Your pace was near perfect, the air just cool enough to keep you from overheating. You were close to the compound, making good time. You might have technically been on Avengers’ property, but it felt freeing to be outside, by yourself, jogging and listening to your music.
It had become apparent, whilst living under the watchful eye of America’s Captain and the every present A.I., that you had been taking the simple notion of freedom and autonomy for granted. That very thought turned your gut. You were an American citizen, you should have the freedom to go wherever you choose, but at this time that was not your reality. Captain America was the conductor of your every move.
You leaned against a nearby tree, prolonging your return to your quarters, catching your breath. It was beautiful on the grounds. The leaves were starting to turn golden orange, yellow and bloody red with the change of the season. You loved autumn. You yearned to celebrate Halloween and visit the farmers’ markets on the weekends.
You removed your headphones and listened to the sound of the leaves rustling in the breeze, a squirrel chirping close by. It was relaxing, peaceful away from the watchful eye of the A.I. and Steve Rogers.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Clearly, you had spoken too soon. You looked up to see Steve approaching you at a leisurely jog before coming to a stop near you. His long legs encased in running leggings, a puffer jacket worn over his t-shirt. He looked hot. “I love running this time of the year. The colours, the temperature. It’s just perfect.”
You smiled in return. He seemed to be in a good mood, perhaps now was a good opportunity to test his goodwill. “Actually Steve, I was hoping to bump into you.” You internally cringed as you saw him swell with anticipation. In the distance, you could hear Sam and Bucky approaching thanks to their bickering. “I was hoping, considering it was the weekend, that I could maybe leave the compound for a few hours. I need to pick up some stuff and I was hoping to get some fresh air.”
Steve raised an eyebrow and stared at you incredulously. “Get some fresh air? You’re out in the fresh air right now.” Was he really that dense? Surely not.
“Well hey!” Sam called as he and Bucky came close and their bickering coming to a ceasefire. “Nice day for a run.”
You saw their arrival as an opportunity. Surely they would see the sense in you taking some leave from the compound. “It’s a great day. I was hoping to make the most of the clear weather and go into the nearest town. I need to pick up a few things and just wanted to take in the sights.”
“And get some fresh air, apparently,” Steve said bitterly, his hands resting on his hips.
“But you’re out in the fresh air,” Bucky said incredulously.
You were exasperated. “Seriously? I just want to go into town for a few hours by myself.”
“You can be here by yourself.”
You raise an eyebrow at Bucky and he immediately stilled. “I don’t see what the problem is. I can drive myself and be back in a few hours. I’m not going to go sell state secrets. I did sign an NDA after all.”
Sam chuckled, whilst the look on Steve’s face chilled you to the bone. He was not amused. “I made it perfectly clear,” he said, his arms coming to rest against his chest, “that you would not be able to leave the compound due to…”
“Yeah, yeah. You destroyed an island and the world hates you, which is why I’m here. I get that. I don’t understand what that has to do with me going into town. “
Sam gasped and Bucky’s eyes shot open. You instantly regretted the smart-ass comment, but you couldn’t help but smile inwardly. It was pretty funny and Sam could not hide the fact that he found it amusing.
Steve’s gaze narrowed on you, clearly unamused. “Your request is denied.”
“Oh, come on, I have rights. I’m not a prisoner…”
Steve’s eyes turned dark as he stiffened and you immediately shut your mouth. “That is correct. You are not a prisoner. However, I have been consigned to your stay here at the compound and I have deemed the situation unsafe.” You bristled, your eyes locked in a silent battle. “Of course, you’re more than welcome to discuss this with your editor-in-chief, Mr. Post. I’m sure he’d be delighted to help you find another assignment.”
Your cheeks burned with embarrassment. “That won’t be necessary. Enjoy the rest of your run gentlemen.”
Steve preened like a peacock as the trio watched you job back the way you had come. You were in no mood to hurry back to the compound, even if that meant repeating your four-mile circuit.
“Cap, I know that we are approving everything that gets posted, but we really need to try and keep her on our side,” Sam said as they made their way back to the compound. “I mean, she’s a guest and it could turn in to the most awkward seven weeks of our lives.”
“Sam’s right,” Bucky agreed as they picked up their pace.
“She clearly doesn’t like me,” Steve sighed. God, he wanted you to like him, but everything he did and said seemed to turn you off. “It’s quite obvious she’s already made up her mind about us. What am I supposed to do?”
“Let Tin Man and I figure something out. If anyone here knows the ladies, it’s us, well mostly me.”
And so after showering and a hearty two-course breakfast, Sam and Bucky went about their ‘80’s rom-com marathon as planned, the table laden with popcorn and snacks. They had plans to make; they were going to save this blog and their sanity if it killed them.
Sam found you later that afternoon in the library delving into the Accords. “Hey, sugar.” He laughed as you rolled your eyes. “So, it is a lovely afternoon and it seems like such a shame to be stuck inside here reading up on the Accords. I mean it is like ‘War and Peace’, right? Essential reading, but does not make for an enjoyable Sunday.”
You pulled your reading glasses off and placed them beside your laptop. “Are you getting me out of the dodge? I will pay you. I make a mean batch of chocolate chip muffins. Hell, take me to a bar and I will pay for the drinks.”
Sam chuckled, taking your arm and pulling you up from your place on the sofa. “I have something even better in mind.”
You followed him outside, listening to him talk about the secret ingredient pie his mom makes and he will bring it back for her when he goes to visit, before quickly realising that telling you he can leave the compound is probably not a great idea and quickly changed the subject.
He was leading you to the lake, and secretly you hoped he would let you have a try of his wings, but you were sorely, and epically wrong.
Your breath hitched in your chest as you took in the picnic blanket laden with food and wine, the fairy lights and candles hung off tree branches. It was utterly beautiful and ridiculous, and you would be lying to say if your heart didn’t swell at the sight. Until your eyes came to see Steve Rogers dressed in his beige dress pants, a button-up shirt with a pristine cashmere jumper as if he was going on a date.
You felt inadequate and embarrassed by your torn jeans, oversized plaid shirt, and worn-to-death boots, your hair (desperately in need of washing) pulled up out of your face with a hairband.
“Surprise!” You jumped as Bucky cried out.
“What is going on?” you asked taking another look at your surroundings, praying this was a terrible dream, that you’d fallen asleep on the couch reading the Accords and this was all brought on by the fact that Sam and Bucky were working their way through every terrible rom-com ever made.
“Well,” Bucky said wrapping his arm around your upper body and steered you towards Steve who smiled shyly, “we thought you two haven’t really had the opportunity to get to know each other, and what better way than a picnic.”
Steve’s hands were shoved deep in his pockets as he rocked on his heels. Sam and Bucky had outdone themselves on their presentation. Artisan cheeses, French macarons, champagne. The lighting, the mood. It was so… romantic.
“Why does it look like Molly Ringwald spewed the eighties all over your lawn?” you asked, your body stiff like a board. “You guys need to lay off the romantic comedies.”
Steve’s heart sank, but he wasn’t a quitter. No, he would battle on. He could win you over. “It would be a shame to let all this food go to waste and it’s such a perfect afternoon.”
His transparent disappointment pricked at your heart a little, and then there was the pathetic, perfect pout Bucky was putting on. “I do love macarons.” Steve’s smile blossomed brightly.
“That’s our cue, enjoy guys,” Sam said pulling a gawking Bucky back towards the compound.
“They’re going to spy aren’t they?” you asked as you sat down on the blanket, the ground surprisingly soft, Steve sitting close to you.
“Absolutely,” he chuckled. “I’m sorry about all this. They have a tendency to be selectively blind to the appropriate line.”
“It’s fine. Maybe they should consider event planning if this Avengers gig doesn’t work out.” That drew a hearty laugh from Steve as he fought to open the champagne.
Glasses poured, Steve raised his. “To a successful blog, your thriving career and a budding friendship.” You wanted to roll your eyes; slowly coming to the realisation Steve was a peacock in disguise, but in the spirit of the afternoon you raised your glass and they clinked.
An awkward silence fell over as you both picked at the food and drink. You had to hand it to Bucky and Sam they were nothing but committed and had not cheapened out on their selection of treats.
Steve cleared his throat, his hands fidgeting in his lap. “So, how long have you lived in New York?”
You had two options. You could not answer his questions and spend the next seven weeks in an awkward purgatory. Or, you could play along and appease his curiosity. You knew the latter would result in a better blog and possibly keep Michael off your back. Besides, you could always be selective in your answers.
“I moved to study at NYU. I did my internship at the Wall Street Journal and I’ve been at the Times for three years. But I’m sure you already knew that.”
Steve stiffed, crushing the macaron with his fingers. “You had to expect a background check.” He watched you closely as you bit your lip before draining your glass of the expensive champagne.
“Of course. You can’t expect me not to be uncomfortable though, people digging into your life?”
“Why, do you have something to hide?” His voice was bitter and your body instantly chilled.
Sam and Bucky sat nearby, helping themselves to a mountain of Brie and crackers, listening to your conversation.
“Well, that had been going well,” Sam sighed. “He really hasn’t got a clue about women, does he?” Bucky laughed before shoving three pieces of Brie into his mouth. “Should we intervene?”
Bucky swallowed the cheese and shook his head. “Steve is a lost cause. He just needs to work through this little crush, because our lovely journalist is clearly not interested.”
Steve was too close, his eyes were too inquisitive, and his hands were too big and strong. “I’m sorry,” he said softly, his eyes looking to his hands. “I’m making a mess of this.”
You wanted to stay mad at him, but seven weeks was a terribly long time to be at war with someone who determined your level of freedom in the compound. “No, I’m sorry. I’ve let my preconceived notions affect my demeanor towards you. It’s incredibly unprofessional.”
His hand grasped yours quickly before offering you some macarons. “Is there a particular food you like? We can stock up the kitchen with some of your favourite foods. We want you to be comfortable here.”
You smiled and took a pistachio macaron. “Pretzels and beer. I’m pretty easy to please otherwise.”
You missed the dark smirk that formed on Steve’s lips as he studied your face, his mind reeling. “I will make sure to keep the beer fridge stocked then. We have a weekly movie night, you are welcome to request a movie.”
You smirked, “Anything but a romantic comedy.”
“Not a romantic comedy fan?” His eyes were trained on you, examining you like a fine piece of jewelry.
You sighed, “No. I think they’re idealistic, unrealistic and place too much value on the importance of having a man in your life.”
“Maybe you’re not seeing the right people.” You immediately look to Steve but you fail to see his expression as he looked off into the distance.
It was time to change the topic of conversation; things were getting a little deep for a non-date. “Do you know what this large red cake is, Steve? It looks too pretty to eat.”
Steve smiled and served you a sizeable piece, your stomach all but growling as you breathed in the sweet scent. “It’s a Moulin Rouge. Chocolate coconut mousse, raspberry jelly and coconut mousse on a white chocolate brownie.”
“It’s the prettiest brownie I’ve ever seen,” you sighed happily before your running through the airiest mousse you had ever soon. The sweet textures danced on your tongue as you licked your finger.
Steve’s mind went into meltdown, watching your finger delve into your mouth, covered in mousse, his pants immediately tenting. His imagination went into overdrive.
Sat on his lap, the Eiffel Tower a mere backdrop to your perfect evening, you feed him a spoonful of the decadent brownie. Your body is swamped in his shirt, his scent caressing your skin, your legs encased in those sinfully innocent thigh-high knitted socks. Your lace-clad pussy grinds against his as your tongues dance together, sweet coconut and raspberry chasing the champagne.
“You’re the only sweet delight I need, soldier,” you huskily whimper as your clit brushes his hard cock through his boxers.
Overall, you’d had a pleasant afternoon with Steve, and it bugged you to no end. After dinner, you went outside into the cool night and found yourself by the lake. You had to talk to someone. Unbeknownst to you, Steve watched from behind a nearby tree, covert in the dark shadows.
Hannah, your pragmatic and tactile friend would be able to help you evaluate and analyse your battling emotions. She was a fellow journalist, working for the LA Times and had a wealth of knowledge about The Avengers. She had also been your friend since college.
“Hey, honey, how’s the east coast?” Hannah asked, her face immediately furrowing as she noted your distressed expression. You would usually video call each other once a week, so she had been unsurprised when you called her at the office.
“I’m at The Avenger’s compound. Michael has me working this bullshit pro-PR blog for two months on the compound 24/7.” Hannah hid her face in her hands and let out an exasperated groan. She was no stranger to Michael Post herself. “Captain America is basically my editor.”
Hannah’s eyes met yours. “You’re kidding? So, you’re obviously feeling frustrated.”
You scoffed. “Frustrated. Confused. Claustrophobic.” A rustle in the bushes nearby drew your attention from the call briefly, before seeing nothing. “Han, I’m trying to remain professional but I can’t get her words out of my head.” Steve immediately froze.
“Your grandmother would not have warned you if she didn’t believe they were a threat.”
You sighed and hid your face in your hands, groaning in frustration before whipping your head up to look at your friend. “It’s just… he’s so fucking nice, Han. He’s always saying nice things to me, always complimenting me...”
“Captain fucking America.”
Hannah grinned. “So he’s as good looking as he is in his pictures?”
“He’s hot in that sweet American pie kinda way, but he’s also so ripped. Like, chiseled, Han.” Steve preened at her words, his smile growing. “But then he’s always watching me. It makes me really uncomfortable.”
“I saw the Instagram splurge,” Hannah giggled. “Okay, so what’s on the line if you pull out?”
“My job. Michael threatened to fire me if I didn’t take this on.”
“What the fuck, why?” You told Hannah about the Christmas party, Michael pinning you to the wall and trying to kiss you in the storage closet before you freed yourself and left the party. “You need to report him.” Steve’s gut burnt with rage as he listened. Who fucking touches his girl?
“Who’s going to believe me? Trish lost her job and got blacklisted because she wouldn’t sleep with Michael. He said I would interview Alejandro Gonzalez after. I just need to wait this out.”
“What are you going to do about Captain Pie?”
You smirked at the nickname, however, Steve’s rage boiled. “I need to keep a professional distance. I’m sure this sweet, kind Steve is a façade. I mean, gran wouldn’t tell me to not trust the Avenger’s unless she had a good reason, right?”
“Darling, your gran was the bravest, bluntest woman I’ve ever had the pleasure knowing. If I were in your position, I’d buckle down for the rest of the assignment, don’t let the good old Cap near your vagina,” you laughed out loud and Steve grimaced, “get that interview with the sexy Alejandro and get the fuck out of that paper. Michael is toxic and he will do anything he can to get what he wants. You should be somewhere safe.”
You mulled over her words. “I love you, Han.”
“I love you too. Now, you just write some bullshit about how honourable The Avengers are and make up some bullshit about the cute furry bats were infested with disease.” You laughed again. “Just, don’t let Michael’s threat and Steve’s pretty face influence your beliefs. You are a smart, intelligent woman who is entitled to her opinion.”
Your conversation veered to happier topics as you caught up with each other. In the shadows, Steve stewed and cursed. Oh yes, he remembered your troublesome grandmother. It was a good thing she was already dead.
You, however, were in dire need of punishment.
Steve towers over you, your arse planted on the picnic bench seat, his steely blue eyes bearing down on you. “We had such a nice afternoon, doll, why did you have to call me names behind my back?” His voice was rich and dark, his hand gripping your hair and pulling you back, exposing your neck.
“Please daddy,” you whimper as his fingers trail over your exposed skin, picking at the tears running down your cheeks.
His fingers grip your jaw and pull you to meet his eyes. "Baby, you know daddy is going to have to punish you, however else will you learn? Now, be a good girl for daddy and take your punishment without any complaints. Maybe next time you won't be so quick to run your nasty mouth."
Your lip quivers as he pulls you up and takes your place on the bench. "I'm sorry, daddy."
“I know baby,” he coos spreading his legs, “but you know what happens when you upset daddy.” His hands yank your jeans and panties down. “Now be a good girl and present yourself on daddy’s lap so I can punish you.”
You knew better than to disobey Daddy, so you obediently lay over his expansive gape, your ass high in the air, your back arched and head laying low.
Steve's warm hand ran over the globe of your ass before gripping and pulling your cheeks apart, taking in the view. "You're my perfect little doll," he drawls, "you're going to look so pretty once I'm done with you." His hand came to rest between your shoulder blades before his hand began to rain assault on your sensitive behind.
Your pathetic whimpers, coupled with salacious moans drew Steve’s attention to your increasingly wet passage. The sweet aroma hit him hard, drawing a smirk from his lips as his cock pushed against your ribs. “Oh my sweet doll, you’re dripping all over my pants. Are you enjoying your punishment?” Steve chuckled at the proud damp spot adorning his pants. “I’m beginning to think this isn’t much of a punishment after all.”
Steve pulls you up to sit in his lap, your hands firmly gripped behind your back. “What do you say, baby?”
His thumb caresses the falling tears on your cheeks, your ass burning against his pants, tears staining your cheeks. “Thank you for my punishment, daddy.”
Steve groaned and looked to his hand now covered in cum, his chest heaving, “Good girl, doll. Good girl.”