Executive Decision: Thirteen

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: 1,857
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], 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.

The ride home from Steve’s parents was the longest fifteen minutes of your life. The tension was palpable, so thick you thought you could reach out and touch it, feel it between your fingers like the vines of a weeping willow. It was hard to breathe, the weight of it suffocating you, making your chest heave, made you squirm in your seat.

Steve wasn’t helping matters. He kept shifting in his seat, his dark eyes were roaming over you, that full bottom lip trapped between those perfect teeth, his hands stroking his thighs as he fought the urge to pull you onto his lap and fuck you then and there.

Even after arriving home, the two of you had to wait until Bucky cleared every room. There were ten rooms, and Bucky took his sweet ass time, despite the fact that Steve was telling him to come back in an hour.

You couldn’t take being in the same room as Steve and not being able to do something about the ache between your legs, so once the master bedroom had been cleared, you made yourself scarce, mentally preparing yourself for what was about to happen. Your shoes had just been slipped off when you caught sight of Steve in the mirror of your vanity. Barely hiding a smile, you turned to face him.

“No canes,” was your first stipulation, a serious tone to your voice. “No flogs, no cat of nine tails; nothing of the like.”

Steve was kicking off his shoes, a dark gleam in his eyes. “Got it.” His voice was deep, reverberating through you even though you were on the other side of the room.

Your jewelry was dropped onto your vanity. “I won’t be calling you ‘daddy,’” was another one. “I’ll call you sir.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” he agreed, his tie falling to the floor. “What else?”

“Safety first,” you chuckled, unzipping your skirt. “I am on birth control, so it’s condoms, or no sex at all.”

With a gleam in his eyes, Steve pulled open a drawer on the bedside table, grabbed a foil-wrapped condom, and tossed it onto the bed with a wink. “There’s more where that came from.”

After stepping out of your skirt, you untied the bow at your side. “I don’t do blood play of any kind.”

Steve’s pants had dropped to the floor before he started removing his socks. “It weirds me out, anyway. Anything else I need to know?”

Wearing only a matching set of burgundy bra and panties, you strode over, an extra sway to your hips, and slowly started to unbutton his shirt, your nails scraping through his chest hair once the last button popped free.

“While I would love…” you kissed his chest, right above his nipple, “to have you…” another kiss to the other side of his chest, “buried so deep…” rather than kiss his nipples, you scraped your teeth over them, “that it hurts.”

Steve’s breath tore out of him. “Wha- what do yo- you want?”

You pushed the shirt down his shoulders, your nails dragging the whole way, leaving red lines along his skin. “I want…” you dropped to your knees, nails scraping and mouth skimming over his body until you were face to face with the bulge in his black boxer briefs, “to suck your cock…” you disposed of his boxer briefs and smiled wickedly at the sight of him long and hard, thick and throbbing, “until I choke on it.”

“Fuck yes,” he drawled, the word leaving him like a punch to the gut.

Wearing a triumphant smirk, you wrapped a hand around his shaft and sighed at the velvet-hardness against your skin. Your mouth watered at the sight of his weeping tip, at the thick vein that pulsed rhythmically against your hand.

“But you don’t get to touch yourself,” he added just as you were about to flick your tongue and get a taste of him.

“Yes, sir,” you purred, your lips wrapping around him a second later.

You watched him through your lashes as you worked him in and out of your mouth, your hand stroking in tandem, fast and then slow, taking him deeper into your throat. Steve’s pupils had exploded and his bottom lip was trapped between his teeth as you fucked him with your mouth. There was a feral look about him that made your pussy clench, the need to touch yourself almost too much to handle.

Steve’s hand was on the back of your head, urging you closer, thrusting his cock down your throat. With tears in your eyes, you gripped his thighs, your nails digging into the muscles there as you did exactly what you wanted; you choked on his cock, and you loved every second of it.

His thrusts were tight, controlled, bruisingly deep as he fucked your mouth, snarling as he did so, praising you for, “Taking my cock so well, baby girl. I can’t wait to see how your pussy takes it.”

Tears were streaming down your cheeks and spit was rolling down your chin, but you kept taking his cock, “Just like the good girl I knew you were,” swallowing around it as best as you could, hollowing your cheeks, and moaning, making the man above you shudder.

“No,” he cried, his cock deep in your throat. “I ain’t done with you yet.” Steve’s cock was gone and you gasped as air rushed painfully into your lungs.

He hauled you off the floor and kissed you savagely, not caring about the bittersweet taste of himself on your tongue. He literally tore off your bra, sending bits of lace through the air like confetti. Your panties were next, the shredded material joining the pile a moment later.

“Get down on all fours,” Steve demanded, his voice gritty and dark.

A wave of lust rushed through you, and you could feel it on your thighs. “Yes, sir,” was your tremulous answer.

As you situated yourself on the bed – a pillow under your breasts, on your knees and elbows, your back arched, your pussy on full display – Steve tore into the foil packet and rolled on the condom with a hiss. The bed dipped as Steve knelt between your legs, and you barely bit back a moan at the feeling of his cock as it swayed back and forth, brushing against you, teasing you.

“You don’t get to cum until I say. You got that?” One hand was on the small of your back, hot and heavy, holding you firmly in place.

You looked over your shoulder and felt all cognitive thought leave you at the sight of him. Where Steven Grant Rogers, CEO, was cool, calculating, and collected, Steve Rogers, dominant extraordinaire, was wild, wicked, and wired. Instead of answering, all you could do was nod. Steve smirked dangerously before slapping your aching pussy. It wasn’t too hard, just enough to let you know that he meant business.

“Ye- yes, si- sir,” you finally croaked.

“That’s what I thought,” was all he said before he pushed into you.

It was a tight fit, and God, did he let you know it. “Shit, you’re tight,” he hissed, fingers digging bruises into your ass and hips.

You blew out a stuttering breath as he filled you, as your body struggled to accommodate his substantial size. The burn wasn’t unpleasant, rather, you relished in it because you knew, that no matter how many times he fucked you, the overwhelming fullness, so complete, it would never go away.

With your walls fluttering, Steve inched in and out, a gasp leaving you when only the tip remained, and then, Steve snapped his hips forward. If it weren’t for his hands on your hips, pulling you back, holding you to him, your body would have surged forward, and your head would have hit the headboard.

Steve’s thrusts were tight and controlled, driving deep and hard, the wet slap of skin echoing Steve’s grunts and your throaty moans. The heavy drag of his cock was intoxicating, like an illicit drug, sending you higher with every pulse and pass.

“Steve, please,” you keened, your knuckles white from gripping the pillow so tight. You were wound tight, ready to snap at any second, all you needed was a little more -.

“What did you call me?” he snarled.

You choked on a whimper when his thrusts stopped. “I… I call- called you Ste- Steve,” you stuttered. Every nerve was like a livewire, sparks flying, ready to start a fire.

“Naughty girl,” Steve murmured, his hips shuddering. “What are you supposed to call me?”

“Sir,” was your whispered answer. “I… I’m supposed to call you, sir.”

Steve hummed in appreciation at the way the word rolled from your tongue, strained with raw need. “You’re such a good girl,” he crooned, his hands flexing on your hips. “Keep it up, and I might let you cum. Would you like that?”

“I would like it very much, yes, sir.” And with those last two words, Steve continued fucking you as if nothing had happened.

Every thrust had you seeing stars, pushed the air from your lungs like a punch to the gut, sent you closer and closer to the precipice. You were almost there, your release just out of reach, when Steve gave his permission.

“Cum for me.”

That was it, you were gone. Those stars you had been seeing behind your closed eyelids exploded, giving birth to their own galaxies, millions of billions of specks of light, and they were so beautiful. A shout of his name came out a strangled mess of nonsense. Steve’s hips lost their rhythm as he came with a snarl, buried to the root, his hands holding you to him like a vice until his own legs turned to rubber.

With your face buried in the pillow, you were a sobbing mess. Your entire body was shaking from the rush of endorphins, the intense relief of finally finding a dominant that knew how to treat his submissive; all of it swirled together inside of you.

You must have passed out, because you didn’t remember Steve getting off the bed, or cleaning between your legs. Your body ached in the best possible way as you tried to sit up, but Steve was there to help.

“Easy, doll,” Steve murmured. “Take it slow.”

It was still dark outside, so you figured you hadn’t been out of it for very long. “What time is it?” You hardly recognized your own voice.

“Almost two,” was his simple answer. He pressed a glass of water into your hand, holding it on the bottom for support. “Here, you’re dehydrated.”

You about choked on the chilled liquid as you greedily drank it. When you were done, you were panting and your heart was pounding. “Tha- thank you.”

With a kiss to your forehead, Steve disappeared for several long moments to refill the glass. After setting it on your bedside table, he crawled into bed and pulled you into him, wrapping his arm around your shoulders.

“Get some sleep, doll,” he whispered against your lips. “You’ve had a busy day.”

FOURTEEN

Everything: @captain-rogers-beard @jessica-bones-winchester @because-imma-lady-assface @mrs-squirrel-chester @wheresthekillswitch @becs-bunker @badassbaker @buchonians @feelmyroarrrr @fatalcrossbow @sunriserose1023 @alyssaj23 @stevergxrs @ssweet-empowerment @supernatural-girl97 @thefridgeismybestie @bitchierrichie @flames-bring-a-ton-of-ash @palaiasaurus64 @iamthemaskhewears @buckybarnesappreciationsociety @nyxveracity @breezy1415 @titty-teetee @melaninmarvel @crazy-little-thing-called-buck @wildefire @capsheadquaters @chipmunkofmischief @qnzdiamond104 @saharzek @speakinvain @diinofayce @mizzzpink @pebblesz892 @stevieang @thatgirl-xx-thatgirl @until-theend-oftheline @southernbellestatues @jakaraannodine

Steve: @mjdoc90

@janeyboo

@electra-writes33 @callme-barnes @moxtiel @evanstandream @ninasimone519 @ladylustitia @marveldcmistress @joannie95 @vale0413 @stuxky107 @madamemunge @hides-in-the-shadows @dorkydaddies @thefridgeismybestie @tastedheart @iminlovewithasuperboy @queen-merc @kellys1202 @storytelling-reader @angryschnauzer @siren-kitten-his @lastfallenstar @buckynasty @topkay @brixnni @red-writer13 @papi-chulo-seb @patzammit @shecanbeawarrior @jazzwoman897 @a-nurse-and-a-fangirl @ghitalovegood @caught-between-many-worlds @lumelgy @petrashappyplace @mia-at-work @denialanderror @i-love-superhero @kat-to-the-rina @woodworthti666 @itskarakat @randominternetteenager @amaranthuspetals @missinstantgratification @suzannevalerie @chook007 @armybb1516 @angelinaburns @societalfailure @cltex84 @whisperingwillows @sarahp879 @babygirl-pouting7 @the–real-wombat @deangirl1992 @portrait-ninja @ruinerofcheese @cosmicpeachwave @flamehairedwritings @buckysforeverprincess @akschoenborn @koizorahana @tchallaholla @flirtswithdanger @winchesterprincessbride @lizm-05 @kozmicrock @nedthegay @vanna215 @seargantbcky @sophster1881 @leauvel @alijulia87 @samsgoddess @oberyners @shhhs3cret @part-time-patronus @hereiamhereigo @peachthatdrinkslemonade

Executive Decision: Twelve

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: 1,797
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], 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.

“Dinner,” you deadpanned. “Tonight. With your parents.”

“They want to meet you,” Steve argued. “Besides, we need to celebrate.”

You groaned inwardly, or so you thought. “It’s a job, Steve.”

“A job, that you worked hard to get.” He slid a plate of pancakes in front of you, a bottle of syrup next, and then a glass full of orange juice. “And I’ve met your dad, it’s only fair that you meet my parents.”

“You only met him because you bought him a first class ticket,” you pointed out, fork in the air, syrup dripping off it.

Steve laughed at that. “Because it meant so much to you. Don’t you know by now that I’ll do anything for you?” And there it was, that light in his eyes, full of awe and wonder and love, it was all that Natasha had described, and so much more.

Smiling, you gave up your fight. “I can’t wait to meet them.”

With a wink, Steve leaned over the island and pressed a sticky kiss to your lips. “I’ll let them know.”

You were fidgeting with the black bracelets on your wrist, wondering if the outfit you chose was too plain or boring; it was simple, classic, black and grey, the strap tied on your left side showing your curves, silver and black heels on your feet.

“You look beautiful,” Steve assured you.

“I feel like I’m going under the microscope,” you admitted right before the front door opened.

“Steve, my darling boy,” a regal-looking woman greeted, her smile warm and comforting.

Steve bent down and wrapped his arms around his mother, holding her close. “How’ve you been, Ma?”

“Good, good,” she confirmed, pushing up to her toes and kissing his bearded cheek. Once she released her son, her cool blue eyes were on you. “You must be Y/N.”

Smiling, you put out your hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Rogers.”

“Call me Eleanor, please,” she chuckled and pushed your hand away. “We don’t shake hands here, darling,” she purred, pulling you into her arms and pressing a kiss to your cheek. “Come on in, dinner is just about ready.”

You followed her into the house – a mansion, really – and sucked in a breath. “Holy shit,” you couldn’t help but say. The entryway was white, marble, the woodwork was dark, a stark and beautiful contrast.

Clint was standing off to the side, a drink in his hands. “Don’t worry, sweetheart,” he chuckled. “We get that a lot.”

“Clint Barton Rogers,” his mother admonished.

“What? It’s true,” he insisted as he crossed the room, pulling you into a hug.

You returned the embrace. “Good to see you again, Clint.”

“You too, kid,” he teased with a wink.

“Did the celebration move out here?” an older gentleman asked as he approached the group, Natasha following behind.

When she saw you, she scurried over and hugged you as if she hadn’t just seen you last night. “You look great,” she whispered, knowing how insecure you felt.

“Same back at’cha,” you breathed. You couldn’t stop the flare of jealousy at the way her simple creme geometric dress emphasized her already curved hips.

Steve had his hand on the small of your back as he introduced you to his father – Roland – who also gave you a welcoming hug.

“It’s good to put a face to a name,” he laughed. “Come, let’s eat.”

Everything, from the spacious rooms to the meals served, was overwhelmingly perfect. You fought the butterflies in your stomach, worked to ignore the voices in your head that were trying to convince you that you’d mess up, that they would be laughing behind your back. Steve’s hand would occasionally drop to your thigh and squeeze, the heavy weight of it more of a comfort than all of the deep breaths you pulled in. If it weren’t for him, you had no doubt you would have ran out before the meal had come to a close.

“Would it be rude if I took off my heels?” you quietly asked his mother.

“Of course not, dear,” she answered. “Is everything alright?”

You couldn’t help but blush at the question. “I sprained my ankle last week, and it’s still a bit sore.”

“Goodness,” she proclaimed. “Do you need some ice? Sarah, darling, can you grab an ice pack for Y/N?”

The petite redhead dipped her head. “Yes, Mrs. Rogers.”

“No, no,” you squealed, drawing everyone’s gaze to you. “I don’t… I’m fine, really. I just need to take off my shoes.” You felt your face go crimson and there were tears that were threatening to fall.

Steve pressed a kiss to your temple. “It’s alright, just breathe,” he murmured low so only you could hear him.

Eleanor dropped her napkin to the table. “Come with me, Y/N.”

Standing, you followed her to the entryway and slipped off your shoes. “I… I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“That,” you waved your hand toward the dining area. “My little outburst. I’m a bit embarrassed.”

Eleanor grabbed your hand and gave it a squeeze. “Nothing to be embarrassed about. Now, how’s your ankle feeling?”

“Better, actually,” you sighed. “Thank you.”

“Good,” she smiled, giving your hand another squeeze. “Dessert will be a little while yet.”

“Is it… I mean, feel free to say no, but do you mind if I -”

Eleanor saw the way your eyes had drifted over to the elaborate staircase. “Absolutely, dear. Make yourself at home.”

After Eleanor went back to the dining area, you found yourself at the top of the stairs, one hallway to your left, another to the right. Without a thought, you drifted to your left, taking in the crisp and clean design, sighing at the lush carpeting between your toes, as you coveted the priceless artwork decorating the walls.

You found yourself in a bedroom, Steve’s, judging by the pictures on the wall, the trophies bearing his name, from when he was a teenager, not having been touched since he graduated high school, since he enrolled in college. It was all warm colors; blues, greens, browns, dark, earthy, comfortable.

Steve found you standing in front of his dresser, a picture from his senior year in high school. You were smiling gently, your fingers tracing over his face, over the ornate details of the frame.

“Mom picked out the frame,” he murmured, pulling you from whatever daydream you had fallen into.

“Well that explains it,” you chuckled. “I don’t see you picking out something this… frilly.”

He came up behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist. “You doing alright, doll?”

Sighing, you melted into him and rested your hands on his. “Better, yes.” And it was true. For some reason, being in Steve’s childhood room had brought you a sense of peace.

Steve kissed your temple, then your cheek, humming low in his throat as your head tipped to the side, giving his full lips ample realty to roam. Warmth rushed through you, pooling low in your gut as he nipped playfully at your pulsepoint, soothing it a moment later with his tongue.

You giggled like a schoolgirl when he ground into your ass. “Steve, we’re in your childhood room.”

“And?” He ground against you again, using his hands on your hips to hold you to him.

A moan tumbled from you at the heavy twitch of his cock. “And, we might get caught.”

Steve turned you to him and captured your lips in his, kissing you slowly, passionately, his tongue moving leisurely against yours, his hands on your ass, lifting you from the floor. You gasped and wrapped your legs around his narrow waist, tangled your hands in his hair, and tugged on them, earning yourself a moan from the back of his throat.

“I seriously don’t fucking care.” An arm at the small of your back kept you secured to him as he took a knee on his bed and lowered you down, covering your body with his all without breaking the feverish kiss.

His large hand skimmed over your breast, teasing your sensitive nipples, which peaked under his touch, even through your bra and shirt. You arched into his touch, but he didn’t reward you with a firm hold as he usually did.

“Eager, aren’t you, little one?” he chuckled against your lips when you whined.

“I just want you to touch me, sir,” you panted. There was a flash in his eyes, dark and dominating, and it only made you want to rip his clothes off with your teeth.

With lust-blown pupils, Steve winked at you before giving you a searing kiss. His hand had moved from your breast to the hem of your dress, which had bunched up around your hips with the rocking of your bodies. Blunt nails scraped against your belly as he turned his hand and slid it into your panties.

Your entire body shuddered at the way his fingers moved between your slick folds, back and forth, faster and harder, bumping your clit with each pass, until you were clinging to his shoulders, your knuckles white, begging him to, “Stop fucking around.”

Steve’s lips pulled into a cocky smirk as he slid one digit into you. The pair of you moaned together, you, because goddamn, it felt so good to finally have a part of Steve inside of you, and Steve, because, “Fuck, doll, you’re so tight, and it’s only my fucking finger.”

A long moan fell from you as he started stroking you, slow at first, as if he were memorizing what made you gasp, what made your back arch off the bed. Another finger joined the first, eliciting a longer moan, this one louder than before. He covered your mouth with his, effectively silencing you.

You had one leg thrown over Steve’s hip as he fucked you with his fingers, his own hips grinding onto the bed, searching frantically for some friction. At the rate he was twisting and thrusting his fingers into your dripping pussy, you weren’t going to last much longer.

“I can’t wait to get my cock in you, doll,” he rasped against your lips. He used his thumb to expose your aching clit, which he then started to rub frantically. “Come on, Y/N. I can feel it, you want to cum.”

His name was a choked mantra when he crooked his fingers and found your sweet spot. You came apart at the seams, whimpering and clawing at his back, your vision going white, lava rushing through your veins.

“That’s a good girl,” he praised, stroking you through your orgasm, pressing kisses to your forehead, cheeks, and lips, sending wave after wave of raw pleasure washing over you.

You had just gotten your hearing back when someone called up the stairs, “Dessert’s ready.”

THIRTEEN

Steve: @mjdoc90

Executive Decision: @toongtii @nuvoleincielo @jobabe032 @graciefaace @thefanficfaerie @buckys-newarm @blxcksoulsanddxrkflowers @hazeofeleven @loricameback @raventt5-bb @docharleythegeekqueen @jfrank1048 @supernatural-girl97 @miss-chic-claude @superwholockedbeauty @sleepy-moon-girl @clusteredinsanity @toobad–sosad @sol-lumina @madeof-ink @raychic26 @omghappilyuniquebouquetlove @katielu-blog @janeyboo @electra-writes33 @callme-barnes @moxtiel @evanstandream @ninasimone519 @ladylustitia @marveldcmistress @joannie95 @vale0413 @stuxky107 @madamemunge @hides-in-the-shadows @dorkydaddies @thefridgeismybestie @tastedheart @iminlovewithasuperboy @queen-merc @kellys1202 @storytelling-reader @angryschnauzer @siren-kitten-his @lastfallenstar @buckynasty @topkay @brixnni @red-writer13 @papi-chulo-seb @patzammit @shecanbeawarrior @jazzwoman897 @a-nurse-and-a-fangirl @ghitalovegood @caught-between-many-worlds @lumelgy @petrashappyplace @mia-at-work @denialanderror @i-love-superhero @kat-to-the-rina @woodworthti666 @itskarakat @randominternetteenager @amaranthuspetals @missinstantgratification @suzannevalerie @chook007 @armybb1516 @angelinaburns @societalfailure @cltex84 @whisperingwillows @sarahp879 @babygirl-pouting7 @the–real-wombat @deangirl1992 @portrait-ninja @ruinerofcheese @cosmicpeachwave @flamehairedwritings @buckysforeverprincess @akschoenborn @koizorahana @tchallaholla @flirtswithdanger @winchesterprincessbride @lizm-05 @kozmicrock @nedthegay @vanna215 @seargantbcky @sophster1881 @leauvel @alijulia87 @samsgoddess @oberyners @shhhs3cret @part-time-patronus @hereiamhereigo

Executive Decision: Eleven

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: 1,845
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], 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.

Executive Decision Series Master List

My work is not to be posted on any other sites without my express written permission.

Nat watched as you poured the wine in both glasses, waiting until you sat down before asking, “Have you and Steve had sex?”

If it were anyone other than your best friend, you’d be telling them what they could do with their inappropriate question, but the woman had literally saved your life. Nat knew everything about what you did and didn’t like in the bedroom, she knew that you were a submissive, what you looked for in a dominant. Hell, she probably knew what kind of panties you were wearing.

“Not yet,” you answered softly, that ever-present guilt bubbling in your chest.

It wasn’t that you didn’t want to have sex with Steve. God, you wanted him to fuck your brains out, but everything that was currently happening along with everything that had happened two years ago with Brock, you weren’t sure if you were ready.

Scratch that, your body was ready. Every time the two of you would make out, hot and heavy, on the couch or on the bed, his strong hands skimming over your – still clothed – body, grabbing and pulling you closer. Or the way his narrow waist settled perfectly between your spread thighs, his cock thick and heavy against you, the way he kissed you, passionately, possessively, savagely, gently, lovingly… But your mind, you weren’t sure if you could handle it.

“Have you talked to him about it?”

“We went over some of the basics the other day,” you admitted, a small smile tugging at your lips.

Nat raised her glass in salute. “That’s progress.”

You hummed in agreement. “It is, and he makes me happy, Nat.”

“So what’s stopping you?” she inquired, her red brows knitting together.

“Brock,” you rasped, his name leaving a vile taste on your tongue. “He’s still out there, and I just…”

“You’re not focused,” she said after your voice trailed off.

You nodded before taking a long drink. “And I’m afraid that if I make him wait too long, he’ll see that I’m not worth it.”

“Y/N, don’t,” Nat scolded you. “You’re worth it, okay? That man, God, he loves you so much that if you said you wanted to wait until your fiftieth birthday, he’d do it.”

“Stop it,” you chuckled, waving your hand at her.

“I shan’t,” she teased, shooting you a wink.

You were shaking your head as several words replayed through your head. “Steve… he does… he doesn’t love me.”

Nat laughed at that, all out laughed; her head thrown back, a hand over her heart. “Jesus, you are blind. It’s not just in the way he is around you, Y/N. It’s the way he looks at you when you’re not looking, it’s… it’s intense.”

“What are you talking about?”

You didn’t know why you were asking, you could feel the weight of his gaze on you as if it were this physical thing, heavy and thick. When you would turn around, his eyes would have moved onto someone else, more than likely Bucky or Clint, sharing a joke, or giving Bucky a hard time about getting a girlfriend. When it was just the two of you, home after a long day at work, or dinner at an expensive restaurant, you’d turn and find him smirking as he raised an amber-filled glass to his lips, or turning the page of a newspaper, the business section. But to hear someone else describe it, that was what you needed right then.

“It’s like watching someone discover something for the first time,” Nat started, hand running through her curly hair. “Like they’ve spent their whole life looking for it, desperately turning over every rock, looking in every crevice, only to find loneliness and disappointment. Let me ask you this, do you remember that time we camped out on the roof?”

“We watched the sky until the sun came up,” you chuckled at the memory.

She was nodding as you answered. “Right, but there was that meteor shower.”

“Oh, God, yeah,” you hummed, your hand over your lips. “It was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. I could’ve watched it forever.”

Natasha snapped her fingers. “You’re his meteor shower, Y/N.”

“Yeah?”

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing; Steve Rogers was in love with you. The two of you were on opposite ends of the world from one another, and somehow, you had fallen face first into his life, and apparently, into his heart.

A smile pulled at your lips and you could feel a warmth in your chest, a warmth that spread through you, pushing away all the self-doubt and ridicule, silenced the voices, helped you believe that you were worthy of having someone like Steve in your life.

“That, right there,” Natasha sighed. “I know that look.”

“You do, huh?”

She was smiling along with you. “You’re in love.”

You couldn’t stop smiling. “I am.”

Nat had just grabbed your hand when your phone rang. The pair of you jumped at the sound, only to laugh in embarrassment at how easily spooked you were.

You accepted the call with a shaking hand. “He- hello?”

“Is this Miss Y/L/N?” a man asked. His accented voice was familiar, but you couldn’t place it immediately.

For the hell of it, you put the call on speaker. “This is,” you confirmed. “Who’s calling?”

“It’s Baron, Baron Zemo. I’m calling to let you know that a decision has been made regarding the position at Secret Acres Books,” he answered happily.

Your stomach flipped nervously. “It’s only been a couple days since I interviewed, I didn’t expect to hear back from you so soon.”

“Yes, well, that’s what happens when someone nails the interview as you did.”

“I, uh, I did?” you stammered. Nat’s hand was held out, palm up, so you grabbed it and held onto it tight.

There was a shuffling of papers in the background. “You start Monday morning.”

“Wow, that seems so soon,” you chuckled. Natasha squeezed your hand and gave you a comforting smile.

“It is,” Baron agreed. He clicked his tongue against his teeth, giving you the feeling that he was annoyed with what he was about to say. “But to be honest, we needed someone last week. I would have hired you on the spot, but there’s a bunch of bureaucratic bullshit I had to go through.”

“You gotta do what you gotta do.”

Baron laughed at that. “So, we’ll see you Monday, yeah?”

“Of course. Bright and early, with bells on,” you rambled excitedly.

“See you then, eight a.m. sharp.” Baron disconnected the call after wishing you a good evening.

Natasha was up from her chair and pulling you out of yours. “Congratulations,” she laughed, pulling you into her arms. “You deserve this.”

You latched onto her and laughed, harder yet when she started spinning the pair of you. It had been a long time since you had felt this level of joy and accomplishment, like you finally found what you were meant to do with your life. Things seemed to finally be turning around for you.

Fifteen minutes later, the two of you were sitting in your favorite bar, tossing back another shot. Bucky was there, too, sitting at the other end, drinking a seltzer water and a slice of lime. While you were busy celebrating, he was working.

He scanned every face in the crowd, put them down to memory, watched what they ate, what they drank, how they drank it, who they watched when their eyes roamed about. He watched the loud ones, the ones that laughed a little too loud, the sound braying and annoying. He watched the quiet ones, the ones that kept to themselves, only talking when spoken to, enjoying their drinks in public solitude. Nobody was a person of interest, and everybody was.

You met Bucky’s eyes and raised your glass in salute, smiling when he tipped his head. When you sighed heavily, Nat touched your hand.

“What’s the matter?” she asked, concern on her brow. “We’re supposed to be celebrating.”

“It’s nothing,” you answered softly, hoping she wouldn’t push the issue. You should have known better.

“Y/N,” she warned. “We’ve known each other for far too long. You can’t lie to me.”

You took a drink from your freshly-filled wine glass before saying anything. “You ever get the feeling that you’re being watched?”

Natasha chuckled under her breath. “You’ve got yourself a bonafide bodyguard. So, yeah, I can see why you feel that way.”

“No, Nat,” you argued, shaking your head. “This is… it’s not the same feeling. When it’s Bucky, I feel safe. It’s his job, after all.”

“Well, we did talk about Steve not being able to keep his eyes off you,” she offered with a shrug.

You took another drink of wine. “I don’t feel creeped out when I’m with Steve, Nat,” you said with a roll of your eyes.

Nat scanned the room quickly, searching for the one person she knew that made you feel that way. “You think it’s Brock?” she whispered harshly.

“With every fiber of my being, I hope it’s not.”

Brock stood outside the bar, wearing a hat, the hood of his jacket up, hands shoved deep into his pockets. With a sneer on his lips, he watched the bodyguard, Bucky. He was too busy scoping out the inside of the busy bar that he was completely oblivious to the fact that the man Bucky was searching for, was right outside.

“That’s the best he could get for Y/N?” he growled. The irritation he felt was only fuel for the fire. “He’s a fuckin’ punk.”

God, he hated Steve. Every inch of him was boiling in rage. He wanted to punch Steve in his perfect fucking teeth, beat him into the ground, after he dealt with Bucky. Neither of them were a match for Brock, he could take them both at the same time if he really wanted to. His blue belt in Brazilian Jiu Jitsu would make sure of that. But there was something about the thought of going toe-to-toe with them, one at a time, that gave him a thrill.

His eyes drifted down the bar and landed on Y/N, her head thrown back in laughter, her cheeks crimson, her hand over her heart; she looked so good, good enough that he was tempted to run in the side door, grab her, and show her who she really belonged to in front of everyone, including that bitch, Natasha.

“Hey, man,” someone said, snapping Brock out of his fantasy. “Can’t you read?”

Brock was ready to unleash the unbridled rage in his chest when he saw who was talking to him. “Sorry officer,” he muttered, choking on the knot in his throat.

“No loitering,” the man in blue announced, finger pointing at the sign right next to Brock’s head. “Move along or I’m going to write you a ticket.”

Smiling tightly, Brock said, “There’s no need for that. I’ll be on my way.” He shot one last longing glance at Y/N before departing.

TWELVE

Steve: @mjdoc90

Executive Decision: @toongtii @nuvoleincielo @jobabe032 @graciefaace @yourtropegirl @buckys-newarm @blxcksoulsanddxrkflowers @hazeofeleven @loricameback @raventt5-bb @docharleythegeekqueen @jfrank1048 @supernatural-girl97 @miss-chic-claude @superwholockedbeauty @sleepy-moon-girl @clusteredinsanity @toobad–sosad @sol-lumina @madeof-ink @raychic26 @omghappilyuniquebouquetlove @katielu-blog @janeyboo @electra-writes33 @callme-barnes @moxtiel @evanstandream @ninasimone519 @ladylustitia @marveldcmistress @joannie95 @vale0413 @stuxky107 @madamemunge @hides-in-the-shadows @dorkydaddies @thefridgeismybestie @tastedheart @iminlovewithasuperboy @queen-merc @kellys1202 @storytelling-reader @angryschnauzer @siren-kitten-his @lastfallenstar @buckynasty @topkay @brixnni @red-writer13 @papi-chulo-seb @patzammit @shecanbeawarrior @jazzwoman897 @a-nurse-and-a-fangirl @ghitalovegood @caught-between-many-worlds @lumelgy @petrashappyplace @mia-at-work @denialanderror @i-love-superhero @kat-to-the-rina @woodworthti666 @itskarakat @randominternetteenager @amaranthuspetals @missinstantgratification @suzannevalerie @chook007 @armybb1516 @angelinaburns @societalfailure @cltex84 @whisperingwillows @stevieang @sarahp879 @babygirl-pouting7 @the–real-wombat @deangirl1992 @portrait-ninja @ruinerofcheese @cosmicpeachwave @flamehairedwritings @buckysforeverprincess @akschoenborn @koizorahana @tchallaholla @flirtswithdanger @winchesterprincessbride @lizm-05 @kozmicrock @nedthegay @vanna215 @seargantbcky @sophster1881 @leauvel @alijulia87 @samsgoddess @oberyners @shhhs3cret @part-time-patronus @hereiamhereigo

Executive Decision: Ten

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: 1,858
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], 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.

“Henrietta,” you murmured sadly, clutching the bloodied collar. “It was the book that made me fall in love with literature.”

Steve was next to you on the couch, arm around your shaking shoulders, pulling you into him. “I didn’t see a cat at your place,” he noted softly.

You shook your head. “You wouldn’t have. Brock wouldn’t let me keep her after I left, so… I just… I never thought he’d do something like this.”

“I’m sorry, doll,” Steve murmured against your temple.

“What now?” you asked, running a hand over your damp face.

Bucky was the first to answer your question. “The entire team has Brock’s picture, and a full report has been handed over to the authorities. They’ve been looking for him for a while now, so considering the sensitive nature of what happened last night, this is the first time they’ve had a real lead.”

“They have? Why?” Your chest and throat went tight.

Steve took your hands in his – bloodied collar and all – and kept his voice steady as he said, “Brock’s their lead suspect in a series of murders.”

You were shaking your head. “No, tha… that can’t… I don’t -”

“It started after he put you in the hospital,” Steve sneered, the words tasting vile on his tongue.

“Prostitutes, at first,” Bucky added, his hands deep in his pockets. “Then it was college freshmen, just a few, nothing that would set off any alarms on campus.”

“I never heard anything about it,” you said weakly, your mind racing, reeling at the news that Brock could be killing women. Though, it wasn’t a complete surprise. The man was more than just a dominant; he was a sadist.

Steve was squeezing your hands. “You wouldn’t have. They were in neighboring towns. He knew how to work the system, keep the police on their toes.”

“Bastard is smart, I’ll give him that,” Bucky snarled.

Steve’s dark eyes were scanning your face. “You alright, doll?”

You shrugged your shoulders and sniffled. “The man who beat me unconscious has been killing women, he just slaughtered my cat, and he’s the only one I’m allowed to be with,” you sassed. “Yeah, I’m fucking peachy.”

“Hey,” Steve said, an unhappy bite to his voice. “Nothing is gonna happen to you, not on my fuckin’ watch.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you gasped, the intensity that was radiating off of Steve in waves slammed into you, driving the air from your lungs.

“Everywhere you go, I go,” Bucky answered.

Your eyes went wide at the news. “No way. I’m sorry, Bucky, I like you, but no. I don’t need a damn bodyguard.”

“There’s no discussion about it, Y/N. I also want you to stay here,” Steve said.

“Stay here in what capacity?”

Steve swallowed and risked a glance at his friend, who answered, “Nat can bring over clothes and whatever belongings you can’t be without.”

You ripped your hands from Steve’s and stood, glaring at him. “You mean I’m a prisoner. What the fuck, Steve?”

“No, not a prisoner,” he scrambled off the couch. “It’s safe here, much safer than an apartment with a busted security system and phony security cameras.”

“In case you haven’t noticed,” you snapped, hand waving grandly at your surroundings. “You got a busted security system, too.”

“Last night was something that hasn’t happened before,” Bucky said defensively. “And it will never happen again. We’ve doubled the amount of bodies we have on staff, the security system has undergone a massive upgrade, courtesy of Tony Stark, and now that the authorities know what Brock is up to, their main focus is to bring him in.

Steve was in front of you, but you took a step back, and that hurt him more than anything. “Please, Y/N. I just want you to be safe.”

Your eyes were flicking back and forth between the two men in front of you. You knew Steve meant well, he really did, and Bucky would follow through with his orders, keeping you safe, at all times, no matter what, but did it really need to come to that?

The body of your deceased feline proved to be the nail in the coffin.

“I have a job interview today,” you finally said, stepping into Steve’s personal space.

“Really?” he asked, concern flaring to life in his eyes. “You didn’t mention it before.”

You shrugged. “I’m sorry, I forgot.”

“Where’s the interview?” Bucky asked, phone already in his hands to make a call.

“Secret Acres Books,” you answered. “I have to be there at eleven.”

Bucky nodded as he turned away, murmuring into the phone just quiet enough that you couldn’t hear him.

Steve held you to his chest and kissed the top of your head. “I’m really sorry about Henrietta.”

“It’s okay,” you muttered, arms wrapping loosely around his waist.

“I’m not going to let anything happen to you,” Steve vowed, his eyes dark and dangerous.

You shouldn’t be wanting to jump up and wrap your legs around his waist, but you wanted to, desperately. Instead, you pushed up to your toes and kissed him sweetly.

“I should go back to my apartment and get ready,” you whispered against his mouth.

He hummed low in the back of his throat. “There are clothes here, if you like.”

You arched a brow at him. “You have women’s clothes here?” you asked curiously.

“I do,” he said.

“But why?” you persisted.

“Just for those in-an-emergency times,” he answered with a wink. “As this happens to be.” You looked up at him, and you knew that he saw your determination in your eyes.

“It’s not much, just a few items in various sizes. They’re not trophies or anything morbid such as that. I just like to be prepared,” he informed you.

“Okay,” was all you said before giving him another kiss before you turned on your heel, dropped the collar on the rag it had been been shown to you in, and headed upstairs to get ready.

With your jacket over your arm, you sat down and crossed your legs, praying to God you didn’t get anything on the borrowed clothes you were wearing.

Even with the door closed, you could feel Bucky’s presence. He wasn’t happy about you going into the interview alone, but the head of the publishing house, Baron Zemo, was even less than thrilled about the idea of you being accompanied.

“He your bodyguard?” Baron asked, pointing a finger over your shoulder.

You laughed awkwardly as you shifted in your seat. “He’s a close friend,” was all you said on the matter.

“Alright, then, let’s get down to business.” Baron put on a pair of glasses that sat on the edge of his nose, adding at least fifteen years to his appearance. “You’ve just graduated, yes?”

“Yes, just yesterday, if you can believe it,” you answered, hands wringing together under the borrowed jacket.

Baron’s eyebrow arched as he peered at you over the thick frames. “Wow,” he noted, eyes dragging over your appearance. “Fresh off the boat, as the saying goes, yes?”

“I, uh, yeah,” you stammered. “I guess. Is that a problem?”

“No, not at all. I prefer to have people in my employment whose way of thinking hasn’t been compromised by the big corporations.”

You forced a small smile. “The greener the better?”

Baron chuckled as he nodded. “I like you already, Miss Y/L/N.”

Forty-five minutes later, you were shaking Baron’s hand with Bucky at your side. “You’ll be hearing from me soon, Miss Y/L/N,” he vowed.

“Thank you for taking the time to see me, Mister Zemo,” you replied.

Bucky helped you with your jacket, even held your purse under his arm as he did so. “Everything go alright?”

“Fuck, I hope so,” you answered bluntly, tucking your arm inside his as he led the way through the office. You didn’t miss the way more than several sets of eyes – from both men and women – followed the pair of you.

“You don’t think you’ll get the job?”

You were shrugging before he finished his question. “I don’t know, to be honest. I know that I’m not the only graduate in Brooklyn that’s looking into this position.”

“They’d be stupid not to hire you,” Bucky smiled down at you as he opened the door to the car.

You climbed in and buckled up while Bucky rounded the back of the car, sliding behind the wheel a moment later. “Where next, Bucky?”

“Your apartment,” he answered, looking over his shoulder, waiting for a break in traffic.

“That’s right,” you huffed. “To pack.”

You didn’t like it, not one bit. You knew Steve and Bucky wanted you to be safe, and that your apartment was the least safest place for you to be, but Nat was your best friend. To go without seeing her, well, that was like asking a flower to grow without the sun.

Bucky chuckled as he looked at you in the rearview mirror after pulling into the lane. “Nat’s there. Said she’s got your favorite pizza and some beer.”

“A girl after my own heart,” you laughed.

Nat was waiting, true to her word, with a bottle of beer in one hand, and a slice of your favorite pizza in the other. She was dressed in nothing more than a loose tee and a pair of dark yoga pants, hair pulled back, hickeys adorning her neck.

“Those from Clint?” you snorted in amusement as you hugged her.

She laughed richly at that, wrapping her arms around you in return once her hands were free. “Said he wants people to know I’m ‘his,’” she teased, using air quotes.

“When in reality,” you mumbled around the large bite of pizza, “it’s you who owns him.”

“Don’t you know it,” Nat said with a wink. “Can I get you a beer, Bucky?”

He shook his head at the offer. “I’m good, thank you.”

“You sure?” she teased, holding a freshly-opened bottle.

Bucky shook his head again. “I’m on duty,” he insisted, nodding towards you.

Natasha’s demeanor changed in the blink of an eye. “How are you doing?” she asked, eyes full of worry at your well-being and hatred towards Brock.

Shrugging, you finished eating the slice of pizza. “Holding it together. Don’t tell Steve, but having Bucky close by is a good feeling.”

“Alert the media,” she joked ruefully.

“And as much as I don’t want to leave you,” you squeezed her hand and swallowed around the knot in your throat. “Staying with Steve, in a secure building, where a whole team of people are watching out for me, for my safety; it’s a relief.”

Natasha pulled you into her and held you tight. “They better not let anything happen to you. They’ll have me to deal with,” she muttered menacingly, just loud enough that Bucky heard her.

“I swear, on my mother’s grave, nothing will happen to Y/N,” he vowed, fingers held up like a boy scout.

You wiped away several stray tears that had broken through your eyelashes. “Now that that’s settled,” you rasped. “Who’s going to help me pack?”

ELEVEN

Steve: @mjdoc90

Executive Decision: @toongtii @nuvoleincielo @jobabe032 @graciefaace @yourtropegirl @buckys-newarm @blxcksoulsanddxrkflowers @hazeofeleven @loricameback @raventt5-bb @docharleythegeekqueen @jfrank1048 @supernatural-girl97 @miss-chic-claude @superwholockedbeauty @sleepy-moon-girl @clusteredinsanity @toobad–sosad @sol-lumina @madeof-ink @raychic26 @omghappilyuniquebouquetlove @katielu-blog @janeyboo @electra-writes33 @callme-barnes @moxtiel @evanstandream @ninasimone519 @ladylustitia @marveldcmistress @joannie95 @vale0413 @stuxky107 @madamemunge @hides-in-the-shadows @dorkydaddies @thefridgeismybestie @tastedheart @iminlovewithasuperboy @queen-merc @kellys1202 @storytelling-reader @angryschnauzer @siren-kitten-his @lastfallenstar @buckynasty @topkay @brixnni @red-writer13 @papi-chulo-seb @patzammit @shecanbeawarrior @jazzwoman897 @a-nurse-and-a-fangirl @ghitalovegood @caught-between-many-worlds @lumelgy @petrashappyplace @mia-at-work @denialanderror @i-love-superhero @kat-to-the-rina @woodworthti666 @itskarakat @randominternetteenager @amaranthuspetals @missinstantgratification @suzannevalerie @chook007 @armybb1516 @angelinaburns @societalfailure @cltex84 @whisperingwillows @stevieang @sarahp879 @babygirl-pouting7 @the–real-wombat @deangirl1992 @portrait-ninja @ruinerofcheese @cosmicpeachwave @flamehairedwritings @buckysforeverprincess @akschoenborn @koizorahana @tchallaholla @flirtswithdanger @winchesterprincessbride @lizm-05 @kozmicrock @nedthegay @vanna215 @seargantbcky @sophster1881 @hoe4sebstan @leauvel @alijulia87 @samsgoddess @oberyners @shhhs3cret

Executive Decision: Nine

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: 2,278
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], 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.

Graduation day had finally arrived. After four long and agonizing years, your hard work had paid off; you were graduating with honors, and good goddamn, did you feel proud of yourself. The ceremony was slightly longer than it should have been, but that could have had something to do with the way most of the women reacted as Steve gave his speech.

His azure eyes were twinkling in the sunlight and a mischievous smirk tugged at his lips when he found you in the front row. You had to work hard at not letting anyone see just how much he was affecting you. His voice was thick and rich as it came through the speakers, washing over you, adding fuel to the fire of your already rampant imagination.

When you had broken down and told Steve about Brock, Steve admitted something to you.

“I like you, a lot,” he said, repeating your earlier statement. “And I want to be with you. We will go on your clock. Whenever you’re ready to take it to the next level, I’ll wait for you, doing only what you are comfortable with, and not a moment before.”

You were pretty sure that was the moment you fell in love with Steve Rogers.

Hearing someone shout your name, you whirled around. “Dad,” you chuckled. You ran towards him and gave him a big hug.

“I… I thought you couldn’t make it.” God, he was a sight for sore eyes.

Phil shrugged and pressed a kiss to your cheek before stepping back. “I wasn’t, but a friend of yours called, said the tickets were taken care of, all I had to do was show up.”

“Which friend?” you asked suspiciously.

“Some fella named Steve,” he answered with an arched brow.

You had thought it was Natasha, so when you heard Steve, you took a step back. “Wait… what?”

As if out of nowhere, the man in question appeared at your side, his hand held out to Phil. “Glad you could make it, Mr. Coulson.”

“Call me Phil,” he said, shaking Steve’s hand in greeting. “You really didn’t have to buy me a ticket.”

“Yeah,” you agreed, turning to look up at him sternly.

Steve winked as he chuckled. “I wanted to surprise Y/N, and you being here means a lot to her.”

“Well,” Phil said, looking at you. “I appreciate it. I’ll pay you -”

“No need, Phil,” Steve interrupted, shaking his head. “Seeing Y/N happy is all the payment I need.”

You watched the look on your dad’s face as recognition washed over him. “You… you look familiar. Have we met before?”

“I would remember meeting the man that is responsible for the amazing woman next to me,” Steve chuckled, has arm resting on your shoulders.

“Ah, yeah, I haven’t exactly told him,” you whispered, your arm automatically wrapping around his waist.

Phil’s eyes flicked back and forth. “Oh, okay, so, you two,” he murmured, and in that moment, you saw the last puzzle piece fall into place. “Oh, my God. You’re Steve Rogers, the commencement speaker, and CEO of Rogers Tech.”

Steve chuckled and dipped his head in confirmation. “I am.”

Your dad chuckled under his breath. “Your mother is going to lose her shit.”

“Dad,” you huffed, rolling your eyes.

“Listen, I know about the last phone call,” Phil said, stepping closer to you. “You stood up to her, and I’m damn proud of you.”

Tears pricked your eyes at his words. “Dad, stop it.”

“No, kid,” he announced, pulling you away from Steve’s side and into his arm, hugging you tight. “You’ve done everything exactly the way that you wanted, not the way she did.”

You were crying softly into his shoulder. “I think that’s a testament to who raised me.”

Phil gave you one last squeeze and pressed a kiss to your temple. “Stop it.”

Natasha’s giggles were growing louder, thanks to Clint, who had her on his back, legs wrapped around his waist, his hands under her thighs.

“Y/N,” she shrieked. “We’ve done it!”

As soon as she slid from Clint’s back, she launched herself at you and squeezed the breath from your lungs. You heard the introductions Steve made to his brother, followed quickly by an announcement about dinner, assuring Phil that it was on him, no questions asked.

Back at Steve’s apartment, you were sipping on a glass of wine, and watching Steve as he started a fire. “Thank you,” you murmured, smiling softly.

“For what?” he asked, looking at you with kind eyes.

“My dad, flying him out here. You didn’t have to do that.”

“But I wanted to,” he repeated for the tenth time since the graduation ceremony. He finished with the fire and poured himself some bourbon before taking a seat next to you. “Besides, making you happy is all I want to do.”

You leaned into his hand as he cupped your face and kissed his wrist. “Why? I’m nothing… no one special,” you lamented.

Steve took a drink before placing his glass on a coaster. He then took the wine glass from your hand and set it next to his. With his hand heavy on your thigh, he brushed his nose against yours, his eyes drilling into yours when he said, “You’re special to me, Y/N.”

And then his lips were on yours, sweetly kissing you, drawing gasps from the back of your throat. Quick kisses gave way to passionate ones, thickening the air surrounding you. You grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him closer, driving your tongue along his, tasting the aged liquor, growing drunk off his kisses. Steve growled low in his throat as his arm went behind your back. He pivoted in his seat, moving you with him, so that when he placed you on your back, he was settled between your thighs.

“Steve,” you murmured against his lips, his thick and hard body moving against yours. The heat between your legs spread out, surging through you. You arched into him, your back rising off the couch, your foot running along the back of his thigh, your hands roaming over the expanse of his shoulders.

His beard burned the column of your neck as he dropped sloppy kisses, first down one side, then up the other, nipping at your earlobe with his teeth. He was leaning on his left elbow as his right hand roamed along your frame; squeezing your hips, your rib cage just below your breasts, your thighs, and ass. Your dress had bunched up, and when you felt the heavy twitch of his cock against your cloth-covered pussy, you gave a needy moan.

Steve answered your moan with his own, his cock growing harder than ever as your arousal soaked through the front of his expensive pants. “Jesus,” he hissed, nipping at your ear, pushing his knees deep into the couch, spreading your thighs wider, his zipper biting into your clit.

Electricity shot up your spine and made you gasp. You’d never wanted to have someone fuck you so badly, but you also weren’t sure how emotionally ready you were. With the admission of how Brock treated you, and then Steve assuring you that he would wait for you, for as long as you needed him to, you had started to second guess yourself.

Would you ever be ready for another serious relationship? Was Steve just like Brock, sweet and attentive in the beginning, only to turn wicked later?

The door burst open, making you jump.

“Steve,” Bucky shouted, shoes squeaking on the floor as he ran into the room.

Steve sat up, his hair mussed, lips swollen, eyes glazed over. “What is it, Buck?”

“There’s been a breach,” Bucky answered, voice thin and tight.

“Show me,” Steve instructed, pulling you up and pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Stay here.”

Steve followed his friend and bodyguard into the room that was filled with screens, each one was assigned to a camera on the premises, and each one of them was currently showing an error message.

“Shit, Buck,” Steve ground out. “How’d this happen?”

Bucky shook his head as he pushed some buttons on the control panel. “It started over here,” he said, pointing to the camera that was aimed in the alley where one of the back doors was.

Steve watched for thirty seconds before the feed cut out. “What time was that?”

“Nine o’clock, on the nose,” Bucky answered, turning his attention to the control panel again. “And then every five minutes, another camera goes dark.”

With every feed that was lost, Steve’s anger rose. “What’s being done to get the cameras up and running?” he demanded of his friend.

“Tech’s been called in,” was his answer. “Should be here within the hour.”

“Not good enough. Get them here as soon as possible.”

Bucky was pulling the phone from his pocket to do just that, when Steve asked another question. “Where’s the breach?”

“Shit, yeah, sorry,” he murmured. “Follow me.” While they walked down a maze of hallways and several flights of stairs, Bucky argued with the manager of the company Steve wanted there, “Now, not in a fucking hour.”

Steve shot Y/N a text, saying that he would be, Up in a few minutes. Go ahead and pour another glass of wine and sit tight.

“Ten minutes out,” Bucky confirmed into the phone. “Thank you.”

“Thanks, Buck,” Steve said, clapping his friend on the shoulder.

“Don’t thank me yet.” Bucky held open the door for his friend, following him closely as they approached a table.

Steve stopped in front of the table. “What’s this?” he asked, pointing to a box wrapped in the colors of Y/N’s alma mater.

Bucky nodded at the package. “That’s the breach. It was wedged in the door between the fifteenth and sixteenth floor. It’s been cleared, there’s no explosive residue, no threat of anthrax.”

A chill slithered down Steve’s spine as he stared at it. Whatever it housed was going to be bad. “Have you opened it?”

“I didn’t have to. I saw it on the x-ray,” he explained, the color draining from his face.

“What is it, then?” Steve demanded to know, his anger now bubbling just below the surface. Whoever did this was fucking pissing off the wrong person.

Bucky shook his head. Of all the shit he’d seen while in the Army, nothing unnerved him near as much as when he had seen the x-ray results. With shaking hands, he used a knife to cut through the wrapping, then the thick tape that held the box together. Once the flaps were open, Steve peered over the edge and covered his mouth with his hand.

“This was in the bow,” Bucky added, handing a once-pink collar to Steve.

The tag sounded like a bell as it swung back and forth on the bloody hook. “Henrietta,” Steve murmured before turning over the tag. “If found, call Y/N Y/L/N at 555-0369.”

With wide eyes, he stared hard at his friend, and then spun away, tearing out of the room, collar in his hand, Bucky hot on his trail. Bucky was shouting demands into his comm.

“Lock it down, all of it. No one comes in or gets out, not even the fucking tech!”

Steve’s heart pounded in his chest, laden with worry. When the door to his apartment came into view, he surged forward, his wild eyes scanning the dark room, lit only by the dancing flames in front of the couch, the couch that was empty.

“Fuck,” he snarled loudly before calling your name.

Bucky had his gun out, cocked, safety off, by his side, finger pressed against the barrel. He ran from room to room, clearing each one, as Steve bolted up the stairs, taking them three at a time, yelling for Y/N every few seconds.

“She’s not on the main floor,” Bucky shouted as he ran up the stairs, going down the hallway in the opposite direction Steve had gone.

Steve’s heart felt like it was going to beat out of his chest as he slapped on the lights in the bedroom. Y/N was lying on his bed, curled around one of his pillows. She had changed out of her dress and was wearing one of Steve’s t-shirts, no doubtedly falling to her mid-thigh, but they way she was lying, it barely covered the curve of her ass.

Bucky was panting as he came into the room, dark eyes falling on Y/N’s sleeping form. He holstered his pistol as Steve walked over, dropped a kiss to her temple, and turned off the light, closing the door quietly.

Less than five minutes later, Steve was telling Bucky what Y/N had admitted about her past relationship.

“You think it’s him,” Bucky uttered as he typed Brock’s name into a search engine.

“It’s the only thing that makes sense,” Steve murmured before taking a healthy drink of bourbon.

Bucky let loose a low whistle. “He’s got a rap sheet longer than my dick.”

Steve snorted in half-amusement. “I want his picture distributed to the team, and Y/N is now your top priority.”

“What about you?”

“I can take care of myself. It’s Y/N that needs protecting,” Steve insisted.

Bucky scoffed. “She ain’t gonna like it.”

“I don’t fuckin’ care,” Steve snapped, hand clenching the bloody collar, pinching the bridge of his nose with his other hand.

“Are you gonna tell her?” Bucky nodded at the open box that held a mutilated and dismembered feline.

Steve pulled in a stuttering breath, swallowing around the thick knot in his throat. “In the morning.”

TEN

Steve: @mjdoc90

Executive Decision: Eight

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: 2,658
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, 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.

Steve watched her sleep, not because he couldn’t sleep himself, but because he wanted to make sure nothing more happened to Y/N. He had this innate need to protect her at all costs, no matter what that entailed.

Y/N shifted against his side, her lips parting as her head lolled back, eyes skimming back and forth. He pushed the hair from her face, traced along the shell of her ear with his thumb, then the line of her jaw, and finally the column of her neck. She was so beautiful, it made his heart skip a beat. It sounded corny, but it was the truth; from the minute he saw her, he knew she was special and different. He just hadn’t realized how much.

His last relationship had been one hell of a roller coaster, so much so, that when people had started asking questions about when they were going to get engaged, Steve buckled under the constant pressure and started looking at rings.

A part of him would always wonder what it would have been like if he and Sharon had stayed together, but the day he found her in bed with another man, he knew he had to sever all ties with the woman, and not a day had passed that he didn’t regret doing so.

From that moment on, he buried himself in work; acquisitions and mergers, charity functions and press conferences. Before he could even blink, a year had flown by, and Y/N was literally falling into his office. It felt as if he had taken his first breath the moment she looked up at him. He wanted her, and he wanted her in every dark and carnal way he could take her. He could feel it, the familiar ache of a feeling so strong and intense, there was no use fighting it, he just had to buckle down, and enjoy the ride.

Steve was so lost in watching Y/N, he didn’t remember falling asleep.

The colors of the rising sun were on your face, pulling you from unconsciousness one nerve at a time. It started in your toes and fingers, twitching, muscles stretching almost painfully from sleeping on the couch. Then it was in your calves and thighs, your back, and finally, your arms, raised over your head, a small gasp leaving your lips. Steve’s hand flexed against your hip, reminding you of his presence, even though he was sleeping.

When you pressed a kiss to his bearded cheek, you had every intention of going into the kitchen to make some coffee. Needless to say, when Steve’s arm snaked around your waist, holding you to him, you sucked in a gasp of surprise, your hands planted on his chest, legs straddling his.

“Morning,” he hummed against your lips before kissing you.

Your protests were weak. “I haven’t brushed my teeth.”

“I don’t care,” was his gruff answer, and then his teeth were on your bottom lip, tugging, urging you to open your mouth.

Heat coursed through you at the way he kissed you; it was greedy and urgent, dominating your senses. His hands were on your back and in your hair, pulling you impossibly closer. You pushed your knees into the couch and scraped your nails through his thick hair, pulling gasps and moans from the man beneath you.

When his hands fell to your hips, you thought he would just rock you against him, but he reached around, grabbed the globes of your ass, and pulled you into him so you could feel the thick outline of his cock. Arousal was dampening your panties and your entire body was buzzing; every part of you wanted to free his cock and ride him, but two things happened at once.

Your phone rang and a memory of Brock flashed in your mind.

With your hands on Steve’s chest, you pushed back and sucked in a stuttering breath. He looked at you with wide eyes.

“Are you okay, doll? You’re shaking.” He worked his hands up and down your goosebump-covered arms.

You shook your head as you said, “Yeah, fine. I just… my phone.” Pushing off his lap, you sat on the edge of the couch and grabbed your phone from the table. It wasn’t a number you recognized, but you swiped your finger across the screen, accepting the call.

“Hello?” you rasped tremulously, your hand pressed to your chest.

There was a low chuckle that made your heart stop. “How’s my girl?”

A cold sweat washed over you and you could feel the blood drain from your face. “B… B… Brock? What do… why are…. You can’t be calling me.”

Your ex-dominant hummed in response. “I saw you in the paper this morning, Y/N, and shit, you looked fucking incredible last night.”

“Last night?” you rasped, tears pricking your eyes as you shoved away from the couch and lurched across the apartment. You ripped open the door and yanked the New York Post from the welcome mat.

Steve was behind you, closing the door after he took a look both ways down the hall. He watched as you slapped the paper onto the counter and flipping through the pages.

“Page six, Y/N,” he whispered, and it made your stomach roll.

Your hands were shaking as you turned to the page number provided, and sure enough, there was a half-page picture of you and Steve, freshly emerged from his town car, the pair of you smiling wide.

“That… that’s not me,” you tried to argue, even though you knew he could tell when you were lying.

“Don’t bullshit me, Y/N,” he snarled with barely restrained rage.

Once Steve was done reading over your shoulder, he dug out his phone and, sure enough, there were an alarming number of missed calls, voicemails, and text messages. He was about to shove the phone into his pocket when it rang. It was his mother, and he knew better than to ignore her.

“What was the last thing I said to you, huh?” His gritty voice made you want to throw up.

“I don’t remember, Brock,” you murmured. “I was unconscious.”

With a sigh, he said, “Yeah, well, that’s what you get for not listening.”

“No,” you argued through your teeth. “You’re a fucking psychopath, Brock. You were the one that wouldn’t listen. You abused your position over me!”

At that, Steve whirled around. “I’ll call you back, ma.”

“Listen here, you ungrateful bitch,” he snarled, undoubtedly spitting while he raged. “You were a weakling when I found you.”

“I was eighteen, Brock,” you reminded him for the hundredth time.

The line went silent for a moment, and when Brock came back, he was calm. “‘If I can’t have you, no one can.’ That was the last thing I said to you. Ring a bell?”

Your legs were shaking so bad, you were surprised you weren’t on the floor. “I’m not a possession to be had, Brock.”

“You’re mine. One way or another, you’re going to see it my way. I’ll see you soon,” he cooed before disconnecting the call.

Steve was at your side, turning you around to face him. “Y/N, who is Brock?”

Your mind was a jumble of memories, both genuine and reconstructed, and it was too much. It was difficult to focus on any one thing, your eyes were darting around Steve’s face and shirt, your nails digging into your palm of one hand, the other squeezing the phone so hard you thought you heard it crack. The breath was tearing in and out of you and the walls, shit, the walls were closing in on you.

Steve knew an anxiety attack when he saw one. Bucky’s honorable discharge came less than one month after his third tour of Afghanistan, and his PTSD was off the charts. Steve did everything he could to help his best friend; medication, therapists, meditation, both in and out patient programs. He had seen him at the lowest of the lows, flying high, and everything in between.

“Breathe,” he instructed, his hands cupping your face, forcing you to look at him. “I need you to breathe, Y/N.”

Your teeth and lungs ached, but you didn’t do as you were told. The last thing you wanted to do at that moment was bend to the will of a man, even if you were falling for him.

Steve’s brow arched when he said it again. “No, you don’t get to shut down on me like this. You need to fucking breathe, and not because I want you to.”

Shit, he was right. With your chin quivering, your eyes rolled back as you sucked in a ragged breath.

“Again,” he said, less harsh than before.

Your hands loosened as you pulled in another breath, and another, the white-hot rage had started to dissipate.

“Good. That’s a good girl,” he praised, pushing a kiss to your forehead.

Once the breath wasn’t hitching in your throat, he asked, “You want to talk about it?”

“No, but if you really want this,” you motioned between the two of you, “then I have to.”

Steve was standing because he couldn’t sit down, he was too anxious, and you were sitting because you couldn’t stand, not on shaking legs. He waited until you were ready to tell him what had happened between you and Brock.

“As I’m sure you’ve managed to work out,” you started, voice soft and unsure. “I’m a submissive.”

“I have,” he confirmed, hands shoved into the pockets of his silk pants. “And I’m sure you’re deduced that I’m a dominant.”

You couldn’t stop the corner of your lips from pulling up. “I have.” Before diving into the dark and gritty details of your relationship with Brock, you added, “I like you, Steve, a lot. And if you don’t want to be with me after hearing the truth, well… I understand.”

Steve didn’t say anything, just nodded his head once and waited. It took you five minutes to say anything.

“Brock was my dominant for almost two years. I met him one day, early into my freshman year, and we just… God, this sounds so stupid now. We clicked. He was so nice and sweet and supportive of my degree, of what I wanted to do after graduation. The sex was… incredible. That was all in the beginning,” you scoffed, scraping a hand over your face roughly.

You chanced a glance at Steve, and nothing much about him had changed. He wore a stoic expression, though he was clenching his jaw and his eyes were dark. You could see the tension in his shoulders, but you didn’t focus on it, because if you did, you wouldn’t be able to keep talking.

“It was after a year that he changed. He was keeping secrets, he was possessive, not letting me go anywhere if he didn’t approve it, he was jealous for no reason, paranoid, and then, one night, he got really drunk.” You had to stop for a minute, work on your breathing, get your heart to slow down.

“He… he uh,” you shifted in your seat, craning your neck to stretch out the spasm, “threatened to kill me if I left him.”

“So you stayed,” Steve murmured darkly.

Your eyes were full of tears when you looked at him. “I was so scared, I didn’t know what to do. I held out hope that he would change after that, but nothing I did was good enough for him. He couldn’t… get off, and it was all my fault, said if I’d let him go rougher, harder, that maybe he could look past the fact that I wasn’t pretty anymore.”

Gnawing on the inside of your cheek, your eyes fell to your bouncing leg. “So… I did, I let him take things further. I… in spite of what he had been like before, I trusted him. He was my dominant, he swore he’d never hurt me.”

Steve was in front of you, on his knees, between your legs, his hands on your damp face. “Dominants are never to hurt their submissives, Y/N,” he breathed.

“He beat me,” you finally admitted, your chin quivering, bile rising in your chest. “He whipped me until I passed out.”

You could feel the anger rolling through Steve, it was unbridled and dangerous, but his fingers didn’t dig into your flesh, something you made a mental note of.

“Nat found me, took me to the hospital, and called the police.”

“When did this happen?” he asked, voice low and gritty.

You sniffled and wiped a hand over your face. “Two years ago, and I haven’t been able to be with anyone since.” You watched the anger drain from his expression.

“Oh, doll,” he murmured, pressing his lips to yours. “I’m so sorry.”

“You didn’t do it to me,” you chuckled ruefully.

“And I never will,” Steve promised, staring at you with crystal eyes.

Your heart started to stutter in your chest at the realization of his words. “I’m damaged goods, Steve,” you tried dissuading him.

Wearing a gentle smile, he repeated your words to Brock earlier. “You’re not a possession,Y/N. And I will never, ever treat you as such.”

A sob escaped you at that point and Steve pulled you into him as he maneuvered himself onto the couch, dragging you onto his lap. You wrapped your arms around his neck and wept openly. It had felt good to tell someone about it, someone that wasn’t Nat or someone that would judge you. Steve was someone that understood the sexual lifestyle.

“I’m damaged goods, Steve,” she tried arguing, giving him an out, should he want one. Only one problem with that, he was invested, there was no way he could walk away. Not then. Not ever.

“You’re not a possession,Y/N. And I will never,

ever

treat you as such,” he reassured her, because that’s not what happened in a healthy relationship of any kind.

Steve watched as she shattered and it made his heart lurch in his chest. Before he could think about it, he was pulling her into him as he moved into a sitting position on the couch. She was in his lap, her knees drawn up, pressing into his side, her arms around his neck as she wept. He held onto her tight, securing her to his chest with an arm around her upper back, the other around her waist, fingers in her other side, digging in, but not too deep, just a reassurance that he was there, and that he would always be there.

He wanted to find Brock and choke the life out of him with his own bare hands, but on the other hand, he wanted to do nothing more than spend the rest of his life showing Y/N how amazing she was, shower her with love and affection, what a healthy dom / sub relationship was like; all the things she deserved in life.

NINE

Steve: @mjdoc90

Executive Decision: @toongtii @nuvoleincielo @jobabe032 @graciefaace @yourtropegirl @buckys-newarm @blxcksoulsanddxrkflowers @hazeofeleven @loricameback @raventt5-bb @docharleythegeekqueen @jfrank1048 @supernatural-girl97 @miss-chic-claude @superwholockedbeauty @sleepy-moon-girl @clusteredinsanity @toobad–sosad @sol-lumina @madeof-ink @raychic26 @omghappilyuniquebouquetlove @speakinvain @katielu-blog @janeyboo @electra-writes33 @callme-barnes @moxtiel @evanstandream @ninasimone519 @ladylustitia @marveldcmistress @joannie95 @vale0413 @stuxky107 @madamemunge @hides-in-the-shadows @dorkydaddies @thefridgeismybestie @tastedheart @iminlovewithasuperboy @queen-merc @kellys1202 @storytelling-reader @angryschnauzer @siren-kitten-his @lastfallenstar @buckynasty @topkay @brixnni @red-writer13 @papi-chulo-seb @patzammit @shecanbeawarrior @jazzwoman897 @a-nurse-and-a-fangirl @ghitalovegood @caught-between-many-worlds @lumelgy @petrashappyplace @mia-at-work @denialanderror @i-love-superhero @kat-to-the-rina @woodworthti666 @itskarakat @randominternetteenager @amaranthuspetals @missinstantgratification @suzannevalerie @chook007 @armybb1516 @angelinaburns @societalfailure @cltex84 @whisperingwillows @stevieang @sarahp879 @babygirl-pouting7 @the–real-wombat @deangirl1992 @portrait-ninja @ruinerofcheese @cosmicpeachwave @flamehairedwritings @buckysforeverprincess @akschoenborn @koizorahana @tchallaholla @flirtswithdanger @winchesterprincessbride @lizm-05 @kozmicrock @nedthegay @vanna215 @seargantbcky @sophster1881 @hoe4sebstan @leauvel @alijulia87

Executive Decision: Seven

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: 2,089
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.

The restaurant Steve insisted on having the celebration dinner at was fancy, fancier than any place you’d ever even dreamed of going to. So much so, that you were about to blow the dust from your credit card and pay too much money for a dress, but Nat put a stop to that.

“Here,” she said, handing you one of her dresses. Natasha’s parents weren’t obscenely rich, but they were well off.

You were shaking your head even as you reached out to touch the fabric. “I… Nat, no. I can’t. It’s… God, it’s fucking gorgeous.”

“And it will look amazing on you,” she insisted, hauling you into her room to help you into it.

You emerged from her room an hour later, your hair swept back into a low knot, natural-looking makeup applied, and a pair of comfortable ballet flats on your feet. Your ankle was still a bit sore, so you had wrapped an ace bandage around it.

Steve was the first one to see you, and if his jaw could have literally dropped to the floor, it would have. His eyes were wide and roaming over you, drinking you in, the gleam in his eyes making your stomach flip lazily. You suddenly felt nervous and flattened your hands against your stomach.

“Do I… is it okay?” you asked, throat suddenly dry, eyes flicking from Steve’s face to Clint’s, from his to Natasha’s.

“I told you it was your color,” Nat insisted playfully.

Clint was nodding in agreement. “Definitely a winner in my book.”

And then there was Steve. He adjusted the tie at his throat before crossing the room. Once in front of you, he took your hands in his and brushed his lips against your knuckles.

With a wicked smirk, he looked at you through his lashes and said loud enough for only you to hear, “Doll, I could eat you alive.”

You sucked in a breath and felt crimson color your cheeks. “I uh… yeah… that sounds -”

Steve winked before standing tall, your jacket suddenly appearing in his hands. “Let’s go. We don’t want to get stuck in traffic.”

“What, you didn’t bring your helicopter?” Clint joked, helping Nat with her jacket.

You looked at Steve over your shoulder. “You have a helicopter?”

“No,” Steve scoffed, his fingers squeezing your shoulders. “I have three.”

The second course had been taken away and you were tapping out. “I can’t eat anymore,” you protested, hand on your stomach, tight smile on your lips.

Natasha mirrored your actions. “Don’t think I could eat another bite.”

“Not even if involved decadent dark chocolate?” Clint plucked the dessert menu from the center of the table and showed Nat what he had in mind.

Steve laughed at the way Natasha perked up at the mere mention of chocolate. “You think you have room for some dessert?” His arm was draped over the back of your chair, fingers flexing against your upper arm.

You hummed as you turned to look at him. “What kind of dessert did you have in mind?”

“Whatever you want, doll,” he purred, his eyebrow jumping up.

Gnawing on your bottom lip, you moved in your seat and pressed your hand to his face, pulling him down for a light kiss. “All in good time, Steve,” you promised against his lips, knowing he would understand what you meant.

“Get a room,” Clint teased, throwing his napkin across the table.

You were laughing as you threw it back. “You first.”

The waitress came back with fresh drinks. “Will anyone be ordering dessert tonight?”

“Why the hell not?” you chuckled, pointing out a difficult-to-pronounce Kouign-amann. Natasha ordered the decadent chocolate dessert that Clint had pointed out.

When the waitress departed, you grabbed Steve’s hand. “Thank you, for all of this.”

Steve raised your hand and pressed his lips to your knuckles. “You deserve it, Y/N, and so much more.” His tone was low and seductive, making you tremble under the weight of it.

You were about to say something when Nat got your attention. “Hey, come with me for a minute.”

“Is everything okay?” You asked, brows furrowed at the way she was looking at you.

She didn’t say anything, just stood and straightened the front of her dress. Smiling tightly at Steve, you excused yourself and followed her across the restaurant. She didn’t stop until the two of you were in the powder room.

“What’s going on, Nat?” you breathed, your stomach rolling.

Nat pulled her phone from her purse and showed it to you. “Your mom, she’s blowing up my phone.”

You took it from her with shaking hands and scrolled through the text messages, each one more annoying than the previous. “God, she doesn’t let up, does she?”

“Call her back,” she instructed gently. “I’ll be here.”

Nat knew exactly how manipulative your mother was, and she wasn’t afraid to tell the matriarch how she felt. Needless to say, your mother didn’t appreciate the fact that the two of you were best friends, and that you had chosen to stay there, living in Brooklyn, instead of close to her.

Blowing out a breath, you pressed the call button and put the phone to your ear. It rang a handful of times before her shrill voice made you wince.

“It’s about goddamn time you pick up a phone.”

“Hi, mom,” you greeted. “Is everything alright?”

She laughed coldly before answering. “You tell me.”

“I don’t know. I’m not the one texting my best friend relentlessly.”

There was that laugh again, the one that made you cringe. “If you would answer yours, I wouldn’t have to text… that girl.”

You rolled your eyes painfully hard. “Her name is Natasha, mom, and she’s my friend. I would appreciate it if you wouldn’t -”

“Oh, you would appreciate it, huh?” You could hear as she poured herself a drink. “How about what I would appreciate? I’m your mother, for Christ Sake. I carried you in my body for nine months.”

“Mom, what do you want?” You snapped, desperate to get the call over with so you could go back to Steve.

She scoffed at your tone. “Phil called, said you’re graduating with honors.” Ah, there it was. The thick tone of jealousy she always had when talking about your stepdad.

“I am,” you concurred.

“And you couldn’t call me?!” she shrieked. Natasha spun around from the mirror where she was touching up her lipstick.

You swallowed at the knot in your throat. “It’s been a busy day,” was all you said.

“I’m your mother,” she cried out, louder than before.

“And I am a grown adult,” you ground out, tears pricking your eyes. “I do not need to call you every time something happens.”

“Y/N, this isn’t something minor like when you got the lead in the sixth-grade play,” she patronized.

You sniffled and rolled your eyes again. “Which you didn’t come to.”

“Oh, please,” she scoffed. “It was ‘Our Town.’ It’s been done thousands of times before.”

“You never showed up for anything, mom,” you continued, tears breaking past the weak defense of your eyelashes. “You’re not even coming to my graduation.”

She was silent for a beat. “We’ve already discussed the reason why.”

“And it’s bullshit! Everything I’ve ever accomplished or been excited about, you’ve always had a reason not to show up, and I’m sick of it,” you ranted, not caring about the way several women looked at you as they passed through.

“You do not get to talk to me like that,” she gasped. “I did the best I could. There’s a reason I left Phil.”

You blew out a stuttering breath when Natasha grabbed your hand and gave it a squeeze. “You left because being married to a man that wouldn’t let you take advantage of him wasn’t what you wanted. You left because you didn’t have the perfect daughter you’d always wanted.”

“I loved Phil. He just -”

“What, mom?” you cried. “He wouldn’t stand idly by while you berated me for choosing to play baseball over getting my hair curled and colored? You don’t know the meaning of the word love.”

“Now, just wait a minute,” she screeched. You could picture the way her eyes always bugged out, the veins on her temples pulsed, and how she would ball her hands into fists in an attempt to keep from slapping you across the face.

You shook your head and honest-to-God stomped your foot. “No, mom. I’m done waiting.”

Someone knocked on the door and poked their head in. It was Steve, and he was wearing a worried look. “You okay, doll?”

You spun around to face him and embarrassment made your skin flush. “I’m fine,” you lied expertly.

“Who’s that?” she once again demanded, her voice so shrill you had to pull the phone away from your ear. “You got a boyfriend now?”

Not caring that the powder room was connected to the women’s bathroom, Steve came in and pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“Yeah, mom,” you rasped.

Steve gave you a small smile. “Hang up the phone,” he instructed gently, his hand held out to take it from you.

“Jesus, Y/N. You don’t tell me anything anymore. What is wrong with you?”

At that, your eyes went wide and anger surged through you. “There is nothing wrong with me. I don’t tell you anything anymore because you don’t care about anyone other than yourself. You’re as self-absorbed as they come, and I don’t want that in my life. I don’t… I don’t deserve it.”

You pulled the phone away from your ear and disconnected the call right as she screeched your name. Your hand was shaking as you handed the phone to Steve, who then handed it to Nat.

“I… I’m sorry,” you cried. “I didn’t… didn’t know she… I didn’t mean to ruin the night.”

Steve pulled you into his chest, crushing you to him with his arms. He pressed kisses to the top of your head when you latched your arms around him, your nails digging into his jacket. “You didn’t ruin anything, doll. Come on, I’ll take you home.”

The dress Natasha had loaned you was hanging back in her closet soon after Steve escorted you home. While you pulled on a shirt that fell to your knees, washed your face, and let your hair down, Steve waited in the living room, on the large couch, shoes kicked off, tie loosened, jacket laid over the back of a chair.

You came out sat next to him, on the edge, head hung, hands wringing together. “I’m sorry, Steve.”

“No, doll,” he argued, his hand moving up and down your back, the heat of it seeping into your skin. “You have no reason to apologize.”

“I ruined the night,” you hiccuped, tears once again streaking down your face.

With his large hand on your hip, he tugged you into his side, tipped your head back with his other hand, and brushed a kiss to your lips. “You did no such thing, Y/N.”

“But I did,” you continued weakly. “If I hadn’t… she just… I don’t -” you didn’t finish because Steve was kissing you, just a firm press of his lips on yours, a moan in the back of his throat. When he pulled back, you chased his lips, your hand on his chest, your heart beating like a hummingbird’s wings.

“No more apologies about it, okay?” Steve said, his thumb tracing your bottom lip.

You wanted to agree with him, to tell him that you’d stop, but that wasn’t the kind of person you were. You were raised to believe that everything was your fault, even if it was something as silly as someone stubbing their toe or when they get pulled over for drifting over the white line on the way home from playing bingo.

Steve tipped his head. “What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?”

You chuckled ruefully and shook your head. “That’s a story for another night.”

“Promise you’ll tell me?” he asked, his hand once again working up and down your back.

With a small smile, you pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth, relishing in the way he leaned into you, in the way his beard bit into your skin, and the way his eyes fluttered closed, his long lashes fanning against his skin.

“Sure,” was your answer. You curled into him, your head on his chest, your hand on his stomach, and that was how you fell asleep.

EIGHT

Steve: @mjdoc90 @blxcksoulsanddxrkflowers @hides-in-the-shadows

Executive Decision: @toongtii @nuvoleincielo @jobabe032 @graciefaace @yourtropegirl @buckys-newarm @blxcksoulsanddxrkflowers @hazeofeleven @loricameback @raventt5-bb @docharleythegeekqueen @jfrank1048 @supernatural-girl97 @miss-chic-claude @superwholockedbeauty @sleepy-moon-girl @clusteredinsanity @toobad–sosad @sol-lumina @madeof-ink @raychic26 @omghappilyuniquebouquetlove @speakinvain @katielu-blog @janeyboo @electra-writes33 @callme-barnes @moxtiel @evanstandream @ninasimone519 @ladylustitia @marveldcmistress @joannie95 @vale0413 @stuxky107 @madamemunge @hides-in-the-shadows @dorkydaddies @thefridgeismybestie @tastedheart @iminlovewithasuperboy @queen-merc @kellys1202 @storytelling-reader @angryschnauzer @siren-kitten-his @lastfallenstar @buckynasty @topkay @brixnni @red-writer13 @papi-chulo-seb @patzammit @shecanbeawarrior @jazzwoman897 @a-nurse-and-a-fangirl @ghitalovegood @caught-between-many-worlds @lumelgy @petrashappyplace @mia-at-work @denialanderror @i-love-superhero @kat-to-the-rina @woodworthti666 @itskarakat @randominternetteenager @amaranthuspetals @missinstantgratification @suzannevalerie @chook007 @armybb1516 @angelinaburns @societalfailure @cltex84 @whisperingwillows @stevieang @sarahp879 @babygirl-pouting7 @the–real-wombat @deangirl1992 @portrait-ninja @ruinerofcheese @cosmicpeachwave @flamehairedwritings @buckysforeverprincess @akschoenborn @koizorahana @tchallaholla @flirtswithdanger @winchesterprincessbride @lizm-05 @kozmicrock @nedthegay @vanna215 @seargantbcky

Executive Decision: Six

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

Steve: @mjdoc90 @blxcksoulsanddxrkflowers @hides-in-the-shadows

Executive Decision: @toongtii @nuvoleincielo @jobabe032 @graciefaace @yourtropegirl @buckys-newarm @blxcksoulsanddxrkflowers @hazeofeleven @loricameback @raventt5-bb @docharleythegeekqueen @jfrank1048 @supernatural-girl97 @miss-chic-claude @superwholockedbeauty @sleepy-moon-girl @clusteredinsanity @toobad–sosad @sol-lumina @madeof-ink @raychic26 @omghappilyuniquebouquetlove @speakinvain @katielu-blog @janeyboo @electra-writes33 @callme-barnes @moxtiel @evanstandream @ninasimone519 @ladylustitia @marveldcmistress @joannie95 @vale0413 @stuxky107 @madamemunge @hides-in-the-shadows @dorkydaddies @thefridgeismybestie @tastedheart @iminlovewithasuperboy @queen-merc @kellys1202 @storytelling-reader @angryschnauzer @siren-kitten-his @lastfallenstar @buckynasty @topkay @brixnni @red-writer13 @papi-chulo-seb @patzammit @shecanbeawarrior @jazzwoman897 @a-nurse-and-a-fangirl @ghitalovegood @caught-between-many-worlds @lumelgy @petrashappyplace @mia-at-work @denialanderror @i-love-superhero @kat-to-the-rina @woodworthti666 @itskarakat @randominternetteenager @amaranthuspetals @missinstantgratification @suzannevalerie @chook007 @armybb1516 @angelinaburns @societalfailure @cltex84 @whisperingwillows @stevieang @sarahp879 @babygirl-pouting7 @the–real-wombat @deangirl1992 @portrait-ninja @ruinerofcheese @cosmicpeachwave @flamehairedwritings @buckysforeverprincess @akschoenborn @koizorahana @tchallaholla @flirtswithdanger @winchesterprincessbride @lizm-05 @kozmicrock @nedthegay @vanna215

Executive Decision: Five

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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Executive Decision: Four

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: 1,875
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.

Steve stared out your window. “A diner,” he deadpanned, eyebrow arched. “You want to sober up at a diner.”

“I’m starving,” you announced, rushing to unbuckle the seatbelt. “Besides, they have damn good pie.”

“Wait,” he growled, going to grab your wrist but missing it completely. He slammed the gear shift into park and jogged after you into the diner that proclaimed to have the ‘best coffee in the state.’

You were leaning over the counter, standing on your toes, not caring that people might possibly be staring at your ass. When you found a menu, you gave an excited squeal and spun around as you stood. The air that had been in your lungs seized at the dark gleam in Steve’s eyes.

“I would appreciate it,” he started, gently grabbing your elbow and leading you to a booth, “if you didn’t run away like that.”

Rolling your eyes, you picked up the menu and held it so his perfect face was hidden. Shit, you had a difficult enough time being around him when you were sober, but drunk? All your insecurities boiled to the surface, making heat creep up your neck. Then there was what he said outside the cafe.

“You’re an amazing woman, Y/N, and I… I don’t want to ruin you.”

What the hell did that mean? If he meant it, why did he bother coming to the bar? Wait…

“How the hell did you know where I was?” you blurted out, your filter completely doused in alcohol.

“What do you mean?” he asked, brows knitted together. “You called me, remember?”

The menu was set on the table, your hands clasped together atop it. “I did. I also never said where I was.”

Before he could answer, his phone rang. With his jaw clenched, he swiped a finger across the screen. “Rogers.”

You choked on a laugh when he winced and held the phone several inches from his ear. There was only one person that could elicit that kind of reaction; Natasha Romanov. While Steve was busy, the waitress came over and took your order. She was completely transfixed by Steve, almost dropping her pencil several times.

“So,” you murmured. “How’s Nat?”

Steve shook his head as he slid the slim phone into the pocket on the inside of his jacket. “She warned me to be on my best behavior.”

“She threatened you,” you clarified.

“She threatened me,” Steve agreed, a small smile tugging at his lips.

At that moment, your phone chirped. It was a text from Nat, saying exactly what she had said, followed with several laughing emojis. You sent a quick reply, promising to tell her when you’d be leaving the diner.

“You two are close.” It wasn’t a question.

You sat back and took off your jacket, sighing happily as the cooler air skimmed over your arms. “She’s closer to me than most of my family. We’ve been through so much together that there’s nothing I can’t think of where we won’t be side-by-side.”

Steve hummed and nodded. “It’s good to have someone like that in your life.”

“You seem pretty close with your brother,” you offered, remembering the way they signaled each other at the bar.

“Yeah, I guess,” he shrugged, dropping his eyes from your face to the paper mat on the table.

A blind person would have seen the rapid change in his demeanor, so you brought the conversation back to the start. “How did you know where I was?”

His wide shoulders shook as he fought back a laugh. “God, you don’t give up, do you?”

“Not when it comes to the possibility that I might have a stalker. So… spill,” you ordered.

Steve looked at you, ocean-blue eyes drilling into yours. “I own a multi-million dollar telecommunications company. You tell me how I found out where you were.”

Narrowing your eyes playfully, you slapped at one of his hands. “You tracked my phone, you jerk.”

The waitress announced herself loudly, and it was clearly written all over her face, that she was pretending not to be interested. “Anything else I can get you right away?”

Steve didn’t even look at her when he dismissed her. “We’re good.”

You giggled after taking a long drink of your water. “Tell me, are you always that dismissive of the female variety?”

“Why do you ask?”

With a brow arched high, you stared at him. “You literally ran away from me, and that waitress, she’s been eyeing you since we got here.”

“I told you,” he groaned. “I don’t want to -”

“Ruin me,” you interrupted with a hard roll of your eyes. “What the fuck does that even mean?”

Steve pulled in a ragged breath as his eyes closed. “I… I’m a complicated man, Y/N.”

“That explains absolutely jack,” you huffed.

“I can’t… it’s not…,” he stammered, struggling to find the right words. It wasn’t something he was used to, not having the exact answer. Steve strived to be in control in all aspects of his life, at all times. But at that moment, he wanted nothing more than to dive across the table and show you just how fucked up you would be if he were to let you into his life.

Sighing heavily, you went to rest a hand on his, and to your surprise, he didn’t pull away. “You don’t owe me an explanation, Steve. I’m sorry I keep pushing the issue. I just… for having just met you, I like you. I thought that maybe you felt the same.”

“I do,” he breathed, turning his hand over to hold yours. “In fact, I’m incapable of leaving you alone.”

“Then don’t,” was your raspy reply. You gave his hand a squeeze before abandoning it to eat.

A proud smile took control of his lips for a moment at the sight, and he seemed more than happy to spend the rest of the time at the diner in silence, but you had another question for him.

“Why did you send me the books?”

Steve took a long drink of his water before answering. “I owed you an apology for my behavior. Do you not like them?”

“God, no,” you blurted. “I love them. I… I can’t keep them, though.”

“What, why?”

You had to keep from laughing at the almost puppy-like look he wore, as if you had just kicked him or taken his favorite toy. “They cost entirely too much to be meant as an apology.”

He was shaking his head and looking at you intently. “You are not to return them to me, Y/N. They are yours.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but he wasn’t having it. “Not another word about it.”

“Yes, sir,” you mumbled under your breath.

When you rolled your eyes, you missed the way he shifted in his seat and gnawed on his bottom lip.

Nat was sitting on the couch when you got home. “You didn’t text.”

“Sorry, mom,” you groaned, kicking off the heels, not caring that one of them slapped into the wall loudly.

She said your name in a way that made you regret calling her mom. “You go off with someone we don’t even know -”

“And you were with his brother,” you added, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge and drinking until your lungs burned. “I’m fine, Nat. See?” you spun in a circle, which was a really bad idea.

Nat was at your side in the blink of an eye. “Why are you spinning?”

“To show you that I am in one piece,” you sassed. “I think… I think I’m gonna pass out.”

She latched an arm around your waist and hauled you into your room, dropping you to your bed just as you fell asleep.

Once home, Steve headed straight for his room. Not his bedroom, but the room that was off limits to everyone except for himself and whoever he had entered into an agreement with. He closed the door behind him and locked it, closing himself off from Bucky, who was downstairs, had shaken his head and grumbled something under his breath.

In closing the door, he also closed out the voices, the ones that told him he didn’t deserve someone like Y/N. She wasn’t like the others, the needy women that begged to be controlled, that got off on the control he held over them. Steve was a man that demanded control in everything he did, whether it was his work life, or personal. But whenever he was around her, all of that control, every last bit of it started to disappear. He didn’t like the way it felt, the way it seemed to slip through his fingers like water, dripping off his knuckles, no matter how tight he squeezed his hand.

Steve wanted Y/N, and he wanted her so bad he felt the carnal need pulsing in the marrow of his bones. But he knew that his life – what he did in private – was not something that he would… subject her to. It was demanding, he was demanding of his submissives.

The phone in his pocket buzzed; Clint.

“Hey, brother,” Steve greeted, leaving the room and locking it behind him.

“Man, I think I’m in love,” Clint announced.

Steve could hear the smile in his voice. “Slow down, man. Who is it this time?”

“Nat, Y/N’s friend.”

Chuckling, Steve poured himself a drink. “She threatened to cut off my -”

“Balls, puree’ them and force you to drink them,” Clint interrupted. “You should’a seen her, man. She was… amazing.”

“You know, her and Y/N are really close.”

Clint took a pull from the cigar he was smoking. “And? It’s not like you need an in. She likes you.”

“It’s not that simple, Clint.”

Steve could practically hear his brother roll his eyes. “And you like her.”

“Damn it,” he growled. “It’s not -”

“That simple,” Clint finished Steve’s sentence. “You said that already.”

“Goodnight, Clint.” Steve disconnected the call before his brother could say anything else.

It was almost noon when you woke, your mouth dry as sand, your legs tangled in the sheets, and your skin slick with sweat. You had been dreaming of Steve between your thighs, buried to the hilt, making the most sensual sounds as he brought you to climax. It had felt so real, his beard as it burned your skin, the way he stretched you out, driving you higher and higher –

“Rise and shine,” Nat cooed as she opened your door.

“Lemme sleep,” you argued, rolling to your side, groaning low in your throat.

Your friend all out giggled. “Not happening, Y/N. We’re going out.”

“Why?” you asked, pushing up to your elbow.

She handed you a glass of water and three ibuprofen. “Get up, take a shower, and brush your goddamn teeth,” she chastised, making a face.

“Tell me where we’re going,” you demanded.

Nat shot a wink over her shoulder. “It’s a surprise.” She was out the door, effectively ending the conversation.

“Shit,” you moaned after draining the glass. There was no arguing with Natasha, you had learned that years ago, but damn it, you were hungover. With a resigned sigh, you stood on shaking legs and shuffled into the bathroom.

FIVE

Steve: @mjdoc90 @hides-in-the-shadows

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