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: 1,751
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.
Sitting on the couch, ankle propped on the table, you were obsessively clicking the refresh button on the browser. Nothing. No grades had been posted, and they were supposed to have been up over an hour ago. You groaned as your head lolled back. After you saw your grade, you had every intention of going back to bed. You were sore in every place imaginable and there was a dull ache behind your eyes.
Clint shuffled out of Nat’s bedroom, closing the door quietly before he tugged on his shirt. He stopped when you turned to look at him. “Um, hi, Y/N,” he murmured, a coy smile tugging at his lips.
“Morning,” you chuckled. “Spent the night, I see.”
“Um, yeah. I hope that’s okay with -”
You waved your hand at him. “Nat’s a big girl. She can take care of herself.”
“That she is,” he quickly agreed. “I just don’t want anything to be awkward or uncomfortable for you.”
“Thank you, Clint. That’s thoughtful, but it’s all good.”
Scraping a hand over his face, he sat down on the chair. “How’s the ankle?”
“Better,” you answered, wiggling your toes. “Still sore, just not as bad as last night.”
“That’s good. Means it’s not broken.”
You felt his eyes on you as you clicked the refresh button for the hundredth time. “Come on,” you ground out.
“Everything okay?” he chuckled as he leaned back, resting his hands on his stomach.
Huffing through your nose, you hit the refresh button a little harder than necessary. “Just waiting to find out if I get to graduate. You know, no big deal.”
“I’d say it’s a very big deal,” Clint noted. “What do you plan on doing after graduation?” He was trying to keep your attention off the website, and you appreciated it.
You shifted on the couch, turning to face Clint. “In the long run, I want to open a publishing company. Shine the spotlight on local and new talent. There is so much untapped creative forces in the world, and we are missing out on it.”
“That’s impressive,” he noted, eyes going wide for a second.
“It’s insane, is what it is,” you chuckled. “Ever since I was a little girl, I’ve had my nose in a book, sometimes reading two books in a day. And now, with the degree I am praying I receive, I’ll start looking for work as an editor’s assistant.”
“Why just an assistant?” He asked curiously.
With a shrug of your shoulder, you sighed. “No one wants to submit books to an editor without any clout. Especially new authors.”
“Fair point,” he agreed quietly.
“Are you adopted as well?” you blurted out, clapping a hand to your mouth immediately afterwards. “Oh God, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to -”
Clint laughed and shook his head. “It’s okay, Y/N. You’re not the first one to ask, and you won’t be the last. Yes, I’m adopted. It’s just me and Steve, though.”
“What happened to um, your uh… how did you -”
“My birth parents were too young at the time,” he explained. You thought he would have sounded remorseful while he talked about them, but there wasn’t anything to be sad about. “- up for adoption. Five years later, they adopted Steve.”
You were doing the math in your head, but your brain seemed incapable of figuring out how old Clint was. He seemed to figure out what was going on, and supplied you with the answer.
“I’m thirty-two.”
Chuckling, you rolled your eyes at your incompetence. “Thanks. While we’re on the subject of Steve,” you started laughing when Clint perked up and gave you a wide smile.
“What would you like to know?” he asked, his eyes sparkling mischievously.
You were wringing your hands together in your lap. “Is… is he -”
You couldn’t very well ask if Steve was a dominant. That wasn’t something one shared with their family. Or did they? Nat knew you were a submissive, and she only found out because of what happened with Brock a couple years ago. Ever since then, you’d stayed out of a relationship, had never even thought about pursuing another one, and then Steve fricking Rogers entered your life. He had you rethinking everything about where you stood on seeking out someone that would be in control of you, giving you commands, denying you pleasure; whatever his heart desired, you would do your best to fulfill his every wish.
A blush had started to creep up your neck. “Forget it.”
Clint pushed up from the couch and crossed the room in two strides. He sat down next to you and covered your hands with one of his. “Y/N, my brother likes you, a lot,” he assured you gently. “More than he’s ever liked anyone. And I mean anyone.”
“But I’m not even anywhere near being in his social circle,” you tried arguing. It was a weak argument, and you knew it, but you also knew how things worked.
With his brow arched, Clint gripped your chin and forced you to look at him. His eyes were flashing in a way that Steve’s had been last night, and you briefly wondered if Clint was like his brother.
“That means nothing to Steve, to me, to our family,” he said sternly. “If you’ve got questions about anything… any aspect of his life, ask him, okay? He’ll tell you anything.”
You nodded, pushing your chin into Clint’s fingers. “That’s a good girl,” he praised, pressing a friendly kiss to your forehead. “I’m gonna run and grab some coffee. You want one? It’s on me.”
“Please,” was your simple answer.
When Clint left, you had every intention of turning your attention to the laptop, looking for the grades, but your mind was whirling around, there was some new information you needed to process, and that was what you had started to do when your cell rang.
“Y/N,” someone shouted. “You did it!”
“What? Who is this?” you asked in a state of confusion.
He sounded hurt when he answered. “Y/N, it’s me, Pietro.”
“Shit,” you murmured. “I didn’t recognize your voice. I’m sorry, Pietro.”
“It’s okay,” he said, but you knew he was lying. “Did you see? The grades are posted. You did it!”
You about dropped the phone when you lunged for the laptop, refreshing the page with a tap of your middle finger. “Holy shit,” you rasped. “I did it!”
“That’s amazing,” Pietro praised, clapping his hands excitedly. “I am so proud of you.”
You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t held your share of troubles over the last four years. The tumultuous relationship with Brock had been incredibly difficult for you, not just to get through, but to try and get over it. You had been beyond lucky that Natasha hadn’t judged you for your sexual lifestyle, rather, she was curious about it herself, asking questions, doing her research into what a healthy dominant / submissive sexual relationship was like. She held your hand and did everything in her power not to let you go.
“- or something?” Pietro’s voice cut through your thoughts.
“I uh, I missed that,” you stammered, heart hammering in your chest, pride pumping through your veins. You did it. You were going to graduate with honors.
“Did you want to go out tonight and celebrate?” he reiterated, his accent slightly thicker than before.
Your heart lurched at the memory of Pietro wanting to kiss you the other night. “I can’t, Pietro, I’m sorry.”
“Oh, yeah, sure,” he sighed. “Some other time, yeah?” Pietro had been a good friend over the years, the last thing you wanted to do was hurt him, but you didn’t feel the same way about him that he felt about you.
Swallowing around the lump in your throat, you murmured, “We’ll see. Listen, I’ve gotta go and make some calls.”
“Yeah, no… I get it. Goodbye, Y/N.”
You shook your head sadly when the call disconnected, but it washed away quickly when you found Phil’s number, connecting it with your thumb.
“Mornin’, punk,” your stepfather greeted with a smile.
“Hey, pops. Want to hear some amazingly incredibly great news?” you giggled.
Phil chuckled as he answered, “You’re graduating?”
“With honors, dad,” you sighed heavily. “I did it. We did it,” you clarified.
Your stepfather had been there for you when no one else had, when your mother had grown tired of the perfect suburban life and ran off to Reno. It was Phil that kept a roof over your head, food in your belly, and clothes on your back. He was the one that stayed up with you when there was a test to study for.
He was there for your first boyfriend, and for the fallout of your relationship with Brock. Phil didn’t know anything about your sexual lifestyle. All he knew was that Brock had put his little girl in the hospital after whipping her unconscious.
“I’m so proud of you, kid.”
“Thanks, dad. Are you able to make it out for graduation?”
Money was tight while growing up, but five years ago, Phil had hurt his back on the job. He got a nice settlement out of it, but that barely covered the legal fees and hospital bills. He was working thirty hours a week at the hardware shop, barely scraping by.
Phil hummed as he mulled it over. “I’ll do my best, Y/N/N.”
“I know you will,” you sighed ruefully. “I gotta tell Nat the news, okay? I love you, dad.”
“Love you, too.”
You pushed off the couch and stood with a low groan before hobbling into Nat’s bedroom. She had just reached over to snap on the lamp when you opened the door.
“We did it, Nat,” you hollered, scaring your friend so bad, she threw a pillow at you. You dropped onto the bed and curled into her, pressing a kiss into her cheek.
“Proud of you,” she said, sleep thick on her tongue.
Giving her a big squeeze, you announced that you were, “Going to make a call.”
“It better be Steve,” Natasha teased, giving your ass a slap as you stood.
You stuck your tongue out at her and almost ran into Clint when you limped down the hall. Hissing an apology, you grabbed the cup he was holding in his left hand, pressed a kiss to his cheek, and dropped back onto the couch. You were dialing Steve’s number before you could think twice about it.
SEVEN
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