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#Marvel Avengers
whereireid · 11 months
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𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐃𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐀𝐑 𝐌𝐀𝐍 | masterlist
pairing: senator!steve rogers x fem!reader
⍟ — nsfw content ahead. soft!dom steve. married life. housewife kink. oral [f receiving]. degradation of reader.
Summary: Your husband, Senator Steve Rogers, has been acting strange recently. He makes it up to you after he catches you snooping.
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You don’t want to snoop on your husband.
Honest, you don’t.
Sometimes, though, duty calls. It feels like a crime to be in Steve’s office, perched at his desk, attempting to hack into his computer.
You’ve tried three different passwords, now. The first, the name of your daughter, and her date of birth — BeauRogers2012. The second, your anniversary — 19October2007. And, finally, the name of the family dog — CooperRogers.
Nothing. There’s nothing. All to no avail, the screen lighting a shade of red with each incorrect guess, your lips tugging down into a frown as you try to pinpoint exactly what his password could be.
If it’s not Beau, and it’s not you, and it’s not the family dog… then what is it?
Your eyes scan his office, desperate for a moment of realisation. You want something to click, your eyes dragging from a photograph of him and Bucky, to the miniature American flag which sits on his desk.
That’s it.
107thInfantryRegiment.
The computer lets you in. Steve’s desktop background is a photograph of you, him and Beau — baby Beau, curled in her daddy’s arms, asleep, in a pumpkin patch.
You pause. You feel bad, snooping, hesitating as you stare at the pixelated desktop background.
You feel awful, but you have to know what he’s getting up to.
Your lips press together as you swallow away the tightness in your throat, dragging the mouse towards his emails. Before you press down, you hesitate — Steve has never given you a reason not to trust him.
Yet, you’re in, now. You might as well look whilst you’re there, and you’re glad that you do, because a particular name piques your interest as you snoop through his emails.
Sharon Carter.
Steve’s ex-assistant, although you’d always assumed she was more than that. She helped your husband climb to the position of Senator — she was his number one fan, more obsessed with him than you.
Your brows knit together. Steve had told you that him and Sharon no longer speak, as a result of her switching to the Republican to spite him. This — these emails, which go back for months — is unfathomable evidence that he’s been lying to you. Your throat feels cotton dry as you frantically scroll, unable to comprehend that they’ve been communicating for months without you knowing.
“What are you doing?”
Fear cracks through your body like a whip. You feel like a thin sheet of ice, cold flooding through your body as your eyes dart up from the computer screen, focused on your husband, who appears unamused by what he’s found.
“So, what are you doing?” Steve repeats when you don’t answer, his lips pursed as he stares at you. The suit he’s wearing is somewhat tight on his arms, and you can see his muscles flex beneath his clothes. “Be a big girl and use your words, honey.”
“You’re — you’re messaging Sharon Carter.”
His eyebrows quirk upwards in amusement. “You went through my emails,” he comments, “without my permission.”
“You’re messaging Sharon Carter,” you repeat, your voice coming out a whisper.
The look that he gives you is degrading. It’s a look of pity — his jaw ticks slightly as he cocks his head, his tongue darting over his plump, pink lips, leaving a glistening sheen in its wake. “And you’re going through my emails,” he reiterates, pushing himself off of the doorframe. “Without my permission.”
“Are you cheating on me?”
An amused expression flitters over Steve’s face as he approaches you. You feel timid in his chair, his large frame overbearing as he looms over you, the blue irises of his eyes impossibly sheathed by his black and blown pupils.
“Cheating?” He asks, beginning to lower himself to your height. You brows furrow in confusion as he kneels in front of you, his hands placing themselves on your knees. “No. Why? Did you think that I was?”
“Yes.”
“Liar,” Steve whispers from beneath you, your skin prickling with goosebumps as his fingers run over the pleated fabric of your skirt. “You just wanted to know what I’ve been doing.”
You push at Steve’s head, forcing him to look up at you. You frown, a twisted warmth pooling inside of your stomach as his hand caresses the plump flesh of your thighs. “Yeah. You’ve been doing her.”
He snorts. “If I wanted Barbie, I would’ve had Barbie.” His hand beckons your thighs apart, and you flush as his hums in content. “No underwear. Whore.”
Your face flushes with warmth. "That’s what you like, isn’t it?”
Steve grins, his fingers parting your folds softly, his knuckle pressing against your swollen clit. You try to kill the moan which climbs up your throat before it can slip past your lips, but it refuses to die. “Like music to my ears,” he comments, his stubble grazing your skin as he peppers deliberate kisses to your thighs, his tongue a cool stimulant to your hot skin, “you’re a naughty girl, you know? Going through my things and then getting all worked up over what you find.”
You can’t bare to look down at his smug face. His blue eyes twinkle as he gazes up at you, and you force your eyes shut, the delicious, dirty feeling of desire brooding inside of you. It pulls at your heart and burns wildly inside of you, only to be smothered by the feeling of his fingers gliding through your folds.
“Aren’t you going to tell me what you found?”
You shake your head, your eyes scrunching shut as his tongue finally makes contact with your heat. “Oh, God,” you whimper as he glides the muscle through your folds, his fingers pushing inside of your cunt.
“Not God. Just Steve.”
His lips twitch, tugging upwards with a smile. Pleasure rides through you in a gentle wave as his tongue makes contact with your clit, his motions gentle as he suckles on the sensitive bundle of nerves.
It feels so deliciously wrong. You’re in his office, sat in his chair, with him between your legs. He wasn’t even meant to find you here — you were supposed to be in the kitchen when he got home, but you’d lost track of time.
“Since you won’t tell me, I’ll make an assumption, and I want you to tell me if I’m right.” His voice is gravely, rumbling against your cunt, and you shiver as his fingers curl inside of you. “You went through my emails. You saw Sharon Carter’s name and you had to click, and you read them in detail and you found information.”
“Yes,” you say shakily, groaning as his nose nuzzles into your pelvic bone, his tongue rolling small circles into your sensitive bud. “Yes, I read them. She’s — she’s a bitch and I don’t want you talking to her.”
His brows quirk upwards, his fingers carefully scissoring your tight cunt open. You clench down around him, the pointed look he’s shouting you making you tense. “She’s my spy. Why else would she have switched to Republican last minute?”
“Because you married me and she wishes it was her.”
A wave of pleasure ripples through you as he suckles on your clit, his fingers heavenly as they roll inside of you. “Is she the one getting her cunt eaten in my office, honey?” When you don’t answer, he hums, his voice muffled as he continues to roll his tongue up and down your sticky, wet folds, “no, she’s not, so stop being a brat and let me finish speaking.”
As if to make a point, his fingers still inside of you, and your chest burns with disappointment. “Okay. I’ll stop being a brat,” you submit to him, your voice shaking slightly as you buck your pelvis towards his hand.
“Good girl." His praise makes you shiver, a delicious pleasure crackling through you as his fingers contain their steady motions, his lips peppering soft kisses against your heat intermittently
“The information that you found is very important people, only meant to be seen by people in government.” A delicious pleasure cracks through you like a whip as his fingers glide through your glistening folds, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he rolls his thumb over your sensitive clit. “And, honey, you're not in government. You've got too much of a dumb baby brain for that."
You whine, your legs trembling involuntary as Steve licks up a deliberate stripe up your cunt, his tongue flattening against your clit. "I'm not dumb," you protest weakly, your thighs tensing as his fingers curl inside of you, the lewd squelching of your cunt echoing around his office walls.
Your body becomes electric with sparks, exploding with ecstasy as his tongue licks stripes up and down your slick. It's so intimate, so gentle — his movements are precise, your legs jolting at every movement, every lick.
"Really? You're not?" Steve pulls away, tutting from below you. "Oh, I'm sorry. I thought that only dumb wives went through their husband's stuff without permission."
"I'm sorry," you say.
"You're not," he replies, his tongue flat as he swirls his muscle around your swollen bud, "but that's okay, honey. I don't expect my wife and her dumb, baby brain to feel sorry for me. I'm the man of this house. I don't need feeling sorry for."
His kisses grow sloppy, his nose pressing heavily into your pelvis. You let out a shaky breath, your stomach flipping as Steve's fingers glide in and out of your cunt. A moan catches in your throat, and you're unsure of whether or not it actually escapes your lips or dies before it gets to do so.
Steve's movements are skilled, deliberate. You melt into the office chair, the leather fabric growing slick beneath you as you softly behind to grind against his face. He's slow and teasing, his tongue swirling around you bud, nipping at it softly. The pinching pain makes you gasp, your breath hitching in your throat as he groans against your cunt.
"Come on, honey. I know you want to let go," he purrs against your cunt, the sensation sending shivers up your spine. "I know you're not holding that much of a grudge against me that you're denying yourself of an orgasm."
You pout. He's right — of course he's right, he's your husband and he knows what's best for you. You finally allow yourself to relax, fully, a soft whimper slipping past your lips as Steve's movements makes your stomach tighten.
And then, it happens. You grow tired of holding back, needy and desperate, and Steve's fingers curl inside of you again, and you let go. Your slick paints his face, your legs trembling as he laps at your heat, his groans sending sparks to your core.
By the time he pulls away, you feel weak. The sight of him only makes you grow weaker, his chin glistening with your slick, his eyes black and blown, a sultry grin tugging at the corner of his lips. His hand runs over his lips and he hums, satisfied with the orgasm that he drew from you.
"I'm sorry, honey. You should have never seen those emails, or the documents attached to them. They're not for you to be concerned about." His hand runs over your thighs, his motions gentle and soft as he caresses your skin. Steve's lips purse, his voice dropping dangerously low as he speaks. "But if you ever go through my emails again, you'll be in serious trouble. You got that, honey?"
Your body grows stiff as he reaches past you to turn the computer off, his lips nestling against your head in the process. The kiss he plants to your forehead is soft and gentle, and you smile up at him.
“Yes, Steve.”
You nod your head like an obedient little wife, and he smiles down at you as he does so.
Domesticated bliss keeps him sane.
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sharkdadontumbl · 4 months
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tired..
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not dead . just didn have inspo since last post .
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gleafer · 5 months
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Natasha likes them Mean, Lean and Green.
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mlys05 · 8 months
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Conversation
tony: *towering over y/n not knowing that that's going to be his best friend* well well, who do we have here?
y/n: your mum
tony: my mum's dead
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batnardomcfly · 6 months
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*Tony stark getting a phone call at 3am*
Peter: mister stark you remember when you told me not to do something stupid
Tony sighing: yeah
Peter: I did something stupid
Tony halfway in the Iron Man suit: of course you did pete, of course you did
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skellyagogo · 1 year
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Affection
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Affection wasn't something Bucky felt he deserved, it had become a foreign concept to him.  Affection meant touch as for so many years he had learned to associate pain with touch after all the torture Hydra had put him through.  He could vaguely remember the appeal of affection and attention from women from his teen years but it didn't seem possible anymore.
The first time he started to question that belief came from an accidental collision in a hallway of the Compound that led to each other grabbing hold of the other.  You'd been running from someone, a prank that had gone wrong when you turned a corner and slammed into him.  Your palms on his chest, his on your shoulders to steady you from a potential fall.  
His posture was stiff, tense but that playful smirk of yours stirred a long-lost emotion deep inside.  You looked at him without the slightest hint of fear, however, it was the heat of your touch that caught his focus.  It wasn't a heat that reminded him of pain but like a humid summer night.  The kind of night that in a different like he would have taken a girl for a walk along the river wishing for a cool breeze and the excuse to tuck her hair behind her ear.  
Bucky smiled not only because he had a clear memory of his past that didn't involve anguish but how your touch made him tingle straight down to his toes. The feeling of your palms on his chest felt like a burst of sunlight through a thunderstorm.  
When he tried explaining the feeling to Steve, Sam butted in telling him it was the brain's way of telling him that he liked it and he was touch starved.  It took Bucky weeks to work up the nerve to attempt contact again.  He was afraid it wouldn't be the same, that maybe the next time it would hurt.  
Bucky sat beside you one night in the common room living area without a word.   Fingers inching closer to yours until he settled his palm below yours, fingers lacing together nervously.  From the corner of his eye, he saw you flashing that tender smile again.  You weren't making a big deal over him holding your hand either. 
Slightly tense, still anticipating the pain that never seemed to come he eased back into the couch.  Releasing a heavy but silent sigh when minutes had passed and all he felt was summer night warmth radiating from your touch.  He finally closed his eyes when your thumb swept over his skin swirling circles.  
The desperate gasp that slipped out of his mouth for all to hear when you leaned into him, lazily resting your head on his shoulder.  That warmth you'd given him traveled straight to his heart lighting a fire that slowly blazed to life.  Bucky accepted that small victory, not wanting to push his luck further but couldn't help leaning his head atop yours.  A slow grin grew from his mouth hearing the contented sigh slip from you.
The next night he sat directly beside you, shoulder to shoulder and the same summer-like warmth instantly spread through him at the contact. That same tender smile you offered him as he lifted his arm and draped it around your shoulders.  No words were exchanged but maybe that was a small part of the appeal.  Just like the last time he melted back into the cushions of the couch.  His joints popped & snapping as his body relaxed for the first time in forever.  
"Do you mind?" You whispered just loud enough for him to pick up, not wanting to draw attention from the others.  Your eyes dart from his and toward his chest, but he just blinked slowly shaking his head.  
He was unaware of the triumphant grin on your face as you nuzzled your head against his sweatshirt getting comfortable.  Whatever movie was being watched wasn't as appealing to him as the way your head moved with each breath he took.  The weight of your body curling into his or the way your arm tucked around his stomach.
Bucky could feel eyes burning in his direction, glancing up to see Steve and Sam grinning at him. You could feel his heart pounding, racing in his chest.  A slow smirk creeping over his lips when a jump scare happened in the movie caused you to let out a shriek promptly hiding your face in the crook of his neck.
"We can change the movie if you're too scared?"  Sam teased you.
"No," Bucky chimed in engulfing you in a hug.  
He didn't laugh, didn't tease you just held you tight safe, and secure in his arms.  The light from the screen twinkled in his eyes as you finally looked at him.  His fingertips trace shapes over your shoulder blade. 
"No," you answered Sam not looking his way, too entranced in Bucky's gaze.  "I ... I think I like this."
"Ditto," Bucky's smile offered comfort but both knew you were talking about more than the movie on the screen.
You head back on his chest over his heart, arm around his stomach as if he was your personal pillow, legs draped over his.  Bucky kept his embrace of you though and kept drawing little squiggles on your arm.  between the rhymic thump of his heart and the movement of his fingertip, it lulled you to sleep.   This sort of interaction continued for weeks until one night when a hasty knock on your bedroom door.
Bucky stood nervous as could be.  Rubbing the back of his neck and pacing from foot to foot.  His face was stoic as ever but it was his eyes that gave him away, always those oceanic pools that spoke volumes.  
"Hey, um... could we ... if you're okay with it possibly watching a movie in your room instead of ... without the others I mean."
"Yeah, sure, make yourself comfortable."  You weren't however expecting him to sit on your bed and not the couch nearest the television.  
"Is this okay?  I'm not suggesting .. it's ... I."  He paused hiding the uncontrollable blush that covered his face before blowing out an exhausted sigh.  "I don't know what's acceptable behavior anymore."
You chuckled lightly sitting beside him.
"A bed doesn't mean anything is going to happen...yet."  Wiggling your eyebrows makes him snort a laugh.  "Besides it's easier to stretch out and get comfortable."
That's exactly what he did, Bucky stretched out his arms getting comfortable beside you while sinking into the mattress.  He tucked his hands behind his head.  He'd been content and relaxed but as the movie progressed he became fidgety.
"We're friends right?" His voice was soft & low, but his eyes were glued to the screen.
"That's a silly question, of course, we are."  You leaned up glancing his way, noticing his eyes shifting, the corners of them twitching like he had something on his mind.  "James are alright?"
"Do you trust me?"  Bucky leaned himself up on his elbow, his gaze somewhere between intense and afraid.  
"We're alone in my bedroom, what does that tell you?"  A brow raised high and dazed at his question.
Letting out a muffled groan as he fell back on the bed, hands rubbing his face.  
"It's all so different now, actions that were once done behind closed doors are now done out in the view of the public."  A myriad of emotions rushed over him.  Stress, confusion, longing.  
"Whoa," your hand found his squeezing it.  "No judgments here I promise. what's on your mind?"
"I don't ... I don't know how to ask or if asking is even ..."  His eyes pleaded with you.  "If you honestly trust me, I promise nothing funny.  Can I just show you?"
"Alright."
It was too easy to forget all that he'd missed out on over the years. The progression of the modern world and customs amongst people.  How the interactions that transpired around him daily would have once been taboo.  People kissing and making out in public places, and nudity on television screens and billboards.  
It wasn't like he was a prude in his time but if he'd done even a fraction of what couples and people did now in his time he would have been arrested and jailed for public indecency.  It was no wonder the poor man was worked up and stressed out, he hadn't the slightest clue what was okay anymore.  
Some had no issue with public displays of affection but then others marched and screamed at the top of their lungs that it was immoral and wrong.  There didn't seem to be a grey area for him and Sam had been no help.  Steve was just as lost as he was to the way men and women interacted with each in this modern age. 
The usually confident and slightly cocky super soldier hopped off your bed.  As gently as possible he grabbed your ankles and pulled you toward the middle of the bed.  Posing as if you were laying in bed ready to sleep, your head on a pillow.  Shyly at the foot of your bed nudging your legs apart, he was blushing crimson.
"You sure I don't need to grab a condom?"  You teased laughing as he rolled his eyes.
Hovering over you, his forearms resting on the mattress slowly lowering himself atop you.  The bulk of his body between your legs, his head on your stomach, arms tucked under your hugging you close.  He mumbled into your flesh incoherently, the vibrations tickling you.
"What?"  Biting your lip to keep from laughing too hard.
"Am I too heavy?"  He muttered softly moving his head to the side.  
"No," delicately running your fingers through his hair.  You could have sworn he whimpered.
"This wasn't done in my time, at least not without ... sex involved."  His cheek rubs against your t-shirt exposing some skin.  The heat from his breath made goosebumps fan out before his eyes.  "Men weren't ... cuddling was a woman's thing so to ask... to even suggest was ... yeah."
Bucky had become quiet, afraid he'd said too much and made you feel uncomfortable.  The movie in the background is nothing but white noise at this point.  You could feel him becoming heavier, that familiar relaxation coursing through him.  You allowed him that comfort, that full-body respite.  
You went from playing with his hair to soothing scratches along his arms and back eventually your fingers were working out little knots of pent-up tension in his muscles.  You thought nothing of it until you felt the tears wetting your skin, your shirt.  
"You're not scared of me?  Of what I've done?"  Barely above a whisper, his voice cracked.
"Not a bit," your fingers running through his hair again.
"Do you see him when you look at me?"  He didn't need to elaborate, to speak of the Winter Soldier outloud.  Lifting his head red-rimmed eyes blinking back at you.  
"I only see James right now."  You gave him that tender smile, the one Steve had noticed was reserved solely for Bucky.  A fact he liked to point out to you all the time.  "Is that why you never tried to date again?"
"Yeah, you don't think he and I are the same?"  He seemed so hesitant about your response.  
"No, I don't," shaking your head with a faint sad smile realizing how much the both of you'd been starved for affection.  "I can see it's going to take a lot for me to prove it to you, but that's okay."  Nails scratching at the nape of his neck just under his hair.  "I would do this every day for the rest of my life if that's what'd prove it."
"Yeah?"  That charming old-school Brooklyn smirk shining as bright as the sun itself. 
"You think I'd do this sort of thing with anyone else?!"  Rolling your eyes with a huffed sigh covering a laugh.  "You better?"  Your fingers run soothingly over his shoulders.
"I will be thanks to you."  
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soulless-bex · 9 months
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pjo x mcu au where nick fury learns about the mythological world and, in exchange for being gifted with clearsight (because he’s nick fury and not being able to see/know everything is making his paranoia worse), he gives the demigods their own subdivision of shield with the fundings that comes with to take care of mythological threats
did i mention that fury gets to have little to no control over said subdivision? like, he knows what they’re doing, but he knows better than to tell them what to do
cue the avengers being exceedingly frustrated when everyone refuses to tell them what the new shield department is for, and even more so when percy (who is obviously the head of the department what do you mean) starts to tell them (read: order) to leave his team alone
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aintinacage · 3 months
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You were made to be ruled.
William Shakespeare’s Avengers (Part 35/?)
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unorthodoxx-page · 10 months
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Drills and Rockets - WIP
Something I’ve been tinkering with.  Might add it to my Recoil and Impact series on AO3 once complete.  It needs a lot of work.
Rocket POV
Rocket can’t look at them after someone finally explains what they are.  He found them odd at first, in more ways than one.  Quill never mentioned any other intelligent life on this planet outside of humans.  Not like that mattered much, Quill isn-wasn’t exactly a reliable source when it came to Earth.  Plus, Rocket doesn’t really give a shit to ask.  They have work to do if they want to track Thanos down, and he’s not going to waste time questioning the origins and adventures of everyone who converges on this compound.  
So he listens to the introduction with half an ear.  He twitches, ear flickering at the mention of magic, but otherwise remains slumped on the ground.  Magic’s not going to do any good from the way Star boy talks about the Stones.  The Stones are beyond science and magic, Thor explained, they just are.  Rocket’s hand folds into a fist at the thought.  Nothing just is.
The room fills with more voices, the turtles going back and forth with every new one that joins before the one in purple suggests helping with ship repairs.  Rocket sits up.  “No,” he says.  “I can handle it.”  He already has to fix whatever Stark did to the thing, he doesn’t need another set of hands screwing it up.
“Do not worry,” Thor says, but it’s lifeless.  “Donatello has a singular mind.  Some of his inventions even manage to surprise me.”
“Right,” Rocket snorts.  This coming from the guy whose planet refers to all tech as magic.  Referred.  Rocket looks away from the Asgardian.  He forgets sometimes that Thano’s cruelty was long in motion for Thor before they got involved.
The other non-human moves on hooved feet to collapse in an open chair.  “The Asgardian is right.  Donatello has a natural intuition when it comes to technology.  A quality even I had not anticipated from the mutation.”
Rocket turns.
The one in blue offers a small smile.  “I thought there wasn’t any real intention behind our mutation.  You know, besides making us great warriors.”
“True,” the other sighs.  “But I could’ve done more if L-,” he stops.  “It doesn’t matter.  Donatello is far more intelligent than any human on this planet.  He can help you get that ship in the air faster than-”
The other stops, his voice stalling, and the rest of the room follows suit.  The silence last for a beat, maybe two before Nebula steps forward.  “Put the gun down, Rocket.”
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stanytork · 4 months
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my muse forever and always
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whereireid · 1 year
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𝐃𝐄𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐃 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐃𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐃
𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 - 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐞 | 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐭𝐰𝐨
pairing:dark!boss!steve rogers x virgin!fem reader
WORDCOUNT: 5.9k | warnings: dubious consent ! power imbalance (boss!steve, employee!reader) sexual naivety, height difference [6'6 steve, 5'3 reader], oral m receiving, rough p in v, misogyny, sexism, breeding kink, daddy kink, housewife kink, emotional manipulation, gaslighting, praise kink, spanking, captain kink, dumb baby reader (in steve's eyes), nonconsensual pregnancy, reader loves big mean stevie and loves when he taints her <3
PSA: YOU ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR YOUR OWN MEDIA CONSUMPTION. 18+ ! If any of these topics trigger you, please do not indulge in this content! This is a DARK!FIC, and is intended to come across as such. Minors, please dni - this content is 18+ and is under my #WOMNSFW tag.
summary: Steve Rogers is in deep need of a new personal assistant. You, an intern for Stark who often loiters around the Avengers Compound, put yourself forward for the position. You believe working under the Captain America will help you to get in good graces throughout your career. Little do you know, being America’s golden boy’s personal assistant means doing a little more than rummaging through files and writing letters.
So pretty, so perfect, so poised. Steve Rogers sits back comfortably in his chair, his eyes trained on you, never leaving, not even to acknowledge the poor waitress who puts his beer down in front of him. You speak proper, each word flowing from your mouth with purpose, your speech coherent, and your voice confident.
It makes Steve’s cock twitch in his trousers as he watches you. Your gaze on him doesn’t linger, but you do flinch when he reaches towards his beer too quickly. It makes his stomach flip, and he tries to hold back the hiss that threatens to slip past his lips. He knows he’s America’s Golden Boy, and that he’s supposed to be better than this; but he was raised in the 1930’s, and his ideals surrounding women never really fizzled out.
Your voice fades back in, and as you address him, it snaps Steve out of his train of thought. “So, I’m sure now that we’re well acquainted with each other, Captain Rogers—“
“Please. Just call me Steve. We’ve known one another long enough.”
He quirks a brow as your cheeks flood over in red, before beckoning you to continue your speech. “Well, then, Steve,” you swallow thickly, your voice dropping a few octaves, and Steve senses that he’s embarrassed you. “Now that we���re well - uh, better - acquainted, I hope that you can consider me for the position of your personal assistant.”
“What?” Steve’s blue eyes bore into yours, and they make you brood in anxiety. You feel childish, sitting in front of him in a flowery dress, at what could somewhat be considered an interview, asking to work for him. Perhaps you should’ve dressed nicer, more work appropriate? Yet, before you can blubber on, Steve continues; “doll, if you wanted to work for me, you could’ve just said. Did you do all of this to ask for the position?”
He blinks at you. Embarrassment washes over you like a tsunami wave as you blink back at him. Of course, you could’ve just said you wanted to work for him - you feel naive ever thinking otherwise. Steve’s not a stranger, you practically work with him every day, and he'd be more than enthusiastic to hear you out. He's not one of. the guys at work who ignore women and everything they have to say. He’s nice enough to always say hello to you and sometimes buy you coffee, and flowers if you were down. He's one of the good ones!“I thought it might’ve been inappropriate to ask you whilst you were training.” You shoot him a small smile, trying to ignore how the upwards tug of his lips makes your skin rise with goosebumps.
“Does Stark know you’re applying for this role?”
"He’s actually the one who suggested it.”
Steve takes a long sip of his drink. He stares at you over the rim of the glass, watching you squirm and ponder over his answer. He already knows the answer to your question, but watching you shuffle in your seat and act silly in front of him makes his cock throb, and he enjoys the feeling. You’re so innocent, pressing against the table, wide-eyed, acting as though your tits aren’t pressed together and basically on display for him. The dress is so low-cut. It makes him want to take you right here.
Did you wear that just to get him riled up? “Well, I can’t think of anybody more suitable to fit the position. You know the Compound, you know my office, and I’ve noticed you get on well with higher authorities. You seem like a doting employee.” He kisses his teeth slightly, looking down at the table, before looking up at you through his lashes. He tries to hold back the smirk on his face as he speaks, but it’s impossible not to: “of course, you will also be expected to work somewhat more flexible hours. Later start times, later finishes. We won't always be in the office at the compound - a lot of my additional work files are at my personal home office, but I can always make you up a key to give you easier access."
“Of course,” you chirp, nodding at him enthusiastically. “I’m okay with longer hours, and I can work around you and what you need.”
Steve grins. “Perfect.”
It has been about three weeks since you left your position as an intern at Stark Industries and began working for Steve Rogers. It was an exhausting process at first; the sudden change in routine, the heavy workload, the unsociable hours, and Steve often worried you would change your mind. If you couldn't bend for this position, you would break, and he was incredibly worried you'd do the latter. Perhaps because he hadn’t seen you frown so often before, but during the first fortnight of working as his assistant, your lips were always somewhat tugged downwards, and you were always so busy, unable to even joke with him.
You soldiered on, though. Managing to catch up to months worth of missed calls, avoided emails, old paperwork, and forgotten documents. Steve praised you every time you completed a task, and often he found you beaming up at him, prideful and flustered.
Yet, whilst peeking up from his desktop, he finds himself annoyed. You’re sitting quietly opposite him, noting down things and scheduling appointments, and he can’t help the twitch of his cock as he watches you do it. You're not incredibly busy anymore, and yet you're not engaging in any conversation with him. Steve knows you value professionalism, but he only really let you have this job because of his alternative motives when it comes to you.
His eyes flicker back to the computer screen, and then back to you. It's like before his brain can register what he's doing; he's doing it, but he doesn't mind. This is his office, after all, his space. You're his assistant, and if anything, you're supposed to assist him in doing it. His hands are wrapped around his thick, angry cock, and he pumps slowly, watching you intensely.
You're tapping away at your computer so innocently. Your eyes are wide and interested, and clearly whatever your scheduling for Steve has your entire attention because you don't even look up at him. He strokes his cock carefully, and slowly, and his breathing wavers as he runs a finger over his angry, red tip, using some of his precum for lube.
“You okay, Steve?” your voice fills the quiet room, and he looks over at you, his hands still wrapped around his cock. The naivety of your tone makes his cock twitch in his hands, and his pace slows. He makes eye contact with you, never breaking it as he slowly strokes his hand up and down his length. It makes him so much harder that you have no idea what he's doing, and he imagines what your lips would feel like wrapped around him.
“Fine, doll. Just a little sore.” Steve purses his lips as you nod. He meets your eyes, and you hold his gaze, concern plastering over your face.
You're so... modest. Completely unaware of what he's doing, and he loves it. Steve craves you; craves to taint the innocence which consumes you. You're too trusting for your own good, and one of these days, it's going to get you hurt.
Steve just needs to make sure it's him that hurts you, and nobody else.
“You do look awfully red, Steve.” You murmur across from him, concern painting your features. The heavy gaze your boss has on you makes you feel somewhat uncomfortable, but worry overrides any instinctive emotion. “Do you feel hot?”
Steve grunts in agreement with your question. He looks more disheveled than usual. His posture seems hunched, but he seems somewhat relaxed, and his gaze is hard and trained on you. You're unsure as to what's wrong - he's so red, it looks like he's burning up. Perhaps he has a fever, but you're sure the Super Soldier Serum ensures that he doesn't get ill. “Can I get you anything? Paracetamol? A glass of water?” you ask innocently, standing up from your desk chair, slowly walking towards him.
His computer monitor thankfully covers his crotch. Steve’s eyes don’t leave you, and it makes his cock leak when you softly begin to walk over to him. He’s almost certain you own nothing but inappropriate, seductive clothing; he’s seen more of your cleavage these past three weeks than he has anyone else’s, and it’s driving him crazy. The fact he’s managed to hold off from devouring you is insane, but he isn’t sure how much longer he can take.
Being the nice guy just doesn’t seem to be working. The hand which was stroking his cock stills, and he commands you to stop once you’re mere inches away, stood behind his monitor, so small he can hardly see you. “Do you own any appropriate clothing?”
His question is direct and his tone is reprimanding. Your knees wobble, and your head hangs slightly. Shame spreads throughout your body. “I didn’t realise this was inappropriate. My apologies.”
It’s unlike Steve to bark at you. Usually, he’s incredibly soft-spoken and considerate, yet it seems you’ve worn any patience he’s held for you thin. “Doll, every outfit you’ve worn this week has been low-cut and short.” He breathes, and your neck prickles with discomfort when you notice how dark and blown his pupils are. “I’ve been patient. I’ve been kind. I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. But I don’t think these kinds of… outfits would be appropriate elsewhere. You didn’t wear these outfits when interning for Stark.”
“I’m sorry, sir.” Your subordinate manner only makes his cock twitch more, and he’s thankful his hand is sheathing his cock, because the precum that trickles out of its covers his skin and not his trousers. “I’ll try to be more considerate next time.”
It’s painful to let go of his length, but he has to, and he shoves it back inside of his trousers and innocently buttons them up. “Are you wearing these suggestive outfits to get a rise out of me?”
You gasp. “No. Never. I - Sir, I aim to be as appropriate and considerate as possible. I’m sorry I’ve been misleading you.” Steve rises from his seat, and you swallow thickly, feeling incredibly small compared to your boss. You’ve often been close to him - side by side, brushing shoulders, but he’s always been soft-spoken and gentle, apologetic and genuinely caring. Now, it seems like his patience is worn thin, and as opposed to seeing a civilian Steve, you feel as though you're standing in front of a soldier. “I can go and change now if you want?”
“No.” His tone is so low it matches that of a growl, and you cower weakly as he towers over you. Fear pulsates in your being as you stare up at him, suddenly feeling incredibly unsafe, and your heart races in your chest. Steve would never hurt me, you remind yourself, he’s one of the good ones.
You open your mouth to speak, but Steve shushes you. His finger splays over your lips, and you feel scolded and childlike. “I think you do it for attention.” His finger pushes against you, as does his body, as he stalks forward and you shuffle backward, trying to keep any space between the two of you. “You know, it’s been hard staying silent for this long. Watching you from afar, never knowing what to say or do.” His hot breath fans your ear, and Steve’s nostrils flare. “Trying to be a gentleman. Buying you coffee and flowers and cards when you were working at the Compound as a way to be friendly and nice. But I don’t think you want that.”
“I’m sorry, Steve.” You squeak out, tears pricking at the corner of your eyes. Steve’s fingers gently press against your skin, wiping away any that spill, his skin icy against your own. “I-I’ve appreciated the gifts. I’m sorry.”
“You’re sorry?” He asks, his eyes shooting down at you. You nod your head eagerly, staring up at him, trying to ignore how the dark look in his eyes makes your stomach flip. “I don’t think you’re truly sorry. I gave you this job to be my personal assistant. I expected more of you. You’re dressing as whore, and you can’t even apologize correctly.”
You swallow thickly, staring up at him. “‘M sorry. I haven’t meant to present myself that way,” your voice wavers. “What would y-you deem a suitable apology, Steve?”
“Captain.” Steve’s fingers find their way into your hair, and you squeak slightly as he tugs at it. “You only get to call me Steve when you’ve been good, which you haven’t.”
“How should I apologize, Captain?”
Your voice is an incredulous whisper. The subordination you show drives Steve crazy, and it takes everything in him not to force your mouth open and push you onto his cock. No, he needs to coax you into it - make you agree that this is the best way to apologize. Any other way wouldn’t suffice.
It’s as though you can’t believe this is happening - and in a way, Steve can’t, either. He’s always imagined this happening - having you begging him to tell you how to do something in a way that’s deemed fit in his eyes, having you be in pain whilst doing it. He curses slightly, before breathing out, “use that pretty little mouth of yours to worship me.”
“What?”
“I said, ‘use that pretty little mouth of yours to worship me’. Don’t expect me to repeat myself again.” He warns, blinking down at you, before muttering, “you’ve dressed like a whore, sweetheart. I think it’s only fair the Captain treats you as such.” His thumb drags down your lips, and you look up at him with such hesitation it makes his balls throb. He feels as though the look on your face could make him cum already.
Warmth floods over your cheeks. It feels wrong as Steve’s palms press heavily on your shoulders, the weight of him coaxing you down. A shudder leaves you as he forces you onto your knees in front of him, and you stare at his trousers, which are tight by the groin. “Captain, I don’t think -“ you swallow thickly, shaking as he comes down to unbutton his trousers, and flinching once his hands clasp yours, “-I don’t think this is appropriate.”
Your voice comes out in a hushed whisper, and he glares down at you, relishing in your embarrassment. Your eyelashes are wet and tears prickle your eyes still, “You’re on your knees now, doll.” He huffs, blowing out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding in. Your hands shake as he guides them to his trousers. “You might as well get on with it.”
“No I - I don’t want to.” Your voice wavers as he uses your hands to pry his cock out of his trousers, which is an angry red and seeping with cum, and you feel like scurrying away from it. “I-I haven’t ever done anything like this before.” Steve is stronger than you and the grip he’s got on your wrists makes you feel as though they will snap, so you decide not to, rather cowering away from his length in fear.
“Are you a virgin?” His question makes your head shoot up in embarrassment, your eyes wide and distraught, and he groans. “Oh my god, you’re a fucking virgin.”
“I never said I was,” you mutter, yelping when his hands strike you against the face. Fresh tears fall over old tear stains, and you flinch as his fingers splay over your chin.
He tuts. “Don’t lie to me. Are you a virgin?”
“Yes,” you murmur, shameful, eyes watery as you stare up at him. You sniffle, thankful for his gentle touch, which replaces the cruelty of his hands seconds ago. It makes your heart bloom with warmth as he brushes your face softly with his fingers, although he’s wiping away the pain he’s caused.
“My pretty little baby’s a virgin,” Steve coos, and the tone of his voice makes pressure form in your lower belly. “This mouth has never been around anyone’s cock before? Ever?”
There’s almost a deluded tone in his voice as he presses his tip against your lips. You quiver below him, your eyes trained on him as he pushes himself in your mouth. It feels wrong to do this with him - it feels exploitative, and whilst you opt to pull away from him, the wetness in your panties warns you otherwise. You’re enjoying this, and it’s making you feel terrible. You’re letting your boss take advantage of you and you love it.
You'd be lying if you denied the fact that you found Steve attractive. You had a thing for blonds, and the Golden Boy reputation he had made butterflies form in your belly. The fact he was so unlike what he seems makes your thighs clench and your pussy throb. A Golden Boy with an urge to taint; and somehow, you want to be tainted.
You hum against his cock, and it makes Steve’s stomach explode with heat. The wet of your tongue and the hot of your mouth is everything he’s ever wanted and more, and as your teeth scrape against him, he hisses, trying to hold back the smack he wants to deliver to you. You’re not ready for that yet; you’re a virgin, a sweet girl who needs taking care of. He needs to be gentle with you. “Nuh-uh-uh, doll. Cover those teeth of yours and hollow your cheeks - yes, like that, baby."
Steve breathes heavily as you take it in. It feels intrusive to your mouth as you suck on his cock, your tongue swirling up and down his tip. His hands make their way into your hair, and he gently begins to slide your head up and down, going at a quicker pace. It makes your belly ache with warmth as he does it, the feeling of his hands wrapped in your hair making you feel surprisingly... horny? It makes your face flush when you realize you're enjoying being used by Steve, and you eagerly begin to run your tongue up and down his length, tracing his veins and making sure to pay extra attention to his tip.
“Fuck, you feel so good,” he grunts, his balls slapping against your chin uncomfortably, “make your daddy’s cock nice and wet.” Steve’s pace quickens, and more and more of his cock forces its way into your mouth until your eyes are pricking with tears and you’re almost certain his length is going to suffocate you. Gag after gag follows through with each desperate thrust of his hips, and you clasp your hands around his thigh, looking up at him, eager to breathe. He doesn’t let you.
“My perfect little girl. Let daddy cum in your mouth and he’ll forgive you for dressing like such a whore.”
It’s not like you’ve got much of a choice anyway. In Steve's eyes, he's waited long enough to paint you in his cum, and it doesn’t take long for him to finish. He pulls out slightly, spewing cum over your cheeks and lips, grunting with approval at the sight of you. His innocent little personal assistant, who has never felt a man’s cock before today, has just had her throat fucked as though she were a fleshlight. Steve groans, steadying himself by using your head for support, and your nose crinkles as you swallow his cum which had painted your tongue.
It doesn't taste that bad.
“Best you clean yourself up.” Steve murmurs as you clamber up, knees shaking, the heat between your legs throbbing. “I don’t want my personal assistant to look so... defiled whilst she’s working alongside me.”
“Yes, Captain.”
As you attempt to scurry off to the bathroom, Steve stops you. “I want to make a few things clear about your position as my personal assistant, doll.”
You nod your head, uncertain as to what he might say next. The sight of you covered in his cum makes his heart bloom with pride, and he realises that he has finally got you where he wants you to be. “Your role as my personal assistant is to assist me with anything I deem necessary. Whether that be sexual or otherwise. You got that?”
“Yes, Captain.”
“Good girl.”
Your body has been aching and sore for days. Forcing yourself up from your desk chair, you jolt slightly at the sudden pain which shoots up through your spine. You look away from Steve’s hot gaze, which makes you feel flustered and funny, and you begin to flip through pages in your folder, desperate to keep yourself occupied and not draw too much attention from Steve.
“Come here, doll.” His voice is gentle, his arms wide and open, urging you in.
You nod your head, opting to agree. You've become conditioned to his sexual advances, and he accepts when you're not in the mood, saying that he doesn't want to pressure you. Steve is a good guy in that way; he wants you to move at your own pace. You only have to do this for a few more months or so, as that’s how long your contract is.
Steve taps his lap. You comply, carefully seating yourself atop of him, crinkling your nose when he gets too close. He notices, but he doesn’t care, leaning backward slightly and brushing a curl away from your face.
“What have I done for you to hate me?” his once confident voice is quiet, oozing with rejection.
You blink at him. “I - I don’t hate you.”
Steve hums, his thumb gently caressing your cheek. You shuffle uncomfortably in his lap, looking up at him with big, doe eyes, and it makes his cock twitch. You’re so innocent, so friendly, a big baby that needs protecting from the world. All Steve wants to do is protect you and keep you safe. “You don’t look at me the same anymore,” he notes quietly. “You used to look at me like I was a savior before you started working under me.”
You shuffle uncomfortably, looking up at him through your lashes. He moves slightly to get comfortable, and your breath hitches in your throat when his clothed crotch rubs against yours. “I still think of you as a savior, Stevie,” you murmur quietly, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his cheek.
You’ve worked for Steve long enough now to know that the way around difficult conversations is to stroke his ego. His hand snakes around your back, and he traipses his fingers up and down your back slowly. “No bra, huh? What have I told you about dressing appropriately?”
“S-sorry, Steve.”
“Mmm, I forgive you, baby.” His hands fall to your skirt, and his fingers slowly ride up them. The material parts with the moving of his hands, and your body flushes with heat when his finger slides up and down your slits. He tuts. “No underwear, either? This'll be a little harder to forgive.”
You squeak slightly as Steve pushes a finger inside of you. “Y-you asked me not to wear underwear when I'm around you.”
“Nuh-uh-uh. I don’t remember that, doll. Don’t make things up to try and make yourself better off.” Except, he does remember it because he practically commanded you to strip your underwear off the last time you wore some when working alongside him. But you don’t need to remember that. Steve wants you to believe everything you do for him is because you want to do it, not because he’s told you to.
“Really?” you squeak as he curls his finger inside of you, ensuring he hits against your spongy spot. You try to ignore the heaviness of Steve’s gaze, and you swallow dryly, stuttering as Steve slips another digit in, beginning to fuck you faster with a ‘come-forth’ motion.
“Yeah, doll. Maybe you just wanted your daddy to have easier access to this pretty pussy of yours. I know how much you like getting that little pussy touched.”
His fingers slow down inside of you, and he gazes down at you with a raised brow. You protest, trying to roll against his fingers, but he grabs your thighs and shakes his head. “Bad girls don’t get to feel good.”
“I’m not bad," you whine, and Steve shakes his head in response.
“You lied to daddy. Said he wanted you to wear no underwear. You said it like I’ve been forcing you not to wear underwear when it was your decision.”
The sharpness in his tone makes you recoil, and you still your lower half. against him, not wanting to make him anymore angrier than he already is. “I-I’m sorry. It was my decision. I’m sorry for lying.”
Steve sucks in a breath through his teeth. “You know, I’ve been holding back these past weeks. I wanted to break you in.” He pulls his fingers out of you, and you whine in protest, but your sounds are muffled when he shoves them inside of your mouth. You suck instinctively, and he groans against you. “I’ve been wanting to use that pretty pussy of yours for so long, doll. Been wanting to defile you and make you mine.”
Before you can even react, the tip of his cock is pressing against your slits. “I’ve wanted to fuck you and fill you up with my cum for so long now.” His voice is a growl, and you feel frozen in place, beginning to slowly shake your head. “Fuck you full of my babies. And I know you want that, too.” He groans as he presses harsh kisses against your neck, his teeth grazing against your skin.
“No, Steve,” you breathe heavily as he holds you into place, your own body no match for the strength of his. “I- I don’t want that. I'm not ready for a baby."
“But you are. You just don’t know it yet.” His cock pushes into you, and you let out a whimper, struggling against him. Your walls sheathe him, and you let out a pained squeak. "Look at how well you take me, baby. You were made for me. You’re so wet for me. Look at you, trying to deny your rightful place as my subordinate. My pretty little girl.”
He forces his cock into you slowly. Your walls squeeze around him, sheathing his cock so well, and you whimper, squeezing your nails into his shoulders so hard you feel as though you're going to leave behind crescent moons. "No, Steve," you breathe, squeezing your eyes shut, desperately trying to get rid of the burn between your leg. "'t hurts. Stevie, I'm not ready."
"You're ready, baby," he seethes, throwing his head back slightly as he pushes his hips up further. "Your little virgin pussy is hugging my cock so fucking tight."
A mewl escapes you as his cock brushes up against the spongy spot inside of you. Tears prick the corner of your eyes, and mascara begins to brew below your lash line. Steve stares at you, his gaze passionate, wondering how he ever got so lucky. Not only has he got you exactly where he needs you, but he's also ruining you, tainting you for other men.
The only way he can truly ensure other men will leave you alone is to fill that belly of yours with his baby, so that's exactly what he intends to do. "Does that feel good?" he whispers, kissing your cheek softly. "You feel so full, baby?"
"So full, Steve," you whine, trying to adjust yourself to gather more comfort. Your walls rub against his cock as you adjust, and it feels kind of... good, so you do it again. Your hips slowly roll atop of him, and you whimper to yourself, pain mixing with pleasure.
Steve lets you bounce on him. It's a slow pace, and it doesn't hurt, though it feels unnatural to have something this big inside of you. It's not that you're entirely sexually naive - you've masturbated before, but this is completely different. Steve is huge, and with every roll of your hips, you can feel him. There's no room for escape, and your stomach flips as you throw your arms around his neck. "Steve," you breathe, eyes flittering shut as the coil inside of you threatens to break and snap, your toes curled in desperation. It feels as though you're just inches away from experiencing pure ecstasy, but you can't reach it, and it's making you so frustrated, you feel as though you could cry. "H-help me, Steve."
"You want Daddy's help when getting off?" he coos, brushing a curl away from your face. You stare down at him, biting your lip and nodding eagerly, and he groans slightly. So cute, so small, so ready for him. This is how you should be - begging for his help, needing him, relying on him. You're just a woman, after all; you need a big, strong man like Steve to take care of you.
His hips thrust up, and it's incredibly painful at first. Steve's pace is nothing compared to yours - you were being slow and gentle with your body, and he just wants to ruin it. His hips smash into you, his cock sliding in and out, and he peppers harsh kisses against your neck. You mewl against him, pressing up against his chest to feel him, your toes curling in your flats, your eyes dazed, mouth gaping. You look like a picture-perfect image, and Steve grunts as he fucks you, wanting to tip you over the edge.
It doesn't take long until the coil snaps. You murmur and shake against him, your thighs clenched as you cum, squirting all over his cock, drenching his balls and trousers. "Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god," you yell against him, his cock relentlessly fucking you throughout your orgasm.
"I'm gonna fill you with my babies," he growls, "drown your pussy with my fucking cum."
"No," you cry out, unable to move as he thrusts himself into you; again and again and again. You feel so helpless, so small and weak against him, and you stare up at him. His pupils are dark and blown, and his Adam's apple bobs desperately, his nostrils flaring as his cock twitches inside of you. "Please, pull out!"
"I don't think so, baby," he grunts, and with one final thrust of his hips, he finishes inside of you. Your walls squeeze him simultaneously, and he lets out a low, powerful groan, as he coaxes your walls with his cum. "Gotta make you a nice little housewife. Gonna have you popping out all of my babies."
Steve brushes away the tears which slip down your cheeks. He doesn't even realize how hard he's been holding you until he lets go, your arms riddled with handprint marks which he's sure will bruise. "Don't cry, doll," he murmurs, "you knew what came with the job."
"No, I didn't," you sniffle, pressing your head into his neck. It's wrong how his warmth and his smell act as a safety valve for you when he's the reason you're so upset. "I would've never - I would've never gotten into this if I knew what you expected from me."
A gentle sob racks your body, and Steve looks down at you, caressing your face gently. "Baby, stop crying. You're ruining that little face of yours." In honesty, Steve's patience is running thin. He's been good to you; caring, doting, paying you well for an easy job, and this is how you react? You cry into his arms after he tells you he's going to pump you full of his children? He's Captain America, for God's sake. You should be begging for it. "Just - Jesus fucking christ," he huffs as you continue to cry, grabbing your face harshly, and the sudden grip shocks you. "Stop crying. If you're going to speak, at least try and be fucking coherent."
Nodding your head, you wipe your eyes, which are tender and you assume, red. "I'm not ready for this," your voice shakes as you speak, and Steve almost feels a bit sorry at the sight of you. "I- I don't want this."
"Only good girls get what they want," Steve states plainly, staring at your disheveled face. He certainly got what he wanted - you look ruined, and you feel it, too. He imagines his cum is mixed with a bit of your blood; what, with him defiling you and all, he probably broke your hymen as well. The thought makes him grin to himself, and he utters, "I don't think you've been good, so you don't get what you want, baby."
"I'm sorry! I just - this doesn't seem like a fair punishment! I don't want this!" You cry out as Steve delivers a harsh smack to your ass, and you gaze up at him pathetically through your lashes as he tuts.
"I don't care if you think it's fair or not. You've been teasing me ever since you were an intern at Stark Industries, doll. I've been waiting to breed you for that long," his voice vibrates against you, and you shake your head, ashamed that you even thought you could get away with arguing against him. He's the Captain, and he has all of the control. "Anyway, you're just a dumb little baby. You have no idea what you want right now. But I do. I know what's good for you. Don't you trust me, baby?"
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sharkdadontumbl · 2 months
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great with chicks
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lostremind · 1 year
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Two sentences that broke me:
- "Let me go"
- "It's okay"
⧗ No, it's not okay and I can't let go ⧗
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mlys05 · 8 months
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Why did this get flagged?? 😂
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