Lessons in Rule Breaking and Other Reader-Inserts*Steve Rogers*Reader*

No Apologies Needed - Pt.2/4

An unpleasant sensation of cold tickling your feet woke you up – or maybe it was the pounding headache, you weren't sure. But you definitely wanted to bury yourself deeper in your covers and sleep for at least a week. You wanted to pull the covers over your head, but your limbs felt way too heavy to complete the task.

The memories of yesterday night were a bit hazier than you would like; you couldn't even remember getting home, so maybe this was the universe punishing you for getting so royally drunk. You groaned and tried harder to muffle yourself and keep yourself warm; only to realize you indeed couldn't move your hands. Or your legs for that matter.

In fact, you weren't even lying. You were sitting upright, your back rather narrow against a flat hard surface and you had a cramp in your neck as your head had been hanging down.

Your eyes snapped the moment your heart started beating its way out of your chest, your breathing turning frantic. You weren't hit by the sharp morning light peeking from under the curtains of your room and you were definitely not staring at your dark purple carpet. You were staring at a concrete floor, where your bare feet were resting, tied to legs of a chair you were sitting on.

Your mind turned blank, your blood roaring in your ears, only adding to the headache. The shiver running down your spine had nothing to do with the cold now.

You looked around the dimly illuminated room – messy and cold... a warehouse? Jesus. – only to find a guy sitting on a chair opposite to you staring right back. He was leant forward, his elbows on his knees, fingers interlaced. And he was grinning at you cockily.

"Morning, Sunshine."

He slowly rose to his feet, making his way to you predatorily. You subconsciously backed against the chair, tugging at the cuffs restraining your wrists to your sides. His smile widened. You pulled harder, tears of fear filling your eyes.

Even with the terrible headache, with what could be a serious hangover, it was way too easy to figure out what was happening. It didn't exactly take a genius; you were kidnapped. Or maybe you had gone willingly, because you had drunk your ass off with like four margaritas and your brain had totally switched off.

And now were going to get hurt.

But why?!

Why would someone take you? Why would anyone want you of all people? And if they didn't care about you personally, why— why were you still alive? If they only wanted the cash you had, they could have taken it. If they wanted to-- you heart stopped as the idea hit you like a train, all of your focus on how your body felt, everywhere. They hadn't--- they hadn't touched you, right? You would feel that, they---

Shit. Fucking shit, this wasn't happening. What if they... what if they wanted to sell you? You always read about the human trafficking rings, targeting women or kids, selling them the highest bidder. And then raping them again and again, torturing them until they wished they were dead.

Your chest tightened in horror, tears rolling down your cheeks. No matter the restraints, your body trembled in fear and desperation.

No, no, no, god, please, no-

"How's the head, Sweetcheeks? Had a little too much to drink last night? Or more than just drinks?" he called out, stopping two feet from you, leaning forward so his face was right in front of yours.

His dark gaze was piercing yours, amused and so mean. You squeezed your eyes shut, more tears escaping them. You felt his hand on your chin, calloused fingers gripping it tightly. You sobbed, your body too overwhelmed to make an attempt to escape his touch.