Steve had never expected to find something so profound in dominance. It had started as curiosity, then a slow, careful exploration, and before he even realized it, it had become a part of him—of both of them. For two years now, you had been his, wholly and completely, and he had been yours in turn. You placed your trust in him, gave yourself over without hesitation, and in return, he kept you safe, kept you grounded, kept you his.

Control wasn’t just about power for Steve. It was responsibility. It was knowing exactly how far to push, when to pull you back, how to read every shift in your breath, every tremor in your voice. He knew what you needed before you even spoke it. Knew the way your body melted when you fell into subspace, the way your eyes turned hazy with trust, the way the world disappeared for you until all that was left was him. He took that seriously—being the one you let go for.

But it wasn’t just about the fall. It was about catching you. About holding you after, making sure you didn’t slip too far. Aftercare was never an afterthought—it was just as much a part of this as everything else. His hands, so firm when he commanded, turned gentle in the aftermath. He wrapped you in warmth, whispered reassurance against your hair, traced soft patterns into your skin as he brought you back. No rush, no pressure—just him, steady and constant, until you were ready to face the world again.

You wore his collar like a promise, and he treated it as such. It wasn’t about ownership—it was about devotion. About knowing that no matter how far you fell, he’d always be there to catch you. Always.