You Own Me

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Summary: Steve would pay for what he did.

Pairings: Steve Rogers X Reader

Rating: explicit

Warnings: dark!, explicit language, explicit sexual content, mentioned forced marking, teasing, ab riding, implied cheating, oral sex, squirting, 18+ ONLY

Word Count: 4.6K

"I own him," you whisper as you lay his phone back down

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"I own him," you whisper as you lay his phone back down. Beginning to pace around the bedroom as your hunger starts to invade your thoughts. Wishing that the noise of your loud stomach would shut up so you could think. This deserved all your attention.

"I own him," that didn't even make sense. Between your stomach and your throbbing neck everything was overwhelming. What did owning him even mean? Now that Shy had brought it up, you knew that Steve could get in this bedroom if he wanted to. He didn't.

Not only did he not bust into the bedroom to bring you to your knees, he was asleep. Had moved a sofa chair in front of the bedroom door, and was waiting. How did Steve own you? He owned your every sick sexual desires. Clearly he owned your allegiance. You didn't even hesitate when Shy asked you about the tattoo.

You didn't even get a chance to realize what was happening, and that man was piercing your skin with a needle. Wincing, you walk into the bathroom to look at the mess of your neck. It wasn't ugly. It was just a bit grotesque from the rawness. It needed to be cleaned. Covered. Something to help it not get infected.

How did Steve make you weak? He was who he was. He exuded this raw sex appeal. He was nasty, but there was a moment. For a few hours it felt sweet. He could deny it if he wanted to, but you felt it. Steve was too hard, so when those soft moments of just you and him happen, you take note of them. Steve was scared of his feelings.

Closing your eyes, you inhale deeply. It was crazy. It was going to possibly be dangerous, but you knew what you needed to do. Centering yourself, and giving yourself a minor pep talk, you walk into his giant closet. Your fingers run over his perfectly organized shirts, until you find just the right one.

Pulling it off the hanger, you remove all your clothes, before undoing the buttons, and adding on Steve's shirt. Looking in the mirror, you undo a few more buttons before nervously walking towards the bedroom door. This was either going to be easy, or Steve was going to show you who was boss.

Gulping, you creak the door open, but he remains asleep. Good. Maybe you can get some food in before having to deal with him. A hungry self doesn't make for one in control. Stepping past him, you just know he's going to reach out and grab you, but he doesn't. You can hear his deep breathing in his sleep, and almost — almost want to give him a tender kiss, but you were going to make him pay in the best way you could think of. You did own him now.

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