Mean!Steve waiting for the food service worker who got his order wrong 😌
The Customer Is Always Right
Pairing: Mean!Steve x F!Reader.
Words: 1.1K.
Warnings: non-con, mean!Steve is mean, explicit sexual content, unprotected sex, 18+. MINORS DNI.
A/N: Hope you enjoy lovely, and thank you for sending this in! Beta: @princessmisery666 but all the general bullshit is entirely mine. While likes are gold, feedback is golden. Please support our content creators by sharing our work.
It’s late when you leave work, the cool night air helping to relax you after a long and sticky-warm shift. The height of summer is slowly creeping up and the small restaurant’s air conditioning struggles to keep up with the intense temperatures that peak during the day.
With a small wave, you say your goodbyes to your colleagues, and head off in the direction of your car, taking the walk slowly so you can bask in the fresh breeze helping to cool you. You reach into your bag for your keys, only looking up when your fingers curl around them.
The man is instantly familiar as he boldly strides out of the shadows, making you jump. He’s recognisable anywhere considering he’s Steve Rogers, and it felt like an honour to wait on him when he seated himself in your section earlier in the evening. You couldn’t wait to tell him what a hero he is, how he’s idolised and revered in your household, but very quickly you had come to realise that the man who’s so admired by your father is simply propaganda. A legend made up by politicians, a fabrication. A myth of colossal proportions.
Afraid he’s come back to continue his tirade of abuse, you immediately start to retreat.
“Are you dumb? How hard is it to write down some words? Or are you that stupid you can’t even do that right?”
“I’m sorry, sir-um, Mr. Rogers, I’ll take it back for you right now.”
“No, I want the correct order. I don’t give a fuck what you do with this.” He reaches out, using his index finger to flip up the plate in your hand, but your reflexes aren’t quick enough to stop it from crashing to the floor. You stand there in shock, not believing what just happened as he looks at the floor before glancing back up at you, a cruel smirk on his lips. “Bring me my food before you clean that shit up.”
You had written down his order correctly despite his insistence that you hadn’t, and even though the issue lay with the kitchen staff, you refused to pass blame, knowing you should’ve checked it before bringing it to him.
The hairs on the back of your neck stand up, remembering the way he watched you clean up the food and broken porcelain while he ate, occasionally chuckling to himself as you clearly battled with the mess. Steve left a sour taste in your mouth for the rest of the evening, his smirking face taunting you even long after he vacated his table.
You stare at each other in silence until eventually he breaks it, speaking uncharacteristically soft.
“Don’t run off, I just wanna talk.” He steps closer, causing your body to tense. You clutch your keys tighter in your fist, getting ready to use them if necessary.
“Ta-talk about what?”
“How I behaved tonight. I was having a bad day and I snapped at the wrong person, I’m sorry.”
You scoff. “I’ve had a bad day too, but I didn’t take it out on the customers. But seeing as my shift is over,” you give a cursory glance down at your watch, “go fuck yourself.”
Fiddling with your car key, you manage to get it in the lock just as he snaps, “You’re not gonna accept my apology?”
“You wouldn’t accept mine for a truly genuine mistake, so…” you trail off with a small shrug. “Enjoy the rest of your night, Mr. Rogers.”
He closes the gap between you, slamming his palm across the door, preventing you from opening it. “I don’t think you understand…”
“What am I supposed to understand? That you’re not an asshole ‘cause you sure act like one.”
“You should show me a little respect,” he warns, his features darkening. He’s right up in your personal space now, urging you backwards until the backs of your thighs collide with the side of your car. How he’s managed to manipulate the situation so you’re effectively trapped between him and the vehicle, you’ve no idea. “Do you even know who I am?”
You think back to all of the television broadcasts, the interviews your father obsessively watched— how kind, gentile Steve seemed. How the man standing before you is nothing like him. You don’t know this man at all. “No, I don’t.”
“This country is indebted to me a hundred lifetimes over,” he spits, his breath hot against your face. “If I wanna complain that some idiot waitress couldn’t get my measly fuckin’ order right, I can. And if I feel like fuckin’ some brain cells into you,” sudden pressure blooms between your thighs, and you look down aghast at the sight of his hand pressed against your clothed cunt, “then I’ll damn well do that too.”
His words and actions take you aback, until the sheer magnitude of what he’s saying and doing hits you like a ton of bricks. Fight or flight kicks in and you hit him with your key-enclosed fist, feeling metal scrape flesh as a dull groaning hiss escapes him. You quickly dart out from his clutches, bolting back towards the restaurant, and your hands fumble with the keys, desperate to get to safety. Lashing out only gives you a minuscule head start but as Steve pursues you, his super speed easily cancels out your attempt to outrun him.
Your chest aches as you try to breathe through the fear, Steve’s footsteps pounding hard against the tarmac behind you. The restaurant is just in reach. Your palm sting from the keys embedded in your skin when he grabs you, slamming you into the brick wall.
A pained cry leaves your lips as he pins you with his body weight, hands tearing into your uniform and cold air rushes and prickles over your ass.
“You think you’re too good to accept Captain America’s apology?” he hisses behind you. Hot tears stream down your cheeks as wet warmth smears across your bare skin. “Bet you think you’re too good for my cock too.”
The warmth builds as it sits between your cheeks before it shifts— further, deeper— until the uncomfortable heat is teasing at your entrance and pushes its way in without warning.
An open-mouthed, silent scream leaves you and Steve chuckles behind you— a disgusting, execrable sound that makes your stomach roll and twist with nausea as he sinks into you, impossibly deep.
He’s slow pulling out and even slower driving himself back inside you, your velvet heat tightening around his cock with every thick, serum-given inch.
When his hips finally meet your ass, he hums, brushing the hair back from around your ear to whisper, “No woman is too good for me. Not even you.”
“Please, stop,” you whimper, “I’m sorry.”
He draws back, and the drag is exquisitely sublime. You move slightly, trying to find an angle that’s not so uncomfortable and Steve growls, seemingly delighted that you're participating. “Don’t worry, doll, by the time I’m done you’ll be thanking me.”
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