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biteofcherry · 3 months

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Touch The Darkness

dark mafia!Steve Rogers x female reader

summary: When you unexpectedly are appointed to run a health center, you foresee many struggles along the way, but not one in the form of a merciless mob boss. Steve Rogers’ core aim is to own and he won’t take no for an answer. To any of his demands.

warnings for this chapter: dark!Steve Rogers; possessiveness; manipulation; blackmail; power imbalance; forced marriage; D/s undertones; sexual tension; masturbation; sex; hint of choking kink;

word count: 12.5k

Author's Note: So this kinda got out of control. At first it took me so long to even start this chapter and then I couldn't stop writing 🤭 For me there are six hot pressure points in this part. I'm curious which bits you were screeching at, if they're the same as mine. Including one specific thing that is so outrageous! But also so fucking hot... And for that one you have to blame thank @buckets-and-trees, because she encouraged me to write it.

Touch the Darkness Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Chapter 7. Burning needles

~ * ~

The life after signing your soul to the devil shouldn’t be anything but thorns and turmoil, but your body felt so deeply, deliciously relaxed and warm. Cozy even, as morning light filled the spacious bedroom and brushed warm streaks on your naked back.

Hotter pressure was at your front, where your body rested sprawled halfway atop Steve.

It seemed neither of you moved much through your sleep. You chose to believe you were both simply too fucked out, than consider you may like being cuddled to him like this.

There was no sane way someone would enjoy the intimate, soft proximity of their captor; even if his body was big and warm, sinfully shaped and adorned with tattoos which called for admiration.

Steve had one arm thrown across his face, the other loosely draped over your thigh. Your leg was hiked across his hips. If you moved it, your calf would rub against the cock that was nestled against the curve of it.

Your cheek was pressed to Steve’s chest, one of your hands splayed on his inked pectoral. Diamond on your finger shone brightly, catching sun in its perfect cut.

With your sleepy eyes barely half-open, you stared at the sparkle that was so beautiful you had to remind yourself to hate it for what it symbolized.

Another glint caught your attention.

Your gaze shifted above the outline of Steve’s impressive body, landing on the blade laying at the edge of the bedside table. The sight of it evoked an immediate shot of heat as you remembered what Steve did with it. How the threat of it spiked your arousal so high you lost control of your body’s reactions.

You didn’t want to unpack that mess; not at the moment, possibly never.

A blade the bastard had custom made for you, to deliver torment that was a dark sort of pleasure, but which was, after all, a weapon. One you could use to defend yourself. Or to threaten in return.

You peeked at Steve’s face. The sharp line of his jaw, soft curve of lips that were as lethal as the rest of him. The arm over his eyes cast a shadow onto his cheeks. He appeared to be soundly asleep. His chest rising and falling in regular intakes suggested the same.

Slowly, you inched your hand further up his body, toward his shoulder. If anything, you could play it as your body’s unconscious movement in your sleep. Or curious exploration of dark, twisted ink. But Steve didn’t even stir.

You had to move your whole body to reach across the space between you and the bedside table. That didn’t rouse him either. Only the hand on your thigh squeezed your flesh as a small huff left his lips.

Though another part of him reacted to your squirming.

You gulped, feeling the twitch of his cock against your leg. For a long moment your attention focused on it and nothing else.

You had to snap yourself out of it, reminding yourself there was another task at hand; more important than reminiscing on how that velvety hardness felt in your fist. How unbelievably hot it was to stroke him into readiness as he watched your splayed, defenseless body, which he was about to possess thoroughly.

But there was something else that you needed to curl your fingers around. Holding your breath, you grazed the ornamental handle with your fingertips. The knife swayed, nearly slipping further away. Finally, you got a hold of it, without losing balance and waking Steve up.

The knife was surprisingly light in your grip. Used only to kitchen knives, you didn’t know exactly what to expect from a switchblade. The fact it was wielded by Steve made you imagine heaviness and cold, a dreadful repulsion. Instead, it was perfectly balanced and quite elegant.

You tilted it back and forth, watching the reflection of your own eyes in the polished blade. Then you moved it lower, sliding the silvery edge mere inches from Steve’s chest.

Slowly, you aimed it toward his throat.

You didn’t press it against his skin, but hovered so close to where his pulse point beat steadily.

He was a monster. He broke into your life with force and put you up on strings, which he planned to pull for the rest of your life.

“You have to put a lot of force into it, if you want to do a single, clean cut.”

Your eyes snapped to Steve’s face instantly. He still had his arm over his eyes, but his voice was clear. Not a hint of drowsiness, which meant he was probably awake for at least a few minutes.

Surely, when you were attempting stealthy moves to grab the knife.

Your hand trembled as fear shot through you. A ruthless mafia boss caught you holding a knife to his throat. There was no way anyone daring to do that would be left alive.

But Steve didn’t grip your wrist to prevent the strike. He didn’t throw you off, nor attacked you to choke the life out of you.

He was fucking sprawled lazy and content, with his hand still on your thigh and his dick growing harder against your leg. Not the least intimidated, or worried.

Perhaps, it was his confidence in being able to prevent a real threat, if you went to make that cut. Or maybe he knew that you didn’t really have it in you to go for blood.

Steve stirred, moving the arm that was thrown across his face. He stretched it out, then slid it down your back, boldly palming your bare ass. Your body’s reaction to his touch made your hand jerk, the blade almost nicking his unblemished skin.

He titled his head to look at you. Icy blue eyes held a light, almost warm reflection. Due to the sunlight, undoubtedly.

“Craving to do it? To kill me?” Amusement laced his tone, but there was also some twisted hunger for a bloodthirsty wrath on your part. Like he waited for you to snap.

You shifted your gaze from his eyes to stare at the switchblade in your hand. You reached for it in some desperate hope to feel safer with it, but you brought it to his throat more out of curiosity than actual desire to cut it.

A part of you wanted to find out how it felt to wield it, to find out if the rush of power at having someone at the sharp point of it was so addictive that conscience laid quiet.

Honestly? You felt nothing of the kind. Surprise at how light and smooth the handle was in your hand, yes. How it shone, nearly pretty like a jewelry accessory. But you didn’t feel any safer than you had simply laying in Steve’s arms.

“One, I’m not you.” You replied, partially resigned that you didn’t show a streak of courage to really threaten him. You couldn’t imagine yourself threatening anyone, much less taking someone’s life.

Steve seemed to have zero remorse in that matter.

It should repulse you. It did. At first, at least.

“Secondly, I’m not stupid.” You huffed, shifting your gaze from the silvery blade back to Steve’s eyes.

“I’m your wife and the word of it surely got out to everyone, all your enemies included. If you die, I become an easy target. They will assume I know your secrets and find means to torture them out of me. You staying alive is my only security.”

It was scary to admit, but remaining at Steve’s side and under his care not only saved you from his wrath, but also from any other monster out there.

“Besides-” you couldn’t help the eye roll as you moved your hand away from Steve’s throat- “I’m sure if I maimed you, Bucky would introduce me to unimaginable suffering. And I don’t feel like being impaled on a hook in a meat freezer while he slowly cuts away my skin inch by inch.”

Steve snorted at that. A short huff of laughter that shook his chest and your fist holding the blade along with it.

“I don’t think he’s ever done that, but I’ll let him know you have ideas to improve his craftsmanship.” His eyes sparked genuine amusement.

Worse, it made the corners of your mouth itch to tilt up in a grin.

That mirth on Steve’s face morphed into something darker. Hungrier. The hand on your thigh started moving, sliding up your hip and further along your ribcage. There was no way to hide the full body shiver that rocked your form, or the goosebumps rising in wake of his touch.

His fingers skimmed down your arm and wrapped around your wrist.

Suddenly, he flipped you over.

His body followed, pinning you down across the foot of the mattress. He clenched his fingers on the wrist of your hand that was still holding the knife. He pressed his thumb into a point below your own and your fingers spasmed open in a short zap of pain. The knife fell out of your grip.

Steve picked it in a flash.

Air stilled in your chest, becoming a hot pressure that urged your heart into a staccato. You stared up at Steve, defenseless against the strong body and the blade that was now in his hand. Again.

“So soft,” Steve hummed, slowly gliding the back of his hand - the same one that was holding the knife - across your chest.

His knuckles pressed slightly into your breast. With his knee, he nudged your legs wider apart; settling his hips between your thighs. Pulsing warmth of his hardening cock pressed into your lower belly.

“You rather have me wielding the knife, Princess?” He asked, angling his hand so the wide side of the blade grazed your skin. “Do you want me to use it again?”

A shot of electric current flipped a switch in your brain, connecting straight down with your clit.

When you held the knife yourself, there was no such visceral reaction to its lethal potential. But as soon as the blade was in Steve’s hand, your blood was rushing. To your horror, you realized it wasn’t just fear that pulsed in your veins.

Your breath stuttered as Steve moved the blade down your side, making you feel the slide of it, but not even scratching your skin. As he reached your thigh, Steve changed the hold on the knife. Instead of the cool, sharp blade whispering against your heated skin, you felt the blunt, harder touch of the ornamental handle.

Its rounded tip touched your skin as Steve moved it along the juncture of your thigh. He dipped it lower. When he angled his own body to the side, you realized where his hand was headed.

Straight to your core. Not with the threat of the blade hurting you, but the shimmery handle the width of two digits which would press and slide between…

Oh God! Your brain screamed at you, all the while your pussy spasmed, priming itself for the wicked intrusion.

No! Remnants of your resolve tried to fight the reaction of your body, raging against the temptation to let him do it. But there was already so much that Steve took from you, you didn’t want to give him an ounce of satisfaction of having you so willing and needy.

You wouldn’t let him reduce you to basic instincts, with no memory of morale.

Though your thighs were spread wide and your clit tingled, you pushed past that need. You shoved your hands between your bodies to form a barrier.

“No, I don’t.” You scrunched up your nose, bracing your half-closed fists against Steve’s chest, but not really pushing him away.

There was a pause; a shortened breath between one raindrop and another, as you waited for the pushback.

“Okay then,” Steve’s eyebrows arched in a semi-unbelieving grimace, but he pulled away.

Simply pulled away.

Your hands fell down onto your chest, having lost the warm, solid wall of muscles to press against. Steve sat back, resting against the headboard, with lazy bliss glowing on his stupidly beautiful face.

One of his legs was stretched forward, foot almost touching your hip, while he bent his other leg and rested one of his arms on the knee. Unabashed, Steve made no move to cover his half-hard, heavy cock. Only played with the knife in his fingers.

“Okay then?” You frowned, completely unprepared for the turn of events.

“Just like that?” You lifted your head enough to stare at Steve, without having his lower body in your direct line of vision.

“You said no.” Steve shrugged, tilting his face toward the sun filtering through the pearly white curtains.

“And you respect a no, riiight.” Where the snort came from, you had no idea. Instead of being relieved and thankful that the bastard let go, like you had asked, you were digging into the topic with near childish petulance.

Because this was some bullshit! To have him comply with your refusal, while he breached every boundary you tried to set before. A flash of suspicion rose that maybe he wasn’t pushing, because he already got what he wanted and there were other, very easy ways, to get his dick wet. Other women to use the knife on, or whatever other depraved tools.

“In my life I make people do many things they don’t want to, but I have no need to take your body by force.” Steve didn’t sound particularly guilty of the way he was reaching his goals.

He tilted his head, the corner of his mouth curved - “Especially not when you give it so willingly.”

“Bullshit!” You jolted upwards.

Driven by the sudden annoyance, you forgot that you were naked and the way you braced your hands behind yourself only made your chest push forward.

“What about last night?” You glared at Steve. “There was nothing willing-”

“Princess,” Steve looked at you, amused, “last night you didn’t utter a single No.”

Your mouth opened to counter this outright lie, but Steve beat you to it. With a very pleased smirk to his equally irritating calm tone:

“You claimed that you won’t be wet. But you were. You argued that you won’t want me. You did. But not a single time have those sinful lips of yours formed the word No or Don’t regarding anything I did to your body.”

Lips still parted, you hoped for your brain to come up with any argument to topple Steve’s theory. Though last night wasn’t a haze, but rather a whirlwind of sensations and brain-melting pleasure, your mind had some trouble remembering exact words. The more you thought about it, however, the more Steve’s version appeared true.

Worse, even.

Because you had said Stop at one point. A pleading mess on the verge of cumming, you asked Steve to stop and put the knife away, too afraid it would really hurt you.

And he complied.

Like he stripped you of any defenses against his machinations, binding you to this dark life you never wanted to be a part of, he knocked away your argument about him brutally taking from you what you didn’t want to give.

Your fingers curled, gripping the sheets as you stared at Steve’s handsome face. At that smug smile and flickers of delight in his ice cold irises.

“Aaargh!” You let out an outraged shrill.

“I fucking hate you!” You scrambled off the bed and stomped towards the bathroom. “I should’ve stabbed that knife into your carotid!”

Steve’s low chuckle only added to your fury, making you slam the bathroom door so hard the mirrors on the wall wobbled.

There was this urge to smash something, break it into pieces and stomp on it over and over again. Preferably Steve’s dead, limp body. But there was no way that you would be able to deliver anything beside a meager punch, which he’d probably block anyway.

If he caught your arm as you tried to hit him, you’d feel even more anger. And he would probably be even more amused, keeping you caged in his arms while you trashed helplessly.

That’s what you were against him - helpless.

Not only regarding his power, with which he could wipe you and your family out of this world and not a single cop would investigate the disappearance. Steve also made you defenseless against your own body’s reactions.

You couldn’t exactly pinpoint the moment when his actions rewired your brain, but never before him have you ignited for sexual acts so kinky.

Maybe it was some self-preservation instinct? Maybe your brain sent a signal to your cunt to get wet and horny for Steve’s dark brand of sex, because otherwise he’d get mad and kill you?

But he just fucking proved that he wasn’t pissed off with your refusal.

You decided to not think too much about it. Preferably, not to think about Steve and sex at all, not in one line of thought.

Since he, oh so magnanimously, stated that he won’t take you by force, you were adamant on saying no for the rest of your life.

Straightening, you looked at your reflection in the bathroom mirror and barely stopped another curse from spilling from your lips. There was no other way to describe your look than thoroughly fucked.

And kinda itching for more, but thankfully your brain was back behind the wheel and there was no way it would let you dwell on the wetness between your legs and the cause of it.

You turned around, aiming for the impressive, luxurious shower stall. As you reached your hand to turn on the water, your gaze landed on the sparkling diamond on your finger. It truly was beautiful, but you wanted to flush it down the drain. It would be a pity, but you’d have a solid argument to why you weren’t wearing it.

Then again, perhaps Steve wouldn’t even care about it, since he had the paperwork and your last name changed to prove the marriage.

You took the ring and the wedding band off of your finger and left them on the counter.

Stepping under the hot spray of water, you tried to focus on things other than your evil husband. First, you did your best to stay in the moment and focus on each body part you thoroughly scrubbed - sensations and the scent of shower gel, not the memories of how Steve touched you, fucked you, filled you. Then you made a list of important tasks awaiting you at work: new projects, some meetings, lots of boring, but absorbing paperwork.

You were so successful in occupying your mind, you didn’t notice the bathroom door opening.

When you turned off the water a moment later and opened the glass door of the stall, the sound of flushing the toilet froze you in place. Your head snapped up.

“What the hell are you doing?!” You screeched, trying to hide behind the shower casing, but since it was clear glass it gave you no cover.

Steve had already moved from the toilet to one of the two sinks at the long bathroom counter. With his back to you, he looked up into the mirror to meet your gaze in the reflection while he washed his hands.

He had to wait a moment for your eyes to catch up with his, since your gaze was elsewhere.

Because he was still fucking naked!

“Using the bathroom, obviously.” He said, tone light and highly amused.

You dragged your eyes up from his firm, perky ass and up the wide planes of his back. You noticed some scars among the splashes of tattoos.

“But I’m in it!” You protested, once you finally shook yourself from the daze.

Steve didn’t seem apologetic for his intrusion. But he was never apologetic about anything. He straightened, rolled back his shoulders - which resulted in your eyes greedily following the play of his muscles. Your thighs clenched.

He turned around and started walking towards you. Your skin was already heated up from the hot water and steam, yet it seemed a much hotter wave was still able to raise your inner temperature as he came closer. Shamelessly naked.

Your fingers clenched on the cutting edge of the glass as you tried your hardest to not drop your eyes lower and watch how his cock moved with every step Steve took.

“You already saw me naked.” He shrugged as he stepped right beside you.

You twisted, your back hitting the tiled wall as he leaned forward. Steve didn’t touch you, but you still felt his power pinning you in place.

“As I saw you, wife.”

He breathed that last word into your ear; a hot, seductive puff that threatened to weaken your knees.

His hand slipped into your wet palm, the pressure of something small and hard needling your skin. Your ring and the wedding band. A silent reminder, if the word wife wasn’t enough to put you back in your place.

Then he stepped away and into the shower stall, turning his back to you as he switched the water on.

You bolted forward, grabbing a fluffy towel and running with it out of the bathroom. You cared less about dripping water on the bedroom floor than about staying there and letting him watch you. Or maybe being tempted to look at him yourself.

You wiped yourself quickly and wrapped the towel around your body. Skipping over the abundant layers of your wedding dress that lay forgotten on the floor, you walked through the door opposite of the bed - into the huge walk-in closet.

You saw it before. When Steve made you pack and bring your belongings to his house before the wedding. Two of his men carried the suitcases and boxes, a housekeeper and another unknown person were waiting to help you unpack. It was weird and uncomfortable, having two strangers fold and hang your clothes. But it was efficient, at least.

Maybe they were also there to check, if you hadn’t smuggled in some weapon with which you’d kill Steve.

Now everything was perfectly arranged. Steve’s clothes on one side of the closet, yours on the other side. You noticed his side wasn’t very colorful, not that you dressed in all shades of the rainbow.

Again, it hit you how contrasting your lives were.

His dark, earthy and navy tones versus your whites and pastels and occasional pop of color. It was stark, the contrast. At the same time, it was in some way aesthetically pleasing. Intriguing, how that grim roughness fit with the soft lightness.

You put on a pair of leggins and a simple, cotton t-shirt with a faded Little My cartoon. Sparing one glance at the messy bed, you left the bedroom. You’d rather find yourself in a different space than one with sheets crusty with your mixed spend and the damn knife placed in an open velvet box on the bedside table.

There was no one else in the house, but you knew it was only for the appearance of the wedding night and the first day of being a married couple. Steve’s people were guarding the perimeter of his property, but no in-house staff was going to come today.

The next day, however? It was going to be a brutal return to normalcy, which you anticipated and loathed both.

You’d get back to work, which was a blessing as it gave you the opportunity to be as far from Steve as possible. It would also be awkward and hard, because you’d be learning a completely new routine.

Like waking up with Steve in the same room (unless, hopefully, his criminal work would keep him occupied for long nights).

Learning to function with household staff around - he had a housekeeper, a gardener, a private chef. Who, from what you read on the nicely scribbled note left on the kitchen counter, prepared a few dishes for you and left them in the refrigerator. Along with instructions on how to heat it up, so it tasted the best.

Being driven to work, because Steve already announced you wouldn’t be taking your own car anymore. You doubted he cared much for your actual safety, but it was important to maintain the illusion of a lovely husband protecting his wife.

Maintaining illusion would be a new skill you had to hone.

So many people expected to see a happy, newlywed wife. Your own family, most of all. They would already be suspicious that you got back to work so soon after the wedding, but you found it a true blessing that Steve didn’t come up with a honeymoon idea.

You couldn’t think about honeymooning with Steve. You couldn’t even think about the night and having to be back in that bed where he also would be.

With a properly reheated panini sandwich, you walked around the house; giving yourself a tour, before Steve would. No room was locked, so you assumed he kept his dirty work in another place.

A small blessing, truly. You weren’t sure how you’d react to dead bodies and blood in the house where you lived.

It was already hard, since it was here that you heard Felix’s last words and saw him being dragged out to his end.

One of the rooms on the ground floor was a spacious office. Quite surprising that it looked like an actual office, not a torture chamber. Despite being certain of bloody ways Steve gained some goals, you suspected that running a successful crime organization nowadays meant keeping a lot of civilized appearances and just being a beast at negotiation.

“There’s an unused room upstairs. You can turn it into your office, if you need a home one.” Steve’s voice startled you, but fortunately you didn’t let it show.

“That would be great, thanks.” You nodded, swiping your gaze around his office once more.

To have a room separate from his, where you could hide and bury yourself under work would be wonderful. Perhaps there would be a pull out couch on which you could sleep, instead of in your marital bed.

You turned to Steve, who stood in the doorway, leaning against the doorframe. He had a plate of his own. Not with panini, though. No, he reheated himself some of those seasoned ribs from the reception.

And ate it with his fingers, winking at you as he sucked his fingertips clean.

You were damn proud of yourself for not reacting to his obvious provocation. You remained completely indifferent.

Somehow, you managed to keep it up even as Steve continued to follow you all around the house. Wearing only sweatpants and a white beater. You did not look at how the cotton stretched on his torso, or how his tattoos were on display, or at the outline of his cock.

“There are two guest bedrooms,” you pointed out as you walked downstairs after seeing the rest of the upper floor.

You didn’t think Steve was a man who often had guests over. He probably never had. Unless he was keeping those rooms ready for some kidnapping victims, to store them in human conditions until ransom was paid, or whatever.

“Yeah. But you don’t have enough stuff to claim one as your additional closet,” Steve snorted, his hands stuffed into his pockets. “And no, you can’t use one as your bedroom.”

You huffed, annoyed that he instantly figured out what you were planning on doing. Miffed that he didn’t agree with that perfectly reasonable idea, too.

“Why not?” You demanded, stopping mid step. “It’s empty. I could sleep there and you keep the master bedroom, we stay out of each other’s hair and no one from the outside would even know.”

“Married couples sleep together.” Steve continued walking.

You couldn’t see his face, since he was a step or two in front of you, but you were sure the bastard was fucking smiling.

“Married couples get divorced!” You countered, tilting your chin up and marching forward in a slightly petulant, stomping kind of way.

You were about to pass him when Steve’s arm was suddenly around you. He yanked you to his front and kept you to him, despite you trying to push away. A look from those blue eyes froze you in place. A promise of violence flashed in the frosty depths; though you weren’t sure which part of you he’d destroy in retribution.

“ ‘Til death do us part, Princess.”

Steve’s low voice not only reminded you of the vows, but was a new promise itself, which drove a dark, searing bolt through your chest. And into your pussy.

It was scary. Downright terrifying, to have this monster lay his possessive claim on you.

It was also exhilarating.

Your heart paused for a moment, then sprinted into aching pounding as Steve finally released you and walked away.

You were becoming more and more aware of the hard work you’d have to do to preserve your soul, as Steve’s darkness appeared to be corrupting you inch by inch. Such charismatic power was a deadly temptation, tricking certain unfulfilled needs with promises of satiating.

You haven’t yet figured out what exactly was missing in your life that your body so eagerly reacted to Steve’s magnetism. You thought yourself happy with the life you had. Content and proud, eager to deal with the new challenges that taking over the health center provided.

Perhaps you weren’t actively dating anyone recently, but you weren’t desperate for intimacy. You took care of your needs.

Besides, Steve’s kind of closeness was never your brand of preference.

There had to be something, however, that yearned to be filled and what Steve happened to accidentally ignite. If you found it, you could look for alternative ways of fulfilling them, efficiently cutting yourself from Steve’s influence.

Nothing came to your mind. Not in the long hours you spent poking around the mansion, rearranging your belongings, eating more leftovers.

There were moments when you had to postpone deep thinking, because your brain alerted your body of Steve’s presence. He appeared in random moments, slipping right next to you in the most casual way; not breaking the boundaries, but pushing against them with a brazen attitude. Increasing your irritation.

Or was it frustration?

No, it surely was annoyance and it flared when you exited the bathroom later in the evening.

You paused a few steps away from the bed (the sheets have been changed and since no one from the staff came that day, it had to be Steve who replaced them). Your gaze was drawn to the door, to the idea of finding yourself in a different room.

Steve was already in bed, his face pinched in concentration as he typed quickly on his phone. He didn’t even glance your way, but a breath before you even shifted your weight to make a step in the direction of the door he spoke up.

“You may hide in layers of fabric,” he jabbed at your long, silk pajama pants, “but you’re going to sleep in this bed.”

You turned your head his way, opening your mouth to reply, when Steve tossed his phone aside and looked up at you. Serious, on the very edge of impatience.

“If you try to hide somewhere else, I will simply drag you back here. So it’s best you lie down and snuggle up, since it’s not a fight you’re going to win.”

Unfortunately, you believed him. You’d test his words, if you had the slightest hope of him just getting tired of your rebellion and leaving you be. But you learned Steve wasn’t a man who gave up on his goals.

He simply switched from gentle methods to brute force.

You had no doubt that he would drag you back to this bed over and over again, no matter how hard you fought, how loud you screamed, or cried. So it really was best to not waste your energy on battles you couldn’t win.

Though it didn’t wipe away the need for huffing angrily as you curled on the far edge of the bed, wrapping the comforter around yourself like a shield. You almost lifted your hand and flipped Steve off, when you heard his snort.

Smothering him with a pillow, or reaching back for that knife and actually jabbing it into his heart, was becoming a very tempting course of action when you woke up the next morning - with his body too close to yours.

His arm was thrown over your middle, his hips touching your ass. And your nipples were painfully hard against the fabric of your top. You lost the protection of your comforter, but since it fell down on your side of the bed, it seemed that you were the one to have kicked it away.

The shower you fled into didn’t help easing your nerves, because once again Steve barged into the bathroom while you were still inside (even though you were sure you locked yourself in).

Then there were soft voices coming from downstairs as you descended after finishing your makeup and dressing for the day. A voice you didn’t recognize - possibly the chef, or the housekeeper.

And one very familiar voice. Which shouldn't be here.

Instant need to get Natalie right out of the house that was the beast’s lair, to protect her from getting tangled in this web of darkness and crime, died the moment you realized she was quite comfortable moving around the kitchen and talking to the chef.

As if she was familiar with the layout and rules of the house.

Your assistant opened the fridge and helped herself to a bottle of chilled soda, while exchanging some humorous comments about the chef's sister.

“What are you doing here?” You stared at her dumbfounded.

Before Natalie swallowed the sip of soda and explained, pieces had already fallen into place.

She was the one who told you how influential Steve was, how he had people in every place in the city and far outside of it. She rescheduled your meetings to disarm you of any arguments you might have had against meeting him that cursed day. She was the one who encouraged you to work with that cop and knew about the time and place of the meeting - which Steve interrupted right on time, saving you from harm.

She was his spy all along.

“You work for him.” Your tone was heavy with bitter disappointment.

Natalie didn’t seem embarrassed about the reveal. Nor apologetic for not telling you the truth sooner.

She was reporting to Steve all this time. Probably telling him all the fears and vulnerabilities you shared with her.

And you were such a fool, worrying for her the previous day when you saw her flirting with Bucky. Because you wanted to warn her of him, protect her from him. While she was probably already fucking him for who knows how long.

“Did he buy you when he came to me, or did he own you before?” So much venom poured into your voice, but the betrayal hurt too much to stop it.

The anger you felt at her was so much different from what gnawed at you with Steve. Him pushing your buttons and stripping you of defenses made you flame up. Natalie’s indifference to her betrayal of you filled you with so much cold.

“You forget-” her eyes were trained on you, her voice a stoic drawl- “if there’s someone he really owns, it’s you.”

The cut was well aimed. Lethal in its delivery.

As if on cue, Steve stepped beside you. His hand a searing brand on your lower back. You wanted to jump away from his touch, but it was the only grounding you had at the moment as the rest of your safe world crumbled around you.

“You’re here, good.” Steve addressed Natalie’s presence.

His voice held no hint of that teasing, velvety caress that grazed your skin the previous day. He was the cold, focused king of the underworld again.

“Nat’s going to drive you to work. And from work.” He announced, pushing you slightly forward as he moved toward the kitchen island himself. “She’s your bodyguard.”

“She’s fired,” you snarled, crossing your arms over your chest.

There was enough control taken out of your hands; enough humiliation. To think you’d be forced to work with watchful eyes studying your every move and reporting to Steve of every misstep you took, every weakness you showed, was beyond what you could handle.

“She’s not.” Steve’s voice was so calm and confident, you wanted to grab the pan from the chef’s hand and smack him with it.

But you didn’t. You knew it was one of the games you wouldn’t win, anyway.

Weird, how Steve considered potential changes to his plans, including your determination to keep the center, but wouldn’t budge for things that regarded you directly. You wondered, if he relished in the torture he was putting you through.

“She’s already proven herself to be worthy of the task of protecting my wife.” Steve threw that word - wife - so casually, as if it was the most natural thing to say. As if he was ready to keep repeating it for the rest of his life.

His other hand glided along your arm, pulling it away from your chest where you held your arms crossed. His fingers circled your wrist and pulled your hand up. With a warning tsk, he slid the ring and the wedding band back onto your finger.

Because once again you tried to leave it behind.

You blinked, processing Steve’s words, as you allowed him to slide the golden brand of his ownership onto your finger without a fuss.

You didn’t think he meant the fact Natalie told him about the meeting with Duvall and Batroc. The word protection was deliberate here and there was only one other instance when it wasn’t Steve the one who came first to your aid.

“That night, at the parking lot-” you looked at Natalie, who presented the most chill, unbothered stance.

All this time you thought she’s so efficient at organizing and handling work under pressure, while she probably had the cold blood of an assassin.

She shrugged at your realization, but didn’t deny that she was the one to save you from the goons who tried to kidnap you. Since she didn’t see it as anything big, anything beyond doing her boss’ orders to keep an eye on you, you weren’t going to thank her for it.

“Come, eat some breakfast before you go to save the minds and frustrate yourself further,” Steve pointed to a chair by the kitchen island, grabbing a cup of steaming coffee for himself.

Your appetite was lost. You didn’t want to be here any second longer. While less than half an hour ago you dreamed of finding your solace in work, you didn’t want to be there either. Not after the newest revelation.

Turning on your heel, you marched upstairs to grab your handbag; only marginally caring for the awful impression you had to have made on the chef, whose name you didn’t even get, because you didn’t introduce yourself.

You didn’t spare a second glance toward Steve as you stormed downstairs and toward the door. You kind of hoped that Natalie would stay inside, treat herself to some breakfast and whatever morning briefings a mob boss and his people had. You’d gladly stay outside in the peace and quiet of no fucking mafia people.

But a car was already waiting for you; the back side door open.

You wanted to ignore Natalie all day, as well poor, confused Peter who didn’t do anything wrong, but who was, after all, hired because Steve demanded it. Unfortunately, beside being named your personal guard, Natalie was also a fucking brilliant assistant.

No, not Natalie. Natasha.

Which she mentioned so casually as she parked the car. Apparently she didn’t have a preference for what you called her and a vicious streak inside of you wanted to spit out the word bitch.

With anger constantly bubbling under your skin, you hissed your sharp answers to her questions and reminders.

The day was a nightmare. When you returned home, all you wanted to do was to unwind in some way. But you hated exercises. Well, maybe hate was a too strong word, but you weren’t a fan of those beyond going for long strolls and swimming.

You also didn’t want to get drunk. Not in a place where Steve would be and the alcohol would strip you of your perfect control over yourself; potentially enhancing uninhibited desires Steve’s brutal aura stirred.

As you walked into the bedroom, your gaze fell upon the big bed. Neatly made. Fresh sheets bearing no proof of the mess you made when Steve fucked your brains out.

Your fingers immediately started working on undoing your buttons and zippers, peeling off each piece of clothing at a rushed pace. The way Steve fucked you on your wedding night would be perfect for reducing your tension into a whocares puddle.

It wasn’t going to happen, though. Ever again.

But you could give yourself a release without the devil’s assistance.

The shower was truly blissful. Not only relaxing your muscles with heat, but your fingers brought you delicious pleasure. Twice.

Sparkling diamond of your engagement ring and wedding band were left on a pile of cotton pads on top of the bathroom counter. You refused to touch yourself with any remnant of Steve lingering.

Pleased with yourself (and with the orgasms), you rolled into bed before the sunset; falling asleep right as the sound of the door being opened downstairs announced your husband’s return.

You didn’t care. Your brain and body were too exhausted from everything that happened in the day. Too relaxed, as well. They shut down before Steve even made it upstairs, saving you from any interaction with him.

Unfortunately for you, your brain was well rested in the morning. Your body, too. So rested, it seemed ready to follow an urge that was supposed to be satiated.

You woke up with your body plastered against Steve’s. Your boobs were pressing into his chest, your nipples stiffening the more awake you become. His hand was splayed on your hip, his knee wedged between your legs.

Just between your knees, but you still felt it as if the pressure was right against your pussy, causing your clit to throb in desperate plea for attention.

If his hand moved between your bodies, those thick fingers dipping between your thighs to greet you…

A quiet whine nearly tumbled out of your mouth, but you quickly covered it with a fake yawn as you rolled away. He muttered something and in your peripheral vision you saw him rubbing his face and opening his eyes.

But you were already locking yourself in the bathroom.

And cursing in aggravation as you noticed the rings back on your finger.

Later that day, you used the handheld showerhead to allow yourself that nearly painful release, which seemed to shake your body to the very toes. Something your clit forgot astonishingly quickly when Steve’s very late return (it was well past midnight) stirred you from your slumber.

Just in time to see the outline of his body in the semi-darkness of the bedroom as he dropped his pants to the floor.

You kept yourself in a state of near-wakefulness that night, to hold your body in position on the far edge of the bed, so that you wouldn’t roll anywhere close to Steve's body.

It was a blessing when Steve didn’t come home at all the next night. The fact the image of his face was clear in your head as you closed your eyes to get yourself off, was a minor inconvenience.

As was the annoying realization that your fingers, which were the most skilled at touching you how you liked and pressing those good spots, suddenly felt disappointing.

Your confusion with yourself grew daily, especially on days when you had zero interactions with Steve, yet your body felt the most tense and out of control then. Instead of enjoying the freedom and comfort of his absence. Then on afternoons and evenings when he came home unusually early and joined you in whatever you were doing, your pulse picked up.

Sometimes you would sense the sweat and gunpowder still hanging in his scent, or notice a splash of dried blood on his clothes. Which should repulse you.

It didn’t. Quite the contrary, it made something in you tighten, your skin itching to have Steve’s merciless hands on you. Same hands which undoubtedly have delivered pain, or even death to someone before he returned home.

It took a lot of strong will to not press yourself against his side while you sat on the couch watching a movie, seeking a friction that would snap Steve into taking you ruthlessly.

You became more distracted at work. More restless at night. Regular orgasms brought pleasant relaxation, but felt somewhat… bland.

Restoring to your final resource, you took out a small velvety box hidden in the depths of the closet, under a bundle of winter clothes. The pretty, lilac bunny vibrator winked at you when you opened the box. You took it with you to the bath, not caring for the water that sloshed onto the tiled floor as you writhed in your first orgasm.

Blissed out smile didn’t leave your face as you got out of the bathtub two hours later - water gone cold and your skin pruned.

You almost giggled as you tiptoed out of the bathroom and into the walk-in closet. You heard voices downstairs. Steve was talking to someone. Feeling a rush of adrenaline (a kick of thrilling excitement mixed with a shy kind of fear), you quickly put the vibrator back into its box and buried it under layers of clothes.

It should’ve been more than enough. It certainly felt like your brain was switched off completely, not a single care bothering you.

Yet, flashes of absolutely sinful, depraved images haunted you in your sleep.

You had no control over your body as it rolled onto your back while you slept. No awareness of your legs spreading and your own hand reaching down to touch your wet pussy. Which was as dripping and sticky as in your dream.

In which dead bodies of faceless men were scattered around the floor of some warehouse. While you were on the bed that stood in the middle of it. Steve was in front of you, standing at the foot of the bed. His rings-adorned fingers were curled around the front of your neck. His lips curved into a sinister smirk as he urged you on.

Urged you to move your hips and slide your wet pussy up and down the handle of the knife embedded into the mattress.

You woke up abruptly. Right before dream Steve was going to allow you to cum.

Your eyes opened wide, your mouth gasping for breath. You felt your own fingertips touching your sticky folds. Your nipples were hard, pointing towards the ceiling.

There was also another sensation; of someone else’s touch.

Steve’s hand had a strong grip on your thigh. His cock was throbbing against your side.

Holding your breath, you kept staring at the ceiling. As if suddenly you found yourself in a horror movie, you were too scared to turn your head and look in the devil’s blue eyes that watched you with hunger.

You knew that if you spread your thighs an inch more, if you let out any needy sound, if you turned your face to his, Steve would aid that burning fire.

His fingers would slip where your own couldn’t satisfy you. His mouth would close around your nipple, bite into your breast. He would roll on top of you and stretch your fluttering cunt on his thick cock.

The need for him was growing more maddening with each shaky breath. Still, you kept staring up and willing every part of your body not to move.

Steve squeezed your thigh and you bit your lip in time to stop the moan from spilling. A moment later his touch disappeared. He rolled onto his back, then sat up and threw his legs over the side of the bed. He walked into the bathroom and you sighed in relief.

Then you had to squeeze your thighs and roll onto your side, biting into your pillow to muffle the desperate, angry scream.

Because you heard the sounds of Steve’s pleasure.

A mixture of shameless grunts and moans, with the faint slick echo of a hand moving along a cock.

You should be disgusted by it, not wetter.

Not only was he jerking off a few steps away from you, but he left the bathroom door open so you heard him. And your traitorous body responded, eager to beg him for torment and release, just as your dream self had.

You avoided Steve’s gaze the whole early morning, despite both of you not catching any more sleep and pretending nothing happened. Well, you pretended. Steve strutted around like a peacock, with no care for your visible vexation. Your shower was on the cold side and your throat parched, even after gulping three glasses of orange juice.

Working seemed impossible, too. Every few minutes your brain would suddenly switch the channel from focused to flashes of the depraved wet dream. And your wet reality.

Because to your great dismay, Steve wasn’t only a demon from your dreams, but looked and acted the same tempting, dangerous way in broad daylight.

You spent the first ten minutes of your lunch break chugging cold water and pacing around your office, trying to at least reduce some of the physiological tension. Maybe you really should start running, or do some crossfit. Just so that your body would die from exhaustion and save you further humiliation.

You paused, seeing through the window a familiar silhouette cutting the inner courtyard of the center.

What the hell was Barnes doing here?

Your fingers clenched on your water bottle as you watched him stride through the sensory garden and toward the door in the far corner. It led to an old office. Or what used to be an office, but got flooded many years ago and now served more as a storage room, since there were more important rooms and projects to invest into than renovating one, single space.

“I swear, if he’s here to bang Nat-” you muttered angrily under your breath.

But when you yanked your office door open and stepped outside, Nat was sitting behind her desk. Pristine and sharp, like a blade herself. She arched her perfectly sculpted brow at you, but didn’t say anything when you grumbled that you’re going to the garden.

If Barnes wasn’t here to mess around with her, it meant he was here for business. His business meant Steve’s. Who was, after all, so very set on getting his hands on the health center and you still didn’t know why.

You marched through the courtyard, gaze laser focused on those doors behind which Bucky’s all black silhouette disappeared.

Admittedly, you were a bit scared of Bucky. Less than you were of Steve, but still. You knew he wouldn’t hurt you if you confronted him about any shady stuff (not without Steve’s permission), but it didn’t ease the pounding of your intimidated heart.

When you yanked the door open and stepped inside, you expected to see Bucky alone, or maybe with some henchmen that snuck in earlier, doing something nefarious. For a split of a second you feared you were going to see a dead body. But the room you walked into still resembled that old room with three different desks, some chairs, broken cabinets and various smaller items gathering dust. The only difference was that they were pushed against the walls, creating free space in the middle of the room.

However, you did not expect to see another pair of blue eyes beside Bucky’s.

Steve held your gaze once your eyes landed on him. And though a part of you screamed at you to turn around and run away, you couldn’t move. You couldn’t even shift your eyes, ensnared by that dark pull.

The air seemed to thicken around you. A heavy wave of stifling heat rolled up, engulfing you in the clogging, sticky memory of your wet dream and the following mess.

The way Steve tilted his chin, how he looked down at you with an expecting challenge that slipped into boredom, because you weren’t picking it and thus wasting his time; it made you snap from the haze.

“What the fuck?” You frowned, stepping further inside.

You kept your shoulders pushed back, your hands at your sides, as you attempted to maintain the professional power of a health center’s director.

Neither of them responded to you. Steve held your gaze a moment longer, then turned to Bucky, who wasn’t even looking your way.

“Make sure it’s ready by Wednesday.” Steve gave him instructions, ignoring your presence and demand. “Barton will be back Tuesday evening, so he can start the next day.”

Barnes simply gave a nod and left. No more words between them, no gestures that would indicate Steve ordered him to leave, so the two of you were alone. Rather Bucky would be leaving at this moment whether you were there, or not. Your presence marked as insignificant.

It pissed you off further.

“What the hell are you doing here?!” You stomped forward, not giving up.

“The center’s functioning won’t be disturbed.” Steve dragged his gaze down your form as you stood in front of him. His answer not an answer at all.

“With what?” You braced your hands on your hips, taking a deep breath to quiet the tone of your voice. It was unlike you to raise your voice and to hold it in rage for more than one outburst.

You were proud of your professional approach, even in highly stressful situations. Granted, you weren’t facing a benefactor, nor an official of any kind, but you were determined to remain in control with Steve, as well. More so than with anyone other.

But his mere presence had your neuronal system overheating, recording and sending signals from so many parts of your body at once.

“Nothing that concerns you.”

The way he said it… He wasn’t just avoiding the topic, he was dismissing you.

Then the bastard dared to step around you and walk away.

You snapped. There was no logical thought behind your actions as you grabbed a heavy, crystal ashtray from one of the desks.

You threw it at Steve.

Your aim wasn’t the worst, but the bowl was heavy and Steve was moving. It flew past his head, quite a distance away from causing any potential harm. It thudded against the door and fell to the floor where it broke into three chunks.

A blur of movement filled your vision, before you even registered what you’ve done. A hand was squeezing the front of your neck as you were forced to scramble back.

Air wooshed out of you when Steve slammed you against the back wall; with less force than you’d expect him to use on an actual enemy, but enough of it to remind you he was no gentleman.

His body pressed into you; massive, strong, terrifying.

He kept you pinned in place, one hand on your throat was enough of a warning for you to struggle only for breath and not fight him. Steve’s other hand squeezed your side, thumb pressing so hard above your hip bone you were certain there would be a bruise.

A flare of fear cut through your blood, but with it came another rush. A wild pulse of thrill.

“You best beg me to fuck that frustration out of you now,” Steve’s voice was a slice of heated scythe cutting through your composed walls.

“I’m not-” you stopped immediately when he clenched his fingers tighter.

“Princess,” he hissed in a warning. “I know you’ve been touching yourself. Playing with your needy pussy, using your pathetic toys. And still it was my name you moaned in your sleep, when you were dreaming of what you really crave.”

Tears welled in your eyes, only partially from your air flow being constricted. Most of all, it was the aforementioned frustration that squeezed salty drops.

You hated him; hated how he made your body weak and desperate for him.

You’d love nothing more than to deny any of his claims and walk out with your head held high. But your knees were too weak, your pussy already throbbing and primed for him. If you even managed to step out of the room, your frustration would bring you to a boiling point and make you crawl back to him.

“Need me to take out my gun?” His words brushed against your cheek like a caress.

Whether it was that contrasting softness of his voice, or the image of the deadly weapon being pushed under your skirt, it made you clench around nothing.

You shook your head.

“Need you-” you finally whimpered. “Need you to fuck me.”

Steve swallowed your next sound. He squeezed his fingers once again, forcing your mouth to open to gulp precious air. But he gave you none. Only the taste of him, the demand of his tongue that played against yours as his fingers would against your clit.

With his other hand, he yanked your pencil skirt up; sharp moves tugging the clingy fabric. Then air was swiftly filing your lungs and rushing to your head, as he released your throat and used both hands to turn you.

He pushed you forward and bent you over one of the dust covered desks. Splaying your hands on the hard surface, you pressed your face against one palm and arched your back, pushing your ass up. A streak of shame burned your skin, but the need for Steve’s cock was too great.

There was a jangle of belt buckle being undone and a cool wisp of air licked up your wet slit when Steve pushed the strip of your soaked panties to the side.

“Fucking drenched, Princess.” He groaned, most pleased with the sight of your glistening pussy.

“You did this to yourself,” he scolded you, dipping two of his fingers between your folds and smearing your sticky mess around. “Denying yourself, though you know how much your body loves what I do to it.”

“You won’t say no from now on, right?” A single digit pushed inside and your legs wobbled.

You moaned, trying to push back against his hand and get more. So much more. But he was unyielding, repeating his question in the same patient, merciless manner. Until you clenched your eyes shut, crying in frustration - “I won’t! Please!”

His fingers withdrew. A low chuckle responded to your whine. But the pressure of his cock against your hole rewarded your reluctant submission.

The moan that spilled past your lips as he sank deeper reverberated through the empty room. You shifted your head, biting onto your hand to muffle the sounds that Steve would undoubtedly cause you to make.

He wouldn’t have it.

Growling his displeasure, Steve gripped both of your wrists and pulled your arms behind your back. He crossed your wrists together and held them in one of his hands at the small of your back.

Then his other hand was gripping your hip, holding you bent and lodged on his dick while he took three steps back. There was no surface you could brace yourself upon, nowhere to press your face into to cover your cries and moans. Bent over, your legs shaking, Steve’s strong hold was the only security you had from falling.

It also allowed him to move your body the way he pleased.

One testing thrust had you jerking forward, your head bowed down and a cry spilled out along with a drop of your spit.

Steve readjusted his hold on your wrists then started pounding into you. It wasn’t the sinful, gracefully primal way he fucked you on your wedding night, but a forceful taking reflecting your frustrations of the past weeks.

And fuck you needed it exactly like that.

Each slam had you mewling, your pussy fluttering around him. Much to Steve’s delight.

“That’s it, Princess,” he goaded. “Let me hear you.”

The angle, the force of it, the sense of being completely at Steve’s mercy, had you coming sooner than anticipated.

Your walls clenched hard. Your whole body spasmed as waves of pleasure crashed into you with the power of a sea storm. That was it - the pleasure you seeked for weeks, so numbing and good that nothing but a hum of blood filled your head.

No self-induced orgasm felt like this.

Steve’s hand moved from your hip to your neck, curling at the front of it and pulling your head back. His other arm released your wrists, but wrapped around your middle as Steve made you stand up and lean your back against his chest.

He was still hard. Still lodged deep in your quivering cunt. Fucking you through your orgasm.

He slowed, but in this new angle his cock seemed to sink even deeper inside. Crown of his dick brushed over that ultrasensitive spot, causing your eyes to roll back. Your ass was squished into his hips, coarse hair on his thighs grazed your skin with each thrust.

“Is this what you dreamed of?” He groaned into your ear, filling you in a firm stroke.

You shook your head, unable to form a sentence beyond a breathy moan.

Cool metal of his rings was pressing into your neck, his other arm squeezing your breasts upwards, crumpling your pristine blouse. His heavy boots bracketed your pretty pink heels as his fat cock speared into your creamy cunt over and over again.

“What was it then?” Steve snapped his hips in a sharp move, making you cry out loud.

“The knife-” you managed to rasp out as you felt another climax coiling up low in your belly.

You didn’t tell him any of the sordid details, but revealing it was the blade you were dripping for in your dream was enough to make Steve laugh in triumph.

The vibration of it not only shook your chest, but seemed to jolt down to your pussy.

“My fucking dirty Princess,” Steve sucked on your earlobe, quickening his pace. “You won’t hide those dark needs anymore. I’ll play them all out for you. Show you new ones.”

“Now-” he kept his hand on your throat, but moved the other one south- “Cum for me again. Wanna feel it squeezing me as I fill this married pussy.”

Steve’s fingers slipped over your clit, drawing rough circles on your swollen nub. A shot of pressing pleasure made you arch against him, a gurgled mewl pitching in your throat. You gripped Steve’s thighs, feeling his muscles flex with each powerful snap of his hips.

A few sharp strokes more and warm, thick seed was coating your walls.

Steve’s moan was the hottest sound you’ve ever heard. Its deep, dark undertone tipped you over the edge.

Your head was spinning, though Steve didn’t clench his fingers on your throat too tight. It was the amalgamate of everything: his cock throbbing inside of you, spilling more cum and filling you; your pussy was fluttering like crazy, a fairy on a rush attempting to grab each drop and stuff it into the right place; your half-conscious mind registering that you were in your workplace.

Wrapping an arm around you once more, Steve moved your joined bodies a few paces backwards. Movement jolted his dick, causing your pussy to clench in response to renewed friction.

Then he was pulling you down with him as he sat on one of the forgotten chairs; the wood creaking from the weight. He kept you on his cock, splaying his fingers sticky with your slick over your thigh. A few breaths later his hold on your throat eased. But you kept your head tipped back on his shoulder, unfocused gaze staring at the white ceiling.

Until Steve used his fingers to tilt your face for a kiss.

Slow, but no less weakening.

His tongue teased your lips open. His fingers were a pressure against your cheek, reminding you of who held the reins, even if he coaxed your response with surprising gentleness. Shushing your tiny moan by sucking on your bottom lip.

Echo of your ragged breath mingled, your heart pounding in your chest as you stayed in Steve’s lap. You didn’t think you had the strength to stand back on your feet just yet. You also weren’t sure he would let you.

So you rolled your head back onto Steve’s shoulder and stared into the space, unfocused. His mouth pressed a kiss over your galloping pulse point, then he scraped his teeth along your shoulder.

“Smuggling tunnels.” Steve’s words stirred your post-orgasmic brain mush.

“Huh?” You lolled your head to the side to squint at his profile and try to make sense of his words.

“That’s why I wanted the center.” He explained, lazily roaming his fingers over your clothed body. “Entrance to the smuggling tunnels is exactly here. They were set up in the prohibition era, then supposedly locked. But not all of them. Not this loop. And according to the plans Tony provided, the web of tunnels stretches to the very harbor.”

You blinked, processing his words. It was quite hard to take the seriousness of this information while your pussy was still pulsing and leaking cum. And while Steve’s hand was fondling your breast.

“Tony? As in Tony Stark?” Your mind shook off remnants of haze.

“Mhmm,” Steve nipped your shoulder. “Howard never uttered a word, though he knew of the tunnels. After his death, Tony went through all of his old man’s secret nooks and found those plans. Among other things. Tony knows how to make good deals and he’s going to gain a lot from giving me the information about the tunnels.”

You wanted to rage, because it sounded so… insignificant. So small. Smuggling tunnels being the reason why Steve Rogers turned your life into a neverending torment.

The logical brain knew that for a mob boss, an unknown to the police route of smuggling that would provide unlimited profits for decades, was worth one meager life. It was worth much more. He would really have killed you back then, if you didn’t comply with his marriage whim.

“Why do you tell me this?” Your nose scrunched up and a displeased whimper left your lips when Steve’s softened cock slipped out of you.

His fingers touched your cheek as Steve’s cold blue eyes seared into yours.

“Because you’re my wife and you asked.”

You didn’t read it in any falsely romantic way. Steve wasn’t going to be sharing his feelings and burdens with you. But he knew the power he held over you and had the privilege of being blunt, certain that you wouldn’t spill his secrets anywhere. Because he owned you.

“Speaking of which,” he lifted you up easily and put you back on your feet.

Which shook slightly, your pink heels barely holding you upright.

A dollop of cum dripped down from your pussy and splashed on the floor, before you reached between your thighs with a grimace and adjusted your soaked panties back into place.

You quickly pressed your thighs together and rolled down your skirt. Steve was tucking himself back into his pants and you tried not to glance at his cock shiny with your juices, nor at his fingers that smelled of your arousal when he pressed them against your cheek earlier.

You were adjusting your blouse when Steve caught your wrist. His irises reminded of a cold, but clear mountain lake - as disquieting as tempting to dip in it. It was a depth from which you’d never breach the surface.

“We have an appointment at six. I’ll pick you up myself.” He announced.

“Appointment?” You frowned.

“Since you keep losing your ring-” Steve lifted your hand up to your face, your finger bare where the sparkling diamond and wedding band should be.

You left them in your office, taking them off as soon as you walked in. Just to feel the victory of not wearing them for a few hours.

“- I’ll get you a permanent brand.”

Your frown deepened. Your gaze shifted between your finger and Steve’s face as you tried to decipher what he meant. What was he going to do? Hot-glue it to your finger? You didn’t think it was possible to nail a ring to a bone, or was it?

Steve’s thumb rubbed your bare knuckle. His low purr, as sinfully sounding as it was, scared you.

“My name is going to look so fucking good on your skin, Princess.”

It took you a moment. Mostly because your mind couldn’t simply accept the idea that your husband would do something like it. But you quickly realized that he would. Considering everything he’s done so far, this was the smallest of crimes. Like nothing.

“I’m not getting tattooed!” You hissed, trying to yank your hand out of his grasp.

He didn’t budge.

Stepping even closer, Steve held your hand trapped between your bodies as he gripped the back of your neck with his other hand.

“Yes, you are.” He stated calmly.

“You will be a good girl and sit in the chair while my name is branded into your skin. Or-” you never knew threat and amusement could combine, but Steve’s eyes glinted that exact, lethal combo- “I’ll drug you and have it done while you’re out of it.”

Your own eyes widened, fear muffling any outburst of rebellion that you might’ve dared to voice.

Somehow the idea of being drugged and having something done to you, while you were unconscious, terrified you more than having a loaded gun pressed against your cheek.

“Either way, it’s happening. But I know your stance on the substances messing with the brain, so I’m sure you prefer to be conscious.” Steve’s mouth curved into a smile of a predator that knew his prey had nowhere to go.

And he was right. You would fight him, but the threat of being pumped with some unknown drug stopped you from trying. Even if Steve made sure to apply the cleanest anesthesia medication, you wouldn’t want to risk it. You knew too well how the smallest doses of narcotics and psychoactive substances influenced the brain. Or rather massacrated it.

“I’ll wear the fucking ring,” you pleaded, though rather petulantly.

“Great!” Steve flashed you a smile and kissed the knuckle of your ring finger. “But you’re still getting that tattoo, Princess.”

No amount of glaring and arguments worked to even irritate Steve as he took you to the tattoo parlor later that day. He was so set on his decision, nothing would deter or delay it. Not even your fear as your hands visibly shook when he accompanied you inside the empty tattoo shop.

Judging by the address and the interior, it wasn’t a random place either.

It seemed like one of those tattoo shops that require booking half a year in advance. It wasn’t a bright, safe space, either. Nor the typical rock and heavy metal design. Dark; a mixture of wood and leather. But no harsh tones, no collages displaying various works, no neons. Almost like a spa.

A very intimidating spa.

This place definitely didn’t do butterflies or overused tribal tattoos.

It would, you thought, be a place where people working for the most dangerous branch of the mafia had their skin inked.

“Rogers.” A gruff voice greeted as you followed half a step behind Steve.

Your fingers were intertwined with Steve’s. At first because he made you hold his hand as he helped you out of the car, but as you stepped into the parlor you felt fear of pain spiking so high you needed to lean against something.

Unfortunately for you, Steve was the only solid rock you could lean on at the moment.

A big, rather scary looking man walked out from a darkened backroom. He was a few inches shorter than Steve, but no less broad. Wearing black head to toe, his tattoos were like a refreshing splash of color that instantly drew attention.

Steve had quite a few tattoos. A lot of them. But this man was covered in ink.

His whole hands, sleeves of his arms. Vines stretched even up his neck. Only his head was clean of any print. His hair was buzzed, his dark beard trimmed. Yeah, he definitely could be a mafia’s tattoo artist slash silent killer.

“Will this do?” The man showed Steve a design on a small piece of paper, not glancing your way even once, even though it was you who was going under the needle.

He either didn’t care, since you weren’t the one paying for this whole ordeal, or he didn’t want to piss Steve off by looking at the mob boss’ wife.

“Yeah, it’s perfect.” Steve nodded his approval then tugged on your hand. “Come on, Princess. Get up on the chair.”

There was no point in postponing the inevitable and you’d rather save yourself the humiliation of Steve putting you in the chair by force. Which he would. So you complied, though you still glared daggers at him.

He remained indifferent, taking a seat on a small rolling stool and staying at your side. If it wasn’t to ensure you wouldn’t bolt, you might think he did it out of care.

Turning your head away from Steve and the spark of delight in his eyes, you focused on the gloved hands of the tattoo artist. Fingers of your other hand squeezed into a fist as the man prepped the skin of your ring finger.

“I suppose you don’t care that the bastard is making me do it?” You dared to ask right as the man was about to transfer the drawing onto your digit.

He paused. With him paused your heart, waiting for reaction. Waiting for salvation, though you suspected it was a fool’s hope.

The man’s eyes lifted to your face. He watched you for a long, silent moment. Then huffed a short laugh and smirked.

“I get why you picked her,” he addressed Steve. Who was sitting beside you, completely unbothered and now grinning smugly.

Gritting your teeth, you turned your head and looked down at the outline of the tattoo that was being transferred onto your skin. Not a drawing, but words that would wrap around your knuckle the way a ring does. Though most lettering would be visible on the outside, like a diamond would, ends curved into the inner side of your finger.

A bold, but neat cursive. Big letters.

Steve

And above it, slightly smaller, but equally brazen reminder.

‘Til death

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