#misdialed

REQUEST. I really liked that AU you reblogged that was like you have the wrong number but you sound pretty upset about that person, wanna talk it out, if you want could you write a Steve Rogers x Reader fic based off of that please. From anon.

SUMMARY. Lawyer AU. Steve Rogers x Reader. Your boss gives the case you’ve been working so hard on to someone else. Out of anger, you call a friend to rant — only to realize that you called the wrong number.

WARNINGS. Fluff and fluff and awkward Steve and did I say fluff?

WORD COUNT. 1k+

AUTHOR’S NOTES. THIS IS IT. This is the last of it! I hope you guys really enjoyed this story, I certainly did while writing it. (: Let me know all your thoughts!

#1 / #2 / #3 / #4 / epilogue: you are here

Steve shut the door behind him, then turned to you, eyes half-lidded and one corner of his lips pulled up. “You ready?”

A shiver snaked down your spine, the hair on your arms standing erect. 

You nodded.

Just then, a few strong, chilly breezes whipped past you, your clothes and hair slapping your skin. Steve had to step back, bringing an arm up to shield his face.

Shaking it off, you smoothed down your clothes and wrapped your coat tighter around yourself, glancing up at the sidewalk. New York at eleven o’clock in the evening, just a few weeks before Christmas seemed quiet; store windows shuttered up, streetlights blinking a dull orange, only one or two vehicles passing by. It was peaceful. Matching exactly the current flow of your night: slow and tranquil, after a treacherous morning storm.

You looked up at Steve. He put his arm down from another passing breeze, and met your gaze. You beamed, more brilliant than the stars in the night sky of the countryside, shimmering like diamonds on a velvet cushion. It could challenge his own stunning smile.

Both of you turned away from the entrance doors of the office, and began walking down the sidewalk, pace leisure and relaxed. He glanced at you, one corner of his lips up. “Someone’s happy.”

You looked down at your feet, almost bashful, then lips twisting, said: “I never got to thank you.”

He shook his head, waving a dismissive hand. “No need. I’m glad I can help.”

The weight and meaning of your next words coiled your insides, like a fork gathering pasta, spinning and spinning and spinning. Your heart hammered a little faster. Clearing your throat, you looked at him. “Why did you help me?” you asked. “It’s not like we’re close friends or anything.”

He frowned. “I didn’t really do anything …”

“I wouldn’t have gotten back the Wakanda case without your help,” you said, tone pointed. 

“To be honest, I’m sure you still would’ve–”

“Steve.”

“Alright, alright.” He pulled his coat tighter around him, heaving out a resigned breath as his gaze looked up to a nearby stuttering streetlight. “Let’s just say I know what it’s like to not be good enough for something you want.”

You cocked a brow. There was a story behind those words, quite a compelling one too – what could make a person like this, someone with this much initiative and softness and assertiveness and goodness feel so inadequate? You pondered possible scenarios, even considered asking. But it might be too personal – especially now, as a colleague, and not just some stranger on the other side of the telephone line.

“And I guess,” he said, eyes glancing down and brows furrowing. He cleared his throat, like a lanky, awkward teenager, so unlike the self-assured professional earlier today, and – was that the orange glow of the streetlights on his cheeks, or – “I was hoping to hear your voice again.”

You froze. Wait, what? What was that supposed to –

“Over dinner.”

What?

Was he … was he seriously –

“But I understand, you know, if you decline, uh, this offer,” he said, shifting his weight from one leg to another, eyes darting from the ground to the sky to the side to everywhere but you. “I know we’re working together, and it could be, uh, strange to be going out while being colleagues, in the same office, and especially in the same case–”

You knew the answer already. “Sure.”

He blinked. Finally, he lifted his gaze to meet yours. “Sure?”

Your heart was practically nodding along with your head. “I’m sure.”

For a beat, he stood there, unmoving and uncertain. “You – you’re not doing this out of gratitude, are you? I don’t want you feeling like you owe me after today–”

“No! God no,” you said, shaking your head. You knew better than to do that. “This is me, fully agreeing, because I just – I want to.” You looked up, never more certain than the next words you were about to say. “I want to have dinner with you.”

He stared, stunned. Then, with just a flutter of his eyelashes, he was back to life, his legs shuffling and his lips stretching to that familiar brilliant smile, somehow now brighter than before. “Okay, okay. Is Friday–”

“But–” You stepped back, realizing the instantaneity of your decision.

His smile wavered. “But?”

“Only after this case,” you said, at first sheepish, then more resolute, as you met his eyes, a twinkling pair of blue, like the clear shore waters of some secluded island. “We can’t afford not to give all we can to this, it’s–”

“Okay,” he said.

You blinked, eyelashes fluttering, uncertain. “Okay?”

He nodded, his smile less bright but still firm. “You’re right. It’s only, well, right.”

Shoulders slumping, a relieved breath slid past your lips, glad he understood. But then again, how could he not? The fact that he hadn’t dropped your misdialed call last night and instead, offered a listening ear and even a few reassuring words, proved the kind of compassionate, understanding guy he was. It was almost tempting to say screw it, let’s get dinner. But no, this case has to go first. They cannot afford any distractions – even incredibly tempting ones, such as he and his offer. Damn it, you can’t wait to get this done and over with.

“Can I, um,” Steve said, pulling out of your thoughts. He shuffled his feet, corners of his lips twitched up to a sheepish, boyish smile. The sight of it tugged your heartstrings. “Can I at least take you home tonight?”

The cold air was refreshing as it caressed your flushed cheeks, now pulled up to a small, delighted grin. Well, that wouldn’t hurt. “I’d like that.”

Hesitantly but with an apparent great amount of courage, he offered his arm. You took it, hooking yours into his, and welcomed the warmth that coursed through your interlocked arms, even with the layers of clothing in between. Both of you turned ahead and walked forward, resuming your walk home in companionable silence. That was, until he cleared his throat.

“So, uh, about my best friend being a dick …”

You groaned into your hand, neck heating up. “Please tell me you didn’t tell him that.”

His laughter rang clear and loud in the winter night. “Oh, don’t worry. I didn’t have to,” he said. “He already knows.”

A/N. I’ve learned that balancing work and pleasure is quite a challenge, and I feel like the Reader character here would know better than to. (: And Steve is such an adorable dork. Lol. Thanks for all the support, dear readers! Love to hear all your thoughts!

Tagging: (If you’d like to be tagged to the story or permanently, let me know!)

I know of a LOT of fics where they’re college AGE, so I’m just going to rec a few I thought of off the top of my head where at least one of them is IN college, okay? ((note: I’m saying college here as in the American usage of the word, meaning university level))

Not That Bad -> Literally my favorite college au fic. Like, if you haven’t read that one already, you should. It’s adorable, and I love the pacing, and I love the insight into both the characters. It’s just good story telling and good writing, man. It’s complete and written by the talented @blue-lancer

Sharps and Accidentals -> Everyone’s a music major of some sort, Keith is deaf, and Lance is TRYING (but constantly fucking up, but he gets there). This one is also really good. I’m a slut for fics that actually have good sign language knowledge ((any of my homestuck followers know this)). The pacing is good, the writing is amazing, and I’m probably super biased because I love @zizzani and everything they write ((Bo is also my co-author to the time travel au and Drive Like You Mean It)). This fic is still in progress, but it’s looking great so far.

So Anyway, Here’s Wonderwall -> So this is a fic that’s slow to update, but I personally really like it. It’s falling into this category because Lance is in college, even though Keith is not. Keith is the bassist of a band. I just really enjoy the writing of this fic, the pacing, the world and oc build, and the overall atmosphere. It just has this VIBE about it that’s so chill and so unique. The moments between Keith and Lance just feel so genuine and real. It’s the story of two dorks slowly falling in love, and you can really feel that in each special moment they share. 

Keith Kogane’s Guide to Extracurricular College Planning -> So this one is significantly shorter than the others. Only 4/5 chapters. Everyone is in the same fraternity. And… idk, I just really like it?? It has this vibe and a take on the characters that I just really enjoyed reading. It’s about poor Keith being in love with his best friend for years, and how the two of them finally come together. 

Cross-Steps -> This one is also shorter by comparison, completed, simple, and very cute. Keith is a long boarding youtuber, and Lance is obsessed. They go to the same college. There’s mutual pining, boys being idiots, and it’s just a super cute, really chill and easy read. You can breeze through it and feel all the happy fuzzy fluff feels if you’re not in the mood for anything too heavy. It’s written by @varevare!

Don’t Break Connection, Baby -> This one is making the list because Lance is in college, they’re college age, and by the end of it Keith gets accepted into college, too (spoilers??). It’s nsfw, so you’ve been warned! Keith is a sex phone operator that Lance prank calls and things spiral out of control for both of them. I absolutely love this fic, because @princedeadend does such an aMAZING job balancing humor and smut and plot. Like, it’s the most realistic smut I’ve ever read BECAUSE it’s so ridiculous, hilarious, and fluffy. I saw someone once said it’s the fluffiest smut, and honestly, that’s a good description. Wrenn has this crazy ability to move the story along and set up setting using mostly dialogue, and it’s something I admire. Definitely a fun read. Be warned for extreme second hand embarrassment in the first few chapters. 

Voltron Cafe -> Okay, so TECHNICALLY, they’re not in college, but Lance is studying for college and they’re college age, so that has to count for something, right? It’s still in progress, but it’s an extremely fun read. I’m enjoying it a lot. The author, @hannahmelto, also wrote Cactus, which I really enjoyed. From what I’ve seen, they’re currently teaching in Japan, and they wanted to take a stab at writing a maid cafe au. From what they’ve said in their notes, they’re approaching this fic like a shojo manga, which I think is a really interesting writing challenge to give to yourself (from someone who loves giving herself writing challenges too), and it definitely pays off! It reads like a manga in the best way possible. If that’s not your thing, I get it, but I’m very much enjoying this fic. They also have an ask blog for this au! @voltron-cafe 

Misdialed -> More phone shenanigans! Just as the title implies, Keith accidentally calls a wrong number and ends up with Lance. The two of them start a friendship not knowing who the other really is. But they also both go to the same college and have mutual friends. They don’t get along in person, but on the phone they grow close. It’s an amusing and fluffy read with a lot of dialogue (that’s not a bad thing), but @sasaina-ai has threatened angst on the horizon (also not really a bad thing). This one is still in progress!

REQUEST. I really liked that AU you reblogged that was like you have the wrong number but you sound pretty upset about that person, wanna talk it out, if you want could you write a Steve Rogers x Reader fic based off of that please. From anon.

SUMMARY. Lawyer AU. Steve Rogers x Reader. Your boss gives the case you’ve been working so hard on to someone else. Out of anger, you call a friend to rant — only to realize that you called the wrong number.

WARNINGS. Curse words. Fluff + angst = all our doom.

WORD COUNT. 1k.

AUTHOR’S NOTES. Finally! Here is the update! Unfortunately, with this updated Tumblr, it seems the entire chapter wasn’t able to fit HAHAHA so we only have this first, kind of short scene. The next is rlly long, so it had to be cut. Anyway, enjoy! :D

#1 / #2 / #3: you are here / #4 / epilogue

You don’t remember the last time you were called to the principal’s office at school, but you do remember how it felt: the rabbit-speed of your beating heart; the tautness of your sewed ribcage; the sense of some sort of impending doom. It didn’t show from your smooth strides and perfect posture, but that was how it felt like now. Why would Barnes want to see you again? Possible reasons gushed out and into your mind, pouring in like a waterfall, loud and rapid and inevitable. God, what if he found out about your ranting last night?

What if he knew you called him a dick?

Your heart bounced even higher, stronger against your chest. But that’s impossible. No one heard that — except, of course, Steve. But you doubted he had any connection with Mr. Barnes or the firm. The chances of that has to be so little.

Speaking of Steve — you took your phone out of the pocket of your blazer, and clicked on your inbox, pressing on your chat with him:

Hey, Steve! I’m actually glad you did text me, thanks. How are you? You and your best friend doing okay? Text me any time! I hope your day goes better than mine. (:

Sent last 8:04AM. Steve’s text was around 7:10AM this morning. Almost an hour difference — and you don’t blame yourself for the huge time gap. Sometimes, the words didn’t feel right, and you had to retype the entire message several times. It had to come out right.

But now an hour and a half later, there was still no response. Your message sat there, smiling and patient, as it spoke out into the void, waiting for someone to call back. You tried not to think about why he hasn’t.

Pocketing your phone, your gaze shifted to the glass wall separating Mr. Barnes’ office from the hall, then on Mr. Barnes himself, who was leaning back in his seat, ankle on knee, and one corner of his lips pulled up to a half-smile. This was the most laid back you’d seen him. Even during the few team buildings you’ve had with the other partners, he wasn’t this — affable.

On the seat where Natasha was yesterday, though, was another man. Sun rays pouring in from the windows lit up his blonde hair, framing his head like a golden halo. You furrowed your brows. Who was he? And why do you feel like you’ve seen him before?

“There you are, right on time,” Mr. Barnes said, looking up as you stepped inside. He sat straighter, pulling his blazer closer to himself, and there he was: the unflinching, professional Mr. Barnes you’ve always known. “Take a seat.” He gestured to the chair you’ve sat in last time, and you complied, keeping your back straight as a pipe.

“Did you need something, sir?” you asked, hands clasped on your lap.

“Y/N, you remember our of-counsel attorney, Mr. Rogers—” He flourished a hand at the man beside you, and now, you turned to face him.

Mr. Rogers looked at you now, and the puzzle pieces clicked in your head. Memories flashed: seeing that same face in the conference room, helping out in a case or with a client; during the occasional Christmas party, standing by the bar and rarely on the dance floor; with Mr. Barnes or Mr. Wilson or both, inside or outside the firm. Many times as grim and undaunted as Mr. Barnes, and occasionally as warm and amiable as Mr. Wilson. You wondered, for a moment, why you’re meeting him now, after nearly a decade working in this firm.

Stretching out a hand, Mr. Rogers’ lips stretched to an ever more golden smile, and slipping your hand in his, he shook it, firm yet gentle. “Please,” he said. “Call me Steve.”

Your heart stopped.

“Steve?” you said, echoing him.

Something glinted in his eye, something playful. He nodded.

No.

No, no, no. This can’t be happening. He wasn’t — this can’t be the Steve.

But that voice. That’s the voice. The Steve’s voice — the same Steve who texted you this morning, the same Steve who heard you rant about your job, the same Steve who heard you call Mr. Barnes a dick.

Shit.

Quickly, you composed yourself. “Good to meet you, Steve,” you said, extracting your hand from his, and forcing on a polite smile. It was almost an effortless feat — thanks to the bountiful experiences you’ve had in settling cases and persuading clients.

“He’s here for the Wakanda case,” Mr. Barnes said, fingers loosely weaving together on his desk. “I’d like you to bring him up to date with all the details about it.”

Your brows furrowed. “But I’m out of the case.”

He leaned forward, chest falling as though heaving out a resigned sigh. “You were. But, not anymore.”

You blinked, eyelashes fluttering. Did he — does this mean —

“To be honest,” he said, voice hushed and raw, almost vulnerable. “I shouldn’t have removed you in the first place.”

It felt like you stopped breathing. You tried to suck air in through your nose, chest expanding, then pushed it out, deliberate for a few more breaths before you were sure your lungs were functioning properly again.

“I’ll talk to Natasha.” He rested back against his chair, and the raw moment was gone, his features lining back up to their usual somber expression. “Now, could you please—” he gestured to Steve, flourishing an exasperated hand. “We have to be in court by Friday, so — get moving.”

Your heart was fluttering like an excited little bird at the arrival of its mother with food, but you kept yourself composed, rising from your seat and nodding in determination. “Thank you, sir. I won’t let you down.”

He shot Steve a look you couldn’t read. “Just don’t make me regret it.”

A/N. I don’t know if I like this Tumblr update with the text posts. It’s cool but kind of annoying; for some reason, I can’t do HTML on mobile?? ): Anyway, next scene will mostly be with Steve alone! <3 It will be posted on Friday!

Tagging: (If you’d like to be tagged to the story or permanently, let me know!)

REQUEST. “I really liked that AU you reblogged that was like “you have the wrong number but you sound pretty upset about that person wanna talk it out” if you want could you write a Steve Rogers x Reader fic based off of that please. From anon.

SUMMARY. Lawyer AU. Steve Rogers x Reader. Your boss gives the case you’ve been working so hard on to someone else. Out of anger, you call a friend to rant – only to realize that you called the wrong number.

WARNINGS. Curse words. A bit of angst, mostly just hurt / comfort. Gender neutral reader.

WORD COUNT. Approximately 1.4k

AUTHOR’S NOTES. I’d like to thanks USA’s Suits for introducing me to the world of law drama, HAHAHHA jk. Sorry this took a while, dear anon! Had to do a bit of research. But I hope it does meet your standards. This fic will have three to four parts (bc it was getting so long lol). Enjoy! As always, I appreciate all feedback. (:

#1: you are here / #2 / #3 / #4 / epilogue

Go to hell, you wished you could say. You wished you could chuck those words at his pretty face, shove them up his Roman god nose or slap them across his high and mighty cheekbones. Just ruin him. But that would mean the end of your job, the end of your life. So as satisfying as it would be to smack the forced, sympathetic smile off his face, you can’t risk it. Can’t risk losing your career because of this. Even if right now, it felt exactly like that.

“–isn’t to say you’re incapable of handling this case, Y/N,” Mr. Barnes said, leaning back in his seat, fingers curled over its handles. “This is just more of Natasha’s area of expertise.”

You spared the redhead beside you a cutting glance. Legs crossed and hands folded in front of her, she was the most professional picture of prim and proper, with her steel eyes focused on Mr. Barnes. You turned back to him. “Sir, this is my client. I’ve won Wakanda Inc., when no other lawyer in the city could. I should be–”

“You’ve taking too long,” he said, lips thinning to a firm line. “And the longer you take, the less likely we’ll win – and we need to win this. You do guarantee that, don’t you?” he asked, gaze shifting to Natasha with arched brows.

Her lips parted, hesitant, and for a moment, hope flickered in your chest, tiny but sharp, like the click of a cigarette lighter. Maybe she’d say no. Maybe she’d give you the case. Maybe –

She nodded, edges of her lips twitching up. “Have I ever disappointed you, sir?”

Now, you wished you could tell her to go to hell. It wasn’t entirely implausible. But you knew better.

It took an immense amount of power to keep yourself from stomping your way out of there, or slamming the glass door of that office behind you. The fact that you haven’t pushed Natasha off a staircase was a goddamn accomplishment. Maybe even a miracle. You made sure not to hold the door open for her, though.

“Follow me,” you said, walking ahead of her towards your office. Had the floor not been carpeted, your heavy but quick footfalls would be bouncing off the glass walls, with the knifelike sound of someone keeping their rage on a leash.

But she caught up with you, effortless with her strong legs and big steps. She glanced at you, wary. “I could come by later–”

You shook your head, making sure to keep your eyes forward and your chin up. “The earlier you start working, the better.” Most of the cubicles you passed by were empty now, most of the employees having gone home for the day. The office felt quieter already.

Passing by a haggard intern, who gave you a warm nod, you gave him a tight smile in return. But once his bright expression wavered at Natasha’s friendlier, more natural smile, you looked away. Your teeth crunched, the muscles in your jaw springing taunt. She’s just so good at playing pretend, wasn’t she? As though she hadn’t just straight-up betrayed you –

Reaching your office, you glanced at your secretary’s desk, now empty. You frowned, stomach sinking. Scott must have gone home already. That’s disappointing. You were hoping to release some of the coiling tension inside you onto him – he’d make you laugh in no time – but you couldn’t blame him. He did say he couldn’t miss family dinner. Not anymore, at least.

Stepping into your office, comfortable despite its modest size, you rounded over to your desk and grabbed a box of files from underneath, setting it just above your scattered paperwork. You fingered through the folders and papers, scanning the labels.

Across you, Natasha fidgeted with a button on the long sleeve of her blouse, her soft sigh audible even to you. “Y/N–”

“Hold on,” you said, brows drawing together. Where were the – oh! Right! You had pulled out a few files earlier, right before you were called to Mr. Barnes’ office. Setting the box aside, you gathered the pieces of paper littering your desk, and flipped through them, the sound of the flicking paper slicing through the air.

“I’m not doing this against you, Y/N,” she said, voice measured but gentle. “The firm is–”

You scoffed. “Don’t even use the state of the firm as an excuse for your ambition, Nat.” Slamming the bottom of the pile down on the desk, Natasha wincing across you, you set it down and plucked a few documents out. “You know how hard I’ve been–” You shook your head, swallowing back the scathing words gathering on your tongue. It wasn’t worth it anymore.

Turning back to your work, you slipped the documents into the box, the small pile hitting the bottom with a satisfying thud. You pushed it towards her. “Sharon has some more files, but she’s probably gone home. I’ll tell her to give them to you tomorrow.”

With a resigned sigh, she stepped forward and caught the box, lifting it in her arms with ease. “I’ll just ask Scott to send me Mr. T’Challa’s number?”

You waved dismissively, before your now empty hands fell on your hips. “I’ll arrange the meeting myself – because I am coming with you. He should hear it from me first,” you said, shooting her a look. She didn’t seem fazed by the sharp rise of your tone. “Tomorrow, lunch time?”

Lips pursed, she nodded, then spun around. Just as she was about to step out, she looked at you over her shoulder, gaze soft. “Get home safe, Y/N.”

That stung more than you thought it would.

After changing into some comfortable clothes, you tossed yourself onto the bed, and stared at the blank ceiling above, jaw clenched. Memories swam in your mind: all the sleepless nights, the missed meals, the passed up holidays and hang-outs, the relentless research and the incessant ass-kissing – just to get where you were now. Still, it wasn’t enough. Even after winning Wakanda Inc., and ultimately saving the firm from collapsing after Mr. Stark left and took more than half of the clients and employees, you’re still a clumsy junior associate in Mr. Barnes’ eyes, and not the junior partner you were now. Goddamn it –

Your fingers curled into the mattress, nails digging into the soft material. The rage was building. Piling in your chest until it was too hard to breathe, until your heart was rebounding against your ribcage and shooting bullets into your veins, the pounding blood igniting the skin above, and –

You can’t keep this inside anymore. Where the hell was Scott when you needed him?

Taking your phone from the nightstand, the scene lit up red, and you could hardly see the phone number you were typing down, with the kind of speed that told how ingrained the number already was in your mind, after nearly a decade of working with him. With every ring, you grew more and more ready to scream at Scott if he didn’t pick the fucking phone up in the next –

“He–”

“Barnes is a dick,” you said, spitting as much spite as you can into his name. “He just gave the Wakanda case to Natasha. Can you believe it? I’ve been working my ass off for this firm, pretty much saving its own ass after Mr. Stark left and took our shit – and still, he doesn’t trust me to take care of my own case–”

He cleared his throat.

“So, instead, he gives it to Natasha. And you know what? Natasha fucking takes it! She knows how important this is to me, has seen how much work I’ve been putting into this, but no, she’s been a senior partner for far too fucking long, and she knows winning this case will put her name on the wall–”

He coughed again. You furrowed your brows, but forged on, uninterrupted.

“She even tried to act like she didn’t just stab me in the fucking back, that sick–” His cough was louder this time, and you frowned, propping yourself up with a hand behind you, annoyed but concerned. “What the hell’s with you, Scott? Are you okay?”

A beat passed. Some nervous shuffling, and another throat-clearing, then an intake of breath –

“I’m not Scott.”

A/N. I’ll be leaving this weekend, so I’ll make sure to have all the parts out before then. I hope you enjoyed! Especially the anon who requested this! (:

hey there!! I’m so sorry, are the links not working?? )): I just fixed them now, actually, I think they’re all working fine!

but in any case, if you mean the first chapter of the story, here it is: MISDIALED (links to chapter two and three are there too) but if that doesn’t work, here is the link itself and just copy-paste it on a browser: http://written-s0ul.tumblr.com/post/162830812616/misdialed-14

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Listen up, fellow sherlockians.

"Misdialed" by DlanaDHZ is an AU fic that follows loosely the events of canon in season 1, with the added plus that Sherlock and John are communicating through a malfunctioning phone, and are a year apart in time.

I can't express how well-written it is, how masterfully developed the plot is, or how it will make you want to murder things.

Aww thank you so much!! You're lovely!