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.”