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.

Executive Decision Series Master List

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

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Highly Inappropriate

Summary: You find out that being Tony’s assistant comes with some extra perks.
Word Count: 2,789
Warnings: Language, angst, brief mention of PTSD, anxiety, night terrors, depression, explicit sexual content, safe sex, oral sex [female receiving], light spanking, some dirty talk
Author’s Note: Requested by @lilacprincessofrecovery This is my first time really writing a one shot with Tony Stark as the star. Please be kind.

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

Being an assistant to Tony Stark wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. Tony wasn’t always the carefree, funny, charismatic guy that everyone wanted him to be. He was broken, barely held together, he suffered from PTSD, had night terrors, depression, anxiety; the list was endless, and you were there to witness it all.

Because they couldn’t be with Tony twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, Happy and Pepper trusted you to keep an eye on him, to make sure he took his medication and made it to all his meetings on time. Since Tony wasn’t one for abiding by the rules, the first few months were hell on earth. He screamed a lot, and threw things, never directly at you, though. He also refused to routinely take his medication. And then one day, you had had enough.

You kicked off your heels, marched over to him, shoved him onto the couch, and sat on his lap, your thick thighs on either side of his. “Stop acting like a goddamn child, and take your medicine,” you snarled, eyebrow arched.

With wide eyes, he did as instructed, even going so far as to lift his tongue for you to see that he had indeed taken his medication.

You huffed and clapped your hand against his chest. “Don’t make me do that again, Mr. Stark,” you said, low in your throat.

There was a spark in his eyes that sent a rush of heat to your core. “Or what, Miss Y/L/N?”

“Or I’ll sit on you again,” you sassed, rolling your eyes and shoving yourself off of your boss.

“That doesn’t sound like much of a threat,” Tony chuckled.

You gnawed on the inside of your cheek as you stepped into your heels. “It only is if I have to take this conversation to human resources,” you shot back.

“You wouldn’t,” he murmured, pushing up from the couch and crossing the room to stand in front of you.

To say that you weren’t attracted to the one and only Tony Stark, would be like saying you hated drinking alcohol when you wanted to get drunk. He was damn attractive, snarky, his wit was unparalleled, but he was also your boss. Exploring anything in the realm of a non-professional relationship was out of the question. Besides, you weren’t what most would consider sexy, especially a playboy like Tony. Along with the rest of the world, you had seen his conquests, and none of them looked like you.

You had curves that most women secretly coveted, but would never say aloud; thick thighs, supple breasts, and a plump ass. Sure, your stomach was softer than most others, you had cellulite and stretch marks, and yeah, you had days where you felt bloated, where all you wanted to do was pull on a pair of sweats and lounge around watching Netflix, but you didn’t hate the way you looked.

Standing there, close enough to smell the remnants of his spicy cologne, to see that his moustache was starting to go grey, you fought the urge to grab his lapels and show him exactly what you wanted to do.

“Don’t test me, Mr. Stark,” was all you said before turning around and strutting out of his office, his rich laugh following you.

It had been six months since the day you forced Tony to take his medication, and every day following, he took it without an issue. The only times he ever really refused was when you weren’t in the room. Pepper had given up on trying, citing, “He’s a grown ass man, he needs to act like one.” You couldn’t help but laugh at that.

You had also noticed a slight shift in the relationship between the two of you. Tony acted a little looser around you, almost as if he were letting his walls down as he grew more comfortable in your presence. You had even caught his eyes lingering a little too long on you than was socially acceptable, his bottom lip trapped between his teeth, a glint in his eyes, but you thought nothing of it. Tony was just being Tony; goofing around, flirting with women; that didn’t mean he liked you.

Everyone had left hours ago, it was just Tony and yourself in his office. You were taking notes for an upcoming speech, barely paying attention, your ears and hand working solely on muscle memory. Speaking of muscles, the ones in your neck and shoulders were aching. With your eyes closed, you tilted your head to the side, then all the way back, and finally, the other side. It felt so good that you couldn’t stop the moan of appreciation.

Tony turned from his spot, standing in front of the tinted windows, surveying the bright lights below. You felt him watching you as you did it one more time, but when your eyes fluttered open, Tony was nowhere to be seen. And then, his long fingers were on your neck, squeezing the tense muscles.

“Relax, Miss Y/L/N,” he instructed, his voice rich.

“Mr. Stark,” you whined in protest, but did nothing to move away from his touch. “This is highly inappropriate.”

His chuckle washed over you like silk sheets. “Everything I do is highly inappropriate,” he shot back.

When he pushed the pad of his thumbs into the back of your neck, you couldn’t stop the moan that spilled free. Your head lolled forward as his fingers pushed deeper, unravelling the knots one by one, as his hands spread over your shoulders, continuing their ministrations. His hands were warm, and your skin was absorbing that heat and rushing it down to the pit of your stomach where it started to ache. You squeezed your thighs together in a futile attempt to ease it.

“Yes, Tony,” you hissed under your breath, your mind fogged with arousal.

You were in such a haze that when he asked, “Do you like that?” you let out a stuttering sigh.

“It feels so good.” The headache that had been making your brain pulse painfully was almost completely gone, thanks to Tony’s magical fingers.

His mouth was next to your ear when he asked, “Do you want to take a break from this?”

You were shaking your head before he could complete the question. “Hell no,” was your breathy answer.

Before you could blink, Tony spun the chair around and had your face cupped in his hands. “I was hoping you’d say that,” he rasped, and then his lips were on yours.

Your back went ramrod straight for not even three seconds before you sighed and opened your mouth to him. Tony tasted like whiskey, and smelled like faded spice and leather. You gripped the lapels of his lilac shirt and pulled him roughly to you as you stood.

Tony’s hands moved to your hips and he moaned, low and heavy, in the back of his throat. “Jesus. Been wanting to do that for a long time.”

“You don’t say,” you huffed. You could feel the heat of his hands through your clothes, and you found yourself desperately wanting to feel the heavy weight of his hands in other, most definitely inappropriate, places.

He was gnawing on his bottom lip, those large molten chocolate eyes settled on your mouth, and his hips, those narrow hips you had dreamed about many times, were shifting as he moved closer. “What about you?” he asked, a smirk on his lips. “What do you want?”

You draped your arms over his shoulders, thereby pressing your breasts into his chest. “You sure you want to know?”

“Wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t, sweetheart” Tony chuckled, his fingers drifting closer to your ass.

Humming, you carded your fingers through his hair, your nails scraping against his scalp in a way that made him shudder slightly. There was a second where you felt like you needed to put as much space between you and Tony, that this was all wrong, that maybe what was happening was a cruel joke, but that quickly fell away as he gripped your ass and growled.

With a smirk, you decided to go for it. “I’ve been wondering if you’re as good with your mouth on my pussy as you are at pissing people off with it.”

“Challenge accepted,” he grinned, and then he was kissing you fiercely, fingers digging into your ass, maneuvering you with him as he walked to his desk.

Before you knew it, you were sitting on the edge of his desk, his narrow hips between your thick thighs, and his hands were under the hem of your dress, hitching it higher, exposing the lacy trim of your thigh-high stockings. You dropped your hands behind you, pressing them into the desk as you lifted your ass. Tony’s dark eyes were locked on yours, bottom lip between his teeth, shoving your skirt up and over your hips.

“You sure you can handle all of this?” you rasped. “I’m a lot more woman than you’re used to.”

Tony chuckled, low and dark. “Sweetheart,” he purred. “You have no idea what I’m used to.”

You went to say something about the women you’d seen him with, how everything he did in the public was there, for all to see, but then he was kissing you, fiercer than before, bruising you, swallowing your low moans. His long fingers deftly unbuttoned your shirt and parted it, exposing your lace-covered breasts, the nipples peaked and straining against the fabric. Tony pushed the lace down and moaned heavily into your mouth as the weight of them settled into his palms.

Tony’s goatee bit into your skin as his mouth travelled along your jaw, down your neck, dropping sloppy kisses, tonguing your flushed skin. You watched through hooded lids as he placed numerous kisses over your ample breasts, first one, then the other, until you were shivering with anticipation. And then, his mouth closed over your nipple, his fingers rolling the other one between it, pinching it, sending a jolt down your spine and settling between your legs.

As much as you enjoyed the feeling of his mouth on you breasts, the ache between your legs was getting to be too much, and it was as if Tony could sense it, whether it was because you wrapped a leg around his waist and pulled him into you, or because of the way you were whining, your bottom lip between your teeth, Tony’s mouth ventured down, placing kisses to your belly, sucking red marks into the skin, but when he pressed his nose into your groin and pulled in a deep breath, you just about came undone.

“Damn, darling,” he huffed, fingers brushing against your damp cotton panties. “You smell so good. I can’t wait to taste you.”

“I’m not going to stop you,” you choked.

He shot you a wicked wink before hooking his fingers into your panties and pulling them down your legs, tucking them into his pocket for, “Safekeeping, Y/N.”

The air that was trapped in your lungs came out in a rush when he touched you, parting your slick folds with the back of his two middle fingers, his knuckles exposing your clit, which he then blew on. Your hips shot off the desk of their own accord, which earned you a slap on the back of your thigh.

“Hold still,” he ordered, and boy, did you try.

Tony slid one finger inside you, then another. His strokes were languid and short, inching in and out of you, making you whine for more. He let loose a rich chuckle as he pushed in to his knuckles and curled those talented fingers, scissoring them, stretching you as you climbed higher and higher.

It was when he finally tasted you that you couldn’t help yourself any longer; you grabbed his hair and held him there, shuddering as he sucked on your clit before thrusting his tongue in alongside his fingers. When he moved them in tandem, that was when you came; your head thrown back, your thighs shaking, Tony’s tongue lapping up your juices, your voice a shattered shout of his name.

You whined in protest at the sudden loss of Tony’s fingers, but the sound of his belt and pants coming undone was music to your ears. He stood between your legs, his hair standing on end, a wild look in his eyes, and rolling on a condom onto a cock that made your mouth water.

“There’s plenty of time for that later,” he growled. “Get up, turn around, and bend over.”

You did as instructed, moving to step out of your heels, but stopped when he added, “Leave them on.”

Tony stroked himself as you obeyed him, pushing items off of his desk, putting your ass on display. You hissed at the cool wood against your breasts, but your attention was quickly drawn to the wide head of his cock, and the way it slid through your folds, easing his entrance.

It was intoxicating, the burn as you stretched around his thick cock, the heavy twitch of it when he groaned, inching in until he could go no further. There was a large vein on the underside of his cock that pulsed with every beat of his heart, and it made your pussy clench.

“Yes,” he hissed, grabbing your ass. “Shit, you take my cock so well.”

In a desperate need for friction, you rocked your hips. “Tony, please,” you whined.

“What do you need, baby girl?” he purred, bending over to press a kiss to your shoulder.

You about sobbed when his cock twitched. “I need you.”

“You need me to what?” His cock twitched again, and you knew he was doing it on purpose, driving you mad with desire. Well, two could play at that game.

“I want you,” you arched your back and tightened yourself around him, “to fuck me.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Tony snarled. He stood tall and did as you requested of him.

With each snap of his hips, your ass slapped against his stomach, echoing each of the gasps you couldn’t help but give at the sensation. Tony was digging bruises into your ass, using it for leverage, pulling you harder into him, the force of it all making him grunt, and he loved every second of it. And then, he did something you never thought he would do; he brought his hand down and slapped your ass.

You hissed at the sting, but in a pleasurable, “Do it again, harder,” kind of way.

Tony did what he did best; he gave the people what they wanted, if only for purely selfish reasons, because when he slapped your ass, your pussy clenched, squeezing his cock, driving him closer to orgasm. He timed each slap, so that when he was buried to the hilt, he’d spank you, and you’d grip him so tight, he would see stars.

Three times he did that, and the third time was when everything unravelled. You gripped onto the edge of the desk – knocking several items off his desk in the process – and came, a sinful sounding moan on your tongue and your eyes rolling back. He was close behind you, thrusting sloppily until he stopped moving altogether, his cock buried in your pussy, pulsing as he came, a snarl on his lips.

Tony peppered kisses to your shoulder as he pulled out, and stopped you from standing with a hand between your shoulder blades. “Catch your breath,” he instructed, his own breath tearing in and out of him.

With your eyes closed and your mind spinning, you heard Tony dispose of the condom and clean himself up. A shiver ran through you at the silky strip of fabric in his hand as he gently cleaned you, murmuring praises and dropping kisses as he went. Next, he was helping you into your panties, securing them around your hips, and adjusting your skirt so that you were covered before you stood. As soon as you were facing him, Tony was kissing you, slowly, gently, fixing your bra, and refastening the buttons on your shirt.

“Never imagined you as the gentle and caring type,” you hummed against his lips.

Tony tucked some hair behind your ear. “I take care of my girl,” he stated matter-of-factly. “Don’t let anyone try and convince you otherwise.”

With a smirk, you readjusted his tie and tucked it into the heather grey vest. “I’m your girl, huh?”

“Nobody else can handle me the way you do,” Tony admitted with a shrug.

“Boy,” you chuckled. “I ain’t even handled you yet.”

He shifted closer, and placed his hands on your hips, and God, it felt so right. “Let’s get started.”

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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.

Executive Decision Series Master List

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

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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

Seventeen

Summary: Steve has been shutting you out for over a month, and you’ve had enough.
Word Count: 947
Warnings: Heavy angst, language
Author’s Note: For @moonchildcharm Could I request a Steve Rogers piece based on “Seventeen” from Heathers? Maybe how she is in the same situation, and doesn’t age?

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

Back at the compound, you stormed away from the quinjet, away from everyone, but mainly, away from Steve. He’d been blatantly ignoring you for over a month, since the night you told him how you really felt about him, that you had broken the cardinal rule by falling in love.

If that weren’t bad enough, the mission was a goddamn shit show. While Steve was too busy to listen to anything you had to say, the group was overrun and Wanda got hurt, badly. To say that you were seething was putting it lightly.

You were on your second glass of wine when Steve found you. At the sight of him, your vision went red. You spun around to leave the room, but he was behind you, hand on your elbow, whipping you around in the blink of an eye.

“What do you want?” you sneered, ripping your arm away from him.

“We need to talk,” he ground out.

You were shaking your head and rolling your eyes. “I’ve been trying to talk to you for a fucking month, Steve.”

He crossed his arms and the sight of his chest and shoulders flexing under the grey shirt he was now wearing made your mouth go dry. “I’m ready now.”

“Fuck that,” you scoffed. “Find someone who actually gives a shit about what you have to say.”

Steve grabbed your arm again and he stared at you with icy eyes. “You surprised me before.”

“You mean when I said that was in love with you?” Rolling your eyes again, you yanked free from his hold. “How the hell does that warrant being completely shut out, huh?”

“It wasn’t supposed to happen.”

“Newsflash,” you shouted. “It fucking did! I’m not perfect, Steve. I’m not you! I actually listen to my feelings.”

Steve ran a hand through his dark hair. “I’m far from perfect. I’m damaged, Y/N.”

“Oh, for fuck sake,” you grumbled. “You’re damaged, I’m damaged, we’re all damaged, Steve. Like, really fucking damaged. But that doesn’t mean we can’t be happy.”

“That’s exactly what it means,” he insisted, voice low, eyes dark.

Tears pricked your eyes, but you refused to let Steve see them. “We’re not special, Steve. We’re not different.”

Steve scoffed loudly. “We have both been experimented on, Y/N. If we’re not different, I don’t know what the fuck different is.”

“So that’s it? The almighty Steven Rogers has spoken, and his word is the law. Fuck, you,” you snarled.

“Goddamn, Y/N,” he groaned. “You’re like a damn child. We don’t get to have a normal life. We choose who lives and who dies. We don’t get to go out and drink beer, see bad movies, or go bowling. We’re not seventeen, so stop acting like it.”

With your hands balled into fists at your side, you growled. “I’m not asking for that!”

“Then what the fuck do you want?” he demanded to know even though he already knew the answer.

“For Christ sake,” you snarled. “I want you, I want a life with you, that’s all. Don’t you want a life with me?”

Steve was shaking his head, an emotion you couldn’t pinpoint flashing in his eyes. “No,” was all he said.

“That’s bullshit, and you fucking know it. If you could just let me in, we would be so good together,” you insisted, your voice softer than before, but he was refusing to listen.

“I get it, Steve. People hurt us all the time, they vanish, they lie, they cheat, and it really blows, but we can’t hold onto that. We have to let go, take a deep breath, and move on.” You were standing in front of him, staying just out reach, watching his face start to crumble.

“We can’t,” he repeated his earlier protest, his voice thin, weak, almost to the point of shattering.

You knew it was a risk, but you grabbed his hands. “We can. We can do stupid shit like camping, playing strip poker, maybe even go dancing. Just… let me in, Steve. Is that so hard to do?”

Steve’s eyes were swimming in tears as he kissed you, catching you by surprise. You gasped into his mouth and hooked your arms around his neck, arching your body into his. His hands were on your ass and your back, pulling you impossibly closer, his kisses greedy and searing.

You didn’t care that you couldn’t breathe, you wanted to spend the rest of your life right there, pressed against every hard line of Steve Rogers, but he tore his mouth from yours and wrenched free from your hold.

“Steve?” you rasped, working hard to get him to look at you.

“I shouldn’t have done that,” he murmured, disappointment heavy on his tongue, his fingers moving over his lips, smearing away your kisses.

It was like a punch to the gut, but you couldn’t give up, not yet. “What’s it gonna be? Because, I choose you. I’ll always choose you.”

Steve shook his head and started backing away. “No.”

“I’ll stay if I’m what you choose,” you hated yourself for how desperate you sounded.

He looked at you, his eyes cold. “Goodbye, Y/N.”

“But, I love you, Steve. You’re the one I choose,” you insisted.

With a sad smile, Steve turned around and quickly walked from the room, and you, well, you went up to your room and packed a bag. There was no way you could stay there, work side-by-side with Steve.

Fifteen minutes later, you were handing in your resignation to Maria – whether she wanted to accept it or not, and getting onto a motorcycle. You didn’t start crying until you crossed the state line.

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

Dying Kisses

Summary: You’re with Dean at the end.
Word Count: 498 [tags under the cut]
Warnings: Heartache, major character death, fluff [I guess] ~~I’m so sorry~~
Author’s Note: We’re super excited about these drabbles and hope you enjoy them.

Mimi & Star’s Supernatural Kissing Series Master List

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

“We’ll figure it out, Dean,” you croaked, tears streaming down your face. “That’s what we do.”

His lungs were filling with blood with every breath he tried to take. “Not this time, Y/N.” The light in his eyes had started to fade, and you weren’t having it.

You grabbed his shirt and his shoulders, roughly pulling him into you. “No, no, Dean. I won’t let you go. I… I can’t.”

Dean pressed a bloodied hand to your face and pulled you down for a kis. “I ne… never said it, bu… but I lo… love you, Y/N. I do,” he gasped, the wet rattle of his lungs echoing in the warehouse.

“I love you,” you cried, kissing him again, not caring as his blood smeared on your lips.

You felt last breath left him and watched as his hand fell away. “No,” you sobbed. “Stay with me.”

Sam’s hand was heavy on your shoulders. “Let’s get him home.”

The ride was long and filled with this dreadful silence that neither of you dare try to break. There were sniffles and sounds of wiping away tears, but that was it. Even after pulling into the garage, carrying Dean’s body through the bunker, into his room; neither of you said anything.

You left Sam alone to mourn, giving him the time that you knew he would give you. By the time you finished showering and changing clothes, Sam had left, leaving a beaten and battered Dean Winchester; brother, Righteous Man, beloved. He was all those things and more.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, you took his hand in yours and kissed his ragged knuckles. Next, you kissed his palms and the inside of his wrist. You bent over him and kissed his blood-smudged forehead, his nose, and finally, his once-responding lips.

Incoherent sobs racked your body, leaving you hunched over him, your fingers clutching his shirt, shaking him.

“Please, come back, Dean,” you begged. “I… I need you. Sam needs you. God, Dean, we need you so fucking much. Just… please, come back.”

You pushed up and grabbed his face, kissing him again, harder than before. It was pointless, Dean was dead, and there was no coming back from that. Not again. Not this time. But that didn’t stop you.

“Look at me, Dean,” you demanded. “Open your eyes and look at me. Please, I… I’m right here.”

Ashamed of your irrational actions, you hung your head and sighed heavily. You smoothed his shirt and went to stand when something happened, something that made you gasp and scramble away, something that made your blood run ice cold.

Dean’s eyes opened, but they weren’t the whiskey and pine shade you fell in love with. They weren’t just black, they were pitch, void of any color, reminding you of a bottomless cavern, an endless tunnel, death.

With a smirk, he sat up and leveled you with a gaze that made your breath catch in your throat.

“Miss me?”

Kissing Series Supernatural Tags: @salt-n-burn-em-all @atc74 @feelmyroarrrr @the-trap-is-set @salvachester @kileybird @aubreystilinski @starry-chaos @waywardlodging @rizlow1 @captainemwinchester @itswhateveripromise @lupine-princess @mickey-m399 @super-fan-of-all-things @theoriginalvicki @tia58 @horsegirly99 @paintrider13-blog @tardis-is-mine @room-with-a-cat @plaid-lover-bay25 @speakinvain

Sad Kisses

Summary: Sam is there for you during your loss.
Word Count: 283 [tags under the cut]
Warnings: Sad fluff
Author’s Note: We’re super excited about these drabbles and hope you enjoy them.

Mimi & Star’s Supernatural Kissing Series Master List

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

You were sitting on the couch, staring at your hands which were tangled with Sam’s much larger ones. His thumb was sweeping back and forth over your skin as he murmured his condolences against your temple, his lips pressed to your skin.

The feline’s name was Tigger, and not because he resembled the fictional character you desperately adored from your childhood, but because your Tigger bounced around the house on all four paws, his tail curling at the tip. God, he looked so stupid when he did it.

You felt stupid, crying over a cat that you’d had in your life for less than two years, but Tigger hadn’t been like other cats.

For starters, he loved it when you rubbed his belly. Loved. It. He would lie on his back, next to your thigh, and paw at your hand, chittering until you gave in to his demands. When you came home from a particularly bad day at work, he would jump onto your lap, press his head into your chin and jaw, purring loudly. When you were happy, he’d lick your cheeks. Whatever was going on with you, he was right there, feeling everything.

He was your companion, and how did you repay him? By euthanizing him. To be fair, you weren’t the one that gave him cancer, but it was still your decision to end his suffering.

Sam pulled you into him, your legs were draped over his, and your arms wrapped around him of their own volition. You couldn’t stop the sobs that wracked your body, or the tears that stained Sam’s shirt.

The last thing you remembered was Sam sliding into bed next to you and holding you close.

Plus One

Title: Plus One
Summary: You’re were the ugly duckling in high school and, as a joke, you get invited to the wedding of someone that was the ringleader in making your life a living hell. You don’t want to go, you have no date, and you don’t feel like seeing her and her minions again. Steve insists that you go, with him as your plus one.
Word Count: 4,098
Warnings: Slight angst, fluff, insecure reader, explicit sexual content, unsafe sex
Author’s Note: This is for @captain-rogers-beard Mimi’s Marvel Trope Challenge and my trope is unplanned bed sharing.

GIF CREDIT

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

The white card with sparkling gold lettering in your hand fluttered to the countertop, landing with a soft swish.

Kimberly – everyone calls me Kimber – was inviting you to her wedding, and it made your stomach churn. She had made your life a living hell in high school, her and her crew, the cheerleaders of Y/Town high. They were cruel; making fun of your awkwardly long legs, the hand-me-down clothes you wore, the ones that had been stitched and patched several times over, the feel-it-in-your-bones laugh you emitted when you found something truly funny… nothing you did was good enough for them.

After all she had done, why did she get the happy ending?

You took a drink of wine, hoping it would ease your nerves. No matter how hard you tried not to focus on the invitation, your eyes kept falling to it. With an annoyed scoff, you grabbed a pen and went to place a checkmark in the box that said you would not be attending.

“What’chu got there?” Steve asked, stopping your hand just as the pen was about to scratch the paper.

“Nothing,” you sighed. “Just RSVP’ing for a wedding I won’t be attending.”

His brows pulled together as he plucked it from the countertop, his azure eyes scanning over it. “It’s this weekend, and you’re just now letting them know you can’t go?”

“I only just got it,” you insisted, grabbing the envelope to show him the postmark.

“Why don’t you want to go?” he asked, dropping onto the bar stool.

Rolling your eyes, you drained your glass. “Kimber was… vicious, Steve. She was Queen Bitch and I was… I was at the bottom of the food chain.”

“Y/N,” Steve lamented, his hand covering yours. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”

“No one does,” you chuckled sadly. “Those four years were the worst of my life. Once I graduated, I left town and never looked back.”

Steve’s hand was still on yours, his thumb sweeping against your palm. “What if I went with you?”

“What?” you scoffed.

“I’ll go with you to Queen Bitch’s wedding,” he repeated, a smirk on his lips.

You were shaking your head. “But… why?”

“Because it’ll be fun to see the look on her face when you walk in the door, dressed to kill.”

“Steve, stop,” you protested weakly. “I’m… I’m not… I can’t go.”

Steve stood, rounded the granite island, and rested his hands on your shoulders. “You are,” the word beautiful didn’t need to be said, it hung there, thickening the air between you like the early morning fog dancing above the water.

“I won’t push the matter, but I think it would be good for you to go,” he murmured, eyes boring into yours. “Face her, Y/N. Get yourself some closure.”

“And you’ll be with me?”

“The entire time,” he confirmed, giving your shoulders a squeeze.

Nodding, you pulled in a stuttering breath. Steve released you, giving you room to RSVP, marking down Plus one.

Steve was waiting for you at the bottom of the stairs, dressed in a dashing suit, his face clean-shaven, and damn, did it make your heart stutter in your chest.

He turned just as you began your descent, the fabric of your navy and white lace dress moving almost noiselessly against your legs. His eyes went wide for a split second, and then he cleared his throat, adjusted his jacket, and held out his hand.

“You clean up nice,” you teased him, settling your hand in his.

Steve smirked as he tucked your hand in the crook of his arm. “Could say the same for you.”

You jabbed him in the ribs with your elbow, pulling a pained groan from your best friend. “Shuddup, I always look this good,” you sassed, rolling your eyes.

You were laughing hard enough that you didn’t hear him say, “Yeah, you do.”

The ceremony was painfully long, filled with cameras flashing and the occasional Awwww, and by the time it was over, your ass had fallen asleep, as had the backs of your thighs, and you were sure Steve had started dozing off. The entire congregation stood after the announcement of the newly minted Mr. and Mrs. whatever-their-last-name-was. You almost fell over, thanks to your numb feet, but Steve wrapped an arm around your shoulders, holding you upright.

“Thanks,” you murmured, hooking your arm around his waist.

Steve maneuvered you to stand in front of him as people started filing out, offering their congratulations and best wishes to Kimber and her husband. His hands started on your hips, aiding you in walking, preventing you from falling as the feeling came back to your feet and legs. During the trek, his hands slid to your stomach and your back was against his chest, your head turned so he could hear you complain about having to shake her hand, or worse, hug your mortal enemy.

“Y/N Y/L/N,” Kimber’s constant tone of disapproval wiped the smile from your face. “We didn’t expect you to make it.”

You put on your best smile when you said, “I did RSVP.”

Kimber’s laugh was annoyingly fake. “And with a plus one,” she purred, her eyes roaming over Steve.

“Congratulations,” he said, his smile warm – albeit fake, hand stretched out.

“Thank you,” the bride mused. “How long have you two been friends?”

You don’t know how you managed to keep from lunging over and wiping the smile from Kimber’s face. You wrapped your arm around Steve’s waist, pressed your hand against his stomach, and divulged, “We’ve been dating for almost a year.”

“Babe,” the groom hissed. “You’re holding up the line.”

Kimber huffed loudly, but kept her eyes locked on yours. “Will you and your date be staying for the reception?”

You were nodding and chuckling. “Well, I did RSVP. Yes, we will be there.”

Steve was laughing as he steered you away and around the corner, away from the prying eyes of Kimber. “You’re gonna get us in trouble.”

“For what, Steve?” you asked, rolling your eyes. “I just… ugh. She brings out the worst in me.”

Steve took your hands in his, his fingers sliding between yours perfectly. “Don’t let her.”

“Steve, I… it’s not that easy,” you insisted.

“You think that I don’t know that?” he insisted.

Growing up, Steve was sick, a lot. He was short and dangerously thin, the perfect target for bullies. His best friend, Bucky, was there, acting as his unofficial bodyguard, beating the crap out of anyone that dare lay a finger on Steve. It wasn’t until after college that he hit a much desired growth spurt. He started running and working out, developing into the man that towered over you, a man that made your heart speed up, made your stomach tighten, a man that you had long since fallen in love with.

You let out a stuttering breath. “I’m sorry. I just got caught up in it.”

“No apologies, okay?”

When you nodded in agreement, he smiled brightly. “Now, let’s go have a good time.”

“The single’s table,” you scoffed, rolling your eyes. “Of course she seated us here.”

Steve nudged your foot with his. “Did you really expect anything different?” he asked with a low chuckle.

“To be honest, I didn’t expect a seat at all,” you laughed.

“Silver lining, then,” he said with a wink before offering to get you a drink.

Only when he was gone did the woman to your left say anything. “You’re Y/N, right?”

“Michelle?” you gasped in recognition. “God, didn’t think I’d see you here.”

Your old classmate laughed. “I didn’t expect an invitation,” she admitted.

Pivoting in your seat, you reached over and hugged her. The two of you hadn’t been super close, only knew each other since she was only slightly above you in the high school food chain, but whenever the two of you did talk, it was for hours, going late into the night sometimes.

“Where’d you find him?” she inquired, her eyes shining excitedly.

You followed her line of sight and let out a soft sigh. “Steve’s been my best friend since moving to Brooklyn after high school.”

“The friends to lovers trope,” Michelle chuckled. “I dig it.”

There was a moment where you weren’t sure what Michelle meant, but then Steve looked over his shoulder and gave you a wink that sent your heart spiraling out of control.

“Ye- yeah,” you stammered.

Steve came back several moments later with a large glass of your favorite wine and a beer for him. “My ears are burning,” he smirked. “What are you two ladies up to?”

Michelle was the one that answered. “Just admiring the view,” she all out giggled.

You couldn’t help but laugh along, mostly because of the look on Steve’s face. His eyes went wide for a second, and then he was rolling them, waving his hand before taking a drink of beer.

“It’s my view that is exceptional,” he praised, sending the pair of you a wink.

And that was how the remainder of the reception was spent; flirting shamelessly, reminiscing about the few good days of high school you and Michelle had. Steve shared stories about him and Bucky; how Steve was the reason Bucky graduated, and how Bucky was the reason Steve remained living. The three of you took advantage of the free bar, but somehow seemed to stay shy of being sloppily drunk. You danced, you laughed, and you hated to admit it, but you were having a great time.

Getting invited to your arch nemesis’ wedding turned out to be a good thing. That was until Kimber descended upon you like a hawk on its prey.

“Y/N,” she cooed, her eyes glassy, a glass of champagne in her perfectly-manicured hand. “Gotta say, you were the last person I expected to see with a date.”

You pulled in a deep breath, a breath that was full of Steve’s cologne. “Sorry to be such a disappointment, Kimber.”

Steve’s arm was around your shoulder, his nails digging deliciously into your bicep. “Thank you for inviting us. We’ve been having a wonderful time.”

“Glad to hear,” she sneered, her eyes settling heavy on your hand that was on Steve’s stomach. “Say, did Y/N tell you what happened after she had her wisdom teeth removed?”

Your stomach dropped and you felt like you were going to throw up. “Kimberly, don’t,” you warned, a dark edge to your voice.

She continued with her story as if she hadn’t heard you. “She came to class the next day and sneezed so hard, she ended up pissing herself.” Kimberly was cackling so hard she could hardly breathe. “She had… had to go… home with… her pants… soaked… in PISS!”

Everyone in the room was watching you, their eyes full of pity, amusement, shame. Some of them even started to laugh.

Your eyes were full of tears when Steve said, “That’s enough.”

“Oh, come on, piss pants” she scoffed. “That was fucking funny.”

“So funny,” you sniffled, squaring your shoulders, “that you took pictures and plastered the halls with them.”

The groom was suddenly at Kimber’s side, whispering harshly in her ear, making his wife’s eyes go wide. Whatever he said did the trick, because she clamped her mouth shut and stomped off, her bridesmaids following close behind.

“I’m so, so sorry,” he said genuinely. “Are you okay?”

You were shaking your head. “I’m fine.”

Steve shook the groom’s hand and steered you from the large room. “Ignore them,” he advised as the weight of hundreds of eyes were on you.

“I just want to go home, Steve,” you muttered sadly, turning your face into his shoulder. His only answer was to press a kiss to your crown as he led you out of the building, and down the sidewalk.

The train station was only a handful of blocks away, but when you got there, the station was dark, the last train having left hours before. You groaned inwardly, or so you thought.

“There’s a hotel nearby,” he offered, pointing the way the pair of you had just come. “Offered a discounted rate for people attending the wedding.”

“Alright,” you huffed. You were tired, emotionally and physically. You couldn’t wait to kick off your shoes and take a hot shower.

Twenty-five minutes later, Steve had acquired a key card to a room, the “Last room available,” the clerk had said. So when Steve opened the door, whatever small expectations you’d had, went right out the window.

“One bed,” you muttered in disbelief. “There’s only one bed, Steve.”

“I know,” Steve admitted, dropping the key card to the table after locking the door. “It was this or take a cab home.”

Huffing in resignation, you propped a hand on the wall and unbuckled your shoes, dropping them to the floor a moment later. They ached in places you didn’t know existed, making you hiss when you stood flat-footed on the scratchy carpet.

“I need a shower,” you announced, not wanting to discuss the logistics of sleeping arrangements just yet.

With your dress hung on the hook and your hair loose, you stepped under the stream of hot water. The pressure was weak, but at that point in time, you didn’t really care, you just wanted to wash away the embarrassment of what had transpired.

You didn’t know how long you stood in the shower, water streaming down your body, mixing with your tears, but when the water went cold, you jumped back and quickly turned it off. Peeking your head out, you grabbed the nearest towel, and that was when you realized you had nothing to wear to bed. You couldn’t very well sleep naked, could you?

After drying off, you noticed a white shirt on the counter, a white shirt that smelled exactly like Steve. You tugged it over your head and choked on a laugh when the hem hit the top of your knees. You ran the towel through your hair, followed by a small brush that you had to remove from the plastic.

Steve was settled on the couch, a pillow folded in half behind his head, and one of the spare blankets covering his legs. “Feel any better?” he asked, tipping his head to look at you.

“Yeah, I guess,” was your soft answer. “Thank you for the shirt, for tonight, for… everything. You’ve been a great… friend to me.”

“You’re welcome,” he smiled, his eyes lingering a little too long at your exposed legs. He cleared his throat and cast a glance at the bed. “It’s all yours.”

The sheets had been turned down, and there were two pillows stacked on top of one another, just the way you liked it. You wanted to climb between the sheets and close your eyes, sleep the memories of the day away, but then you felt guilty about Steve sleeping on the couch, the couch that was too small for his giant frame.

“There’s room for both of us,” you lied.

Steve chuckled low in his throat. “No there’s not.” He was right, but it wouldn’t be impossible.

“We can fit,” you insisted. “Come on. You’re not going to get a good night’s sleep on the couch.”

His crystal eyes pierced through you. “You sure, Y/N?”

“A’course,” you answered with a smile.

Steve blew out a heavy breath before making up his mind. “You get in first.”

Wearing a smile, you slid between the sheets, your back to where Steve would be lying, facing the lamp. With a pillow in his hand, he crossed the room while you beat your pillows into submission as a distraction to the fact that he was wearing only a pair of red boxer briefs. Once he was at your back, blankets pulled up to his waist, you flicked off the lamp.

The bed squeaked as Steve worked at getting comfortable, something he failed at miserably.

“Why don’t you roll over?” you offered as a solution. “Might get you some more room if… if we… you know,”

“Spoon?”

Looking over your shoulder, you could see the outline of his head. “I won’t bite.”

“Fine,” he murmured under his breath in a way that made you feel like you had done something to upset him.

You rolled your eyes. “Or not. Whatever,” you huffed as you pushed your head into the pillow.

Steve rolled over and mirrored the way you were lying, keeping some space between you. You could feel the heat radiating off of him, and you had to fight the urge to back into him, to absorb some of his heat. His breath was hot against your neck and down the collar of his shirt. It was rhythmic and hypnotic, and your eyelids were starting to grow heavy…

“Y/N,” he whispered, his hand heavy on your hip.

You hummed in response, your body shifting on its own accord. “What’s’a matter?”

“Nothing. I mean, I don’t know.” His chest was against your back, his lips were barely a whisper away from the back of your neck, and his fingers were digging into your skin.

With a breath caught in your throat, your swallowed heavily and opened your eyes. “You’ve always been able to talk to me, Steve.” There went your body, shifting on its own, bringing your body closer to his, as if there were this magnetic pull between the two of you, and your body was tired of fighting it.

His hand slid under the hem of the shirt you were wearing, along your thigh, and over your hip. He drew in a stuttering breath at the realization that you had forgone your panties. Your name was a harsh whisper that pulled goosebumps to the surface as his blunt nails scraped over your skin.

“Steve,” you rasped, your heart beating like a hummingbird’s wings. You desperately wanted to roll over, to feel his skin scraping against yours, to mold your body to his, feel his plush lips against yours, but there was this… fear that it was all some sort of dream, or joke, or… something that wasn’t real.

“Tell me to stop, Y/N,” he implored, a dark edge to his voice. He shifted closer, until not an inch remained between you, until you could feel the thick length of his cock against your ass.

You shook your head once, looked over your shoulder, and found him staring at you, his eyes completely consumed by his pupils. Shifting just so, you pushed up and pressed your lips to his, relishing the way his fingers flexed, the way a moan bubbled in the back of his throat.

Steve pushed up to his elbow and deepened the kiss, moving his tongue against yours as if memorizing everything about it, about the way you tasted and sounded, the way you shifted as his hand skimmed over your stomach, up to your breasts. Your back arched and you wrapped your arm around his neck, grabbing his hair, and holding him to you.

His hand completely encompassed your breasts, each one filling his palm perfectly, his long fingers twisting and plucking your pert nipples expertly as if your body were an instrument that he played professionally.

You moved to your back, sighing into Steve’s mouth. He grabbed them hem of the shirt and pulled it off, throwing it to the side. Steve was on top of you, narrow hips between your thighs, back arching, mouth on yours, your neck, your breasts, marking you, his hands worshiping you, his cock growing harder with every gasp and noise you made.

“Steve, please,” you whined, your body thrumming. “I need you.”

His lips and teeth worked down your body, first your breasts, then your stomach, then the apex of your thighs. “I’ve got you, doll,” he purred, his fingers gliding between your slick folds, his nose in your short curls, pulling your scent.

When one long digit entered you, a low and heavy moan left you, one that spurned Steve on. He nudged at you with his nose, exposing your aching clit, licking it, sucking it between his teeth, nipping at it. His strokes were slow, languid, taking his time until another finger joined the first, stretching you, making you whimper as you came undone.

“That’s a good girl,” he praised, his strokes slowing, working you through the orgasm.

You grabbed his shoulders, holding onto him as he climbed up your body, slick kisses dropped to your skin. “Steve… I can’t…” you choked on a sob. It was too much, you were feeling too much, too many emotions were surging through you, overwhelming your senses.

“I’ve wanted you for years, Y/N,” he admitted, and then he was kissing you, soft at first, each one growing more intense and needy.

With a gasp, you were kissing him back, feeling as though he were your lifeline, and without him, you would cease to exist. You hooked your fingers into his boxer briefs and worked them down until his cock sprung free, landing heavily between your legs.

Once Steve kicked off his boxer briefs, you took hold of him, moaning at how hard, yet soft, he was as you stroked him. Steve’s head fell down, watching with his mouth open as your hand worked him over, as it twisted on the upstroke, as you smeared the fat beads of pre-cum.

He was panting heavily, his chest heaving, his knuckles white when he said, “Stop, doll. I… I don’t wanna cum now.”

Steve’s hand took the place of yours and swept it between your folds before notching himself just inside, enough to drive a shiver up your spine. With his arms on either side of your head, he pushed into you, making you gasp. You raked your nails down his back and to his ass, where you pulled him harder, until he was completely settled and could go no further.

“Shit,” he huffed. “You’re tight, doll.”

The air in your lungs left in a rush. God, you were full, so full, too full. You felt as if you were going to burst at the seams. Death by Steven Grant Rogers. You were good with that.

You rocked your hips under his. “Move, Steve.”

His shoulders were trembling as he inched in and out, until finally, only the tip remained. You hooked your leg around his and pressed your forehead to Steve’s, your lips brushing his as you whispered your further consent.

“Do it. I won’t break.”

With a snarl, Steve’s hips snapped forward, driving a grunt from your mouth, a grunt that put a wild look in his eyes. He kissed you savagely as he fucked you, his shoulders bowing, his thighs spread wide, knees digging into the mattress. One of his arms went around your waist, angling your hips in a new way that had you seeing stars. The wet sucking sounds of your pussy and the slapping of skin echoed through the small room, chased by grunts and moans.

Steve’s mouth was against your ear, his fingers digging bruises into your damp skin. “I need you to cum, baby girl. Please,” he whimpered, his voice tight, strained. He was at the end of his rope, his hips losing their rhythm.

You wrapped your legs around his waist and pulled him into you, harder and harder until you were cannon-balling over the edge, falling apart, a strangled cry of his name falling from your mouth, your nails digging deep into his skin.

With his mouth on your neck, your pulse point, sucking a dark bruise as he came, his cock swelled and pulsed, twitching deep inside of you, pulling another orgasm from you. You were a sobbing, writhing mess beneath him.

Steve rolled to his side, leaving you feeling empty, so empty. He wrapped his arm around your waist and pulled you into him, pressing a kiss to your sweaty hair.

“Y/N, did I hurt you?” he murmured, his hands moving along your back.

You shook your head and sniffled. “No, no. Nothing like that. I just… I’ve never felt…” a sob overtook you and you covered your face in your hands. “I’m sorry.”

“I felt it, too,” Steve insisted, his hands now on your wrists, tugging them from your face. “I meant what I said earlier, that I’ve wanted you, this, for a while, and… I think that…”

“I love you,” you finished for him, kissing him sweetly, your eyes open, locked on his.

Steve melted into you, wrapping his arms around you tight, holding you to him. “I love you, too.”

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

Mazel Tov

Title: Mazel Tov
Summary: Bucky finds himself drawn to a cat at the humane society.
Word Count: 398 [tags under the cut]
Warnings: None
Author’s Note: Y’all can thank @flamehairedwritings for these drabbles. I love you!

Bucky & Thor the cat: A Tale of Two Kitties Master List

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

Bucky wasn’t exactly sure how he had gotten into the situation he found himself in. One minute, he was out for a leisurely stroll, no destination in mind, and the next, he was adopting a cat. Yup, you heard that right. Bucky Barnes had adopted a cat.

He didn’t know what had possessed him to do so, but as soon as he walked into the room, the snow-white cat locked his dual-colored, slightly-crossed eyes on Bucky, and wound around the super soldier’s legs hypnotically, purring loudly.

Oliver, the newest member of the household, was draped over Bucky’s shoulders while Thor chittered loudly. He had been acting strangely since seeing the much smaller feline, which Bucky expected to some degree. What Bucky hadn’t expected, however, was that Thor had taken to standing on his hind legs, stretching his front legs up on Bucky’s stomach, pawing at him gently. Bucky gave in to his demands and scratched Thor’s head.

“You feelin’ alright?” Bucky asked curiously.

Thor’s golden eyes flicked between his master’s boyfriend and the white feline resting on his shoulders. He chittered again, louder than before, making Oliver’s ears twitch.

“You’re scarin’ ‘im,” Bucky said, pushing Thor down. “If you’d back up, he might actually come down and see you.”

With a huff, Thor crossed the room, his tail twitching the whole time, turned around once he reached the opposite end of the room, and sat down. Only then, did Oliver move from Bucky’s shoulders, jumping onto the countertop, and then to the floor. His paws were almost silent on the floor in comparison to Thor’s.

Oliver approached the much larger cat slowly, his nose working as he followed Thor’s scent, his tail swishing back and forth. Bucky stood back, giving the felines plenty of room, but ready to intervene should something happen. Bucky just wasn’t ready for what actually happened.

Once Oliver had reached Thor, the much larger feline darted across the room and started purring as his back arched, as he rubbed himself against Bucky’s legs.

“What the…”

You walked in to find Thor covering Bucky in his scent, Thor’s head and back moving over every inch of Bucky he could reach, while a much smaller white cat sat on the floor, staring at them curiously.

“What’s goin’ on here?” you asked, closing the door behind you.

Bucky simply turned around and faced you. “I can explain.”

Midnight Madness

Bucky: @inumorph @eclecticninjapenguin @angryschnauzer @me-a-hopeless-romantic @yourbrobrooks @thinkwritexpress-official @sarahp879 @brittyevans @blxcksoulsanddxrkflowers @wecanburntogether @britty443

Bucky & Thor the cat: @flamehairedwritings

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.

Executive Decision Series Master List

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

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