Summary: Steve Rogers is the CEO of his own company, and he’s a man that has never heard the word no from anyone. He goes after what he wants and he gets it, no matter the cost.
You’re doing your best; sharing an apartment with your best friend, struggling through college, trying to make your own imprint on this world.
The two of you cross paths when, as a favor to your friend, you interview him for a magazine. Without meaning to, you catch the attention of the insanely wealthy and intense bachelor.
Word Count: 2,885
Warnings for Series: Angst, fluff, explicit rough & consensual sexual content, dub-con, dom!Steve, sub!reader, possibly more to come.
Author’s Note: Yes. There are going to be similarities to 50 Shades of Grey. This isn’t exactly a rewrite, this is my take on how it should have been. This fic wouldn’t be possible without @captain-rogers-beard and @climbthatmooselikeatree, their support and assistance has been invaluable. GIF credit [x]
Please don’t steal my work. It’s rude.
Seeing as how you knew your way around town, Steve left the coffee destination with you. The fact that it was your hometown might have helped with your decision. It was a normal, run of the mill coffee shop, friendly, family-owned. Yet, despite the eight-feet-tall windows and vaulted ceilings, you felt like you couldn’t breathe. Of course, that might have had something to do with the fact that none other than Steve Rogers was seated opposite you.
You had hardly recognized him when he approached you in the lobby of the hotel. He had forgone his usual attire of a three piece suit, opting for a more relaxed look with dark wash jeans, white t-shirt, blue zip-up sweatshirt, and tennis shoes. You damn near had a heart attack when you realized it was him.
“You seem nervous,” Steve said as he poured you some tea that you had ordered.
You murmured a thank you before taking a drink. “To be honest, you intimidate me.”
He laughed at that, head thrown back, hand over his left pec. “You have no need to be.”
“You- you’re kidding, right?” you stammered, staring at him as if he had just grown a second head. “Steve, you were CEO of Rogers Tech by the time you were twenty-five, and it wasn’t just handed to you because your dad owns the company. You earned it.”
Steve waved his hand in dismissal. “I’m just a regular guy.”
“Oh, okay,” you snorted. “A regular guy that runs a multi-million dollar company with profits catapulting towards ten… ten figures. Oh, and you’re also the youngest billionaire in Brooklyn. Ever.”
“I’ve got an incredible work ethic,” was his response to your hushed tirade. “Enough about me. Tell me about your family.”
“My family? Um, okay. My dad died when I was a baby, so I was raised by my step-father Phil. He’s amazing. He was there for me when -” you swallowed hard and worked hard at not crying.
Rather than let the silence stretch into thick awkwardness, Steve asked, “What about your mother?”
You about choked on a chuckle. “My mother is on husband number four. She’s an incurable romantic.”
“And you?” he asked, eyebrow arched.
“Well, I’m studying English Literature. I have to be,” you deadpanned.
And just like that, Steve’s demeanor completely changed. He pulled out some bills, set them on the table, and coolly excused himself. “I have to go.”
Of course, you thought it was something you had said or done. Whatever it was that made Steve respond that way, it was your fault. It had to be. How could you have even started to think that maybe, just maybe some guy might actually want to be with you. Swiping angrily at your face, you launched yourself out of the chair, and stormed out.
“You just gonna walk away?” you shouted. “Leave a girl to stew in her own self-destructive thoughts?”
Steve stopped walking away the moment he heard your voice. He stood there, his back to you, his head shaking.
“Is it because you already have a girlfriend?” you rasped, throat suddenly dry. “I mean, unless this is your M.O., get into the minds of the weak, act all polite and debonair, get us to start thinking, then leave us high and dry?”
Steve’s shoulders straightened as he turned. He marched up to you, just inside of your air space and murmured. “You’re an amazing woman, Y/N, and I… I don’t want to ruin you.”
“Ru- ruin me?” you sputtered. “How the hell could you do that?”
With his eyes flashing stormy-sea-blue, Steve tucked some hair behind your ear. “I don’t want you to find out.”
Just as quickly as he had entered your air space, he was gone, spinning on his heel and jogging away, maneuvering through the pedestrians. He left you there, your stomach rolling and your brain spinning at an alarming rate.
Steve jogged away from the only woman that had started to make him feel something new, something that wasn’t self-loathing or doubt. Sure, it had only been a week since the first time he saw her. But there was something about her, something different and it was refreshing as hell.
And then, just like that, every insecurity he had, every heartbreak he had suffered, everything slammed into him like a fucking train, all because Y/N had said, quite jokingly, that she was a romantic. Y/N deserved to have someone in her life that could give her that, the unyielding, all-consuming, passionate love. She didn’t deserve someone that was so damaged he was teetering on the edge of shattering.
So, he did the one thing he did best; he pushed her away. And it fucking hurt. He wanted to wrap her in his arms, crush her to his chest, and kiss her breathless, but he didn’t. He forced himself to turn, to run away from her. Old habits die hard.
Before he knew it, he was standing in the middle of his hotel suite, chest heaving, adrenaline pumping.
Bucky, his best friend and bodyguard, came in, cell phone in hand. “I got eyes on him. Thank you, Clint.”
Knowing exactly what was coming, Steve shook his head. “I don’t want to hear it.”
“Come on, man,” Bucky said. “How many times do we gotta go over this. You can’t just di -”
“Disappear,” Steve interrupted. “I know, okay.”
“You know?” he repeated, arms crossed and a brow arched. “If you know, then why’d you break protocol?”
With a roll of his eyes, Steve huffed. “It won’t happen again.”
“Ah, man,” Bucky murmured, realizing why his friend was suddenly acting like an ass. “What’s her name?”
Steve strode over to the bar and poured himself a double serving of the oldest whiskey the hotel provided. “Never said there was a her.”
Bucky chuckled low in his throat. “You act like I don’t know you, like we didn’t grow up together, like we didn’t join the goddamn ARMY together.”
Clenching his jaw, Steve met the gaze of his friend, his chosen brother. “Y/N, alright,” he growled. “It’s Y/N.”
You weren’t sure how you made it through your finals, but you did. The fact that all you did was study in the last three days certainly seemed to help. Because studying meant that you weren’t thinking of Steve. It meant that you weren’t dwelling on how it felt to have someone literally run away from you, or constantly looking at your phone, checking for missed calls and texts.
Nat continued to ask you what happened, but all you would tell her was that you needed some time to yourself. Which wasn’t necessarily a lie, but she didn’t need to know the details. She finally stopped asking after you had been back in Brooklyn for two days.
With your eyes squeezed shut, you sat in front of a mirror as Nat applied some make-up to your face. “Stop,” you protested for what had to be the hundredth time.”This is way too much. You’re getting it -”
“No, this is exactly the right amount,” she argued playfully. “Now, sit still. You’re like a toddler.”
“Enough,” you laughed, pulling back from the brush as it swept across your eyelid. Nat was about to dive back in when the doorbell rang.
“That’ll be the cab,” she announced gleefully.
You stood and checked yourself out, smoothing your hands over the front of your outfit. “Wow, Nat. This… it’s too much. I’m gonna break an ankle… or my neck in these heels.”
“Just hold on to Pietro,” she called. “Besides, you deserve a night out. You **nailed** those finals.”
When the front door opened and closed in quick succession, you thought for a fleeting second that she left without you. You whirled around and carefully walked out of your room.
She was holding a box in one hand, and an unopened card in the other. “You got a package,” she teased.
“I didn’t order anything,” you murmured, pulling the box from her hand.
Nat opened the card and started reading it. “Why didn’t you tell me there was danger? Why didn’t you warn me? Ladies know what to guard against because -”
“They read novels that tells them of these tricks,” you interrupted. “That’s a quote from Tess of the d’Urbervilles.”
With a huff, Nat rolled her eyes. To say that the two of you were completely different would be putting it lightly. Whereas you liked reading books with a glass of wine in front of a fire, Nat was definitely a flowers and chocolates kind of girl.
“Did anyone sign it?” you asked, setting the box on the counter and digging into it with curiosity.
She just shook her head and stood back, knowing better than to get involved in whatever was happening right then.
The sight before you sucked the breath from your lungs. “Oh, my God. These must be from Steve.”
It might not look like much to other people, but the three books that had been delivered about drove you to your knees. They were… perfection. You opened one of the books carefully.
“Do you…? I mean… these are incredible,” you mused.
Nat rolled her eyes. “Wow. Books. That’s… that’s great,” she said dryly, clearly not understanding your enthusiasm.
“No, Nat,” you argued. “These are first editions!”
The realization at just how much these could have cost made you stumble back, your ass hitting the marble countertop. “I can’t… this is too much. I can’t accept these. I have to send them back.”
As much as you wanted to keep them, there was no way you could live with yourself if you did. With your mind made up, you closed the book and set it back in the box. You’d send it back tomorrow.
Pietro, your good friend since childhood, had his arm draped around your shoulders and shoved a shot glass into your hand. “Drink it up,” he murmured, the scent of tequila heavy on his breath.
Not that you noticed, not really. You were entirely too drunk to care about little things like that, but you weren’t drunk enough to stop thinking about Steve. Either you needed more to drink, or the alcohol was breaking down the walls you had just started to build.
With the help of Pietro, you threw your head back, but couldn’t empty the glass.
“Did you get it all?” Nat shouted over the pulse of music and conversation.
You shook your head as Pietro exclaimed, “With my right eye closed and left handed, I can get this in. Ready? One, two…”
Suddenly, you had to use the restroom. You shoved away from the table, but Nat’s hand was on your wrist. “You alright?”
“I gotta pee,” you shouted, hoping you didn’t just make her deaf.
Pietro’s hand was on your waist. “Where you goin’?”
“Jesus,” you muttered in frustration. “I gotta pee!”
You stumbled across the crowded bar, only to find that there was a line of women down the length of the hall. “Fuck.”
Every second passed by painfully slow, and you were certain you were going to pee yourself. You started shifting your weight from one foot to the other, though it did little to relieve the pressure on your bladder. There were only three more women to go before it was your turn, and if you didn’t keep your mind occupied on something, anything else, you’d be needing someone with a mop and bucket.
Your phone was in your hand and you were dialing a number that you had memorized the first night you stared at his business card.
Steve answered after one ring. “Y/N?”
“Yeah, this is… I’m… it’s me,” you giggled. “I’m sending back your expensive books, because I already have copies of those. Though, I should say thank you. So… thanks, but no thanks.”
“You’re welcome,” he answered. There was a crash of glass that made everyone gasp. “Y/N, where are you?”
If you could actually trust your senses right now, you’d guess that he actually sounded concerned. But that couldn’t be. Nope, definitely not.
“I’m in li- see, there’s this line.” You waved a hand as if he were there, standing next to you, judging you for drinking so much in the futile attempt to forget about him.
“A line for what?”
The woman in front of you looked over her shoulder and gave you a pained smile, one that reminded you exactly what you were in line for.
“Ah, fuck. I gotta pee!”
You could hear Steve slamming a door. “Have you been drinking?”
“I sure have, Mr. Pancy Fants.” you giggled. “Panc… Fancy! Fancy Pants. You hit the hail…hail on the nead. I mean the head on the nail.”
“Listen to me, Y/N,” he ground out through clenched teeth as he started his car. “Tell me where you are.”
You scoffed loudly. “God, you’re so bossy.”
“Don’t be like this.”
“Don’t be like this,” you mocked, earning a weird glance from the woman that just exited the bathroom. “Meet me in twenty minutes. I have to go. I don’t want to ruin you. I don’t want to be with you.”
“I never said I didn’t want to be with you,” Steve growled.
Thank goodness it was your turn for the bathroom, because as soon as you shut the door, you started crying. “Piss off, Rogers.”
“Tell me where you are,” he ordered, the roar of an engine muffling his voice.
“Tell me where you are,” you mocked again, though you sounded more bitter than the previous time.
The one thing you didn’t know about Steve, but were about to find out, was just how incredibly stubborn he was. “The bar, what’s the name of it?”
The floor was starting to shift beneath your feet, so you kicked off the heels Natasha had somehow convinced you to wear. “I don’t know, Steve. I… I have to go.”
“Which bar?” he shouted. It wasn’t his aggressive tone or even the fact that he rejected you that made you cry harder, it was the alcohol, straight and simple.
“I… I’m sorry,” you choked on a sob. “I didn’t mean -”
“Stay where you are, I’m coming to get you.”
Twenty minutes and several large glasses of water later, you were standing outside, heels in hand, and Pietro by your side.
“Hey,” he murmured, just loud enough to get your attention. “Are you alright?”
“Huh? Yeah. I just feel stupid for making such a scene.” Crimson flushed your neck and cheeks at just the thought of what happened earlier.
You never wanted to be that girl, the one that drunk-dialed their ex / love interest, and whined. Was it the tequila, or was it something deeper than that, something that scared you?
“Come here,” Pietro urged, his arms held open. “Stay warm.”
“No, I… I’m good.”
He pulled in a deep breath and said, “No, I wanna have the courage to do this.”
“Do what?” you asked, confusion thick on your tongue.
“I like you, Y/N,” he admitted.
You blew out a harsh breath. “I like you, too, Pietro. You’re such a great friend.”
“Y/N,” he whispered. “It’s so much more than that.”
“No,” you breathed, shaking your head as it was becoming crystal clear what he was trying to say.
Pietro nodded and took a step closer. “Very much.”
No, this couldn’t be happening. “Oh, Pietro.”
“Just… one kiss,” he pleaded.
“No, Pietro. I’m sorry, no.” Your hand was over your mouth to hide the fact that your chin was quivering. The last thing you wanted was to lose one of your best friends.
He took another step and that’s when you noticed the embarrassment in his eyes. But the voice you heard next, was neither yours, or Pietro’s.
“She said no, pal.”
Squinting, you tried to focus on the newcomer. “Steve?”
He was holding his hand out. “Come on, let’s get you home.”
“I… I’m with Natasha,” you said, pointing at your friend through the window.
“I’ll have Clint tell her,” Steve insisted, moving closer to you.
God, you were confused. “Who’s Clint?”
“He’s my brother,” was his simple answer. “He’s inside, talking to her now.”
You looked over your shoulder, and sure enough, Natasha was talking with a man that waved at Steve. While you were turning to look at Steve, you caught sight of Pietro as he walked away, his head hung, hands in his pockets. Part of you wanted to go to him, but he might interpret your motive all wrong.
“That’s your brother?” you asked.
“Not by choice,” Steve answered while rolling his eyes.
You swallowed at the butterflies that had just erupted in your throat. “I don’t know.”
Steve held his hands up and took a step back. “If you’re not comfortable with it, tell me, and I’ll go. I just… I need to make sure that you’re safe.”
“Not my place.”
You weren’t exactly sure why the location made a bit of difference. Maybe it was because you didn’t know Steve, not really. He could have been some kind of crazy stalker, serial killer, but you doubted it. There was too much genuine kindness in his eyes shining down at you.
“Okay,” he agreed, a small smirk tugging at his lips. “Name the place.”
FOUR
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