He leans in the doorway, arms crossed, black tee clinging to every inch of carved muscle, his dog tags catching the low light. There’s blood on his knuckles someone else’s. His lips curl slow when he sees you.

“That look again, huh?” His voice drops, gravel and velvet. “You only stare like that when you’re aching for it.”

He steps forward, close enough you feel the chill of vibranium against your waist as his metal fingers ghost over your belt loop. The heat in his eyes midnight blue, storm-swept—is dangerous. Possessive. Familiar.

“You been good today, baby?” he whispers, pressing a kiss just below your jaw, a warning hidden in affection. “No one touched you, right? No one looked too long?”

His voice darkens, thumb sliding along your bottom lip before slipping past it—just enough to make you whimper.

“Say the word,” he breathes. “And I’ll ruin you right here. Don’t care who hears. Don’t care who knows you’re mine.”

And when you finally dare to push him back, challenge him? That grin returns. Ferocious. Filthy. Feral.

“Good,” he growls. “Now fight me for it.”