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: 3,759
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.
My work is not to be posted on any other sites without my express written permission.
Clint, Bucky, and Steve were in the kitchen; Steve putting together a late breakfast while Clint tried to get Steve to see his side of things.
“Getting out there, Steve, it’s good for you, man,” he insisted, hand wrapped around a large mug full of coffee. “Tell ‘im, Buck.”
“I’m just the hired help,” Bucky joked, knowing how much Steve hated it when he referred to himself as such.
Clint watched as his brother’s head shook. “Just come out with me and Nat,” he continued.
“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing,” Steve said, his tone thick with irritation. “The two of you have come up with some scheme to get me and Y/N together.”
Clint had the audacity to look shocked when his brother turned around. “I would never -”
“Bullshit,” Steve shot back, spatula in hand, aimed directly and Clint.
Bucky broke out in laughter, his head tossed back, hand slapping on the countertop. “Jesus, man. Calm down.”
Steve shoveled food onto three plates and dispersed them with a glare. “I am calm.”
Clint and Bucky shared a look before erupting into laughter. It echoed through the apartment, reminding Steve of when the three of them were growing up, nary a care in the world. It was just the three of them, the Three Musketeers as Steve’s adoptive mom had dubbed them. They got into everything imaginable, and had a hell of a time while doing so.
“- get laid, is what you need,” Clint said matter-of-factly.
“No need to be crass about it,” Steve admonished his older brother.
Bucky was shaking his head. “Clint’s right, man. It’s been… what… one year since your last sub-”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” Steve warned, his tone almost as dark as his eyes.
He held up one hand in defense as he shoveled food into his mouth. “I’m just sayin’, Y/N isn’t going to wait around forever.”
“She is pretty awesome,” Clint added, barely able to hide a smile around the large bite of food.
Steve pulled in a deep breath before agreeing to go along with whatever plan Clint and the new love of his life had come up with. “As long as it’s not bowling.”
Turned out Natasha had scheduled a ‘best friend’ duo massage that lasted for two glorious hours. While fingers worked at the knots that had plagued you since… forever, a green mask was brushed onto your face and cucumbers were set over your closed eyes. You had never had so much attention lavished upon you, and by the time you were done, you weren’t sure if you’d be able to walk out on your own accord.
Natasha surprised you further by taking you to a late lunch where you drank mimosas and giggled like school girls as the two of you caught up with one another. Yes, you shared the same living space, but you were both college students, working hard on keeping your GPA and graduating. Your nights had been staying up until all hours, cramming and praying that you passed the finals.
“Nat, thank you so much for this,” you sighed, looping your arm in hers, dropping your head to her shoulder as the two of you walked away from the cafe.
She pressed a kiss to the top of your head. “We’ve been needing to reconnect.”
“Ain’t that the truth. God, I can’t wait until the grades are back.”
“I told you, Y/N,” she said sternly. “You nailed those exams.”
You raised your head and gave a curt nod. “Yeah,” you agreed with a newfound determination. “I got this.”
“We got this,” she clarified, chuckling. A moment later, her phone started buzzing, so she pulled it from her pocket. “You ready for your real surprise?”
“Wait, wha-, I don’t… I don’t understand,” you stammered. “I thought that was -”
She shook her head, her freshly-curled crimson hair swishing around her face. “That? Oh God, no. That was a distraction. Your real surprise is five blocks that way.”
You followed the line of her finger as your brain calculated the layout of the neighborhood. “My surprise is the fucking bowling alley?”
Steve had his arms crossed as he eyed the various colored bowling balls. “I hate bowling,” he huffed.
Clint shook his head before Natasha caught his attention. “Something tells me you’re going to have a different attitude in about five seconds.”
“What do you -” Natasha was running over, giggling and jumping into Clint’s arms, wrapping her legs around his waist as she kissed him.
“Oh, I see,” Steve grumbled as he grabbed a twelve-pound bright red ball.
“Is this as much of a surprise to you as it is to me?”
The sound of her voice made Steve jump. He set the ball on the ball return rack before facing Y/N.
“What a pleasant surprise it is,” he smiled, shoving his hands into his pockets. God, she was beautiful. It was as if she had absorbed the sun, she was downright glowing, and looking so damn refreshed and relaxed.
“I uh… thank you,” she murmured, fingers tangled together behind her back. “For last night. I was… embarrassingly drunk.”
Steve shrugged one of his shoulders. “I’m sorry for tracking your cell phone.”
“What was that?” Clint interrupted, a hand next to his ear. “Did my baby brother actually apologize?”
“Shuddup,” Steve snarled playfully, wrapping an arm around Clint’s shoulders as he raked his knuckles back and forth through his hair.
Y/N and Nat were giggling, hands over their mouths at the brotherly display, and Steve couldn’t take his eyes off of her. Clint seized the opportunity and wriggled free of Steve’s death grip, jabbing him gently in the back, where his kidneys were. Clint and Steve exchanged a wink before Natasha asked for help picking out a ball.
“Truce?” Y/N proposed, her hand extended, slightly shaking.
Steve swallowed around the knot in his throat as he enveloped her hand in his. “Clean slate.”
You really hated bowling. Not because it was boring, you thoroughly enjoyed watching people play, but you weren’t all that good at it. While Clint and Steve had scores in the triple digits by the end of the first game, you had an embarrassingly low score of sixty-eight. Even with Natasha’s eighty-nine, she was kicking your ass.
Clint was already setting up the console for the next game when you grabbed Nat’s arm and pulled her away. “I fucking suck at this game,” you whispered at her harshly.
“We can see that,” she joked, winking at you before setting her sights on Clint.
“Yeah, I get it. You’re all heart eyes over Clint right now,” you grumbled. “Forget it.”
Rolling your eyes, you strode back to your lane and grabbed the ball. You didn’t have to be psychic to know where the ball was headed. It made a sickening thud as it hit the gutter, spinning as it rolled down the line. With your cheeks burning, you did it again, finishing your first frame.
“Can I just forfeit?” you asked Steve when you dropped into the seat next to him.
He just chuckled and shook his head. “Doesn’t work like that, doll.”
Doll. It was the sixth time he had called you that since claiming a truce between the two of you; not that you were counting. Every time the word left his lips, it rolled over you, sending electricity sparking down your spine. Steve could call you doll every minute of every day and it wouldn’t be enough.
“Well, why not?” you whined breathlessly as you crossed your legs. You didn’t miss the way his eyes flashed at the way your shirt shifted, revealing the swell of a breast. You took a mental picture and stored it away for another time.
Since calling the truce, Steve had been a little more relaxed around you. He was cracking jokes with his brother, laughing openly when Clint tried – and failed – to have a good comeback. It was a good look on the normally reserved CEO, and you didn’t know how to process the way it made you feel.
Before Steve could answer, Clint called his name. “Your turn,” he sassed, finger pointing at the freshly set up pins. Somehow, both Clint and Natasha had taken their turns while the two of you had been talking.
You watched as Steve rolled a strike. He turned around and held his arms open. “See? It’s not that difficult.”
“And just like that,” you growled, your brow arched. “I know how to bowl.”
Ignoring Natasha when she hissed your name, you took your stance and held the ball at your side. You were about to take your turn when Steve’s voice cut through your negative thoughts.
“No, don’t hold the ball like that,” he chastised gently. He was standing behind you, chest to your back, hunched over so his mouth is by your ear.
Steve maneuvered your hand so you were holding the ball correctly, but you weren’t paying any attention. You were hyper focused on the intoxicating mixture of spice and expensive leather, in the way his beard scuffs your skin, how perfectly pink and plump his bottom lip was.
“- like this, Y/N. It won’t go in the gutter.”
If there weren’t a group of butterflies in your stomach already, what Natasha said next made you want to disappear. "That’s right Steve, tell her how to do it. She loves that.”
It was as if the sound and air was sucked out of the bowling alley. You heard Clint suck in a raspy breath in surprise, followed by a murmur of, “I knew it.”
And then there was Steve. The heavy hand that was on your hip flexed in a way that, despite the complete and utter embarrassment that was roaring through you, made you want to moan appreciatively. You managed to hold it back, just barely. Steve’s breath was puffing along your neck and down the scooped front of your shirt. His entirety was overwhelming and distracting and it made you clench your thighs together.
A part of you wanted to smack Natasha for practically giving away a part of your life that was meant for the bedroom, it was private, not meant for anyone other than you and your significant other. Natasha knew about your submissive role just in case you somehow got involved with someone that took advantage of their dominant position.
You cleared your throat and dipped your chin, signaling that you were ready to take your turn. Steve’s hands stayed in contact with you for another moment before his grip relaxed, his nails scraping along the fabric of your shirt as you stepped away. The heat your body had absorbed from his started to dissipate, and you were surprised at how badly you missed it.
With your teeth clenched, you took your turn, and watched in astonishment as the ball curved gracefully down the lane, knocking down all ten pins. You raised your arms over your head and turned to face Steve, who was wearing a grin that made you weak in the knees.
Natasha ran up and about knocked you to the ground. “Your first strike,” she cried, her arms holding you tight, pushing the air from your lungs. You held onto her and held Steve’s intense gaze. He looked so damn proud of you, but there, just beneath the surface, was something else, something raw and powerful. You wanted to find out what it was, but Natasha was slapping your ass in celebration.
That was how the rest of the night went. Steve helped you roll a strike or a spare, increasing your score until you had beaten Natasha. She was a good sport about it, for most of it, at least. Whenever she wasn’t paying attention to the game, she was draping her legs over Clint’s and they were kissing. Intensely. They were that couple that everyone around them hated.
When the third game had come to an end, your feet and back were sore, and there was a sheen of sweat on your forehead, between your shoulder blades, and at the small of your back. Natasha said she wanted to get some food and drinks, but you shook your head.
“I’m beat, Nat,”you groaned. “I just wanna go home.”
“Come on, Y/N,” she all out whined, tugging on your hand like a little kid. “It’ll be fun.”
You didn’t miss the way her eyes darted over your shoulder, or the aroused lilt to her voice. It would have been a blast, letting your inhibitions slip while around Steve, maybe even you’d get a chance to feel his beard on your skin, but then your brain reminded you exactly why you wanted to go home.
“Grades are published tomorrow.”
Nat pouted, but she didn’t push the matter. “Steve, you comin’ with me and Clint?”
“We’ll see,” he answered, his eyes watching as you stepped into your shoes.
“She’s not coming with,” Nat informed him, to which you glared at her over your shoulder.
“Yes, I’m a party pooper,” you sassed, spinning around on the ball of your foot.
You were too close to the edge of the landing, and your center of gravity wasn’t on its best behavior. You grabbed the balcony to steady yourself, but it was too late, your foot had already stepped out and you put your weight on it. Your ankle rolled as soon as your foot came into contact with the floor, and you gave a yelp of pain. Steve and Nat were by your side, watching as you hopped around on your other foot, muttering under your breath.
“Are you okay?” Steve implored, hands cupping your face.
Nat winced when she dropped to her knees and took hold of your ankle, prodding at it gently. “I don’t think it’s broken.”
“Shit, shit, shit,” you ground out. You’d broken your ankle before, twice, the second one should have been surgically repaired, but you didn’t have insurance and your mother decided it would heal just fine. Needless to say, it didn’t heal properly, and the ligaments were weak.
Clint came over with a glass of water and a bottle of ibuprofen, which you took immediately. “Thank you,” you rasped, pain radiating up your leg.
“You’re welcome,” he responded. “You need a lift home?”
“I’ll take her,” Steve insisted. “You go and have a good time.”
“I can take a cab, Steve. It’s no big deal.” you tried arguing, but he wasn’t having it.
He was already effortlessly picking you up, one arm under your knees, the other behind your back, holding you to him. You felt his heart pounding against your side as you draped your arm over his wide shoulders.
“Decision has already been made,” Steve said with authority.
“I don’t live that far, so you won’t be out too much gas,” you assured him, wincing as you moved your foot.
Steve watched you from the corner of his eye as he drove. “I don’t care about that. I care about your safety and well-being.”
“Why?” you couldn’t help but ask. “You hardly know me.”
“That’s not true,” he disagreed with a smirk. “We just spent the last three hours bowling and having a good time, talking, getting to know one another. I mean, you had a good time, right?” He suddenly sounded so insecure, as if it were his fault that you might not have enjoyed yourself.
You turned to look at him and had to suck in a breath at the the way the passing lights reflected in his eyes and made his eyelashes seem even longer. There were several moles that you had somehow missed and you had to literally grip the edges of the leather seat to keep from reaching out and tracing a line from one to the other with your nail.
“Yes, Steve,” you rasped. “I had a great time.”
You could see his teeth when he smiled. “Me, too.”
The car slowed to a stop a handful of moments later, and before you could even open your door, Steve was out of the car and running around the front. As soon as he pulled open the door, he bent down and helped you maneuver your leg without further injuring yourself. With your hands in his, he pulled you from the car and went to pick you up again. Shaking your head, you grabbed his hand and wrapped his arm around your back, settling your hand atop his on your hip. When he looked at you curiously, you reached out for his other hand. Thick fingers encompassed your hand and he held you firm, supporting you as you hopped up the steps to your apartment building.
“Thank you,” you murmured breathlessly. You unlocked the door and turned to say goodnight to Steve.
Steve gnawed on his bottom lip as he looked at you, his eyes darkening in a way that made heat pool between your legs. “Do you need help getting inside?”
“No, I can manage. I’m on the first floor, so no chance of falling on the stairs.”
He was nodding as he listened, his head cocked to the side, the outside light shining on his beard, showing you just how much more ginger than brown it was. “We can’t have you hurting yourself further, can we?”
You were shaking your head and, before you could stop yourself, answered, “No, sir.”
Steve crowded your personal space and tucked some hair behind your ear. “Y/N, I want to kiss you,” he announced, his voice low and thick.
“Kiss me,” you said, swearing that you heard him growl before he dipped his head.
The first brush of his lips was like a feather. It was his way of giving you time to change your mind, to back away and tell him to leave. So, when you let out a small sigh, Steve’s fingers pressed into the back of your neck and he covered your mouth with his. You grabbed at the front of his shirt, your nails threatening to tear the expensive fabric as Steve pushed his tongue into your mouth. The kiss was searing and sinful, full of promises he had every intent of following through on, even the dark and borderline dangerous ones.
He leaned you against the door, one hand cupping your cheek, the other on the small of your back, not an inch between your heaving chests. When you carded your fingers through his hair and tugged on the silken strands, Steve moaned into the kiss, sending goosebumps racing down your spine. His knee was right there, not quite pushed between your legs, but you could tell he wanted to, you could feel the restraint he had an iron grip on, keeping himself in check.
You wanted to rip the shirt from him and see how each corded muscle flexed beneath his skin, twitching with each movement, whether it be minute or something grand. His entire body was thrumming with raw power, and you couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like if he weren’t to hold back. Just how strong and intense was Steve Rogers? Was he the dominant you had been needing?
As soon as the thought entered your mind, Steve pulled back and sucked in a series of stuttering breaths, his forehead on yours, your nails scraping through his beard. When he looked at you, his pupils lust-blown, consuming the azure irises, the breath caught in your throat.
“I should go,” Steve murmured, his thumb brushing the crest of your kiss-swollen bottom lip.
“Okay,” was all you could manage to say.
Steve smirked before kissing you once more. It was short and sweet, a firm press of his lips to yours, nothing more. He straightened your shirt, then his, ran a hand through his wayward hair, and descended the steps, giving you a wink before he got into the car. Steve waited until you disappeared into building before leaving.
How you managed to get into the apartment without hurting yourself further was a mystery to be solved another day. You grabbed a bag of frozen peas and a hand towel before hobbling into your bedroom where you undressed, shrugging into an old t-shirt after your bra was tossed to the side.
With the bag of peas on your ankle, you elevated your leg on a pillow, and sent off a quick text to Nat, letting her know you were home, and that yes, your ankle was being taken care of. You sighed heavily and fell back to your pillows, tracing your lips with your fingers as you relived the most amazing and sensual kiss of your life.
Once home, Steve poured himself a healthy serving of bourbon. He crossed the large room, stopping in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows that allowed him to overlook the city. On a normal night, he’d be going over what needed to be taken care of the following day, how many meetings he had, what would be discussed, what plans would be quashed, who would be asking for an interview. Not tonight.
Tonight, his thoughts were filled with Y/N. He had wanted nothing more than to take her in his arms, march into her place, and devour her, leaving no part of her untouched, unmarked. He wanted her to scream his name so loud her throat would be raw, to come so hard she would blackout.
When Natasha let it slip that Y/N liked to be told what to do, Steve thought that maybe she was making fun of her friend, but the way she called him sir had his blood surging. Y/N was a submissive, a submissive without a dominant.
Just the thought of her doing as he commanded had him hard as a rock. Steve reached into the front of his pants and readjusted his cock, hissing at the contact. His body craved to have release, pulsing in the palm of Steve’s hand, fat beads of pre-cum leaking from the tip. Steve was about to stroke himself, but then he had another thought.
What if he didn’t? What if he were to control himself, keep it together long enough, until Y/N was asking for it, asking for him to fuck her? Could he do that?
Steve sneered as he released his aching cock, swallowing the amber liquid greedily as a sign of an agreement. He didn’t know if he had that level of control, but he was going to find out if it killed him.
SIX
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