Toxic

Summary: You and Steve get into an argument while on a mission, putting your lives in jeopardy.
Word Count: 2,121
Warnings: Language, angst, heavy kissing
Author’s Note: Requested by @natalienicole12347 The reader and Steve hate each other. They go on a mission where a crazy HYDRA scientist was working on a gas that, when inhaled, was supposed to kill. However, it seems to do nothing until they get back to the tower. GIF credit [X]

My work is not to be posted on any other sites (AO3, Wattpad, etc.) without my express written permission. Reblogs are fine.

Making your way through a HYDRA base, trailing behind Steve Rogers, Captain friggin’ America, wasn’t exactly how you wanted to spend your day. Despite the fact that the two of you were eerily similar, you couldn’t stand each other. Being in the same room usually meant that you were in each other’s faces, yelling until you were red in the face, while someone – more than likely Nat or Bucky – kept you two from tearing each other apart.

“Would you keep it down?” Steve hissed, glaring at you over his shoulder. “We can’t retain the upper hand if they hear us coming.”

You stuck your tongue out at the super soldier, rolling your eyes once he looked away. It wasn’t your fault there was debris everywhere. “Not everyone has our super sonic hearing, Steve.”

“It’s a good thing they don’t. If they did, we’d be dead. Now zip it.” His head shook once in frustration. “Maybe if you worked on your stealth, you wouldn’t need to be told to keep it down.”

“Oh, so that’s what this is about?” you snapped, your voice a harsh whisper. “You’re pissed because I ditched your class. Get over yourself, Rogers.”

Steve sighed heavily, stopping so fast you almost slammed into his back. “It’s mandatory, Barton,” he lamented as he turned, towering over you. “Fury said -”

“It’s just a class,” you groaned, your arm falling to your side, weapon slapping against your thigh.

“A class that could keep you alive,” Steve insisted slightly louder than before.

“Oh, my God. Fine, I’ll go to your fucking class,” you snapped. You had promised Natasha you wouldn’t pick a fight on this mission, and what’s the first thing you do?

Steve rolled his eyes. “You’re acting like a child, Y/N. It’s unprofessional and inappropriate. If you don’t want to be here, go, leave. Don’t let the door hit ya.”

“And give you what you want? Fat chance,” you laughed.

“Staying out of spite is only gonna get you killed,” he said, his tone dark and gritty.

You were prepared to launch into a tirade, but there was movement off to the right. “Get down,” you screamed at Steve, raising your weapon to defend yourself, but whoever it was had the upper hand and used it to their advantage.

Noxious gas surrounded the pair of you, filled your nostrils, made your lungs squeeze, made your mouth water. You were bent at the waist, covering your mouth and coughing, your eyes filling with tears. You were getting lightheaded and it felt as if the floor was shifting underfoot.

“Come on. We can’t stay,” Steve rasped, his arm around you, half-dragging you out of the facility.

Once outside, you dropped to your knees and gasped at the cool, smoke-free air. Your lungs were still seizing, working to rid themselves of the toxic substance. Steve was next to you, in the same condition you were, his eyes filled with panic. Thank God for the serum flowing through your veins.

There were shouts and a stampede of footfalls headed your way. Knowing you probably wouldn’t survive a bullet to the brain, you and Steve hauled ass to the quinjet and flew away just as the men in pursuit broke through the treeline.

FRIDAY was at the helm, driving the quinjet, going into stealth mode. “Everything alright, Captain?”

“Mission aborted,” he coughed harshly, ripping the cowl from his head. “Alert medical, two inbound, gas inhalation.”

“And Agent Barton? Is she alright?” the AI inquired.

You were fumbling with the knobs on an oxygen tank that was secured to the wall. “I’m here,” you gasped, raising the mask to your mouth.

Steve followed suit but, instead of sitting next to you, he pressed a hand to the wall, hunched his shoulders, and bent his head as the oxygen hissed softly through the tube. It was hard enough to read him on a normal day, let alone when there was toxic gas in his system. So, rather than saying something stupid, you kept your mouth shut – figuratively – until after the quinjet had landed and medical staff was rushing up the ramp.

“Quarantine?” you hollered, hands balled into fists at your sides.

Bruce gave you what he considered a reassuring smile. “Just until the toxins are out of your systems.”

Steve gave an annoyed huff and was pinching the bridge of his nose. “Come on, Banner, we’re perfectly fine.”

“No, you’re not,” Bruce argued. “The two of you inhaled some pretty nasty stuff out there. You’re lucky it didn’t kill you.”

“Luck has nothing to do with it,” you grumbled under your breath.

“Fine,” Bruce quasi-agreed with you, pulling off his glasses. “Thanks to the super serum pumping through your veins, you won’t die. Unlike the hundreds of millions of people that will when the gas is released.” Without another word, he turned around and walked out, the door slamming behind him.

With a grunt, you slapped the wall, hissing as pain erupted in your palm. “Son of a -”

“The serum is busy trying to get rid of the gas,” Steve explained.

You rolled your eyes as you rubbed your hand. “I know that.”

“Plus, the walls are lined with vibranium,” he added, his tone flat and unamused.

“I know that, too, Steve,” you snapped, turning to storm away.

“We wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t -”

You roared in frustration and tears stung your eyes. “I know that, okay? Jesus, Steve.” You punched the wall with everything you had. Agony, white-hot and searing, exploded in your knuckles. You gave a pain-laced scream and dropped to your knees, tears streaming down your face.

“I fuck everything up, Steve,” you murmured. “It’s all I know how to do. I’m the pain-in-the-ass-relative that nobody wants to be around or go on a mission with, the one that can’t shut the fuck up, the one that everyone hates. I’m sorry, Steve. I’m sorry I fucked it all up.”

Steve was on his knees in front of you, his shirt off, the thin cotton pressed to your bloody knuckles. You tried to pull away from him, to find the nearest corner and sit in it, to shut yourself off completely. He wiped away the blood that oozed from the wounds, shaking his head, his eyes dark, his jaw tight.

“I don’t hate you,” he said, so softly that you were sure he hadn’t said anything at all.

“Yeah, right,” you scoffed and rolled your eyes. “Then tell me why you’re always on my case. Explain why nothing I do is good enough. I may look like a fucking teenager, but you seem to forget how old I really am.”

You had been married at the age of eighteen, kept the house while your husband worked, and as of three weeks prior, you had a bouncing baby boy; Harold Barton. Sure, money was tight at times, but your husband always made it work.

And then one day, he came home early, a somber expression on his face, a letter in his hand. He had been let go, the company was bankrupt, and you barely had two nickels to rub together. So, you scoured the papers, looking for anything you could do to bring in the money needed to keep your son alive, to keep clothes on his back, and a roof over his head. 

WANTED: Women, ages 18 – 22, in excellent health.
Want to get paid hundreds of dollars for a week of your time?
Helping the Youth Dream and Remain Active has developed a new health regime, and are in need of volunteers.
Please call the number below.

“I should have known better,” you ridiculed yourself, your eyes finally lifting to meet Steve’s. “I lost my husband and my son, and now… now I have a grandson. Jesus, Clint’s older than I am, and he has kids, and one day, they’ll be older than me. I mean… I just…”

Steve pulled you into his arms as your voice trailed off, a hand on the back of your head, the other at the small of your back. “You did what you thought was right, Y/N.”

“How could I just leave them?” you sobbed. “I should have stayed, been a better wife and mother.”

“Hey, no,” Steve argued gently. “Don’t do that.”

You pulled in a breath that made your shoulders shake. “It’s the truth, Steve, and there’s nothing you can do or say to make me think otherwise..”

Sighing, you untangled yourself from Steve’s arms and pushed up, using his shoulder for leverage. Your uninjured hand was about to fall away, but Steve’s hand shot out and gripped it tight. He whirled you around and looked up at you, his eyes swirling with emotion.

With your hand on his jaw, you asked, “Steve… what are you doing?”

You knew what you wanted him to do, you wanted him to kiss you, to claim you, to show you the dominant side you knew he kept hidden. It wouldn’t happen, but that didn’t stop you from wanting it.

“Something I should have done a long time ago,” he rasped.

In the blink of an eye, his hand was on the back of your neck and he was surging up to kiss you. He was still on his knees, but even then, you were almost face-to-face with him. Your hands were in his hair, nails scraping along his scalp, fingers squeezing the back of his neck, your tongue sliding along his as he deepened the kiss.

Steve moaned in the back of his throat as he stood, his arms tight around you, your legs wrapping around his waist of their own accord. He pinned you to the wall, rocking his body against yours, driving the both of you crazy with desire. Your nails were digging into his skin, marring it with red welts, making him hiss as he pulled away.

Your mouth was on his pulsepoint. “The serum is busy trying to get rid of the gas”

“I know,” he huffed, his neck stretched out, giving your tongue and teeth ample room to roam, his hips jerking forward, your ass bouncing off the wall.

“Plus, the walls are lined with vibranium,” you gasped at the delicious way the bulge in his pants rubbed against you.

“I know that, too, Y/N,” he snarled in a way that made your body pulse.

“We wouldn’t be here if I hadn’t -”

Steve groaned loudly at that. “Jesus, Y/N. If you won’t shut up, I’ll do it for you.”

When all you did was wink at him, Steve kissed you savagely, pulling needy and desperate moans from you. One of his hands slipped beneath your shirt and skimmed along your side and stomach before covering your breast, massaging it, your pert nipple rubbing deliciously along the black lace.

“Are you guys okay? Oh, shit,” Bruce yelped, a hand flying up to cover his eyes.

“What the hell, Banner?” Steve growled, his grip on you loosening. You slid down, barely biting back a moan as your body moved against his. You fought the urge to rip his pants off and take him in your mouth whether Bruce was in the room or not.

Bruce peeked through his fingers. “Elevated heart rates,” he said, pointing at the sensors on Steve’s chest.

“Shit,” you muttered, reaching out to touch them. You had honestly forgotten all about them. His skin was so smooth and warm, you wanted to lick it.

“Besides,” Bruce announced loudly, snapping you out of it. “I got some test results back.”

With his full bottom lip trapped between those amazingly perfect white teeth, Steve’s hand was on the side of your neck, his thumb tracing the swell of your bottom lip.

“And?” he asked, his voice heavy with lust, his pupils completely blown.

Bruce’s eyes darted between the two of you. “It appears that when the gas and the serum met, they formed a sort of…” he was struggling to put it into layman’s terms, something they could easily understand.

“Spit it out, Banner,” you ordered, sidling closer to the soldier towering over you.

“It makes you guys tell the truth,” was his answer.

Steve was smirking down at you. “Good to know. Can we leave?”

“I mean, I don’t see why not. But don’t leave the com -”

You were draped over Steve’s shoulder and headed out the door before Bruce could finish.

“I could get used to this view,” you giggled as you grabbed his ass.

“You ain’t the only one, doll.” Steve slapped your ass that made you wince, that sent sparks of electricity dancing along your skin.

Less than a minute later, you were lying on the bed and Steve was locking the door.

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