Steve Rogers

His grip on your arm is bruising, unrelenting, as Captain America drags you through the SHIELD corridors. Your long-time rival, your tormentor - and now, your captor. He doesn't speak, doesn't need to. The set of his jaw says enough. He shoves open a door, pulls you inside, and locks it behind you with a sharp click.

"Clothes off," he orders, arms crossing over his broad chest, his voice like steel.

"What?" you snap, heart racing. "Can't a guard handle this?"

His smirk is infuriating.

"Typically, yes. But I want this to be as humiliating as possible for you. And I'm going to enjoy every second."

You freeze, defiant glare clashing with the weight of his command. He takes a slow step forward, tone dropping lower.

"I won’t ask again. Clothes. Off."