Situations with Chris Evans (and characters)!
[ CHRISEVANSXFEM!READER SMUT/FLUFF ]
* mild language and explicit depictions of sexuality (other trigger warnings stated at the beginning of the chapter). 18+ or else...
requests are [open but no guaran...
A/N: IDC IF I AM FOUR INCHES TALLER THAN PRE SERUM STEVE, I AM GOING TO KISS HIS CHEEK AND DANCE WITH HIM IDC Summary: Bucky brought Steve on a double date. Hey, this one's pretty, think she's a keeper, pal. 2.3k words. (do we want a part two?) Warnings: stevie aka awkward/self conscious/cutie pie, pining pining pining, steve's wandering eyes, steamy picture reference
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"This is the last one, Buck," Steve groans, hands shoved deep in the linen of his pockets. "I'm already asthmatic, don't think rejection is helpin' that."
"I don't think rejection caused that in the first place, Steve. Listen, as long as you stay through the whole date"—Steve whines—"yeah, the whole date, I won't force you on another."
The wind whips the tips of his fingers and nose, chafing the soft skin nearly raw. He had griped about the carnival for weeks, but now that he's here, red, blue, yellow lights blinking and blinding, it doesn't seem half bad. Even if his date hates his guts, he has at least eight places to scamper off to.
"Hey, doll," Bucky coos, and it catches Steve's attention because he has his arm wrapped around you—soft, swooping curls down your neck and a green dress flapping just above your knees. He decides then and there that green is his favorite color, and you are his favorite muse. Bucky whispers something in your ear, smirking when you squeal and pinch his arm, and Steve could just burst right into flames.
But then you're looking at him, and God, you're really looking at him, would'ya look away? Please? And you extend your palm, filling him to the brim with panic. What did Bucky say? Kiss her knuckles? That seems a tad forward, though, so he shakes your hand, lingering for too long as he gets absolutely lost on the gleaming look in your eye.
"Nice ta' meet ya, Buck talks a lotta'bout you, yunno. I'm sure excited to know more about this back-alley-bronco who beats up those dummie goons downtown. The world could use a few less'a them." Bucky's smug as all hell, hooking your friend's arm through his and grinning back at Steve one last time.
"You... wait, you mean—so... you're my girl?" Steve's spine goes stiffer than ever when you turn to face him and flick your hair over your shoulder. He can only pray the fluorescence drowns out the red-hot burn in his cheeks. "I-That's not... I meant—"
You sidle up next to him and slink forth into the darkness, slipping your fingers between his, locked and loaded and dragging him along. "How 'bout the ferris wheel?"
And it seems like you inch closer to him with each passing hour, and with each laugh, the tension in his bones melts away bit by bit. Every time you look at him with not so much as a stupid glance, he goes spiraling into a pit of being head over heels fascinated by you. Your fingers are sticky with taffy and humid sweat by the end of the night, and he wouldn't mind if you couldn't pry your hand from his for a week straight.
But even boiling water can't wash away the ache in his chest when you suggest dancing.
"Geez, I'm a real dead hoofer, darlin',"—neither of you can ignore the jump of your pulse at the pet name—"c'mon, you don't prefer ring toss or somethin'?"
