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: this one is dedicated to my beloved olivia bc she is so sexy and yesterday was her birthday. enjoy JuliansEyepatch & im sorry it was late my love you deserve only the best
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Summary: DADSFRIEND!Steve quickly becomes your outlet for curiosity. (f!reader:19, steve: 38) 3.7k words Warnings: smut, mega age gap because ⭕️💢⭕️💢 somebody be my sugar mommy milf?, okay listen to me STEVE IS LITERALLY YOUR FATHERS FRIEND IN THIS IF THAT MAKES YOU UNCOMFORTABLE I SUGGEST YOU JUST SKIP THIS ONE :D , innocence kink, virgin!reader, brief description of needles
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His lips were the first to cross the line between playful and something much more. Much more was newly defined by the curve of your spine and the way his palms orchestrated the pitch-perfect symphony of your body.
Before that, all he was was Steve Rogers. Next door neighbor, part-time mechanic, your father's right hand man. Much more is only the space his hands traveled from ratchets and sockets to the dip of your waist. What you have now transcends modern vocabulary. What you have now is a machine Steve could never hope to dissect.
"Get your old man a beer, would ya?" your father grumbles, slumping into a lawn chair set on the patio. "And uh," he nods to Steve who hasn't stopped looking at you since you peeked through the front door, "get one for the S-O-B fuckin' with my engine."
He watches you leave, too. And he prays those little cutoffs don't attract boys with wandering hands and insatiable reckless abandon.
He wipes the sleeve of his flannel across his forehead, collecting the beads of sweat before cuffing the hems up to his elbows. Then you're back, fingers wrapped around two chilled bottles of beer, slick with icy condensation. The neck of your tank top dips low, and its just another thing for Steve to despise.
"Anybody home?" you call, shuffling up to him and popping the cap from his beer. You block the sun with your palm, still squinting to get a good look at his chest from beneath his unbuttoned shirt. The way he glows golden is incredible and beyond compare.
"Hey, hey," he says, shaking his head and plucking the bottle from your grasp, "play nice, kiddo, I could wreck this car with one loose bolt." Your bottom lip pokes out, and it kills him. Tears him to shreds at the will of you alone.
