She's A Fighter (Steve Rogers)
There are some women whom are highly feminine. There are others whom desert the concept entirely. There are others whom are settled something in-between. There are some whom believe caking their image in substances and colouring their hair for a more desired colour can only achieve beauty, and others whom think that’s plain shit, and completely untrue. There are many types of women, and no two are the same.
The truth to Steve Rogers was, he had absolutely no idea what kind of woman he was looking for or after when Tony posed the question to him. To Steve, only Peggy had stood out to him. The strong-willed, witty, clever, independent spirit had appealed to him. Another thing that was so special about Peggy was that she liked him before the super soldier serum, unlike the ladies in the office who’d bat their eyelashes or in one case, push him up to the wall and try to get him to make him have his way with them.
Yes… That’s what he liked about Peggy.
No to mention, she was the most breathtaking thing he had ever seen.
These were the thoughts that clouded his mind when the blonde-haired woman in the club ‘The Lab’ as it was called, tried to converse with him. Difference was, and he didn’t like to admit it, even to himself, that he was in no way interested with her. Her fake-orange coloured skin, bold black lashes, eyebrows in perfect sequence, and the edges of the mascara she caked her eyes in wisping out to the sides as if she were her own fantasy. The top she was wearing cutting just below her ribcage, and just above the top of her black bra, sending out the signs and telling him that she was defiantly not his type, not that he knew what that was.
Peggy… cute name. He thought as the woman kept coming on to him, standing way to close to him for his liking. He smirked slightly, amused at this woman’s attempts to seduce him. ‘Tony’d like her,’ he thought, ‘speaking of,’ he smiled again at his own irony ‘where is he?’ He quickly looked up from the blonde-haired, cake-faced woman, and scanned the area, finally giving up his gentleman composure in the process momentarily.
He spotted his friend and fellow avenger, ‘Of course he’s there.’ Steve mentally scolded himself, and even thought to do a face palm; it really was that much of a ‘duh’ factor.
He was up, with the strippers on stage, trying to pole dance. He was that shit-faced drunk. Steve tutted.
Ever since the Battle for Manhattan 8 months earlier, pretty much the world knew about the Avengers, as in, their code names, and which one was in which suit, (until it came to Tony of course, every one knew him). Which was a breath of relief to Hawkeye, Black Widow, Hulk and himself, and Steve now understood why all those years ago he wore the hat-mask, and why Coulson had made it imperative to be part of the new suit while designing while Steve himself was in his coma, and/or being unsociable after it.
Because as far as this Blondie was concerned, he was just (to put it her words) a ‘fit as, dude’.
Darn it, he was so bored. He looked at his watch.
“Ma’am, I’m sorry, but I have to get going now.” He told her, they were the first words he had said to her all this time. She was that much of a chatterbox, and walked off. He sighed, yes he actually sighed he was so drained after her.