Summary: Steve came home from the war to a wife that could not deal with the emotionally, mentally, and physically changed man before her. Dealing with it the only way he knew how, Steve buried himself in his work. After saving hundreds of lives in one heroic act, Steve finds himself put on bodyguard duty. Also known as a glorified babysitter.
It wasn’t easy being the daughter of insanely rich and successful businessman, Phil Coulson. After multiple death threats, your overbearing, worries-too-much father decides you need a bodyguard.
Word Count: 2,591
Warnings: Language, angst, blood, violence, explicit sexual content, possibly more to come.
Author’s Note: GIF found on Google Images without a source.
My work is not to be posted on any other sites (AO3, Wattpad, etc.) without my express written permission. Reblogs are fine.
From the moment Steve laid eyes on Y/N he knew she was going to be difficult. His prior judgements based on her rebellious years appeared to be accurate, given the arguments she put up about being assigned a bodyguard.
Trust me, doll. I don’t want to be here either.
Even in the car, she was as stubborn as a mule. Steve was doing his job by telling Pietro to take a different route, and the woman damn near bit his head off.
“Pietro has been my driver for the last five years. He knows where he’s going. Stay on the normal route, Pietro.” Her eyes were blazing at him in the rearview mirror.
Steve shook his head and repeated his previous instruction. “There’s a forty-five minute delay up ahead, ma’am.”
“You’re not my driver, Steve.”
He could hear the rage in her voice, simmering, ready to bubble over. “No, ma’am, I am not your driver. I’m your bodyguard, and anyone that is in your father’s employ, will do as I deem fit, as per your father’s instructions… ma’am. Take Park.”
Thankfully, she held her tongue and ceased her arguments, though she continued to glare daggers at him in the mirror. If that was any indication of how every interaction was going to be, Steve was in for a rough ride. He had served his country several times over, almost given his life more times than he could count. Surely he could handle one woman.
Once Y/N’s office was clear and she buried her nose in work, Steve found the perfect spot to see everything and everyone; right next to the reception desk. He kept his back to the wall, hands clasped behind his back – easier to grab his service weapon should the need arise, and a judgemental watch on anyone that entered or exited the room.
The only time he left his post was when Y/N emerged from her office. The bathroom was cleared before she could enter, as was her office upon her return. Y/N was not happy about it, tapping her heeled foot, arms crossed, huffs of irritation blowing out of her, but it was Steve’s job to keep her alive, even if it meant pissing her off.
It was almost eleven by the time you called it a night. You still had a ton of work to get done, but your eyelids were heavy and there was a knot in your neck that prevented you from looking at your computer. You grabbed your bag and shoved some files into it, knowing that you’d be looking at them in bed, your legs drawn up, the files resting against your thighs, and a pen dangling from your fingers.
After wrapping the scarf around your neck and sliding into your coat, you shouldered your bag and headed out of the office. Steve was there to hold the door open for you.
“Are you not locking the door, ma’am?” he asked.
“No, I usually leave it unlocked,” you said without further explanation. You moved to brush past him, but thanks to his much longer legs, he was in front of you in no time, leading the way to the elevator.
Steve punched the button to call for the elevator and stood by your side, waiting for the doors to open. Despite having stood outside your office all day and following you everywhere, Steve didn’t look tired. In fact, he looked ready to face whatever came, even if it meant going toe-to-toe with someone. The thought alone made you chuckle, because you had a feeling that if anyone were to pick a fight with Steve, they’d be on the losing end.
“Somethin’ funny, ma’am?” he asked as the doors opened.
You cleared the laughter from your throat before answering. “Just imagining you in a fight.”
Steve let out a huff of amusement as he pressed the button for the parking garage. “Against who?”
The lack of professionality from Steve shocked you, not enough to deter you from the conversation. “Anyone, really.”
“Why is that, ma’am?”
“You look like you can hold your own,” you admitted.
Steve looked at you from the corner of his eyes. “And then some,” he assured you.
The rest of the short ride down to the garage was silent, filled only at the end when the doors opened. Steve went out first, hand on the butt of the gun on his hip, eyes scanning the large area, alert, wary of the surroundings.
When a car abruptly started and pulled out from a parking spot, the tires squealing against the tar, Steve was standing tall in front of you, an arm looped back to hold you firmly against him, his gun unholstered at his side. The adrenaline that was coursing through you quickly fizzled out when you realized the approaching vehicle was being driven by Pietro.
“Jesus,” you grunted, prying Steve’s hand from your back. “It’s Pietro. You know, my driver.”
“How do you know that?” Steve inquired, tone low and dark.
Despite using every ounce of strength you had, Steve’s hand didn’t budge. “He’s the only one I know that plays that goddamn music. Now, lemme go!”
Steve gave a command as the vehicle slowed and the music was turned off. “Put the vehicle in park and exit with your hands above your head.”
Pietro cut the engine and kicked the door open, his shaking hands emerging from the vehicle first. “Is me, Rogers,” he announced, his accented-voice wavering with fear as he stood.
“Told you,” you seethed as you pushed Steve’s hand away, and you were only able to do so because his grip loosened.
“I apologize, Pietro, ma’am,” Steve said after clearing his throat. “I didn’t recognize the vehicle.”
Pietro rushed around the car to open the back door for you. “Is okay. It happens.”
“No, it does not just happen,” you bit out, glaring at Steve before dropping into the car.
Steve took his seat directly in front of you as Pietro ran around the car once again, dropping into his seat behind the wheel.
“To the hotel, Pietro,” Steve ordered calmly.
“Yes, sir.”
With narrowed eyes, you continued to glare at the back of Steve’s head. God, you wanted to smack him. Yeah, okay, you had sort of come to terms with the fact that you had a bodyguard, but that didn’t mean he could just pull a gun on whomever he felt like because he didn’t recognize the damn car.
“Did you say somethin’, ma’am?” Steve wanted to know.
“What? No!” you snapped. Wait, had you actually said something, or was Steve fucking around?
Steve turned his head to look at you from the corner of his eye. “Really? I swear I heard you say something.” That same borderline-playful tone was adding a soft lilt to his voice he had in the elevator.
“I said I didn’t, Steve,” you huffed, pulling the phone from your bag.
“Whatever you say, ma’am.”
It was a quick journey from the office to the hotel, one that was filled with uncomfortable silence and the sounds of you typing out messages on your cell. Pietro had tried making conversation with Steve, but his questions went unanswered as Steve kept a watchful eye on the passing scenery on the way to The William Vale.
Due to the late hour, there were only a handful of people in the lobby, and those people worked at the hotel, even the elevator ride up to the twentieth floor was relatively quiet. Steve stood there like he was a fucking statue, not a single part of him moving, well, besides the Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat as he swallowed.
Nope. Stop that right now. You shouldn’t be admiring the Adonis towering over you. With your jaw clenched, you forced yourself to look away, snapping your eyes front and center, glaring at your distorted reflection in the metal doors that were about to open.
Two men in suits identical to Steve’s greeted you with a nod, calling Steve, “Cap’n,” as he walked by. They didn’t follow as that was their post, but their eyes were glued on you until you turned the corner, an update spoken into their comms. More men were standing guard outside your room, one on either side of the door, and another next to the door that you assumed led to Steve’s room.
Steve entered your room first, his steps heavy and determined. The man on your right held out his arm, blocking your access, and shook his head.
“This is ridiculous,” you mumbled. Your feet and back ached, and you had a nagging headache behind your eyes. You wanted nothing more than to take off your shoes and clothes, have a drink, and drop into bed. But you couldn’t do that because of your father.
“Fuck it.” Without waiting for the all clear from Steve, you forced your way into the room and dropped your bag onto the couch.
Steve emerged from the bedroom with a scowl on his brow. “What do you think you’re doin’, ma’am?”
“What’s it look like?” you sassed as you removed the shoes on your feet.
If looks could kill, was the first thought that popped into your mind when you caught the way he was glaring at you.
“I haven’t cleared it yet, ma’am,” Steve said coolly, his jaw clenching in a hypnotizing manner.
“I don’t care,” you stated simply as you crossed the room and filled a glass with some whiskey. It wasn’t normally your drink of choice, but it got the job done in a pinch. “Besides, who’s really going to be hiding in my bedroom?”
Steve crossed the room in three purposeful strides and towered over you. “It is my job to keep you alive, ma’am. Now, you don’t have to like that I’m here, but you do need to stop givin’ me shite and respect what I do. No more marchin’ into an uncleared room because your feet ache. You stay back, you stay alive. Got that, ma’am?” he gruffed, accent unbelievably thick, voice gritty, eyes ice-blue.
The glass in your hand was shaking and your throat was thick with something that definitely had nothing to do with the arousal coursing through you. Absolutely nothing. “I understand, Steve.”
“Good,” he said with a curt nod, and then he was in the bathroom and kitchenette, making sure there were no hidden devices that could harm you or anyone hiding in the cupboards and shower.
“Would you like a drink?” you asked, not waiting for an answer before pouring the amber liquid into a clean glass.
Steve was shaking his head. “No, thank you, ma’am.”
“You don’t drink?” you scoffed in disbelief.
“I didn’t say that, ma’am. I do not want one right now,” he clarified. “Will there be anythin’ else, ma’am?”
You quickly drank the whiskey that had been poured for him as you turned around. “I suppose not,” you answered. “It is pretty late.”
“That it is, ma’am.” Steve bade you goodnight before leaving the room.
“Night, Mr. Rogers,” you chuckled, pleasantly buzzed and filling up your glass once more before heading to your bedroom. “Mr. Rogers, that’s funny.”
After stripping out of your clothes, bra and panties were next, you noticed that there was a door in the corner, next to your bed. Curious, you strolled over and ran your hand along the expensive and gleaming wood.
“Won’t you be… my neighbor,” you hummed under your breath.
You pressed an ear to the door and caught your bottom lip between your teeth as you strained to hear something, anything. Curiosity had always been one word used to describe you in the past, and much to your father’s chagrin, it was a trait you never outgrew. At this present moment in time, you had no clue what you were expecting to hear. So, when nothing out of the ordinary grabbed your attention, you pushed away from the door and finished ridding your body of clothing, quickly drank the whiskey, and dropped into bed.
Once the door was closed, Steve let out the air he hadn’t realized his lungs had been holding captive. His shoulders and neck ached in a way that had him missing the massages Sharon used to give him. She might have been petite, but she could work out the deepest of knots without breaking a sweat.
God, he missed her.
He removed the comm in his ear before unthreading it from the lining of the jacket – straight down his back and into the left side of his chest where a small mic was fastened to the lapel. Next, he grabbed the small battery pack that was attached to his hip, dropped them onto the table, and plugged in the charger.
With his suit jacket off and draped over the chair, he quickly unbuttoned the white shirt and set it atop the jacket. The four wide velcro straps of the mandatory bulletproof vest were separated loudly before he pulled it over his head, tossing it onto the end of the bed a moment later.
The slim phone was in his hand before he registered what he was doing. No missed calls, no unread text messages, and no new emails. Steve blew out a heavy breath, his thumb hovering over the phone icon in the bottom right corner.
He wanted… needed to talk to Sharon. She had always been able to quiet the constant hum of activity inside of his brain, the activity that had grown worse since his honorable discharge from the army. But the minute he got home, he knew something was off. Only Sharon wouldn’t talk to him. She didn’t even want to see him. In fact, she had divorce papers drawn up the following morning and all but begged Steve to sign. Not that he signed them, fuck that. He wouldn’t give her the fucking satisfaction.
A beer was in his hand, opened, and half gone before he realized that he had called Sharon.
“What do you want, Steve?” came her irritated voice. “It’s almost one in the morning.”
“Just wanted to hear your voice,” Steve admitted, hating how true it was.
Sharon gave a harsh sounding sigh. “You gotta stop doing this. It’s over.”
“No, it ain’t. You don’t get to kick me out and tell me our marriage is done because you don’t want to deal with the bad,” he ridiculed. “For better or worse, remember?”
“You’ve been drinking.” God, she sounded so disappointed.
Steve rolled his eyes and tossed the can in the trash. “One beer, Sharon. After the day I’ve had, I think one beer is okay.”
“But it’s never one beer with you, Stevie,” Sharon sighed, no doubt pinching the bridge of her nose.
“Don’t call me that,” he ground out. “You lost all rights to call me that when you kicked me out of my own home.”
There was a beat of silence, of Sharon pulling in a deep breath through her nose. “I’m hanging up. Goodnight.”
“No, don’t do -” the call dropped and Steve launched his cell phone across the room. It landed on the bed and bounced twice before falling to the floor.
Despite the fact that he wanted to let loose a scream of frustration and punch something, Steve was also aware of his surroundings. A hotel room that was directly next to Y/N and a handful of men patrolling the halls was not the place to do as he wished. Instead, he pulled out another beer and drained it.
FOUR: Voluntold
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