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#chris evans fluff
starry-eyed-romantics · 2 days ago
Lay Your Head On Me
Chris Evans x female reader
Warnings: none but fluff
Summary: Chris falls asleep on your lap while you’re having a conversation with someone else
Word count: 1,534 words
A/N: currently going through writers' block and an identity crisis, pls bear with me LOL. And if you see a change in my writing style, that’s because I’m experimenting with which ones I like best🥲🥲🥲
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"Thank you so much." you say as the barista hands you two paper cups filled with coffee which you take. "it's no problem at all," he replies, a friendly smile appearing on his lips.
You return his smile and walk away, heading towards the first class lounge where Chris was waiting.
As you make your way through the airport, he fades into view, too occupied with his phone to take notice of you walking in his direction. The sight makes you shake your head and tut under your breath.
"Hey," you say, catching him off guard. He takes his eyes off his phone to look up at you standing in front of him. You hold out the coffee in your hand for him to take.
Chris gives you a sheepish smile, obviously touched. "Hey," he replies, "oh my god. You shouldn't have."
You let out a sarcastic scoff. "Of course I had to. Our flights' delayed for the next eight hours," you say, motioning him to take the cup.
"You're right," he agrees resolutely, "gimme," he mumbles, making grabby hands at you. Chris accepts the cup from you and takes a small sip out of it. He let out an 'aah' of relief, exhaling a little steam.
You can't help but suppress a laugh at his antics, which makes him shoot his head up to face you fully. "Thank you. Come sit next to me" he manages to let out, pointing at the seat with his head.
"No problem," you whisper back, then kissing him on the forehead before seating yourself right next to him.
Both your hands lace together as you rest your head on his shoulder, followed by him laying his head on your head.
Your eyes close shut, mind drifting elsewhere as he begins tracing the lines on your palms with his delicate fingers.
A few minutes pass, and you still can't get yourself to sleep. You're still very aware of your surroundings, and your conscience doesn't seem to want to rest.
You tilt your head just the slightest bit and give Chris a sidelong glance. His weary eyes were wide open and on the verge of closing.
You chuckle to yourself when his head inclines forward, causing him to jerk upright.
Then, a yawn escapes his mouth, jaw tightening. "I'm getting a little sleepy." he lets out, covering his mouth with the back of his hand. "how much longer are we gonna have to wait?" he finally asks, turning his head towards you, arms folding.
You take your phone out to take a look at the time, and a glimpse of disappointment crosses your face. "Chris, it's only been an hour; there's plenty of time left. We can book a hotel room for a few hours if you want?" you propose, turning your phone off and sliding it back into your pocket.
"No, it's fine," He says, shaking his head, "I'm sleeping on your lap. It's comfier."
You let out an amused laugh, making him bite back a grin. "You big baby." Then, you pat your lap, gesturing him to put his head on it. "C'mere."
He gleams at you, bright-eyed and does not hesitate to bring his head down to rest on your lap. "I love loving you in public," he murmurs, making himself comfortable before slowly dozing off.
"I know," you shrug, smirking to yourself as you run your hands through his fluffy hair.
Once you're sure Chris is asleep, in the distance, you make out a familiar woman approaching you. "Omg, Y/N? Is that you?" the woman asks, eyes squinting for confirmation, "Hi, it's so good to see you! Remember me? It's Sara. We were roommates at Stanford?"
For a moment, a puzzled look appears on your face. But then, when that moment of realisation hit you, you gasped in excitement. "Oh my God, Sara, hey! Yes, of course, I do! How are you? How have you been?" you chant cheerfully, attempting to get up and squeeze her into a hug.
But then you remember Chris sleeping on your lap. It seemed as though he was in deep slumber because he wouldn't budge when you tried to wake him up. "Chris, wake up." you insist, shaking him violently. But still, no response.
"I'm sorry, let me just," you say, apologising to Sara, now slapping his face repeatedly in annoyance. And still, he doesn't stir. Instead, his arms are folded, and his head is still glued to your lap. You swear you could've heard him snore, too.
"Oh no, it's fine," she says, making you pause, "I've been great, thank you! And what about you? It's been what, 14 years since we last saw each other? Wow," she asks, glancing at you.
You disregard her question for a second and decide to make one last attempt at waking him up, this time poking his ribs. "Chris, get up, come on." you utter.
And when he still doesn't respond, you're sure he's dead. So you give it up. "I'm so sorry. Just pretend he isn't here," you add, making her laugh. "But, um, yeah, it's been 14 years. I've been doing well, what about you? You look great!"
You point towards the empty seat next to you, indicating her to sit down, and Sara obliges. "Thank you, oh, you're too nice. I'm so glad you're doing well," she states, waving you off dramatically, "And, I'm sorry, it's so hard to pretend he's not there. If you don't mind me asking, is that Chris Evans?" she asks, pointing towards his unconscious body.
You bring down your head down to look at him, a smile spreading across your face. "Yes, he is. Chris is my boyfriend. We've been dating for four years now." you answer assuringly, smacking your hands on his biceps to give him a massage.
"Oh wow, that's great! He sure does look pretty comfortable, huh?" she says, chuckling.
An amused laugh ripples from your chest, sending a shockwave through Chris' body. "He does, doesn't he," you say, chuckling along. Your hands are now gliding off of Chris' biceps to run your hands through his hair. "So, anyway, what brings you here to Paris?" you ask, head tilting ever so slightly to the right.
Sara looks up at you, eyebrows raising. "Oh, right, I came here on holiday. It's been so much fun, I've loved it so much, and it hurts to leave." she lets out, a pout forming on her lips.
"That's so exciting!" you reply, "And, true. We don't want to leave either but, here we are." you shrug, now caressing Chris' arms.
She gives you a forced smile. "You guys here on holiday too?" she then asks, her eyes slowly tracing the movements of your fingers.
You give her a nod, lips pursing into a smile. "Yep, the both of us wanted a break off of work and spent some time together."
"Aww, I'm so happy for you both," she says, smiling, "Well, I better get going now. It was great catching up with you, Y/N. We should meet up again sometime." she finally says, slapping her thigh and getting up from her seat.
You smile at her response, pulling her into a hug while still glued onto the seat. "Of course, it was great seeing you too. Let's hope the next time we do, I'm in a better position than this one." You say, making her laugh.
"True. Tell Chris I said hi, will you? Thanks again, bye!" She lets out.
"Bye Sara, will do. See you soon," you reply. The two of you then bid your goodbyes. You catch sight of Sara making her way through the lounge in a different direction.
Once she leaves, you sigh, bringing your head down to look at the man in front of you. "OK, seriously, Chris. Cut the act," you say, voice stern.
He doesn't reply until, all of a sudden, a small mischievous grin dances along his lips. Chris can't help but burst into laughter when he opens his eyes to face an unhappy-looking you.
A look of mild concern appears on your face, your mouth forming into a small thin line, and your eyebrows are drawn down a little. Ha ha, you're so funny," you say with a sarcastic laugh and smile. "Now get up."
Chris lifts his head up a little, face scrunching up. "What? Nooooooo, I don't want to. Do you need to go to the bathroom or something?" he whines, refusing to listen to you.
"God, you really do test my patience sometimes," you say, rolling your eyes at him and causing him to snicker.
"I know. You love me for it, though," Chris teases, wiggling his eyebrows playfully. "You're right. I do," you say, looking down at him.
The response you give him makes him shoot his head up and sit up straight to fully face you. "You do?" he asks, scanning your eyes for an answer.
"Shut up," you say, trying not to smile as your eyes roll. And it's true, you do love him. Nothing could have possibly meant more than him.
"I love you too," he says, finally. "Now can you please continue scratching my head?"
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time-for-a-lullaby · a day ago
Girl imagine eloping with Chris in Vegas one weekend. He would be drunk n shouting MY WIFE at any opportunity he got
Vegas, Baby!
Chris Evans x Wife!Reader
Summary: You and Chris elope to Vegas after one too many things go wrong while trying to plan your wedding.
A/N: something short and iffy hahaha but this was too cute of an idea! Didn’t spell check or anything and I’m uploading on mobile, so bear with me hahaha
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“OH MY FUCKING GOD!” You let out a frustrated groan after hanging up the phone and buried your face in your hands.
This was the 4th caterer to back out in less than 3 months and you were at your wits end with planning this wedding. Nothing was going right. With anything.
Chris walked into the study, leaning against the doorway, “you okay?”
You threw your hands up, “No. I’m not. This wedding is fucked, Chris. Like who did we piss off in this universe? It’s because we’re having pre-marital sex, isn’t it?”
He laughed, “something tells me that’s not it.”
“I mean, how many things have to go wrong before we just call it off?” You asked. Obviously you weren’t going to call things off, you couldn’t wait to marry Chris but this was annoying on another level.
He made his way into the study, leaning against the desk, “we’re not calling it off. My mom will cater before that happens.”
You smiled, taking a deep breath, “i mean, at this point we should just elope.” You looked up at him, not really serious, but definitely more open to the idea than you thought.
He crossed his arms and shrugged, “okay.”
Raising an eye brow, you laughed, “yeah, okay.”
“Let’s do it. Let’s elope.”
You stared at him for a second, “are you being serious?”
He nodded, “i am. We love each other… we don’t need some giant, catered wedding to prove that. Let’s go. Right now.”
You stood timidly, “are we doing this?”
“Let’s do this.”
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12 hours later, in true Vegas fashion, you were completely trashed in a chapel, being married by Elvis. Scott was screaming at the top of his lungs when they officially announced you as husband and wife.
You jumped into Chris’s arms, his lips crashing onto yours.
He spun you around before setting you down, “i love you, Y/N.”
“I love you, too… husband.”
He smiled, “husband.” He repeated, leading you out of the chapel with Scott and your best friend.
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You posed in front of the Welcome To Vegas sign and took your first picture as husband and wife, your arms wrapped around his neck while his hands had a tight grip on your ass.
He spun you in a circle, “LOOK AT MY WIFE!”
You buried your face in your hands, falling into him, “stop, Chris! You’re so loud!”
“I don’t care, you’re my FUCKING WIFE!!!”
You laughed, reaching up to kiss him again.
“Alright! Casinos?!” Scott offered, looking back and forth between you and Chris.
You shrugged, “I’m okay with—“
You squealed as he lifted you, throwing you over his shoulder and smacking your ass, “Chris!”
He started walking away, “I’ve already got something in mind, sorry, Scott!”
You smacked his shoulder as Scott groaned, “Christopher!”
“That was an image i could’ve lived without,” Scott yelled after you as Chris led you to the car.
You were in a long night and you couldn’t wait.
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rocketrhap3000 · 2 days ago
requested : saw this tik tok and thought ,   could you write a blurb for futile with chris and yn and there daughter based on this! if not thats ok but i love your works thank you!
a/n: divider by @firefly-graphics​ !! this is the sweetest 🥺 thanks for the request! ps: if you aren’t following this series, this blurb can stand alone! also, i need to make it known that i have two jobs and tumblr is not a top priority of mine. i write and post when i can and i cannot guarantee that i will complete all requests in a timely manner. that being said, i appreciate all your patience. thank you for the continued support and for 2.1k followers! 🤍
warnings: dad!chris, pregnant!reader, domestic fluff!
no beta/loosely proofread so please excuse errors!
my main masterlist
‘futile’ series masterlist
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Around four-thirty in the evening, you hear the front door open and shut gently, followed by the excited clicking of Dodger’s paws against the hardwood flooring, letting you know Chris is home for the night. He’s been crazy busy lately with insanely early and long hours on set, but at least the location they’re filming on is only an hour away, and at least he’s home at a normal time today for the remainder of the weekend.
“M’home, Sweetheart,” comes his tired voice. You smile when you hear Dodger let out a little howl, ‘Dad’s home, dad’s home!’ and you hear Chris talking back to him. 
“In the living room,” you call out in response. You go to stand up from your spot on the couch, but he makes his way around the corner to see you somewhat struggling with your growing baby belly. Dodger follows, trotting back into the living room and gets comfy on his bed again, leaving you and Chris to have your own reunion.
“Honey, stay stay stay,” Chris urges softly, rushing over to you. You look back at him and laugh, almost stuck in the position until he helps you back down. 
“Thank you,” you giggle, and seeing your smile is all his heart needs to be uplifted from a long day away from you. 
“Mm, missed you,” he whispers, kissing you slowly and sweetly while caressing your bump. 
“Missed you too,” you reply, gazing into his tired eyes. 
“How are you? Feeling any better?” he asks, knowing you were up with nausea through the night, which he had to help you with and felt awful that he had to leave. He then slings an arm around you and brings you in closer to him. His other hand rests on your belly, softly rubbing over it.
“Mm, much better. How are you?”
“I’m beat,” he chuckles. 
“Well you were up and out of the house before four this morning. I can understand why,” you laugh lightly, placing a hand on his face and running your thumb over his cheek and ear.
“Yeah. I am so glad to be home for the weekend. Where’s Ayla?”
“Upstairs, napping,”
“I could go for a nap right about now, too,” he says softly. 
“Go right ahead,” you encourage. “I was going to start dinner soon.”
“No no no, let me. I don’t want you up on your feet.” 
“Chris, it’s really okay. I feel so much better than this morning and I’ve been resting all day,”
“You’ve been with the toddler form of the Energizer Bunny all day,” he jokes.
“She wasn’t too crazy today, actually,” you admit honestly, laughing a little bit.
“That’s fantastic. But I still want you to rest,” he insists. 
“Just have your nap,” you roll your eyes, going to stand up off the couch, but his hands keep you close to him. 
“Nap with me?” he asks meekly. And you simply can’t resist the invitation.
The pair of you somehow manage to fit comfortably on the couch together despite Chris’ size and the size of your belly. But where there’s a will, there’s a way; Chris lays down and settles behind you, cradling your body against his front before pulling a throw blanket off the top of the couch and spreading it over your entangled bodies. You both fall asleep way too quickly, and it feels so nice to be together once again.
Perhaps another hour passes and you stir awake for some reason. You hear Chris snoring lightly behind you; it’s clear he needed a nap more than you did. Then, as if your mother’s intuition was what woke you, you hear Ayla start to babble from her room upstairs, signaling she’s napped long enough. 
You quietly, gently lift Chris’ arm and the blanket off your body and slip out of his grasp to stand up slowly and make your way up to your daughter’s room. Opening the door, you find her standing in her crib, dark curls adorably messed up, pacifier hanging from the side of her mouth, and big brown eyes peering from between the bars. 
“Oh, hello my Lovebug,” you greet softly and she yawns and smiles in response. 
She’s only wearing a diaper and a long-sleeved, mustard yellow shirt, having refused when you tried to put pants back on after you changed her earlier in the day, and everything about her appearance is just too precious for this world.
“Mama,” she babbles, and you lift her out of her crib with ease. She may be almost a year and a half but she’s still a tiny little thing. You gently tug the pacifier from her lips and set it on the shelf next to the changing table in her room.
“Dada? Dadada?” she asks, holding her arms out as if to ask “where’s dad?” 
“Daddy’s downstairs. He’s having a nap, too. Wanna wake him up for dinner?” you ask and she nods to answer.
You carry her up until you get to the stairs, knowing she’s light but you still shouldn’t be lifting her down the steps since you’ve not been feeling the best. Instead, she grabs your hand and the two of you waddle down the stairs, one step at a time, to find Chris still passed out on the couch. 
Ayla runs through the living room, ringlet curls bouncing with each step, until she finally makes it in front of Chris. She looks back to you for encouragement and you stand near her to watch her interaction with Chris. 
“Wake him up, Bug,” you whisper sweetly. 
“Dada,” she says quietly, not loud enough to stir Chris awake.
She looks up at you again and you nod and smile, prompting her to tap his hand softly a few times. That pulls Chris out of his sleep just enough for him to open his eyes for a second, finding his daughter standing in front of him.
“Hi, Baby,” he greets sleepily, making her giggle happily, too, before lifting her up and coddling her to his chest. She sits on his chest and gurgles happily. “How was your nap, Peanut?” he asks, lifting up her shirt and blowing raspberries against her tummy. “Mama and I had a good nap too,” he then says, shifting to a sitting position with Ayla on his lap as you sit back down beside him on the couch.
“I say we order dinner in,” Chris then states, kissing Ayla’s head, your bump, then your lips before continuing. “I’m way too comfortable in our little family huddle to get up to make dinner.”
“I think that’s a great idea,” you agree and smile, leaning into Chris and enjoying the simple moment of togetherness. 
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twoghostsfromeden · a day ago
We Got Nothing Figured Out
Chris Evans x Pregnant!Reader
Summary: Unexpected news sends Chris walking out.
Warning: mentions of miscarriage, mention of abortion, i'm sorry this is horrible who hurt me, chris is horrible in this, but i think he makes up for it, please dont hurt me, readers parents have a healthy relationship so i feel like that needs a warning lmao, i feel like this almost has pro-life vibes and i am definitely not pro life so i apologize for that 😖
A/n: This is another part of my 1k celebration! This was super hard to write, but i actually really like it! please remember you can send in requests for this celebration 🤍
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"“I like him,” Your mom says, a smile on her face. It’s something you never thought you’d hear her say, especially not so soon. Your parents have always been harsh critiques of the people you bring home, but it seems as if they’ve fallen for Chris as quickly as you did. You look over at her, tears threatening to spill out of the corners of your eyes.
Despite being together for over 6 months, this is the first time you’ve been able to introduce Chris to your parents. He’s been so busy with work, and you’ve both had a hard time lately. It’s been a hard couple of months lately, months that you didn’t think you’d make it out of. Before you and Chris had even hit two months together, you’d suffered a miscarriage. You’d gotten drunk on the first date, allowing chemistry to make the decisions instead of your mind.
You hadn’t even told Chris you were pregnant until after you miscarried, too worried he’d freak out about getting you pregnant. The miscarriage devastated both of you, leaving you both empty. Despite only knowing each other for a short amount of time, neither one of you wanted that outcome.
“I like him, too,” You say, adding a giggle to the end. As if on cue, Chris rounds the corner, flashing you his white smile. He wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you in for a hug. “Hm, you talkin’ about me?” He asks, raising his eyebrow.
You smile up at him, laughing. “Maybe, maybe not,” You answer, watching him look over at your mom. Before he can ask her, she’s “zipping” her mouth shut, shrugging her shoulders. Chris chuckles, shaking his head. You’ve been staying with your parents for the long weekend, wanting plenty of time for them to get to know each other.
So far, everything has been going great. Chris has been bonding with your dad over football, he’s been wooing your mom by bringing her flowers and complimenting her cooking. "That's alright, we have secrets too," Your dad says, entering the room. You raise your eyebrow, pulling away from Chris.
"About me?" You ask, darting your eyes between both of them. Your mind immediately goes to Chris asking your dad if he can marry you, even though you've not been together nearly as long as you'd like to before you get engaged.
Chris shrugs his shoulders, trying to keep his laugh down. "Maybe, maybe not," He says, using your words against you. You pout, annoyed with both of your favorite men. Your mom snuggles up to your dad's side, yawning. "We should get to bed," She says, looking up at your dad.
Your dad leans forward, pressing a kiss to your cheek. "Goodnight, baby," He says, before turning to Chris. "And I expect to see you asleep on the couch in the morning," He jokes, earning a chuckle from Chris.
Your parents turn to go upstairs, leaving you and Chris alone downstairs. You lean against the kitchen counter, looking up at him. "When am I gonna get to meet your family?" You ask, watching as Chris tucks a hair behind your ear.
"Soon, hopefully. I just know how they are, y/n. As soon as they meet you, they'll go crazy. They'll start asking about marriage, about babies... I just want to make sure you're prepared," Chris says, his voice low. You know he's only looking out for you, but you wish he wouldn't treat you like you're broken. You had a miscarriage, that shouldn't mean you aren't allowed to meet his family.
Chris leans down, placing a kiss on your lips. "Let's go to bed,"
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You wake up with cramps, causing you to sit up in bed. You glance over at the clock on the nightstand, flashing 1:58. You pull the blankets away from you, swinging your legs over the bed. You hold your stomach as you walk to the bathroom, praying it's just your normal cramps. You were supposed to start your period a couple of weeks ago, but the doctor warned you that your next periods after the miscarriage might not be normal.
You shut the door to the bathroom behind you, pulling your shorts down and sitting on the toilet. You look in your panties, checking to see if you started. When you don't see anything, you frown, your mind racing. You sit on the toilet, staring at the wall.
You can't be. Not again. Not this soon.
Could you?
You take a deep breath, gnawing on the inside of your cheek. You know you're being silly, but are you really? You got back on birth control after the miscarriage, but you'll be honest... You've missed a few pills here and there. "Shit," You mutter, leaning to the side and opening the cabinet door.
You know for a fact you have pregnancy tests in your bathroom from when you lived at home, you just hope they're not expired. You dig through the cabinet, searching through the various tampons and pads, until you find your stash. You pull one out, flipping the package over and searching for the expiration date.
March 17, 2023.
You take another deep breath as you tear into the package, your heart racing. You're not even sure what you want the results to be. You were so devastated after losing your last pregnancy, but are you ready to be a mother? You just met Chris, is this what you really need right now?
You position the stick underneath you, trying to force yourself to pee. Once you feel like you've gotten enough, you place the stick on the counter, cleaning yourself up. You stand up, already pacing. Whatever happens, you have to tell Chris. The last time you got pregnant and didn't tell Chris, you were miserable keeping that secret from him.
All you ever wanted was to have that perfect reaction that other girls got. You never got that. You never got the chance to tell him the happy news; only the bad news. Sure, the situation isn't ideal, but you love Chris. You already know you want to be with him for the rest of your life, so what if you have to speed things up?
You stop pacing the room, staring at yourself in the mirror. You turn to the side, lifting your shirt up. You look bloated, but you also just had a shit ton of bread at dinner tonight. You rub your thumb over your belly, a strange feeling washing over you.
You could be pregnant.
The thought forces a smile to grow on your face, tears pricking the corners of your eyes. You quickly wipe your cheeks, glancing over at the test. The digital test is still loading, but you know the result could be showing up any time now.
You stare at the test, leaning on the counter for support. The test stops loading, allowing the result to pop up. As soon as you read the result, tears are falling down your face, tears of fear and tears of joy.
You’re pregnant.
Without hesitation, you hurry back to bed, sitting on the edge of it. Through your tears, you gently shake Chris awake, watching as he grunts and groans. “Chris… Chris, wake up,” You whisper, your smile still on your face.
Chris opens his eyes, stretching his arms over his head and yawning. “Y/n?” He asks, furrowing his eyebrows when he realizes you’re crying. He sits up, reaching out to cradle your face.
“What’s wrong? Have you been crying?”
You snuggle your hand in his face, nodding. The fear of Chris not wanting the baby has left, because how could he not want this baby? “I’m pregnant,” You whisper, the smile still on your face.
Chris’s furrowed eyebrows drop, only to be replaced by wide eyes. He pulls his hand away from your face, sitting up even straighter. The change in his mood has your stomach dropping, your heart racing. “You’re what?”
You place your hands in your lap, instinctively protecting your stomach. “I… I’m pregnant,” You repeat, which much less enthusiasm.
Chris stands up, the moonlight shining on his back as he paces the floor, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. “How long have you known?” He asks, his tone accusatory.
“I just found out.”
Chris takes a deep breath, stopping in the middle of the room. His reaction isn’t what you expected, especially after he was so devastated after the miscarriage. You stand up, swallowing the lump in your throat. “Chris, this is great news… Isn’t it?” You ask, your voice quiet.
Chris scoffs, shaking his head. “Great news? Y/n, I met your parents for the first time days ago. We don’t even live together. We’re not ready for this,” He rambles.
You stare at him, struggling to find the words to say. You want to tell him that you can get ready, you can move in together, but you know what he’s not saying.
He’s saying he’s not ready.
Your tears roll down your cheeks as you stare up at him, feeling your heart break in two. But just because he’s not ready doesn’t mean he’ll leave, does it?
“I thought you’d be happy… You were so upset after we lost the last one.” You say, your voice shaky.
Chris shakes his head, his eyes filling with tears. “Of course, I was upset, y/n. A miscarriage is upsetting in any capacity, but… I was relieved, we weren’t ready, we still aren’t,”
The statement knocks the breath out of your lungs, sending you walking back until you’re sitting on the edge of the bed. How could he say that? While you were cramping, crying on the couch, he was relieved? While your heart was breaking, he was relieved?
You take a deep breath, your mind begging your heart to give up. But it won’t, you won’t give up. “Chris, I’m scared, but that doesn’t mean-“
“You should be scared! I’m scared!” Chris shouts, the noise bouncing off of the thin walls. You silently pray your parents aren’t listening in on the conversation.
“Y/n, I can’t do this. I can’t have a baby right now. I’m not emotionally prepared, we’re not financially prepared, it shouldn’t happen right now,”
Your bottom lip trembles as your eyes drop to the floor, finally understanding just how unfixable the situation is. Neither one of you want what the other is suggesting. “Chris, I’m having this baby. I’m sorry if that upsets you, but I’ve wanted this for so long. You can either be here to help me, or you can walk out that door and never come back.” You say, trying to keep your voice steady.
Chris stares at you, his eyes filling up with tears. He stares at you blankly, swallowing the lump in his throat. You can see the gears turning, but you can’t tell what his decision will be. Without saying a word, Chris turns to the door, leaving you alone in your childhood room.
You lie awake on your back, staring up at the ceiling. Your hands are on your stomach, gently rubbing against your skin. It’s been at least an hour since Chris left, maybe even more. You hadn’t really expected him to leave, you were bluffing.
You can’t do this on your own.
You’ve been crying since he walked out, halfway expecting to run out of tears. Luckily, your parents hadn’t awaken and heard anything, so you don’t have to explain anything right now.
But you will have to explain why Chris isn’t there in the morning.
You turn over on your side, only to flip back over to your back. Are you allowed to sleep on your side? There are so many things you don’t know about pregnancy, how are you supposed to navigate everything on your own?
When Chris talked about his niece and nephew, you always thought he’d be the best dad. You could always envision him making sure you didn’t eat deli meat, or that you didn’t have caffeine. You thought he’d be the type of dad to never leave your side.
You wipe away your tears, taking a deep breath.
You don’t need a father for your child. You have Google.
You reach over to the nightstand and grab your phone, your thumbs working to type in your question. After reading through the articles, you turn to your side, curling up in the fetal position. Your attention is brought to the door as you hear a quiet squeak, causing you to furrow your eyebrows.
The door moves open, revealing Chris in the doorway. His eyes are red and puffy, his hair looks like he’s run his fingers through it a million times. He’s holding a small stuffed bear in his hands, the bear visibly shaking.
You sit up, your heart pounding in your chest. “Chris, what are you doing here?” You ask, pulling the sheets over your body.
Chris sniffles, moving closer to the bed. “I stopped at a gas station on my way back home,” Chris says, his voice quiet. Your heart sinks at the realization that he was actually going to leave. You don’t say anything, though, giving him time to explain.
“I saw this bear,” He says, holding it up. “My mom told my dad she was pregnant with me when he was away at a work conference,” He says, placing the bear on the bed next to you. You keep your eyes on him, swallowing the lump in your throat.
“After Carly, they agreed not to have anymore kids. They wanted time to focus on work. I was an accident,” Chris says, chuckling quietly. You move your hand to your stomach, wanting to protect it as much as possible.
Chris drops his head to his lap, tears streaming down his face. “My dad didn’t want me. He was terrified. He didn’t know how he was going to have two kids… On the way home from the conference, he stopped at a gas station. He bought a stuffed bear just like this. Even though he was scared, he was still the best dad in the world,” Chris says, moving closer to you.
“They had me and then decided to have two more. My point is, I might not be ready to have this baby, but I want to get ready. I want to have all of the babies with you. I’m not ready to give up,” Chris finishes, reaching out and cupping your cheek.
You look up at him, tears falling down your face and into his hand. You can feel your bottom lip trembling, your heart racing. This… This is the dad you thought he’d be. Chris leans forward, pressing his lips onto yours. He pulls you closer, as if he can’t get close enough to you.
You pull away, staring up at him. You grab his hand, placing it on your stomach. You watch as he chokes back a sob, a smile forming on his face.
“You are the best thing that’s ever been mine, y/n,”
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reginaphalange2403 · 19 hours ago
Our Best Kept Secret
Part 2 to London made me do it
Can be read as standalone (kind of)
Pairing: Chris Evans x actress!reader, other marvel cast members mentioned
Genre: fluff, implied smut, FWB, implied friends to lovers
Summary: You and Chris struggle to keep your fwb relationship a secret from your friends
Warnings: implied smut, some swearing, lots of Anthony Mackie lol
A/n: this is loosely based on that episode of “Friends” where Joey finds out about Monica and Chandler. I tired to make it funny, not sure if i succeeded lol. Anyways, enjoy!
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“Wow. How is it that damn good every time?” You chuckle at Chris, who’s still laying naked under the covers while you put your bra back on.
“I guess it’s all that ‘chemistry’ everyone says we have” you respond, somewhat sarcastically, Chris laughing.
“Same time tomorrow night?”
“You got it.”
“Have a great evening then Ms. Y/L/N” Chris says in a very polite professional tone, quite the opposite of the way he was addressing you in bed, just a few moments ago.
“And you as well Mr. Evans” you say with a nod and wink before exiting his hotel room.
Ever since you and Chris accidentally ended up in bed together a few months ago, it had become a reoccurring thing. Despite this, nothing romantic had sparked between you two. It was simply sexual. However, since you both were a part of the marvel franchise, it was becoming harder and harder to hide your little excursions from your cast-mates. Most of your “meet ups” happened in hotel rooms late at night during press tours and filming. Between lying and sneaking around your friends, it became exhausting to keep up with your platonically sexual relationship. Neither of you wanted to give it up though, it was just that good.
Quietly tip-toeing out of his room and down the hall, holding your panties in one had, having thrown your clothes on in a rush, you run straight into Anthony Mackie.
He stares you down, eyebrows creased in curiosity at what the hell you’re doing out this late.
“Where are you off to?” He asks.
“Nowhere, I was just going back to my room” you try and scoot around him to get past but he blocks you, a little grin appearing on his face.
“Wait, your room is on the opposite end of the hall, the only person who’s room is on this end is Chris….what were you doing in Chris’ room?”
“Nothing” you answer a little too quickly for Mackie’s liking, “we were just rehearsing lines for tomorrow”
“….you and Chris don’t have any scenes together tomorrow”
“I meant for next week, sorry”
Mackie brings his watch up to his face, “At 12:30 in the morning?”
“…Well we started around 9 and then we got to talking about other things.” You respond, lying through your teeth, knowing you had only been with Chris for about the past hour. “Why do care so much anyway Mackie? You’re up this late too. I should be the one asking you what the hell you’re doing!”
He laughs, still not convinced though. “Okay okay, no need to get all defensive. I was just messing with you.”
Trying to end the conversation as fast as possible you excuse yourself and tell him you’re going to bed. He lets you past him until,
“Hey what’s that in your hand?”
You blush furiously, quickly balling up your underwear and scrunching it into your fist so he can no longer see it.
“None of your business” You say, not turning around to face him and just continuing to walk back to your room.
“Fine! Keep your secrets!” He yells down the hall to you.
The next morning, Anthony is hanging out with Elizabeth Olsen on set, getting a bite to eat together before each of their respective scenes needed to be filmed.
“God, I’m exhausted. I was out with Y/N last night until like 11.” Lizzie states
“Yeah I’m tired too, I was out with- wait…You were out with Y/N? I thought she was with Chris rehearsing lines last night from like 9 till 12? I even ran into her in the hall.”
“Well I was definitely with her from about 8 until 11. Maybe she went to Chris’ afterwards.”
“No, she for sure told me she started rehearsing with him at 9” Mackie said pointedly.
“Who knows. Maybe she got her times mixed up” lizzie just shrugged and went to sit down, Mackie hot on her heels.
“But even if that was true, why would she need to rehearse with Chris so late at night?”
“I don’t know Anthony, why does it matter?”
“It doesn’t I guess. Just weird, that’s all” he sat down next to her, his mind still trying to figure out what you were doing the other night.
Meanwhile, you have a whispered conversation with Chris, jogging over to where he’s filming when you get a short break.
“Mackie saw me leave your room last night” Chris’ eyes to wide.
“Really? What did he say? Did he suspect anything?”
“I’m not sure. I just told him we were rehearsing lines for next week. He kind of gave me a hard time about it, so I don’t think I convinced him very well.” You say, worriedly.
Chris tries to reassure you, “well that could just be Mackie being Mackie. You know how he likes to tease”
“That’s true. Anyway, just thought I’d warn you; if he asks, we were ‘rehearsing lines’ last night”
“Yes, that and nothing more” Chris winks
A few days later, you all had wrapped your scenes for Civil War in Atlanta, and were moving to a second filming location for the last few scenes of the movie.Everyone had packed their bags and were conjugated in the lobby together, waiting for the last few cast members to trickle in.
You, Chris and Anthony were standing next to each other in a corner.
“Hey man, do you have a sweatshirt I could borrow? I didn’t bring one and it’s freezing outside.” Anthony asks of Chris.
“Yeah sure!” Chris leans down, laying his suitcase on the ground to open it and pull out a sweatshirt.
As he does this, a pair of your black lace underwear lay directly on top of all his clothes. You had left them in his room last night, forgetting to grab them this time. Instead of returning them to you, he just tossed them in his bag, figuring he’d give them back later.
“Dude, what the hell?” Anthony awkwardly laughs at what he sees laying amongst his friend’s folded clothes.
“Uh…those are mine” Chris gives a clearly not thought out answer, but as he does, Anthony notices that the black underwear look oddly familiar to him. Meanwhile, you are looking everywhere else but Anthony, trying to avoid eye contact.
Suddenly, he makes the connection, realizing that the black piece of cloth you were holding in your hand a few nights ago that you refused to admit the identity of, were the same piece of clothing currently in Chris’ bag. His eyes fly from you to Chris a few times as he pieces everything together. All the weird little things that had not lined up the past few days, ever since he saw you come out of Chris’s room that night, claiming to have been ‘rehearsing lines’.
“OH MY-“ you clamp your hand over Anthony’s mouth before he can reveal your best kept secret in front of all your friends. Chris’s head shoots up and he quickly realizes that Mackie knows something he shouldn’t.
You and Chris grab Anthony, pulling him into a small, empty ballroom just off the hotel lobby. Chris shuts the door behind you three.
“You and-and YOU?!” Mackie practically yells, his head snapping between you and Chris. You take a deep breath, looking to Chris,
“B-But how? When? How long?” His questions come one after the other.
“It happened in London.” Chris answers, finally chiming in.
“SHHH” Chris harshly shushes him, quickly looking through the door window to see if anyone heard.
“Please, we don’t want anyone to know. It’s not even a big deal. You can’t tell anyone” You plead with him
“Fine, fine. I won’t tell anybody. I would never want to take that moment away from you two. But it is a big deal! Two of my friends are finally together!” Anthony wraps his arms around you and Chris.
“Wait..wait, we’re not like, ’together’ Mackie” You shrug yourself out of the embrace, as does Chris.
“Yeah, she’s right” Chris backs you up, “We’re really only sleeping together, nothing more”
Anthony looks confused, before suddenly bursting out in laughter.
“What? It’s true” Chris tries to explain,
“Yeah okay. Whatever you say man” Anthony only continues to laugh.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” You ask him, somewhat offended on yours and Chris’s behalf.
“Nothing, Nothing…ah I can’t wait to see how long this ‘only sleeping together’ thing lasts” shaking his head, Anthony kind of says the last part quietly to himself, as he exits the room leaving you and Chris alone.
“What was that about?” You ask.
“Who knows with him”
Later that day on the private plane, you and Chris are sitting next to each other; Chris on his phone, yourself reading a book. Mackie waltzes over, going to take a seat next to Chris before he stops himself saying, “Wait, I guess I should leave the two lovebirds to enjoy their alone time”.
“What?” RDJ, sitting a few rows back, snaps his head up.
“Nothing!” You and Chris cheerily respond in unison, Chris glaring at Mackie as he walks away laughing.
Taglist: @patzammit
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andysbubba · 22 hours ago
Hi babe! I just read your soft Andy fic and I thought of a little request! Like a part 2 of second baby when Andy shaves off the beard as a surprise. You don't have to write it if you don't want to, of course. ❤️ ❤️ ❤️All loves for you babe! I FANCY ALL YOUR WRITINGS
-> cinnamon rolls and bidding farewell to andy's beard [can be read as a stand-alone fic OR can be read as a sequel to second baby]
on today's episode of things we want AND NEED but can't have:
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it's like you read my mind, anon! i've been thinking about writing this for some time now <33
warnings: pregnancy, andy shaves (A WARNING BECAUSE ITS A MENACE TO SOCIETY), andy is such a dad :(, ANDY ALSO BAKES OH MY FUCKING GOD.
𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐲'𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭
Y/n: facetime? [sent 6.21pm]
andy<3: Sorry, sweetheart.[sent 6.23pm]
andy<3: I'm meeting the team soon for dinner.[sent 6.23pm]
Y/n: okay :((( [sent 6.24pm]
Y/n: see you tomorrow handsome <3 [6.25pm]
Y/n: i miss u :((( [sent 6.26pm]
andy<3: Miss you too, gorgeous.[sent 6.28pm]
Y/n: you're forgetting someone🤨😡 [sent 6.29pm]
andy<3: Oops [sent 6.29pm]
andy<3: I miss you AND our tiny human. [sent 6.29pm]
andy<3: Can't wait to be with you two soon.[sent 6.29pm]
andy<3: Good night and sleep well, okay? ❤️ [sent 6.35pm]
Y/n: u took 6 minutes to find that emoji? [sent 6.36pm]
andy<3: No... [sent 6.37pm]
andy<3: I'll meet you at home? I'll lyft home or ask Neal for a ride. [sent 6.38pm]
Y/n: i'll pick u up so u don't have to suffer with that asshole!!!!! [sent 6.40pm]
andy<3: Nope. I'm meeting you at home. You shouldn't drive all the way to the airport alone. That's final. [sent 6.42pm]
andy<3: Gotta go. G'night, honey. I love you ❤️ [sent 6.44pm]
You stopped replying so Andy assumes that you're probably starting your night routine or your phone's probably charged on the nightstand before you head to bed.
He sets his phone down beside the sink. Andy glances up at the mirror, a hand reaching up to his cheek and his fingers rubbing the freshly-shaved skin. He's debating if you'll like it or if he should just superglue the beard back on his face. It was supposed to be a surprise for you– but Andy's surprised too. He looks so, so different that he can barely recognise himself in the mirror.
He felt bad about lying to you, but he really wanted to surprise you with the new look. There won't be enough time to shave before his flight back tomorrow so he figured he'll just lie his way out of the video call.
Andy mutters a curse, running a hand through his hair before he grabs his aftershave. He can only hope that you'll like it. He'll grow it back out if you don't but he really doesn't wanna end up sleeping on the couch or the guest room. You've been real scary lately. The pregnancy hormones are making all your emotions kick in so much faster and most of the time, Andy's on the receiving end of those emotions.
He loves you and the baby more than anything in the world but he really misses the time when he can rest his head on your belly without the kid kicking his head.
You're waddling into the house when the aroma of cinnamon and something freshly baked hits you. You're grinning like a fool when you rush into the house, heading straight to the kitchen as fast as you could. Being in your third trimester isn't helping at all.
He was pulling something out of the oven when you came in. His chest bare and he only had his sweats on along with your Kiss The Cook apron.
He looks up immediately, lips curling into the widest grin when he sees you. Andy sets the hot pan on the counter and slides the mittens off before he steps towards you.
He was hurt when you took a step back instead of going towards him, looking at him as if you've never seen him before.
"You're... not... Andy..." Your mouth falls open and the words leave your mouth as if it was in slow-mo.
It took him a quick second to remember that he no longer has his beard and he probably looks like a complete stranger to you.
"Sweetheart." Andy starts, slowly reaching out for you.
"Who are you? Why are you here?" You backed away from him, one hand protectively holding your belly and the other grabbing for the baseball bat right outside the kitchen. "Why the fuck are you baking in my kitchen? My fiance's a lawyer, you asshole. You aren't getting away from this shit!" You point the bat defensively at him.
Andy backs away immediately, holding his palms out in surrender and eyes widening in surprise. He was not expecting this reaction at all.
"It's me, honey. I'm your fiancé, baby." He slowly points to the ring on his ring finger– the one you insisted on getting for him. "See this ring– you got it for me, right? It's from De Beers, yeah?" Andy takes a tiny step closer, reaching for the other end of the bat and slowly wrapping his hand around it.
You frown, eyeing the ring before glaring back up at him since you're still not convinced. "Tell me something only I would know."
"Damn it, sweetheart." Andy sighs, frowning at your question as he searches his brain for a memory only the two of you know about.
He couldn't help the smile that forms on his lips at the fond memory. "That night in Malibu, remember? The first time you said you love me. We were slow dancing under the moon and the only music playing was the waves crashing on the beach." Andy chuckles at the memory, knowing what he'll say next will definitely convince you. "You dragged me behind a rock and—"
You drop the bat immediately, the heat burning to your cheeks as you wrap your arms around his torso as best as you can and press your face against Andy's chest. "Oh my god– it's really you."
Andy lets out a laugh as his arm goes around your back, the other palm lovingly pressed against the side of your belly. "I'm really hurt, sweetheart."
You look up, chin on his chest with your bottom lip jutting out. Your palm goes up to his cheek, feeling his bare jaw for the first time in never.
"This is so weird..." You trail off, your palm rubbing his face and feeling the smooth skin. It's so different from the rough texture you're so used to.
"I'm still upset. Thought you said that I'll always be your Andy with or without a beard." He teases, leaning into your touch and turning his face so he can kiss your palm.
You giggle when he leans down and press kisses all over your face. "I know, I know. I was caught off-guard, okay?" You defended, breaking out into a smile when he presses his forehead against yours, his breath fanning against your face.
"Missed me?"
You hum, nodding with your hands still staying on his smooth cheeks. "Miss your beard too."
"Want me to grow it back?" Andy asks, his thumb softly rubbing against your belly, a soft smile on his lips when you almost purr at the feeling.
"Can't decide if I wanna have more of your babies, let you eat me out or sign you up for high school."
Andy pulls away to bark out a laugh at your words, grinning as he presses his lips to yours, softly kissing you.
"We can have more babies when this little one gets out, okay?" He smiles adoringly when he pulls away, bending down and pushing the fabric of your shirt up so your swollen belly's exposed. "Hey, champ." Andy kisses your belly and pulled away just enough so he can talk to the growing human inside you.
"You missed daddy? Did you take good care of momma while I was away? I told ya to not move too much and tire her out before I went away, didn't I? Did you bully mommy?"
Your hand reaches down, combing through his hair as he talks to the unborn child. It's the best scene you've ever seen– Andy talking to him and feeling your son kick in your belly in response to Andy's questions.
"He definitely misses you." You huff, a breathy laugh leaving your lips when Andy turns up to you. "Wouldn't stop kicking till I played that voice recording of yours."
Andy gasps playfully, his palm rubbing against your skin. "Oh no. You're gonna be a giant troublemaker, aren't ya?" He presses another kiss on your stomach and then another on the same spot. "You gotta promise me that you won't wake us up in the middle of the night when you're out, bubba. Momma and I need time to rest too, y'know."
"Alright, alright." Andy laughs when he feels a soft kick against his palm. "A little birdy told me that you wanna try some cinnamon rolls. Daddy made a huge batch for you and momma."
He glances up at you, smiling with those pearly whites and winking at you. "You're not even out yet, champ. But I promise you, bud— there's nothing momma and I wouldn't do for you."
Your free hand rests on your belly, rubbing your skin softly just like Andy's doing. "We can't wait to meet you, charmer."
"Y'know... I prepared some dad jokes."
You scoff, softly slapping Andy's shoulder. "Don't start!"
Andy straightens up with a laugh, pulling you by your hand into the kitchen. "You still didn't tell me if you liked the new look."
"I'll like it even more if you give me some of that cinnamon roll right now."
Andy presses his lips on your forehead when you lean against the counter, watching as he scoops out a piece of the roll for you.
"You sure it's our baby that wants the cinnamon roll? I'm starting to think that you're using him as an excuse to make me bake you things."
"Hey!" You huff, taking a bite of the sweet pastry and groaning at the taste. "Him and I are one person, okay? I'm just letting him get a taste of his daddy's baked goods so he can charm you into making more for us when he's out."
Andy sighs, stepping closer to you and pressing his lips softly against yours. "I love you, sweetheart."
His tongue swipes over the remnants of the glaze on your bottom lip before he pulls away.
"We love you more, handsome."
Andy's brow arched in disagreement. "No, I love–"
"Two beats one." You stop his protest, shrugging as you take another bite of the heavenly rolls, winking at Andy when he ends up lazily smiling at you and leans forward to press a kiss on your forehead.
andrew *BEST DAD AWARD shdxhsuw* barber— i just wanna say that you have my heart forever. kinda wanna write another part when the baby's out 🥺
reblogs comments and likes are welcomed please hehe <33
okay my loves, i should also add that i'm going on a teeny tiny hiatus– like an actual one where i don't sneak in some writing every 2 hours. BUT— i'm def coming back probablyyy sometime in mid-october / november? sbshhsh i have a feeling i probably won't even stick to this hiatus thing cause IM TIRED OF STUDYING. i pinky promise everyone that i'll be more active when my exams are over <33 :((
taglist; @milea @ajeff855 @fanofalltheficsx @Ambinxe @justile @christowhore @amelia-song-pond @melissad1974 @thegirlwiththeimpala @bval-1 @suchababie @ephemeralfics @franzliszts-wife @tenaciousperfectionunknown @worksby-d @hallecarey1 @paintdripsandbrownies-blog @notbrooklynsblog @perfect-peter @blueeyeslut @alwaysclassyeagle @sobluesobeautiful @coffeebooksandfandom @gitasor @mansaaay
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christowhore · 2 hours ago
First Class Fantasies
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pairing: dadsbestfriend!steve rogers x wilson!fem!reader (modern au)
summary: steve has noticed your crush on him for a while now, and he decides it's time to have some fun with it. not even caring that his best friend, your father, was only a few feet away.
word count: 4.6k
warnings: smut, age gap (reader 21, steve 45) playful teasing, dirty talk, use of pet names, daddy kink, innocence kink, dumbification, public fingering, mile high club ?, panty stealing, finger sucking, degradation, praising !!! 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI !!!
notes: i'm in love with dbf!steve so i just had to write this. also this has been sitting in the drafts for long enough. i hope you all enjoy ! 💗
join my taglist ! ❦ main masterlist
It was tough being a Wilson. There were so many expectations you had to meet, events you were dragged to alongside your father, moments you missed out on with friends.
But one of the hardest was having constant contact with none other than Steve Rogers.
You shouldn't have a crush on your fathers best friend, but it was hard not to.
Everything about him made you weak in the knees. His adorable smile, his piercing blue eyes, the fact that he towered over everyone with his 6’4” frame.
The first time you met him was right before you left for college, at the going away party your father insisted on throwing for you. With a neatly wrapped present in hand, he stepped into the foyer of your family house and instantly took your breath away.
It didn't help when he greeted you- his warm palm placed gently against the small of your back, pulling you into him; while his lips placed a soft kiss to the side of your cheek. Thankfully your dad wasn't around to take notice of you unfolding into a stuttering mess.
Ever since that day, you were smitten by him. Always wondering how he was doing, if he might be seeing someone- but more importantly how his lips would feel elsewhere on your body. But you knew due to the age difference, as well as him being buddy-buddy with your dad, that nothing would ever happen between you two. So you did your best to just ignore him. Thankfully, you had college classes to aid you in your efforts. Though those efforts would soon come to an end.
Living in your own studio apartment, a few blocks away from campus, you were packing up your belongings to head back home. It was the end of your junior year and as per the agreement you made with your father, you had to leave D.C and head back to New York to spend time with him during the summer.
Going back to the city wasn't all that bad. Being the daughter of the Chief Financial Officer for Stark Industries had its perks. Your own personal driver, unlimited spending sprees, constant fine dining, you enjoyed the spoiled life.
But one thing you couldn't get used to was the endearing man who awaited you back in the city. You just couldn't shake the nervousness that filled your body knowing that you were going to reunite with Steve. He had this friendly, yet intimidating demeanor that always took you by surprise. The way he’d look at people, you swore he was searching into their souls in order to find some unspoken secret about themselves.
During the flight back home, leaving Howard University behind, your thoughts were continuously plagued with the blonde Adonis.
Once your plane landed, you made your way to baggage claim to grab your belongings before heading out to the terminal entrance. You stood there waiting for your usual driver, Peter, to come and pick you up as scheduled.
You were switching through apps on your phone when suddenly you noticed a black town car pull directly in front of you. Before you had the chance to move out the way, the backseat window pulled down, causing you to gasp at who was revealed to you.
“Everytime I see you, little one, you keep getting bigger and bigger. I’m gonna need to find you a new nickname.”
Steve beamed at you, the smile reaching his eyes. He reached for the door handle before stepping out of the vehicle, alongside his own driver. You were so focused on the man in front of you, you didn’t realize your luggage was being transported into the trunk.
“H-hi Steve,” your words fumbling out due to the effect he still had on you.
He peered down at you, both hands resting on his hips. “I haven’t seen you in months and all I get is a ‘hi’?” Before you could respond, he pulled you into him, your face buried into his firm chest. You absentmindedly breathed in his aroma, the scent of his cedarwood cologne made you feel dizzy with want.
Even in his usual attire of a three piece suit to assert his power as C.O.O, you could still feel the taut muscles of his abdomen pressing against you. The feeling made your clit throb, forcing you to suppress the moan threatening to bubble out.
Steve pulled away from you, but kept you close, close enough to where you could feel his warm breath fan across your face. “How was your flight? I know how you don’t like flying that much.”
“Everything was fine. Still a little anxious,” you began, not daring to look the blonde in his eyes, “but glad to be back on the ground.”
Steve noticed your lack of eye contact, a smirk trying to make its way across his features- because he knew all about your little crush on him.
Whenever you were back home from college, he couldn’t get enough of your wandering glances when you thought he wasn’t looking. The way your breathing would become erratic, your pupils blown, anytime he’d look directly into your eyes or down at your soft and enticing lips.
His flirtatious and intense demeanor was intentional- he just loved watching you squirm. The way your bottom lip would get caught in between your teeth, your thighs slyly rubbing together to try and quell the ache between them whenever he was in your presence. Your nervousness and obvious desire-filled gaze only spurred him on.
He knows that you’re his best friend's daughter, but his cock would strain against his pants anytime he was near you.
Steve would make sure to be there anytime you came back home from university, putting priorities on the back burner, just to be in your presence.
Hooking his index finger, he used it to tilt your chin up, forcing you to look up at him. “Don't worry little one, as long as you’re with me, you’ll be safe and sound,” he promised, his voice dropping an octave.
You stood there locked in a trance with Steve. You couldn’t help but audibly gasp at the proximity of his mouth near yours. Thoughts of how his lips would feel against yours ran through your mind as per usual.
Steve quickly pulled away from you and opened the car door, acting as if nothing had happened, “Well, as much as I’d like to spend some more time with just the two of us, your dad awaits.”
Snapping out of your perverse thoughts, you clambered into the vehicle with Steve following close behind.
Once inside, he ordered his driver to head to your fathers penthouse, then raised the partition, giving the two of you privacy.
You tried to keep your heart rate steady but was finding it difficult due to Steve being so close to you. His warmth radiated off of him, making you feel absolutely cozy in the confined space.
Steve watched as you stared out the window, the angle allowed him the glorious sight of your elongated neck. All he wanted to do was trace his lips against it, hearing your moans of desire.
Leaning over, he placed his palm against the back of your hand, the action making you jump.
He couldn’t control his chuckle at your reaction, “Sorry to scare you little one, just wanted to make sure you were okay.”
You tried to respond, but the feel of his warm palm added with his thumb slightly stroking your hand had you at a loss of words. So you did the only thing you were confident you could do, and simply nodded at him.
The rest of the car ride to your father was silent, except for your slight heavy breathing. All you could focus on was the feel of his hand, and how it never left your own for the rest of the journey.
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After arriving home, you reunited with your father, the moment brief due to him being called back into the office.
You made your way towards your childhood room to get changed for dinner that he had planned for your return that night.
Summer in Manhattan was humid, so you opted to wear a cream sundress, the silk material stopping right at your mid thigh.
When you were finally dressed, you went downstairs to meet Peter who would be escorting you to the restaurant. “Evening, Ms. Wilson,” the brunette squeaked towards you while holding the backseat door open.
“I’ve told you this a million times Peter, you can just call me (Y/N).”
“Sorry ma’am- (Y/N).” An apologetic look etched on his face made you smile.
It was only a five minute drive before you were stopped in front of the establishment. Once you stepped inside and gave your name to the hostess, you were directed towards the back of the restaurant. There your eyes landed on not one but two gentlemen.
“Hi dad,” you greeted your father with a kiss on the cheek, “Steve.”
With Sam in his presence, he had to restrain himself from reaching out to feel every inch of your delectable figure. So he kept it minimal and stuck to his usual greeting, a hand to the small of your back and a peck on the cheek. “Hey (Y/N). Sam offered for me to tag along, if that’s alright with you.”
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Dinner went smoothly. The air filled with laughter and your father’s usual exaggerated stories. You were finishing up your dessert when your father slid an envelope towards you, showcasing a toothy smile.
“What’s this?” you pondered, thumbing the envelope open.
“Well, you finished junior year on the Dean’s List, again. So I thought you deserved this.”
Opening up the envelope, you reached inside and was greeted with airplane tickets. Looking at the details, you realized they were round trip tickets to Saint Lucia.
You couldn’t contain the squeal of excitement at the gift. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” Launching up, you embraced your father and felt his own laughter rumble out of him.
“Don’t thank me, it was a team effort,” your father began, nudging the blonde in the shoulder, “We both thought you could use the vacation before you started senior year.”
Unlatching yourself, you went over and repeated the same actions towards Steve. “Thank you Steve.”
He felt your nipples through the thin fabric of your dress against his chest. The feeling made him desperate to know how they’d feel against his tongue. “It’s no problem, anything for you doll.”
Once you sat back down, you looked at the flight details and saw that there were 3 boarding passes. “Oh, are you coming with us Steve?” Hope clearly evident in your voice, making him smile.
“Yeah, just like you, I could use the break. Time away from the office is just what we need, right Sam?” Steve joked with your father while he nodded in agreement.
He watched Sam excuse himself to the bathroom, leaving the two of you at the table. Steve watched you as a smile was plastered on your face while you read the itinerary.
You felt an intense gaze on you making you look up, meeting Steve’s glance. “T-thank you again, Steve. I’ve always wanted to go here.”
Steve shone a sincere smile at your comment. Reaching out, he placed a hand against your exposed left thigh, his fingertips dangerously close to your core. He began to subtly stroke the soft expanse of your thigh, each rise getting closer to your warmth.
“Anything for my best girl,” he cooed, admiring the way his simple action had you frozen in your seat. “You stay in school, get amazing grades, you’re never in any trouble. Such a good girl for your father. I am so proud of you princess.”
The sudden praise that left his lips caused you to squeeze your knees together, trapping his fingers in between your thighs. You thought he was going to remove them, but he just squeezed the flesh between his hands. It was when you felt his pinky trace against the dampened crotch of your panties, that you let out a breathy moan. The sound raised the hairs across Steve’s body and made his dick twitch in his slacks.
Out of his peripheral vision, he saw Sam emerge from the bathrooms and head back towards them. Steve removed his hand and stroked his beard, acting as if nothing had happened.
“So (Y/N),” Sam began as he sat back down, “You thought about all the things you wanted to do once we’re down there?”
Steve watched as you tried to form a coherent sentence, still too flustered at his actions.
While you were conversing with your father, Steve brought the pad of his moist digit to his mouth, elusively tasting your essence that clung to his finger. It was only a drop, but your sweetness quickly sent him into a frenzy, and he knew he needed to taste you a little bit more.
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It had been 3 weeks since that dinner and you were heading towards the airport, sitting next to your father. Your father insisted on taking a red eye flight so that you could arrive at Saint Lucia in the morning, planning for the sun to greet you when you all land on the island.
Once the two of you arrived and made your way inside, you were greeted with the sight of Steve.
Forgoing his usual attire of tailored suits, Steve was dressed in a pair of fitting blue jeans. A navy bomber jacket fit snug around his arms overtop a white tee that defined every ridge of his muscles underneath.
“You two ready to start our vacation?”
After dropping off your luggage and showing your boarding passes, the three of you made your way towards first class. Upon inspection, you saw that two seats were together in their enclosed space, leaving one to be seated by a stranger.
“I can sit with (Y/N),” Steve piped, “You know how anxious she gets when flying.”
“Thanks man,” your father said before turning to you. “It’ll only be a couple of hours, okay?”
You nodded along to your father, “Yeah, I’ll be fine, don’t you worry.”
Steve helped you put your carry on in the overhead compartment before sliding in beside you.
The exhausted flight attendants did their required monologues before the aircraft took off, lifting you into the sky.
You hadn’t realized your eyes were clamped shut and you were grasping onto the arm rest until Steve caressed your hand. “It’s okay princess, the hard part is over. You can relax now,” his smooth voice calmed your frayed nerves, allowing you to sink into the plush seats.
The stewardess began to pass out blankets to every occupant before powering down the overhead lights, the plane darkened only being lit with various phone and laptop screens from other passengers.
“These blankets are pretty big, do you wanna just share one?” Steve questioned, hopeful that you would say yes, which you did.
He draped the material over your lower half, making sure you had plenty of room before covering himself.
You sat up and looked towards your father, who was already fast asleep. “Of course he’s already down for the count. He can sleep through anything.”
Steve looked over to make sure his best friend was sound asleep before filthy thoughts plagued his mind.
“You know, if you want,” Steve began, leading his hand under the blanket to rest upon your bare thigh, “I know of a way that could get you to sleep soundly.”
Your breath caught in your throat as you stared up at the man. “Steve, I-“
“Shh, princess. Don’t want to wake him up now do we?”
You shook your head at him while trying to not squeeze your thighs once more.
“I know all about your little crush on me. You think I can’t tell how wet I make you with just a simple look.” Steve began to caress your thigh making your body feel hot from his touch.
“You can’t even look at me without turning into a stuttering mess,” he mocked you, his teasing touch sending shockwaves throughout your body.
He leaned towards you, his lips ghosting along the shell of your ear while his breath danced along the nape of your neck. “Y’know, you may be a smart and studious girl, but to me you’ll just be a dumb little slut that I have wrapped around my finger.”
A loud gasp escaped your lips at his crude words before you could clamp your hand over your mouth.
Steve removed his hand from you once more causing a pathetic whine to leave you, but still maintaining his close proximity. Looking up at him with pleading eyes, you silently begged him to keep his previous motions going.
“If you want it, I need to hear you say it,” he whispered to you, “Beg for it.”
Your chest rapidly rose and fell due to the events unfolding. This was the moment you’ve been waiting for for years, now that you finally have it, you weren’t going to pass it up.
“Please, Steve. I need you. Please touch me.”
Upon hearing your pleas, Steve twisted his body to bring his left hand down towards your legs, his right hand intertwining with yours. Moving his hand underneath your skirt, he was met with the same wetness he felt back in the restaurant.
“Be quiet, don’t make a sound, or I’m removing my hand and you’ll have to finish yourself off, do you understand me?” his authoritative voice had you nodding in a frenzy.
Steve slipped his finger into your panties, pushing them to the side so he could open you up to him. “Spread your legs for me some more.”
Complying with his request, you spread your legs as wide as possible in your chair.
“Good girl,” he purred, “Always so good for me.”
Your right hand flew to your mouth once again to suppress the moans threatening to escape. Steve’s index finger traced through your slick folds until it reached your puffy mound. He softly circled your clit, smiling as he felt you buck into his touch.
“Such a needy little thing, I’m guessing it’s been a long time since somebody’s touched this sweet cunt, huh?”
Steve felt your body stiffen at his words. Looking up, he watched you avoid his eye contact and that’s when reality struck him. “Oh.”
Steve knew that you had always focused on schoolwork, never seeking out romantic partnership. But he assumed that would've changed once you had gone off to college and was free of your fathers watchful eye.
“Let me guess, saving yourself for me princess?” Steve joked.
It was true. Whenever you thought about getting intimate with someone, your thoughts would be riddled with images of Steve. You could never see yourself laying down with anyone else but him, so you wishfully held on to your virginity, in hopes of this rare moment occurring.
Forcing yourself to look into his crystal blue eyes, you meekly responded, “Yes Steve, all for you.”
Carnal desire flooded the man at your confession.
He cupped your heat with his entire hand, soaking his palm in your juices. “Fuck princess, I can’t wait to ruin you.”
You felt a slight pressure at your opening, causing you to squirm away in your seat. “It’s alright, doll, just relax for me.”
Taking a deep breath, you calmed your nerves.
Steve soaked his digits more in your essence before sticking his thick index finger in your sopping hole. He was met with obvious resistance which he powered through until meeting your spongy spot deep within.
“Oh fuck, Steve,” you breathlessly moaned out.
“I know sweetheart,” Steve cooed in your ear, “Feels so good, doesn’t it? Feels like heaven having my finger deep inside your tight cunt.”
He continued to pump his digit inside of you, the muffled sounds of your squelching heat brought a smile to his face.
You felt every ridge of his finger inside of you. It was a strange feeling at first, but the way he was curling it had your eyes crossing. The discomfort faded away, now all you wanted was more. “Please Steve,” you pleaded out.
“Aww princess, do you need more of Daddy's fingers fucking your filthy cunt?”
You did everything in your power not to scream out your pleas to the man next to you. “Yes, Daddy. I need more.”
Steve's cock was already testing the material of his briefs, but the way ‘Daddy’ rolled off your tongue had him close to ruining his jeans.
Not giving you any warning, he shoved his middle finger alongside your heat. A loud moan made its way into the air, halting his actions.
The two of you rapidly looked around, hoping that no one heard you. Steve looked forward at Sam and sighed in relief when he saw he was still fast asleep.
“Looks like fun time is over sweetheart,” he sighed before he began to remove himself from you. His actions were halted when he felt your hand latch onto his wrist.
“Please don't stop. I’m so sorry, I didn't mean to!”
Steve shook his head, “Princess, I had the one rule and your dumb brain couldn't even follow that.” Frustration was evident in his hushed tone.
You were riddled with so much need and desire that tears threatened to fall from your eyes. “Please, I’ll be good. I promise.”
He didn’t want to stop, not after he saw how hot you looked when he was stroking your g-spot. But he needed to make sure you didn’t disobey him again. Pretending to ponder his thoughts, he looked at you, “Fine, but you only get one more chance. Okay, princess?”
You frantically nodded, desperate for him to resume his lewd actions.
“Good girl,” grinned the blonde, “but I just need to do one more thing to make sure not a peep comes out.”
Steve moved his hand to the top of your panties before tugging at them. He raised an eyebrow, a silent request sent your way to lift your ass from the seats to assist his efforts. Once the flimsy material was down your legs, he brought them out from under the blankets and balled them into his fist. “Open up.”
Opening up your jaw, you watched as he stuffed your wet panties into your mouth, muffling all sounds that dared to come out.
Looking up at Steve, you could barely see his face but you could see that his pupils were completely blown out, almost all of the usual blue gone.
“Now, where were we?”
Not wanting to waste anymore time, he shoved the two digits back into your cunt, a slight burn ran through your core.
His pace was brutal, desperate even. Steve needed to watch you unravel before him. He needed to be the first man to make you cum; glad that you never let any of those young college boys try- and inevitably fail, at helping you reach your peak.
Steve felt you lace your fingers back with his free hand and squeeze, in an effort to try and balance yourself.
“That’s it baby, you’re doing such a good job for me.”
Feeling daring, he prodded his ring finger and sank it within you along with the others. “Oh fuck, baby. Your pussy is squeezing the life out of my fingers, can’t even imagine how it’ll feel once I get my cock inside of you.”
The tears that filled your eyes prior began to fall due to the immense pleasure you were experiencing. “Mhm, ughh,” you tried speaking but it only came out of a mumbled mess.
“Don’t overwork that stupid brain of yours baby. Just focus on cumming on my fingers, that’s all you need to worry about right now.”
Steve could tell you were close with how your walls were contracting against him, so he went all in, in an effort to get you creaming around his fingers.
Raising his thumb, he applied just the right amount of pressure to your little numb and began circling it.
The insane amount of glee you began to feel was indescribable. Your head tilted back, your eyes crossed, your thighs that began to close were suddenly held back Steve’s legs, leaving you helpless against his attacks.
Steve noticed dribbles of drools leak from the side of your mouth, a cheshire-like smile had his cheeks sting at the expanse.
Leaning directly until his lips ghosted your ear once more, he softly spoke.
“That’s it baby.”
“Be a good girl and cum on Daddy’s fingers.”
“Once you cum on my fingers, the next time it’ll be wrapped around my thick cock.”
“Don’t think, let your mind go dumb like it’s supposed to.”
“Cause that’s all you really are, right?”
“My dumb. Mindless. Little. Slut.”
The newfound sensation hit you like a truck. Your eyes rolled to the back of your skull. Your toes curled in your platforms. Nose, eyes, and mouth contorting, trying to work through your orgasm.
Steve picked up on a scream about to escape you, so he unlaced his fingers from yours and clasped his hand over your mouth, preventing you from waking up the whole plane.
Locking his eyes with yours, he continued to finger fuck you through your release. “That’s it. That's it, princess. You did so well for me.”
As you came down from your high, the feeling started to become too much, overstimulation taking hold. You began to squirm away from his touch, causing him to chuckle before removing his digits.
When he brought his hand out from under the blanket, you saw his fingers soaked in your essence, shining from the stray lights littered across the plane.
Steve popped his index and middle finger into his mouth, groaning at your sweet taste; his eyes shutting in the process. “You taste so fucking delicious,” he mumbled through his fingers.
You watched as he lapped every drop of your juices from his digits before he looked back at you.
He took away his hand from your mouth and pulled out your soaked panties. “Here, have a taste,” Steve spoke before shoving his ring finger down your throat.
You were caught off guard due to the sudden intrusion, but regained your senses while sucking yourself off of his finger. Your tongue glided across the digit, gulping down your essence.
Steve watched with contentment as you cleaned him up. He saw how your eyelids were hooded, indicating you were exhausted from your release.
Pulling his finger from your mouth, he grasped your jaw to direct your face to his, his thumb wiping away your stray tears. “I hope you know I plan on taking you apart every chance I get during this trip, princess. Now get some sleep, we have a big week ahead of us.”
Leaning back into his chair, he stuffed your panties into his jeans and laid his head against the headrest.
You were so overwhelmed with fatigue that you had no trouble getting to sleep. Resting your head against the blondes shoulder, you drifted away, a content smile on your face.
Steve sat back and enjoyed your warmth; forcing himself to forget all about his own aching and leaking cock. He knew there was no going back now. He had a taste of you and instantly became hooked. Just like he ruined all men for you, you ruined all other women for him.
With his thoughts filled with you, he let sleep consume him and the promise of an eventful trip with you by his side.
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A/N: i wrote this when i should’ve been finishing my 9 other wips, but here we go. y’all know in crazy rich asians, how they had the semi private enclosed seats. that’s where this takes place.
if you enjoyed this fic, please make sure to reblog and comment. feedback is much appreciated !
i do not allow the copying, rewriting or translating of my fics. these are works of my own and i do not give permission for any of the acts stated above.
* dividers credit : @firefly-graphics *
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skyeisawizard · 2 days ago
Those Enchanting and Sweet (Chapter 6)
Steve Rogers never had a problem being an Omega growing up. His mother taught him how to live in a wold dominated by Alphas and He was happy.
Y/N Barnes (not a Barnes through blood) loved Steve as the Omega he was. Heartbroken over her brothers enlistment, she pulls away. When Steve gets the chance to go to war, everything just seems to get worse for her.
They both disappear. Steve, into the ice. Y/N disappeared into the powers she couldn't begin to understand or explain or control. There's no chance for her to reunite with Steve, right? (Spoiler alert, but that last statement is pretty goddamn wrong)
A/N: The reader has the same powers as Five from the umbrella academy, she's just less of an asshole and has much less control
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Nick Fury was a terrifying person. From the way he glared at Y/N like she wasn’t supposed to be there to the way ignored everyone else, like he was too important to them. But the most terrifying part? He didn’t smell like anything. He didn’t smell like an Alpha, didn’t smell like a Beta or an Omega. Y/N couldn’t tell how he was masking his scent, but it all had her on edge.
She and Bruce were the only two Omegas on this damned flying thing. Y/N was either stood with him or Steve, the only two she felt comfortable with.
“Romanoff, show Miss Barnes to somewhere more comfortable,” Fury said, refusing to look at either of them.
Nat offered Y/N her usual kind smile and Y/N was more than willing to go with her. They walked out of the main part of the ship (that was what Y/N had decided to call it. It was an airship and it could go on water - it made so much sense!) and to somewhere much more secluded.
This place wasn’t built for an Omega to idly hang about. There was a bench in the corner and some lockers in front of her. Y/N sat on the bench and looked around at the dark room. “Do you want something to drink?” Asked Nat, leaning against the unit in front of the locker.
“I’ll be okay,” Y/N answered. She leaned back, leaning against the wall.
But suddenly the wall wasn’t there anymore. She was falling backwards, still in the sitting position, until arms caught her. “Woah there,” Steve mumbled, pulling her up to her feet. He brushed her off and pulled her close.
Once again, Nick Fury was staring at her. “What in the hell was that?” He demanded.
“Oh!” Y/N instantly jumped away from Steve, turning towards Fury. “Yeah, so I have these powers that teleport me from one place to another against my will. Last time I was actually thrown through time which is why I’m here.”
“So you can’t control it?”
“No sir.”
Fury shook his head. “Go back to the locker room, Miss Barnes, until you can give me something useful.”
Unphased by his demeanour, Y/N bounded off. Steve held out a hand to stop her, but she went happily. The moment her ass touched that bench, she was back beside Steve, this time on the floor.
“Miss Barnes,” Fury challenged.
Y/N held up her hands. “I can’t help it, okay? For some reason my powers keep bringing me back to Steve so I’m gonna stay beside Steve!” She insisted, leaving no room for argument.
Fury only grunted and turned away from her.
There Y/N stayed while Fury and his mismatched team discussed... whatever they were discussing. She couldn’t really follow along, assuming she needed information she hadn’t yet been privy to. Every two minutes Steve was looking over at her, ensuring she was okay. He’d squeeze her knee whenever she’d frown at someone.
When Banner set up in the lab, Y/N tried to go with them. He was the only person she could be comfortable with aside from Steve. But Steve, being the protective Alpha he was, kept her by his side.
That was until they found the oily haired son of a bitch. Germany, or somewhere like that. It was hard to hear what was being shouted over the chaos. But then Steve was being put to the task to bring him down, and, suddenly, Y/N didn’t know what to do.
“Do try to stay here, Miss Barnes,” Fury snarked as Steve set to work. Her skin was pricking as she watched on the monitor as Steve jumped in front of a blast from Loki’s sceptre. Nat was down there with him as well, just in the jet behind him.
It was like her skin was on fire as she clenched her jaw and tried to keep herself grounded. “Fury, I’m really sorry.”
Suddenly she was gone, no longer beside him where he commanded her to be. “Shit!” Fury pretty much screamed and turned to the screens. Sure enough, there she was beside Steve, her fists raised towards Loki like she was going to fight him off. Her eyes were wild and crazy, and, for a moment, Fury really did think she was doing to lunge at him.
A growl from the Alpha beside her pulled her into line. She straightened up and lowered her fists, stepping closer to Steve. The grin on Loki’s face was almost sinister as he looked at her and raised his sceptre. Just as the blast was coming towards Y/N, she disappeared, only to reappear behind Loki. “Your aim sucks!” She shouted over the gasped from the crowd.
She couldn’t keep the grin from her face as she disappeared and reappeared beside Steve. It was the first and only time her powers had worked, had obeyed her. She turned to Steve. “Are we bringing this guy in or what?”
But Loki still had his sceptre, which was a huge problem. He raised it again, keeping it trained on Y/N, and fired. The only thing that stopped her from dying then and there was Steve as he jumped in front of her, his shield protecting the both of them. “Fuck!” Y/N hissed, her hands wrapped around Steve’s arm. She was shaking like a leaf and unable to let go of him. “Stevie, holy shit.”
“I know,” he whispered and tried to shake her off.
Suddenly, there was another blast and Y/N was holding Steve tighter. But Loki’s sceptre was on the floor and Iron Man (Someone Y/N had done too much reading about in her short months of being homeless) was in front of them. “You really bring your girlfriend along to do super hero stuff, Cap?”
Exhaustion gripped Y/N. All of that jumping had her completely worn out and napping on the jet. It wasn’t a proper nap, not with the way Steve kept gently waking her up every five minutes. That and the thunder and lightning which felt too close for comfort.
But, out of all of them, Loki's body held the most fear. Y/N tried to keep concentrated on him, but she could hear Steve’s heartbeat through his suit and it wasn’t helping to keep her awake. “Stevie,” she grumbled and pressed her nose against his exposed neck. “The storms getting closer.”
The thunder rumbled again, and Loki visibly flinched. “Scared of a little thunder?” Taunted Natasha.
“I’m not overly fond of what follows,” he responded with a slightly sinister grin.
Suddenly the jet jolted. Y/N jumped to her feet, wide awake. “Steve,” she gasped and, suddenly, Loki was ripped away from them. The back of the jet was wide open and he was plummeting to the ground below them.
Steve pulled his helmet onto his head and grabbed his shield, “Stay here, ‘Mega,” he said before jumping out of the jet like it was nothing. Tony Stark was quick to follow him. His metal helmet came over his head and he leapt after Steve. Y/N gripped onto the seat below her and squeezed her eyes shut.
“Shit.” The wind was whipping around her face as she fell through the sky. It was too dark to see what she was falling towards, and it was only when her body crashed into another did, she realise where she was. Steve went down below her, softening her fall. “Oh my god,” she groaned and rolled off of him.
Y/N got up onto her knees and looked towards the blonde Alpha in front of her. His hair was long and he held a hammer up in a threatening way. His eyes narrowed in on Y/N and he took in a deep breath. “Omega,” he growled, his lip turning up in a snarl.
“Oh god,” Y/N squeaked and shuffled closer to Steve.
The unfamiliar Alpha growled and started swinging his hammer. “Shit, Steve, what is he doing?” The hammer stopped and Steve threw his shield in front of the both of them. He kept himself crouched, Y/N cradled in his arms. Lightning hit the shield and the two of them went back. Y/N couldn’t stop the whimper that escaped her lips as her back hit the ground.
“Alright, Capsicle, I got this,” Came a metallic voice. Tony Stark dropped to the ground beside them, his palms facing the other Alpha. Y/N stayed crouched on the ground as Steve got to his feet.
She looked up towards where Loki was standing, still bound. He smirked as he watched a billionaire, an old man and an unfamiliar Alpha square up to each other. The face part of Tony’s helmet slid up. “Doth mother know thou weareth her drapes?” He had the attitude of an Alpha, but he was overcompensating and stank like a Beta.
The angry Alpha lifted his hammer. “What’s the deal with that?”
“He really likes that hammer.”
The unfamiliar Alpha started swinging his hammer again and Y/N suddenly jumped to her feet. “Wait!” She shouted, holding her arms out. “Wait! We both want Loki, right? So then why don’t you, unfamiliar guy, come with us?” She reasoned and took slow steps towards him.
“Y/N,” Steve called warily and the Alpha growled at him.
She got close enough to wrap her fingers around his hammer and lowered it to his side. “Hey there,” she said with a somewhat polite smile. “I’m Y/N – would you mind not blasting my friends with your lightning?”
The Alpha grunted, but he kept his hammer by his side and marched over to Loki. He grabbed his bound arms and dragged him over to where Steve and Tony were.
“You’re welcome,” Y/N mumbled as she walked towards Steve and Tony. Steve let out a little growl and pulled her closer. She blinked up at him and he pulled his helmet from his head to press his nose to her neck. In the distance the jet was touching down, and Tony was leading the Alpha and Loki over to it. “C’mon, you big goof, lets get back to the jet,” she whispered and grabbed his hand to pull him towards the yet.
Taglist: @littlemissthistle @i-beg-your-pardon-laufeyson @hollandswife
TEAS: @marvelfansworld @ellezbby @chrisevansass @jessyballet @whatsasunflower @my-dearest-agent @favoriteinternetgirl @pono-pura-vida @nicolarobertson89 @ashpeace888 @wydtrina @jasmine19346 @dontbescaredtosingalong @munstysmind @livingoffsavvyillusions @anacrcarvalho @learning-howto-be-myselfx3
(i don't know why it's being a dick and not letting me tag certain people)
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kiwisomething · 6 hours ago
Summary: your big brother comes and spends time with you.
Pairing: Chris Evans x Half-Sister!Reader, Child!Reader
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“Chwissy!” You exclaimed.
“Y/n!” Chris exclaimed with just as much excitement as you.
You ran into his arms and he lifted you off the ground. You’re his biggest cheerleader and favorite sibling. You’re always so excited to see him and spend time with him. Your older brothers are more into the DC comics— they are happy to see him but Chris has a special bond with you.
“What’s the plan today?” Chris asked.
“You’re gonna play with me,” you said. “And then we’ll watch movies.”
“Alright, but what movies?” he asked placing you down on the stairs.
“The Awistocats,” you said as he sits himself down two steps below you.
“Good choice,” he said as you put your arms around his neck and he took off his shoes. “Anything else?”
“Ummmmmmmmm,” you pursed your lips.
“Maybe Finding Nemo?” Chris suggested knowing it’s one of your favorites.
“Yes!” You squealed.
Chris chuckled. You’re definitely one of his favorite people.
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nerdzzone · 2 days ago
Gaze on the Shore Masterlist
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Summary: As the world starts to reopen, tentatively hoping the worst of the pandemic is behind them, Chris and Whitney face a new set of challenges. With busy work schedules and the pressures of normal life looming on the horizon, will the foundation they’ve built through lockdown be strong enough to keep their relationship steady or will they crack under the strain?
Chris Evans x OFC
Status: In Progress
Part of the Once Bitten/More Hearts series
Part One
Part Two
Part Three
Part Four
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To Raise Children: Recap
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Chris Evans X Daughter!Reader, Chris Evans X Flynn and Felix Evans (OCs) (Eventual) Tom Holland X Single-Mom!Reader
Series Masterlist
Series Summary: It's been 4 years, your sons are starting kindergarten, you're starting junior year of college, a lot has changed for sure.
Series Warnings: Age gap (Reader is 20, Tom is 29), absent father, mentions teen pregnancy, mentions abortion, if you see anymore please let me know politely.
Sequel to "It Takes A village"
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Let's do a quick recap, the boys birthday was great, then their second Halloween where you dress up as Dorothy from The wizard of oz, Flynn was the Scarecrow, Felix was the tin man, and Dodger was the cowardly lion. Chris also dressed up as the cowardly lion too.
When the boys were almost 3 you graduated high school. Your cyber school had a ceremony for the graduating students obviously. You did go to the ceremony, everyone thought your sons were you brothers but you didn't mind, at that point to were used to it.
You then started going to a cosmetology school. You wanted to either work on movie sets as a hair and makeup artist or own a salon, so you also wanted to get a business degree eventually. Your dad had started a college fund with your mom for you when they found out they were having a baby. So before he even gained fame and wealth. It was a decent amount, you had more than enough for college so you put the rest to your sons. For things like clothes, toys, new beds, but you did keep some to the side for when you plan on going to college for business.
Chris and you decorated a room for them that was right next to your room when they were one and a half. It was simple but it worked perfect for them. They loved it, now of course it was recently redecorated since they wanted bunk beds instead of their plastic character beds.
You did manage to find a nice SUV that had enough room for the double stroller. You were still using the same car.
When the boys were three they started attending preschool at WoodsEdge children's center. They were kind different classes but did get to see each other during the day. It's the same preschool you went to!
You still were living with your dad but were saving to buy a house. Just something cute, small two bedrooms, something big enough for you and your kids. Your dad already told you the boys will always have a room at his house and so will you.
Now we'll focus on the twins real quick. Starting with Flynn! He is as Disney obsessed as his grandfather, he loves super heroes, especially Steve rogers. He loves dinosaurs and so does Felix, best friends with dodger. Very outgoing, kind hearted, knows no fear will fight raccoon if not supervised. They both know how to swim, you started with lessons shortly after their second Christmas. You wanted them to at least know how to flip over onto their back if they fell into the pool. Now both of them are pretty much experts at it. But you still watch them like a hawk when they're outside or in the pool.
Next Felix, he is obsessed dinosaurs, and legos, loves Disney but not as obsessed as his brother, thinks the only cool superhero is Spiderman, (Sebastian and Anthony were offended as they should be😅) he's a mama's boys, very shy, kind hearted, same way as he brother will fight a raccoon if not supervised. They both love wearing matching clothes, and have red and blue room with a bunk bed.
They're starting kindergarten soon at Loring elementary. They're going to be in the same class as each other this year though. And are very excited about it.
Now for Chris, barely anything has changed, he still spoils the boys. He got them one of the backyard playsets for Christmas, he has turned both of them into Patriot fans. The house is very loud on game day because of it. You usually sneak off with dodger during games to get a moment of quiet knowing your sons were having the time of their lives with their grandpa. Chris has also introduced them to plenty of "superheroes" well the actors but they just let the boys believe whatever they wanted.
Other than that not much has changed.
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Taglist: @fic-for-readers @denisemarieangelina @shadow-dixon @thevelvetseries @kaitieskidmore1 @ellerosie2332 @tahniemarie @runawayolives @marajillana @buckybarnez @positivelyholland @coldmuffinpartycloud @beautifulrose0809 @Olivia197810 @believinghurts @laura-naruto-fan1998 @shadow-dixon
(If your name is crossed out then I wasn't able to tagged you for some reason.)
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time-for-a-lullaby · 2 days ago
I’m Just An Assistant
Pt. 3 - Birthday Enchiladas
Chris Evans x Female Reader
Summary: You’re Chris’s assistant and have been for a few years. You know him better than he knows himself and your playful banter leaves both of you wondering if there’s more to your relationship than meets the eye. 
Warnings: Language, Alcohol
A/N: bold is text messages. I LOVE THIS PART OMG. Also, HUGE shoutout to @blizzspeaks​ for bouncing ideas off of me when I was in a rut, you’re the best ❤
Part 1 and 2 here!
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“Chris?” You called out to the empty house, absentmindedly petting Dodger while you waited for him to come out. You had a couple of things to take care of today, but it was also your birthday, so you wanted to finish up quickly so you could meet up with your friends for a drink. “Chris, I’m here.” You yelled again, checking the time on your Apple Watch. It was 11:30am, he should definitely be awake. 
You looked over as he emerged from his study, “Hey, so you have a Zoom meeting for ASP today at 1:30, do you need me to set out an outfit or… can you handle it? Also, I need you to look over some last minute details for the fundraiser. Your mom is coming over today, don’t forget. She’s making enchilada’s. She promised to leave me a couple, I’ll kill you if you eat mine.” 
“Hi, good morning to  you, too. You in a rush?” He laughed, walking into the kitchen with you, “Oh hey, whenever you get groceries next, can you add lemons to the list?” 
You pulled out your phone, opened the note with Chris’s grocery list, and noted that he wanted lemons, “Do you want them before then? You just had groceries delivered two days ago. It’ll be at least a week or two before you need more. I can just swing by and grab some tomorrow on my way over.” You shoved your phone into your pocket, not even giving him a chance to answer, “Okay, I’ll go grab you something to wear today for your interview.” You headed upstairs to his room, “Oh, the folder I need you to look over is on the entryway table. I won’t be able to leave until you finalize it.”
You rummaged through his closet, making a mental note to take his stuff to the dry cleaners tomorrow. 
Unbeknownst to you, Chris walked up behind you, glancing over the paperwork in his hand, “This all looks great, you’re doing an awesome job with this.”
You jumped, clutching your chest, “Jesus, Chris. Announce yourself!” you turned back to his closet, pulling out a flannel and a pair of khaki chinos. “Throw this on,” you paused, looking at him, “right before the interview. Not now. You’ll get something on it.” You looked him up and down, “And shower. Do something with your hair, don’t wear a hat.” 
He kept his eyes on the paperwork in his hand, lazily saluting you with the other, “Understood, Colonel.” 
You rolled your eyes, walked past him, and threw his clothes on the bed, making sure they were flat and wouldn’t wrinkle, “Where’s your laptop? Where are you doing the interview? You should probably do it in the study, you have the  best natural light in there,” you noted, “I need your signature on the last sheet and then we should be good.” You took a deep breath, looking at him. 
“I’ll grab a pen.” He said, walking towards the door.
You pulled one out of your pocket, “Here.” 
“You’re like actually crazy. What is going on with you today?” He asked, signing the last page like you’d asked.
You knew he wouldn’t remember your birthday, you weren’t mad, Chris was horrible with birthday’s. You reminded him of his siblings' birthdays every year and purposely left yours off of the calendar. “Nothing, just-- if it’s okay with you, once we’re done, I’m gonna meet up with some friends and be MIA for the rest of the day. Unless you need me for something else.” 
He looked at you for a second before closing the manila folder and handing it back to you, “You have a date?” 
You scoffed, “What? No. When would I have time to do that? My boss is pretty high-maintenance,” you teased, a small smile forming on your lips, “Just grabbing a drink  with some friends, no big deal.” 
He squinted, a curious smile on his face, “Whatever, weirdo. But you’re free to go whenever. I could’ve picked out my own outfit, you probably didn’t even need to come over at all.” 
“Well, last time, you wore that NASA hat, so had to make sure it didn’t happen again,” you teased, elbowing him gently as you walked by. You made your way down the stairs, “Oh, Dodge is due for his vaccine’s, too. I’ll make the appointment tomorrow. I can take him, unless you want to.” 
“I got it, just let me know when and where.” 
You smiled, “Alright. Well, that’s all I need from you, is there anything you need from me?” 
He shook his head, “I don’t think so. Just… enjoy your night.” 
“I will, thank you. My phone will be on, so just buzz me if you need me.” You waved and walked toward the door, grabbing your stuff before making your way to your car. 
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Several hours later, you were still at the bar with your group of friends, slightly buzzed from the martini’s that seemed to just keep coming. You adjusted your top, annoyed that Chris was being brought up again.
“How do you just not pounce on him everyday? If I were his assistant… MAN.” Jenna laughed, taking another sip of her martini. 
You rolled your eyes, “Trust me, there’s nothing there. Even if I wanted there to be. He’s too interested in hooking up with girls half his age.”
“Wait, wait, wait. You’re basically half his age.” Fiona chimed in, laughing.
You shook your head, “Except I’m basically his little sister. He doesn’t see me as anything more than that.” 
Jenna squinted, a mischievous grin on her face, “You want there to be something!” 
“No! That’s not what I’m saying! At all! Come on, guys. Why do we always have to talk about him?” You rolled your eyes again, Leah joining you again with another round of drinks.
“There’s nothing? Not even like a drunken kiss? Or a drunk text? Nothing?” She asked, setting another martini in front of you.
You cleared your throat, shifting uncomfortably in your chair, “No.” You responded simply. 
Fiona gasped and covered her mouth for a second, “LIAR! Your nostrils flared!” 
“How does everyone just know that about me? What the fuck?” You’d literally never had anyone tell you this until recently. How long had your friends been catching you in a lie without telling you? 
“SPILL!” Jenna insisted, leaning in closer to you.
You shook your head, “There’s nothing to spill. I promise.” 
“There! It happened again!” Fiona laughed, pointing to your nose.
You buried your face in your hands, “Guys, I don’t wanna talk about it.” 
“Oh, you have to now,” teased Leah. 
Groaning, you threw back the rest of your drink, “He… might’ve… seen me… in the nude.” You bit your lip, scrunching up your face at your confession. 
Leah’s eyes widened as Fiona gasped and Jenna squealed. 
“HE WHAT??” Jenna yelled, letting out a small laugh, “HE SAW YOU NAKED?!” 
You reached up, gesturing for her to shut it, “Jenna, stop! Not so loud, Jesus.” 
“You just admitted that Chris fucking Evans has seen you naked and you expect me to keep my composure? Who do you think I am?” 
“Shhh! Jenna, please!” You groaned, taking a large gulp of your new drink, “It’s really not that big of a deal. I mean, I’ve seen him naked.” You cursed yourself for saying that, almost immediately regretting it.
Fiona’s mouth dropped open, while Leah’s eyes widened once again. 
Jenna reached over and smacked your arm, “WHEN??? Why are we just now hearing about this?!” 
“Because I knew this is how you would react!” 
“You’ve seen Chris’s dick and you didn’t think we needed to know??” Leah paused, looking over at you, “Did you guys hook up?” 
You choked on your drink, “What?! NO! We got high together one night while I was working on that stupid seating chart and I stayed in his GUEST bed,” you made sure to put emphasis on guest, “he walked in on me while I was changing. And then one morning, he missed his flight so I went to check on him and well… he sleeps naked. So.. there’s that. Nothing cool or important. Let’s move on.” 
They all giggled, trying to figure out how to keep the conversation going. 
“I’m using the birthday card! No more Chris talk, I’m done! Birthday card played.” You insisted, raising both of your hands and flipping them all off, “Can we please take a picture before Jenna gets too drunk and starts crying?” 
Everyone laughed, “Oh, fuck you, Y/N!” She shook her head,  grinning. She couldn’t deny it. It happened every time she drank.
You gathered together, posing for a picture. You smiled when you looked it over and then posted it to Instagram captioning it with your favorite John Lennon quote, “Count your age by friends, not years. Count your life by smiles, not tears.” And then finished it off with ‘Happy Birthday to me!” It’d been posted for less than 5 minutes when your phone buzzed - 
Chris: You didn’t say anything about it being your birthday… 
You: Didn’t think it was noteworthy. Just another day 
Chris: It is not just another day… come on. Now I feel like an ass
You: Chris, don’t haha. I have to remind you of your mother’s birthday, trust me, I wasn’t expecting you to remember :) 
Chris: That’s a lousy excuse 
You: It’s the truth! 
Chris: Well, I won’t keep you. Happy Birthday, Y/N
You: Thank you, Chris 
“You’re texting him?!” Jenna peered over your shoulder at your phone. 
You clutched your phone to your chest, “Jesus, nosey! He texted me to say happy birthday, that’s all.” 
“Weren’t you with him earlier? He didn’t say anything earlier?” Leah inquired, raising an eyebrow. 
“He’s terrible with birthday’s. I have to remind him of his mom’s birthday every year.” you laughed, putting your phone away. 
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A few hours later, it was just about midnight when you decided to stumble your way home. When you called your Uber,  you immediately changed the address to Chris’s, remembering that Lisa had left some enchiladas for you and you needed them now. 
When you got to Chris’s house, you stumbled up to the door, trying to find your keys to let yourself in. Sober you would’ve been mortified that you were doing this. 
You looked up when the porch light turned on and the front door opened. A smile spread across your face, “CHRIS!” You yelled, stumbling into him and wrapping your arms around his neck, “Oh my god, you smell good.” 
He chuckled, moving to the side so you could come in, “What are you doing here? Were you trying to break in?” 
You squinted, clumsily leaning against the railing, “Is it breaking in if you have a key?” you slurred, looking at him. 
He tried to bite back a smile, “I think so, yeah. But you didn’t answer my question. Why are you here?” 
“I’m sorry for waking you up, Chris. But when I was leaving Lavender, I couldn’t stop thinking about the enchiladas waiting for me.” You started to make your way to the kitchen and then quickly turned to face him, wavering slightly on your feet, “Did you eat my enchiladas Chris?” you asked, pointing at him. Or what you thought was him. There seemed to be two of him right now. 
He laughed, “No, I didn’t. They’re in the fridge.” he walked over to you, caressing your elbow and guiding you to the island, “Why don’t you just take a seat, I’ll warm them up for you.” 
You moaned, “Oh my god, thank you. I’ve been thinking about them all night. Your mom is the best cook. Like ever,” you paused, “Oh my god, I should call her and tell her that.” 
Chris walked over, pulling your phone away from you, “Okay, drunky, no. It’s past midnight. She’ll be sleeping.” 
You slapped the marble and pointed to Chris, winking horribly, “Good call, Captain,” you gasped at your realization, “Oh my god, you are Captain America!” 
“Good god, how much did you drink tonight?” He asked, laughing. 
You raised your hands, attempting to count on your fingers, “I lost track after 7,” you slurred, laying your head on the cool marble. 
Chris chuckled again, walking to the microwave to grab your food. He grabbed a fork, then put the plate in front of you, “Here you go.” 
You shot up quickly, snagging the fork and cutting into them. You took a bite, closing your eyes and resting your head on your fist, letting out another moan, “Oh my god, these are so good.” 
Chris laughed again, “You’re so cute.” 
You did your best imitation of a scoreboard buzzer, “FOUL!” you yelled, your eyes still closed and your mouth full of enchilada. 
Chris looked at you like you were crazy and let out another laugh, “What the hell are you talking about?” 
“Don’t call me cute, Chris! Bosses don’t call their assistants cute and you’ve done it like three times recently.” 
“Oh no, I called you cute. The world is going to end!” He said, doing a hand gesture very similar to jazz hands, which made you laugh. 
“Come on, don’t say things you don’t mean,” You slurred, taking another bite of your food. 
He raised an eyebrow, “What makes you think I don’t mean it?” 
You laughed, “Come on, Chris. You’ve said before that you think of me as a little sister.” 
He leaned against the counter, crossing his arms, “That was like 6 years ago, Y/N.”
“Nothing has changed, Chris,” you insisted, looking over at him, “Except that you’ve seen me naked.”
He smiled, “i thought we weren’t supposed to talk about that?” 
“We’re not! But I won’t remember this in the morning, so who cares?” You asked, “Can you get me some water?” 
He did as you asked, setting the glass in front of you, “Well, since you’re not going to remember this in the morning, I think you’re very cute, Y/N. Dare I even say beautiful. I think you’re funny and smart and driven. And you don’t take anyone’s shit. Including mine. You are very attractive to me.” 
You choked on the water, “You think I’m attractive?” 
“I do.” He answered, “But I’m only saying this because you promised you wouldn’t remember it tomorrow.” 
“Oh I for sure won’t. But for the record, you are also beautiful, Chris.” 
He smiled softly, biting the inside of his cheek, “You finished?” 
You nodded, pushing your plate away from you. 
“Let’s get you to bed.” He helped you down and then led you upstairs, “I’m only taking you into my room so I can watch you while I get you clothes, just to make sure you don’t accidentally kill yourself.  You’re sleeping in the other room.” 
You nodded lazily, trying your best to walk up the stairs. 
He set you down on his bed, turning and walking over to his closet. You laid back on the bed, sprawling out, “Your bed is so comfy, Chris.”
He came back out, sweats and an old t-shirt in hand, “Alright, let’s get you to bed.”
You stood up, yanking your tank top off of your head and unclasping your bra, tossing them to the side. 
Chris shielded his eyes, “What the hell are you doing?” 
“Changing. Gimme.” You said, reaching for the shirt in his hand, “It’s nothing you haven’t seen before, Christopher.” you giggled, taking the shirt and throwing it on. You wiggled out of your jeans, leaving you in nothing but his shirt and your black lace panties, “you like what you see?” you teased, echoing his words from the time he was naked in front of you. 
He shook his head, steadying you as you pulled on his sweats. He would never admit it to you, but holy shit, yes. He loved what he saw. You, braless in his favorite shirt, with a thin pair of black, lacey panties? It drove him crazy. 
You laughed, “We’re even now. I’ve seen you naked, you’ve seen me naked. Twice... It’s fine. We're adults, who cares?” 
“Alright, I’m gonna get you some water and then we’ll get you into bed.” He responded, shaking his head.
You gave him a crooked thumbs up before sitting on his bed. You contemplated for a second, staring at his very comfy looking pillow and then shrugged, pulling back the covers and climbing into his bed. By the time he came back upstairs, you were passed out.
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“Good god, I’m dying,” you groaned, rolling over and burying your face into your pillow. Your head was pounding, your stomach turning from the copious amounts of alcohol you’d consumed last night. 
“How ya feeling?” 
You rolled back over, trying to open and focus your eyes on Chris, who stood in the doorway, his arms crossed over his bare chest. “Am I in your room?” 
He laughed, “Yes. I take it you don’t remember coming here last night?” 
You tried to recall leaving the bar, but you were coming up blank, “God, no.” You sat up, burying your face in your hands, “I’m so sorry, Chris. I definitely crossed that line we talked about.” 
He shrugged, walking over to you and handing you a glass of ice water and a couple of Tylenol, “It’s okay. Trust me. I slept on the couch, no line crossed.” 
You looked over at him with an appreciative smile, placing the Tylenol on your tongue and chasing it with water, “Still... I came to your house in the middle of the night, that's so unprofessional. God, I’m sorry. I can’t believe I did that. I’m never drinking again.” 
He chuckled, “Please, Y/N. We got high together a few weeks ago. Would you let go of this 'i'm just an assistant' nonsense?” 
“It's not nonsense. I can't imagine that this would happen with Scarlett and Casey.” You noted, raising an eyebrow.
"It's not the same and you know it." He challenged, encouraging you to drink more water.
You rolled your eyes, taking another sip, then suddenly realizing you weren’t wearing a bra. Giving the water back to him, you crossed your arms over your chest, “Oh god, I’m so sorry. I should go.” You stood up, grabbing your things from his floor. “I can come back with your lemons in a few hours.” 
“You don’t need to come back, I’ll be okay without the lemons, Y/N. Go home, get some rest. I’m sure Mowgli is worried about you.” He smiled. 
“But your dry cleaning..” you started, trying to think about the list of things you needed to do today, “And Dodger’s appointment. Oh, and--” 
He shook his head, “It’s not important, nothing that I can’t do. Or nothing that can’t be done in a couple of days. Just go home.” 
You smiled at him, “Thank you.” 
“Anytime.” He shrugged, walking out and leaving you to change. 
Once you were in your own clothes again, you stepped outside, making your way to his living room, “okay, I’m gonna head out… Uber should be here soon. I’m so sorry about last night. I’m so sad I ate my enchiladas. I don’t even remember what they tasted like.” 
Chris laughed, “Sorry about that, you insisted.” 
You waved a hand at him, “Eh, it’s okay. Next time. I’ll see you, Chris. Thanks again for last night.” 
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Later that night, you sat on your couch, still nursing your hangover when there was a knock on your door. You stood, walking over and looking through the peephole. “Hmm.” you hummed, not seeing anyone. You pulled the door open, a plate covered in tinfoil sitting on your welcome mat. Glancing around the hallway, you picked it up and took it to the kitchen, setting it on the counter and pulling off the card that was taped to the top. 
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You pulled back the tinfoil, smiling when you saw the freshly cooked enchiladas underneath.
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planetofawe · 5 months ago
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SYNOPSIS: Pretty self explanatory, here are 30 things I think Chris does during sex!
WARNINGS: Smut! [Includes oral and penetrative unprotected sex. Wrap it before you tap it. Spanking and being tied up!] You do not have permission to steal/copy my work! 18+ only, minors dni!
PAIRING: Chris Evans x Reader
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1. Whilst he’s eating you out, Chris always manages to bring his hands up to hold yours, he then rests them on your stomach to hold you down because he goes hard with devouring you and doesn’t want you squirming away.
2.Chris also holds your hands during missionary, he brings your joined hands up against the pillow as he pounds into your repeatedly, making the intense situation somewhat even more intimate then it already was before.
3. He definitely closes his eyes and hums when his tongue touches your already drenched pussy for the first time that night (yes man has stamina, he can go for round after round)
4. Chris 100% is the type to pull you up and flat against his chest when you’re in doggy just so his hand could trail all over your body. It makes him feel close to you, especially when you rest your head against his shoulder!
5. He likes pinching your nipples and seeing you squirm, especially during foreplay and you could bet he’d have the biggest smirk on his face when he sees the reaction it causes.
6. Chris also likes being in control and watching the effects it has on you (like you squirming and shaking after a particular thrust that hit your g-spot just right)
7. Chris definitely pushes you down flat on the mattress when you’re in doggy, his hand lands at the small of your back when your laying on your stomach so he has more control over his thrusts.
8. He will pretty much fuck you anywhere, got horny whilst shopping? Don’t worry, Chris is already pulling you into the nearest bathroom. In the mood whilst on a drive? Once again, don’t worry because he’s already parking in a dodgy car park so that he could pull you into the backseat to pound the living daylights out of you. In conclusion, he’s always turned on and is always there to help you out.
9. Chris is the type to bite at your shoulders, nibble your ears and suck marks at your neck whenever he’s balls deep inside of you. He likes marking you because after all, you are his territory and he wants everyone to know that.
10. He makes you open your mouth so that he could stick his thumb inside. “Because you won’t shut the fuck up, daddy’s thumb will do the job” Chris growls before he starts to pounds into you.
11. He likes to splay his big, calloused hand on your lower stomach when he’s balls deep inside of you making you gasp and press his hand down further. “Is daddy deep inside of you baby?” “Can you feel me here? In your belly? Speak up brat”
12. Chris likes to throw you over his laps on nights where you’ve been a bad girl so he could spank you. He starts off with rubbing your ass softly before lifting his hand up and slamming it down harshly, making you scream and whine.
13. Chris likes seeing the aftermath of his spanking on you. He definitely licks his lips and kisses you right on the sore spots of your ass, making you flinch because it still stings a little.
14. He’s 100% a dirty talker. He likes expressing how good you’re making him feel and also likes making you speak and communicate how you’re feeling. “So tight around me” “Am I stretching this pretty little pussy out love?”
15. Chris likes it when you tug on his hair, especially when he’s eating you out. You bet he’s be rutting into the mattress so he could receive the sweet pleasure he’s craving whilst you also fall apart under his tongue. You tugging on his hair let’s him know that he’s doing a good job.
16. He definitely gathers your hair and pulls it into a ponytail when you’re sucking him off. His eyes would be hooded but kept on you on your legs infront of him.
17. Sometimes when you’re having some soft sex, probably the sex you have when Chris comes back from filming or something. He drops a pillow/shirt onto the floor for you so you won’t hurt your knees as you suck him off.
18. Chris keeps his hands planted on your ass when you’re riding him, squeezing down and spanking you every so often.
19. He also helps you ride him and sometimes thrusts up into you making your eyes roll back in pleasure and for Chris to grin smugly because he’s doing this to you.
20. Chris always lets you pick out a playlist before sex because he’s not into music like that so when you pick out the dirtiest of songs, Chris is entranced and it turns him on so much knowing his girl listens to music like that.
21. This is a bit of an embarrassing one for Chris because when it was yours and his first time having sex together, he was so nervous that he couldn’t get himself up. But with your help he managed that and showed you the best night of your life.
22. Chris likes taking your tits into his mouth, as soon as he sees them bouncing up and down infront of him when you’re riding him, he’s heading straight to them, licking and sucking just how you like him to.
23. He grips your waist tight, digging his nails into your sides when he’s hitting it from behind. Something about your pussy being so tight and squeezing down hard on him just gets him going.
24. He 100% has a thing for praise, he likes knowing that it’s only him that could make you feel such euphoric things so he loves getting you to tell him how it’s feeling. “Who’s making you feel this good baby?” “Tell me, who is it? Is it daddy?”
25. Definitely gets cocky when he finds your g-spot “I found the spot didn’t I?” He ask, biting down on his lips as he sees you flutter your eyes shut at the feeling.
26. He loves the sight of you underneath him, so most of the times he’s always on top or dominating. He wants to watch you squirming underneath his touch and to see you squirming is his favourite.
27. Chris likes watching his cum dribble out of you, you’re still trying to catch your breath but you lift your head up regardless and see him eyeing your wrecked pussy and it definitely makes you laugh but he doesn’t care as he reaches for your pussy with his thick fingers so he could push the cum back inside of you. He likes having you stuffed and full.
28. He has some nights where it’s strictly for “love making” as he likes to call it, where he dims the lights, brings out some candles, puts some fresh bedsheets on and scatters rose petals on the bed for you.
29. He also has some nights where he’s the exact opposite, where he brings out his ties/ropes, spanks you with his belt or hand, overstimulates you until you can no longer take it and makes sure you don’t cum.
30. Eventhough you have sex quite often, Chris can’t help but fall even more in love with you each time he sees your face when your cumming. You have such an innocent but gravitating look and he never wants to not be able to see that. He loves you and you can definitely tell by the way he touches you.
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punani · 4 months ago
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Requested: Yes
Summary: The divorce process with Chris is messy, seemingly never ending, and ultimately: heartbreaking. You had to be strong for your son, yourself, and eventually you wanted someone else to be strong for you, so, it seemed only natural that you would venture into the arms of another. However, sometimes the line between something officially ending or simply taking a break blurs when you’ve known someone for longer than you can remember. 
Pairing(s): Chris Evans x Black!Reader (former/eventual)
Word Count: 16.3k 
Warnings: michael b. jordan x reader (temporary/minor), angst, divorce/separation allusions, fighting (verbal), cursing, insults, insecurity, jealousy, toxic relationship allusions (cyclical), NSFW smut: oral (f/m receiving), edging, face sitting, throat fucking, squirting orgasm(s), slapping/spanking (tits, face, ass, etc.), spit kink, breeding kink, degradation kink, hair pulling, chain kink, possessive marking, sex w/o a condom (remember to be responsible), slight dub-con (i’m putting this just in case; unintentional), overall filth, disclaimer: the sex is very rough at one point, so please proceed with caution! 
a/n: big, big thank you to @saint-bvcky​ who helped me climb over the multiple writing walls that i hit while writing this. genuinely, this was probably one of my most challenging fics to write, and i hope you all enjoy it as much at the highest of your extents! 
It’s always ironic. 
How when everything seems to finally fit together—life falling into a rhythm of peace and satisfaction. When things feel nearly complete–the ground never fails to cave underneath your feet; no matter how early you notice, it always feels like it’s too late.  
You don’t know where it started: the damage to what once was a solid, seemingly unbreakable foundation between you and Chris. Furthermore, you don’t even know how it initially started, and you don’t know when it initially started.
Perhaps, if you knew the answers to these simple questions, then things would be different. 
You wouldn’t have to wake up with an ache in your chest every morning, rolling over to be met with cold sheets and a pillow that barely smells like him anymore. You wouldn’t have to make a schedule, practically tossing your son into car after car–rendering your five year old to metaphorical whiplash. You wouldn’t have to engage in that difficult conversation: why Mommy and Daddy are not sleeping in the same house anymore, and why it isn’t your fault because our love for you hasn’t changed. 
Perhaps if you knew where things began to split, sparking an evident division between you and Chris, then the pain of seeing him–of being in his presence–wouldn’t exist. 
It wouldn’t exist, because, like all things and problems, you would’ve nipped the beginnings of a split right in the bud. You would’ve smothered the growing need to fight–claw, scrape, bite.
You would’ve smothered that need to fight, because there would’ve been no need. 
The two of you used to be so in sync–a well oiled and loved machine. One unit. A team. Now, though? Now it felt as if the two of you were toeing the line of acquaintances who happened to have a kid together. 
Chris moved out months ago, but he didn’t go far. 
The entirety of your combined families live less than a ten minute drive from one another, a testament to wanting to keep a tight-knit circle. 
You and Chris always shared that fundamental value: the importance of family. 
It was one of the many things that made you fall in love with him. The way he would speak about his siblings, his mother–it never failed to make something inside of you swell, because you valued family so highly. 
Even now, with the divide in your little family, you value it to the same extent. Perhaps that’s why it hurts so deeply. 
“Can we just–“
“Just what, [Y/N]? What is it this time?”
God, you hate fighting him. You’ve always hated fighting him. 
You hate the way the frustration, the anger, the sadness buries itself in your belly before finding its way to your tongue. 
You hate fighting him, and the irony is that he hates fighting you too. So, why are you here? Why are you here once again–fighting?
“Can we just talk? Like adults?” You keep your voice leveled, but the uneasy feeling crawling up your stomach doesn’t go away. 
If you’re honest, it never seems to go away these days. 
Chris scoffs at first, but he’s quick to close his open drawer and turn to look at you. Even now, with the tension and anger, a piece of you wants to simply walk up to him and hold him. You want to feel his arms wrap around you, solidifying the apology that’s always supposed to come before bed. 
“What is there to talk about? I already explained why I couldn’t be there,” Crossing his arms over his chest, you take in the way his brows furrow and his eyes narrow. He looks at you as if you’re dumb, incapable of comprehending anything in this moment. 
The problem is, you understand full well. You understand what he’s saying, you just don’t understand why he can’t seem to hear you in this conversation. It’s as if you’re merely talking to a wall; only this time, the wall looms over you and speaks freely–no regard for your contribution to the discussion. 
Inhaling deeply, you shift from one heeled foot to another; a dull ache resides in the balls of your feet, but it’s nothing compared to the ache expanding in your chest from this conversation. 
“You can’t be serious, Chris. You’re going to stick with that excuse? You’re going to stand here and act like you missing the banquet–an important dinner for me, for Barry, for our family–is no big deal? What? Because you had a half-assed excuse that you couldn’t make it last minute?” Your throat feels dry, and you want to chalk it up to all of the moisture in your body threatening to spill from your eyes. 
It’s January, the weather so cold, so distant, so...brutal. The kind of cold that settles in your bones. Yet, standing in this master bedroom–a smattering of feet away from the love of your life? A part of you believes it’d be easier to stand outside.
“What do you want me to say? I already apologized, and I told you that I would make it up to you. You’re beating a dead horse for the hell of it at this point,” Chris sighs out, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose as his back leans up against the desk in the corner of the room. 
You move to remove your statement earrings from your ears, a sense of fatigue starting to creep into your limbs. You want out of this dress you wore tonight, you want out of these heels you wore tonight, and at this moment? You want out of this room that feels too big yet suffocating at the same time. 
It’s funny: how this room has only felt big whenever he was away filming, but now? It feels as though he’s miles away.
“The dead horse is your inability to show up for me, honey. For our son. Let’s not get it twisted,” The bite creeps into your tone, and you cross your arms in return. 
You hate fighting him, you’ve always hated fighting him–but you’ll be damned if you sit here and let him treat you like some unreasonable fool. 
“Get it twisted? Me?” Your heart lurches as you watch him throw his head back, a small scoff of a laugh falling from his lips as he does so. In this moment, you’re feeling like the love of your life is a bastard. “Baby, you knew what you were signing up for when this–“ he uncrosses one of his arms, motioning between the two of you with a mocking frustration, “became a full-time commitment.”
Your eyes widen, and all you can think is: this man must have lost his mind.
“Now, what the fuck do you mean by this?” You snarl in return, imitating the motion he just made whilst in pure disbelief. “Do you know just how many times you’ve gone on and on about wanting a family? Wanting someone to come home to–unconditional love? And now that you finally fucking receive those things–you don’t even want to be around me? Around us? Well, news flash, Christopher, some of us don’t have the fucking luxury of being a part-time parent.”
You’re beyond thankful that your voice didn’t crack. You’re beyond thankful that you didn’t let him attempt to bulldoze or belittle you. It’s all bullshit–this conversation is bullshit, and you’re more than certain that he knows it. He has to know that he’s in the wrong. 
The inkling that Chris would even feel remotely ashamed of being seen with you and Barry strikes him to the depths of his core. It’s his turn to feel disbelief because, well, how could you ever insinuate that he’d feel an ounce of shame about your relationship–let alone your little family? 
Did you simply miss the way he’d light up and sing his family’s praises whenever he got the chance? Had you glossed over him getting teased and ragged on for showing off pictures of the three of you, to anyone who’d care to look? Did you just not see how absolutely, irrevocably in love with you he is? How thankful he is that you gave him a son who lights up this world more than anyone else?
His eyes verge on dark and too dangerous as he stalks towards you, not stopping until you’re effectively cornered between him and the accent wall behind you. 
You inhale to calm your breathing, effectively taking in the scent of his faded cologne and the mint that lingers from the mouthwash he used not too long ago. God, even when you’re mad at him, your body wants him all the same; you can practically feel the heat building in between your legs.
“Go ahead, sweetheart. Say that shit again.”
He’s daring you–silently begging for you to say it again. He wants to feed into this–wants to make sure that he actually heard you correctly.
Both of you breathe in a way that heightens the tension, locked gazes narrowing as a pregnant pause enters the room. 
This would be a moment where you’d rephrase what you said–taking it back because you didn’t mean it. However, he’s been an asshole tonight, and your stubbornness decided to take a seat at the table. 
“Don’t tell me you’ve gone deaf,” You smirk as you say it, a thin layer of sarcastic teasing lingering in your tone as you hold eye contact. 
Had you not been paying such close attention to him, you definitely would’ve missed the corners of his mouth briefly quirking at your slight dig. Had you not been paying such close attention to him, you would’ve missed the hard to decipher expression that flashes in his blue eyes. Had you not been paying such close attention, you wouldn’t have been able to brace yourself for his lips slotting against yours in a searing kiss. 
Almost immediately, you’re melting into him, moaning at the way his mouth feels against yours before he’s bunching up the fabric of your dress–hoisting you up into his arms; he takes you away from the wall, tongue prodding yours as you root your fingers into his hair.  
Chris has always had this power of being a distracting kisser, making you forget nearly everything else the moment his lips are on yours. This time is no exception when your back meets the soft, California king-sized bed. 
“C-Chris,” Your heart stutters in your chest when he starts pressing open mouthed kisses down the column of your neck. As he does so, his hands continue to creep underneath and push up the white fabric of your dress, warm fingers finding the nice gift of you forgoing underwear tonight. 
He lets out a small hum; was it of surprise, content, a regretfulness for being an absolute dick and now knowing you were bare underneath this pretty little thing? You aren’t sure. 
You are sure of the way your back slightly arches when his teeth start to nip at the exposed swell of your breasts. 
Down, down, down—
“You’re such a brat, you know that?” He murmurs against your inner thigh, head finding its rightful place between your legs. Already, you can feel his rough fingers start to take a firm hold of your body, keeping you open for him to the point where he could let his gaze flicker up at you without losing his positioning. However, his comment has you glaring at him, muscles tightening briefly–only to be met with him giving you a harsh squeeze. “But I deserve it don’t I, hmm? Gotta apologize to my bratty, little wife for being an asshole.”
Your lashes flutter when he finishes his statement by licking a bold stripe from your already quivering hole to your clit. 
“Yeah, you are an asshole,” You whisper back, only for your words to trail off into a moan at the feeling of him generously tasting you once again.
You’ve been in this position numerous times–not just with his head between your legs, but him being there to apologize. 
Of course, he’s used a variety of tactics to earn his way back into your good graces.
Your favorite dinner–homemade sometimes.
Heartfelt letters.
Breakfast in bed.
Talking it out until both of your hotheads cooled down.
You name it, and it’s more than likely been used. You’ve never believed in the ideology that healthy couples don’t fight, because you and Chris? You two never failed to challenge each other, and it was one of the things that you found admirable about your relationship with him.
That being said, him using that skillful tongue and those deft fingers on you is undeniably your favourite way to receive an apology. This tactic always thrust him into a mindset where he ate you out like had something to prove; in this case–he did. 
His apology this time is no different–no exception. 
“Shit–I’m gonna–” You’re squeaking the words out, breath hitching in the back of your throat when your first orgasm finally hits you. 
It’s deliciously unfair at times: how easy it is for him to play your body like a fiddle, knowing what makes you tick to the point of giving you too little, just enough, too much, and more. 
“Do you forgive me, baby?” His words vibrate against your core, and you have to bite your lip to keep from whimpering. Ever so stubborn, you decide that you’re not going to give in that easily. 
As it should be.
“You must’ve lost your touch if you can only make me cum once, honey,” You snip, gaze finding his blues staring up at you from between your legs. 
There’s a glint there, as if he’s amused; it makes you want to tighten your legs around his head and briefly suffocate him. You won’t, of course–in fact, you don’t even get the chance because Chris soon mumbles something along the lines of your pending regret in saying that before he’s putting that smart mouth of his to work again. 
The aftershocks of your original orgasm have subsided at this point, but it doesn’t mean your chest isn’t starting to fall and rise heavily from the way your beloved husband feasts on you. 
His middle finger and thumb part your folds, index rubbing tight circles into the little bundle of nerves that causes your leg to jump. You mewl at the feeling of him stiffening his tongue, prodding your entrance teasingly for a few moments before he’s delving inside of you. 
You blame the aftermath of pregnancy for making you so sensitive, so pliable, so easy to manipulate underneath the touch of a man who has known you–known your body for a long enough time to draw a map from memory. You blame this for how quickly he’s able to bring you to the precipice, mischievous eyes looking up at you when you cry out.
The stubbornness stays though. It stays within you despite the original anger slipping away from your body the longer he stays between your soft thighs. 
“I’m so sorry,” He mumbles against your folds again, not giving you a moment to come down from your high as he slips two fingers into your sopping cunt. Your walls suckle his digits in greedily, and that’s when your fingers thread into his hair, tugging on the dark strands to push him closer to where you need him most.
“Stop fucking talking, and show me you’re sorry.”
You’re meant to say the words firmly–exuding a shrivel of dominance and prove that you’re not in the mood to hear him speak. You’ve heard him speak enough for tonight. 
That was the emotion you wanted to convey…but feeling him pull the hood of your clit back? Feeling him spit on it and continue to tongue down your pussy as he curled his fingers within you? Feeling him groan into you as you tugged on his roots just shy of too hard? 
It causes the words to slip out pathetically. 
Your back arches when he brings you to a third orgasm, and you have to use your free hand to cover your mouth. You were bound to wake up your son despite him being on a different floor. That’s how well Chris was toying with your body at the moment. 
“Uh-huh, come on, baby–won’t you accept my apology?” He’s made his way up your body, beard beyond slick with your arousal as he kisses your neck and whispers in your ear. His fingers still work inside of you, giving you no reprieve as the pads drag against that spongy spot over and over and over and over–
“You know I would’ve been there if I could, right?” He asks huskily, and you whimper as your legs fall open wider. You can hear how wet you are, juices spreading across your inner thighs and starting to run down the crack of your ass. 
“I’m sorry,” He whispers again, and you choke when his free hand pulls down the top of your dress, exposing your breast so that he could play with your nipples. His ability to multitask so well has you trying to stifle the moans that so desperately want to escape the back of your throat.
“You’re so fucking wet, you wanna cum again? I can make you cum again, just forgive me, honey.”
Your mind starts descending into a haze, his words falling into the background as you try so desperately to ground yourself. 
You don’t know if you want him closer to you or farther away. You don’t know if you want to kiss him or continue clawing at his shirt covered shoulder. 
You don’t know, you don’t know, you don’t know.
What you do know is that your legs are trembling, and he’s maneuvered himself in a way so you can’t escape his ministrations. You can’t escape, and your eyes are watering as you look at him.
“Pl-Please, I can’t,” You choke out, the heat in the pit of your stomach verging on painful as it builds and builds and builds. 
“Can’t what, sweetheart? Can’t cum again? Can’t forgive me?” His tone is near mocking as his blue eyes hold yours. You must look dumbfounded–like his pretty little baby. You must look that way because of how he smirks and starts fingering you in a way that lets you know he was teasing you before. 
“Which one is it? ‘Cause I think you can do both,'' He drawls out, and all you can do is nod. 
You nod and he nods along with you with a faux pout, it’s all too much. It’s all too much, but it’s not enough. 
Not even when he traps one of your nipples in his mouth. Not even when he kisses down your body again. Not even when his fingers twist and scissor you open. 
None of it is enough because he’s keeping you on the edge. 
The truth is, you can come again, but you know that he won’t let you until you forgive him. 
It’s cruel, it’s so cruel, but damn does it set you ablaze. He’s gifted you not one, not two, but three orgasms already–and he’s willing to give you more…Just say those magic words. Let him back into your good graces and he’ll have you seeing stars for the rest of the night; if that is what you wish, of course. 
“I-I-I,” You stutter, tears slipping from the corners of your eyes as he takes your clit into your mouth, barely sucking. 
He’s a bastard.
“Come on, baby–forgive me?” He grunts, proceeding to press a chaste kiss to your throbbing clit. Then another, then another, then another, then another, then–
“Yes, yes, yesss! Ok? I-I forgive you,” You sound so pathetic and breathless, but you don’t care. You don’t care because he’s taking your clit into his mouth again, but this time? This time he’s suckling on the bundle of nerves as if a man parched, your body his only means of hydration. 
You spasm, and the orgasm you were barred from for too long causes your ears to ring. You vaguely hear the sound of your release. Can feel it leave you in spurts that have you near barreling into a fifth orgasm–one that he would gladly give you after those sweet, little words left your tongue.
Words incoherent, dress an absolute mess, heeled shoes digging into expensive bedding, husband continuing to eat your pussy like you deserve–
It’s a wonder you didn’t just pass out. 
“Look at you making a mess...That’s my girl.”
If only all of your fights ended like this.
You scoff at the vivid memory, hands gripping the steering wheel as you look out of the windshield. 
“Bleth you!” 
Barrett Scott Evans. Barry. Your darling, five year old son calls from the backseat, dinosaur in his hand as he waves when making eye contact with you through the rearview. 
You can’t help the small laugh that comes out, his ignorance to your thoughts appearing as nothing but endearing. 
Lately, you’ve been running on some sort of auto-pilot. It’s as if the numbness, the beginnings of a prolonged hollowness, has begun to seep into you. Some days are worse than others, of course, some days are worse than others. Yet, you’re not allowed to simply wallow and crumble down in bed. You don’t give yourself that luxury–that privilege, because you have to be strong for your son. You want to be strong for your son, your pride and joy, the holder of your heart who sits in his car seat happily. 
He smiles at you, showing you his missing front tooth that’s caused a lisp to form in his speech. That smile is more than enough to give you the bravery to keep on going despite a large branch of your life tree dying. 
“Ha, thank you, Pooh Bear, but I didn’t sneeze,” You tease him softly, but his two favourite toys have caught his attention once again. 
The quick change of focus reminds you of him, but you squash the thought before it could fully form. 
It’s the only way you could bring yourself out of the car.
A piece of you thinks this is pathetic: it’s been months since the separation started, months since he moved out, months since the coparenting relationship began, and yet–you still feel a wave of anxiety at the thought of having to see him during family Sundays.
Family Sundays.
Where his family–brother, sisters, niece, nephews, and mother–and your family–your parents–plus Barry of course, all got together at one of the roots of the family tree’s homes. Better explained: family Sundays took place at either Lisa’s home or your parents’ home. At one point, you loved the unity, the tradition, the security in knowing that the importance of family was ingrained in everyone…At one point, you loved it all. You loved it because growing up as an only child, your parents were your world (they still are), and you always held quality time as a high level of showing affection. 
He fucking knew that and still acted like you weren’t making sense. 
Shaking your head, you unbuckle Barry from his car seat, helping him out before grabbing the bag that held the necessary items for a pool day and a five year old boy.
August was never kind in Massachusetts. Not only was it hot, but the humidity at times made it feel like you wanted to peel off a layer of skin just to feel some cool relief. 
Already, whilst grabbing Barry’s hand, you can feel a sheen layer of sweat start to form on the exposed parts of your body that your modest, off the shoulder sundress doesn’t cover. Truthfully, you want to chalk your growing warmth up to the August heat, but you know better. You know better, but it’s so much easier to lie to yourself than–
“Ah, you made it!” Lisa’s kind smile greets you as soon as she swings the door open. It’s her week to host, and you’re thankful that Barry’s at your side.
It’s so much harder when you have to walk into Family Sundays alone; you briefly wonder if Chris ever got that sinking feeling as well. 
“Of course, you know we’d never miss it–“
“Hi grandma!” 
Barry cuts you off by releasing your hand, his arms wounding around Lisa tightly as he buries his face into her stomach and embraces her tightly. She lets out a small gasp from the jolting contact, but her hand finds his defined curls as she greets him joyfully in return. 
You’re glad that some things will remain the same, at least. 
You’re glad that they’re still your family–that this situation hasn’t changed the way they viewed you. Honestly, you don’t even know why that idea would even cross your mind: Chris’ family resenting you for the separation. 
You gave it everything you had.
You tried.
You fought for the idea of for better or for worse.
You weren’t the one who served the fucking papers.
Yet, you still felt an anxiousness–as if you were suddenly an outsider to the Evans family. 
Though it couldn’t be farther from the truth, you’re still thankful that you have your parents to keep you sane through it all. Your parents and your best girlfriends–the real ones, not the ones that you put up with for the sake of upholding some image that seems irrelevant now. 
“Barry, come here for more sunscreen, baby!”
It’s already been about two hours since you’ve arrived, and you can guarantee that you’ve fallen into your auto-pilot tendencies. 
Laugh when prompted. Sometimes it was genuine–especially with Scott and Carly.
Engage with your family–both blood and linked.
Reassure your loving parents that you’re holding up just fine–more than fine. Ironically, you always have to put forth an extra effort with convincing your dad as opposed to your mom.
Check to make sure Barry was alright.
Be civil with Chris.
God, you had to laugh at that: be civil with a man you once believed was your forever. 
Foolishly, you still believe–
“It’th okay, Mama! You don’t have to–Dad told me he could do it,” Barry’s near breathless as he quickly pads over to you after getting out of Lisa’s pool. He’s glowing: hair a messy, untamed mop of curls from the water he’s practically been living in with his cousins since the two of you arrived. 
However, his comment has your gaze flickering over to Chris for a moment. 
He’s too busy opening a new beer for himself whilst in the pool, pressed up against the wall with furrowed brows and a subconscious need to shake some wet strands of hair from his eyes. You watch as he manages to take a single swig before his nephew, Miles, decides to make an attempt of jumping on his back. 
“Oh, alright, my love,” You say softly, giving Barry a small smile as you shift your positioning on one of the pool side chairs you’re currently seated on underneath the expansive umbrella. 
For a five year old, Barry’s always been observant–his perception ability way too mature for a kid his age. You’ll admit that it’s both a blessing and a curse, but lately it’s definitely more of the latter because-
“But I can tell dad that you should do it instead? Or maybe you can help too like…like Dithney World?”
You have to hold back a laugh at the reference, remembering the time you and Chris practically overdid Barry’s sunscreen in the blistering heat last year.
“No, no–it’s really alright! Go and use this with your dad, hmm?” 
You’re reaching for the black bottle of sunscreen by your side, proceeding to wink and hand it to your pride and joy who accepts it into his small hands. 
“Yeah, Mama,” Barry beams at you again, nodding quickly before turning around to do as he was told. However, he pauses after taking no more than three steps away before turning back and coming up to you again. 
Your brow quirks at him in curiosity, but you can’t stop your smile at what he asks of you.
You’re quick to take his baby face into your warm hands, raining a series of kisses over his wet skin with adoration and ease. 
If there’s one thing you’ll never do–it’s love your son on auto-pilot.
Time seemed to pass by in a flurry after that, the coolness of a Summer breeze creeping up as the day pressed forward. 
Truthfully, everything was fine until the evening was coming to a close, and time was running out. 
You had to talk to him–alone. 
“Hey, you got a minute?” His back faces you when you first ask the question, head bowed as his focus remains on the last of the dishes in the large, stainless steel sink. Your nerves start to bubble in the pit of your stomach, a fear of potential rejection. 
“Hey, ba-[Y/N],” Briefly looking over his shoulder, you catch the hints of a smile. “Sure, just give me a second to finish up here.”
You quietly nod and move to lean up against the kitchen island. 
The silence isn’t…awkward, per se–but it is evident. 
The water runs, the dishes clank, you ignore the urge to look him over, and he refrains from stealing glances at you through the window’s reflection above the sink. The silence isn’t awkward, but it’s evident because this current dynamic is different. It’s different, it’s uncomfortable, and you find yourself missing the privilege of snaking your arms around his waist before pressing a kiss to his back. 
Does he miss it too?
Chris eventually grabs the hand towel tucked into the oven’s handle, and, in his mind, he can’t doubt the warmth that kisses his cheeks when he feels your eyes follow his movements. He’s always been so...aware...of everything you do; however, now–rather than a honeymoon feeling–he feels a combination of anxiousness and embarrassment underneath your gaze. Embarrassed of what exactly? 
Everything surrounding his hand in all of this. 
“Want one?” 
It’s a habit: Chris’ need to distract himself with an idle task when he feels like confrontation is coming his way. This time was no different. 
So, that’s why he went to his mother’s expansive fridge, grabbing a beer bottle before making a gesture towards you and asking the simple question. It’s like an olive branch–his way of asking you as to whether or not peace was an option. Yet, his heart beats a little harder when the space between your brows creases, your body positioning remaining a tad closed off as you shake your head, wave him off, and politely decline his offer.
God, is he going to need more than one of these for this conversation? 
He nods, letting the fridge shut behind him as he easily pops off the bottle cap. It rattles, rattles, rattles against the countertop, filling in some of the quiet gaps between the two of you. 
It’s not enough though, and Chris knows he’s more to blame for that than you. 
“So,” Chris starts, moving to take his previous place by the sink; effectively standing across from you in a kitchen that’s generously sized, a piece of him still feels caged in from your inability to look at him at first. “What’d y’wanna talk about?”
“I’m gonna need you to swing by earlier on Friday when picking up Barry,” You sigh the words out, bare shoulders lifting as you look at him. Chris wasn’t opposed to the request, but his brow quirks, hoping for more information as he takes a long swig from his bottle. 
“Did something come up?” He asked, waiting for you to continue. 
Now, the two of you have known each other for a long–long time. So, at the sight of you crossing your arms over your chest, readjusting your posture a bit in response to his question? Chris knew that he was starting to toe a line...that you were–
“Yeah, I have a date.”
Five words. Five, measly words cause him to choke on his drink. Call it the wrong pipe, call it careless consumption, call it whatever–either way, Chris couldn’t hold back the coughs as he squeezed his eyes shut and hit a balled fist against his chest one, two, three times. Heart beating in a now, inconsistent pattern, he watches the brief look of concern leave your face as quickly as it left. 
Unlike you, he’s never been a fan of the cold. Not in this way. 
Those words held no warmth–like you were simply...He can’t even put a finger on it. Those words were nails against the chalkboard, the needle scratching a record, a leap into a trench with no oxygen tank. He needs to keep his head above water. He needs to fight the acidic bile wanting to rise out of his throat, making the pressure between his ears grow worse and worse. He needs to keep himself from turning to the sink and letting his beer greet the world again. 
Who was he fooling at this point? Himself? Because it sure as hell isn’t you. Although, he can’t blame you–he has no right to blame you, even if a selfish side of him wanted to. 
He may be aging, but he’s not blind. He’s not blind, and whoever had the balls to step up and ask you out on a date wasn’t blind either. You held–still hold the torch of the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen; it wasn’t even based on knowing you for the better part of two decades and having a son together–it was his truth. 
“A-uh-ahem...A date?” Chris wheezes, throat burning a bit from the coughing fit he just experienced in front of you. “With who?”
Your eyes narrow at the question, and Chris would chalk this up to his second strike in less than two minutes. For a lover of the sport, he sucks at baseball. 
He knows he has no right. He has no right, even in the depths of hell, to feel this wave of jealousy and possessiveness spring up his spine. He has no right.
You weren’t his property, you weren’t his territory–you were the mother of his child, and that’s all. He made it that way, so he has no right. Your disposition emphasizes that he has no right, but he can’t help it. He can’t help it, because it felt like some stranger was taking shears to his little, family picture. It felt like some stranger was infringing on his ability to love you, to hold you, to have you be his just as much as he is yours. It felt like someone was forcing him to open up, to make his family into something it’s not. 
This was too much, too soon. 
Yet, you don’t know this, for he drew his mouth into a line and held back from expressing it. 
He has no right, because this–most of it? It’s on his shoulders. 
“If it’s a problem then–”
“No, fine. It’s fine,” He all but growls, looking away from you to inhale deeply and attempt to calm his nerves. “Carly’s boys ‘ave been beggin’ for a sleepover, so, Barry can go.”
“Great, thanks,” You hum, brown eyes finding his blue ones easily when he looks at you once again. 
“Yeah, don’t mention it.”
There’s a double meaning in there–literally and figuratively. 
It’s ugly: the part of Chris that wishes you never mentioned it all. The part of him wanting to believe you were telling a cruel, messed up joke, and that deep down, you missed him. It’s ugly, and it’s hypocritical because he prompted your reply. 
He prompted your reply, and it now seems as though the likelihood of you missing him, even a fraction of the amount that he misses you, is dead and gone. 
However, that was the thing about you, you were never the begging type. 
Begging was reserved for the times the two of you used to have sex, make love, and fuck. It was reserved for the times that seemed like eons ago, faded vignettes collecting dust in a compartmentalized box. 
Begging, beyond those moments, was foreign to your nature. You don’t beg for a goddamn thing–especially not from him. 
Honestly, a part of Chris wishes that the lifelong anxiety he’s been dealing with–the one that made him 
magnanimously and erroneously believe that divorce was what you wanted–was a real person. He wanted to strangle it, watch the life drain from its eyes as revenge for making him act so rashly. 
Throwing back a generous amount of beer, Chris almost wishes he picked something stronger. 
When he looks at you again, it’s as though he’s finally taking in your appearance. 
Your sundress is golden yellow, off the shoulder and cascading down the expanse of your body. He doesn’t even realize he’s absentmindedly undressing you with his eyes, gaze lingering on the slit revealing your moisturized leg and white pedicure. He doesn’t realize he’s truly taking all of you in until you clear your throat and lock eyes with him once again. 
An apology rests at the tip of his tongue until he notices the small shifts in your demeanor. You’re taking him in too. 
It was quick–the way your eyes flickered up and down his form. He’s clad in a hunter green henley and dark grey sweatpants, hair still wet from the quick shower he must’ve taken not too long ago. 
Even though it’s been months, neither of you can deny the physical attraction that still lingers between the two of you. 
The kitchen is big, courtesy of Chris wanting to give back to his mom, but standing across from him? Both of you looking each other over–silently undressing with eyes that verge on hungry? The kitchen is big, but it’s not big enough. 
Is it wrong that you want him? Is it wrong that a piece of you wants him to want you? Doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter, because you’re chalking this building warmth and tension within you to your dry spell since that night months and months ago. 
You haven’t been with anyone since then, and you don’t even want to know if that’s the same reality for him. 
Tonight was different.
It’s as if no space is big enough for the both of you. 
“Do you even try to see things from my point of view, or is your narcissism rotting your brain again?”
As you spew the words, you’re beyond thankful that Barry’s at your parents’ for the night. You’re so fed up that you can’t even look at him right now. So, logically, you busy yourself with trying to finish your night routine. 
The master bedroom’s adjacent door is wide open, meaning you can hear Chris’ voice loud and clear in response to your comment. 
“Oh, I know you’re not talking. Little Ms. The Only Thing Bigger Than My Head Is My Damn, Unjustified and Entitled Ego.”
His words have you halting the action of brushing your teeth. 
Things have been on a downward spiral for months, but lately? Lately it’s as though the destruction of Pompeii is right around the corner, waiting for the moment to ruin years of a carefully constructed empire. 
Funny how things, important things, take a gradual, drastic turn, and the parties involved never truly notice until it’s too late. 
He wants to play? The two of you can fucking play. 
Spitting out the toothpaste and turning off the electronic toothbrush–you will yourself to bite your tongue not wanting your temper get the best of you. 
“What, nothing to say now?” He calls out sarcastically in response to your silence, and you hear the distant sound of a drawer slamming shut; you deduce that he must be in the walk-in perfect. 
Rinsing your mouth out, you’re quick to move to the bedroom; crossing the space easily, you step into the threshold of the generous walk-in. He’s busying himself with slipping an older shirt on, his profile facing you.
“Oh, trust me, I have a lot to say, but I’d hate to hurt your teenage boy feelings, baby.”
You watch him inhale deeply through his nose, lashes fluttering as he smooths out his shirt. Out of the two of you, you’ve always been more level-headed. You’ve always been the one who reasons, who tries to find common ground. However, you’ve had enough. 
The high road isn’t what you’re taking tonight, and you feel justified in saying that when he decides to open his mouth once again.
“‘Christ, you’re fucking impossible,” He mutters under his breath, turning to look at you with annoyed eyes. 
His shoulder bumps yours as he passes you, walking into the bedroom as if he was over this conversation. 
“Oh, so I’m the impossible one for being rightfully upset that we have to have this conversation again–”
“We don’t have to do anything,” He turns around, pointing an accusatory finger your way. “You’re the one who wants to keep on making me some kind of villain when I don’t even start shit with you.”
At that, your eyes widen and a new wave of anger courses through you like water from a broken dam. Stepping into the room, your steps are careful as you attempt to keep your voice level. 
Pompeii is coming. 
“You’re not the victim–“
“Yeah? Well, you aren’t either–“
“Yes I am, Evans!” 
This is the turning point. 
The decibel of your voice is at a whole new level, and you just know this is where things are going to implode if you don’t stop. 
You can’t. 
Chris seems stunned at your outburst, but you don’t give him a chance to say something. He’s said enough.
“Do you know what it’s like? Having to repeat myself over and over again with you? Having to run this cyclical conversation through my head over and over again? I mean, hell–“ You’re cutting yourself off as you throw your hands in the air, looking around the room as if there were an audience who was relating to your frustration. “It’s like you could give less than a fuck about how I feel–“
“That’s not true–“
“Yes it is.” Your voice is hard, and your expression is even harder as you look at him. 
Pompeii. Pompeii. Pompeii. 
“You say that you hear me, Chris…but your actions say something else. You say ‘sweetheart, I’m so sorry’ and that you’ll do better. You say that you love me more than anyone else in this world besides Barry. You say these things to just…pacify me, but you don’t change.”
You move over to your vanity, wanting to be more than just idle as you continue to dig, dig, dig, dig. 
“See? This is what I mean when I say you paint me as some villain when–“
“You are the fucking villain then. Your ability to easily disregard what I’m saying and make it about yourself is so immature–“
“And you starting a fight with me any chance you get, isn’t immature?” Chris’ voice is just as loud as yours and evidently incredulous, another scoff leaving his mouth with your back facing him. 
“If you tried to be better–if you gave an ounce of a shit? Then–“ You cut yourself off, hands near shaking as you try to gain some semblance of composure back. Rein it in, for the love of everything–
“Then what? Huh, [Y/N]? Because, the way I see it? You consistently point out everything I do wrong. I stay out too late. I don’t spend enough time with you. I act like I don’t give a shit about anyone but myself–which we both know is utter bullshit. You wanna act like some angel, innocent and without faults...but I think we both know the skeletons buried in your closet say otherwise. So, what exactly are we arguing about this time–“
“I’m tired, Chris.”
Pompeii is here. 
The walls are starting to cave in, the words cut through your frustrated breaths, and items land on the vanity after you haphazardly throw them down. 
You wonder if his wedding ring burns as much as yours does. 
He’s silent, but you know he’s fuming. You’re both fuming, and when you turn around to look at him? You realize that you need to speak your truth.
“I’m tired of having to miss you,” You start out, the path toward the root of your frustration growing clearer with every word you say. 
“I’m tired of fighting you. I’m tired of being in this by myself.”
You lament the words by gesturing in between the two, and you can feel the thin layer of calmness dissipate the more that you realize this is the problem. His lack of care for why you’re bringing this up again and again. 
“I mean, it’s bad enough that I have to be Mom and Dad while you’re away, but the fact that you’re here and I’m still pulling the weight of two parents?”
It’s then that he begins striding toward you, bare feet crossing the room so quickly that you let out a small gasp when you’re bumping into your vanity after stepping back. 
“So, now it’s my fatherhood that’s the probl–“
“I’m not done, Chris–“
“No, I believe you are. Where’s this all coming from, huh? M’not giving this body enough attention?” He cocks his head to the side, a small smirk playing across his lips as he looks down at you. 
You know what he’s insinuating–where he wants this conversation to go. You know that this is his way of stepping up to apologize, but you’re not in the mood to simply be pacified and underneath him. You have too much pent up anger to remain complacent, to accept an apology that will lead to nowhere. 
“Is that your way of rectifying everything? Eating me out?” You narrow your eyes as you look at him, ignoring the way your heart starts to pound harder at how close he is to you now. 
“So, you’re telling me you don’t like it? That if I were to stick my hand down those cute like shorts of yours…the ones that I bought you–that pussy’s not gonna be wet for me? That’s what you’re telling me, sweetheart?”
His voice is cool, calm, and daring. It’s as if he was unfazed by you looking at him with a hostile defiance, as if you weren’t running on a ticking time bomb of hot-bloodedness. 
Your thoughts are solidified when he presses himself against you, palms moving to rest on the vanity desktop and effectively cage you in. You’re now realizing that he was the destruction of Pompeii, and you were merely the temple that never stood a chance.
“Well, aren’t you going to answer me, slut?” His nose drags along your neck, waiting for your answer. 
It’s when he places an open-mouthed kiss to your pulse point that you finally react.
Your fingers are quick to thread into his hair, but they’re even quicker to tug on the roots hard enough to elicit an involuntary, small whimper. 
“Don’t fucking call me that,” You nearly growl out, locking eyes with him as his head remains slightly cocked in your grasp. Instead of backing down, he enables; always the instigator, never the mediator. 
His smirk is slow, creeping up like the action of falling asleep. 
“Oh...I see...Now you have a problem with it?”
The kiss is searing: mouths colliding against each other as you’re backed further into the vanity. You can feel the jostling of the mirror hitting the wall, and you can hear the sound of some of your items clattering to the floor. 
You don’t give a shit about either. 
Your grip on his hair tightens, and you can’t stifle the moan that slips out when his fingers dig into the flesh of your waist. Chris doesn’t back down from the heat of your kiss, if anything–he tries to one up you by pushing you up onto the desk of the vanity and slotting himself between your legs. 
Nothing about this will be soft, nothing about this will be gentle, nothing about this will be kind.
His hand easily bypasses the fabric of your shorts, deft fingers finding the space between your folds: hot, slippery, and oh so predictable. He pulls back to say something–more than likely a snide, prideful comment–but you’re fast enough to match his energy.
He’s hot and heavy in your hand, the band of his sweatpants causing you to press your palm up against him more as you play the same game as him. 
As you said before–if he wants to play, then the two of you can play. 
There’s still a thick tension in the air, but as the both of you look at each other with dilated pupils? Barely touching one another in one of the most intimate ways? It seems as though a mutual understanding of where this night might end bleeds through the heated eye contact. 
This is the only sense of permission and consent the two of you will grant one another.
The room is too small for both of your destructive personalities, but it doesn’t matter anymore. 
Nothing matters as you’re pushing him away from you, letting him stand in the center of the room before you’re moving without even thinking about it. 
Dropping to your knees in front of him, you don’t even look at him as you yank the waistline of his sweatpants down; this is not for him, this is for you. 
“Fuck, yes,” Chris quietly sighs out at the feeling of you initially wrapping your lips around him. You’re not in the mood to tease, you’re not in the mood to beat around the bush. 
So, that’s why you don’t hesitate to take him down your throat, drool spilling from the corners of your lips as you pump the rest that doesn’t automatically fit with your right hand. 
Chris believes you did this on purpose: putting him in a position where he has nothing near him to hold onto as you suck him off. 
Your tongue runs along the underside of his dick, tracing the vein before pressing open mouthed kisses alongside the length of him. You won’t deny the fact that you’ve always found it to be so pretty, worthy of your devout worship. This time, however, you refrain from complimenting him as you tap him against your tongue a few times, proceeding to salivate and take him into your hot mouth once again. 
There’s no mercy in the way that you continue to blow him, you want him to concede. You want him to realize that you’re not going to merely back down. You want to win, and that’s what leads to you fondling his balls with your left hand. You roll them while continuing to hollow out your cheeks and attempt to take him down even farther. 
Your plan was working, but the upper hand you held didn’t last for long. 
When his knees buckle from a particularly sinful trick of your tongue, Chris decides that’s enough. Reaching down, he lets a rough hand pull you off of him as he glares down at you.
“That’s how you wanna do this, sweetheart? Fine.”
The tables turn, and his need to exude dominance comes at the forefront of his actions. 
There’s been a handful of times where Chris’ lost himself in the moment of being in your mouth, fucking into it absentmindedly. However, this time? This time it’s deliberate. 
This time, he’s ignoring the sound of you choking around him as he presses you down, down, down until your nose is flush against the tuft patch of hair at the base. If your eyes weren’t watering before, they were now as you try to focus on breathing through your nose. 
Chris groans above you, rutting his hips to get impossibly farther down your throat. It causes you to whimper around him, and the vibrations do nothing but spur him to fuck your mouth even harder.
“Yeah, fucking suck it.”
“No, move your hands–move. your. fucking. hands.”
“This is where I belong huh? Nice and deep in your throat.”
It should be vile, make you feel all kinds of wrong—but it ignites something within you as your wide, tearful eyes look up at him. 
Every single time he pulls out, you barely get a full gasp in before he’s pushing into your mouth again. Your throat burns, but you can’t back down–you fucking refuse. 
Though adamant, you wouldn’t have to worry about backing down because it seems like he’s had enough anyway. Whether that was from the feeling of him twitching within your mouth, or his want to see you finally concede? It doesn’t matter, because you’re swallowing and looking up at him with the same fiery look in your eyes. 
“What? Can’t handle it?” Your voice sounds just as your throat feels: fucked. Inwardly, you cringe, but outwardly you’re devilishly smiling at the way that Chris looks at you with nothing but disdain and anger.
For better or for worse, right?
“Let’s see if you’re still saying that when I’m done with you.”
It’s not a threat, but a promise that this game will end with only one winner. 
You can feel it in the way that he pulls your clothing off of you, both of you ending up on the bed as your tongues and teeth clash against one another.
Pompeii and the temples. 
“You know, I normally love opening you up for me,” Chris’ breath is hot against your ear, and you audibly cry out when his teeth find the juncture between your neck and shoulder. His fingers toy with your clit, practically slipping against the bundle of nerves from how worked up you are already. “But I think you want me to fuck you like this, huh? You want me to be the villain, right, baby?”
Your eyes are wild as you look at him, and his dilated blues nearly distract you from the wet weight of him on your inner thigh. Nearly.
You don’t say anything at first, merely look at him before reaching between the two of you and taking him into your hand. Both of his hands now press into the mattress around your head, and you can visibly see him try not to shiver at the feeling of you dragging him along the expanse of your soaked pussy. 
“Only thing I want is for you to be a man for once.”
There’s a bite to your tone, and just like you did him–he’s quiet. He searches your face with an expression you can’t quite decipher, but you have no time to analyze. You have no time, because when the tip of his dick catches your quivering hole?
He’s sliding home in one thrust that has your back bowing. 
It feels like the air is knocked out of you, the stretch of him burning beyond the point of being simply delicious. It hurts–this whole situation hurts, but you’re still going to take from him. You’re going to feel some kind of good if it’s the last thing you do.
Meanwhile, Chris takes no time to let you adjust. In fact, his rough hands find the back of your thighs, forcing your legs to bend as he opens you up even farther for him to invade your canal over and over again. 
You claw at him, relishing in the way you can see red lines forming underneath the hair on his chest. 
It’s then that you realize you want to hurt him. You want him to feel what you’ve been feeling for months: the pain of the person you’re meant to love the most, hurting you without remorse. 
“This pussy’s always so good to me,” Chris grunts out, pressing your legs together and putting them over one shoulder and leaning down to fold you in half and reach a new depth. You’re both breathing heavily, and you find yourself holding back tears from how good he feels.
How could something feel so good, yet hurt so badly?
The answer to that question still goes unanswered when your first orgasm passes and he maneuvers to then fuck you face down ass up. He’s so deep that you can’t help but let a tear slip. 
“Fucking, asshole,” You grunt out into the mattress, hands gripping the sheets as if they were a life line. 
Fuck him.
Fuck him. 
“Sorry, what was that, whore? Speak up.”
You’re letting out a loud gasp when he pulls you up, wrapping his right arm around your throat as his left hand holds the back of your head: a chokehold. His rhythm doesn’t falter as he keeps on fucking up into you, the squelching sound of your pussy falling into background noise as his gruff voice grunts into your ear between unsolicited moans. 
Your hands claw at his forearm–whether it was to have him release you or choke you harder? You don’t know. 
What you do know is that conceding isn’t an option, and you make sure he hears you.
“I. Fucking. Hate. You.”
You spit out the words, letting them fill in the gaps like venom. 
“Oh, you hate me so much? Then why are you cumming on my cock, huh?” He glides his tongue against the shell of your ear, only to let his teeth graze against the lobe. 
You shudder as another, involuntary orgasm runs through your body. 
It’s all too much, but not enough. It’s not enough, because you want him to feel it–the anger and resentment you’ve swallowed for so long. 
So, perhaps that’s why you flip your body positioning–effectively putting him on his back and immediately climbing to straddle him. Despite the way your body quivers at the feeling of his girth filling you up again, you don’t let him relish in the way your walls suckle in him greedily. 
“You don’t deserve me,” You snap at him, loving the way his chest heaves as you purposefully clench around him while fully seating yourself on him in one full swoop one, two, three, four times. The pride of having him so vulnerable only heightens when you take his chain into your hand, tugging on it so that his head falls back and his neck raises.
Is he the temple at this moment, or are you merely trying to stand tall as the lava eats everything in its path?
“Oh, and who does?” He asks, hands finding your ass to help you guide yourself up and down his length. In response, you twist the chain in your hand, smirking at the way his breath hitches when his air supply is slightly impeded. 
“Someone who gives a shit about my feelings.”
The response is immediate: him reaching one hand up to wrap around your throat and pull your face right over his. His heels press into the mattress and he fucks up into you while simultaneously slapping your ass. Your flesh burns, your breath mingles with his, and you don’t regret the way he groans at the feeling of your nails digging into his bare shoulder. 
Rather than simply take his thrusts, you return to fucking yourself back down on him; your own hand finds his chin, and you make sure he knows you have the upper hand in this moment–not him. 
“Open your fucking mouth.”
It’s not a request, and you could laugh at how his brows furrow. You could laugh, but his lack of immediate compliance has you pressing your nails into his beard and pulling; it seems as though his brain finally catches up with his body, and you don’t hesitate to spit down his throat as soon as his lips fully part. 
You moan the command out when you feel your pussy quiver around his length, the tip of him brushing against the softest part inside of you. 
Watching him swallow has you cumming again, but you don’t care at this point. You don’t care, because you’re the one that’s winning. At what cost? Doesn’t matter at the moment. 
Chris cares though. He cares because it’s like whiplash: you ending up on your back once again and him splitting your embarrassingly wet pussy open. 
“You little bitch.”
Both of your wrists are in one of his large hands, your legs wrapped around him like a vice. He ruts into you primitively, but his balls slapping against you isn’t what gets you. That isn’t the nail in the coffin that causes your body to spasm, no. 
What gets you is him slapping your tits, a smirk forming on his face as he hears you whimper and plead for more. What gets you is him telling you that–
“This cunt is mine, isn’t it? Say it.”
“Fuck. You. Chris.”
“Isn’t that what I’m doing? Fucking you?”
You don’t get a chance to respond because he’s suddenly pulling out of you, hand leaving your wrists to rub tight circles into your sore and swollen clit. You’re right there, right there, right there–
“Oh my god!” You wantonly scream out, thighs visibly shaking when he slaps your clit and watches as you can't stop yourself from cumming all over him and the bed–not that you’d want to. 
“And you wanna say you’re not a slut?” He grunts to himself before sliding home once again. 
The lines you leave on his back are harsh and angry, drawing blood is a distant goal. 
“Maybe I should fuck a baby into you again–make you feel what I can do to this pretty, little body. Ruin you over and over and leave proof that I’m the only one who gets to fuck you like the little whore you are. Remind you of your fucking place: underneath me.”
After him saying that? Neither of you can last that much longer, and you shiver when his warmth blooms in the deepest parts of you.
The weight of him on top of you doesn’t leave until both of your breaths find an even rhythm, and you’re now left in the aftermath of one of the greatest tragedies. 
As always, you’re going to the bathroom as soon as he’s pulling himself out of you and humming at the sight of your abused cunt leaking with the mark of him. 
You then let him clean the two of you up, it’s the least that he can do after the night the both of you have had with one another. 
Auto-pilot bleeds into the space, masking the reality that needs to be confronted. The reality that hints at something needing to be mourned from here on out. 
However, it isn’t until the comforter is pushed down the bed, the blanket underneath covering the both of you, that you break the silence suffocating the room. 
“Chris, we can’t keep on doing this. I can’t keep doing this.”
Your voice cracks, and quiet tears slip from your eyes. 
He doesn’t reply. In fact, he was silent for the rest of the night, and the next morning? The next morning he’s packing his bags, and you’re too tired to fight him when it’s clear he’s done fighting for you. 
Pompeii destroyed everything, but what happens when the ash settles and there’s nothing left to be buried?
Neither of you were winners in the end. 
You’re still looking at him, the silence within the room growing heavier and heavier. It’s getting late, and, at this point, you’re ready to take Barry home. More than likely, he’s sleeping on the couch, tuckered out from rough housing with his cousins in the pool today. 
Chris is the one to break the pregnant pause first, his hands grabbing the lip of the counter behind him as he clears his throat.
“Well, I hope you have know, either way.”
Truthfully, he tried to sound genuine, but his eyes betrayed him without remorse. You could always tell when his heart didn’t align with his words–at least, you thought you could always tell. Either way, to save both of you the trouble of a terse conversation, you purposefully ignore it and press forward.
“Yeah, thanks, I guess.”
You’ve always been about fairness, wanting all parties–if possible–to reach a level of contentment that would dwindle the likelihood of grudges forming. You wish there was a fair approach to this, but at the same time–fuck that. 
Chris wasn’t fair that last night.
Chris wasn’t fair that next morning. 
He wasn’t fair, and you had to take the brunt of that injustice. 
So, your bitterness, intentional or not, shadows your words. 
In another world, perhaps you would’ve felt guilty. You never wanted to be a bitter woman, the stereotype a ridiculous hindrance on your success. However, you were entitled to some of it now. 
Weren’t you? You had to be. You deserve to be bitter–to resent him for his actions. 
If he had qualms about it? You didn’t want to hear it–too little, too late. 
He didn’t spare your feelings–your son’s feelings, and a part of you refuses to constantly be the bigger person. 
“I should get going–s’getting late,” You sigh out, half-heartedly gazing at your watch. Chris hums in agreement, offering to help with carrying a sleeping Barry to the car.
“Uh–you know, could you,” Chris starts, arm bending so that he could scratch behind his neck as he looks at you through the open window of the car. You’re buckling yourself up before your eyes dart to the rearview mirror, wanting to check on your son though there’s no doubt in your body that Chris always buckled him in correctly. At the sound of his babbling, you quirk a brow and look at him: he’s standing not even a full foot away from the window, and you can see a flush adorn his body underneath the street lamppost. 
“Could you let me know when you get home?”
Isn’t that such an odd word now...Home. 
You used to think home was wherever the three of you were together, but like a lot of things lately–you were sorely mistaken. 
Swallowing the beginnings of a lump in your throat, you give him a closed mouth smile and hope that your eyes still hold a soft expression. 
“Of course, hon–Chris. Goodnight.”
With that, you’re starting the car, rolling the window up, and willing yourself to not cry until you get back to your bedroom. God, the sole thought that it’s yours now–that you don’t share it with him anymore is more than enough to make you clear your throat again and roll your shoulders. Now is not the time with him standing right there. 
Chris stands outside until your tail lights disappear after turning onto the main road. 
The irony isn’t lost on him: the way that he feels jitters, nerves, and a layer of the unknown all bubble in the pit of his stomach–as if he’s about to go on a first date that’s going to mean way more than he could ever comprehend. Here he was, standing at the familiar, navy blue painted front door, bouncing on the balls of his feet to try and relieve some of this pent up energy; this is so damn ironic because, well, he wasn’t the one taking you out tonight. 
Yet, he spent time figuring out what to wear. He made sure his hair wasn’t it’s previously, flopped mess. He even sprayed himself with the cologne you got for him last Christmas. 
It’s ironic that he’s done all of this in hopes of impressing you, a selfish part of him wanting you to regret ever agreeing to go out with whomever this lucky person was. 
It’s ironic that he’s making the effort now when he should’ve made it earlier.
It’s ironic. It’s ironic. It’s all too ironic. 
He’s early–showed up much too early for anyone’s liking, and the thought flashes in the back of his mind as he moves to ring the doorbell. 
Maybe he could convince you to not go out tonight. Maybe he could convince you to stay in–with or without him is another story...or, maybe, just maybe? He should convince himself to learn to let you go and make life without–
“Dad!” Barry’s eyes are bright as he swings the door open, smiling wide and small hands reaching out in a gesture to be picked up. 
Just as Chris is greeting him in return, strong hands hoisting him up in the air as if it were nothing–the sound of anxious feet quickly padding across the hardwood floors catches his attention.
“Barrett Scott Evans you cannot just open the door like tha–....oh.”
You’re sure that you resemble a deer caught in headlights at the sight of Chris holding a giddy Barry in his arms.
At that moment, everything seems to slow down. Your heart jumps in your chest, as if caught red-handed in something that you weren’t meant to do. You see the shift in Chris’ expression: the falter in his smile, the momentary crease between his brows, the way he lets Barry slide out of his arms slowly, and those eyes? God, those eyes let you know that his heart must’ve fallen to his stomach.
He was never good at hiding his emotions from you–well, for the most part. You don’t get to dwell on it, not that you’d want to because–
“Sorry, mama,” Barry’s small voice captures your attention, his hands tugging on the fabric of your dress before he’s hiding his face in the softness of you. 
It’s like he knows exactly what to do to quell your frustration with him; so, you ruffle his curls just a bit before firmly telling him not to do it again. Yet, when the moment passes, you remember that Chris still stands in the threshold of the front door.
“Uh, Barry–why don’t you go and grab your bag for the weekend, huh?” You ask your son sweetly, patting his back a bit to get him going along.
The sooner the two of them leave, the better. 
As soon as Barry’s bounded up the first flight of stairs, you’re turning back to Chris. His eyes haven’t left you since you came into view, and you don’t know if the warmth blossoming in your chest is from discomfort or...something else. 
Either way, you watch as his brain seems to catch up with his body and he finally steps inside. Taking that as your cue to finish getting ready, you’re turning away from him to find your shoes that you left out for tonight specifically. 
Meanwhile, as Chris closes the door behind him, he desperately tries to stop his heart from dropping out of his ass when he notices what you were wearing. That dress–a garnet red, fitting and flaring in all of the right places while simultaneously showing the expanse of your legs due to its shorter cut. Those earrings–they’re statement earrings, at least, that’s what he remembers you telling him; they were a gift from your father. Your hair was out, framing your face like some kind of halo. It’s not a reach to him–the comparison. 
Yet, the part that gets him? The part that makes his hands, that are now in his pockets, clench and exude a new level of clamminess? The part that truly gets him is when he notices the silver necklace still dangling from your neck as you begin putting on your heels, sitting on the long, cushioned bench by the door.  
To anyone else, the dress you were wearing, the jewelry you were wearing, the shoes–the materialism more than likely wouldn’t have mattered. However, to him? They meant everything. 
For your second year anniversary together, he bought you that necklace. 
He wonders if you thought about it when you picked out your outfit: the sentiment behind it all–the way the two of you couldn’t keep your hands off of one another that celebratory night. 
The universe must truly hate him. The universe must hate him, and karma is the biggest bitch because this must be the cruelest joke he’s ever received. 
Your outfit was taunting him, mocking him, laughing right in his face; it was screaming at him that he has to be the biggest fool on the planet to go and do such a ridiculous thing–leave without fighting tooth and nail for you. 
Chris wonders if the nerves–the good kinda anxiousness, the giddiness–will disappear at some point. 
He has known you for years; the two of you were thicker than thieves for so long that it seemed near inevitable you’d end up together. Inevitable came exactly two years ago, and it felt as if forever with you had always been a no brainer, formalities be damned. 
Identifying as a hopeless romantic, Chris always wanted to provide when possible; this subsequently meant he had an intention of wanting things to be perfect. So, when it came down to your second year anniversary as a couple? This was no different. 
As cliché as it sounds, Chris believed that every single day you spent with him was monumental. You had been his rock, his better conscience, his biggest fan–his person–since day one, before he was anyone that the whole world wanted to know and get a piece of no matter the costs. You were everything to him, and he sometimes kicks himself for not realizing that sooner. 
However, you were always quick to say something witty and keep him from beating himself up.
“Hey, everyone said that we would look good together–not that we were the brightest in the bunch.”
“At least you’re not dancing this little tango alone.”
“Good things take time, handsome, and loving you is the best thing I’ve ever done.”
Honestly, you always find a way to ground him–stopping the flighty spiraling of his anxiety before it can fully bloom. 
The idea genuinely scares Chris sometimes: just how much he wants you–needs you. He feels as though ‘co-dependency’ isn’t the right word, because it would require both parties engaging like that–leaning on each other to the point of melting into one person. 
It’s his own insecurity that sometimes causes him to believe that you don’t need him–that it would be easy for you to walk away from this if you so desired. It scares him because–
“Where’d you go, honey? Seems like I’m losing you again,” Your voice is soft, hand softer as you reach out and let your fingers trace over his own hand. Wine glass now resting on the glass table by the two of you, you shift to your knees and cup his cheek with your free hand to get him to look at you. 
There you go again, bringing him back down to reality. 
Chris’ smile is natural as he lets his gaze fully focus on you: your eyes hold such...adoration. It’s no wonder that his heart leaps in his chest, and he’s grasping and giving your hand a gentle squeeze before lifting it to his lips; he doesn’t break eye contact as he kisses the back of your hand, and his stomach flutters at the way a grin breaks out on your face. You brush your fingers against his beard before letting it fall to your lap once again. 
If he’s 100% frank with himself, after seeing you come out of the bathroom earlier tonight, head tilted as you put the back of your other earring appreciative look over and he was fully prepared to cancel the reservation. However, your teasing scolding, telling him to behave himself and he can have all he wants later on tonight, had him reluctantly pressing the ‘end’ button for the call he was making to the restaurant. 
But now, looking at you as the night’s coming to a close (at least, before he has you in that overly comfortable bed), he’s happy that he listened to your voice of reason. Why? Because he had more time to appreciate you: the deep red dress that complimented you perfectly, the heels that somehow made your legs look just a tad longer, and the perfume you wore? God, he swears that you were trying to kill him slowly but surely. 
What a way to go though, right?
“I have something for you.”
It’s been burning a hole in his jacket pocket since he slipped it in there before the two of you left for dinner tonight. At the sound of those five words, Chris watches the way your smile dips a bit and how a line of tension forms between your brows. As if knowing what you’re going to say, he cuts you off just as you open your mouth. 
“I know, I know, I know...We said that we weren’t gonna get anything for each other, but...Just hear me out alright?” 
The nerves are coming up again, that feeling of possible rejection starting to spark anxious ticks within him: tongue drying, throat feeling itchy, ears starting to experience a low whine, and his hand exuding a new wave of clamminess. Despite all of that, you don’t pull away from him. In fact, you give his hand a gentle squeeze of encouragement, silently telling him to continue and that he has your full attention. 
You’re here with him–always. 
“I don’t think it’s a secret, you know? How in love with you I am,” He chuckles more so to himself, gaze lowering to focus on your interlocked hands. “I mean, you’re my entire world and I don’t know what I would do–where I’d be without you in my life. You’re my sun, my moon, and my stars and I know that you could do so much better than me, but I’m much too selfish and arrogant to give you up.”
That causes you to let out a small laugh, and there are tears that are starting to prick waterlines.
“We–you have been my best friend since...god, I don’t even know when...but I feel like it would be stupid of me to say that I’ve been in love with you since the very beginning...We both know that neither of us expected this when we first started out...but I’m so fucking happy that we’re here now.”
He looks at you then, and it’s as if he’s looking at you for the first time. 
It’s as if there’s no space, no room, no place that could hold the amount of love and affection coursing through the two of you. You both want all of it–need all of it, and even then? It probably wouldn’t be enough. 
Your breath hitches as you watch him reach into his pocket, but a wave of relief washes over you when you notice the long, navy blue box. 
Oh, darling–a ring may be too soon now, but not impossible in the future. 
“I wanted to–I don’t know–I just...I know that I can’t always be with you physically–I know that it’s hard being with me because I’m gone so often, and it’ll only get worse the more projects I take on in the future–” Chris clears his throat, eyes looking down at both the box and then your intertwined hands again. You’re quiet, but you’re not idle; mimicking the same action he did before, you lift your interlocked hands to press your lips against the back of his and your other hand makes sure to wrap around his wrist. Chris can feel his heart stutter his chest when you run your thumb against his knuckles and keep looking at him softly. 
You’re here with him, and he’s here with you. This is real. 
“I know we agreed on no gifts, but this is more for me than it is for you,” Chris breathes out, and he gestures for you to take the box from him. With reluctance, you’re letting go of his hand and taking the box into your hands. It’s light, but that’s no surprise to you. 
What surprises you, has you gasping, has you darting your eyes to look up at the man who holds your entire heart within his hands as if he was born to be the sole keeper of your greatest affections...What surprises you is what’s inside. 
“Chris…” You trail off softly, and you notice the blush that’s already creeping up his neck. You notice everything, so that’s why you’re quick to pull the piece of jewelry out of the box and turn around. Looking over your shoulder, you’re handing it to him; it’s adorable how he seems confused at first. “Well, come on, handsome–help a girl out, and put this on me?”
Your small smirk is teasing, but the love that’s pouring out of your eyes overshadows everything. 
His fingers are warm against your neck, and you can’t hide the shiver down your spine nor the goosebumps that appear on your skin after he presses a chaste kiss to the back of your neck after clasping the necklace.  
Immediately, your fingers run over the silver chain that adorns two loops interlocked. When you turn around to face him again, you remain just as close as before and you can tell that he has something else to say; you can tell by the way his hands run up your sides and his eyes search your face, as if waiting for you to disappear if he blinks for a moment too long.
“Go ahead, honey,” You encourage gently, your own fingers starting to play with the hairs at the nape of his neck; a ghost of a smile graces your lips when you feel some of the tension leave him. 
“I just thought that, maybe I could–I could make it so that even though I’m not with you...I’m still with you? Uh– know...I know sometimes I’m an asshole and an idiot, but if you...If you wear this then, deep down, we would be fine...That, in the end, we would be alright...If-If that makes sense…” 
He trails off, but you don’t give him the opportunity to slightly spiral and look away from you. No, you’re taking his face into your hands and kissing him deeply. It starts off so sweet, so gentle, so...indescribably affectionate, but you don’t mind the way that he’s pulling you to straddle his lap on the apartment’s living room floor. You don’t mind, yet you want to clarify something so you pull away and smile when you see his pouty lips absentmindedly chase your own for more. 
“I love it, my love. Better yet, I love you.”
Chris’ face fully flushes, but there’s a new hunger in his eyes: it’s one that has your core growing warm and an ache forming in the pit of your stomach. 
“Tell you what,” You start off, voice low as you lean in and start pressing kisses to cheek, down his neck, and back up to whisper in his ear. “I think you should fuck me with just this new gift on.”
You say, and when you pull back just a bit, Chris’ grip tightens on you. 
“I can do that, sweetheart–but only if you keep these on for me,” You’re letting out a small sigh when his left hand reaches down to press his thumb and pointer finger against your ankle; his other digits run over the strap of your heel. 
“I’m always willing to compromise.”
That was all you had to say before Chris decided that he was going to take you apart and build you back up again tonight. 
It started with him telling you to sit that pretty, little pussy on his face. You were more than happy to oblige, but fucking hell–the fact that he wanted you to do with with your dress still on? It shouldn’t have turned you on that much, but you have no shame in how hot you get from how desperate he is to get his hands, mouth, and anything on you at the drop of a hat. 
“Oh, b-baby,” Your hands find your breasts, the sleeves of your dress pulled down enough for you to easily free your tits and play with your nipples. 
You ride his tongue, relishing in the way his nose bumps against your throbbing clit and he groans into your slippery folds. He always eats you out as if it would be the last time–never leaving a piece of you unexplored. So, it’s no surprise that you thread your fingers into his dark strands and absolutely shudder at the feeling of one of his strong hands slapping your ass.
“Yes, keep eating my pussy like that...S-S-So fucking good, so fucking good.”
Vaguely, you can hear him telling you to cum in his mouth. He’s always hungry for you, always hungry for you to flood his tongue and let him keep on eating you out until your legs start to shake. Tonight wasn’t an exception, and you can’t even be mad.
You can’t be mad because it made it that much easier for him to slide right home into you after he peels off of your clothes and you peel off his. 
It’s overwhelming: how good it feels to have him inside of you, invading the most important parts of you as you moan and tell him to not stop. You love how he stretches you, how his fingers know just how to push you over the edge, how he moans into your ear, how he praises you, how he gently slaps your face to make sure you stay in the moment, how he moves against you–you love it all. 
He kept his promise and you kept yours: you got fucked in the necklace that rested over your heartbeat and he got to feel your heels dig into his back as he marked you from the inside out. 
“You look nice,” His words are genuine, and you don’t doubt that for a second. However, it’s the way that he says it that causes you to look up after you’ve fastened the buckle on your second shoe. 
He lets out a breath–subtle and shaky, as if trying to swallow an emotion that he doesn’t want you to see. 
“Thanks,” You say gently in return, trying to ignore the second wave of warmth that floods within you as at the way he looks at you. There’s a softness in his gaze, and it makes your heart lurch.
You’re supposed to have a good time tonight, so why did it suddenly feel like having to walk out that door with someone else was going to be a hard thing to achieve?
Chris opens his mouth to say something, but he’s cut off by an overly energetic Barry barreling down the stairs with his dinosaur backpack bouncing in his small hand. 
“Hey, bud–got everything?” Chris asks, looking down at Barry with a smile that doesn’t fully reach his eyes. 
“Uh-huh, uh-huh,” Barry nods quickly, handing the bag over to Chris who takes it and slings it on his shoulder. 
A part of him, albeit small and waning with every breath taken, thought that he could be okay with this: the idea of you going out on a date. Yet, he finds himself having to force an extra wave of enthusiasm–whether it’s for himself or Barry? Chris doesn’t know. 
What he does know is that his heart flips at the sight of you kissing all over Barry’s face, the five year old giggling and half-heartedly pushing your affections away while simultaneously wanting more. 
Honestly, everything was….fine until the next flurry of moments transpired. 
Barry’s giving you one last kiss to the cheek before he’s burying his face into the crook of your shoulder, small arms wrapping around your neck as you remain squatted at his height level. You hold onto your son just as tightly, rubbing his back comfortingly as you whisper that you love him and joke that he needs to be good or else he can kiss dinosaur nuggets goodbye for a week. 
Everything was fine–Chris was going to be cordial and wish you luck for your date (not that you would need it).
Everything was fine–he was going to swallow his pride and walk out the door with a dinosaur backpack on one shoulder.
Everything was fine–it would’ve been fine.
But, like father like son–Barry went and opened his mouth, successfully shoving whomever’s foot into it. 
“Have fun with Uncle Mikey, Mama!”
Uncle Mikey. Mikey. Mike. Michael…Michael B. Jordan.
For an accomplished actor, Chris knows that his poker face is absolute shit. 
He can’t stop the frown that sets on his mouth. He can’t stop the sea of emotions igniting in his eyes–coursing through his now, hot blooded veins. He can’t stop the way his hand grips the strap of the dinosaur backpack tighter. He can’t stop his reaction, and he doesn’t even think he could’ve willed himself to do so in the first place anyway. 
Ever so observant, you notice the shift in the atmosphere of the foyer. You now stand at your full height plus the heels, giving Barry a small smile while saying thank you in response to his comment. 
Purposefully, you take your time with letting your eyes lock with Chris’ because you know where this is about to go. You just know, and honestly? You can admit that there are a lot of factors that make this situation unfair.
“Michael? You’re going on a date with–” Chris cuts himself off with a scoff, head jerking slightly as he sarcastically smiles at you. In your own chest, you can feel your heart start to beat a tad harder. 
Don’t fight in front of Barry. Don’t–
“It was Lupita’s idea,” You shrug simply while mentioning your lifelong friend’s name, trying to remain nonchalant as you turn to tend to your bag; whether you did it to try and walk away from this conversation or to genuinely make sure you had everything for tonight? Doesn’t matter because, at this moment, Chris chooses to be persistent. 
“Right...the same Lupita who’s always had something to say about our relationship–”
“The same Lupita that’s been team Michael since introducing the two of you years ago–”
“Chris, you know that’s not true–”
“Oh, sorry. Let me refocus then,” Chris’ voice is weirdly calm and even as he follows you down the hallway, leaving Barry to his own devices for the time being after absentmindedly handing his phone over to him so he could play with as he pursues this conversation. You don’t face him, letting your hands remain busy as you check the items in your purse; there’s no need to do that–you know that you have everything, but you don’t like how unpredictable this conversation is. You don’t like–
“You’re about to go on a date with the same Michael–the same guy, you constantly told me not to worry about.”
There it is. There it fucking is: the sentence that makes your façade of resolve disappear and causes you to sharply turn your head toward him. 
He’s so close to you–close enough that your arm could brush up against the warmth of his broad chest. Close enough that you could count his lashes if you cared enough. Close enough that you can see the small inflections of green in his eyes. Close enough, that even in the dim lighting–you can see the ghosting of his freckles. Close enough that you’re sure you could mimic his lines of anger if you tried hard enough. Close enough that your frustrations, your tensions, your mountains of things left unsaid bleed into one another like some sick, twisted attempt of spilled ink trying to present as useful for an unfinished love letter.
He’s so close to you, and in another time? You could confidently say that the old you would’ve kissed him, letting him melt his uneasiness into your touch as your high-strung nature dissolves into the softness of his lips and the firmness of his body. 
Yet, you weren’t the old you, and he wasn’t the old him. 
So, your eyes narrow and you set your bag down on the refurbished, vintage table pressed up against the wall a little too deliberately. 
“I’m not doing this with you, Evans,” Your voice is at a low decibel; it’s a small attempt to not alert Barry to the cleavage between his parents that seems to grow by the week. “You don’t get to do this.”
“Do what, sweetheart? Call out the bullshit I’m seeing?” 
“Are you fucking joking?” You let out an amused scoff, your brows furrowing as your frown deepens. “Only bullshit here is you having the audacity to initiate this conversation, completely inappr–”
“No. What’s inappropriate is you bringing that man around my son.”
It’s the straw that breaks the camel’s back, and it leaves you speechless. 
You find yourself taking a step back away from him, then another, and then another. Physically, you can feel your body deflate as your lips part in shock, brown eyes swimming in disbelief. 
How dare he question your motherhood like that. How dare he imply that you would just bring anyone around your son like that. How dare he suggest that Barry’s safety wasn’t your number one priority. How dare he have the gall to say something so disrespectful. How dare he–
“You’re an absolute cunt, Christopher.”
At the sound of your deathly calm voice, twinged with an extra emotion he can’t decipher, saying his given name–Chris’ brain seems to finally catch up with him. His eyes widen, hand reaching out to touch you, but he sluggishly recoils when you flinch away from him. 
He’s opening his mouth to say: “I didn’t mean it. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. You’re the best mother to my son. I would never question that. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I am still in love with you, and I’m sorry.”
But, you never let him get that far. The damage was already done, and you raise your hand to stop him before he can even finish inhaling to let the word vomit pour out. The damage was already done and you let your lashes flutter, taking a deep breath to calm your nerves. 
“This conversation is over, and here’s what’s going to happen. You are going to walk out of that door with our son. You’re going to make sure he has an amazing time having a sleepover with his cousins. You will not fucking bring this up again. I will be calling later on tonight to say goodnight to Barry–I expect you to be a fucking adult and answer.”
There’s no room for discussion, and all Chris can do is nod. He nods, and that’s when you step close to him. 
One manicured nail firmly pokes at his chest, making sure his focus was all on you as you finished laying into him:
“I used to think green looked good on you when we were together, but if you ever fucking question my parenting again–I will not hesitate to call my lawyers up and draft a custody agreement that makes you regret ever meeting me. Understand?”
Once again, no room for discussion. There’s no room for discussion, and when you turn away from him, moving to grab your bag, you let out a shaky breath. 
“Mamaaaa, someone’s at the door!” Barry’s voice calls out in a long whine from the front of the house, more than likely annoyed that the doorbell ringing was distracting him from whatever game he was playing or video he was watching on Chris’ phone. 
It’s then, the sound of Barry, that causes the bubble between the two of you to burst. 
Chris doesn’t hesitate to let you walk ahead of him, your strides confident and your anger seeming to wash away at the sight of Barry sitting on the long bench and kicking his little legs. 
“Thank you for being such a prince, my little Pooh Bear,” You say softly, kissing the crown of Barry’s head before ruffling his messy curls once again and proceeding to go to the door. 
At this point, Chris feels awkward. He feels awkward in the home he used to call his and yours. He feels awkward, and that feeling only intensifies when you open the door and the man who has the privilege of taking you out tonight stands at the threshold. 
“Uncle Mikey!” Barry all but yells, tossing Chris’ phone on the bench haphazardly to go and give the man of the hour a big high five. 
“Hey, little man,” Michael smiles, dimples deep as ever while he laughs at Barry’s antics. 
Chris takes in the way you smile at the interaction, leaning your head against the open door as you watch Michael pretend that Barry’s high five hurt him. Chris takes in the way that you give an almost shy wave to Michael when he finally looks your way, holding out a bouquet of white lilies. Chris takes in the way you smell them and say thank you. Chris takes it all in, and it feels like something’s clawing at his throat.
It’s like he’s not even there anymore. 
The thought scares him to the depths of his soul, and it’s what causes him to move swiftly. He grabs his phone, makes sure he’s got a good grip on Barry’s backpack, and proceeds to start ushering himself and Barry out the door.
“Hey, bud–why don’t we get out of their hair, huh?” Chris puts a hand on Barry’s head, causing the boy to look up at him with wide eyes and an even wider smile. Chris smiles in return, and he’s thankful that Barry isn’t intuitive enough yet to notice the way that it doesn’t reach his eyes. At least, he hopes his son isn’t intuitive enough. 
“Ok, dad! Bye-Bye, Uncle Mikey. Bye-Bye, Mama!” You steal one last kiss from him as both you and Michael say goodbye to the boy who seems to light up the world without even thinking about it. 
“Alright, have a good one, man,” Chris hopes that his façade of sincerity works as he gives a half-hearted dap to Michael who nods once in return; the firmness of the interaction isn’t lost on either of them, but it does no good to point it out. 
Chris then says your name, and the two of you lock eyes for a moment. 
There’s so much that needs to be said, but you keep it simple. You refuse to grovel–to beg. 
“Have a good night, Chris.”
coalescence i: midnight
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celestialbarnes · 6 months ago
𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐚 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐜.𝐞
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𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: chris evans x actress!reader, sebastian stan x actress!reader (𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐮𝐚𝐥)
𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: you and chris were best friends, he dated jenny until he didn’t, you stayed to pick up the pieces of his broken heart, falling for him and becoming his lover, only for him to leave you for the woman he once loved. (based on this request)
𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: angst, nsfw content in some chapters, heartbreak,
𝐚/𝐧: hello!! this is a mini series that i’ve decided to come up with for chris, i’ve been feeling a little down lately, and hopefully some writing will cheer me right up! please don’t let this flop🥺
𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭
𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐮𝐩𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝: 𝟐𝟒𝐭𝐡 𝐚𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐥 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟏
𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬! 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐟𝐫𝐞𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦 (𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐢𝐧 𝐛𝐢𝐨) / 𝐝𝐫𝐨𝐩 𝐛𝐲 𝐦𝐲 𝐚𝐬𝐤 𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐝!
𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠!
chapter 1
chapter 2
chapter 3
chapter 4
chapter 5
chapter 6
chapter 7
chapter 8
chapter 9
chapter 10 (end) (𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝟖𝐭𝐡 𝐦𝐚𝐲)
alternate ending (𝐭𝐛𝐜)
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afeb · 5 months ago
Chris Evans - Noted
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I gasped into Chris’ mouth as our innocent morning kiss began to turn into something else. His hand travelled down between my thighs and cupped me, squeezing tightly.
“Please,” Chris begged against my lips. “I couldn’t have you yesterday, please let me have you today,”
“N-No,” I said. “I’m already late,”
Chris whined. “Please, I’m desperate,”
I’d be lying if I said his state of desperation didn’t turn me on. The idea of a strong man whining and begging for me sending me into a whirlpool of fantasies.
His fingers flexed against me and I let out a small squeak, Chris rolling his hips and rubbing his achingly hard cock against my thigh.
“Chris!” I gasped.
“I’ll be quick,” he bargained. “Just a few pumps inside you and I’ll stop,”
“But you won’t,” I giggled.
Chris wiggled his fingers into the band of my underwear, feeling over the small patch of hair that grew there. He let out a groan as his fingers slowly dipped into me.
“I will,” he said. “I promise baby, just lemme feel you,”
My back arched as his fingers skimmed over my bundle of nerves. I gazed over at the clock, brows furrowing as I thought over my choices. With my head straining to my right, Chris took the opportunity to bite down on my neck, sucking deep purple marks into the skin. I hummed out a moan as Chris circled his fingers.
“Okay,” I conceded with a squeak.
Chris groaned into my neck. “Fuck, thank you, thank you baby,”
He quickly pulled my underwear off, cock already free. Chris propped himself up to gaze down at me, eyes hooded and dark as his tongue licked over his lips. His tip ran up and down me, a shudder creeping up my spine.
Our moans seemed to harmonise as he eased into me gently, a small sting itching its way to my nerves as he stretched me out. My hands pawed at his chest, nails biting his skin as I gasped. Chris’ teeth sank into his lip as he finally felt me around him.
“Pussy’s so good,” he sighed, voice cracking. “I’ve wanted you for so long,”
“Y-You had me a few days a-ago,” I noted in broken gasps.
“Not enough honey,” he dropped down onto his forearms, caging me in. “Could be in you - fuck - all day and it - ah- it wouldn’t be enough,”
His hips snapped against mine at an increasing pace. Chris’ knees sunk into the mattress a little as he seemed to anchor down and increase his speed again. My body rocked against his, headboard banging against the wall.
Chris’ right hand came up to my chest and squeezed the skin tightly, head dipping down to capture my nipple between his teeth and tug. My hands flew to his hair as I pulled, a moan tumbling past his lips. Another pull and his teeth sunk into my skin, I mewled in discomfort.
“So fucking warm,” he growled. “Touched myself like a damn kid yesterday while you worked,”
“Really?” My eyes widened.
Chris lifted his head, eyes catching mine as a small smile graced his lips. “Stroked my cock till I came twice honey,” he gave a hard thrust. “Squeezed my balls tight like you do,”
“Chris!” His filthy words sent bolts of lightening down to my core. “Oh-“
“Cum,” he ordered. “Cum thinking of my hand stroking my own cock,”
My arms looped tightly around his neck as I tugged him down, lips meshed against mine. Our lips parted and our tongues glided against each other’s, Chris swallowing my moans.
I came with a cry, almost a sob, as my legs contracted around his hips. My body tightened impossibly around him as Chris moaned into my mouth and came with a few stammered thrusts. He came longer than usual, filling me to the brim.
We panted against each other, eyes boring into our souls. A smile graced my lips as I softly giggled, Chris laughing along as he moved away. He flopped down onto the bed, chest heaving as a light sheen of sweat covered his chest.
“Needed that,” was all he uttered.
I looked at the clock again and sighed. “Let’s hope my boss doesn’t ask why I’m late,” I joked.
“Tell her that your boyfriend was whining to be inside you,” I hit his chest as he snorted out a laugh.
“Quite liked seeing you beg,” I cocked a brow as I rolled onto my stomach and looked at him.
Chris reached out to tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “Yeah? Deprive me another week and you’ll see what begging is,”
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ohwowimlonley · 6 months ago
Satiated - Bucky Barnes
Warnings - smut, swearing, kinda hair pulling, praise kink, size kink, innocence kink, subspace, oral (f receiving), fingering, cockwarming, fluffyyyyy, teeny lil bit of angst, terrible writing, idk it's just nAsty lol. Established relationship btw!
Characters - dom!bucky barnes x virgin!fem!reader
Summary - y/n wants bucky to be her first. Bucky doesnt know shes a virgin. Smut ensues.
Authors notes - this has been in my drafts since I first started my tumblr so it's terrible for the first bit but it gets better (hopefully?)
You was so sure that this was it. Tonight would be the the night. You were finally going to give up your virginity. To Bucky.
You meant to tell him that you were a virgin. Really, you did. But it just never came up. You had been with Bucky for just over four months now. There was no point in keeping it from the others, mostly because of how clingy you were with him. It was strange for you; being this clingy - this needy - with someone. You'd never felt anything like it before. Granted, you'd never had a boyfriend before Bucky, he was your first kiss too. Not that he knew any of that, of course. But with him you felt so at home. You didn't think he'd need to know. It wouldnt make any affect, right?
You'd set the mood, you thought, just right. You didn't want to throw sex in his face so you opted for your LED strip lights to be set to a light red with the main light off. You were wearing his longsleeve Beatles tshirt and a pretty cute lingerie set that you bought in preparation. You decided against wearing shorts, after all, the mission was to fuck the guy, why let another bit of clothing get in the way?
"Hey doll, I'm back," Bucky's infuriatingly attractive voice rang out. He'd just gotten back from a HYDRA mission. You knew he hated going on those missions, especially when you weren't with him. You rushed over to him.
"Hi there darling," you wrapped one arm around his neck and the other went under his shoulder, crushing the life out of him in a hug. He returned it with equal force which made a grin wriggle its way onto your face.
"How was it?" You pulled away and smushed his face in between your hands, "are you okay? Did you need to go to the medi lab? Do you need another hug? Do you want to eat? I think I have some snacky things in my mini fridge but-"
"Doll, I'm fine," he interrupted, moving your hands from his face and putting a reassuring hand on your shoulder, "I didn't get hurt and I'm not hungry. I will take you up on that hug though. Can we watch something shit and cuddle? I missed you."
You almost melted at his little pout, "okay baby, why don't you climb into bed and I'll sort out some of The Flash, yeah?"
He leaned down to kiss your forehead before pulling away and getting under the covers. You went to turn on the TV and pulled up The Flash. You were well aware that Bucky was staring at your ass, which was sticking out of the bottom of his tshirt, giving him a peek of the lavender lace that barely covered you.
When you were done, you turned to see him with blown pupils but a calm smile on his face. He beckoned you over and you skipped towards him happily, your high ponytail swishing behind you. You jumped onto the bed and wiggled under the duvet with him.
Bucky immediately wrapped has arms around you and pulled you literally on top of him. You whined at him and squirmed.
"Buckyyyyy I can't seeeeeee!"
"Don't whine doll, you said so yourself that it's shit. So just stay here with me, yeah?" He held you tighter against him so you complied.
"Y'know, I have the best boyfriend, like, ever. Like it's not even funny anymore you're just awesome," you rested your chin in between his ribs and smiled so wide it was almost a grimace. He rolled his eyes at you.
"You're a sap, dollface," he was smiling, though, so it proved that he liked it.
You sent him a wink and sat up so that you were straddling him over the hips. His eyes bugged out for a second but he tried to play it cool. He leaned up to peck you on the lips.
"Hey there, princess," he murmured, smiling softly.
You kissed him again, deeper this time and with more passion. Bucky didn't seem to object so you pressed further, tounge edging into the seam of his lips and parting them. He grunted in response and sucked in the muscle, sitting upright now. His hands wandered down to your ass and squeezed, gently at first but his grip got firmer when you whined into the kiss. Bucky smirked and pulled away, eliciting another whine from you.
"What's got you like this, little one?" You shivered at the nickname. He noticed.
You distracted yourself from his words by rolling your hips on his. The sensation of it was sending chills down your spine making you shiver and your thighs tense. You could feel yourself getting... aroused.
"Like what, Buck?" You wiggled a bit on his lap, finally feeling that hardness under you that you'd never felt before.
"Like this," he muffled a gasp from your movement, "all... horny,"
You bit your lip and buried your face in his neck, groaning at his words, "stoooooop!"
"Whyyyyyyy? I just wanna know!" He insisted.
He wrapped one hand around your waist and the his prosthetic metal one in your hair. He pulled you back by the hair at the nape of your neck, the tiny bit of pain made you let out a moan.
"What's going on with you?!" He'd never seen you like this before.
You looked down, still firmly sat on his now very evident erection and played with the fingers of his flesh hand after prying it from your waist.
"I just- I can't-" you groaned at your inability to form a proper sentence.
"Just take a breath," you nodded, "and tell me what you want."
"I want you," you whined, "bubba please,"
"What do you mean doll- like-" you interrupted with another roll of your hips, praying that he understood. "Oh, oh,"
You nodded helplessly and grinded against him more, desperate for him to help you with the wetness that had built up from the friction between the two of you.
"You mean like, now?" He tried not to respond to your unintentional teasing but he was hard as a fucking rock because of you and your flimsy lilac panties, "y'know we don't have to if you don't wanna,"
"Baby please!" You weren't trying to be bratty, he was just taking so long and after 25 years of never orgasming, you were a little frustrated.
"Jesus Christ! Calm down doll, if I didn't know any better I'd say this was your time," he joked. But you tensed up. Oh god. Did he know?
You laughed it off, but Bucky's supersoldier senses made him acutely aware that your heart rate sped up and your breathing stopped.
"Doll if it's your first time we don't have to-"
"But Bucky I wanna! I promise. I wasn't even gonna tell you because I knew that you'd treat me like glass-- and- and that's why i never said that you were my first kiss either-" you cut him off but he returned the favour with an incredulous gasp.
"I WAS YOUR FIRST KISS? AND YOU WOULDN'T HAVE TOLD ME?!" He sounded angry. His grip on your hips tightened and you winced.
"I- I'm sorry Bucky! Just didn't wanna make you worried I-" His grip tightened more, vibranium fingers digging into your bones, "ouch Bucky!"
His hand instantly retracted and he looked mortified, staring at your skin that was already yellowing from his grip.
"See doll! This is why you should've told me! I could hurt you, darling! I don't ever wanna do that," his eyes were still glued to the still-forming bruise, tears welling in his pondwater eyes.
"You could never hurt me, Buck! Not really; not on purpose!" You protested. He didn't seem convinced in the slightest, more focused on the purplish red pigmentation coming to life on your hips.
"Oh honey, it's okay! It doesn't hurt and look, look, it's fading already," that was a lie, by the morning those bruises would probably be black and blue. Not that Bucky needed to know that, "and it's alright darling, it's not you're fault, remember? You can't always feel how strong your new hand is, yeah? My big strong Bucky,"
You could see him trying to fight a smile but he refused to meet your eye.
"C'mon Bucky! How am I ever meant to learn how to take care of you if you dont teach me?" You insisted. Bucky finally raised his gaze, along with his right eyebrow.
"Teach you?" He wore a smirk now.
Oh, this was going to be fun.
"Well, think about it, baby. I mean, I've never even kissed anyone. How could I possibly know how to- how to-" your confidence faulters almost immediately, failing to realise theres no need to be embarrassed when you're with your Bucky.
"To what, princess? To suck my cock? Y' wanna know how to suck m'cock? Or d'you wanna learn how to ride me? Hmm? Learn how to milk m'cock like a good little girl?" He teased. You shuddered against him, leaning further into his perfectly sculpted pectorals. "Oh, I think you do. I think that you wanna be my best girl, huh? My perfect little sub, yeah?"
You nodded against him, but that didn't seem to satisfy Bucky.
"Use your words with me, baby, yeah? Y'gotta use your words with me or else I won't know what you want," holy heck, even when he's dominating you to all hell, he's so sweet and gentle with you. It made you feel warm and fuzzy on the inside.
"Yes, Bucky," you mumbled, reluctantly un-hiding your head from his warm body when a sharp tug at the roots of your hair prompted you away.
"Good girl, well done, honey," he praised you beautifully. You felt the urge to shy away from his compliments, but instinctually you knew that he wouldn't accept that.
"Thank you d- hmm Bucky," he obviously heard your blunder but didn't focus on it, opting instead to stroke soothingly across the expanse of your thighs.
"Okay baby. Just one more thing, I want you to have a safeword, m'kay?" You nodded, "this is just in case y'wanna stop or I do something you don't like, yeah? I won't go too hard on you tonight. Wanna make it all special for you. My little princess,"
"Thank you, bubba," shyly, you pressed a kiss to his cheek which made him grin widely.
"Can you tell me what you want your safeword to be, m'love?"
"I- uh," you were half tempted to give him a stupid answer but this meant a lot to him and you could see it in his eyes.
"C'mon, little girl, don't get all shy on me now," he lilted.
"I- uh, red? I think? I-it's easy to remember, I guess?" His hand had moved from your thighs to your ass, moulding it into any shape he deemed appropriate.
"Well done, princess," he rewarded you with a kiss to the forehead. Then the cheek. Then nose. Finally, the lips. As soon as he pulled away, you chased his lips with a pout and a whine.
"Now now, little girl. Dont get whiny," he lilted.
"Bubba kissy pleaseeee," you whined pathetically.
"Okay honey, but just know that you can't always get what you want with that cute little pout of yours," he relented, pushing his lips against yours. You whimpered into the kiss, grinding yourself down against him to relieve some of the pressure that had built up over your conversation.
He seemed to love it, grappling at your ass and pulling you further onto his raging hard-on. His tongue slipped into your mouth, licking over your teeth and smoothing itself over your own tongue.
"Lay down for me, little girl," he prompted, lightly tapping your bum and moving you to lie on your back. You scrambled to stay on top of him, clinging to his thighs and securing your arms around his neck, "it's okay, honey, I'm staying with you. Not going anywhere, yeah?"
"Staying," you echoed blearily, finally slipping off of him and lying down.
"Good girl," he confirmed, spreading your legs and settling in between them.
He tugged on the bottom of your shirt as a question to which you raised your arms and lifted up slightly. He pulled it off of your body and sat back on his heels to admire you. Bucky had never particularly been fond of the colour lilac but at that moment he had fallen in love with it.
"Sweetie you look... edible," he growled, "can I take it off?"
"Yes, daddy," your eyes widened at your own words, immediately covering your own mouth and retracting from his soothing hands. Your mind was racing 'oh god what did I just do? Does he hate me?'
"Say that again," he demanded, groaning and resting his head on your shoulder. You keened at that, letting out a sigh of relief that he enjoyed it.
"Yes, daddy," you brushed your lips to his ears, an almost tangible fog settling on your mind. It comforted you.
"Fuck," he lifted himself from your shoulder, undressing you quickly and throwing his head back at what he saw.
"I'm gonna fuckin' eat you for dinner," he rumbled. He moved your thighs even further apart, almost painfully so, and leaning down so his face was level with your pussy, "oh, honey look at you! You're soaking for me! So wet for your daddy,"
You whined and raised your hips in an attempt to get any type of friction. He pushed them down but ducked his head with you.
"Shh, it's okay baby. Daddy's here, I'll take care of you," he squeezed your thigh gently, "y' ready?"
"Please, daddy, pretty please," you tentatively moved your hands into his hair. He rewarded your boldness with a kiss to your pussy lips. It felt like heaven, even though he'd done next to nothing.
After that, he went all out; he spread your lips by dragging his tongue through them. Your fingers tugged on his hair as harsh as you dared, albeit not that hard. He seemed to love it though, moving to suck carefully on your clit. You let out a whiny moan, loving the new sensation. You'd never touched yourself before; never had an orgasm. This was all new to you and it felt so fucking good.
He suckled and pulled at your clit, slowly moving his index finger to your hole. He didn't enter you with his finger, opting instead to circle it gently, getting you used to the feeling if being touched there.
"Oh, daddy! S' good," you babbled, lost in another world of pleasure. He moaned against you when you tugged his silky locks harder. "D-daddy can you- can you please put your finger in? Pretty please?"
"Of course honey, but it might hurt. Hold my hand, 'kay? Squeeze it if it hurts, don't be afraid," he smiled at you oh so sweetly and offered you his metal hand. Your grip in his hair slackened and you moved your right hand into his flesh one, smacking his metal one out of the way.
"But honey," he protested, but you gave him no room to argue.
"Daddy! Wanna have your fingers in me please! I'll be a good girl I promise, jus' want your fingers," you argued. He complied, intertwining his fleshy fingers with yours and sitting up to get a better angle so he could position his metal ones by your entrance.
"Oh? Does my little girl want my metal fingers in her? Kinky little girl," he grinned at you.
"Yes daddy, please," you whimpered. Bucky kept his grin and pushed his middle finger against your entrance. You held your breath as it slipped into you. It was definitely painful, not unbearably so but still uncomfortable.
Your hand clenched around his while your other one sought purchase on the bicep of his metal arm. Bucky, always the detective, saw that you were struggling and gave you a moment to adjust.
"Tell me when to move, m'love," he urged kindly. You were more greatful than ever before for how beautiful his personality was. So kind. So loving.
It took you more than a minute to relax; muscles tensing and untensing around his vibrainium fingertips. When you were ready, you gave him the go-ahead so he started shallowly thrusting his finger in and out.
After that, it didn't take long before you were whining and begging for another finger. 'Another another another, daddy!' Of course, he had admonished you for being so bratty but he didn't turn you down. He thought you looked so pretty when you were begging for him.
"Daddy!" You whimpered, a strange pressure building between your thighs, heating up to an unbearable pleasure that you felt.
"Aw, baby, y'gunna cum?" He smiled. Before you could respond, he pulled out his fingers unexpectedly.
"Daddy!" You fussed, tingly feeling still strong in your core and thoroughly unsatisfied. The fog was like a blanket now; covering you up and keeping you warm.
"Shh, don't whine, baby. Don't want you to cum now and be too sensitive before I get you on m'cock now, do we?" Smoothing his hand over your hip, smearing your arousal over it.
"No daddy, sorry daddy," you conceded, terrified that you did anything wrong. You wanted to be daddy's good girl.
"No, sweetie, don't be sorry, you did nothing wrong," he reassured. You sighed, so thankful that you hadn't done anything wrong.
"Daddy?" You looped your arms around his neck.
"Yes, doll?" You rested one side of your head on his, still annoyingly clothed, pectoral.
"Can I have your cock now?" Glazed over eyes stared longingly at his own.
"Of course, little one," he pulled his shirt over his head, fucking finally. Your eyes stayed glued to his abs because 'fucking hell he's so fucking hot holy shit'.
"Thank you, daddy," your fingers pressed into his muscles.
"Sweetie, how d'you wanna do this?" He moved your hands from his abdomen gently so he could remove his jeans. Beneath them, you could see how truly massive he was and fuck he looks so good.
"Baby?" He asked again, snapping you out of your trance.
You didn't answer him verbally, instead moving onto his lap and settling comfortably on his raging erection. After his assault on your clit earlier, you felt extra sensitive and that pressure against your bare core made you convulse in pleasure.
"Okay sweetie, okay," he kept that calming smile plastered on his face, gently urging you to sit up so that he could remove his boxers. You kept his eyes glued to his face until it faltered in pleasure. Looking down, you saw it. Over eight inches and thick as all hell.
"Daddy?" Your head lolled to the side, watching as his hand moved up and down it at a moderate pace.
"Yes, doll?" Groaning, his eyes locked on yours.
"How will that fit in me?" He laughed at that, so fond of your innocence.
"It'll fit, little one, don't worry," he assured you, using his metal hand to gently stroke your hip.
You reached out to grab his cock but he was quick to move you away.
"No, sweetie," he moved your hand into his hair so you could play with it if you wanted to. You whined at him, claiming that you wanted to make him feel good, "you will make me feel good, honey. When I cum inside that sweet little pussy of yours I'll feel so good I promise,"
"Okay, daddy," you leaned against his broad shoulder as he circled your hips against his cock.
"Y'ready, princess?" He double-checked for what seemed to be the tenth time. You responded by reaching for his length and lining it up with your entrance.
Ever so gently, he slid you down onto his cock. If he hadn't opened you up with his fingers earlier, you would have been in a lot more pain. He kept his hands on you when you were all the way down on him; moving them to your tits and rolling your nipples between his thumb and forefinger, causing even more pleasure to spike in your body.
You moaned loudly when he brought his mouth onto your left breast, suckling on your nipple, giving you the most pleasure you'd ever felt in your tits.
Adjusting took a few minutes but when you got used to it, you got impatient very fast. He noticed it when you grinded against him, shuddering at the immense feeling of his cock brushing against your inner walls. He couldn't bring himself to move away from your nipple, though, so he kept sucking while he moved both his hands to your hips and lifted you up so you were only halfway sheathed on his length. He secured you there so you were suspended on his cock, thrusting his hips up to meet yours. His pubic bone brushed against your clit and you were in heaven; his mouth on your tit, cock in your pussy and delicious friction on your bundle of nerves.
"Oh daddy! Feels so good!" You gasped out a breath, overwhelmed by pleasure and all of a sudden, you were falling. Falling deep into a delicious subspace. And there was that overwhelming buildup of pressure in your core again. "Daddy?"
He finally pulled off of your tit, leaving you cold without the warmth of his mouth, "yeah sweetie? What's up?"
Still thrusting up into you at a steadily inclining pace, Bucky found it hard to believe that this was your first time. You were so lost in pleasure that you hadn't acknowledged his words.
"Doll?" He punctuated his sentence with a sharp thrust to your g-spot, making you see stars.
"Daddy? I-I feel-" you didn't know what you felt. Full. For sure, you felt full. Bucky's girth was splitting you in two.
"What d'ya feel, doll? Y'gunna cum? Gonna cum all over daddy's cock like my good little girl?" He teased you, kissing along your neck, bruising it whenever he saw fit.
"Yes daddy! Please, please can I cum?" You begged.
"Of course, little one, cum on daddy's cock," he encouraged. As soon as he gave permission, you let go.
You'd never felt pleasure like that, vision going white and violently clamping down on Bucky's cock, causing his eyes to roll back into his head and cumming inside of you. You fell blindly even deeper into the blissful state that made you feel oh so warm and fuzzy on the inside.
You didn't stir for a while after that. Not until Bucky gently attempted to move you off of him.
"No daddy! Nonononono!" You scrambled to stay leaning against his chest, "no movin daddy, stayin here,"
"Honey, we have to get you cleaned up," he reminded you.
"Daddy no! Have to stay with daddy," you insisted. He ran a soothing hand through your hair.
"Okay, princess, we can stay here," he relented, "but 's not daddy anymore, is it? 'S Bucky again, remember?"
"Nuh-uh, 's daddy. 'N I'm daddy's baby," you babbled, reaching to play with his fingers.
"No baby, it's Bucky. C'mon, baby, y'gotta come back f'me, yeah?" He urged you ever so carefully, scared that if he pushed too far then you would go deeper into subspace.
"But daddy-"
"No baby, say it with me 'Bucky', yeah?"
"Bucky," you repeated. "Bucky!"
"That's right m'love! Are y' back with me now?" He asked.
"Yeah, 'm back baby," you muzzled your face in his neck, hyperaware that his cock was half hard again in your cunt but your legs ached too much to do anything about it.
"Well done honey, how d'you feel?" He checked.
"What in all hell does that mean?"
"Your a 100 year old assassin and you don't know basic English?"
"I'm American!"
"You speak English!"
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buckyhoney · 3 months ago
𝐚 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞, 𝐜.𝐞
a/n: it's 3:25 am and i wrote this half asleep, so please don't let it flop lmaooo
pairing: chris evans x reader
reblogs/feedback/likes are greatly appreciated & highly encouraged! however, DO NOT repost/steal ANY of my fics!
18+ warning
warnings: 18+, language, light daddy kink, light overstim, light praise kink, somnophila, dub-con, fingering, breast play, sorry for any missed typos
words: 826
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chris walks into the bedroom to find the tv off and you asleep on the bed. the lamp sits on the end table, allowa him to catch a glimpse of your body- that the blanket only covers half of.
he kicks off his shoes and places his wallet and keys on top of the dresser. after, he tugs his shirt over his head and shimmies out of his jeans- leaving him in only his briefs.
before he could reach for the handles on the dresser, the sound of your body shifting catches his attention. chris looks over at you and his cock twitches and his mouth waters.
in shifting your body, your shirt twisted- causing your breast to spill over the side of the tank top. your nipple pebbles from the cool air hitting it. chris pauses for a moment, just staring at the breathtaking sight in front of him.
licking his lips, he makes his way to his side of the bed. lying down next to you, his hand can't help but snake over your torso- landing on your exposed breast. your body shifts again, rolling onto your side, facing chris.
chris's hand slides the strap down your arm, freeing your breast. his thumb rubs your over your nipple, chris groans- his briefs becoming tighter with every second.
pinching your nipple with his thumb and pointer finger, you whimper in your sleep. he grins, watching your hips squirm into nothing. chris slides down on the mattress, just enough to come eye to eye with your breast.
in a matter of seconds, his mouth is on you. sucking harshly at the flesh. tiny whines and whimpers slip past your lips- feeling the pleasure even in your sleep. chris moans into your chest, nipping at your nipple and soothing it with his tongue.
there is his hand pulls the blanket away from the rest of your body- nothing but your sheer panties.
"fuck, you're killing me," chris mumbles against you as he feels over your covered pussy.
your body shifts again, laying back on your back- giving chris more access to you. the pleasure from your breast (and now your pussy) causes you to stir.
"even in your sleep you know my touch, don't you?" he pulls open one leg, allowing him to push aside your panties.
the moment his fingers slipped inside your hole, your eyes opened, and you choked out a moan.
when you look down, you see the grown man attached to your breast- and feel the slow thrusting of his fingers. you dig your hips into the mattress and arch your back when he pauses to rub your clit.
"goddamn, sweetheart, this just from me playing with your tits?" you reply with a moan.
the unexpected pleasure left you helpless and hips rolling into his fingers- meeting them halfway with every thrust. your breathing is inconsistent. every time you try and steady it, you're interrupted by a moan.
chris continues his assault on your breast- sucking and nipping, leaving them raw and sensitive.
chris's cock is throbbing and leaking at how worked up you are.
"chris, please i wanna cum," the whine causing him to chuckle.
"i can feel it, sweetheart, i can feel you clenching around my fingers." curling his fingers, you buck your hips.
contracting around him rapidly, sparks fly through your body- overwhelming you. your hips squirm and you grip the blanket in your fists.
"there you go, cum all over my fingers. good girl, y/n." your chest is heavy and your breathing is unsteady.
"m'too sensitive!" the desperate plea to halt his thumb's works your clit.
"oh, i think you can give me one more- just one more, for daddy?" there was no moment to cool down- his fingers continue to pump themselves inside you.
chris's free hand releases himself from his boxers- he could cum just watching your body squirm and how desperate you sound.
your eyes roll back and your head pushes back into your pillow- blabbering incoherent words.
the stimulation pushing you closer into your second orgasm. sweat collects in your hairline and your face heated up.
"come on, sweetheart, you're right there, i can feel it." chris coos.
your clit is raw and swollen, your walls clench around him once again- and your eyes squeeze shut.
"you can do it, just one more- oh there it is! cum for me, make a mess on my fingers," the praise pushes you over the edge, the pornographic moan rings through the room.
your cunt is pulsating around his fingers and your hips jerk in sensitivity. cooling your body down, chris's palm covers your cunt.
regaining the ability to form words, you look over at him- he's beaming at you, but you can't keep your eyes off of his cock. the head is swollen and leaked a pool of precum on his pelvis.
licking your lips, you reach down and wrap your fingers around his throbbing length.
"your turn daddy,"
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agentofbarnes · 3 months ago
Chris and the reader go to a family bbq and sneak upstairs half way through because he's horny and he fucks her so good that her legs won't stop shaking afterwards which causes Scott to catch on like "Oh you guys are nasty! Really? You couldn't keep it in your pants for a day?"
quickie — chris
warnings || absolutely no plot, smut, minors DNI, degradation, unprotected sex, bathroom sex, shameless chris
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Chris knew exactly what made you tick, how to rip an orgasm through your body in a way that made your tremble. His cock hit all the right spots and you craved the way he bent you over, palming your ass in his hands and just fucked you like his life depended on it.
Which just so happened to be the predicament, you found yourself in at the moment. His entire family is out in the backyard, socializing while Chris rammed his cock in and out of sopping cunt with his fingers shoved in your mouth. He had your bent over the sink in the upstairs bathroom, panties pulled to the side as he destroyed you in every way. He made you stare at yourself being ruined, standing in your tippy toes with his harsh grip pinning you against the marble counter.
“Quiet,”Chris hissed, your salvia coating his fingers while his eyes stared at you through the mirror. Your tits bounced, spilling over the fabric of your dress from where Chris had groped you against the door when you first followed him up here. Your mewls were muffled against his hand, sucking on his thick fingers with your eyes rolled back.
The only sound that could really be heard was the echoing of your skin collide and the squelching of his cock stretching your tight cunt. Your hands gripped the edge of the counter, praying your body didn’t give out as the knot in your tummy started to well up pleasingly with each hard thrust.
Chris leaned over you, pulling your hair to the side so he could kiss on your neck and whisper dirty things to you,”Look at you, am I fucking you stupid, my cute little whore? Fuck, ‘m gonna stuff you full of my cum, that what you want, baby?”
You nodded desperately, thighs trembling as Chris pounded you through your intense climax. He had to hold you body up, limps going pilant against him as you tried to keep quiet. His cock throbbed between you clenching velvety walls, spilling hot cum deep inside you until you were absolutely dripping of him.
Chris panted heavily, stilling his hips and pulling you back against his chest before molding his lips over yours.”So good for me, dove, shit, you’re the best fucking thing to ever happen to me.”
“You only say that ‘cause I can keep up with your horny antics,”You rolled your eyes, making him chuckle.
“Or because you’re the best goddamn woman in the world,”Chris whispered gently,”And all mine.” He pulled out of you carefully, adjusting your panties back over your cum soaked pussy while you fixed your dress.
You both try to look presentable as you found yourself back in the yard, but you are struggling because your legs are just so wobbly. You have to cling to Chris’ side, which just makes him smirk while he engaged with Scott.
Chris’ arm held you firmly when your knees gave out, catching you and putting you back on your feet.
Scott connected the dots by the look on Chris’ face and your weak legs,”Oh my god, please tell you didn’t—oh gross,”He complained when he saw the blush heating up your face while Chris just laughed.”You’re forty years old, Chris, you can’t keep it in your pants for a day? What are you a horny teenager?”
“Have you seen her ass? I can’t deny myself when she looks so fucking good—“
“Chris!”You whined, hiding your face in his chest which only makes him smile even more. He liked making you flustered because you always hid yourself in him and there was no place he liked you better than pressed against him.
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chanelfaerie · 7 months ago
hii! i recently saw on tiktok that elizabeth olsen lets chris write on her arm when he's feeling anxious during press so could i please request a chris evans x reader where the reader takes elizabeth's place and chris starts falling in love with the reader thanks to their help??
butterflies ⟶ chris evans
pairing: chris evans x reader
summary: chris has got butterflies for you—do you feel the same?
warnings: little bit of angst, mentions of anxiety, age-gap, really bad ending
a/n: hi!! thank u so much for sending this in, the thought of chris dealing with anxiety IS CONSTANTLY breaking my heart...i mean everyone has it but like our chris 🥺 he doesn’t deserve to feel like that!!
the following work is my own writing. do not plagairise or copy and paste my works onto another platform. message me about credit.
⊱ ────── {⋅. ☽ .⋅} ────── ⊰
sharpie ink is cold and sends a burning sensation over your skin, staining it so dark that even warm water and soap won’t wash it away, but when chris is drawing small butterflies on your forearm, it’s impossible to tell him to stop. his eyes are focused, not on the reporters shoving microphones and questions in his face, but on the small doodles he illustrated. “they could be tattoos,” he’d joke, with his tongue sticking out between his lips.
you would reply with a “maybe, chris” because the idea of a permanent picture on your skin. but unbeknownst to you, chris was serious.
robert, scarlett, and even mark had offered to help soothe his anxiety during nerve-racking moments. a few interviews had gone haywire, he’d even left a premiere in japan early, and no one had the ability to calm him down. except you. something about the way you spoke, the way you embraced him and held him in a tight hug, gently shushing him if a tear managed to escape. at first, no one else could see it.
but chris was in love. there had been countless sketches over your arms, wrists, hands, and any other bare spots that were easily accessible to chris. it had just been a friendly offer when you noticed the anxious look on his face during a press conference, and he had absentmindedly taken a sharpie to your forearm. “uh, chris?” you’d questioned, noticing that his strange actions were gathering the attention of your castmates and the audience in front of you. he’d brushed it off with his much-appreciated charm and people thought nothing of it. chris had later apologized when returning to your hotel rooms, enlightened to hear you say, “honestly, chris, if you ever need anything--including drawing on my arm,” he chuckled. “it’s alright. i’m here.”
it was not in his intentions to ‘catch feelings’. he felt immature, childish, and unprofessional to fall for his younger costar, but you were persistent on the drawings. eventually, it had even turned into holding and squeezing your hands underneath tables, but you seemed so unbothered by it he wondered if feelings were reciprocated. 
“she’s totally hot for you,” robert had joked in a hotel room one night. he had a glass of water in his hand while chris held a beer bottle, but he’d been so busy thinking about if you loved him back, he’d hardly taken a sip. yet somehow, both men were slurring their words. “but remember, man, if you go for her, people are gonna talk about it. she’s, at least, what...ten years younger than you? at least.” 
chris wasn’t being his normally chipper and talkative self. instead, he leaned back quietly on his bed and attempted to joke, “thanks for making me feel young again.”
the next day, he tried to restrain himself from anymore drawings or hand-squeezes. no more contact with you--it’d only have his heart shaking in his rib cage and he’d be falling head over heels for your all over again. unfortunately, and much to his dismay, he’d failed. all it took was one glance at you, and chris felt woozy in his stomach. your hair had been styled so perfectly, the color of your dress complimented your complexion so sweetly, and when your eyes met his, he only then noticed the smallest flecks of gold in them.
after countless interviews spent with either extremely rude or boring journalists, whose questions harshly peered into the privacy of you, chris, and your castmates, you noticed a sadly familiar look in chris’ eye. you popped open the lid from a permanent ink marker and watched as chris snatched it from your hand to scribble tiny doodles on your skin.
chris drew exactly what he was feeling. a small birdcage containing large butterflies too big to fit through the cracks to escape. they rattled around the metal, a clanking noise echoing through his rib cage with every beat of his heart. his tongue peeked through his lips, and with every stroke of the sharpie, a masterpiece was created on your skin. but, despite his adorable gaze that you noticed in the corner of your eye, you continued to speak with interviewers and answer their questions, almost disregarding chris’ presence.
little did he know, however, you’d given him permanent ink so that when you went to sleep that night, wishing he was in bed with you, you could look down at the drawing he’d made for you and imagine chris was yours.
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