The set was chaos in the best way—explosions on cue, wires snapping, extras rushing in all directions. But your heart wasn’t racing from the stunt rehearsal. No, it was because Chris Evans was leaning over the monitor next to you, both of you still in partial costume, sweaty and out of breath from the last take.

You were the new recruit in the MCU, cast as a young S.H.I.E.L.D. tech prodigy-turned-fighter. It was your first big role, and you were barely 23. Chris was… well, Chris Evans. Kind, legendary, ridiculously attractive—and nearly twenty years older. Which, if anything, only made it worse. Or better. Depending on the day.

“You know you blink every time you fire the prop gun?” Chris asked with a grin, nudging your arm with his shoulder.

“Do not,” you retorted, rolling your eyes. “You’re just looking that closely because you’re obsessed with me.”

He laughed, low and deep, that smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. “Busted.”

That was the thing. No one had expected this—this constant teasing, this tension that buzzed whenever you were near each other. It started during the first table read. His jokes, your eye-rolls, the way he started calling you kid just to see you fake-glare at him.

But the way his hand would linger on your back after a scene… that wasn’t in the script.

Neither was the way he pulled you aside between takes today. The rest of the crew buzzed in the background, but his voice was low, close to your ear. “That the age difference isn’t really bothering me… if it’s not bothering you.”

You swallowed. The teasing was fun, easy. But this? This was real. And dangerous. And tempting.