A/N: i think i just want chris to use his angry daddy™ voice please...
Summary: On a mission, Steve gets h̶o̶r̶n̶y̶ very very mad at you. 2.6k words
Warnings: smut, angerey stevie, bratty reader because i feel like being railed, so basically angry sex, minor jealousy
"What the fuck part of 'stay put' don't you understand?"
"The part where you treat me like a goddamn toddler who needs a babysitter!"
"I wouldn't have to treat you that way if you didn't act that way."
"You're such an asshole."
Steve's grip on your upper arm is bruising, thumb digging into your scabbed-up gash. Blood and dirt caked thick over your uniform, skin peeking from the torn kevlar. Sure, you got a little cut, but you had also took out a cavalry of Hydra operatives while his back was turned. That's probably worth some scratch.
"Can't you just be a normal person for once? 'Captain mode' doesn't have to be on twenty-four-seven, you know."
"Yeah, well, if it wasn't, half of you would dead by now, and that would be my fault. Not Shield's, not your own, my fault." Steve stops in his tracks, turning to stare daggers at you, and for a moment, you swear there's some hesitation. A flicker in his eye that doesn't want this. Doesn't want to have to be this. But then he's back to dragging you to the med bay and you're not sure there's much sympathy left in the feelings-box you call a heart.
"Bruce, can you get some stitches on this, please," Steve growls, gesturing to the dried blood that cracks when you yank your arm away.
"Fuckin' hell, Steven, just go," you grumble and look up at him with a glare that tugs your eyebrows together in a scowl. And in your haste, you don't realize the space—or lack thereof—between the two of you and the tip of your nose brushes against his. But that glower is unnervingly unwavering.
"God, you're such a brat." So he storms away, leaving your jaw slacked and a little part of your stomach twisted.
"Can you believe him?" You turn to Bruce whose eyes are wide as he holds out a pair of tweezers and a swaged needle.
"Sure," he sighs, "sit down."
—
Not a week later you're on another mission. Somewhere in buttfuck Vegas where the air is sticky and everyone's trying to pick someone up or get picked up. You're posing as a stripper in order to seduce the target into spilling whatever information you can coax out of him. And it's just your luck that your mission partner is the one and only Steve Rogers.
Yeah, he's gotta watch you strip for an entire night.
In fact, Tony even suggested pulling him into a private room so you don't seem suspicious. The logic there is completely flawless. Not a single fracture in this perfect plan. Or maybe Tony's a pervert who gets off on playing cupid.
"Ready?" Steve whispers, white-knuckling the steering wheel as you tug the hem of your black slip over a baby pink garter belt.
"Yeah," you hum, fiddling with the lace edge with a sigh. "How do I look?" You fluff the ends of your hair before puckering your lips and turning towards him.
"Fine."
"Fine? I look fine. Thanks a lot—"
"Alright, alright, you look... good." You squint at him, brows furrowing at the dimple in his cheek created by the tension in his jaw.
"Are you lying?"
"What? No, would you just go inside—"
"You're totally lying. Look me in the eye and tell me how I look, Steven," you whine, crossing your arms over your chest. He groans and glances over at you, eyes involuntarily flicking down past your collar bones to the delicate swell of your breasts over the flowery, lace cups of your lingerie.
"You... you look nice," he mumbles, grip on the wheel loosening when he licks his lips. "We should really get going, doll." You nod and tug the trench coat over your torso, tying it in a quick knot before hopping out and winking at Steve.
It's fairly posh for a Sin City night club. The leggy waitresses wearing nothing but bras and skirts flirt with customers as dancers step up to their poles. Deep purple spot lights beat down on the twirling women, and you drop your coat before making your way over to the manager. A stalky man with his hair gelled back and striped button down tucked into dark jeans.
"What's ya stage name, kid?" Shit, a stage name.
"Uh, kitten," you say, nodding when he raises his eyebrows.
"Alright, kitten, you're up." He places his hand on your back, leading you to the stage.
The music pumps through the speakers, the low drone of the guitar in It Will Come Back. You cock a brow when Steve walks through the door, surveying the crowd of middle aged men and young women. He takes a seat in front beside the target, a clear view of the shiny pole illuminated violet.
The DJs voice booms deep over the microphone, "We'd like to give a warm welcome our newest dancer. Everybody say hello to our playful... Kitten."
You chuckle and roll your eyes, strutting up to center stage and blowing a kiss to your target who holds out five bills with a viscous smirk. You tuck them into your bra strap and shimmy out of your silk dress, tossing it into his lap.
...You know better babe, you know better babe
Than to smile at me, smile at me like that...
Steve shifts in his seat, tugging at his slacks and looking away when you get down on your knees, back arched as you crawl forward, wispy tendrils of hair slouching from behind your ears. Your index finger hooks beneath the target's chin, bringing him forward and letting your lips grace his cheek.
...You know better babe, you know better babe
Than to hold me just, hold me just like that...
Steve grits his teeth and wrings his palms in his lap when you grin and stand back up, whirling around on your stilettos with your hair flicking into your face.
...I know who I am when I'm alone
Something else when I see you...
Wolf whistles sound from the bar as a ten dollar bill floats onto the stage with an assortment of ones. You wrap your fingers around the pole, pivoting around it and bending over, rolling your hips slowly.
...You don't understand, you should never know
How easy you are to need...
Humming quietly, you hoist yourself up onto the pole, legs snaking around it and holding your hands above you to touch the floor. Steve's jaw ticks at the sight of your glittery heels and the material of your panties dipping along the curve of your ass. He pinches the collar of his jacket and clears his throat when his eyes start to wander between your thighs.
...Don't let me in with with no intention to keep me
Jesus Christ, don't be kind to me
Honey, don't feed me I will come back...
"Come here, sweetheart," a gentle voice calls, beckoning you off the pole and to the other side of the stage, affording Steve full view of your ass in those little undies as a burly man shoves a couple bills into the waistband.
...Can't be unlearned
I've known the warmth of your doorways
Through the cold, I'll find my way back to you...
Steve growls when a man hollers, "D'you taste as sweet as you look, Kitten?" He has to wrangle himself into his seat to restrain from hopping up and pummeling the guy till he's black and blue.
...Oh please, give me mercy no more
That's a kindness you can't avoid
I want you baby tonight, as sure as you're born...
The song slows to a stop when you slide back down the pole, legs spread wide along the linoleum stage. Steve averts his eyes, breath hitching when he can't find it in him to fully look away, sneaking little glances until you catch him, grinning like the little minx you are.
...You'll hear me howling outside your door
Don't you hear me howling babe?
"Great show, Kitten," the target mumbles when he finds you heading backstage. He holds his hand out, mini dress clasped tight in his palm. You slowly take it from him, trailing the tip of your finger down his torso.
"Did'ya come back here to ask anything, big boy?" Steve fumes. He overhears the conversation, his teeth clacking together as his fists clench in on themselves.
"What are your rates for a room?"
"'Bout twenty bucks plus tip if you're feelin' generous," you coo, your fingers curling into his suede-clad bicep. "And I can tell you're a real benevolent man."
"C'mon, Kitty cat, let's go." He grabs your hand and pulls you along, guiding you down a hallway lit by red LEDs. Something in you jolts when you're pinned against a wall beside an onyx door.
"So, should I pay you up front—"
A resounding crack sends him crumpling to the ground when Steve's arm coils around your waist, yanking you out of the way as his fist nails the target right in the jaw.
"Steven, what the hell?" you shout, shoving his shoulder and scoffing once he tugs you tighter and pulls you into the room embellished with a metal pole in front of a leather couch. Tossed down across the cushions, he stands above you and keeps his hand soft in the curve of your waist.
"Are you a fucking idiot? You're gonna get us—"
"Shut up and take my cock like a good girl," he growls, his palm covering your mouth. You raise your eyebrows, grasping at his wrist when his free hand traces the elastic of your pastel undergarment.
"Can you do that for me?" Through your lashes, you blink up at him, nodding before resting your head back against the arm of the sofa. His hand glides over your cheek, swiping just beneath your glossed-up lips.
"Good," he says, hand rubbing up your thigh. He pulls away with the corner of his mouth quirked in a devilishly delicious way. "Then get on your knees and open wide."
"But, Stevie," you purr as you slip off the couch and sink to your knees in front of him. He clicks his tongue, threading his fingers through the hair at the back of your head to crane your neck up.
"What, kitten, tell Stevie what you want." Fiddling with his belt, you chuck it aside, unzipping his pants to let them pool at his ankles. You lean forward and press a wet kiss to his boxers beside the strained imprint of his dick. He chews the inside of his cheek and reaches a hand up to unbutton his shirt.
"I want you to fill me up real nice. Want you to make me drip," you whisper, grabbing the waistband of his underwear and stretching it down, breath fanning over the trail of hair leading to the base of his cock. He curses through his teeth, pushing a lock of hair out of your face when you tug his bottoms down around his calves.
The tip of his cock bobs against his pelvis, smearing a drop of precum over his smooth skin. Your hand loops around his shaft, drawing a throaty moan from his lips.
"Come on, sweetheart," Steve huffs, pulling at your scalp, letting your jaw crack open to flatten your tongue and lay his cock heavy into your mouth. "Mhm, there you go."
Your nails dig into the muscle of his thighs as you bottom out, taking him down your throat until your lips press to his groin. You drag your finger pads up his leg, moving to cup his balls and tug lightly. A mewl bubbles up and over his tongue, pouring from his lips in a purr.
He jerks your head away by the roots just to send his cock back into your mouth, saliva coating the heated skin. You look up at him and it's enough to have him spilling into you with a low groan, so he wrenches you off his cock before he can unravel.
"Jesus Christ, (Y/n)," Steve grumbles when you start to pump him again. He hoists you from the floor, shoving you onto the couch with his hands' grip on your thighs bruising the delicate skin.
He hooks his index finger into the crotch of your panties, his knuckle rubbing at your clit and sending a wave of warmth up through your aching veins. Your back coils up and presses your front into his hard-planed torso, pert nipples grazing his pectorals through the thin lace.
"Stevie," you hum, arms relaxing at either side of your head when he trails a finger along the garter and rolls the pad of his thumb on your swollen bundle of nerves.
"Just a little longer, princess, I gotcha."
"No," you say, grabbing his waist and bringing his cock right up against your cunt. He growls, grabbing your inner thighs, spreading them wide and over the couch.
"You think you can tell me what to do, kitten? Nice fuckin' try." He shoves your panties to the side, pressing the leaking tip of his cock to your wet pussy. The crook of your knee rests on his shoulder, and he grasps your waist when he fills you up, already throbbing in the heat of your walls.
"'S this what you wanted? Wanted Stevie to make you squirm with his cock all thick inside you," he groans, palm curling over your breast, squeezing through the material to make you writhe beneath him.
"Yeah, you like being pounded into the couch. All roughed up, all you had to do was ask, sweetheart. Woulda had my way with you ages ago." His drawl is slow and sweet like treacle from his soft lips.
"God, you're delicious in this little set, had to hold myself back from jumpin' you back in the car. Lookin' at me like you wanted a bite." He plows into you hard, skin rippling with each languid blow. His jaw hangs open against your neck, breath rolling out in airy waves.
"If I knew it would drive you—ah—crazy, I woulda worn it sooner, Captain." He holds your waist tight to keep you still against the plunging drag of his cock. You feel the little veins glide in and out of you at a bruising pace, making obscene slapping noises when his pelvis raps against yours.
You slap a hand down above your cunt, middle finger plucking up your slick to rub at your clit, leaving pleas rolling off your tongue and making him push a little harder just to hear those pretty moans get louder. His palm slides over your knuckles, pressing your fingertip rougher on your clit.
Your lip disappears between your teeth, eyes squeezed closed and back arched as you huff, "come on." Then, with a deep stroke, you unravel with the tip of his cock jammed against the sweet spot, leaving your toes curled as you sigh through your nose.
And in the heat of your velvet walls and a sheen of sweat spread over his lurching chest, he spills into you, moaning through the pulse of your insides around him. He wraps his arms beneath you, pulling out and resting against your thigh as his plump lips brush the pink of your own.
You giggle and push a strand of hair up and off of his dampened forehead. His brows furrow, mouth drifting open as his eyes blow wide, deep black overshadowing the baby blue irises.
"You gonna kiss me, soldier?"
"As many times as you'll let me."