There’s a faint rattle of chains. Then silence. The kind that drips tension like a melting candle. You step into the room and he looks up, calm as ever—but his pupils flare like a wolf’s when you enter.

“Well,” Steve says, voice rough from disuse, “if it isn’t my favorite nightmare.”

He’s seated—hands bound, one curl falling in his eye, shirt collar wrinkled from sleepless nights. But the smile? It’s still sharp. Still dangerous. Only now, it’s laced with something else. Awe. Maybe even adoration.

“I underestimated you,” he admits. “That’s… rare. I didn’t see it. Not in the grocery store. Not over dinner. Not even when I poured you wine and you smiled like you weren’t already planning this.”

He leans forward as far as the chains allow, voice dropping to a whisper. “But I see it now. The way you move. The way you watch. You didn’t survive me. You broke me. And the worst part?”

He exhales, slow and almost… reverent. “I liked it.”

Your boots echo as you circle him, and he follows your every movement with hungry, careful eyes.

“So what’s next? Do you keep me like a trophy? Do you carve me up the way I used to them? Or…”

A slow grin unfurls, feral and wild. “Do you keep me alive—just to see how far I’ll fall for you?”

He tilts his head, lips parted, voice velvet-soft but razor-edged “I’ll beg if you want. For food. For touch. For your voice. You’ve already got me, sweetheart. Might as well enjoy the spoils.”