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Brooklyn Twilight

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Female Reader

Warnings: None, super fluff

Summary: AU where Steve has returned from war and meets the reader outside a dance hall in Brooklyn.

The evening smells of warm lilac and soft summertime; of deepening twilight and wet concrete; of gentle breezes and the city air. It’s twilight in Brooklyn. It’s only a year after the war. You stand outside the dance hall waiting for your friend to return. You breathe in the summertime air. A couple passes you, arm in arm heading towards the bar down the street. You wonder about Betsey. The last you can remember, she was dancing with another veteran officer. Maybe he had taken her off to the bar too, or perhaps she had gone with him back to his place. You knew that this often happened, and cursed for agreeing to go with her.

“Excuse me, ma’am?” A voice echoes off to your left. A tall handsome man stands just in the doorway. The gentle yellow light outlines his form against the pale concrete of the building. He’s handsome, you think. You take a moment to consider his question and realize that you had sworn out loud. A soft pink hue settles over your cheeks.

“Oh, nothing,” you say. “Nothing worth talking about, anyways.” You smile. You make eye contact for a moment before looking back down again.

“You sure? I would pay you a nickel to hear a good story right about now,” he says.

You take a moment to look back over. He’s not in uniform like some of the other men. He’s not wearing any pins or badges. He’s dressed in a crisp white button down shirt and nice grey slacks. His hair a soft golden color and his eyes, you can’t tell what color they are in this light, but you can certainly reaffirm that he is indeed handsome.

“It’s not even worth a nickel,” you say. “It’s probably not worth a penny a dozen.”

He quietly watches you and waits for you to respond. In an effort to fill the uncomfortable silence you reply. “Well, I come here with my friend, Betsey,” you start. “It’s just, she always seems to disappear around this time of night. You know, I’m starting to think that Betsey isn’t that good a friend. It’s fun until you have to walk yourself home.” You stop and wonder if you’ve said too much.

“I can walk you home,” he says. “I wouldn’t want a lady to have to walk home alone. It’s going to be dark soon.”

“Oh, thank you, but I don’t even know your name,” you say.

“Steve,” he says, “Captain Steve Rogers, and I’d be delighted to escort you,” he says and offers you his arm.

“Thank you,” you respond. In an attempt to contain your delight at the offer you turn your head to the side

and try to stifle the growing smile on your face.

“So,” he says as he lazily meanders down the sidewalk with you on his arm, “you live that far?”

“Not too far. A couple of blocks down,” you say.

“Hey, that’s pretty close to where I grew up as a kid. You from Brooklyn?”

“Not originally. I moved here when I was just a baby. My mother brought us here to live with family after The Great War,” you say. There is a small hint of sadness in your voice. The ugly truth is heard without saying.

“I know people who lost family too.” He says. He knows you lost your father. “I’m sorry,” he says.

You tighten your grip on his arm and look up at him. You are grateful. “Thank you.” The two of you turn down another street and approach a building with a beautiful brown archway. “This one is mine,” you say. You let go of his arm and step onto the stairs so that you are almost on his eye level.

“Not too far away at all,” he says. He smiles and puts his hand in his pocket. He gestures with his other. “I didn’t catch your name.”

“I didn’t give it, Captain Steve Rogers” you say and smile. You turn towards your door, but before you can bring your hand up to reach for the door, you feel something catch it. You turn to see Steve’s hand holding yours. He’s looking up at you.

“Can I walk you home again sometime?” He asks.

“How about next Saturday? This time you can do better than just walk me home. How about you walk me down to S Myrtle and take me dancing?”

“I would love to,” he says. “And your name?”

“You’ll have to wait and find out next time, Captain,” you say. He releases your hand, and as you turn one last time to bid him goodnight, you can see that he’s beaming. The door closes softly behind you and your night of twilight, lilac, and sweet summertime is over, but you know that next Saturday will be even better.

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submit requests for marvel themed imagines. need some inspo for writing

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Daybreak

Pairing: Scott Lang x Reader

Warnings: None, super fluff

The light flutters in through the partly open blinds and brushes over your eyelids. The light is gentle, yet it is enough to disturb your sleep. Your eyelids slowly pullback, and although your vision is blurry, there is one thing you are certain about: you can feel the warm arms of him around you. You raise your head just enough to wake him. Although he hasn’t said anything yet, you know he’s awake because of the sharp intake of breath. He’s a light sleeper. You can feel his arms tighten around you.

“Mmm,” you hum, your voice still partly asleep, “good morning.”

He deeply inhales. “Good morning,” Scott replies. His voice is deep and rough. He lazily rubs a hand over his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose.

You begin turn away from his warm chest, but you don’t get far before he constricts and pulls you back again. “Not so fast,” he says, “It’s not time to get up yet.”

You know better than to argue, but you can’t help but tease him a little. “If it were up to you, we’d stay in bed all day.”

“Now that,” he says, “is a great idea. Anton! Room service, please!” You laugh. “Who wouldn’t want to stay in bed with ​you​ all day, huh?” His tone has changed. You can hear the innuendo dripping off each word.

You try to turn away again, but he’s got you in his grip. He turns over on his side so that he’s facing you. The sheets lull down towards his hips. He rests his hand against your face letting his thumb trace the rivets of your cheekbone. His eyes, warm and green start to get that faraway look, like he’s looking through your exterior. His lips are slightly parted. “I love you,” he says.

Before you can respond his lips are over yours moving gently against them. He presses himself closer to you and you can feel all his warmth. His arm trails from your cheek to your neck and down your back, stopping just at your waist. He breaks the kiss gently; his face still is an inch from yours. He smiles. You look back down towards his lips again. His brow knits.

“Should I not have stopped? Did I kill the mood? Should I just keep kissing you? I just wanted to see those eyes again.. God, you’re so cute in the morning. God, that sounded cheesy. Cap wouldn’t have said something like that. He’d be disappointed. Maybe we should-”

“Come here.” You press your lips to his and lean back into him. You fall back into the same repeated rhythm. The rhythm that occured morning after morning. You let your lips rise and fall with the lilt of his, as you grazed your hand over his jaw feeling the slight trace of a beard.

The dance is intoxicating. As he pushes his lips harder into yours, you push harder back until it is evident that the dance will not stop unless one of you breaks it.

You’re the one to pull away this time. You smile and you take in the hungry expression on his face. He tries to put his lips back to yours. You turn your head slightly. He knows you’re teasing him.

“Come on,” he says, “no fair.”

“We’ve got all day,” you say. “Why get to the best part first? Isn’t it better to prolong the satisfaction?” “Not for me,” he says and kisses you again. This time you know there is no more teasing to be had.

Your eyes flick back to the window one last time. You see the sun, clouds, trees, and you can faintly hear

the birds singing. You’re in bed with Scott Lang enjoying a weekend well deserved, and you couldn’t be happier.