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: 1,367
Warnings for Series: Angst, fluff, explicit rough & consensual sexual content, dub-con, dom!Steve, sub!reader, talk of past abusive dom / dub relationship, mentions of cheating, animal cruelty [no details], rape, 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
My work is not to be posted on any other sites without my express written permission.
Bucky’s grip was tight on your arm, undoubtedly bruising you as he forced you down the stairs. “I’m taking her to the backup location,” Bucky ground out. “The place is rigged to blow.”
You winced as you stepped on something. “Buck, slow down.”
He shot you a glare and shook his head, continuing to haul you down to the garage, which was fourteen flights. “Negative, Steve. Y/N saw it before I did.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Steve roared, making Bucky pull the phone from his ear.
“Everything is fine, Steve,” Bucky promised. “We’re almost to the garage. As soon as we’re at the backup location, I’ll let you know.”
The phone was handed to you a moment later. “Steve?” you choked on his name, the fear getting the better of you.
“It’s okay, baby,” he breathed heavily, relief at hearing your voice washing over him. “Bucky’s gonna take you to a safe place.”
“Our home was supposed to be safe,” you argued. Tears were pricking the back of your eyes, making it hard to see where you were going.
“I know,” Steve bit out through his teeth. “Trust me, I’m going to fix that as soon as I can. Where are you now?”
Bucky’s hand was still on your arm as he pulled you into the sub-level parking garage. “Almost at the car.”
“Good, that’s good,” another heavy sigh. “I’ll see you soon. I love you.”
“I love you,” came out in a strangled sob. The call was disconnected a second later.
Once inside the car, you strapped on your seat belt and handed Bucky his phone. It was less than a minute later that the car was speeding out of the garage and onto the nearly-empty streets, Bucky expertly shifting through the gears of the expensive machine. His eyes were dark and full of rage as they flicked around, checking for pedestrians and any openings in traffic that he could take, making sure no one was following the pair of you.
Your hands had started shaking and it felt like you were going to throw up, the bright lights zipping by were doing very little to calm you down. With a huff of air out his nose, Bucky covered your hands in his and gave them a squeeze.
“It’s going to be okay, Y/N,” he vowed. “We’re going to get that son of a bitch.”
You wanted desperately to believe him, but they didn’t know Brock like you did. “You keep saying that. What if -”
“No,” he interrupted, shaking his head. “We will get him, and trust me, he’ll suffer.” You had to admire his determination.
Despite the hurried turns and the various potholes around the city, the drive was smooth, soothing, lulling you to sleep. You hadn’t been out very long, a handful of minutes, when the engine roared into overdrive.
Bucky called out your name, his eyes fixed on the rearview mirror, one hand gripping the steering wheel, his knuckles white. “We’re being tailed.”
Fear like you had never felt gripped you tight, digging its long fingers into every inch of you, making you go frigid. You whirled around in your seat and, sure enough, there was a set of headlights that were weaving through the heavier traffic, gaining on the luxury car.
“Lose him, Buck,” you rasped.
“I’m tryin’, doll,” was his growl of an answer. His feet punched the pedals as he shifted once more, the speedometer flying well into triple digits, pulling away from the sedan slowly.
Your heart was pounding in your chest, hard enough that your ribs started to ache. “Oh, thank God.”
“Jesus,” Bucky hissed, his eyes going wide. “Hold on!”
Tires squealed against the asphalt as Bucky slammed on the brakes, turning at the waist to pull you into him as best as he could, his arms wrapping tight around you, doing his damndest to protect you from the car that was barrelling towards you.
“The building’s secure,” Chief Fury told an anxious and pacing Steve.
“What do you mean, secure?” Steve demanded to know. “There was a goddamn tripwire on the front door.”
Fury shrugged his shoulders and shook his head, and it made Steve want to shake the man to death. “Whatever it was, it wasn’t rigged up to anything. My men found no traces of an explosive, inside or outside the residence.”
Steve scraped a hand over his face, groaning loudly in resignation. “Alright, Chief. Thank you for your time.”
Clint clapped his brother on the shoulder. “You okay, man?”
“I don’t fucking know anymore,” he scoffed. “I mean, what the hell is Brock doing, putting up a phony tripwire?”
“You want my honest opinion?” Clint asked, his brow arched, hands in his pockets.
Steve was obsessively checking his phone for a call from Y/N or Bucky. “You know I do, brother.”
“I think it was a ruse,” he admitted heavily. “To get them, her, out of the house.”
“Fuck,” Steve snarled, his teeth grinding painfully, the phone clutched tight in his hand. Just when he felt as if he might throw it into the building, it rang, Bucky’s name appearing on the screen.
With a swipe of his thumb, he accepted the call. “Thank God, Buck. Tell me the two of you are safe.”
A dark and gritty chuckle drifted through the speaker. “I’m sorry, Buck can’t make it to the phone right now.”
The blood in Steve’s veins felt like fire as rage rolled through him. “Brock,” he greeted, putting the call on speaker. Clint’s phone was in his hand, thumb poised over the screen, ready at a moment’s notice to call the police, to do whatever his brother needed.
“Pleasure to make your acquaintance,” Brock continued to chuckle, the sound of wet sand and rocks shifting under his weight as he paced. “Wish we could have met sooner, but that Y/N, what a bitch, am I right?”
“Don’t engage,” Clint quietly reminded his brother. “You don’t want to piss him off.”
Steve tried to clear the emotion from his throat before asking, “What do you want, Brock?”
“Straight to the point,” Brock laughed. “I like that about you, Steve. I’m sorry to disappoint you, but you don’t have anything that I want. Not anymore.” There was a sharp slap of skin on skin, quickly followed by a shriek of pain that Steve knew all too well.
“You’ve gotta want something,” Steve seethed through his teeth. “Otherwise, you wouldn’t have called.”
A barking laugh left Brock, and it made Steve’s stomach roll. “Fuck, you’re a smart one, ain’t ya? Alright, alright, you caught me. I want money, Steve, and a lot of it.”
“You want money in exchange for Y/N,” he clarified, earning a hum of approval from Brock.
“I’ll go away if you pay me to go away.”
“Consider it done. How much?” he demanded to know, the knot in his stomach tightening painfully.
“God, you sound like you miss her or somethin’,” Brock laughed again.
Steve’s entire body was shaking from the white-hot and blinding rage that roared through him. “How much?” he bit out.
Brock sighed heavily into the phone. “Ten million, cash, in a suitcase, three hours. I’ll call you with a location.” The call was disconnected before Steve could say anything.
Clint was already on his phone, making a call to the bank that had coincidentally just opened it’s doors for business. “This is Clint Barton Rogers. My brother and I need to come in and make a large cash withdrawal.”
The ground beneath Steve’s feet started shifting. To keep from falling, from giving into the dark thoughts inside his mind, he grabbed onto his brother’s shoulder and stared at his phone. He should be calling someone, he just couldn’t figure out who at that moment.
“How long will that take?” Clint demanded to know, his eyes on his brother, a hand on the back of Steve’s bicep. “No, I need it sooner than that. I’ll be there in ten minutes, we can discuss it then.”
After disconnecting the call, Clint shoved the phone into his pocket and looked Steve dead in the eye. “We’ll get her, Stevie. I swear it.”
NINETEEN
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