek, directing your gaze to meet his. “Tell me, sweetheart. What do you want?”
You pressed your lips to his, hungry for more. “I want you to ravish me.” You preened as a shaky breath dripped from his lips, his grip tightening as he ground up against your jean-clad pussy.
“That would make me very happy, doll.” His lips devoured yours as he stood up, your legs naturally wrapping around his unfairly thin waist and he gracefully carried you across the rooftop.
His lips never strayed from your skin as he carried you down the flight of stairs and to your door, the closest of the bedrooms to the fire escape.
In the privacy of your room, Steve carefully placed you down on the bed, like you were a fragile china doll. A shocked gasp fell from his lips as you grabbed his shirt and pulled him down onto you, fusing your lips to his. With what strength you could muster you pushed him onto his back and straddled his hips.
His porcelain skin angrily blushed as you pulled your jumper off revealing your emerald silk bralette, delicate navy lace framing your breasts.
Hungry eyes watched intently as you stood and pulled off his jeans, throwing them over your shoulder with a salacious giggle. Steve pulled off his t-shirt before watching you remove your jeans revealing matching boyleg panties, delicate navy ties holding the flimsy silk together.
“Oh Jesus doll,” he growled sitting up and dragging you down onto his lap, his fingers nimbly examining the lace on your bralette, “you are a fine gem. You are so fucking beautiful. And these?” A lithe finger trailed along the silk of your panties, teasing your swollen clit through the fabric. “I fucking love these, you have absolutely no idea.”
Your frown burrowed at his declaration before he seized your silk-clad nipple between his teeth, the concern blown away like a feather in the breeze. You rocked your hips, the sensation of your silk panties brushing against your damp pussy and sensitive clit was heavenly as you ground your hips against his rock hard cock.
“I need to grab a condom,” his husky voice caressed your neck as his lips peppered your skin, his hot hands grazing your rib cage.
You pressed flush against his chest as your lips met his, your hands carding in his hair. “I tested clean last month and I have an I.U.D. I don’t know about you, but I am more than happy to not use them. I want to feel you come inside me.”
Steve internally boiled at how casually you broached the subject and the very notion of the small device in your arm standing in the way of your future together.
However, the salacious mouth descending his chest was enough to distract him, before he flipped you underneath him, caging you beneath him.
A flurry of hot, wet kisses graced your skin as he fumbled to take off your panties and your bralette, looking for the clasp.
You giggled, pushing him back and standing before him. “Alright, hold your horses.” Steve stood up and watched on hungry to feel you against his skin as you quickly stripped the silk number off. Your hands gripped the elastic of his boxers. “Your turn, Captain. Let’s see what we are working with here.” A salacious grin and you slowly pushed his boxers down, pressing open-mouthed kisses to his well-defined chest and abdomen. “Fuck,” you sighed, raking your eyes over his perfect cock, “you are a god.” You smiled shyly as he blushed, his hands cupping your cheeks, gently kissing you. “Steve, I really, really need you to fuck me now.”
Steve gifts you a ravenous look as he stalked you to the bed, like a predator. “You are awful bossy there, sweetheart.” In a flash, you found yourself on his lap, his cock buried deep inside of you.
“Fuck, Steve.” The stretch, the burn, it was everything. Those big hands on your hips leading your movements as you rode him, his azure eyes latched on yours.
“You are perfect,” he whispered, his hands come to your cheeks as you slowly fucked him. “Touch your clit sweetheart, I want to feel you come around me.”
“Now who’s the bossy one,” you teased, making a show of gripping his hair as you encouraged him to lick your fingers before emitting a debauched moan as your finger caressed your sensitive clit.
“That’s it sweetheart, put on a show for me,” he moaned, gripping your hips firmly as he watched you play with your clit, seeking out your orgasm. His teeth nipped playfully against your skin, his tongue lavishing the timid bites. “So beautiful,” his groan was deep and gritty as you clenched around his cock, your orgasm ripping through your body, Steve spilling deep within you. “Mine. All mine.”
More hot kisses and caresses painted your body as Steve lay you down beside him, softly cleaning you with a warm wet cloth, before pulling you close and holding you tightly as he continued his sonnet of praises into the night as you fought against sleep.
Because ya'll been so patient with us, what else do you do with a slow burn than pour a whole truckload of gasoline on it.
Comments are shiny and we are magpies and we need them to survive. (Mostly needy)
Chapter 11: Dear Diary
Smut. Pancakes. Smut. A diary.
This rollercoaster is in full motion now. Enjoy.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Light streamed delicately through the shutters, dancing along the sheets pulling Steve from the deep sleep. Momentary panic set in as he came to the realisation that his arms were now empty of the warm body he’d held all night. Relief set in as he spied you fast asleep on your stomach, the sheets barely covering your hips.
Steve inhaled a deep breath, his fingers itching to touch you. Last night had been incredible, everything he had ever dreamed of and more. The push and pull to assert dominance over each other, only for you to finally give in and let Steve have his filthy way with you. Multiple times. Multiple ways.
Steve finally had you in his grasp and thank God it was Sunday because he had little planned for the day that did not involve being deep inside you or his face between your legs.
You stirred lightly as hot lips mapped the skin of your back, descending lazily, savouring the warmth of your skin. He gently coaxed your legs apart as he lay down between them, placing lax kisses up your thigh, taking his time.
Steve placed a tentative kiss on your pussy only to be met with the most alluring moan imaginable, immediately going to his cock. His hands part your legs further as he kissed you with gusto, exploring your folds and clit with his tongue.
“Fuck, Steve,” he could hear you moan, putty in his hands as he coaxed you to rest on your knees.
Your soft mewls were music to his ears as he took his time exploring you, teasing you. Pushing you to the precipice before drawing you back. Until you were falling over the edge, Steve holding you firmly against his face as he gently coaxes your fall, your body shaking in his grip.
And with the speed of a leopard, Steve drove his cock into your weeping pussy, his body caging yours to the bed, his hand gripping your face and pulling you into a fervent kiss.
You were more than happy to let him take the lead, with his lazy thrusts and possessive hands. You couldn’t remember the last time you had been with a man who was so attentive and hell-bent on pleasing you.
Gentle thrusting as he cocooned you against his chest and hot lips brushing your skin, this was better than any filthy daydream you’d ever had.
“That’s right, sweetheart, I want to hear you,” his husky, molten groan fills your ear as his thrusts pick up speed, hitting that clandestine nub few men had reached before.
“Fuck,” you mewl coming hard, your hands gripping onto his forearms as he pounded into you, dragging a bone-crushing orgasm from your body as he spilled deep inside you.
Lips languidly press against your skin as you regain your senses. “Good morning,” you say, a small giggle dripping from your lips as he pins you to the bed.
“Good morning indeed.” His lips trail your face before resting on your plump pout. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to detain you in this bed all day. I must interrogate you after your poor behaviour yesterday.”
“Oh really, Captain,” you tease lightly. “Perhaps I can tempt you to postpone your interrogation with the promise of pancakes and coffee.”
Those large, imposing hands cup your face, azure eyes pinning yours playfully. “And who am I to turn down the promise of pancakes and coffee from a pretty young lady who’s given me the best night of my life?”
“Best night of your life? Gees, that’s impressive for an old man,” you teased only to squeal as he fingers tickled your sides.
You found yourselves in the kitchen an hour later after a long hot shower that had turned very steamy very quickly. You traded languid kisses and caresses as you moved around the kitchen cutting up fresh fruit and prepping the hot pan whilst waiting for the pancake batter to thicken. Steve’s eyes barely left you, trailing down your bare legs, your jean shorts giving little coverage. Your slouchy jumper offered a slight peak of your bra.
A firm body pressed you into the kitchen counter as hot hands trailed up your exposed legs. “I can’t keep my hands off you, sweetheart,” Steve growled, spinning you around and covering your lips with his, his tongue demanding. You happily gave in. Steve was an excellent kisser and you were more happy to be at the receiving end of his manhandling. You gripped at his shirt with one hand whilst the other gripped his hair as you gave in to his kiss.
“Seriously?!” You both spun to see Sam slamming a stack of cash onto the kitchen counter and storming off towards the bedrooms. Steve wrapped his arm around your shoulder and you happily leant into his embrace.
Bucky, with a victorious smile, picked up the cash and started to count it. “You’re fifty bucks short!” he called out after Sam. He looked up to see your confused expression. “I bet Sam five hundred bucks you two would have kissed and made up by the time we got back from our mission. Turns out I was right.”
Steve chuckled, placing a soft kiss on your temple.
“Do you want to ask Sam nicely if he wants to join us for breakfast? There’s enough batter to feed an army,” you asked going over to the fridge and pulling the jug of batter out. “Maybe just don’t rub it in his face.”
You, of course, had to play referee at breakfast, placing the blueberries well away from Sam. The conversation was light but teasing, it was nice. You felt lighter than you had in months, almost like you were home with your friends.
Steve’s hand never left your thigh as you all devoured breakfast, whispering coy compliments about your cooking and filthy promises into your ear. You couldn’t name too many boyfriends who would compliment you so freely and usually, you would be embarrassed but for some reason, you felt comfortable.
A warm hand held yours and pulled you from the kitchen counter as you helped Sam and Bucky clean the kitchen, Steve dragging you to his room.
The supersoldier's speed threw you for a loop as he pulled down your shorts and panties, and pinned to his door, Steve’s fingers teasing your pussy.
“You are insatiable,” you mewled, taking his cock in your hand.
“You have no idea,” he moaned with a salacious grin, picking you up as though you were as light as a feather and placing you onto his desk, what looked like sketches now strewn on the floor. “I can’t get enough of you. F.R.I.D.A.Y. initiate soundproof. Don’t want to give everyone a show, do we?”
You grasped onto his hair as he entered you, his hands gripping your hips.
Breathy, wistful moans met your ears as he fucked you earnestly. The desk banged against the wall with the force of his movements, his fingers biting into the flesh of your hips.
“That’s my good girl,” he crooned, his fingers trailing over your thighs and resting against your clit. He kissed you roughly as he teased your sensitive nub. “Taking me so well. You’ve wanted this as much as I have, haven’t you sweetheart?” Your mewled response drew a lecherous grin from Steve, his bottom lip caught between his teeth. “Come for me, sweetheart. I want to feel you squeeze me tight before I fill you up.”
Your grip on his hair tightened, wrapping your legs around his hips. You were careening to the precipice, your breathing stunted and weak as he fucked into you.
“You’re doing so well, my sweet doll. Come for me.” Your sobs echoed through the room as your walls clamped down around him, your orgasm ripping through your body. Steve immediately pulled you to him, peppering your face with soft kisses, his hands cupping your face. “Amazing. Such a good girl.” You whimpered pathetically as he pulled out of you, a small trail of come running down your inner thigh.
You languidly follow him into the bathroom where he gently cleans you with a warm, damp cloth, placing soft kisses on your face and neck. He helps you into your panties before retrieving his clothes.
You didn’t stray far from the bed, sharing soft tender kisses and leisurely caresses for the remainder of the afternoon, sharing stories of your childhoods, favourite foods and movies.
Until you were once again straddling his lap, locked in a heated make-out session. If you weren’t so utterly smitten you would be ashamed of your lack of control.
Stars and Stripes disrupted the cacophony of mewls and moans, you both chuckled in frustration as his forehead met yours. “Seriously, again? I’ve changed that damn ringtone so many times and Sam always finds time to switch it back. I will be right back.” He preceded a soft kiss to your lips and you watched on as he gently lifted you from his lap and went to retrieve his phone.
He stepped outside the room, leaving you alone in his private quarters.
The sketches on the floor drew your attention and you made your way over, picking up the sketches that Steve had pushed aside, the memory making you smile.
A gasp fell from your lips as you examined the sketches. They were of you. You smiled warmly spying through sketches of you smiling at your laptop, you and Sam laughing. Your brows furrowed a little as the sketches grew darker. Sketches of you naked in the bath, in your bed. Naked on your knees in naught but your thigh high socks, your hands tied and your mouth painted in your favourite red lipstick.
Your hands shook violently as the sketches fell from your hands onto the desk. Your heartbeat fiercely against your chest as you fought to take a grounding breath. Not that it helped. You paced anxiously.
“Stop being ridiculous,” you scolded yourself. “So its a couple of naked sketches of you in your socks… how the hell does he know I have those socks? And my lipstick? And why are you talking to yourself?” You turned to go to the bathroom, intent on splashing some water on your face when you stubbed your toe on the desk. “Ouch! Mother fucker!” At least, you thought it was the desk. When you bent down to examine your toe you spied an old wooden art box.
You had always been a curious child. In fact, your mother had always called you Nosey Nancy Drew. You’d never been shy in your thirst for knowledge or ability to discover the truth.
This curiosity had landed you in trouble before, of course. Wondering why your father would sneak off in the middle of games night only to discover his Penthouse Magazine collection in the basement, earning you a months’ grounding.
So, it was without hesitation that you sank to your knees and pried the wooden box open.
“Oh my god.”
Photos of you dressing in your room, in the shower, working at your desk, cooking in the kitchen with Bucky and Sam.
More sketches of you with Steve. Making love. With children. Lazing in bed together. You serving him dinner.
Your favourite lace back panties. You couldn’t even recall them missing. You gingerly picked them up and brought them towards your face, only to realize they were dirty.
“What the fuck?”
Your stomach dropped five feet below you as you picked up the framed photos of you naked. The previous year you had posed for a photographer friend for an anti-photoshop campaign and the photos had been auctioned off for charity. Your hands shook, almost dropping the photo. You were posed tastefully on a barstool, your face free of makeup, hair wild only dressed in a pair of panties and an unbuttoned shirt, your breasts just on display.
You knew the photos had been sold just weeks before however, the anonymous winning bidder had remained a secret, until now.
Tears bubbled as you placed the photos onto the ground. You were afraid to delve deeper into the box but you had to know. Steve has been keeping so many secrets from you. What else could he possibly be hiding?
Nausea rolled through your gut as you pulled out a bound collection of photos, your hands erupting as you undid the twine. You choked on a sob as you examined the photos; all of you asleep in bed and naked. Steve’s hands wandering over you, cupping your breasts, fingering you, using your hand on his cock.
You cautiously pulled a blue leather book from the box and your heart stopped as you recognized your grandmothers’ writing. You anxiously wiped your cheeks free of the falling tears as you took in her words.
December 24, 1944, Switzerland
I am now nearing my second year following the 107th Infantry Regiment on the battlefield and time has done little to quell my concerns regarding their Captain.
Whispers amongst the USO tour women told a tale of an insecure man whose wandering eyes left them walking on eggshells. His obsessive nature only becoming worse as his regiment and government stroke his ego.
But I worry that the darkness that resides within him is beyond repair. I have raised my concerns but they have fallen on deaf ears.
And now I fear the Captain has taken a life.
Tonight, I took it upon myself to follow the Captain from the small bistro who kindly allowed us to dine on their rations.
He took solace in the whorehouse before emerging hours later, his shirt and hands covered in blood. He washed them clean in a nearby river before he saw me.
He threatened to slit my throat.
This man, whom they flaunt as a national hero, is a monster under a facade.
Until my dying breath, I will do everything in my power to ensure that the world sees Steve Rogers for whom he truly is.
A sob broke the silence in the room as you clutched the book tightly.
“Oh sweetheart, you really should keep your nose out of where it doesn’t belong.” You jumped up and held onto the desk behind you as Steve sternly locked eyes with you from the door, the journal falling to the ground. “F.R.I.D.A.Y. initialize personal lockdown, including phone calls.”
Your heart beat erratically in your throat as you tried to envisage an escape plan, gingerly making your way to the bathroom, only to have Steve pin you to the wall, his large body pressed against your back, your hands gathered in his above your head.
A large hand caressed your hair as he shushed you gently. “It’s okay, sweetheart, we can fix this.”
“Steve, you need to let me go.”
He pressed his head to the back of yours and sighed, pressing you into the wall. “No sweetheart, I can’t. You weren’t supposed to find the box. You didn’t need to know about that.”
You scoffed trying to push him away to no effect. “You mean I didn’t need to know you’ve been stalking me? That you threatened my grandmother? Or how about you’ve been touching me while I sleep. ”
“Your grandmother had been unwell for so long. Spouting her silly little stories to get attention…”
“My grandmother,” you growled, attempting to kick your leg up to his legs, only to have his concrete legs spread them wide, “was a brilliant, smart journalist who saw through your shit. All this time, she knew there was something wrong with you. When you came out of the ice she warned me about you.” Your hands began to tingle as the circulation is dampened by his firm grip. “People accused her of being crazy, but really you are the crazy one. How could I be so stupid?”
You sobbed as his lips deftly met your exposed neck, the cool trickle of his tears meeting your skin. “It’s okay, sweetheart, I can make this all better. I can fix this. You just have to trust me.”
You scoffed trying to move away from his wandering lips. “I wouldn’t trust you if my life depended on it. Do Sam and Bucky know? Were they in on this too?”
Steve sighed. “No. But that’s in the past, my love. All of that was leading up to this moment, where we can be together. They know you and I belong together. They are happy for us.”
“Steve, please, I am begging you… if you love me please let me go. I won’t tell anyone.”
Your skin crawled as he gripped your wrists in one hand, the other hand caressing your scalp as he shushed you gently. “This is for the best. We’re going to go away for a little while, just you and me. We will start fresh. And then we can come home, together. But until then, I need you to be a good girl and do as you are told.”
“F.R.I.D.A.Y., please call the police,” you cried out as Steve gripped your neck, peppering your face with kisses.
“Ma’am, I’m afraid I can only take direct orders from the Captain.”
“F.R.I.D.A.Y., please initiate the distress call to Sergeant Barnes and Mr Wilson,” Steve ordered releasing you from his tight grip and watched on as you sunk to the ground, trying to catch your breath. You watched on, distressed as he opened the locked safe, hidden behind a panel in the wall. “Now darling, I’m going to need to you sleep for a little while, just while I pack our things,” he said approaching you with a full syringe. “When you wake up we can discuss things further.”
You begged and pleaded as Steve knelt before you, pressing a soft kiss to your lips as you felt the needle pierce your skin and everything went black.
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Chapter 12: Honeymoon
Welcome to the dark side.
Well guys, we are well and truly in the dark game now. Please heed trigger warnings from here on out. If there are some we will post them in the endnotes!
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You first became aware of the exceptionally soft sheets, immediately wanting to burrow deep within them. However, your body ached beyond anything you had ever felt before, the very idea of moving sent a wave of nausea rolling through your stomach.
You cracked an eye open, your head pounding at the sudden onslaught of light and nausea. “Fuck,” you groaned trying to adjust to the bright light filling the strange bedroom. Panic set a ripple of adrenalin and you propped yourself up on your elbows taking in the stone-clad and whitewashed walls, the decor a mix of dark wood and natural textures.
At the foot of the bed, sat in a leather club-style chair was Steve, his incredibly long legs stretched out before him, his arms defensively crossed over his expansive chest. You forced yourself to sit up as his scowl confirmed your suspicions. Steve was a psychopath and you were being held captive. And he was pissed.
“Where am I?” you asked timidly, resting against the plush bedhead, your head spinning at the minimal movement. You blushed realising you were wearing naught, pulling the blanket to cover yourself.
Steve smirked and raised an eyebrow, his eyes trained on yours. “Somewhere that I can help you come to your senses without any interruptions.” Your blood ran cold at his frosty, pointed tone. “We will remain here until you have learned how to behave yourself, doll.”
“You can’t just keep me here, Steve,” you tried to reason, your voice drawn and weak as you fought against the ebb and flow of the lethargic ripples grating your muscles. “What happens when my assignment finishes? Are you going to just keep me locked here until I behave?” Steve gave you a pointed nod. “I have a job and friends in New York. They will worry when they don’t hear from me.”
“As far as your editor is concerned you and I are here at the cabin for an intimate interview. It will be your final entry for the blog. Your friends are no concern of ours.”
You scoffed, bringing your knees up and wrapping your arms around them protectively. “So, what? You’re going to keep me here and train me like a dog? Am I going to have to beg and kneel for your enjoyment or is it to stroke your ego?”
Steve ran a hand over his beard, the frustration clearly painted on his face. “I understand that you are upset, sweetheart but…”
“Upset? Are you fucking kidding me? You let me fall for you all the while you were what, drugging me so you could cop a feel when you felt like it because you knew I wouldn’t let you?” Steve gave you a stone-cold look but said nothing. “What, the great Captain America didn’t like the fact that I didn’t fawn over you, grovel at your knees when we first met? Do you expect a blow job everytime someone meets you?”
“If my memory serves me correctly, sweetheart, you confessed to holding a grudge against me because your nosey grandmother couldn’t handle the fact that I wasn’t interested in her.” The chair he sat on cracked under the weight of his grip as he tried to regain his composure with deep, calming breaths. “I love you, sweetheart, and I know you love me too. The things you found in the box, they are irrelevant. All that matters is that you and I can go back to what we were before and move on with our lives. I’ve invested a lot in our relationship…”
“What relationship, Steve?” Your voice was raised, your throat straining as you grew more frustrated and frightened. “We slept together a couple of times and then I found your creep box… it wasn’t even twenty-four hours…”
“You just need time.”
“You need help.”
“You need to watch your mouth, sweetheart…”
“Shut up. You are not my owner. I don’t give a shit who you think you are. I don’t love you. I will never love you, especially after all of this,” you cried, waving your arms in the air. “You have to let me go. Please.” You didn’t care that you were begging. You were beyond caring.
Cold cobalt eyes pierced your weak facade, his body and mind completely inert and focused. “Whilst you are under my roof you will abide by my rules. If you so much as put a hair out of place you will not like the consequences. You will receive one warning and one warning only. Do I make myself clear?”
You sighed, resting your head on your knees. “Go fuck yourself, Steve.”
Steve smirked, emitting a small huff, before slowly standing up from the chair with the grace of a panther. He leisurely stalked towards the bed, cracking his fingers as he watched you try to move away, your body weighed down from what you could only imagine was whatever he had injected you with.
“You really disappoint me, sweetheart,” he said, his voice low and drawn as he gripped your bicep and pulled your naked body flush to his chest as he sat on the bed, one arm snaked around your waist as his free hand gripped your jaw. “After everything I have done for you, everything I have done for us. This is how you treat me?” You flummoxed as tears pricked at his eyes, his hand moving from your jaw to cup your cheek. “It’s okay though because I can fix this. We can be happy.”
In a flash your stomach was pressed against his insanely long, thick thighs, his large hands pressing you down as you fought.
“I know, sweetheart,” he crooned, his hands idly grazing over the globes of your arse, “I just need you to trust that I have your best interest at heart and this is for your own good.”
The first strike of his bare hand against your sensitive flesh sent shockwaves up your spine, drawing a pained groan from your lips. You lashed out, trying to punch at him as his hand rained down on your arse, a strong hand holding you firmly in place.
Each blow reverberated through your body. You’d had partners spank you in the past, but nothing compared to the magnitude of the force the supersoldier spanked you with.
You had not realized you were crying until he shoved you off of his lap onto the bed and stormed out of the room, the door slamming with an almighty crash, the walls literally shaking against the force.
Your arse was on fire as you sobbed bitterly into the expensive duvet cover, your hands gripping onto the fabric as the waves of stinging pulsated through your very core. Your body literally ached as you crawled under the sheets, the drugs still brutally devouring your energy.
When you awoke the sun had long set, the bedside lamps turned on, the low lights warming the room and the faint crackle of a log fire catching your attention.
As you sat up, making sure to cover yourself with the quilt you slowly became aware of Steve sitting beside you, his back resting against the bed head. He nervously fooled with his hands, his eyes were drawn to his agitated hands, his knees drawn up.
“I really wish you hadn’t made me lose control like that, sweetheart,” he said, refusing to look over at you. His voice was tired and his eyes still red from crying. “There are going to be rules. I expect you to follow those rules. You will receive one warning and if you continue to act like a spoilt, selfish child I will be forced to punish you. Do you understand?”
You wanted nothing more than to punch him in the face and tell him to go fuck himself, but you knew your body could not take another beating like that. “Yes, sir.”
You kept your eyes forward, focusing on the flickering fireplace at the end of the bed as you felt those conflicted cobalt eyes roaming over your face. “You will address me as Daddy.” Your blood ran cold as you looked up to his face. “I know you like that, sweetheart. As your Daddy, you will show me respect by following my orders and understanding that I know what is best for you.”
You involuntarily flinched as his hand caressed the back of your neck and down your back, your eyes immediately were drawn back to the fire.
“I will not tolerate foul language, back chatting or name-calling. I will offer you only one warning and if you choose to continue to misbehave I will be forced to punish you.” His hand wandered to your jaw and pulled you to look back at him. “Do you understand?”
“Yes,” it was barely a whisper, your lip wobbling with fear.
You sighed. “Yes, Daddy.”
You felt his lips press against your cheek before he moved off the bed. “Get dressed, sweetheart, I’m just going to make a start on dinner. There are clothes in the walk-in wardrobe.”
“Can I have a shower please?” Your voice was defeated, desperate to put on the illusion that you were compliant. You needed time to find a possible escape.
“I will give you a bath after dinner,” he said pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder before retreating to the door. “No need to dress up, sweetheart, just wear something comfortable. F.R.I.D.A.Y. please turn on the stove to medium.”
You watched Steve offer you a small smile before leaving the room. Once he was gone you ran to the en-suite and wretched up what little you had in your stomach. Your arse throbbed as you brushed your teeth and rinsed your mouth, a malevolent reminder of his hand punishing you.
You found the slouchiest jumper and loosest track pants you could find before dressing as slowly as you could, desperate to cover yourself.
Your fingers trailed over the thick window taking in the surrounding outside, or what little you could see. Steve has brought you to the middle of bum-fuck-nowhere. If you could get away, unlikely with the A.I. and reinforced windows, how could you possibly outrun the supersoldier? Your options were limited, no, non-existent.
“You’re not planning your escape, are you?” You jumped as the husky, teasing voice caressed your ears, hands resting on your waist, those deft thumbs stroking your bare skin. His eyes met yours in the reflection in the window.
“Why bother? I’ll never outrun you. And if I did get out, who would believe me?” You shuddered at the realization you had spoken aloud, the hand on your waist tightening.
“Dinner is ready, sweetheart,” Steve said with a strained voice. “We wouldn’t want it to go cold.”
Rather than put up a fight, which was monumentally tempting, you allowed Steve to pull you out of the bedroom and into the beautiful open-plan living and kitchen.
On the kitchen bench two bowls of steaming soup sit, freshly grilled cheese sandwiches resting on plates, and a bunch of sunflowers with candles lit all around.
A wave of dread filled you as Steve watched your reaction sheepishly, his hands stuffed in his pockets. “I know it’s not much but I wanted our first night here to be special.”
Dinner was an awkward affair, the room filled with the sound of spoons clinking against china, slurping soup, Steve’s eyes constantly checking on you as you forced yourself to try the food. It was canned soup and cheap cheese sandwiches. Your stomach churned as the food hit your empty stomach.
“Are you not feeling well, sweetheart?”
You scoffed, pushing the bowl away. “No. It must have been the drugs you gave me.”
Steve couldn’t hide the flustered blush that rose to his cheeks. “We don’t need to have this discussion sweetheart. How about we get you in the bath? I will go run it now, can you put these bowls into the dishwasher?”
Your stomach boiled as you watched him saunter into the bedroom and you immediately dashed to the other side of the island bench, starting to search the drawers for a weapon.
“I’m sorry, I should have told you that I’ve put the knives in a safe.” You snapped your head up to the doorway to see Steve leaning against the doorway casually drying his forearms with a towel. “That will serve as your one and only warning on the matter. Please clean the kitchen and come to the bathroom once you’re done.”
You watched, defeat sets in as he moved back into the bedroom. You bitterly swore and threatened under your breath as you cleared the bowls and wiped down the tops.
You took your sweet time, trying to prolong the inevitable. You blew out the stupid candles, careful not to blow wax onto the counter because you knew Steve would have you stripping it off with your fingernails as he watched on.
As you passed the couch you rearranged a few pillows before entering the bedroom, just to spite Steve, your anxiety starting to rise like the tide.
You could hear Steve moving around in the bathroom. “Come on in sweetheart, it’s nearly ready.” Your skin crawled at the gnawing sobriquet, your feet dragging towards the bathroom, Steve’s jumper resting beside the sink, his t-shirt practically moulded to his body. You were met with a bright smile and outstretched arms. “Let’s get you out of those clothes.”
You fixated your gaze on a mark on one of the white subway tiles as Steve stripped you of your clothes, his hot hands burning your skin as he praised you. It was all white noise, your stomach churning as he pressed his lips to your shoulder.
The water was warm in the claw foot bath, the scent of lemon verbena tickling your senses as Steve ran a warm cloth over your skin once he’d helped you into the bath.
“That’s nice, isn’t it, sweetheart?” he cooed, his hands coaxing your legs apart. “You’re being such a good girl for Daddy.” The washcloth ascended your inner thigh, stopping short of the apex of your thighs before moving on to your other leg, taking his time to wash your knee. “If you behave, my little one, I can make you feel really good.”
“Steve, please,” you gasped, trying to move his hand away.
“First warning.” His breath was hot against the skin of your neck and your arse instinctively burnt at the memory of his hand.
You spread your legs wider, fighting wasn’t an option now. You had to bide your time, win his trust to gain some freedom before you could escape.
Steve brought the cloth up to your breasts, taking his time to clean you, grazing your nipples as his lips met yours. His kiss was unhurried, his thumb wiping away your tears as you gave in.
“That’s my good girl,” he soothed gently squeezing warm water over your shoulders, “tomorrow will be a better day, I promise.”
You let him wash and pet you, his tender words washing over you. Your movements were robotic, your thoughts seeking refuge elsewhere as he dried you off with a thick, soft towel from where he sat on the closed lid of the toilet.
You sucked in a greedy breath as he stood tall, towering over you and began to undo his pants. You closed your eyes tightly as he shucked his pants down to the ground and kicked them away after pulling out a small bottle of lube.
“Sit on my lap, sweetheart,” he commanded after sitting back down onto the toilet lid. You eyed him cautiously, your heart racing as you adhered to his command, embarrassment washing through you. You bit back a gasp as he poured an unnecessary measure of lube onto his cock. “Wrap your hand around me, sweetheart, and give Daddy his special massage.”
You fixed your gaze on the abundant curve of his bicep as you wrapped your hand around his thick, veiny cock, his hand immediately covering yours and dictating your movements.
“Oh, sweetheart, that feels amazing. You are doing an excellent job,” he crooned, his hands caressing your cheeks. A firm hand gripped your jaw drawing you into that cobalt gaze. “Put your hand on my shoulder,” he commanded. You internally rolled your eyes as you placed your hand on his wide shoulders, gripping onto the soft material of his chequered shirt as his hands gently caressed your thighs, you hand still working over his rigid cock. “That’s a good girl. Because you were so well behaved in the bath I’m going to give you a treat.”
You drew a shaky breath watching his fingers ascend your inner thigh as his other hand returned to grip your waist. Ashamed of the mewl that dropped from your lips as a finger explored your folds, you moved to look away, your lip caught between your teeth.
“No sweetheart, you must look at Daddy when he is touching you.”
It was humiliating and equally arousing, those cobalt eyes full of concern and wonder as he fucked you slowly with his long, dexterous fingers, teasing the clandestine node deep in your pussy. A hand gripped your face, keeping your gaze locked on his as a thumb began to lazily brush your clit.
“You’re being so good sweetheart, taking my fingers so well while you massage Daddy’s cock. Do you want to come?”
Fuck yes you did. His talented fingers held more magic than David Copperfield’s entire career. However, you were also being held captive by an obsessive killer, hellbent on making you his sex doll.
“Yes please, daddy,” you conceded, your hand gripping him tighter as you began to twist your wrist.
“Oh honey,” he groaned, resting his head against your shoulder, his fingers moving faster within you, his thumb firm against your sensitive clit. “I knew you would be the perfect little doll.”
Your breath hitched as he pulled you into a vehement kiss, gasps filling the air as you clenched against his fingers and come spilled on your hands. He took his time cleaning your hands, painting your skin with warm, lazy kisses and whispering words of praise against your skin.
Steve held you close and tight that night as he snored lightly beside you. Your body burned with shame remembering the way you had clamped around those lithe fingers, coming harder than you had in forever.
You couldn’t be the sex slave of Captain America. That was not the life you wanted or deserved. You couldn’t waste your days servicing the supersoldier, having his poisonous hands wandering over your body.
As discreetly as you could manage, you slowly extracted yourself from his grip, grimacing as the wooden floorboards creaked under the weight of your feet. Steve stirred slightly, your heart in your throat, only to see him settle back into his light snoring.
If you knew anything of Steve it was that you could not play dumb, he would see through your lies or acting in a second. You had to be prepared to face the consequences if he found you trying to plan an escape. You were time poor, underprepared and pretty confident in the fact that you were in the middle of nowhere.
This would likely be a suicide mission.
The kitchen drawers proved pitiful for a weapon, not even a metal ladle. You tried with all your might to bend and snap the plastic kitchen utensils, a pathetic attempt at a makeshift shank, but apparently, this had been an aforethought of Steve’s.
Sighing, you moved onto the windows, endeavouring to open them. A big fat failure. It was quickly becoming apparent that Steve had been planning this for some time. Or perhaps, you weren’t the first.
The front door also proved a fiasco, a thumbpad the only mechanism to lock and unlock the door.
Your eyes scanned the room, noting the perfectly styled room, impenetrable windows and a door on the other side of the fireplace. You hadn’t noticed it during dinner.
The floorboards groaned under your feet as you approached the closed door, your hand resting against the doorknob as you listened out for Steve.
Satisfied that he was still sleeping, you slowly turned the handle and blindly stepped into the dark room. You felt along the wall for the light switch and flicked on the ceiling light.
That now familiar, overwhelming rush of nausea washed over you as you tentatively moved further into the room. Paintings lined the wall and two easels, a small desk in the corner and two small reading chairs beside a small library.
The paintings irked you. Some new, judging by the faint aroma of fresh paint and some were old. All by Steve.
Paintings of you asleep in bed, the sheets haphazardly draped over your hips. You stood in the kitchen, dressed like a forties housewife, baking a pie. Bucky teaching a young boy how to throw a baseball. You reading to the same young boy. Steve cradling your pregnant stomach. Sam and Bucky enjoying a picnic with Steve and the boy, you sat beside them cradling a baby as a dog played nearby.
“Son of a bitch,” you groaned, overwhelmed by yet another dimension to Steve’s insanity. Truthfully, you were not sure how much more you could take.
“Oh sweetheart, I was hoping you’d learned your lesson this morning.”
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Chapter 13: Daddy Lessons
Breakfast. Brunch. And a meltdown.
We are back after a much needed week off. Apologies, it was totally unplanned but life got in the way as it often does.
No major warnings for this chapter other than we are definitely in the dark end of our reader's life and Steve is definitely driving this train.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
The café buzzed all around you, the air filled with the sound of varying degrees of chatter and laughter, coffee beans resisting against the blade of the coffee grinder, milk steaming to perfection and Anaïs Mitchell . The air infused with the strong scent of freshly extracted coffee and truffle oil and bacon.
Your friendship group had been haunting this café for years, discovering the tiny cafe in your early college years, meeting up for coffee and croissants post-breakups, cheeky cocktails on a Friday to complain about your bosses and work, your typical Sunday brunch cure for a boisterous and alcohol-fuelled night. The staff knew you, the staff liked you, and the customers had grown accustomed to your groups’ candid conversation.
On the table sat mismatched wine glasses filled with mimosas made with cheap champagne and freshly squeezed tangerine juice and a variety of coffees; black, soy lattes, latte on almond milk, and peppermint tea for Rachel. Freshly baked bagels smeared with cream cheese and topped with a perfectly constructed tower of locally smoked salmon and dill. Baked eggs topped with gruyere and truffle oil served with freshly baked spelt sourdough.
This was heaven on and at a table. Delicious, soul healing mouthfuls as you listened to Holly brag about her latest conquest, Juan from the New York Ballet, with his thick, muscular thighs pinning her to the bed as his big fat c…
“You should eat something.”
The sound of his voice grated against the raw flesh of your arse, a savage shiver through your spine, goosebumps rising. Your arse burned, dressed in a flimsy pair of silk panties sat on the hard, walnut wood dining chair. You sniffed back the bristling tears, catching a few escaping down your cheeks with the back of your hand before pushing your plate away.
You dared to look up only to meet his pointed gaze as it burnt a hole through your fragile facade, those azure eyes measuring your expression for a window of weakness or insolence.
Steve sighed and you flinched as he reached over the table, your expectation fully resting on another slap across the cheek, not daring to meet his eyes again. You missed the sad puppyesque expression drowning his face as he picked up your plate and escaped into the kitchen, leaving you sat alone at the dining table but still within view.
Little had been said that morning following your late-night investigation of the art room and failed escape attempt, and the subsequent punishment. Steve had been awake and sitting up in the soft bed when the throbbing of your arse had pulled you from your stilted slumber, sheets pulled up over your stiff body. Of what had been said, an apology was clearly off the table.
But then, why would Steve apologise? He was a delusional psychopath keeping you hostage in what you still assumed was the middle of The Cabin in the Woods country, hell-bent on turning you into the perfect 1950’s housewife complete with child and golden retriever.
You dared to watch as Steve rinsed the plates in the sink before carefully loading them into the dishwasher, the wounded puppy-dog expression on his face still going strong. Pathetic. If he was trying to make you feel guilty for the silent treatment, he was in for a shock.
You closed your eyes, your mind wandering back to the cozy, deliciously aromatic café, losing yourself in the familiar rich scent of coffee and bacon. You imagined yourself ripping hot toasted spelt sourdough and immersing the perfectly fluffy bread into the egg, breaking the soft yolk.
A large hand on your bare thigh broke your daydream, recoiling further onto the chair as you opened your eyes to Steve kneeling before you like a wounded puppy.
“Sweetheart, can I make you something else for breakfast? Would you like some fruit?”
You shake your head, your back pressed firmly against the wooden back of the chair as you try to create as much distance as possible. His hand moved from your thigh to your cheek, the large palm acrid against your skin.
The pained look on Steve’s face did little to quell the festering rage in your gut, your hands in tight fists on the hard surface of the chair. It took every ounce of sanity and self-preservation to tamper down the urge to punch his perfect face, the festering desire to break his nose. However, try as you might, the comforting petting of his thumb across your cheek was calming, those serene azure eyes fixed on yours.
Your fight or flight instincts were frazzled.
You could fight back, quickly grabbing the chair beside you and give a good attempt at cracking it over his head. Steven Grant Rogers was no ordinary man. The chair would likely knick his perfectly smooth alabaster skin, mark his skin with a perfectly red scratch which would momentarily bleed before healing itself before your very eyes. Fighting back would only result in you sprawled over his thick thighs, your panties torn and possibly burning to a crisp in the crackling fire as Steve plowed your ass with his iron-like hand. The very hand that had saved countless lives.
You could run, though you would not get far. You had seen Steve run; he was fast and his endurance was next to none. You would probably get as far as the end of the dining table before he had you.
There was no way to get out, there was nowhere to hide. You had to play this smart. You had to bide your time and allow him to believe you were relenting and conceding, even if it necessitated sleeping with the enemy.
Beyond your inevitable return to New York to start your new life with Steve, because that’s what he had planned, you were at a loss at how to proceed. Could you spend your life on the run? Could you approach a rival newspaper and publish a tell-all on the real story?
No, you needed time to devise a plan. You had plenty of time, locked in a cabin in the woods in the middle of nowhere with nothing but time and Captain America on your hands.
“Where did you go?”
Your eyes snapped to his, a shaky breath escaping your lips. “Home. Brooklyn.”
It wasn’t far from the truth and you weren’t entirely surprised to see Steve read your statement as “I was thinking about our beautiful home in Brooklyn and our beautiful dog we’re going to call Rascal and the seven perfect children we are going to have together. Why don’t we name them after the Von Trapp children.”
His lips found yours in a frenzy; long, thick arms pulling you up onto the dining table as you conceded against those plump lips.
“Oh sweetheart, I love you,” he groaned as his lips descended your neck, hands mercurial as they fought against the buttons on his powder blue Ralph Lauren shirt he had been insistent on you wearing that morning with nothing but the ruby red high waisted silk Agent Provocateur panties he had carefully laid out on the bed.
Lithe fingers slowly drew the shirt off your shoulders, the buttons finally undone, and carefully draped it over the back of the dining chair beside him. He pressed his lips to yours again, pulling you flush against his chest, a weak whimper emanating from your lips as your raw skin dragged on the hardwood tabletop.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he cooed, the glum-puppy expression returning to his face as he let his forehead rest against yours, his hands encasing your face. “I really despise having to punish you, baby, I really do. You have learned your lesson, though. Haven’t you?” Your head nodded furiously, biting back the smart-arse retort taunting you from the tip of your tongue. Steve sighed happily before pressing a soft kiss to your lips. “Lie back, sweetheart, Daddy is going to make you feel better.”
Your body was engulfed in a raging flame of embarrassment as you complied, lying back onto the cool, hard tabletop, fixing your gaze on the off-white stone roof above you. You involuntarily shuddered as you felt his large, hot hands rest against your knees and slowly begin to trail down your legs to your ankles before placing your feet flat against the hard surface and coaxing your legs apart.
Steve said nothing as he leaned over you, his fingers gently gripping your panties and tenderly pulling them down over your hips and legs. You gulped down a sob, now utterly on display for him, your arms covering your arms for some ridiculous, child-like modicum of privacy or safety. Perhaps, if you couldn’t see him this wasn’t real. You could pretend you were not Captain America’s new fuck doll in the middle of nowhere if you hid your eyes behind your arms, you could pretend he was anyone else. Deep down, you knew that the orgasm he would inevitably drag from your aching, furious body would be real. You could not fake it with Steve, he knew your body better than any man had or would ever know.
Despite your restricted perception, you could feel every single atom burning under the scorching, acute investigation of Steve’s eyes over your exposed body, spread out before him like a turkey on Thanksgiving. Except, this wasn’t Thanksgiving and you were not a dead bird about to be served with gravy and cranberry sauce from a can.
You outwardly cringed as Steve pulled up a chair and sat at the table before you, as though he were sitting down to dinner. Your skin crawled as you heard him dramatically lick his lips after wrapping his arms around your thighs, holding you firmly in place on the dark wood table.
“I’m still feeling a little peckish after breakfast, baby,” Steve crooned, his breath hot as it caressed against your exposed pussy, your lips spread wide for him. “But I’m not hungry for food.” Oh God, it was corny as hell and you could not help but roll your eyes under the safety of your arms. And if it could not get any worse, he continued, “Are you going to be a good little girl for Daddy and let him eat you?”
You drew a steely breath before uttering, “Yes Daddy,” conceding defeat early on in the game. You had a plan to stick to. Play nice, stay safe and plan your escape.
“No baby, ask Daddy nicely,” he teased smoothly, drawing the tip of his finger over your wet pussy lips.
Motherfucking Steve. Goddamn your bloody Benedict Arnold pussy. “Please Daddy,” you begged in a tone you knew would have the desired effect on him and save your raw arse from another beating, “I want you to eat me.”
“That’s my saccharine girl.” Again, you rolled your eyes cursing the New Word of the Day calendar that sat on his office desk, immediately dreaming of running that damn red Staedtler 430 pen over each and every word of the day. Your sigh was breathy as his nose brushed along your pussy lips, inhaling your musky scent. “You smell so sweet.” His tongue languidly skimmed over your lips, the gentle hum vibrating through your core, your body involuntarily shivering in response. “And you taste so sweet. Are you going to let Daddy do this every day? Eat my baby girls’ sweet pussy every morning, all splayed out for Daddy?”
“Jesus,” you groaned, flustered and ashamed at the obvious effect he was having on your traitorous body. Steve gifted you a sharp pinch on your inner thigh. “Yes, Daddy.”
“That’s my sweet baby girl,” he smirked before awarding you with delicate kitten licks, his beard brushing against your sensitive skin. You could feel as his smile grew as he pressed his tongue flat against your clit, his arms pulling tighter around your thighs as you mewled.
Your hands painfully clenched in on themselves as Steve brushed your pussy with his warm tongue nonchalantly, as though you were his morning meal. Try as you might, you could not deny Captain America was the master of entertaining himself between your legs and a very small part of you was screaming to give in to the clandestine desire to come on his tongue.
“I could do this all day, baby,” he crooned against your pussy, the words muffled by your flesh, his voice vibrating your core.
His tongue slowly inches further into your pussy as he slowly ran his tongue over your pussy. It was clear he had no intention of making this easy for you, resolved to withhold your orgasm until you were a blubbering, mewling mess, splayed out and feeding his massive ego.
You tried every trick in your book to accelerate his stupid, self-indulgent game, attempting to drag your orgasm out on your terms. You held your breath, a safe-bet that had worked countless times with less orally adept boyfriends. No go. You tried to grind your hips against his perfectly skilled tongue to no avail, your hips pinned to the hard surface of the table. Your attempt at twisting your nipples was met by another painful pinch to your inner thigh, emitting a surprised squeal. Steve could read your body before you could even begin to ponder your next attempt to dictate your orgasm.
Because Steve’s goal was to make you beg. He wouldn’t give you the orgasm your perfidious body was begging for until you were essentially begging Daddy like the women in your favourite porn collection.
“Please, Daddy, please let me come. Please, please.”
Steve chuckled darkly as he pulled away and suddenly stood up, his large, muscular body looming over you, dark azure eyes pinned on yours. You gasped as he grasped your bicep and pulled you up into a sitting position, your chest flush against his overheated body.
Long, thick but agile fingers languidly caress your face as he carefully inspected your face, his other hand gripping your neck. That hand slowly descended your body, your skin aflame as he cupped your pussy.
“Do you want to come, baby? Do you need Daddy to let you come?” His lips burned your earlobe as he pulled you firmly against his body, your pussy practically pulsing against his hand as your body screamed out for its release.
His free hand gripped your hair and pulled you to look into his eyes when you didn’t respond. No, Steve wasn’t making this easy. This game would end when and how he chose, you had little choice but to entirely and utterly capitulate and pronounce him king. Or God. Or Daddy. Or whatever the fuck he wanted. You didn’t care. All your recreant body screamed for was that delicious dive over the precipice.
Your hands expeditiously gripped his long, dark blonde hair as your lips and teeth sought out his alabaster skin, peppering and biting him with all your might and valor.
Now, you would love to be honest and say that under no circumstances were you being genuine. That you are, in fact, putting on an Oscar-worthy performance of a lifetime. But you weren’t acting. Your traitorous body had won the war and you needed Daddy to make you come.
The heated, ravenous stare Steve have you was enough to make you mewl and spread your legs for him.
He placed a soft, endearing kiss on your nose. “Such a sweet girl for Daddy. Be a good girl and sit up for me, I want you to keep your eyes on me. You can come whenever you can, but when you come you must thank Daddy. Do you understand?”
There was a curious wave of emotions as you watched him sit back down onto the chair, his hands immediately wrapping around your ankles, holding you firmly in place. You felt the pull of the sensible, logical side of your brain telling you to flee, abort mission and get the fuck out of dodge. But then there was the dragging of the praise hungry submissive begging to be on her knees, to make her Daddy proud.
Steve’s tongue languidly fucked into your drenched pussy, your walls fluttering against him as your hands quickly gripped onto his locks for support and tugging slightly.
An incoherent babble of please and Daddy fluttered from your mouth as Steve furiously licked your clit, gripping you by the hand and dragging you towards the edge of the precipice at a hundred miles an hour. And when you finally felt your toes reach that precipice Steve immediately pulled away, an onslaught of curses flying from your mouth before he caught them with his fingers.
Steve chuckled as he licked, bit and kissed your inner thighs, your body shaking with an overwhelming assault of disappointment, rage and the desperate need to come. “Do you need to come baby? Do you need Daddy to make you feel better?”
“Fuck,” you groaned as his thumb began to idly caress your ankle, his tongue languidly trailing up your thigh before peppering your pussy lips with tender kisses. “Please, fuck, please Daddy.”
You gasped as darkened pupils met yours, Steve slowly wrapping his arms around your waist.
The mewl that escaped your lips was loud and lewd as Steve sucked on your sensitive clit before flicking his tongue over your taut bud and gives it to you. His tongue furiously lapped at your clit, his arms pinning you in place as your body involuntarily tried to flee his rigid grip.
Your orgasm was blinding, ripping through your cracked facade, your fingers desperately pulling on his ashen locks as your cries echoed through the open-plan cabin. Your thighs shuddered as you flew high, Steve was languorous as he coaxed you through your orgasm, your grip on his fair firm.
Your chest heaved as you fought to regain even the smallest fragment of self-control, Steve slowly peppering your skin with kisses as he ascended your overheated body and settling on your lips. You could taste your delicate musk on his tongue as he explored your mouth.
“Thank you, Daddy,” you bit, embarrassment and shame flooding your body as reality hit hard. Nobody on this bloody earth could tear you apart and put you back together like Steve obsessive Rogers. No man could read your body and drag mind and body-numbing orgasms as he could.
“I love you,” he hummed, holding you close against his hot, sculpted chest barely covered in his sinfully tight t-shirt. You could feel his hard, erect cock press into your stomach as he slowly caressed your bare back with his hand.
You had hoped he would just fuck you right there and then, and get it over and done with. How were you supposed to respond to that? He had literally taken you apart on the dining table and you were not sure you could not find your way through the thick, smoggy fog of embarrassment. How could your backstabbing body have given in so easily? You could of course lie and say you loved him in return, but you were drowning in a sea of mortification, self-loathing and doubt.
Your body froze as his large hands cupped your cheeks and brought you to meet those cooling azure eyes.
“You do love me, don’t you?” His lip trembled as his wounded-puppy expression slowly re-dawned on his face, tears pricking his eyes. “Tell me you love me, baby. Please. I need to hear you say it.”
“You are an ungrateful brat,” he spat wrenching his hands away from you, the cool azure eyes now ice-cold, his chest heaving aggressively and his jaw set taut.
Your stomach plummeted several feet as a large hand gripped your wrist and aggressively pulled you from the table, your body stumbling as your feet connected with the hardwood floor.
“No wait, please Steve, I’m sorry,” you begged, the overwhelming memory of last night’s punishment suddenly fresh on your mind. What a shame you hadn’t remembered that less than a minute before.
Your weak attempt to fight back, kicking and pulling away from him, did little to affect Steve’s murderous walk towards the bedroom. All you managed to accomplish was knocking over one of the dining tables and painfully straining your wrist as you unsuccessfully tried to hold onto the bedroom door.
Your back collided with the clawfoot bath as Steve hurled you into the bathroom, his large, terrifying body crowding over you, his eyes enraged. You could feel your lungs slowly constrict as he closed in over you.
“F.R.I.D.A.Y. initiate lockdown protocol in the bathroom.” Ice azure eyes filled with anger pinned you to the chilled floor tiles, your breath becoming silted and panicked as your anxiety self-combusted. “Perhaps some time by yourself will help you learn a valuable lesson, sweetheart. You should spend some time reconsidering your feelings for me. You might even learn to have a little more respect and gratitude given everything I have done for you.”
Before you could retort, and oh boy you had a monologue to rival Julia Roberts in any rom-com at the ready, Steve stormed out of the bathroom slamming the door shut, the bottles on the shelf above the bath literally shaking with the force.
It took a whole 3.1 seconds before the walls caved in and you collapsed onto the ice-cold floor tiles, your lungs depleting as you began to panic and the world faded to black.
We love to hear your thoughts and theories! Thank you so much for reading x
Chapter 14: Prince Charming
Sam and Bucky return to the compound. Our reader makes a big decision
Thank you so much for continuing on this journey with us. Your comments really mean the world to us and we are beyond stoked with your feedback.
You might not have noticed but we have made the decision to incorporate some one-shots into this story. The first one was called "Der Käfig" which translates to "The Cage". The cage is a little taster of what is to come.
You don't have to read the one-shots, they're going to be little visits back in time for the most part and looking at certain events in more depth. We really hope you enjoy them.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
The funny thing about alien blood is… well, there’s nothing funny about alien blood. It’s slimy, it’s messy, it’s a bitch to wash out of your hair. This wasn’t exactly what Bucky had signed up for when Steve had asked him to join The Avengers post-Thanos.
His hair had taken two vigorous washes with his very expensive purifying shampoo (Aesop , thank you) and he’d needed to take a kitchen scrubber to his body to remove the green goop, in turn, stripping off at least three layers of skin.
A healthy and generous lather of geranium leaf scented body lotion, and his hair soaking in his favourite leave-in conditioner he’d bought specifically for post-mission “me-time”, Bucky sauntered back into his bedroom, towel hanging low on his hips. He felt thirty pounds lighter and at least ten years younger.
The compound’s private quarters had been eerily quiet on his and Sam’s return that evening. The fridge was full of fresh food, the cupboards stocked with a healthy selection of foods, there was even fresh milk in the fridge.
Bucky wasn’t concerned about the whereabouts of his best friend and his lovely reporter. He steered clear of Steve’s room, not entirely wanting to play audience to his Captain’s sexcapades.
Dressed and feeling more human than he had in the three days he’d been on their mission, Bucky made his way into the kitchen intent on making up for the missed meals and crappy, tasteless MRE’s. Bucky needed carbs, bacon, and beer.
Sam was already in the kitchen when he entered, frying up his momma’s “world-famous” southern fried chicken. Yes, Bucky could get behind this.
“It appears,” an alien-goop free Sam drawled as he turned around, towel slung over his shoulder like a professional chef and handing Bucky an ice-cold beer, “our intrepid Captain and contrary reporter are still in the hot and heavy honeymoon period, and he has whisked her away to the cabin for an intimate interview.”
Bucky scoffed as he inhaled the sweet, cold beer. “Sammy, don’t you think it’s a little odd that they were Legolas and Gimli pre-Gandalf fall and now they’re 9 ½ weeks ?”
“Steve Rogers does not have a kinky bone in his body,” Sam chortled, spraying a mouthful of beer across the kitchen bench.
“You didn’t spend the night in the next room to them the night they first hooked up. I heard everything. I’m still having nightmares.”
“Buckmeister, the greatest love stories of our time were built upon the greatest victory of all; the journey from friends to lovers. Pride & Prejudice. Leap Year. Avatar. Stardust. Steve needs this.”
Bucky sighed and leaned against the island bench, watching Sam meticulously dice the cabbage for his coleslaw. “I don’t know Sam. Yes, he needed a really good dicking because he was edging on being a stiff. It just seems a little… I don’t know, rushed.”
Sam chortled before checking the seasoning of his dressing. “Let the man have his hot romp weekend, we will be happy for him and hopefully he can return to work with less of a stick up his ass.”
Sam was right, not that Bucky would ever admit to that. Steve needed to find some peace in his life and if it was with the woman who couldn’t stand his guts two weeks ago then so be it. They were Cher and Josh from Clueless .
“Do you think they will come back with a complete interview?”
Sam actually laughed out loud, his hand-clapping against his chest dramatically, because Sam Wilson’s middle name was not subtle. “Oh hell no. You know they’re both christening every surface of that cabin. If you’re visiting him, I would suggest wiping down the kitchen bench before eating there.”
“Someday my prince will come. Someday I’ll find my love. And how thrilling that moment will be when the prince of my dreams comes to me.”
Your body was numb, barely registering the feeling of his fingers combing through your hair, your head resting in his lap as you mindlessly watched the fire crackle.
“He’ll whisper ‘ I love you’, and steal a kiss or two.”
Your eyes flickered to the television, Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs playing on low, Steve singing along with the princess, his fingers unceasing in their ministrations in your hair.
“Are you enjoying the movie, sweetheart?” His voice was lulling and calm, it’s effect on your minimal as your mind was completely dulled from your day locked in the bathroom.
You had awoken, your head heavy with a dull but incessant thudding and, the cut above your eyebrow coated with dry blood. Steve pressed you firmly to his chest, tears trickling down his cheeks as his chin rested against the top of your head, his pitiful apologies unceasing.
You had numbly let him kneel before you, his concerned eyes watery and constantly gauging your emotions as he gently cleaned the small cut above your eyebrow. He’d then insisted on bathing you as he fluctuated between scolding you and begging for forgiveness. The fierce and arbitrary yo-yoing between accusations and contrition was exhausting.
As the sponge passed over your tingling skin you forced your mind to escape the confines of Steve’s self-pity and his questionable accountability. You thought of your grandmother taking you through the streets of Brooklyn as a young woman, her kind and encouraging words washing over you. You imagined you were back in New York sharing a bottle of wine with Hannah laughing about how you had escaped the clutches of Captain America.
Your mind shifted between dreams and memories, a desperate attempt to ignore the overwhelming presence of the super-soldier and his ridiculous dance of self-pity and placing blame. You allowed his empty words to wash over you as he bathed you, dressed you in leggings and an oversized jumper malodorous with the stench of his aftershave. He hand-fed you soup before insisting you watch a movie of his choosing, your head placed in his lap as his fingers fussed over your hair.
Steve sighed bitterly when you did not respond to his questions, his body slowly fusing with tension and self-pity. You flinched as his fingers began to caress your cheek as the prince stumbled upon Snow White in her glass prison.
An unsettling silence pervaded the room as Steve became silent and stiff, the credits rolling on the TV screen, his fingers incessantly fondling and fidgeting.
“I didn’t want it to be like this.” You shut your eyes tight, waiting for his blow to strike, your blood running ice cold through your veins. “I want you to love me the way I love you. I never wanted to be like him.” Your breath was shaky as his hand firmly gripped your hip, before loosening his grip as he realized the strength he was using. “All I wanted to be when I grew was strong so I could protect my mother. You see, my father was incredibly abusive, he used to drink a lot. I made a promise to my mom that if I were to ever find a dame to love me I would never raise my fist to her.”
His hand resumed its fussing of your hair as he let out a careful breath. “I just don’t understand why you can’t…” Another shaky breath. “I’m not a bad person, sweetheart. You have to understand that all of this is for us. If only you hadn’t snooped and found that goddamn journal.”
A weak, strained cry fell from your lips as he suddenly pulled you up and forced you to straddle his lap. His two large, heated, dominating hands gripped your cheeks forcing your eyes to meet his. Your mind reeled.
“Please Steve, you don’t have to keep me locked up here,” you begged, tears pricking at your eyes as you pressed your hands flat against his chest. “Let's just forget all of this. We could just go back to the compound and start over. Date. Like normal…” the words fell silent as you watched his face tense up.
“We are going to start over. When you can behave I’m going to announce my retirement and our engagement. We are going to move to Brooklyn and we are going to start our life together. Just you and me, sweetheart.”
He pressed a soft kiss to your lips, your heart dropping several feet below the ground. You were not escaping this. No. You had to fight. You had to get to New York. Your friends would never believe you organically fell for Captain America.
“I have a place in Brooklyn, a townhouse right near Prospect Park, we will live there. We can make it a home, together. It’s been renovated, I had a new kitchen and bathrooms put in. We are in a really good school district…”
You retreated, scrabbling for something to pull you from his words, but the image of you barefoot and pregnant, wait on hand and foot for Steve… no. You needed to get back to New York as soon as possible.
So, as Steve held you close that night, snuggled against his rock hard, broad chest your mind worked overtime like the journalist you had been molded to be.
First, fact check.
- Steve Rogers, aka Captain America, was holding you hostage in the middle of undisclosed woods
- His intentions were to marry you and breed you like a cow, albeit a cow he loved
- Everybody was under the Steve Rogers spell, including the American Government, his best friends, the Avengers and your bosses
Take the facts and put them into context.
The factors working in his favour included
- The blind faith of the world and those who were supposed to help you, the average Jo civilian
- The Avengers
- His strength and speed
The factors working in your favour included
- Your friends know you better than to believe you had fallen head over heels in love with the man who had creeped you out to no end for weeks
There was little working in your favour. Deep down you knew you would never convince Sam or Bucky that you were not a willing participant in this farce, nor the authorities or your boss.
If you could get to your friends then maybe they could help you come up with a plan. In the meantime, you had to “fall for the classically handsome Captain and his old-world charm”.
And so, little by little, as much as it pained you, you gave a little piece of yourself over. You conceded slowly and willingly. The unintentional flinch as his hot hands brushed past you became less obvious. If you tried hard enough you could pretend to enjoy the feel of his lips against your shoulder as you washed the dishes.
Over time you mastered the art of hiding the pain in your face as your skin burnt under his touch.
You gradually began to seek out his touch, burrowing into his warmth as you lay in bed together, gently grasping his thigh as he slowly fucked you into the mattress.
It had been the longest, hardest, most fucked up week of your existence, slowly pretending to give over control to your captor. You were exhausted from walking on eggshells and putting on an Oscar-worthy, Meryl Streep envious, performance.
And as your performance improved, Steve’s obsession only grew, his ego stroked by your touch. And as he flourished he became bolder in his behaviour. His lips hungry and more demanding, his hands constantly consuming and draining you.
A week after his Days of our Lives confession, you awoke from a nap on the couch to find a large vase of sunflowers and daisies on the kitchen counter. Bewildered, you couldn’t even begin to imagine where he had managed to find flowers as winter was making an early appearance.
Besides the white vase lay a card and a set of keys.
I cannot begin to put into words how proud I am of the progress you have made this week. You are my everything and I cannot imagine my life without you in it. Here’s to our life in Brooklyn.
Your lip quivered, the weight of the week and your soul-draining performance finally taking its toll. You anxiously brushed away your tears as you listened out for Steve only to hear the shower running.
You couldn’t stall or flounder now, you had to keep on.
So, you took a deep breath and made your way into the bedroom. You removed your clothing slowly, giving yourself a pep talk as though you were about to enter a swimming meet, taking time to fold them and placing them onto the bed as Steve had required.
And as though you were on the green mile, you walked into the shower to see Steve rinsing his hair, his minutely sculpted back muscles rippling under the stream of water. How was that even a thing? That only existed in those terrible romance novels your mother insisted on hiding from your father when she borrowed them from the library.
His body was a piece of art. His long, thick legs were molded with infinite muscles, his skin pale. His arse was firm and pert, the kind that you would happily watch stroll around your house all day under any other circumstances.
His upper body was shaped like a Dorito, intricate muscles flexing as he worked his fingers through his hair.
Your hand shook as you grabbed the shower door and pulled it open. Steve didn’t notice, the sound of water hitting the tiles echoing in the small space, solely focused on rinsing his hair.
Your fingers reached out, ashamedly hungry to touch the thick muscle of his waist. You startled as he spun around to face you, a grin spreading across his face.
In an instant, his hands were cupping your cheeks and his lips were seeking yours, urging you back until your back was pressed against the cool glass. He led the kiss, always in control, his body flush against yours.
As you felt his body relax against yours for a moment you pushed him back, the shocked look on his face almost wavering into anger before you dropped to your knees and took him deep into your mouth, your eyes tight shut.
You lost yourself in the heady, woodsy scent that was only Steve, as he moved his hands into your hair. It shouldn’t have been intoxicating. It shouldn’t affect you in the way it did, but it did just that.
Of their own accord, your hands grasped onto his thick thighs, reveling in the sheer magnitude of his strength. You shuddered to think of what he was capable of. He could easily crush you with his thighs alone, cut off your breath, watch you die slowly and painfully.
“No, baby doll, watch me,” he begged in a breathy, needy voice, his hands clutching your head as he slowly fucked into your mouth.
You opened your eyes only to be met by the intense, dark azure eyes gazing down at you between hooded eyelids, his lip caught between his teeth. Somewhere, deep down in the pit of your stomach, you preened. The awestruck, needy look he was giving you was hot and utterly caressed your praise kink.
“You are so good with your mouth, sweetheart,” Steve moaned as he pushed a little deeper into the back of your throat, testing your gag reflex. “Such a good girl joining me in here and letting me fuck your mouth.”
You tried to block out his praising but it seeped through your pores, coaxing you to relax your throat and take him further. You slowly moved your hand up his thigh before tenderly taking his balls in your hand and massaging him.
Your eyes never left him, his gaze transfixed on yours as he tenderly fucked your mouth, languidly stroking your hair, drawing his thumb across your cheek occasionally.
As his breathing became erratic and you could feel the tell-tale sign of his balls tightening you were suddenly pulled up into his arms. He took your legs and wrapped his thick, muscley arms around them, pinning you to the glass of the shower, all but impaling you with his cock.
Your cry was silenced by his lips and tongue, your hands firmly gripping his hair as he roughly began to fuck you in earnest against the cool glass. His teeth nipped your neck as he curved his hips, dragging himself against your clit.
“Oh god sweetheart, I’m going to come.” His voice was deep and gruff as he moved his hips faster, pushing harder against your swollen clit. “Do you want to come, baby?”
“Please let me come, Daddy.”
Steve preened like a peacock as you begged, his hand pinning your head against the glass so he could watch you intently. How he could twist his body so you were utterly immobilized and yet grind himself against you in the most delicious, commanding way was earth-shattering. Your plan to control the situation, give him a quick blowjob to tide him over and possibly gain favour had been blown out the window.
Not that you were entirely unhappy, given the stars that exploded before you as you came hard, your fingers clawing at his ripped back, Steve filling you with his seed as he gasped against your neck.
The atmosphere was serene as he tenderly washed you, his hands massaging the kinks out of shoulders as you traded kisses, taking your time stroking his cock when he grew hard again.
Steve permitted you to assist him in preparing dinner, given his limited skills in the kitchen you were grateful to help. You could only eat so much tinned soup and grilled cheese.
Your movements around the kitchen were considerate, gentle hands caressing your bare skin as he stood behind you, watching you cut vegetables intently.
For a brief moment you allowed yourself to imagine yourselves as a normal couple; locked up in this cabin for a romantic getaway, unable to tear yourselves from each other.
“What’s on your mind, sweetheart?” You didn’t flinch as his hands roamed your bare skin underneath your jumper, his chin resting on your shoulder.
“I was just thinking about the blog and how much there is still to write,” you sighed, turning around to face him, his body flush against yours. “Michael will be expecting a post soon.”
Steve smiled and pressed a gentle kiss to your lips. “I will help you write it tomorrow, we wouldn’t want to upset Mr. Post.” It was difficult to miss the acrid tone in his voice.
Please feel free to leave a comment - we love them like chocolate
Chapter 15: And In Breaking News
The conclusion of a project. Questions are raised by a certain Colonel. Steve is a rollercoaster of control issues.
Hi all! We hope you are all well. Apologies for the delay in getting this chapter out - we've been neck-deep in planning and plotting.
In case you missed it, we have decided to start including a series of one-shots based around Die Besessenheit. The first one "Der Käfig" is up if you click on the series link "Die Dunkelheit". We have a particularly delicious one lined up involving a certain kink that had a lot of us hot under the collar.
In the meantime, here is the next chapter. We really hope you enjoy it. See you on the other side.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Hot heavy hands clutched over your eyes, the heat of the thick body behind you soothing as you allowed Steve to escort you blindly from the bed. Putting your trust and faith in him to lead you was unnerving.
On one hand, your heart beats erratically, knowing better than to trust the Captain, the man who had taken you away from your safe life. And yet, the warmth of his hands and his steady breathing was somewhat grounding.
It reminded you of the scene in Beauty and the Beast where the Beast blindly led Belle into the library.
A classic Stockholm Syndrome movie , you thought bitterly as you felt the brush of something hard against your side, Steve gently cooing in your ear as you flinched.
Steve pulled you to a stop, his nose briefly brushing along your neck. “Open our eyes, sweetheart,” he whispered breathily into your ear before pulling his hands away from your eyes.
Before you, on the kitchen table sat your laptop, turned on and a blank Word document open. Beside it sat a freshly brewed cup of coffee and a box of macarons. Where and how he had acquired those was beyond you, but there was little you would put past him. On the other side of the laptop sat a vase full of fresh daisies and sunflowers. He was ridiculous and yet your heart tugged at the sentiment.
“What do you think, my sweetheart? Do you think it will make a good writing spot?” His hands idly caressed your back after he encouraged you to sit on the chair.
You cleared your throat before plastering a smile on your face, the tension in your muscles tightening. “It’s perfect. Thank you.”
Steve grinned like a child on Christmas before sitting down beside you. “So, what’s the purpose of this last blog entry?”
He listened intently and with genuine interest as you explained that the entry was to essentially sum up your time at the compound and your thoughts and feelings regarding the Avengers. You left out the part that you would be lying through your teeth.
You could count on one hand the number of boyfriends or dates who had been genuinely interested in your career. They were either too self-absorbed in themselves or focused on getting in your pants to care. That, or they only saw you as a typist, spitting out carefully curated lines to suit the rich and powerful.
But Steve? No, Steve was different.
At first, it was peaceful, domestic. Steve sat beside you, a pencil sitting in between his teeth as he sketched idly, his eyes occasionally glancing over at the screen.
And despite the warm, fuzzy, glowy feeling you felt as his hand caressed over your thigh or working a knot in your neck, you couldn’t deny the pull to open up your email and send an SOS to someone.
You shuddered at the mounting number of unread and urgent emails sitting in your inbox. Unless of course, Steve had been responding on your behalf, not that that settled your bubbling nerves.
You were so focused on summarizing the philanthropist costs that you failed to notice Steve move closer and read over your shoulder.
“It’s good, sweetheart.” You all but jumped out of your skin in surprise, Steve standing up and leaning over your shoulder, his chin idly resting on you. “I just think it needs a little work.”
The familiar pit of boiling anger simmered as Steve spent the next two hours essentially re-writing your article. The finishing product was so alien, so flowery and turned your stomach.
“Hmmmm,” Steve sighed, his brow furrowing as he re-read the contrived blog. You froze as Steve wrapped his arms around your neck gently. “I think we should announce our relationship at the end of the article.”
Your breath got caught in your chest. “Steve, I don’t think that’s a great idea.” Your voice shook as you turned to face him. “The article is supposed to be about you, The Avengers not…”
“Baby, it’s a great idea. People will see how human we are.” His thumbs caressed over your skin. “People want to see Captain America have a happy ending right?” He placed a chaste kiss against your lips. “Come on baby, you want to make me happy, right?”
You wanted to argue; this would ruin your career. This would undo, stitch by stitch, the years of hard work you had spent trying to build your reputation. You would be the Times harlot who seduced Captain America. Nobody would ever hire you again. Not that Steve had any intention of letting you working again.
The breath was ripped from your lungs as Steve’s long, lithe fingers caressed your cheek as his lips met yours. His kiss was heated and full of promises as his hands descended under your slouchy jumper and encompassing your breast.
“Just think baby, the whole world learning how you and I met and fell in love,” he cooed as his hand slowly squeezed your breast, his hot breath ghosting your lips. “You are so beautiful, baby, and so smart,” he continued, his eyes locked on yours as his hand descended your stomach and into your panties.
His fingers traced your pussy lips, embarrassment flooding you as his fingers slipped into your damp channel, a chuckle emitted from Steve’s lips.
“Why wouldn’t I want the world to know that my sweet baby girl loves her Daddy?” A heady, jittery mewl escaped your lips as he slowly fucked you with his long, arching finger, his lips peppering yours lightly. “Such a good girl for Daddy. You are so wet for me, aren’t you?”
A second finger joined the first, your fluttering walls stretching to accommodate him. Your hand flung up, gripping his bicep as his finger teased your g-spot.
“Say yes baby, say yes to announcing our relationship in the blog and I will let you come,” he huskily moaned, his lips a hair's breadth from your own, his fingers fucking you harder.
The walls were cracking around you. Your protective walls desperately keeping you safe from Steve’s vortex. You needed to come. You needed to clamp around his fingers and come for him.
“Daddy, please let me come,” you wailed, your lip bruised from your teeth.
“Yes. Put it in the blog.”
You saw stars as you came hard, crying out as your clamped around his fingers, your fingers gripping his arm firmly. His lips claimed yours as his fingers fucked you through your orgasm, you blindly thanking him over and over again.
And so you emailed the final blog entry to Steve, Fury, the Avengers HR, and legal departments, and Michael, including a rushed selfie of you and Steve, looking like a happy, in love couple.
Steve wrapped his arms around your waist, his cheek resting against yours as he justified and argued his case over and over again.
Your skin crawled as his fingers caressed your arms, embarrassment filling the cracks in your skin as you chastised yourself for allowing yourself to be sucked into his dark, all-consuming vortex.
“Come on baby, let’s go celebrate.”
Steve savoured the four days of peace and quiet that followed the final submission of the blog, left resting in the hands of the Legal Department and Fury.
Four days he relished in you, his sweet, acquiescent little angel. You were finally coming around to him, finally understanding his needs, wants and desires, or so you had him believing.
Steve was now so much closer to fulfilling his dream of you beside him, in your rightful place; cooking breakfast for Steve in his kitchen wearing naught but your panties and his shirt.
The warm smile never left his lips as he watched you prepare omelets for breakfast, sipping hot black coffee as he trained his eyes on the large kitchen knife in your hands as you chopped mushrooms.
You could feel his eyes trail down your body and as you looked up you could see his eyes resting on your stomach. Nausea bubbled as he looked back up and gave you a saccharine smile, his hand reaching over and stroking yours as your hand lay still on the kitchen top.
“I love you,” he said, his voice sickly sweet as he leaned over and kissed you gently, his hand resting on the back of your head as he encouraged you to give in to his ministrations.
“Captain Rogers,” F.R.I.D.A.Y.s voice chimed over the thud of your battering heart, “Colonel Fury is on the line.”
Steve emitted an exasperated groan, “Tell the Colonel I’m otherwise preoccupied and he should call back at a later time.” His warm, honeyed voice was replaced by the cold, formal tone you had not heard since the compound.
Even when you were in a world of self-induced trouble his voice was emotion-laden and ready to place the blame on you.
“He’s very insistent, Captain. He said, quote “Tell him to take my call or I’m dragging my ass down to his shitty little cabin,”.”
Your accidental giggle was met by a sharp, frustrated glare as he pulled back. “Fine, I will take the call.” Steve looked to you, taking the knife from your hand, “Baby, go wait in the bedroom and don’t say a word. Otherwise I will have to punish you, and you wouldn’t want that, would you?”
“Captain,” Fury’s voice echoed through the large room as you obediently made your way into the bedroom, “what is the meaning of this horse shit blog entry? Are you out of your goddamn mind?”
You could hear Steve chuckle as you slid down the wall inside the bedroom, pulling your knees up and resting your head against your cool, exposed skin and wrapping your arms around your legs.
“I’m not sure what you mean, Colonel,” Steve replied with a smirk on his face. Fury had always been a thorn in his side and it seemed that even now, thousands of miles away, he was still digging and prodding.
“Please tell me you are not pursuing a relationship with the woman who was sent to save your ass from the mess you and your buddies made,” Fury growled. Steve could imagine him pacing his office, his hands busying themselves with a stress ball or his Glock.
“We are in love, Colonel,” Steve said cooly, with a smirk and glint in his eyes. “It was completely unexpected, neither of us looking for a relationship, but kismet has brought us together. Surely you don’t mean to stand in the way of true love.”
You rolled your eyes at his nonchalant statement. He truly was delusional, and the depth of his delusions were possibly the most terrifying aspect of Steve.
Steve seethed as he heard Fury scoff. “True love? Give me a break, Rogers. That girl hated your guts from the get-go. I’ve seen the security footage from her stay at the Compound. I’ve seen the way she flinched when you spoke to her, the way you watched her. Sergeant Barnes had to intervene on her behalf because of your obsession with her.”
Your heart raced, a mix of anxiety and anticipation bubbling under the sensitive surface of your skin. Did Fury know you were being held here against your will?
“And I’m assuming that if you have watched all the security footage you will see our relationship organically grow. So, what are you insinuating, Colonel?” Steve’s jaw was locked, his hands balled into fists as he leaned over the kitchen bench.
“I’m suggesting for your sake, Captain, that you rectify and change that entry immediately. For everybody’s sake. You cannot announce your relationship to the world like this.”
Steve scoffed before stalking around the kitchen, burning a trail around his path. “I’m afraid that will not be happening, sir.”
“In fact, Colonel Fury, you can take this as my informal resignation from The Avengers. I believe I am long overdue retirement.”
“If you fail to approve the blog entry, Colonel, I am not above going to the press myself.” Steve basked as Fury scrambled to regain control of the conversation. “I will have my lawyers draft up my resignation letter and send it to you. I’m sure Sergeant Barnes and Mr. Wilson will be more than happy to pack my belongings in the compound and have them brought to my residence back in New York.”
“Steve, I insist…”
“I apologise, Colonel Fury, but I must be off. There’s a lot to plan for the future.”
F.R.I.D.A.Y. terminated the call before Fury could utter so much as a breath. Steve seethed, slamming his fist into the counter bench, the thick marble cracking under the vast strength of his fist. It had never been his intention to quit so soon, however, Fury dug so fine under his skin and Steve had been so quick to lose control over the conversation and his emotions.
You shuddered as you heard the crack. Tears bristled in your eyes as you finally came to the realisation that you were well and truly fucked. You didn’t register Steve kneeling before you until his hands were against your cheeks and pulling you to look at him.
“Oh sweetheart, please don’t cry,” he begged, pulling you against his rock hard chest and wrapping his arms around you instinctively, “I’m so sorry you had to hear that. It’s okay, though, I promise, I’m going to fix all of this.”
That phone call set a chain of events in motion that flew by you but completely upended the dynamics of the cabin Steve had spent the good part of a week cooped up the art room come office on the phone to his lawyers and you presumed Sam or Bucky. You were never privy to the conversations, Steve locking the door and keeping you busy with chores around the cabin.
Steve demanded more of you, his hands always hungry and eager for more. He was constantly flustered and earnest in his need to regain control of everything around him, including you.
You saw little of him during the day, save for lunch, your nights spent behaving like the submissive doll he needed. Until one evening, as you cleaned the kitchen after dinner, Steve announced that you would be returning to Brooklyn, to your new home.
Your mind reeled as you silently washed the dishes, Steve, as ever, standing close by, watching you closely as he drank his beer. Your skin crawled as you felt his discerning eyes observe your every move.
“You’re very quiet, sweetheart,” he drawled as you scrubbed the benchtop. “What’s bothering you?”
Truthfully, you were terrified about returning to the city. It would mean you would have to plan your escape and the thought of trying to run from the world’s most tactile soldier was daunting. You needed more information about Fury. It was a death sentence.
Obviously, this confession would never go down well with Steve. You turned to face him, his beer poised at his lips as he watched you intently.
“What if they try and take me away from you, Daddy?” you said as pathetically as you could muster, pushing your bottom lip out for good measure.
You found yourself enveloped in Steve’s brawny arms, a large hand cupping the back of your head and the other soothing your back. The condescending shush in your ear was like a snake hissing.
“I’m not going to let anyone take you from me,” he said with such conviction you felt like a member of The Avengers receiving one of his infamous pre-mission pep-talks. “Fury has always had a stick up his ass about me. He’s been monitoring me since I left the ice. He has no proof because there’s nothing wrong with me, he sounds absolutely insane.”
The overwhelming heat radiating off of his body was suffocating. Your blood boiled as you were trapped in his firm embrace and despite your best efforts, you could not wiggle free.
He shushed you like a small child, his hand constantly stroking your back, your skin burning under his blazing touch. “Don’t worry, sweetheart, I’m not going to let anyone come between us, not when I’ve just got you. I’ve waited my whole life for you.”
You desperately tried to ignore the small flutter of butterflies in the pit of your stomach.
“You trust me, don’t you?”
God, why did he have to speak to you like you were Wendy and he a Lost Boy? You could see through his manipulative tone, however, a small measure of empathy trickled through the open wound on your vein. You could only bring yourself to nod in his tight, possessive hold.
“Bucky is going to come and stay with us for a while so you will have double protection. He needs a holiday and I suggested he come and stay with us. Won’t it be nice to see him?”
Your stomach simultaneously dropped and rippled. Did Bucky know about Steve’s dark past? You were at war over your feelings for the Winter Soldier. You had grown so close during your time at the Compound and he had taken Steve aside when things had become tense. Could you trust him?
Your train of thought was amputated, cut clean, as his lips found yours.
“I can’t wait to take you home, to our home,” he sighed warmly as his hands clasped in your hair. “I can’t wait to wake up next to you in our bed every morning. I can’t wait to spend my retirement with you by my side and start a family with you.”
You cringed at the word family. Marriage and children had never been on the cards for you, at least not yet. Your relationship with your own family was frayed and you were so focused on your career the idea of starting a family bared little importance to your life.
“Let’s have an early night, sweetheart,” he said huskily as his hands downed over your body. “I can think of a few ways I can relieve some of your doubts.”
Obediently, because there was little use in fighting, you allowed Steve to lead you into the bedroom where he slowly removed your clothing, his lips and fingers tasting and claiming your body.
His fingers caressed and played with your clit like a guitar string as you rode him, his hand against your hip as he dictated the speed in which you rose and descended on his thick, rigid cock.
His rich, thick, loving words washed over you, filling in the cracks of fear and uncertainty as his eyes locked on yours.
“You are so beautiful.”
“That’s it, baby, ride Daddy’s cock just like that.”
“You are such a good girl.”
“You’re so wet for Daddy, aren’t you?”
“Don’t take your eyes off of me, sweetheart.”
He pulled orgasm after orgasm from you as your fragile, fractured body slowly gave in to him. He lavished you with praise as you mewled, cried and whimpered through your orgasms, before succumbing to his own and filling you with his seed.
Tears trickled down your cheeks as you lay on your back and stared at the ceiling as Steve washed up in the bathroom. God, how could you be so weak? How could you enjoy the feeling of his hands on your body? How could you come so hard under his fingers?
The raging hot touch of his fingers against your raw skin drew a gasp from your lips. Why did your skin always burn like acid under his touch?
“I love you so much,” he cooed as he snuggled against you, his arm deftly wrapped around your waist, his head resting against your shoulder.
You were numb. “I love you too.”
The next morning you woke with a heavy head and heart. Your body ached beyond recognition, like you were sick with the flu. The warm spot beside you was empty and you hoped that Steve had gone for a run. You needed space, you needed some time on your own, away from his tempting and powerful vortex. You needed clarity.
At the foot of the bed, you found one of Steve’s shirts and a clean pair of panties he had obviously left out for you to wear as he would every day. You sighed bitterly as you dressed slowly, your body aching and sluggish.
You became aware of the sound of the TV as you moved towards the bedroom door after washing up in the bathroom. You drew a fortifying breath before leaving the minute peace of the bedroom to see Steve sitting on the couch and watching the TV.
“Hey baby,” he cooed warmly as he looked up at you, his eyes twinkling and creasing as he smiled at you, his hand outstretched to you. You feigned a smile as you allowed him to pull you into his lap so you could see the TV.
The bubbly news reporter turned to the camera and smiled. “And in breaking news, Captain America is hanging up his shield. The New York Times has exclusively revealed that Steve Rogers will be retiring from active duty after finding love with reporter…”
Your eyes blurred with tears as white noise pervaded the air, your mouth hanging open, your skin peeling and burning like acid were being poured onto you. It was like the final swing of the executioner’s axe.
“Isn’t this great sweetheart? Now the whole world knows that we are together. I love you so much.”
Ahem, things are most definitely starting to progress. We have a lot planned for our time in Brooklyn so we hope you will stick around a while longer on this crazy ride.
In the meantime, we'd love to hear your thoughts! Please leave a comment if possible, we love them more than naked Steve Rogers in the woods.
You can also find us on Tumblr
Chapter 17: Authors Notes
Hi lovely readers,
Firstly thank you so much for your continued support and kind comments on Die Besessenheit. We are seriously grateful and if we could we would send you cupcakes!
You might not have noticed but Die Besessenheit is now part of a series we are calling Steve Rogers: Die Dunkelheit or The Darkness.
As the story is now progressing and building we will gradually be adding a series of one shots to our little world. These one shots will be opportunities to go back and look over events in more detail or tease a little of what is to come.
The first one shot Der Käfig is a little teaser of what is to come. The second Die Authorität is a little glimpse back at our reader at the Compound.
These one shots will not be vital to the story and it doesn’t really matter when you read them. However, there will be one vital one shot coming soon that will be really important to read after a specific chapter - but we will warn you!
Thank you again for your ongoing support. We are thrilled with your feedback and the way our little tale has been received.
uglywombat and sophiria
Chapter 18: The End of an Era
A new chapter begins in Steve's life. Brooklyn. Retirement. Fury's desk. Our reader is in for a wild ride as she is presented with her future.
We are back for another wild chapter. We hope you enjoyed the one-shot "Die Authorität". It was something, right?
This week we are stepping into new territory, Brooklyn.
Before we delve into it though, let's have a little chat about sex.
Now, safe sex is the best sex. I have safe sex (you're all welcome to that little tidbit) HOWEVER I am clearly misinformed about IUDs and implants.
So here's the deal. Our girl has an implant, not an IUD. When I remember/have time/have the will to live I will fix it (I've been saying this for like a month now).
Sex ed over, on with the chapter. We really really hope you enjoy this.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
On a quiet, undistinguished tree-lined street in the south end of Brooklyn Heights, sat a quintessential townhouse built in the 1850s. The original dark sandstone exterior did not stand out from its neighbours and the bright cherry red door was not unlike those adorning the typical brownstone-lined street.
The five bedrooms, seven-bathroom townhouse had originally been owned by the Mulone family, passing down from generation to generation for well over a century. The family of white-collar workers who had emigrated from Ireland had sought out the family-friendly serenity of Brooklyn whilst conducting business in busy Manhattan.
Children and grandchildren had run up and down the hallways for over a century, the walls adorned with children’s paintings and measurement charts. Knicks and dings peppered the walls from furniture being moved and bikes cycling down the old hallways.
The dark wood floors had been scuffed and repolished year after year; wallpaper was torn down and the walls repainted as trends came and went.
The garden had played host to birthday parties, engagements; paddling pools and sprinklers in the height of the summer heat. Children had played, invented and gone on adventures in the small, inviting garden.
When the global financial market crashed in 2007 the house passed down to the hands of the bank after the family was forced to move for work. It had sat empty and forgotten as the world had been upturned into chaos following the revelation of a world beyond our own, as Loki blazed into New York with his Chitauri army.
Whilst New York rebuilt and moved on, the house remained in the hands of the bank. Until one day, the world erupted in a flume of dust and the house became a safe house for those left wandering the streets cursing the name of Thanos.
However, despite the dark, forgotten years, the family aura that resided over the house was resilient, like a benevolent spirit wandering the empty halls.
Its history, the notion of a family growing in this townhouse, had been the siren call to Steve Rogers as the real estate agent had shown him the townhouse. He could hear the pitter-patter of tiny feet and laughter in the deserted rooms. Stepping over the threshold, he could see beyond the beaten floors and filthy walls, a family had lived and thrived here. And so could Steve.
Steve had meticulously planned and designed the remodeling of the townhouse himself, monitoring the progress from the Compound. Once completed, the townhouse had sat empty as he carried on his duties as Captain America.
And then you had come into his life. The sudden and welcome beacon and life and light and hope that could turn his dark world upside down. Yes, at first you had been hesitant and resistant, but in the end, you had fallen for the real Steve Rogers.
Today, he would finally be taking residence of his own Brooklyn Heights townhouse, his forever home. With you.
The cold, overcast day only compounded with your proliferating anxiety and the swamp of dread you circled on repeat. Your hands shook as you looked up at the glossy cherry red door and the towering three-story townhouse looming over you. This was a far cry from your tiny studio apartment in the less desirable end of Brooklyn.
You could feel Steve anxiously bursting at the seams with the need to hear you compliment and approve of the house. He bounced from foot to foot as he closely watched you look over the house. You could not bring yourself to look at him. This was all becoming far too real.
You drew a shaky breath, pulling your coat tight around your body as you tried to protect yourself from the icy edge on the breeze. “It’s great,” you said dully, trying to suppress the bubbling jitters fluttering in your chest.
A large, deft hand took yours from your coat and Steve interlaced your fingers. “Welcome home, sweetheart.”
Apprehensively, you allowed him to pull you up the stairs to the cherry red door. Your eyes were glued to his hands as he placed his hand over the palm-recognition device and the door swung open.
“Welcome home, Mr. Rogers,” a deep voice echoed through the hallway.
Steve smiled at you warmly, his eyes crinkling with joy before he ushered you into the warm foyer. You numbly undid the buttons on your coat and allowed Steve to help you out of it as you took in your surroundings.
The dark wood flooring looked to be brand new and the walls freshly painted, however, you could not smell fresh paint. The house had clearly been renovated but as you ventured further into the house, taking in the immaculately designed living room with period features in the cornicing and fireplace, you realized it had been a while since anyone had lived in the house.
The house lacked soul. Devoid of any personal touches or ‘sparks of joy’. Photo frames sitting empty on the walls and surfaces. There were no cheesy or tacky knick-knacks lining the shelves.
A part of you felt a pang of sadness.
The man before you had sacrificed so much during the war only to plunge into the icy waters of the Arctic. After being ripped from an icy grave he had then been thrown back into the line of duty with no support or an ounce of kindness. He’d been denied any chance of family, home or sanctuary. He’d never been given the chance to host dinner parties, summer barbecues or holidays.
And yet, you could not forget the fact that when you had denied him your affection he had acted like a spoiled, petulant child and taken you for himself like a much sought after toy. He had also murdered.
Impatient and in desperate need of validation, Steve rambled in detail about the history and renovations, how the house sat empty until he was ready to settle down and retire from The Avengers.
“And now we get to call this home,” he said as he wrapped his arms around your waist as you stood at the bookcase, your body shivering as his chin came to rest on your shoulder. “It’s a little bone bare but as we settle as a family we can make it our own.”
You had very little doubt that your input would not be warranted in anything to do with this house.
Another disappointed sigh from his lips and he pulled you into the kitchen, his arm wrapped tightly around your waist, afraid that you would disappear before him.
Your back hit something hard as you jumped back, only to feel Steve’s arms wrap around you tightly and he chuckle as you took in the fluttering confetti and sparkles dancing in the early afternoon light.
It was like New Year’s Eve. A blizzard of silver, gold, red, blue and green littered the kitchen as you took in the sight of Sam and Bucky in matching party hats popping party poppers over the pristine marble countertops. Your eyes fell to the immaculate white tiered cake now covered in a mix of glitter and coloured paper dots.
You balked as Bucky wrapped you in his arms and pulled you away from Steve. “I missed you so much,” he said warmly as you felt Sam come behind you and sandwich you in between their built chests.
“We both did,” Sam said hugging you tightly.
You couldn’t breathe, smothered between the soldier and the Avenger, fear cascading through your veins and trepidation pricking you as Steve glared at you.
“I knew I shouldn’t have told you guys when we were moving in,” Steve sulked as he stormed out of the kitchen and returned with a vacuum cleaner.
“Party pooper,” Bucky teased as you were released from their tight, hot embrace. He took a moment to study your face. “We couldn’t miss the moment Captain America finally settled down. And we were definitely not expecting it to happen so soon.”
Steve raised an unimpressed eyebrow before starting up the Dyson and starting to clear up the debris. Your hands twisted nervously as you watched him shoot daggers at his friends whilst Sam tried to save the cake.
“Hey,” Bucky said carding his hand through your hair and directing you to look at him, “are you okay? I’m sorry if we are intruding on your moment… Please talk me. You know I’m here for you.”
You searched Bucky’s face intently, trying to search for a glimmer of hope or truth. Surely Bucky had to know what Steve was up to. He was his best friend. There was no way Bucky didn’t know about Steve’s dark past, your grandmother and his intentions with you? Surely. Right?
It was hard to miss the concerned etch on Bucky’s brow as Steve possessively wrapped his arm around your waist and pulled you tightly against his body. Was Bucky blind to Steve’s true nature?
“You’re intruding on what should be a romantic and private moment,” Steve said snarkily.
Embarrassment flooded your body as you could see Sam smirk out of the corner of your eye.
“I’m sorry,” Bucky said with all the genuine warmth he could, clearly hurt by his best friends’ dismissal. “We should be heading back to the Compound. We will see you guys at the press conference later this week. Enjoy the cake.”
Your brows furrowed in confusion as Sam and Bucky bid you goodbye, Bucky holding you a little longer than Steve deemed appropriate before you watched their car pull away as you stood in the bay window of the living room.
“I’m sorry about that sweetheart.” You flinched as Steve pressed a soft kiss to your neck. “I told them to give us some space to settle in but they are both like bulls in a china shop.” He laughed at his own joke and you rolled your eyes. “Come on, I’ve had your stuff from your apartment sent over. It’s all upstairs in our bedroom.”
The bedroom was immaculately presented. White walls and bed linen, light timber furniture and potted green plants hanging from the ceiling.
And then it dawned on you.
“You’ve been stalking my Pinterest account.” You spun around to see Steve sheepishly hanging his head. “This is a rip off of one of the rooms I pinned whilst I was at the Compound. What the fuck Steve? Is nothing sacred to you? Is there nothing in my life you haven’t just stormed in on and trampled?”
“I did this because I love you,” he tried to reason as he approached you.
He stalked you around the room as you made an attempt to get to the door of the en-suite. You had to get away from him. You wouldn’t allow yourself to be sucked into his vortex, boxed in between him and the wall.
But Steve was spiraling. Ever since he had woken you up early that morning to start your journey back into the city you had been withdrawn. He should have seen the signs. You were pulling away from him. It wasn’t until you were stood outside the brownstone that reality had kicked him square in the gut.
As your hand gripped the en-suite door handle Steve dragged you away from the door, pulling you up over his shoulder and hauling you onto the bed. Your back bounced off of the insanely soft quilt before Steve had you pinned to the bed.
“Stop this now,” he growled, taking your arms in his hands and holding them firmly against the bed above your head. “Listen to me. This, all of this is for us. Do you hear me? I’m not going to keep justifying myself to you. I love you and you love me. I know you do. Please just give this a chance.”
Tears trailed down your cheeks as he lay his head on your chest, his body weighing yours down into the mattress. You tried to ignore the soft tears wetting your shirt as he sobbed gently on top of you.
This was a catastrophic mess. How the hell are you going to get out of this alive?
The following few days blurred into one another as you slowly worked your way through the boxes. Unpacking your life before Steve and crudely shoving it into the life he was forcing down your throat was humiliating.
Little had been said since Steve’s breakdown, which had resulted in a marathon two-day sulk. The kicked dog look had returned with a vengeance and the silent treatment was, quite frankly, a welcome relief. He was short in his demands and had made no effort to touch or coddle you.
That is until the fifth day when Steve returned from his usual morning run only to wake you up at five instead of rejoining you in bed after his shower. It was still dark outside and there was a distinct chill in the air as you showered and dressed in the dark navy dress Steve had left on the bed for you. You obeyed, of course, fighting with him was the last thing your stressed, exhausted body could handle right now.
A black town car was waiting on the street for you both as Steve silently ushered you through the front door, your empty stomach churning with trepidation as you teetered on your heels. You forced a smile at the driver as he held the door open for you and you watched as Steve politely shook the man’s hand, making polite conversation as you pulled yourself up into the high car.
An awkward silence filled the car like a dark cloud as you slowly make your way through the early morning traffic. Your hands fussed in your lap as the radio quietly played in the background, though you could make little of the song being played thanks to the thudding of your heart.
“How does it feel to be retired, sir?” the driver politely asked after an agonising forty minutes of awkward silence.
“It’s been a bit of struggle trying to allow myself to enjoy the peace and quiet, but so far so good. I’m enjoying being able to finally get acquainted with the house, it’s been a long time coming.” You couldn’t miss the way Steve’s chest puffed out as his ego was stroked. “It helps having a new partner by your side.”
“Well thank you for your service, sire. If it wasn’t for you New York would have fallen.”
Your hands shook violently in your lap as you focused your attention on the passing world outside, trying to imagine yourself anywhere but in the back of the town car and its murky atmosphere. You flinched as you felt Steve interlock his fingers with yours. You could feel his racing pulse against your skin and you dared to look at him, chewing his finger as he stared out the window.
“It must be exciting, ma’am, getting to start your new lives together.” You feigned a smile and uttered something that would appease Steve. “It will all feel real after the press conference.”
Your brows furrowed and you looked to Steve who consciously ignored you, fixing his eyes on the passing traffic. And then it dawned on you. You were returning to the compound so Steve could hold a press conference to announce his retirement. Surely Fury would be there. You had to find him.
The rest of the journey upstate was clouded with anxiety and anticipation as you thought over the possible scenarios of getting to Fury without Steve interfering. Surely Fury would believe you, if that phone call and Steve’s admission of a history of hostility in the cabin was anything to go by.
The world stilled as the car pulled into the driveway of the Compound and Steve squeezed your hand, his pulse rate increasing slightly. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see your captor fussing his bottom lip between his teeth.
He squeezed your hand for his own comfort as his knee bounced up and down in an irregular beat. You had never seen Steve exhibit any emotion that did not revolve around anger or obsession. He was showing his Achilles Tendon, although you could not pinpoint what the cause of that actually was.
The driver briefly met your eyes in the rear mirror before you were immediately pulled close to Steve, his arm possessively wrapped around your waist and placing a soft kiss on your cheek.
Internally, you battled to dampen down the bubbling anxiety as the car pulled to a stop and the door was immediately pulled open by Captain Rhodes. The cool air nipped at your skin as Steve helped you out of the car. In a guard of honour stood agents you recognised, as well as Bucky, Sam, and Fury. Your heart skipped a beat.
You tried to catch Fury’s eyes as Rhodey shook Steve’s hand and welcomed him back to the compound. The overwhelming weight of the situation was heavy as Steve pulled you to look at him.
“Sweetheart, you’re going to watch the conference from the medical bay.”
Your heart stopped. Why the hell were you being sent to medical?
“Dr. Cho is going to remove your implant and then I’m going to collect you for the party.” He pulled you tightly in his arms. “Best behaviour, Princess. Just remember, no one is going to believe Captain America kidnapped you. I love you, baby. And if you put so much as a hair out of line I will greatly look forward to punishing you. I have a lot of pent up feelings after you rejected me two days ago.” His hand fussed over your hair as you silently brushed away your tears. “Please don’t embarrass me.” He possessively claimed your lips with his, his hands gripping you tightly.
As you watched Steve march through the guard of honour with Rhodey falling close behind your eyes met Bucky’s who gave you a concerned look.
Steve was right, who was going to believe you? Fury might but that in itself was a long shot.
Later, as you lay on the medical bed, Cho carefully removing the implant from your arm you numbly watched Steve announce to the room of journalists that he would be retiring effective immediately. The room erupted in a blaze of excitement and confusion and you had to pull your gaze away from the television, tears pricking your eyes.
You ignored the curious look Cho and her nurses gave you, and as much as your heart screamed to escape or tell someone, you knew there was no point. You would not make it past the armed guard stood at the door. Nobody would believe their beloved Captain America was holding you captive and forcing you to be with him. He was a national icon. He was the hero the world had grown up with. The legend America had turned to in its gravest times.
Like your grandmother, you would be seen as crazy and conspiratorial. There was no fight left in this war for you. Unless of course, you could speak with Fury.
Your mind raced as Dr. Cho places the bandaid over the small cut. You deafly nodded as she slowly raised your bed for you to sit up, explaining your post-op care before leaving you in peace.
“There she is.” That perfect moment of silence was shattered. Your eyes darted to the door to see Steve entering the room, his tie neatly knotted and his hair perfectly gelled in place. “How are you feeling?” he asked sitting on the bed and gently stroking your face.
“Tired,” you sighed as you pulled your knees up to your chest and wrapped your arms around them protectively. “You should go to your party. I can just hang out here.”
Steve smiled warmly and in the corner of your eye, you could just see Dr. Cho lurking out in the hallway. Here we go , you thought as you braced yourself for his concerned, over the top performance.
“Oh baby,” he cooed laying down against the bed beside you and pulling you close to him, “I can’t do this without you, I need you with me. Please come with me.”
You knew he wasn’t asking you, he was telling you. There wasn’t an out in this for you. You would be dragged upstairs and forced to schmooze and fawn for Steve. You were his beautiful little trophy that he desperately wanted to show off.
And you did just that. Steve kept a possessive hand on your waist or back at all times as you made your way around the room speaking to an array of agents and politicians. They all gushed over Steve and his sacrifices. You faked a smile and said nothing as you played the doting girlfriend.
As Steve delved deeper into a heated conversation about the political tension in Hong Kong, your eyes drifted around the room. You spied Sam and Bucky hovering over the food, piling their plates high. By the bar, you caught sight of Fury ordering a drink.
You felt the hand on your waist disappear and you watched Steve flay his hands around to reiterate his point. You were deaf to the conversation as you focused on Fury.
This was your chance. As Steve shifted his back towards you briefly you quickly made your way across the room towards the bar.
Fury caught your eye as you neared the bar, your eyes fixated on him.
“Director Fury may I…”
Your words were cut short as a firm hand gripped your hip and you were pulled into a heated kiss. A flash to your side and the photographer complimented you as a couple.
Your heart dropped to the floor as you turned to face Steve.
“Director Fury,” he said coolly, offering his hand to the leather-clad man.
“Steve Rogers,” Nicholas Fury returned in equal cool, his eyes moving to you as he shook Steve’s hand. “Congratulations.”
“Thank you, Director.” His smirk was snarky as his hand gripped your hip painfully. “Sweetheart, there’s somebody who would like to speak to us before we have to make our way back to the city.”
Your eyes remained locked on Fury’s as Steve pulled you through the crowd, away from the bar and the only lifeline you possibly had in this world. You lost sight of him as you were dragged into the hallway, the eerie quiet suffocating as Steve was unrelenting in the grip of his hand.
“Steve, where are we going?”
The glare you received was enough to zip your mouth for an eternity. You knew that if you wanted to be able to sit comfortably for the next week you had to obey every instruction Steve was about to give you.
Steve did not spare you another glance through the maze of corridors, that was until he stopped outside Fury’s office. He smirked, his eyes drifting over the form-fitting dress before he demanded entry. Of course, the A.I. complied, swinging the door open wide.
With a confidence and swagger that had been lacking all day, Steve stalked into the office, pulling you behind him.
“Don’t worry, sweetheart, F.R.I.D.A.Y. has shut off the security measures,” he sighed as the door swung shut behind him, your eyes widening as he glared down at you. “I’m really disappointed in you. We had come so far and now, for some unknown reason, you’ve turned on me. Why would you try and get help from Fury?”
“I wasn’t…” you tried but immediately flinched as the desk cracked under the weight of Steve’s flying fist. You had to do whatever you could to placate him. Carefully and slowly you approached him, placing your hands on his biceps. “I’m sorry Steve. I’m a coward. And I am so unworthy of your love. I don’t know why I keep…” think, woman, think, “ sabotaging everything you have worked for.”
Steve hummed as he maneuvered you to the desk, his hands coming to rest on your stocking-clad thighs, his thumbs deftly stroking.
“I can think of a way you can make it up to me,” he chuckled darkly. “You’re going to be a good girl and turn around, lift your skirt up for me and spread your pretty legs nice and wide for me. I’m going to fuck you on Fury’s desk because he needs a reminder of who holds the most power here.”
Your skin bristled as Steve pushed you around to face the desk, your hands grasping at any solid object you could for leverage.
“Spread your legs.” His command was dark and acerbic as he pressed his rock hard cock against your ass. He practically purred as you followed his orders, his hands running up your inner thighs and trailing upwards. “You are so sweet when you do as you are told. Your performance right now doesn’t change the fact that you rejected me and accused me of heinous crimes. Don’t you know who I am sweetheart?”
A breathy sigh emanated from between your lips as his fingers caressed along your clothed pussy. “You’re my Daddy.”
“That’s right sweetheart,” Steve chuckled before tearing your panties from your hips and dragging the skirt of your dress up over ass. “I am your Daddy. And Daddy’s are to be loved and respected because Daddy knows what is best for you.”
You could hear the drag of his zip and a light rustling of clothes and the uncapping of something. There was a slight pause and a moist sound before he pressed the head of his cock against your pussy.
“I had to come prepared,” he groaned slowly pushing himself inside you, the lube cool against your warm channel.
Fucking boy scout, you thought incredulously as he began to fuck you against the desk, one hand gripping your shoulder as the other held you firmly in place on your hip. His grip was firm and dominating as you left a trail of bites along your neck.
“I want everyone to know you belong to me.” His voice teetered on the edge of a growl and a husky whine. “I want Fury to come into this office and smell you.”
A desperate, pining mewl dripped from your tongue as his hand moved from your hip to your clit.
“When we get home I’m going to teach you a lesson in loyalty and then we are going to start christening every surface of our home before Bucky moves in.”
His movements stuttered and slowed as his grunts faltered, his grip tightening on your delicate skin as he came hard.
Your ass burnt against the wooden barstool as you watched Steve plate up the grilled steak and push your plate towards you. He offered you an apologetic smile as you winced bringing the plate closer to you.
You slowly picked up your knife and fork and began to cut into the meat as Steve sat beside you at the breakfast bar. You ate in silence, Steve occasionally bringing his hand to your face to brush away a falling tear.
His punishment had been brutal, to say the least. He had not held back his frustration and disappointment as he had bent you over the back of the couch and rained an assault against your bare flesh within seconds of your return to your new home. It had been the worst punishment to date and you did not doubt that you would feel it for some time to come.
The tension was palpable as the soft clattering of cutlery and chewing nipped at your skin like a gnat. The silence was deafening and indescribably uncomfortable. You found yourself longing to… no, you were desperate to hear praise from him.
“Dinner is nice, thank you,” you said softly.
“You’re welcome, sweetheart,” Steve said warmly, his hand coming to rest on your thigh. You bit back the urge to flinch at his touch instead leaning over and resting your head against his shoulder. “This coming Friday we have an appointment with Michael Post.”
You froze as your heart slammed against your chest. Deep down you knew this day was coming but you had long held onto the slim chance that you would wake up from a horrible dream or he would change his mind.
“I will be with you every step of the way. I promise.” A deft thumb trailed over the tears cascading down your cheeks. “They’ve already accepted your resignation but he wants to speak to you face to face.”
Well babies, what do you think? We LOVE LOVE LOVE to hear your thoughts and feelings.
The next installment will actually be a one-shot revolving around our girl's resignation from the Times. It will be a really important part of our reader's development, so please keep an eye out for it!
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Chapter 19: Hope Is A Dangerous Thing For A Woman Like Me
The end of a life. The beginning of a new life.
Well, we're here. Without further ado - falling further into Steve's vortex.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
“No, please let me go,” you begged on your hands and knees as the knife sat in your periphery, the blood slowly trickling down the blade and hitting the floor before you. The dead body lying on the ground in the distance was just in sight. “Please, Steve, please.”
“Sssshhhh,” he cooed dropping to his knees before you, blocking your vision of the dead body and drawing you into a searing kiss, “I did this for us. I did this to protect you. I did this because I love you.”
The weight of his words crashed over you like a king tide and in that moment you felt as though you could not breathe without this man. “I love you,” you cried burying your face in his chest, seeking out the comfort of his warmth and strength. You needed him to keep you safe.
In a frenzy of hands, clothes were ripped and torn off and you found your back pressed against his chest as you knelt on the cold, hard concrete. In one swift move, Steve drove his cock into your weeping channel as his greedy hands drew your face to his.
His lips possessively claimed yours as he fucked up into you, his body expertly keeping you against him, pliant and wanting.
Steve’s long, thick expert fingers found the jewel laid between your legs and began their fateful dance, his tongue tasting the wanton mewls dripping from your lips.
You hungrily kissed him back, silently begging for more before the need took over.
“Please, daddy, please let me come.”
You startled and froze as you felt the familiar, suffocating hand ascending your leg and thigh as the rutting hips against your backside sent a shiver down your spine.
“Good morning,” Steve drawled in between the chaste, languid kisses he pressed to your neck. His touch seared against your skin like sand in the midday sun. Hulky hands bunched your nude coloured slip above your hips as his cock pressed heavy against your back.
“I couldn’t get you out of my mind whilst I was out for my run. All I could think about was you tucked up in bed,” his fingers trailed over your mound before lightly brushing over your exposed pussy, “wearing nothing but this little slip. I couldn’t wait to get home to you.”
A wispy, shaky mewl dripped from your lips as his fingers gently explored your folds finding you wet and ready for him. Steve groaned as your slick coated his fingers spurring into action. He pinned you beneath his naked, ripped body as he hungrily sought out your lips with is own.
“You are so good, sweetheart,” he praised as he slowly entered you, his cock dragging along your slick walls, “so good, being all wet and ready for me like this. You want me, don’t you?”
Your skin burnt with the shame of your disloyal body’s reaction to his slightest touch. You knew you were failing your reserve, slowly becoming weak to the all-encompassing vortex that followed Steve like a loyal puppy.
“Yes,” you weep as his cock teased your g-spot, sending a fusion of adrenalin and need coursing through your veins.
His grin was coquettish and victorious as he pulled you to lie on your side, snaking your leg around his hip and his arm around your back as he fucked into you slowly.
“That’s my good girl,” he cooed.
It was all too much. It was so utterly, heartbreakingly intimate, your eyes locked together as you gripped onto his long hair for leverage. It shouldn’t be like this. You should be fighting back, clawing at his skin and tearing at his hair to gain your freedom. You should be hollering and crying for help.
And yet, you lay broken and weak as he slowly drew his cock along your needy walls and you desperately beg for him to brush against the clandestine jewel he loved to tease.
Steve watched on, his lust-blown azure eyes greedily watch you come undone, your pussy clenching his cock as you came hard. Your hands clung onto his hair, drawing a growl from Steve as you pulled on his honey locks.
The warm, loving words washed over you as he regurgitated a frenzied oration of need, desire and empty words of love. His hips canted feverishly chasing his own completion, his eyes furiously locked on yours as he searched desperately for any hint of theatrics or charlatan painted across your face.
But the way your walls quaked around his cock as you fell from the precipice told him exactly what he had wanted to know all along: you were his.
In the bask of after-glow, Steve, however, was oblivious to the ice-like anxiety that seeped through your veins as you felt the gentle trickle of his cum trailing down your thighs as he held you close to his chest. The cool, sticky liquid was a ticking time bomb as it dried against your skin, a cruel reminder of what was going to be expected of you, Steve languidly running his hand over your stomach.
Your body ached as Steve meticulously washed your hair and body while you stood in the oversized shower together, your body zapped of all energy and fight.
As you spent more time trapped within the vortex of Steve’s world, the more you realised you were losing the will to fight. The dark little voice in the back of your mind telling you to give up was becoming louder and louder.
You were brought from your thoughts as you felt a towel wrapped tightly around your body, the water long shut off and Steve trying to read behind the vacant expression you knew you wore.
“Where did you go, sweetheart?” His smile was small and drawn, the anxiety seeping from his lips in the slightest quiver. “You were miles away.”
You drew a shaky breath as you felt the droplets of water from your hair cascade down your neck, bringing you back into the now. Back into the prison you were trapped in.
“I’m scared about today,” you told him truthfully. “I don’t want to leave my job, please Steve, please don’t make me leave my job.” Your lip wobbled as you fought back the encroaching sob, your chest heavy with the weight of the impending day ahead. “I’ll do whatever you want, I can give you babies, we can be a family but please don’t make me leave my job.”
Steve hushed you pulling you into his tense embrace. “Sweetheart, you know that can’t happen. Your place is here with me, with our family. You can’t raise a family when you’re working.”
An ugly sob ripped through your chest as you felt his toxic embrace pull you further back into the vortex. “I can make it work, women do it all the time today. I can take time off when the baby arrives. Please, Steve, please.”
“No baby,” he cooed, “enough now, okay.” You barely registered the way his body tense as your broken sobs echoed through the bathroom. “Please don’t make me punish you, please don’t make me do that again. Now hush, okay, you’ll make Bucky worry.”
You numbly allowed Steve to dry you with the towel before slowly and selfishly taking his time to rub the rose-scented body lotion into your body. He ignored the cascading tears running down your cheeks as he helped you into your vintage lingerie and brushed your hair.
You were so lost in the fog of your thoughts you were shocked to suddenly see Steve standing before you in the walk-in closet already dressed.
“Sweetheart, can you please do your hair and make-up and then come down to breakfast?” He pressed a firm kiss to your head before striding out of the bedroom, the dark shadow failing to lift with his departure.
As you sat before the mirror in the bathroom you took in the sullen tone of your skin and sunken eyes. You looked and felt like a corpse, all the life and purpose sucked from your being by the supersoldier currently stood in the kitchen probably burning your toast.
Your hands shook as you forced yourself to take a calming breath. You had to just get through today. Perhaps if you could behave, play the role of the acquiescent wife you would be allowed to see your friends, at least before you were barefoot and pregnant and he completely shut you off from the world.
Your hands shook as you slowly applied your make-up minimally, taking solace in the one task you knew you could have total control over. On the bed, a vintage polka-dot dress was laid out with matching heels.
You bit back the tears as you forced yourself to put on the dress, knowing that someone in the office would have to recognize the uncharacteristic change in your outfit. Surely.
You could hear soft chatter and chuckles coming from the kitchen as you made your way down the stairs, your heels obnoxiously clopping against the dark wood floors as you made your way down to the two flights of stairs and into the kitchen.
“Well, don’t you look like a doll,” Steve possessively drawled as his eyes raked over your body as he watched you enter the kitchen as he sat at the table with Bucky, breakfast laid before them.
Bucky’s eyebrow arched in consideration as he took in your appearance. “You look beautiful, doll. Nice dress Stevie, where did you find that? Goodwill?”
You flinched as the room darkened with the immediate tensing in Steve’s shoulders and the sullen, pointed glare he shot at Bucky.
The brunette smirked and shrugged his shoulders before turning back to you. “Come eat your breakfast, doll. Don’t worry, I didn’t let this philistine anywhere near the eggs, we wouldn’t want another outbreak of food poisoning.”
Despite Bucky’s best attempts at lightening the mood, the atmosphere remained tense, as had most meals since Bucky had moved in four days prior.
Steve kept a possessive hand on your knee as you all ate in silence, Bucky occasionally breaking the strained hush with a quip or a comment about last night’s movie. The noxious squeeze of Steve’s hand on your thigh was a curt reminder of the hour-long rant you had had to endure the night before as Bucky had been likened to a third wheel.
Even in the Towncar, Steve’s mood was sullen, his vice-like grip on your knee a constant connector, like a dog leash.
And before you knew it, before you could pep talk and centre yourself, the car had stopped and Steve was pulling you out of the car.
As the office you had called home for the better part of your professional life loomed over you the weight of the situation crushed you. You’d dreamed of working for The New York Times ever since the day you had picked up your father’s paper and had seen your grandmother’s article on the future of feminism in politics.
“It’s going to be okay,” Steve promised from where he stood beside you, his fingers firmly interlaced with yours as you both look up at the towering building. “Everything is going to work out.”
For the first time in weeks, Steve sounded unsure of himself. You dared to look at him to see the blurred line of worry paint his brows before offering you an encouraging smile.
“I love you.” He didn’t wait for you to respond, knowing that asking you to reciprocate would only cause a scene. Instead, he pulled you into the warmth of the foyer of the building and immediately you felt the sea of eyes on you.
“Captain America is coercing her into being in a relationship with him. On a number of occasions she divulged her discomfort in his behaviour towards her, including bombarding and stalking her social media.”
Your heart froze and a rush of adrenaline coursed through your veins as you turned to the familiar voice playing on one of the big screens on walls lining the back wall.
Your best friends Alice and Hannah stood outside the Times building surrounded by a sea of reporters.
White noise drowned you as you watched on as Hannah became upset when responding to a question. Tears filled your eyes as you watched Alice wrap a supportive arm around her and glaring at the reporter.
“Sweetheart,” the deep, pernicious voice broke through the swamp of white noise and pulled your attention away from the screens, “come on, you don’t want to see that. You don’t need to hear the nasty things they are saying. The false accusations they are spreading. I’m going to fix it, I promise.”
As Steve pulled you towards the elevators you couldn’t help but smile, though it was small. Your friends hadn’t forgotten and they were fighting. Perhaps there was a glimmer of hope.
And then your world crashed.
“ Who do these women think they are? Defaming the man who literally saved the entire universe from the hands of Thanos. They should be locked up,” you heard the CNN news anchor tut as Steve ran his thumb over your hand.
Your mind swirled as Glenda, Michael’s PA escorted you into the elevator and up to the board meeting floor. You dumbly nodded and smiled politely as she spoke to both you and Steve, though you could not help but note the confused glances she shot your way as she took in your dress.
Please, please say something , you begged silently as Steve squeezed your hand for reassurance. Nausea simmered like a pot of boiling water as the elevator doors opened and you faltered.
You should run. You should pull back and scream and beg for help. Surely someone would help. And yet you could not bring yourself to fight back as you noted the devoted and enamored gazes on your now ex-colleagues as Steve moved forward, pulling you behind him.
There was no point. They were under the spell of Captain America, Steven Grant Rogers, the little boy from Brooklyn who became a universal hero.
They had no idea that this man had stalked you for weeks, hurt you, gas-lit you, kidnapped you and controlled your every waking moment.
Nobody would believe you. Your fate felt sealed as you silently followed Steve into the meeting room and your eyes locked on Michael Post’s.
From the moment Michael Post had woken up that morning everything had turned to utter shit.
First, his coffee machine had broken. Old faithful Delonghi had finally kicked the bucket after seven long years of daily use. Then his driver had been late, ultimately making him miss his morning meeting with Mark Draper, the head of marketing.
By the time the meeting was starting, Post was in the worst mood, made all the worse with the knowledge that you would never be setting foot in this building again.
How and why you had gone and fallen in love with Captain Love America was beyond Post. He should have never sent you on that stupid assignment, away from his control and easily susceptible to the Captain and his charm. Of course, you had fallen for him.
The blood in his veins boiled with rage at the thought of the bastard’s hands on your body, fucking you under the sheets and tasting your skin. In fact, the rage was so potent, Post could feel an ulcer coming on.
The mere thought of watching that son of a bitch sitting next to you on his territory after giving up everything you had worked so hard for was enough to induce a migraine.
A friendly wave from Glenda through the window of his office hit a nerve in the back of his neck. It was game time. Post drained the tumbler of neat scotch sitting beside him before shoving a handful of mints into his mouth and skulking to the meeting room.
Phone and papers were sulkily dumped onto the rectangular meeting table and Post all but threw himself down onto the ergonomic leather office swivel chair.
“Cheer up, old man,” Will Bennet, Executive Editor teased, “I’m sure you’ll find some other poor writer to harass and obsess over.”
Post grumbled in return biting back the urge to clip his boss over the head, but he knew better, he knew how to play the political games of the men in this office.
The awed silence that overtook the office outside the meeting room seeped into his space as Captain America strutted into the increasingly small room like an alpha wolf.
“Captain it is an absolute pleasure to have you here today.”
Post ignored the tall statuesque supersoldier as his eyes fell to you. Rage surged through his veins as his eyes dragged over your tarty body to see your hand tightly enclosed in the supersoldier’s.
The meeting got underway, Bennet taking his time to brag about the success of the Avenger’s blog and thank you for your contribution to the newspaper.
It all fell on the deaf ears of Post, who obsessively watched the oppressive way Steve Rogers wrapped his arm around your shoulder and caressed your shoulder. He raged internally as you looked to Steve for permission to respond to questions or pass on a comment.
It was sick. You should be devoted to Michael Post, the man who had spent years propping up your career not some has-been serum monster who you had known for a nanosecond.
And before he knew it, the meeting was over. You stood staunch behind the blonde giant as he bid the editors goodbye on your behalf.
Post threw himself out of the chair and stormed from the room, glaring at you, smirking as you shrunk in on yourself under the heat of his gaze.
This wasn’t over. No, not by a long shot.
Steve kept your hand locked in his as you made your way out of the meeting room, your body numb to the pull of the overpowering dominance seeping from his pores. His back was straight and the smile on his face triumphant and arrogant as he pulled you into the elevator.
A covetous arm wrapped around your waist as the elevator descended and did not leave your side, fingers constantly caressing you until you entered the brownstone, away from the prying eyes of the driver and the people you had once called colleagues.
In the privacy of his home, something inside of Steve snapped. Before you could draw breath as you stepped away from the coat rack, your trench coat hanging up, he pounced on you. Your back collided with the door as Steve ground his hips against you, his cock rock hard.
His hands greedily moved over your body, grabbing at your hips and breasts as he rutted against you.
“You were brilliant, sweetheart,” Steve praised hotly, his breath brushing against your skin as he pressed your taut body further against the wall. “I’m so proud of you.”
In an eruption of testosterone and desperation, Steve hauled you into the lounge room and manhandled your body over the arm of the sofa, your cheek pressing into the soft cushion below you as you dangled precariously over the edge. His large, burly hands tore the silk panties from your body before you heard the tell-tale sound of his zipper.
“I’m sorry baby I can’t wait,” his dark voice lulled from behind you as his torrid hands ran down your bare legs and gripped your ankles firmly. “All I could think about was fucking you in front of that horrible man, showing him who you belong to.”
He carefully pulled your ankles up, gripping one in each of his hands as you held onto the cushion just in front of you for leverage. You inwardly cursed your backstabbing body as you felt the tip of his cock ease into your wet pussy.
“There’s my good girl, always so wet and ready for her Daddy.” His hands held your ankles firmly placed as he set a frenetic pace, his cock dragging along your walls with precision and focus. “You were so well behaved today, my sweet thing, I’m going to treat you real nice tonight. But right now, Daddy needs to come so bad.”
Steve thrust his cock along your g-spot, the angle of your hips on the couch’s edge providing him with the perfect position to fuck down into you.
Mortification swamped you as you realised how close you were to coming already, your body practically in tune to his wants and needs.
“You’ve been such a damn tease in that dress. You’re my perfect little doll, aren’t you sweetheart?”
The overwhelming shame only intensified as you spied Bucky attempting to sneak down the hallway from the kitchen in a desperate attempt to escape upstairs.
Steve came abruptly, his hands dropping your ankles to tightly grip your arse, no doubt leaving his mark as a trophy to ogle later. You wanted to ignore the disappointment scratching at your reserves, your orgasm forgotten in Steve’s selfish haste to seek his own satisfaction.
“So beautiful,” he cooed as he pulled you up into his arms, kissing you languidly as his fingers trailed over the line of come tracking down your inner thigh. “Thank you, sweetheart, I will make you feel good later, okay? How about we kick Bucky out tonight and we could get some take-out and watch a movie?”
You could only nod weakly against his chest as you began to lose yourself in the calming rhythmic beating of his heart.
Steve grumbled as his phone began to vibrate. “Why don’t you go draw us a bath and I will come up and join you as soon as I’ve finished up this call?”
Before you could answer, Steve had the phone to his ear and was disappearing into the kitchen.
You breathed out a troubled sigh and made your way up to the bedroom as you thought about your accidental voyeur. Had Steve seen Bucky? Why was Bucky even staying here if Steve was so disgruntled with his company?
The questions flurried and circled as you drew a hot bath, pouring a generous amount of lemon verbena bath oil into the water. You lit a few candles, expensive gifts from Steve, before stripping yourself of the old-fashioned dress and underwear and wiping away the drying stains on your thighs.
You sank into the warm water bath and relished in the quiet. Since awakening that morning with hot hands on your body, it had been your only opportunity to have a moment alone. You hadn’t even been able to go to the bathroom without your shadow following closely behind.
Your head was so heavy and filled to the brim with white noise and questions you barely registered the sobs ripping from your chest. It was done. Steve had won and you were now stuck in his world. Any hope was lost forever.
You froze as you heard the door to the bathroom open and close quietly, and you held your breath in anticipation for the onslaught of disappointment.
But it never came. You dared to look up, perhaps showing Steve how broken you were would make him change his mind.
“Bucky?” Your heart rose in your chest as you watched him kneel before you, his steely grey eyes searching yours.
“It’s okay, doll. I know Steve is holding you against your will and I’m going to help you.”
Is it safe to come out?
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Chapter 20: see, people get mean when the chips are down
As snow falls on New York, our reader comes to grips with her new engagement to Steve Rogers.
Hi guys! We are so sorry for the delay in updating this. We hit some roadblocks in planning and a nasty case of Christmas-induced writer's blocks, but we are finally back on track.
This chapter is set directly after Der Käfig, so if you haven't read that we really suggest going back and reading that! https://archiveofourown.org/works/21014192
We really hope you enjoy this chapter!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
It was the jovial, gleeful and innocent shrieks and giggles of delight that drew you from the comfort of the warm bed and soft sheets. Despite the state-of-the-art central heating, courtesy of Stark Enterprises, and the crackling fire, the air in the brownstone always bore a biting chill.
Nevertheless, you wrapped your naked body with the forest green knitted throw you had been clinging onto like a lifeline ever since you had been moved into the brownstone. It was the one item Steve had allowed you to keep; the rest of your belongings had been deemed as incompatible with Steve’s aesthetic and as a result had been donated to charity or simply thrown away in the trash.
Perfectly good clothing, some of which you had not even had the chance to wear yet, determined to be too androgynous. His words still stung you like a fine needle.
“As the wife of Captain America, sweetheart, you should dress more refined. Like a lady. You dress too much like a man. Besides, think of all the filthy ways I can easily access you when you’re in a dress.”
Looking out of the window you gasped. A thick covering of snow seductively taunted you. You desperately longed to feel the frozen, fluffy blanket against your skin as you lay in the snow making snow angels. Just beyond the road, in the park, you could just spy children chasing each other, a snowball war raging on.
Tears numbly caressed your cheeks as you watched the world pass by, unperturbed by the thick coating of icy snow. The diamond on your finger was heavy, like an anchor sinking to the bottom of the ocean. It burned against your skin, a constant shackled reminder of your fate. Locked away in this cold brownstone, kept away from the fresh, cool ice.
Engaged to the retired Captain America. Caged in Steve Rogers’ brownstone in Brooklyn, the whole world blind to his dark habits and attacking your friends for seeing through his carefully-constructed facade. Tied to a man who used your body daily, multiple times in multiple ways, destined to be his breeding-wife. Forced to leave your career and give up the one thing that you had truly bled for.
Oh, to be one of those children in the park, feeling the cool, damp snow against your skin as you run through the fresh air, care-free and unfettered.
Wiping your eyes of your tears, your gaze falls to the framed photo on the wall, amid the collection of photos of your time together, and a cheesy replica of the one in your bedroom in your old apartment before Steve... One photo of many of you both, but this one always caught your attention, held the breath in your chest and charged your racing heart.
The photo had been taken weeks before at an event to raise money for The Tony Stark Foundation . Your smile was taught, firm and false; your eyes devoid of life and sparkle. Steve held you close, your outfits carefully selected to complement each other; you in a vintage sweetheart navy blue dress and he in a wine-coloured suit with a black bowtie.
Beside you, in his bottle-green velvet suit, dark brown hair pulled back into a high-half bun, stood Bucky. His smile gleaming as he wrapped an arm around your waist, much to Steve’s chagrin.
Your heart sank into the pit of your stomach. Ever since Bucky’s confession weeks ago, when he had knelt beside you as you lay naked in the hot bath awaiting Steve like a trained dog… You were at war with yourself.
You so desperately wanted to believe that Bucky could be trusted. He had been nothing but kind to you at the Compound, albeit for a chilly welcome. He had told you he loved you as a sister and he had butted heads with Steve on your behalf. He had sat by the lake with you as you emotionally ate a bag of eclairs, baring your soul to him.
And yet, the very notion that Bucky, who had grown up with Steve, fought beside him, warred with him, was blind to the dark edges of his best friend? That did not sit well with you. Steve was a mastermind manipulator, but surely Bucky would have seen things. Right?
You tore your eyes away from the photo and focused on the crisp white snow covering the trees in the park.
Could you wait for Bucky to return to escape? Would you crack before then? And if so, could you even trust him?
Lost in the heady cumbersome and melancholy thoughts you did not hear the approaching steps behind you, and you were totally unprepared for the trail of kisses placed along your bare shoulder.
“Good morning, my beautiful wife to be.” His voice was heady and gruff, the deep baritone sending a thrill down your spine. “Isn’t it a beautiful day?”
Despite the increasing dampness accumulating at the juncture of your thighs, your skin crawled as he languidly kissed and caressed your bare skin. Your hands madly gripped the knit wrapped around your body, all too aware of the vulnerable placement of your body in the window.
“C...Can…” You drew a shaky breath in a desperate attempt to calm your nerves. “May we go outside, please?” Steve sighed bitterly and you could feel his body tense behind you. “Just for a little while. I will be on my best behaviour, I swear. I just…” You bit back the sob seated at the foot on your chest. “I just want to feel the snow.”
In a climacteric effort to win him over, you frantically turned around and shoved your hand down his pants, gripping his already hardening cock. “Please, Daddy…” You were sobbing, tears running down your face as you knew your attempts were in vain. You knew you looked pathetic and yet… “Please, I will be so good. I swear. I will do whatever you want.”
Steve’s eyes fluttered as your hand worked over his hard, thick length and you pressed hard kisses against his neck. He gently rocked his cock into your hand as you coaxed him back onto the bed. His sigh was heady and wanton as you kneeled before him and pulled on his running shorts and compression pants.
You frantically licked and suckled on his veiny cock, trying not to lose yourself in the musky, masculine scent. It was intoxicating; the feeling of his rigid cock in the palm of your hand and the distinct tang of his pre-cum…
“Please Daddy, just for a few minutes. I won’t do anything to draw attention. I will be so good for you. I just want to feel the sun on my face…”
As the words slipped from between your lips you froze, instantly regretting your idiotic lapse.
Steve’s ego was a delicate balancing act, a razor-thin tight-rope you had been precariously ambulating since your first meeting that cold Autumn day at the Compound.
Steve Rogers was a walking handle with care package.
You flinched as Steve stood up abruptly, yanking his pants up before dragging you into the bathroom.
You were forced to sit on the side of the bath as the blonde ex-soldier sulkily showered, scrubbing vigorously at his skin as he seethed.
You had to fix this, lest you receive yet another spanking, the Gucci belt a particular favourite tool of his recently. There had to be a way you could put this back on yourself; stroke his ego, and validate his imperious and controlling temperament.
You held your breath, terrified to draw attention to yourself as he dried himself with a fresh towel. You had to act fast and just face the consequences if you are wrong.
You stand up and drop the throw.
Steve’s jaw clicks as you tentatively press your naked body against his back and scent the muscular planes of his back.
“I’m sorry.” You keep your voice meager and timid, closing your body in on itself as you draw your fingers over his porcelain skin with uncertainty. You recoil marginally as the muscles tense under your touch. “I am selfish and made this morning all about me. I am sorry, Daddy. What I should have said was that I wanted to enjoy a walk with you. But, I don’t deserve that.”
You hang your head, squeezing your eyes tightly shut and draw yourself back from his rigid body, tears bristling. Despite the faux confession, a part of you deep down felt the bubbling caustic guilt.
You anticipated a slap across the cheek, or to be pulled over his lap and spanked mercilessly. Steve was unpredictable at the best of times, but he was also petty and selfish. You had bruised his ego once again, trampled on his grand plan of moulding you into his perfect wife and the perfect mother of his non-existent children and dog.
On the other hand, you had also expected Steve to storm out and spend the rest of the day in an epic sulk. He had the propensity to be petulant, sullen and moody when kicked in the shins, much like a toddler.
Relief set in as he pulled you flush against his naked chest, the towel hanging precariously on his hips, and wrapped his thick, muscular arms around your naked body.
And then he spoke. “You are selfish, sweetheart. You do not appreciate all the things I have done and sacrificed for you, for us. You do not think before you speak. I’m not angry, I’m disappointed.”
That stung. It was like a knife piercing your heart. Your father used to tell you of his disappointment in you. The daughter who turned her back on her family to care for the deluded, crazy grandmother. Let down by your choice of career instead of going into medicine as was expected. Mortified to hear of your liaison with your married editor.
The breath you were holding choked.
“I thought we were in a better place than that. I thought that ring meant something to you.”
“It does Daddy, I promise.”
Steve sighed, his fingers dancing along the soft skin on your back. “I may not wear the suit anymore but I deserve respect. In my house, under my roof that I paid for, you will show me respect and appreciate the things I have done and continue to do for you. Do you understand?”
As you sank to your knees, begging for forgiveness, swearing to do better before taking him in your mouth, your mind goes elsewhere. Anything to escape the ice cold-tiles of the bathroom floor, the heady taste of Steve’s cock in your mouth.
You think of the snow falling on to your face as you look up into the ashen sky. A mug of warm hot cocoa and marshmallows in your hand, topped with whipped cream and chocolate flakes as you curl in front of the fire with Bucky…
Bucky. Where was he? Why wasn’t he here protecting you? How could he leave you here, abandon you when he knew the hell Steve was putting you through? Was he coming back to save you?
Nothing else was said on the matter that morning; not as Steve studiously watched you make breakfast, nor as you were forced to sit on his lap and feed each other pancakes and fruit. Little was said at all in fact, and though you should relish in the silence, you can’t help but fret over the real meaning behind his unusual reticence.
The anxiety only grew as Steve retired to the art room, leaving you to make the bed and clean the kitchen by yourself. Over the past few weeks, he had been a constant shadow, concerned of another injury as you tempted an escape.
Bed made and dressed, you were lost. Without Steve to direct you, order you you were uncertain of your next move.
Your fingers itched to write, put your feelings down onto paper; find a tangible approach to dissecting and consolidating your warped and warring emotions.
You walked aimlessly around the brownstone, taking the minute and personal touches Steve had insisted upon soon after your moving in. A painting you had chosen together online; photographs of you both at events, your only opportunity to be free of the confining and suffocating walls of the brownstone. Not that you weren’t kept under the scrutinising glare or Steve; he was forever watching and deep down, you knew there was little to be gained from spilling your guts to a total stranger. Who in their right mind would believe you?
You were trapped. And slowly but surely you were losing yourself…
Your body was slowly beginning its desperate, needy dance; craving him when you were separated. You would wake up longing to feel his fingers caress your thigh as his lips hungrily sought out yours.
When Steve finally emerged from the art room hours later, he found you, huddled in the kitchen on the window nook bench, watching the snow fall like glitter from the sky. You looked so small, so frail, so childlike watching the world outside longingly.
You jumped as you heard the floorboards creak under the weight of his step and turned to see Steve leaning against the kitchen bench, watching you intently.
“Get your coat and boots on. We’re going for a walk.”
Steve held you tightly against him, his arm wrapped firmly around your waist as you slowly walked around the block, greedily breathing in the fresh air. In your gloved hands, you gripped onto the sweet hot chocolate. Steve had nearly wept with joy as he watched you take the drink from the barista, the excitement seeping from your pores as you couldn’t wait to take your first sip. As you walked around the neighbourhood, he drank in the innocent smile gracing your lips as you held your head high, relishing in the feel of the icy air against your face.
He could picture your smile as you walked down the aisle to him, in your big, lacy, princess white wedding gown. The tired, elated smile as you held his son for the first time.
That was an image long burnt into his brain, a picture played over and over again when you would smile a certain way. He was greedy for it; desperate to see you round with his son and heir. A legacy and sense of fulfilment Steve had yearned for since he was a little boy. To have the family he had never had, forced to endure with an abusive father and then struggle with a single, hard-working mother.
That was not the life his son would have.
As you neared the bodega, Steve felt a rush of excitement. You dragged you inside and steered you towards the magazine selection. Although it was easy to hazard a guess what his true intentions were, you truly hoped he was just going to pick up a fitness magazine or one of those truly terrible gossip magazines so he could see his picture.
Your heart sank as he began to rifle through the wedding magazines, the engagement ring sitting heavier on your finger.
His eyes practically lit up as he spied the princess tulle gowns, encrusted with crystals and lace.
An idea dawned.
“Steve,” you said placing your hand on his as he flipped another page. He turned to you, his face alight with a frenzy joy and elation. You took a grounding breath and tried to hide your fear as he immediately tensed. “I don’t think we should have a big wedding.” Before he could rebut, and you could see he was desperately trying to cling onto his control you continued calmly. “I never pictured myself having a large wedding, ever. Even as a small girl. I think this wedding should be about you and I…”
Steve sighed shutting the magazine, the bitterness evident in the click in his jaw as his blue eyes locked on yours. “I am Captain America. I am expected to have a big wedding…”
“No Steve,” you said, gently placing your hands on his cheeks, “you were Captain America. You are free to be Steve Rogers, the sweet kid from Brooklyn who longed to be treated just like everyone else. That’s why you bought in Brooklyn, isn’t it? To be closer to your roots.”
You carefully watched Steve as he receded into himself, contemplating your words. You had to tread carefully but you had clearly struck a chord.
“What does Steve Rogers want? Because…” You grappled, carefully treading that tightrope of Steve’s ego. “You deserve happiness, a chance at a normal life. You have paid your dues, you have sacrificed enough.”
The supersoldier pondered your words, the magazine hanging limp in his hand as your thumbs idly caressed his fine cheekbones.
His taciturn, tactile mind worked overtime. A large wedding could pose a potential threat to his plan, mainly the issue of inviting your meddlesome friends to the wedding.
Keep the guest list small and intimate, Steve could better control the situation. Keep the room small and you would have less opportunity to run.
Steve smiled warmly before matching your stance, hands cupping your cheeks and kissing you sweetly as the magazine fluttered to the ground.
“We will keep it small, just close friends. Sam and Bucky can be our witnesses. We can go to the courthouse and then we will go somewhere nice for dinner. And then we will go home and I will make love to my wife.”
Steve had always been fond of the colour blue. He loved the bright blue of the midday sky; the way it framed the clouds hanging high, the way it shimmered in the blazing hot sun in the middle of summer.
Steve loved the turquoise blue of the Pacific waters; the ineffable shade of blue and green. Warm inviting waters spotted with dark pockets of coral reefs breaking through the pristine crystal waters.
There was a calming, homely feeling to the warmer blue tones. Steve could lose himself in these shades for hours, painting and plotting.
The former Captain had always preferred the subtle art of creating masterpieces with charcoal; the way the fine black substance would stain his fingers for days, the faint smokey notes lingering.
However, as his world had settled and you had seeped into his veins, he yearned for colour. You had ignited a fervid zeal that had been long masked and beaten down by years of chronic anger and resentment.
Bitter for being the small, frail, infirmed man who had longed to fight but constantly told he was not good enough. Cynicism for being used and manipulated to sell a story, a product to appease a fearful nation as the world went to war.
Indignation for the women who had turned up their noses at him, even as a small child. Poor, sickly little Steven Grant Rogers, too small, too weak to be of any use. Who would want such a puny, insipid little man? Little did they know, of course, he was the man who hunted them in the night.
Yes, you had been the ignition for the flame in his gut, flaring up his covetous need for colour and light. You had been the catalyst to his return to the paper and pen.
There had been little opportunity to paint whilst Steve had lived as an Avenger. But now, as a retired man, he was relishing in his free time, that was when he could drag himself away from your sweet body.
His cock yearned at the hot memory of you riding him last night, your hands fitfully grappling his hair as he took over, fucking up into you. He had dragged and taunted so many orgasms from your overwrought body, his fiancé’s body, you had lost count. But Steve hadn’t. He always remembered, always cataloguing your slow descent into defeat. No, love.
Yes, you were finally starting to fall in love with Steven Grant Rogers. He couldn’t wait to hear the officiate announce you as man and wife.
A pang of sadness hit him hard as he pondered what his mother might have thought of you. Ah yes, Sarah Rogers would have loved you. Strong, loving, kind, driven.
Steve dipped his brush into the blue paint on his dish and turned back to the easel. This work was almost complete, the finer details of your dress nearly perfect. The swell of your pregnant stomach hardened Steve’s cock further as he studied it closely.
He couldn’t wait to see you full with his child, your breasts swelled with milk. He pondered the thought of suckling on your breasts himself… no. That milk is to feed his child, his boy. It will help him grow big and strong like his father.
The soft padding of feet on the landing drew Steve’s attention from the easel and to the door. Steve watched as you slowly and sleepily moved towards the stairs before calling out to you to come to him. He sighed as he watched you flinch and still before turning back towards the art room.
“Good morning, princess,” he cooed with a warming smile, “you slept in late again. I had to make my own breakfast. You will be happy to know I only burnt four pieces of toast.” Steve bristled as you nodded silently before he pulled you into his arms, locking you into his grip with his thick thighs. “You’ve been really tired lately, sweetheart. Maybe we should get you a pregnancy test.”
You instantly recoiled and looked him square in the eye. “I’m exhausted because I am low in Vitamin D because you have locked me up in this house for months.”
The slap echoed through your room and the skin of your cheek stung as Steve rubbed his thumb against the hypersensitive, abused skin. “What has Daddy told you about running off at the mouth?” The gruff snarl was masked with an edge of exhaustion. “Be a good girl and see what Daddy made you.”
At his behest, you turned to examine the painting before you, the aroma of fresh paint pervading the air.
Your heart sank and nausea boiled in your gut as you examined the painting before you. Your future. Plump with child, Steve knelt before you and kissing your round stomach.
How you had not fallen pregnant by now was nothing short of a miracle. The man fucked you several times a day, and surely his sperm had been affected by the serum. Perhaps the serum had annihilated his reproductive organs and he was impotent. Deep down, you knew it was naught but wishful thinking.
The feeling of deft fingers grazing over your naked pussy drew your attention back to the painting before you.
“I don’t like seeing you so sad baby,” Steve cooed hotly in your ear as he slowly caressed your clit, already damp and wanton. You were slowly losing yourself in his vortex, your body no longer communicating with your brain. As he slid his finger in your channel crooned, “Oh baby, you’re so good for me, already wet for Daddy.”
You let your head fall to his shoulder as he languidly fucked you with his finger, still sat on the stool, caging you to his body with his thick thighs on either side of your waist.
He toyed with the tightly wound coil, drawing it apart and pushing it back torturously. His caustic words, praises, and wishes for the child he so desperately longed for rubbed over your skin like a grater.
That familiar claustrophobic feeling returned as he spun your rigidly taut body around, his thick muscular arm pinning you to his chest as his fingers concentrated on your orgasm.
Your eyes fell to the painting. You looked so happy, so content, so… desperate to please Steve. As your eyes flickered around the room, your rage boiled. The room was filled with paintings and drawings of your future with Steve: babies, cooking, a golden retriever… a life of servitude.
And despite the weeks of carefully tiptoeing the tightrope of Steve’s ego and anger, you cracked.
“Get your hands off of me!” Steve’s grip immediately tightened over your chest as his fingers diligently worked over your taut and sensitive clit. “No, fucking stop Steve. Get your goddamn hands off of me! Let me go!”
Steve growled, his chest vibrating against your back as his fingers danced vigorously despite your frantic attempts to escape. Fuck it. You kicked your legs out, kicking over the canvas. The sickening ripping echoed through the room.
What happened next was a blur. The black, enraged glare in his eyes would haunt your dreams for the rest of your life. You remember the earth-shattering moment his hand connected with your cheek and you fell to the ground and everything went black.
The sky was dark when you awoke hours later. The room was bitterly cold, darker and the sheets felt different under your skin… Your body aches, lethargic and slow to take in your surroundings.
You spied Steve blocking the doorway of the small, dark, low-ceilinged room.
“It appears I have been lax with my punishments and you have clearly not learned your lesson. You need to take some time to reflect on your actions and your emotions.” You were numb as he spoke, his eyes glazed over and his jaw set firm. “You’re going to spend a little time in this attic by yourself. I’ve left you pen and paper on the desk to keep a journal. I will not read what you have written. You will be free to burn it once you are done. However, you are not leaving this room until you have truly atoned for your appalling behaviour and ungrateful attitude.”
You flinched as he stood taller, his body firm and seething with controlled rage.
“I suggest you take this time to really reflect on the sacrifices I have made for us and appreciate the life I am giving you. There is no escaping this, princess. The universe has brought us together and nothing is going to change that.” He sighed, clicking his teeth aggressively. “I love you.”
And with that he closed the door of the dark, dank attic, where you would stay locked up for a week, pouring out your heart onto pen and paper. You knew Steve would read what you had written, however, once you had started to write it was difficult to stop. Damn the consequences.
Nicholas J. Fury marched through the foyer of The New York Times , like a man on a mission. He ignored the glances and curious expressions as his long, black leather coat swung gracefully behind him as he walked with purpose to the elevators.
Fury knew little of Michael Post, having had little communication with him during the time of your secondment at the Compound, albeit for a few brief and polite phone calls and emails. To say Post had been surprised by his recent call was an understatement.
The sea of people parted as Fury stalked through the floor, the hushed whispers and inquisitive stares humorous. The hushes died as a tall, grey-haired man with spectacles approached him.
“Mr. Post, it’s nice to make your acquaintance, finally. I’d like to ask you a few questions about Steve Rogers’ relationship with an employee of yours.”
Is it safe to come out?
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