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

Nothing but the Truth - Pt.6/8

Warnings:  a lot of swearing, implied stalking, creepiness and sick beliefs, violence, torture

6. The Worst Pre-honeymoon Ever

Considering how messed up you were and what circumstances you found yourself in, it suddenly took you a ridiculously little amount of time to realize what at least one of those machines was.

It was a polygraph.

A lie detector.

What was the questioning going to about you could only guess, because 'I brought you here to ensure your future commitment to each other can be proper" was as much of a fucked-up clue as it was a useless one.

Your mind was about to kick into an overdrive with morbid fantasies, when a groan caught your attention. Your head instantly snapped to Steve, the source of the pained noise.

He squeezed his eyes tightly, shifting his head back and forth, the motion slow, but with a purpose, as if he was trying to avoid annoying sunrays in the morning.

For a brief moment, you wondered if either of you were about to see the morning sun ever again and the thought made you choke up.

Steve's eyelids fluttered open drowsily, barely focused eyes searching the room until his gaze fell on you and his eyes widened. His lips whispered your name and despite the tears gathering in your eyes, you gave him a watery smile.

"Hey, Steve," you creaked and his gaze trailed over your body, pupils dilating so much that they nearly hid all of the cerulean of his irises.

He straightened in his chair; or attempted too, his body probably feeling as heavy as yours when you had woken up; possibly heavier even, with that sicko drugging him with a mixture of sedatives that could have stop his breathing.

"Whatta-" he rasped, his fingers twitching, more forcefully than you grew accustomed to while being here and his glare found the body part in question with utter confusion – and horror.

"Captain, good to see you awake at last."

Steve tried to stand up to face the voice, the supposed enemy, but he barely moved at all; the tips of his shoes rose a fraction, his thumbs flexing, his palms rising just an inch before falling back to the armrest helplessly.

His eyes found the man at least, his chin coming to rest on his shoulder to keep it from falling on his chest as the muscles in his neck weren't able to do their job.

Seeing Steve Rogers in a significantly weakened state was a new and an entirely terrifying thing that shook you to a core. Steve Rogers, Captain America, always strong and ready to swing in to save everyone.... You had seen him bruised before, a fading black-eye maybe, a healing scar on his cheek, but nothing that came even close to this; witnessing his battle to keep his head up, that-- that was fucking scary.

You had never ever been met with a sight of him drained enough not to hold his body straight.

However, determination and anger were written all over his face as his eyes narrowed and it was the only thing which felt familiar about him.

It was the sole thing helping you to maintain a piece of sanity, his attitude shining a ray of hope into the darkness and horror of this godforsaken place when a psycho who hooked up Steve to some machine to deliver periodical electric pulses.

Jesus. Christ.

One simple word, mumbled with difficulty, yet carrying a menace; it broke the silence suddenly and startlingly.